#hollow pictures behind my eyes ( video )

[wwaheoh]

"Running Into Them at the Mall", Cunning Hares x gn!Reader, SFW, Fluff

a/n: can you tell i'm even worse at writing happy things?

At the mall, you were perusing through some movie tapes, action, comedy, horror… nothing that you felt was good enough for the Cunning Hares Weekly Movie Night. Usually you’d go to the video store on Sixth Street, Random Play, to find movies, but since you’d heard about them having to make a new account and helping Wise save Belle from the Hollow, you didn’t want to also put pressure on them to get more movies when their main income was basically gone for the time being.

Sifting through the remainder of the ‘New Release’ row, a familiar voice rang out from behind you.

Nicole ///

“Hey! Looking for a movie?” You could hear the smile in her voice. Looking back, Nicole got close, in her usual getup, hair a soft pink, basically pressing against you as she looked at the movie you had been reading the description of. “Ooh~ cheating on Random Play huh?” She spoke with a playful, teasing tone, slyly wrapping her hand around yours to get a better look at the movie you were checking out “No! Just heard about everything and don’t want to impose. I think we've watched everything there ten fold.”

“Mm, and you didn’t want to come with me to the mall?” “You got your nails done, they’d take longer to be finished than it would to check out all the movies in this whole store!” She looks at you with a deadpan expression, “Hey, perfection comes with time (and money).”

After picking out a movie, you rented the tape out for the week, before heading to the food court to grab some food before home. You realize that she had basically gotten you to buy her free lunch for the day before heading back to the base…

Billy ///

“Yo!” An artificial voice of Billy spoke behind you, nearly spooking your soul out of you. For such a loud metal-bodied guy, he was surprisingly quiet. “Whatcha looking for?” He peaked over your shoulder, “Ahh, mm, never thought you’d like this sorta movie? It ain’t Starlight Knights: The Movie but whatever, c’mon! There’s an arcade here, heard they got God•Finger, gotta get my name onto the top of the leaderboard!”

Giggling at his antics you agreed, but you reminded him that you had to pay before leaving. The movie you got wasn’t particularly your kind of movie, more dramatic and less action-y explosion-y type.

He got Number One on the Leaderboard, with you landing at Number Three.

Anby ///

Turns out, Anby was also shopping at the mall, having accidentally taken the shopping list you made- that you’d forgotten at the base.

“Hello.” The usual monotone voice had a happy tone to it, something hard to hear had you not been as close to her as you were. Turning from the movie you’d been reading the description of, you waved with a smile. “Hey Anby! Wanted to try a different spot to find a movie.” She nodded, crouching next to you to read the text on the movie cover you were holding. “This doesn’t seem to be the type of movie you’re usually interested in.”

“Yeah, been just browsing for now… wait. Why are you here? Don’t you pick next week?” “Huh? The shopping list I picked up said I was to find a movie for this week.”

You looked at the bag she held in her hand. You looked at the bag you had resting by your side. You looked at her cute face, soft white hair framing it like a picture.

“That was my shopping list.” You broke the news to her.

“Oh.”

“That was $40.”

“Nicole’s going to blow a lid.”

“Yeah…”

The two of you went through the extensive inventory of movies available in the shop, choosing one the two of you believed Nicole would like. Maybe this would save you two from Nicole’s wrath.

Nekomiya ///

a/n: i didn't forget her this time!

“Ooh? Looking for a movie?” You nearly jumped out of your skin. The sneakiness of a street cat- er, catgirl, was not to be underestimated. “What’re ya thinking?”

“Hey Nekomiya, just browsing. Nothing’s really catching my eye.” “Well, y'know what they say! You can’t think on an empty stomach, meow!” You stared at her with a deadpan expression. “Did you come here all the way just for some free lunch?”

“Aha… no! (Maybe).” You sighed, but understood. Commissions had been low recently, on the account of Nicole- and by extension the whole of the Cunning Hares, working to aid the citizens in the lawsuit against that corrupt construction company. Awful business that.

“Alright, c’mon. I’ll go check out, then let’s get some fish in that belly!” “Hey! Not all of us want fish!” “Then what do you want?” ”Mackerel…” “That’s fish.”

Bringing the video tape to the front, you paid before making your way over to the food court with Nekomiya.

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

⚠️𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘⚠️

🎀Show your age if you wanna interact or I block u🎀

✨𝐇𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲✨ (𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨𝐱𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Gojo likes to take pictures of you—videos too if he can. You could be lounging in his living room, sprawled on the couch, wearing nothing but his hoodie that sat snugly on your frame. Click! You could be in the kitchen, cooking a delicious dinner, the smells of which make passers-by lift their noses into the air and take deep whiffs. Click! You come out of the shower in a towel, click! You feed your cat, click! You brush your teeth, click! Gojo would even buy you pretty heels and dresses, jewellery and make-up, and take you to expensive restaurants and do fun activities – all so he could dress you up and take pictures of you. Click! Click! Click! Everything you did was carefully documented in his camera roll. Pictures he would proudly show off, even unprompted, just for an opportunity to make his peers turn green with envy. 

Of course, he had another secret folder. This also had pictures of you—but they were only for one pair of brilliant blue eyes. Photos he took of your body. Of his fat cock, stretching out your little hole. Your tear-streaked face – mascara running down your hollowed cheeks – as you struggled to fit him in your mouth. Drool and gloss on your lips in a rambunctious dance, dripping onto your plush chest. Videos of his long fingers, tweaking and playing with your red nipples. Of your glistening pussy. Of his hand laying claim to your stomach, simultaneously lifting his hoodie off your tummy. 

Every time he was away from you, either you on a mission or him, he would whip out his phone, open up the folder, and massage his aching balls while watching you. He would hear his voice in the background of his videos goading you, as he gripped your thick ass to pull it down on his length. 

“Th-a-a-a-at’s it. Fuck– there's my good girl. Hng, you're taking daddy’s cock so well, sweety.” 

Your soft high-pitched moans from his phone's speaker only served to turn him on further. He would pull his cock out of the waistband of his boxers, gently stroking it and imagining your hand in its place. With every thrust on the screen, he would thrust into the grip of his hand, watching how your ass jiggled in his mind’s eye. Every move was known to him, intimately. Hours of studying his film work had made him acquainted with your body as if it were his own. He knew exactly which whine meant Please, give me more or I’m going to cry, to the gasp that translated to Fuck, Daddy, don’t stop, I’m coming!

There were times when he would make you look at the camera, “Turn around f’ me baby. Lemme see your pretty little slut face” And your head would turn to look at him, at his phone, as he continued to thrust into you from behind. Sometimes you would take his phone in your own hands, leaning it against a pillow to get a perfect shot of you. Your widened glassy doe-eyes, captured on the screen, tits bouncing in time with your lover's movements. You’d speak to him too, egging him on.

“More, Daddy! Please, Daddy! Yeah, stretch me out and fuck me—just like that!” Or you’d say something like, “God, please, you’re so big, it’s too much!”

Any time he heard you, coupled with the visual of your wet eyes and open mouth, it would make Gojo cum. Just a few jerks and he would nut into his hand, the sticky white fluid running down his fingers. 

His favourite video, however, starts off with him watching you from behind the camera. You’re in a lace lingerie set he bought for you, blue and white – matching his eyes and hair. You wore a dainty silver choker around your neck with a tiny bell that made a tinkling sound each time you moved – a collar almost.  Sitting on his bed, propped up by pillows, you had one hand pawing at your breast, while the other played with your hair. Your legs were spread apart giving him a delicious view of the growing wet patch on your panties. Gojo felt himself licking his lips each time he saw it. 

You would move your hand from your hair to your thighs, rubbing against the flesh softly, almost as if you were enticing him to come take a bite. And it would work. Gojo would set up his camera to record as he climbed into the bed with you, settling his head between your thick thighs. His mouth immediately latched onto you and sucked. 

Gojo in the future would fuck his pillows furiously, desperate to try and recreate the feeling of you under him but it wouldn’t work. In a way, he would be almost envious of himself. Of his proximity to you. The video Gojo continued, lapping at the wet patch on your panties. His hand reached up to grab at your breast and massage it. You let out a loud sigh, your hand finding purchase in his hair and you raked your fingernails against his sensitive scalp, to which Gojo would respond with a guttural growl. “Woman! Do you want me to cum while my pants are still on?” 

His kitten licks soon turned into a flat widened tongue, flush against your pussy, fingers tugging the panties to the side before he lost control and ripped them into two to get a better taste. You cried out at the loss of such a pretty lingerie set and were shut up by two long fingers being shoved into your mouth. It wouldn’t take long for you to cum on Gojo’s tongue. He knew his way around your body and sucked and licked on your clit and folds like a man possessed. The taste of you was intoxicating and Gojo, watching you on the screen couldn’t help but lick his lips, missing your flavour. 

You orgasmed with a squirt, gushing into Gojo’s mouth, grasping at his hair and crying his name like a prayer. Gojo didn’t realise till you yanked on his hair from the overstimulation crying, “Stop Gojo, stop please, no more – yellow!” He lifted himself off you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pupils were blown out and he looked almost wolf-like as he reached up to kiss you. His hips rutted into your tummy, the soft fat cushioning his hard thrusts. He was obsessed. 

He tugged at the bra pulling your heavy breasts into his mouth one by one. You helped pull off his boxers to let him feel your skin against his. His cock was hot. The weeping tip dripped pre-come onto your belly and it ran into your folds in a cold contrast. His lips never once left your skin. 

Gojo watching you on the screen later, would lose composure. Watching his cock sheath into you, knowing exactly how you felt around him would be too much. He would come for a second time that evening. Watching him, fuck you. You: falling apart on his cock; begging for him to cum in you; desperation and exertion in your voices as he finally ejaculated in you; sucking and nipping at your breasts. His hands pinned yours down and you both rode out the high repeating each other's names in unholy worship. 

He collapsed into your arms and you kissed him; his head, then nose, then lips. He pulled you into his embrace and told you how good you were for him. 

Future Gojo would come down from his high alone, and text you. The perfect shot of his hand, covered in his come. His soft cock, out of focus in the background. 

You would open it and add it immediately to your own hidden folder. Gojo isn’t the only freak in this relationship…

A/N: Yeah so Hidden Inventory has a different meaning here. That's all I guess. I secretly like gojo also ok bye.

Hearts and reblogs are much appreciated and comments will get you KISSIE.

[mayashesfly]

Radio Killed the Video Star

"HAHA! Fucking finally"

Vox grinned as blood and coolant dripped from the crack on his face.

His suit in disarray after coming into his demon form, skin ripped by his own cords and wires that dug deep in his skin and erupted outside.

He felt his power drain from him as a spark of electricity left the crack on his face.

But he did it.

He defeated the Radio Demon!

Alastor fell on his knees, covering the burnt skin that irritated his angelic scar.

His cane laid broken beneath his feet.

And oh! The fucking irony of this scene! HAHAHA!!! THIS WAS SO MUCH BETTER IN PERSON!!!!

"Y-You're celebrating too early... old pal" Alastor got out through gritted teeth. And Vox merely smiled despite the blurry and fragmented scene before him.

"Oh please. You really think I would let you escape just as easily as last time, Alastor?" Vox asked rhetorically, mocking him as he knows just how difficult and painful it is for the demon to travel through shadows in blinding light.

Especially with how weakened he is now.

"Don't make me laugh"

"HA!" A cough wracked through the radio demon's throat from the laugh, blood dribbling underneath his chin, yet he still continues on with a smile. "Oh please, my old pal. You're the one laughing at your own high for your ego!"

"F-zzt-UcK YOU!" Vox hissed, electricity crackling over his form despite his diminishing powers as he slowly walked over Alastor's prone form, claws moving from the ache in his systems.

"You're just ge-GEtting unDER my sKiN... Beca-caUzzt you lost, you pathetic liTtLE HA-HAzzt-bin"

"How sharp of you to notice something so obvious, my d-dear....!"

Vox paused in his approach as he stared into the distance.

The Radio Demon's quips falling in deaf eyes as his eyes widened.

Ice flowing through his veins despite the warmth of his systems.

Alastor was still talking despite his waning strenght.

But when he noticed Vox stopped responding, he rose a brow and looked behind him.

"Now what's the matter Vox? For you to—"

"MOVE!!!"

The air around him burned as electricity crackled through the air.

Eyes widening upon seeing blue and red color angelic steel.

Ears pinning down as he stared at shocked eyes beneath the cracks and distortions.

Despite it all...

He smiled.

"I'm the only one that gets to kill you..."

That softened gaze disappeared into an abyss of darkness as his old friend powered down for the very last time.

The air crackled.

Not with electricity.

But with magic as he absorbed the ambient radio waves that fueled them both.

"How dare you come between us"

His neck creaked like a broken radio as dials burned in his eyes and green symbols tore through the air around him.

The lights around them flickering before promptly cutting off.

"How DARE you come between us you impudent low life"

Screams erupted from the holy being as shadows soar through the darkened sky, coiling around the angel before ripping them apart limb by limb.

Bright golden blood littered through the air like stars in the night sky.

But the gruesome sight in front of him did nothing to quell the aching hollowness that burned through his chest.

As if he was the one who's been hit.

As if he was the one who died.

His body creaked as if he was the one wailing.

The crackle and crunch of broken bones accompanying his breaking unbeating heart.

When did he start crying?

The shadows wasn't satisfied with the mangled corpse, dragging the body into the void as he curled around the cold form of his old companion.

The wound in his chest burned.

But he paid no mind as he hugged the still frame of his friend.

Stupid, stupid little picture box.

Always making harsh mistakes and emotional decisions that one.

And now he's.... and now he's.......

Alastor gulped down the pooling blood in his mouth as his body turned ice cold.

He had always been cold-blooded despite his deer-like appearance but Vox....

He shouldn't be cold.

He shouldn't be this cold.

Why is he cold?

"You stupid old picture box...."

"Why....? Why did you do it.....?"

"I'm the only one that gets to kill you..."

[thesumlax]

On Deviantart I titled this Dream Sketches page "A New Record" because 21 is the largest number of entries yet, and also because I spent the longest time procrastinating on posting them...

Also, I decided that the grid format with six drawings to a page makes them way too small for my liking. On the other hand, I tried a new method of cleaning them up, by meticulously painting the sketches with a selection brush so I can leave all of the dirt behind when I move them... and it does produce great result, but the time waste is crazy.

Anyway:

1) Something like a living cavern monster, with a rock shell and jelly-like flesh. It`s basically hollow inside, and its organs are semi-autonomous entities crawling among those giant papillae on the floor. The bubble-backed thing crawling out is a reproductive one, it produces some strange reproductive bodies that look like either fried eggs or sausages crossed with some unicellular organisms (2). They`re not sex cells, hovewer, but still multicellular structures more like gametophytes.

3) Giant sand-swimming dragon with a bunny face and some fucked-up sand-ship glued to its back.

4) Just a trio of little guys! May have been video game characters who have to escape some sort of bad place by using their abilities (umbrella, spinning hand, and a fucking gun) in combinations. They`re colored red, blue and green.

5) Some sort of sea creature calles something like "trychnotus" or "trychaetus".

6) Another sea monster that kinda looks like a rubber toy.

7) Ghostly transparent axolotl-creature.

8) An erect-limbed toad. For some reason it`s important to note that it is exactly 12 cm tall.

9) A gliding, stinger-tailed draconic creature.

10) A bear-like omnivorous therizinosaurid survivng to the modern day. Started as spec evo but suddenly tranformed into horror movie monster for some reason.

11) Tiny-headed deer-o-saurus.

12-13) Two weird pitch-black horses from two unrelated dreams. Number 13 had its eyes and those weird cracks glowing bright neon green.

14) Bizarre elephantoids. The pitcher-trunk is especially fun.

15) Allegedly some sort of early pterosaur.

16) Don`t really know what that is... Seems to be made of brown rock?

17) Now this was a dream about some superhero who could shrink down do bug size and interact with sapient bugs (of the freakishly human-faced cartoon variety). These bugs had cars, which were also bugs (pictured). Bizarrely, the bug civilization existed in the same exact spaces as human civilization despite the size difference, with human roads having lanes for bug-cars.

18) A giraffe-dragon of some kind?

19) Another thing I don`t even know the context of. The humanoid head does not have a mouth despite the teeth.

20) Something like a gorgon.

21) Pelican dragon. Apparently can spray toxic mist like a crop duster, presumably through pores in its pouch.

[louiloeve]

Second chapter of Coming Home, my witcher-fic on Olgierd Von Everec returning to his estate after reclaiming his heart (and soul), and experiencing anew what he left behind in his wake.

@witcherficwriters @noetikat @poetikat @gustfields @andordean [...]

Nearly as large as life, the painting was an impeccably kept and newly dusted self-portrait. The frame was beautifully carved ash wood that had been gilded with a burnished gold, and it shone prettily in the light from the candle he had left on the table in his haste. The subject was a person, but the picture was made in dark colours, and it was hard to tell the shapes apart in the gloom. Olgierd grabbed at the frame, wondering for a moment if he could bring it with him into the light, but besides it being stuck firmly to the wall, it also spurred something in him. That something had stirred his sense of self-preservation and lifted the hairs on the back of his neck, as well as leaving a tingling feeling in the hand that had touched the frame, not entirely unlike what he felt after calling forth goetia.

Olgierd’s reservations towards the book were forgotten as he went back to pick up the lit candle and bring it over to the portrait. As he came closer, the picture became clear to him and he recoiled from it. It was a beautiful self-portrait with a horrifying expression in terms of the physical representation and choice of colour. Olgierd had no doubt that this was made by Iris, and that the woman on the canvas was herself, but her eyes were deep dark pits of hollow black and half her face seemed to have been burnt straight off the canvas, if the irregular black blotches and its fringes of melted paint was anything to go by. When he briefly touched the canvas, his fingers came away sooty and tingling.

At first glance, the image of Iris had taken up all his attention, but as he looked the canvas over once more, he noticed the dark shapes in the background; shadowy figures peeking at him from below their black-as-pitch cowls. He could barely make out their eyes and yet he felt their gazes on him.  [...] Read it all on AO3, and leave me kudos!! :D :D :D

[deadtower]

🎮🎧📌 for your wip

YEYYYY YEY YEY thank you for sending this in :3c

Context: This WIP is about Kienan van der Buskirk, a 20something college student with AVPD, who becomes unexpected friends with Echotrance Saulnier, the new student in her Psychology 201 class with the biggest dark circles under his eyes anyone’s ever seen, who claims to have not slept for even a second for ten straight years (and, as it later turns out, was sacrificed by his parents to an elder god in his basement, but didn’t die and in fact came back, which … was NOT supposed to happen).

🎮 - Describe your WIP as if it were a video game. Is anything different?

Probably not. I think it would be a game a lot like the Persona series, where you focus on getting social links. Though it would most likely focus on Echotrance. You’d be playing Kienan, the 20something college student with AVPD, and you’d have to raise your social links with your friends Sydney, Kat, and Nick. Somewhere along the line you’d meet Echotrance, and the game would be pushing you to make social links with him, too. Kienan would probably give you pushback about it, but the more you had her hang out with Echotrance, the more comfortable she’d get. And becoming friends with Echotrance would open up the second part of the game … which would be a full-on dungeon crawler where you’d have to find the god that Echotrance was sacrificed to and kill it for good so it could never hurt Echo again. Or something like that c:

🎧 - What atmosphere does your story have? Describe it with examples.

It’s a pretty chill atmosphere, to be honest. I write a lot of urban fantasy and science fiction, so most of my stories are largely just regular life but with absolutely wild shit going on behind the scenes. It takes place in Alaska, so a lot of the ‘atmosphere’ is quiet and serene, which is reinforced by the fact that Kienan’s AVPD makes it so she’s often on her own. I can’t say much about the climax, because HELLA spoilers, but it definitely 100% reinforces this as well, which is interesting for a climax, since you’d expect the action to ramp up and a big fight to take place. But instead, it’s just … hollow. Lonely. I think a lot of this novel is just about terrible loneliness.

📌 - If the WIP has a pinterest, post the link and your favorite picture from it!

It doesn’t … but it does have a UQuiz where you can find out which character from it you’d be c: Here’s the link! Have fun! (And tell me what you get if you want!)

thanks so much for sending these questions !! (and the link for anyone who wants to send in any more is right here~)

[kyuuppi]

vegetable stew

Pairing: Kenma x Reader (f)

Contents: hurt/comfort; angst and fluff; body dysmorphia; eating disorder (negative thoughts, fat shaming, insecurity, mentions of starvation)

Word Count: 2.1k

Kenma has always been observant.

It was a large part of his success as a setter and even now his keen observational skills contribute to his career as a professional gamer. He tends to notice things others don’t and lately that means noticing how you’ve changed.

The more he thinks about it the more difficult it is to pinpoint the exact starting point of your behavior. Haven’t you always preferred baggy clothing?

He remembers the pretty blue sweater you used to treasure back in high school, wearing it every chance you got as soon as the weather report hinted at anything lower than 10°C. He loved that sweater too—not just because of the cute sweater paws it gave you or how it almost completely covered the shorts you wore beneath, offering an unobstructed view of your shapely thighs—but instead he relished in the way it seemed to make you feel. The confidence and joy in your expression was clear as day when you wore your favorite outfits and early on in your relationship he had quickly learned that somehow your happiness was synonymous to his own.

Hence Kenma’s current frustrations in seeing that spark of joy and self-confidence gradually diminishing in the past several weeks.

Although that particular sweater had long since left your wardrobe within the first few years of university, as well-loved and worn out as it was, the more recent favorites of yours have also seemed to have gone lately. It had been a while since you had worn the short yellow polka dot dress you had been so eager to show Kenma the first day you got back from the mall with your roommates. Every pair of shorts and colorful tennis skirts had also left your weekly rotation, leaving behind only dull sweatshirts with childhood cartoon characters and baggy joggers.

Objectively, Kenma hardly cared about what you wore. If fastening a potato sack around your form made you happy, Kenma wouldn’t bat an eye—the problem stemmed from the fact these clothes didn’t make you happy. Moreover, the bland clothing brought with them their own slew of behavioral changes.

You no longer wished to go out and you avoided taking pictures of yourself, your social media suffering from an obvious lack of cheeky selfies or “outfit of the day” posts as of late. However, the most concerning change of all was your refusal to eat.

Kenma had a habit of forgetting to eat himself. He rarely felt the mild twinges of hunger, his attention generally hyper-focused on something else whether it was a game, a video needing editing, or a class project he had pushed off for far too long. It was only when his own stomach growling would startle him or the hunger pains got unbearable that he would acknowledge the human requirement of sustenance (not that the instant ramen in his cabinets provided much nutrients anyhow).

You were much more in tune with your body and, unlike him, you looked forward to eating; scheduled your days around it, even.

Your mornings began with a balanced breakfast—a meal Kenma was rarely even awake in time for—followed by a generous lunch break in which you would intentionally put everything on pause. Regardless of how much work you had to do you always made time to put everything down and have a decent lunch. It was good for your soul, you would say. A time to live in the moment and relieve yourself of stress.

For dinner you often made it a point to eat with others, whether it was going to a rowdy Korean BBQ with some friends or a dinner date at home with just him, you enjoyed sharing a meal surrounded by the people you love. On top of it all, you frequently had snacks: small bags of crackers, slices of fruit, or a few cookies you made yourself.

You loved cooking almost as much as you loved eating; most of the times he invited you over you brought a large bag with you filled to the brim with ingredients he wouldn’t have a clue what to do with. You would chastise him about his awful eating habits, grimacing at the ramen and chip wrappers overflowing in the kitchen trash can before you diligently prepare a meal for you both, healthy and flavorful, full of the vegetables he hadn’t had since the last time he went home to visit his mom.

You made him look forward to meal times too, if only to see the way you light up when he compliments your cooking or the pure bliss when you take the first bite of your favorite side dish. Eating with you became one of his favorite parts of the day.

And so that last time you made him dinner—a steaming plate of curry with shrimp tempura—the normally delicious food suddenly turned sour on his tongue when he realized you had only made him dinner.

“I’m just not very hungry today,” you had assured him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Foolishly, he hadn’t said anything at the time.

Maybe you had a large lunch, maybe you had a stomach ache, maybe you just didn’t want curry today—at that point in time he had no reason to think there was something seriously wrong. He had no reason to think you were starving yourself.

It wasn’t until weeks later when all the evidence stacked up, the many different signs piecing themselves together like a puzzle until it was impossible not to see the picture, even if a few were still missing.

Your baggy clothing, your refusal to eat anything, your off-handed comments about how the female characters in whatever fighting game he was playing had such nice figures—it became crystal clear what you were doing and it made him feel sick.

Kenma doesn’t generally care about others’ looks; he tends to worry more on how he is perceived than how he perceives others but he is confident that he rather likes your body as it is. He would rather die than admit how often he finds his gaze wandering when your legs are bare or how his eyes naturally trace the curve of your waist down to the width of your hips his fingers twitch to touch—he has had many thoughts about your body, none of which have ever been negative.

Even so, he doesn’t mind if you want to change yourself. He isn’t foolish enough to think he has the right to dictate how you decide to present yourself to this world, but he refuses to allow the reason for your change to be one that stems from low self-esteem or insecurity.

When you step into Kenma’s apartment, weary from a long day of classes and the extra hours spent at the gym, the last thing you expect is to be greeted by the scent of some type of stew, warm and hearty. Your stomach clenches longingly but you quickly reprimand yourself—you already reached your tiny caloric limit for the day.

You have hardly made it into the living room when Kenma comes out from the kitchen, dyed hair tied in a low bun but messy, several strands poking out and sticking across his sweaty forehead. A dark blue apron is tied around his waist and his right hand holds a ladle, the perfect image of a frazzled housewife. If you weren’t so shocked by the scene you would have laughed.

“Welcome back,” he greets softly.

“Are you...cooking something?”

Kenma looks slightly embarrassed by your incredulous tone but not offended. In all the years you have known Kenma you have never seen him in the kitchen for longer than the three minutes required to heat up a bowl of noodles. Him slaving away in front of the stove for a bowl of homemade soup is nearly unfathomable to you.

“Vegetable stew...it’s my mom’s recipe,” your boyfriend explains sheepishly.

The mental image of Kenma shyly FaceTiming his mother as she patiently walks him through chopping up carrots and mixing spices makes your lips twitch upwards and you make your way past him to curiously survey his work.

“You didn’t have to go through the effort, I could have cooked you something, y’know,” you comment as you lean over the large pot on the stove.

The contents are a rich brown color with hints of potatoes, carrots, and onions peaking out. You’re gifted another pang of hunger and you quickly step back as if it would prevent you from falling into temptation.

Kenma quietly slips into the kitchen directly behind you, his chest nearly brushing your arm as he speaks.

“It's okay, I wanted to cook for us this time.”

You freeze.

Immediately, you break into a cold sweat, the prospect of eating sending you into a state of anxiety. You can’t eat—you don’t deserve to eat. Not when your arms are so flabby, your waist so undefined, your inner thighs so close to each other—

“I appreciate it,” you start.

Your voice sounds unnaturally high even to your own ears.

“But I’m not hungry—I had a really big lunch.”

Turning, you try to offer him an apologetic smile but his face looks off. His lips are pulled into a slight frown and his eyes seem to be looking through you, as if he knows you’re lying.

“Y/n...I don’t like what you’re doing.”

You attempt to laugh but it comes out hollow.

“I’m not doing anything bad, just dieting a bit.”

“I think you’re being a little extreme.”

You huff, starting to feel defensive. You don’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever.

“Kenma, I’m totally fine, I promise.”

“I’m worried about you,” he insists.

“I’m telling you there’s nothing to worry about, I’m being safe.”

“Skipping meals isn’t healthy.”

“Kenma, being this fat isn’t healthy!”

The words escape before you can think to stop them and you can already feel the shame pricking at your eyes as you turn away. You don’t want to see your boyfriend’s look of disgust once he realizes you’re right, once he realizes how fat and unattractive his girlfriend is. Kenma is skinny, he deserves a petite girlfriend who is just as tiny, a girl with slender legs that look cute in shorts and a stomach that lays flat regardless of the time of day. He deserves the sexy girls in his video games, in shape from years of training and perfected suited for tight leather bikini tops.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until Kenma wraps his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into the side of your neck. He lets out a shuttered sigh and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s crying as well.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, “and I don’t like seeing you hurting yourself. If you want to lose weight, I’ll help you. We can make healthy foods together and eat them together and exercise together—just please stop skipping meals.”

Your throat feels like it's stuffed with cotton so you can only nod in agreement, raising one hand to weakly wipe at the hot tears staining your cheeks.

The two of you stand like that, huddled in the middle of the kitchen, for several long minutes until the last of your tears have gone before Kenma gently pushes you to sit down at the coffee table. He prepares two steaming bowls full of vegetable stew for you both and you silently eat as Kenma tells you how low calorie the broth is and how many nutrients his mom said were in the vegetables he used. He tells you about a new fitness game on the Nintendo Switch that you two can play together. By the time you finish your meals, Kenma has already promised to wake up early to go jogging around the neighborhood together even though you know he absolutely hates waking up early and exercising when he doesn’t have to.

Your chest aches with how much he loves you, how far he’s willing to go just if he thinks it will help you and make you happy.

A small part of your mind begs you not to listen. It insists you’ll be fat forever if you don’t starve yourself; no pain, no gain. But the more rational part of you gazes into those soft golden eyes, filled with concern and love as he rambles on about the best sources of protein—all stuff he had learned from his professional volleyball player friend Hinata—and you know your answer.

Kenma loves you, he would do anything to see you happy and healthy and you would do anything to please him.

You love him more than you hate yourself.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / Worth Your While

Prompts: The Beard Hotch Fic�� - inspired by that one episode where hotch has a beard and all of us collectively lost our minds 

Word count: 3.728

Warnings: E, phone sex, mutual masturbation, beard kink (i guess that’s a thing??), oral (f receiving), i don’t know just smut

Image Credit: @agenthotchner​

“Still don’t know when you’re coming back?” 

A sigh floated through the phone, “Not yet,” you hum, climbing into bed on top of your covers, your legs folded underneath you. You hear his cot creak underneath him. You hummed, as you placed your pillow beside you, if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine that he was lying there beside you. 

“Enjoying the hot Pakistani desert a bit too much, Hotch?” a small chuckle leaves his throat, voice gruff over the line. 

“I would enjoy it a lot more if you and Jack were with me,” your chest aches at the sound of the weariness in his voice. He was so tired — and now you couldn’t even take care of him. Another sigh leaves his lips, before he adds, a ghost of a laugh in his voice,  “although he’s not a fan of the beard.” 

You raise your eyebrows, “Really?” 

“His exact words were, ‘do they not sell razors there, Dad?’” you snort, turning onto your side, “I think I’m going to shave it off before I get back.” 

“Ah let’s not rush it,” you bit your lip, running your fingers over your bare neck, “why don’t we ask for some other opinions before we jump to conclusions?” 

You could practically hear his eyebrow raise over the phone, “And what’s your opinion, sweetheart?” his voice is low and scratchy, and you can almost imagine his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as he murmured the question against your neck. 

You feel a heat begin to climb up your neck, and down your body, “I don’t think you should shave,” 

“You don’t think?” he presses, and you hear the cot groan again as he shifts, “or I shouldn’t?”

“You shouldn’t,” you swallowed, fingers drifting down to the waistband of your shorts, “not until you see me again.” 

“And what are you going to do when you see me again?” you whimper, fingers past the elastic of your shorts, your fingers drift against your soaked panties, “answer me.” You gasp his name as your fingers circle your clit, “are you touching yourself?” 

“Yes,” you say, breath uneven as he shifts in his cot again, more this time, “I need you, Aaron, I—” 

“Call me on video call,” he hisses, and you know his fingers are around his length, the video call feed only confirming it, “see what you do to me,” his pants are gruff and short, “show me what you’re doing.” You flip the camera from your face to the middle of your thighs, your hand hidden beneath the fabric of your obviously drenched underwear, “Pull those off, I want to see you. I want to see exactly what I’m doing to you.” 

Your underwear slides down your thighs, slowly, as you lift your hips for the camera. And his breath hitches when he sees you — soaking wet and two fingers deep in your pussy, “Aaron, fuck, I miss you—” 

“What do you miss?” there’s an edge to his voice, an urgency, but still, his voice is hushed and quiet, tension thrumming in the air, “tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

“Is that an order, sir?” and you hear him groan quietly over the phone that hangs in the silence of the desert. 

“Fuck, yes, it is,” he growls, and he hears a quiet hum leave your throat, and he knows you’re enjoying this — all too much, but not as much as if he were actually there. If he had two thick fingers pressed inside of you. His mouth swallowing all the little noises leaving your throat, until his lips sucked dark bruises against the hollow of your throat. 

“I would want you to pin me down, your fingers parting my thighs,” quick gasps part your lips, filling the silence of his tent, and you wonder — could someone hear you if you were just a little too loud? Could a colleague hear your desperate cries of his name, you begging him for his cock, his mouth, his fingers — anything, “feel your beard against my thighs as you wrap your tongue around my clit, fingers inside me, like mine are now—” Your fingers sink deeper, adding another with a loud gasp, your hips rolling against your hand, “and I’d cum all over your face.” His beard slick with your cum, as he kisses you again, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. 

“Then, you want me to fuck you hard, don’t you?” a helpless whine parts your throat at his words, low and sharp, “But still, I’d sink into you, slowly, let you feel every inch of myself part you — wet and tight — for me.” 

You arch your back against your bed, Only for him. 

“Aaron, please, I need to see you — see your face—” You’re close — he doesn’t need to see your face to know that. And you know he hears it — hears you preen against you, and in the quiet silence of your bedroom, and his hand squeezes his cock. Fuck, and he abides by your request — shows you his face contorted in quietly controlled pleasure, his teeth against his bottom lip, until he hears you. 

“Aaron, I’m—” he groans, far too loud for the quiet desert and conscious colleagues that surrounded him. But it only further pushes you over the edge, thinking about that groan in your ear, pressing kisses against your neck, fucking you hard and fast until your walls tighten around your fingers, phone falling from your hand. But not before you hear him say your name, reverent and breathy.

Your fingers begin to still, the feeling of your fingers carrying you through your orgasm, chest rising and falling in quick pants. Your body slumps against your mattress, boneless, eyes squeezed shut. That is, until you hear a voice on the phone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, reaching for the phone, “sorry, did you say something?” 

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice deep and blissed out — and you can almost feel the words of love vibrate against your skin, “I miss you, so much.” 

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder?” you offer, flipping the camera so he could see your face, “but phone sex definitely helps.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, “It does, but it’s not enough.” 

“No, nothing compares to the real thing,” you sigh, rolling over on your bed, “but luckily, the real thing is waiting for you when you get back,” and then you add, “Just don’t shave the beard.” 

He runs a hand through his beard, “Yes ma’am. You’ll make it worth my while?” 

You grin, tilting your head, “Don’t I always?” 

~~~

Hotch leaned against the headrest of the airplane seat, stuffed between two sleeping passengers — this was certainly different than using the jet. Not that he was complaining — he needed to get back. He resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the arm rests. 

Ian Doyle. That was a name he had spent several months trying to forget. The events of what happened still haunted him, but even more than that, the lies he had to tell the team wore away at him. Guilt gnawed at his insides, a pit in his stomach that he was sure would give way. 

He had to do it. He had no choice. He was the team’s leader. He had to make the hard decisions. He had to bear the burden. But he only wished he didn’t have to do it at the team’s expense. 

He rubbed at his eyes. Watching them cry and mourn, listening to them grieve right in front of him, as he evaluated each of them for field work — it had killed him. And now it would all come out. Prentiss was alive. And they had kept it from them. He had kept it from them. 

But there was no use thinking about the fallout. Not when he was on a plane miles away from its destination still. No, he needed to think about something else. 

He glanced at his phone, smiling at the picture of you and Jack smiling back at him. He remembered the day they had taken that photo. It was your first time spending time with Jack. He never met someone who clicked so easily with Jack — after everything that had happened with Haley, Jack was a little quieter, a little more reserved (not so dissimilar to himself, you had pointed out to him). But with you, it was different. He would smile. He would laugh. He understood. He knew you and you knew him. And he was so grateful for that. 

And he was so grateful for you. 

His fingers rubbed at his chin, still prickly with his beard. He had kept his promise — he had kept it for you. Even though Jack would be less than pleased. He would be staying with Jessica either way while he dealt with the situation at hand. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep the next few days — he knew that for sure. But even so, the prospect of seeing you soon made his chest feel a little lighter. No longer would date night consist of a hurried dinner and possible phone sex. Now, he could hold you, he could touch you, and he could fall asleep to your quiet breaths, instead of to a far too hot desert and a lonely cot. 

And the best part? He hadn’t told you that he was coming back yet. And he didn’t think he was going to, until he was at your doorstep. 

~~~

“How was work today?” Hotch gave a heavy sigh over the phone, and you put down the bowl of dough you had been stirring, “Aaron?” 

“It was a hard day,” he cleared his throat, “we saved a kid, but he saw his father die in front of him.” 

“Aaron,” you wished you could touch him, could comfort him, no words were enough for times like this, “you couldn’t have done anything more. You saved his life.” 

“I know, I just—” he clicked his tongue, “I just wish it didn’t turn out that way.” 

“And that’s why you’re one of the good guys,” you smile at your phone, “and that’s why you can’t let it eat away at you — you still have your own little boy to come home too. Not to mention, your very patient girlfriend.” 

He laughed, a soft noise that made your heart stutter in its chest, “You have been very patient, haven’t you?” 

“I have,” you hummed, perking up at the tone of his voice — appreciative and teasing — “got something to reward me with?” 

“I actually might,” and you bit your lip, “but you’ll have to do me a favor.” 

“This is my reward, and I have to do you a favor?” you clicked your tongue, “doesn’t seem very fair, Agent Hotchner.” 

“I know all about fairness, sweetheart. After all, I did study it in law school,” you could almost see him shaking his head, a smile dancing across his lips, “I just need you to open your door.” 

“Open my door?” you wiped your hands clean, before grabbing the phone off the counter, making your way to your door. You spotted the back of someone’s head through the peephole. Locks clicking as you undid the lock and the deadbolt, you held the phone between your shoulder and your cheek,  “Aaron Hotchner, did you order me dinner again? Because I told you I already—” 

You gasped, your phone clattering against your hardwood floors. Aaron stood, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips, as he tilted his head, “No, but I did bring dessert.” 

“Aaron!” you ran into his arms, hands on his shoulders, face buried in his chest, “I can’t believe this. You’re back. You’re here.” 

“I am,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, “and I’m not going anywhere now.” 

You pulled away, “You’re back for good?” and he nods, as your fingers cup his face, thumbs running over his cheeks, and you note the bristle underneath your fingertips, “and I see you kept your promise.” 

“Of course, I’m a man of my word,” he breaths, leaning closer as your breath hitches, his lips pressing against yours. It had been months, and you had nearly forgotten how he tasted, lips moving firmly against your own. His teeth grazed your lip, as he eagerly swallowed your moan, as your hands tangled themselves in his hair, walking backwards, as he shut the door with his foot, “I missed you so much,” he says in between kisses that stole the air from your lungs. 

Your hands pushed the jacket from his shoulders, “I missed you too,” his hands squeezed your hips, before his hands slipped your thighs, lifting you against him, as he carried you to your bedroom. No longer could you tell where you began and he ended, but you didn’t care — not when his teeth grazed against your pulse point like that. He had you pressed flush against your bedroom door, lips burning a trail of kisses down your neck, fingers toying with the straps of your camisole. 

“Take me to bed,” you whispered, and he did — placing you on your bed, and in a second, he was on top of you. 

Your fingers busied themselves with undoing the buttons on his button down, while his slid the hem of your camisole higher and higher. You undid the last button and the shirt slid off his shoulders, and he lifted his arms as you did away with the undershirt immediately. Your fingers traced over the broad expanse of his chest reverently, enjoying how his muscles reacted to your touch and how his breath stuttered his chest when your fingers grazed him. The same man who stayed calm under pressure crumbled under your touch. 

You raised your arms and he slipped the camisole from your body, groaning when he realized you had no bra on underneath. His fingers teased your nipples, mouth wrapped around one of them, “Aaron,” you arched your back into his touch, your fingers slipping between your bodies, trying to undo the button on his pants. His teeth grazed your nipple, soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue, “please,” 

You undo the button of his pants, and pull them down, helping him kick them off. He whispers your name, pressing a kiss to the skin between your breasts, before tucking fallen strands of hair behind your ear, “What do you want, baby?” 

Your eyes fall to the prominent bulge in his boxers, “Fuck me,” you look up at him, thumb brushing his lips, and he smiles, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. 

“Not before I taste you,” he says, voice husky, as he burns a trail of openmouthed kisses down your body, re-familiarizing himself with every curve and dip of your body, until the fire in the pit of your stomach all but engulfs you. He tugs your sleep shorts down, as you lift your hips to help him, kicking them off. His calloused hands part your thighs, as he settles between them. You watch him with lidded eyes, breath stuck somewhere in the back of your throat. A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight of your obviously soaked panties. You hiss as his beard scratches beautifully against your thighs, friction making you squirm, until his large palms steadied you. Fingers splayed over the soft skin of your inner thighs, his nose brushing far too close to your soaked center, as he kisses right below the waistband. 

“I had forgotten how good you smell,” he murmurs, another kiss, this time right on top of the wet spot on your panties. 

He spreads you wider, hips jumping as your heart does in your chest, when his fingers brush your slit through the thin fabric. He doesn’t remove them, no, instead, he slides the crotch aside placing you on full display for him, half wrapped in that silk fabric. You hiss when you feel his warm breath mingling with the cool air of the room. His tongue darts out across his lips, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, before leaning down to press a kiss to your warmth. 

His moan vibrates against you, a reverent noise of unrestrained passion and you know that this is just as much for him as it is for you, sending shivers down your spine of what’s to come.  A single finger begins to part your folds, as his mouth presses butterfly kisses all around your clit, his beard deliciously grazing against your thighs. And finally, he takes a single broad swipe up his tongue up the length of your weeping cunt. A gasp blooms into a moan, as your fingers grasp at him, traveling the length of his shoulders, until you are able to card your fingers through his dark strands. 

His tongue moves in tight circles, your muscles squeezing his thick finger, as keen against him, eager for more, more. As you always were for him, and only him. Desperate for his touch, even when he couldn’t provide it. His beard only stokes the fire coiling in your stomach, now burning against your cunt. 

The phone sex seemed like a distant memory, a cheap imitation of the real thing. Nothing, nothing could compare to his lips, his tongue, his teeth, his touch. Nothing could compare your fingers threaded through his hair, his moans quietly reverberating against your slick folds. Nothing could compare to him — the sweet man who had just come back after spending weeks away from his home, his family, his friends, his life — but he chose to spend this night with you. 

Another finger parts your folds, and a broken whine leaves your throat, as your head falls against your plush bed, “You take me so well, sweetheart,” he mutters, tongue flicking against your clit, as you lift your eyes to meet his gaze, “so good to me. So patient. So sweet.” 

And that’s when his mouth closes over your clit. Your hips rock against the flat palms of his hands, as his tongue flicks against it. And the coil in you snaps, his name a ghost upon your lips, a soundless scream on your lips. You feel him hum against you, far too pleased, but you barely notice, lost in your own high. But he does not relent, pulling your orgasm from you as his fingers scrape against your shuddering walls, tongue eagerly tasting all that you offer him. 

He drags himself back up to you, his hardness brushing the inside of your thigh. His fingers trace your jawline, as your eyelids flutter, watching his tongue dart across his chin, still glistening with your release. His lips quickly follow the paths scorched by his fingertips. His lips find yours again when your breaths are even, and even now you can’t get enough of him. 

You arch towards him, fingers sliding down his chest to the waistband of his boxers, “Sweetheart,” a strangled groan of your name on lips still sticky with your cum, and he stares at you, eyes black as the darkness that surrounds you, as you slide his boxers down finally. 

You both groan in tandem, as your fingers close around his length, flushed and weeping. His hips lean into your touch, the head of his cock brushing your folds. 

“Aaron,” you shake your head, “I need you.” 

“Where do you need me?” his voice barely above a rasp. He rips your hand from him, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He presses another kiss to your skittering heartbeat. 

“I need you to fuck me—” you gasp, as his teeth scrape against your neck, pressing soft kisses against its length, before sucking a pretty bruise against the hollow of your throat, “please.” 

He sinks into you then, sliding into your warmth, murmuring in your ear. Your mouth falls open, “Even after all this time, you take me so well,” his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, “I love you.” 

His name is a prayer, his touch is your salvation, as his nails dig crescents into the curve of your hips, “Missed you so much—” his own snap against you harder, deeper,  “needed you so bad. I love you. I love you.” 

“I want to feel you cum for me, sweetheart,” his fingers skim your clit, and that’s it. You come apart underneath him, veins no longer filled with blood, but with pleasure. His hips stutter as your muscles flutter around his cock, still fucking you through your orgasm, as his fingers make you jump against him, “Say my name,” he growls, as your arms wind around his shoulder, tugging him closer, closer, closer, “say it.” 

 And you do, just as he cums inside of you with a groan of your name in your ear, nearly collapsing on you. He presses into you, and it’s much too warm, the sticky heat and smell of sex pervades, but you don’t care. Still you tug him closer, chest to chest, as your eyes shut. You feel him come down from his high, his breath slowing. He pulls himself out, and your body mourns his absence. He curls up beside you for a moment, his finger drawing absentminded circles on your thigh. You look at him, a smile pulling at your lips as you find him staring at you. And you press kisses to him — to his shoulder and neck, your fingers sweeping his hair out of his eyes. 

But his gaze still persists, “What?” you ask softly, your fingers tracing his jaw, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your fingertips. 

“Should I keep the beard?” and you laugh, shaking your head, as you lay back on the pillow. 

“I think you should do whatever you want to do,” and he kisses you again, full and warm and happy, “and I think you should definitely take Jack’s opinion into mind.” 

He raises a brow, a smile on his lips, “Will you still make it worth my while?” 

You roll your eyes, fingers cupping his cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, “I will always make it worth your while.” 

Tags: @bucky-of-the-opera, @agenthotchner, @sammy-babes, @hommoturttle, @flightsoffandom, @penelopecult, @good-heavens-chris-evans, @tgibstan, @ssacandi-ass-prentiss, @daddy-hot-chner, @ilytgibs, @spencerreidisgodly, @aquila-leo, @gabile18, @kurtsieforlife, @kinkyassvampire, @aaronelishotch, @spooky-muldy, @thecharmingart, @emma-alysee, @honeyshores, @tegggeeee, @evee87, @missbrightside13, @antmnwasp, @stardust-fray, @pansexualh, @hearmecallinyou, @arabellathorne, @llemmapie, @hecklleandjyde, @anonymous-0tter, @jdougl-love, @musiharrystyles, @spencerhotchner, @purpleturtle31extra, @blatant-attitude, @nuiboo, @shamelesslyf, @just-a-nat, @genevievedarcygranger​, @captain-christopher-pike, @natienerd, @unsocialized-nerd​, @zoerayne2426​, @hp-marvel-starwars-kotlc​, @aannamaria98​, @infj-slytherclaw​, @i-am-addicted-to-tea​, @lghenry4​, @geekgirl007​, @rintheemolion​, @m00sethemurderer​, @justevraimentconfus​, @elite4cekalyma​, @soloriormora​, @b-is-for-brynn​, @willows-studies​, @dreila03​, @skittle479​, @kalexp​, @peachymomosblog​, @retromami​, @ijustwantanapandtocallitaday​, @a-disaster-bisexual​, @daydreamingandbooks​, @joemazzello-imagines​, @wargoddesss​, @pann1247​, @giveusbackourbucky​, @justanotherbrunette​, @1mailefigueroa1​, @yes-sir-hotchner​, @kitachan21​, @smiles1994​, @criminallyfanatic​, @ange-must-die​, @lotties-journey-abroad​, @marvels-agents100​, @criminalmindsgonewrong​, @captain-christopher-pike​, @therestisconfettis​, @asuckerforyou​, @ephemeral-barnes​

[thr-333]

Drastic Measures- Part 1

@daminette-december2019-2020 ​

~Inspiration~

*Emerges from my hole*: oh ho ho~ we have another month of inspiration on our hands!

Next

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

Marinette steps through the portal immediately collapsing; she doesn't drop the transformation until she hears Chat drop down next to her. She calls the transformation of both the Horse and Ladybug miraculous, knowing Chat will close his eyes without her asking, Marinette does the same for him as he calls off his own.

They stay like that, panting on the rooftop. It’ll be sunrise soon, Marinette knows what she has to do.

“He’s moved,” She breaks the silence. Stating the obvious, they’ve known this for months.

“At least he wont be bothering Paris anymore,” Chat laughs, without any humor.

“But Gotham is so much worse,” Marinette groans, “We can’t keep doing this, not like we are, Spots on,”

Marinette stands letting the transformation wash over her while keeping her eyes shut, this will be easier to say without looking at him anyway.

“Chat Noir, hand over your miraculous,” Marinette recoils at the wounded sound he makes, “I have to leave Paris,”

“What? No! Claws out!” Marinette opens her eyes to see Chat, furious and with tears in his eyes, “I’m coming with you!”

She thought he would say that. Probably would have hurt if he didn’t.

“I can’t just ask you to leave your life, your friends,” Marinette chokes up, “Your family,”

“And what about you?!” Chat says with such heartbreaking sincerity, “Who will you be leaving behind!?”

“... Everyone,”

But she had put it off for too long. Hawkmoth slowed his attacks in Paris months ago, they thought he was giving up… then he attacked Gotham. The attacks in Paris stopped. The ones in Gotham were so much worse. She thought… she thought she could keep it up, jumping through a portal every time Gotham needed her. It was the best of both worlds. Her family and friends were safe and she could still defeat Hawkmoth. But nothing was ever that easy. Gotham needed her, completely, with undivided attention. Paris didn’t. Gotham needed Ladybug more than Paris needed Marinette.

“Not me,” Chat breaks Marinette from her thoughts, gently holding her shoulders, “I’m coming with you,”

She should argue. She planned to argue, every detail ever rebuttal. But she was weak. Marinette so desperately wanted him to come. To have someone, anyone there for her. No not anyone she wanted Chat by her side. Her partner through thick and thin. The one who would help her take down Hawkmoth. It was so unbelievably selfish. 

She wanted him with her more than she wanted him to live his life here.

“Chat you realize we can’t tell anyone,” They could make the connection, they would try to stop them, or worse, follow them. If they went to Gotham alone at least they wouldn't have a life outside of this, they could focus wholly on taking down Hawkmoth, and maybe finally succeed, “... we have to run away,”

“Bug a boo that's the fun part,” Chat teases, Marinette couldn't see how leaving her friends and family would be at all fun, “... sorry… I know you’re leaving a lot behind,”

“If you do this-”

“When I do this,” Marinette raises a brow at him, he does it right back.

“We should reveal our identities,”

“Oh no, what a shame,” Chat dramatically ‘faints’, “Damn that makes this so much harder,”

“You know what?” Marinette ‘thoughtfully’ taps her chin, “I can probably find a new Chat Noir,”

“No, no! Sorry,” Chat immediately stands back up, “That’s obviously not why I’m doing this,”

“I know kitty,” Marinette smiles, getting him to relax, “But you need to think this over, I’m… I’m going to go pack,”

“Don’t need to think it over,” Chat smirks, “Claws off!”

“Chat! NO!” Marinette yelps, chiding, before actually processing who it was standing before her, “Adrien?!”

“Uhh, you know me?” Adrien stands there so awkwardly Marinette just burst into laughter, “Ummm,”

“S-sorry it’s it’s just,” Marinette held her sides as she kept cracking up, “Spots off!”

Her transformation fell and at that moment Marinette couldn’t even manage to feel any anxiety at him finding out, the ‘o’ face he made was too priceless. Before she could even think of being nervous Adrien also bursts out laughing, the two ending up as wheezing messes on the rooftop. It took a long while and lots of giggling to calm down.

“Well at least I’m not leaving all my friends behind,” Marinette says to the sky, “That is if you still want to come?”

“Meet you here tomorrow Marinette,” Adrien stands up, offering a hand to Marinette, “Same time,”

“See you kitty,” Marinette waves as they part ways, for now. She had a lot she needed to do today.

Marinette doesn't sleep when she gets home. She searches deep in her draws for that special fabric she put aside. Flips through her sketchbook to find that perfect design she did once. Then gets to work making a pattern. It is well past sunrise by the time she is done. She’s late for school. It doesn't matter anymore.

Not running to class for once she makes sure her parents are free later that night. She’d like to spend all day with them, but Marinette wants to see her friends one last time. She stuffs her bag with all the presents she had made her friends for future birthdays. Might as well give them now. Lila smirks at her as she walks into class, Marinette would usually worry. It doesn't matter anymore.

“Hey girl, I was wondering, Lila said some-” Marinette cuts her off, handing Alya a pile of wrapped gifts.

“Hi, sorry I’ve been busy, kind of went into a design frenzy,” Marinette laughs sheepishly, “I was going to give them at your birthday, but I just couldn't wait,”

“Awe, girl this is amazing!” Alya holds up the jacket Marinette made a few months ago, she hugs Marinette tight, “See I told you, Lila, Marinette's just been busy!”

“Too busy to make me anything, I’m sure,” Lila says, teary eyed.

“Actually no,” Marinette smiles, enjoying the utterly shocked look.

“I made this to welcome you to the class, but then you went to Achu,” Marinette places it down with open hostility, “And, well, there wasn't really an opportunity after that,”

After that Lila has a hard time trying to twist it against her. Even the complaints that the bandanna is so much smaller than everyone else's gifts is weak as it has beautiful embroidery of a fox and ladybug, everyone cooing over how sweet and personal the design is. Back when Marinette actually believed her lie that they could start over and be friends. It also was hard to turn anyone against Marinette as she handed out presents to anyone that walked through the door. Laughing and apologizing for her absence lately, claiming the whole time she was making things for them.

When Adrien came to class they both tried to stifle their laughter. Marinette only gave him one thing, so as not to be suspicious. It would help to have all new clothes when they ran away, she would give the rest to him then. It was a scarf, one she made a while ago with the new addition of a green cat paw in the corner.

Marinette, for all intents and purposes, felt wonderful for the rest of the day. She caught up with her friends, felt closer to them than she had in a while actually. They talked and laughed, Marinette for once not encouraging them to keep quiet, joking along with them, and taking a million pictures. Madame bustier didn't complain much, after all, she had an all-new makeup bag plus more.

It was fun. And the ‘see you tomorrow’ was hollow.

Marinette was dreading going back home. She asked for a special dinner that night, saying she had a special surprise to show them. And special it was, Marinette had made a new dress for her Maman, a more casual version of her wedding dress, with a special Marinette flare, plus a matching outfit for her Papa. They smiled saying it was beautiful, just as they had with her very first design and everything she made since then. They ate together and played video games together.

Marinette asked to look at old photo albums and they spent the rest of the night pouring over them. If she slipped a few out to take with her, neither noticed.

“I love you both,” Marinette hugs them tight, imagining she’ll never see them again.

Even if they do defeat Hawkmoth, Marinette's not sure she’ll make it through the fight. She could be gone for years, or maybe never return to Paris. Marinette didn’t know if she’d ever see them again, this could be it.

“We love you too,” Her Maman smiles, cupping her cheek, “Now go to bed we don't want you to be late for school tomorrow,”

Sorry I will be

Marinette just nods, hugging them one last time before heading upstairs. She packs her bag, full of newly brought or made clothes, clothes for Adrien, food, and whatever cash she had on hand. She leaves a note, saying there's something she has to do, that she loves them both and this is in no way their fault, not to look for her but Marinette doubts they’ll listen. She grabs her bag and the miracle box, saying goodbye to her home and disappearing into the night with Tikki.

By the time she meets up with Adrien Marinette is a sobbing mess. They hug each other. Adrien's not crying but she can sense the deep sadness in him. Tikki hugs her too, getting Marinette to calm down.

“So what’s the plan?”

“Go to Gotham,” Marinette shrugs, that was really the extent of it.

“We have nowhere to go,” Chat hums, trying to act nonchalant about everything, 

“I guess this means we’re homeless,” Marinette shrugs again, she had really only planned this for herself, and none of that seemed like a concern.

“We can find an abandoned warehouse, set up shop,”

“Either way we’re going to be pretty busy,” Constantly on the run, either running from someone or running after someone.

“Well, you know what they say,” Chat smirks, “We’ll sleep when this bastard is taken down,”

“You know it,” Marinette smiles, genuinely this time, “Pound it?”

“Pound it,”

 ---

 “After last week we can indeed confirm these attacks are occurring,”

“Oh sure it wasn't like I told you a month ago,” Jason scoffs, getting glared at by Bruce for interrupting.

“Well you have to admit ‘this guy came and destroyed ten blocks’ is pretty unbelievable when everything’s unscratched,” Tim continues to tap away at his computer, “And now we know the cause,”

The footage was shakily taken from the next building over, partly destroyed. With a bright light everything was fixed.

“Magic,” Dick says needlessly.

“Meta humans,” Batman growls, “Not approved and playing at being heroes,”

“Can we really complain if they fix everything after a fight?” Duke speaks up, “The police didn't even report any casualties, they don’t seem to be rookies,”

“Magic makes them reckless,” Batman shuts the argument down, “More so if they can fix everything, what happens when they can’t?”

“So basically you want them out,” Damian cuts in, there was no point arguing over it for however long, Bruce wouldn't allow them to keep roaming the city.

“Yes,” Bruce fixes them all with a hard stare, making it clear this is an order, “When you come in contact tell them they are to leave or be removed,”

They all agreed. Damian wishes he didn’t have to waste his time worrying about some second rate wannabes thinking they could challenge Batman for the protection of Gotham. They couldn't. What did they have that Batman didn’t?

 ---

 A lot was the answer. 

Or this particular new villain. It didn’t make any sense, usually, first time villains were easier to deal with, but no, here Robin was watching as Batman fought a losing battle against them. It didn’t help that they were brainwashing civilians, turning them against the rest. Robin was given very specific instructions not to harm them. Hard when they had no such orders.

Robin barely processes that Batman is thrown through a building before the main villain is turning to him. At least he could use more drastic measures with the actual villain, unsheathing his sword Robin lunges. He trades a few blows, unfortunately doing less damage than the villain can do with a singular super powered punch. With super strength, magic and Gotham citizens being steadily taken over this was looking more like a Justice league threat by the second. Everytime the villains should be down for the count they got back up, Damian couldn't find their weakness.

Robin knows he took a wrong step as the villain doesn't rush forward to take advantage but shoots out a beam, the same one Damian had just watch turn a civilian against the rest of his family. And he has no leverage to dodge. This would be so much worse than the civilians, setting his strength against the others? Without concern for killing them? Would Damian remember?

“Watch out!” A wire wraps around Robin, yanking him out of the way. He falls at someone's feet the wire slipping away, he can hear it whirling above him. 

Damian sits up, looking to who grabbed him, ready to fight if necessary, and- Loses his breath.

She's standing over him protectively, a makeshift wire shield repelling the beams that had been causing them so much trouble with ease. Like it was second nature. She looks down at him and smiles so gently, without a hint of fear or worry. Promising she has everything under control.

There's something to be said of Batman's intimidating, steady nature. It can put people at ease in its own way and be even more effective at cutting down enemies with a glare. But this? This is warmth, assurance, a steady appearance more in line with Wonder Woman yet still completely it’s own.

“You alright?” She holds out a hand for him.

Damian snaps out of it taking her hand startling at how she actually lifts him up without any effort on his part.

“Chat you ready?”

“Ready my Lady!”

My lady? Who’s Chat?

His answer comes a second later as a spotted container comes crashing down, fracturing the street. In an instant, the wire wraps around the container a hundred times over.

“Now!” My Lady commands.

“Cataclysm!” Chat yells out, the container crumbles under his touch, wire moving in to constrict around the villain.

The villain thrashes, still being able to send out beams wildly and with their minions closing in. Chat breaks off to fend them all off while Robin tries to catch his breath, Batman still in the rubble of a building. My Lady can’t hold the villain back and fight at the same time. Damian struggles to stand up and help her.

“Lucky charm replay!” 

Robin cringes at the bright light then watches as another spotted object falls into her hands. It’s a bent tube she looks around for a few seconds before holding it up. Damian rushes forward as a beam races towards her and she makes no effort to dodge. She catches it with the tube sending it back to the villain, it hits them square in the chest with no effect. Lady nods to herself before doing the same with the next beam. This time robin watches as it misses the villain, grazing their ear and sending their ear peice flying off.

“Chat!”

“On it!” Chat Noir catches the earring from midair, calling cataclysm again turning it to dust.

Damian watches not willing to let his jaw drop as the hideous villain transforms into a normal civilian. It’s such an intriguing sight that Robin startles when something flies towards Chat Noir snatching a purple butterfly from the air and pulling it back to My Lady. A few seconds later a white butterfly is flying out a… yo yo?

“Bye bye little butterfly,” She waves the glowing white butterfly away.

That was so cute

“Who are you?” Batman demands having just recovered, motioning for them to circle around them.

“Uh, your welcome,” Chat Noir scoffs, helping the previous villain up.

“I am Ladybug, this is my partner Chat Noir,” Partner? “We’re the previous heroes of Paris,”

“Paris has no heroes,” Batman glares at them, civilians around them still closing in Robin turns his defenses towards them.

“Then that makes the past what six? Seven? Years really awkward,” Chat Noir looks at Ladybug who shrugs, a civilian takes a swing at her she dodges smoothly before throwing the pipe in the air.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” Now Robin's jaw does drop as a thousand glowing ladybugs swarm around the nearby buildings, maybe all of Gotham not even leaving a scratch behind.

“Why are you in Gotham now then?” Batman recovers first, civilians nearby blinking back into reality.

“Hawkmoth has moved his operations to Gotham to feed off the negative emotions here,” well there’s plenty of that here “It makes his Akuma more powerful and we can no longer continue to operate from Paris,”

“Then he’s in Gotham now and is my problem,” our problem “I can handle this,”

“Well you did a great job of that,” Chat Noir rolls his eyes, leaning on his staff, “How's your back by the way?”

“Chat Noir,”  Ladybug scowls, then turns to Batman, “You can’t and it’s my responsibility as Ladybug and as guardian of the miraculous,”

“What's that-”

Nightwing is interrupted by a beeping from Chat Noir's ring.

“It would be that, we have to go now,” Chat Noir salutes moving to leave, they tighten their circle surrounding them.

“You will leave Gotham,” Batman demands, this time its Ladybugs turn to glare she tsks and rounds on him, not managing to seem that threatening in her brightly colored costume.

“You don’t know who Hawkmoth is, you don’t know what Akuma are, you don't know about the miraculous, you have no clue about the guardians, you hadn't heard of whats been happening in Paris for years and you don’t know who we are or what we’ve done,” Batman is shocked under the forces of the heroine's righteous fury, “There are things going on here that you don't understand, we are here to stay until hawkmoth is defeated,”

Robin watches as she leaves a shell shocked Batman behind dissapering into Gotham’s night with her partner.

Inspiring

 —-

 “And why can’t they be in Gotham?” Damian demands from him yet again.

“No metahumans,” Bruce sighs, Damian had been unreasonably stubborn on this front, “They only cause more damage,”

“Actually they repaired a lot,” Damian leans over the desk to glare over that him, “And saved you,”

“Go to bed,” Bruce demands, Alfred busy patching up his wounds. Damian scoffs before storming out of the cave, still half in his robin uniform, “Whats wrong with him?”

“I couldn’t say, master Bruce,” Usually for Alfred that meant he knew exactly what was going on. He tied the final bandage before holding the phone out, “There's a call for you,”

Bruce shrugs on his shirt before answering. It wasn't the phone reserved for business so at least it wouldn't be that big a pain in the neck.

“Bruce,”

Never mind

“Talia,” Bruce growls, going to glare at Alfred who had already made himself scarce, “What do you want?”

“Oh please I’m not up to anything sinister,” Bruce can just imagine her waving him off with a smirk, “This time,”

“But you still want something,” Bruce acknowledged, sinister or not she can cause a lot more trouble without being out too.

“A missing person case, a friend of mine got in touch, her daughter ran away yesterday, l thought it would be right up your alley,”

“Why would you tell me this,” There was obviously more to this, there always was with Talia, “And more importantly why do you care,”

“Oh because she’s Sabine's daughter,” Bruce freezes, a million case files and reports flashing through his mind, none of which outlined a daughter let alone a family, “Surely you’ve heard of Sabine?”

“... We’re on the case,”

“Great, good luck~”

Now he has to worry about potentially one of the most dangerous assassins in the world on the loose. A shift in the shadows catches his eye before disappearing. Great. And now the whole family knew, or would soon.

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

Taglist? nope don’t have one, horrible at keeping track of them sorry~

[seoafin]

i think gojo and geto (ESPECIALLY gojo since he’s out on overseas missions the most and needs some spank bank content) like to take videos during sex, not necessarily of your face but of your body.

like videos of them thrusting into you, scooping their cum with their fingers and stuffing it back in, running their hands down your body, cumming on your stomach or back, rubbing your thighs (if you’re wearing thigh highs, they’ll snap them against your skin), a single hand moving from gently wrapped around your throat and moving down to outlining your collarbones with their fingers to cupping your breasts... after sex videos of all the hickies and bite marks on your skin.

their favorite videos are probably of when you’re in lingerie... pulling and snapping the straps, slowly pulling your panties and recording as they go down your legs.

not to mention when you’re all fucking. geto recording as he slams into gojo from behind, as gojo is in you... holding gojo by the back of his neck in one hand and the other with his phone with the flash on. or having you record while you sit on getos face while gojo rides him.

stuff like that, ya know.

reading this first thing in morning literally made my brain short circuit i was like 93e02jireowjeiwo?!<<><:L<L;>????

amateur pornos!!! obviously they have no intention of releasing it. they’re the only ones that get to see you like that. honestly, the videos aren’t very good (the camera movements are jerky and sometimes centered on a random waving dick or body parts or sometimes the phone is abandoned altogether and the only thing you can hear are moans and flesh against flesh and your shaky cries) but they do the trick. the videos are varied and a portion of videos are dedicated to your face as you’re sucking geto or gojo off, the video taken at either a down angle or from the side, where it’s easier to see how your cheeks hollow out and the bulge of their cock in your throat, although gojo and geto both prefer the videos where you’re peering up at them, teary eyed.

other videos just include your face which is a mixture of drool, tears, and cum right before you orgasm, and you’re embarrassed at how many videos there are of the same thing even though gojo swears that he treasures each and every one of them and geto says that there is a difference. geto’s favorite is the one where his hand is around your neck and loves watching the way you tear up and cum when he lightly squeezes, your lips mouthing his name. gojo’s favorite are the facials, his or geto’s cum painting your face and lips. he’s also very fond of a video of geto face fucking you with his fingers, gojo’s cum on your tongue and glinting on his knuckles.

there are some trained solely on your bodies, mostly the markings made by them and the cum on your thighs, neck, breasts, nipples chafed from their teeth. there are pictures of geto’s muscled back, your and gojo’s nails raking red lines down his back. videos of geto’s ass as he fucks gojo, or vice versa. videos where geto sucks hickeys on gojo’s thighs before taking his cock into his mouth. gojo films geto eating you out (also vice versa), focusing on your wetness on his lips and the curve of your body arching up, your hands buried in geto’s hair. sometimes when you take them both, none of you can focus on taking a video and the phone is thrown on the bed.

i bet there are some funny ones on there too (mostly taken by gojo) like when geto’s cum is still warm on your face and gojo aims the camera on flash right in your eye and nearly blinds you. you think you might KILL him.

[gilgil-machine]

you know even having experienced all the media gil is in and read all his character materials... i still have no idea how his clairvoyance works lol. like it's supposedly always active he just usually represses it? or tries to? so like it's based on how in the epic he has clairvoyant dreams representing the future, and it seems like maybe in fate too his dreams give him the clearest view of stuff or something since he references wanting to find his dream tablet. and then nasu said like the reason why it doesn't allow him to win certain fights is that he rejects the possibilities he doesn't think make sense like him losing lol. so does he always see a bunch of futures at once constantly? or something? or are just small immediate things he can see clearly without purposely trying like when he plays chess against rani in ccc? it's one of those things i want nasu to explain more along with the whole thing with his charisma being "almost like a curse"

Honestly, I have also been thinking quite a while about that, and I just don't know where to start with this (so I deeply apologize for my ramblings) and I also wish that Nasu brought a bit more light on this but I guess it's a mystery or an open question that nobody can give a clear answer. Like, I don't really know the particular reason why he does restraining this power, but I have a few headcanons/theories:

it's just too boring for him to always being able to kinda foresee the future, so he decided to give himself a challenge;

he's too arrogant (like you mentioned before) to even listen to these "prophecies";

he doesn't want to overload his brain with information because you can clearly imagine that having all these premonitions after making each step can be too much to handle even for Gil.

Also, I like to imagine that he doesn't just have clairvoyant dreams but he also gets like a prophecy flash, like, when you remember something and it just hits you with a picture of the moment, you know, and his eyes also doing that thing like in fate zero.

Also, it says that his clairvoyance works in a way that he doesn't predict the future but he can see the different paths and possibilities of various parallel worlds (basically he can do the Doctor Strange kind of thing) but he can't fully see them because:

he's restraining this power for whatever reason;

the mud of the Holy Grail blocking him "the view". Like the moment in fsf that he tried to see the events from Fuyuki Grail War but the only thing that he saw was the fishing moment from Hollow Ataraxia or that he didn't know the real reason behind the Holy Grail War and the true identity of the Holy Grail;

and his arrogance (again). During the moment in fate zero when Kirei said to him that Tokiomi gonna use his command spell to make Gil kill himself, I like to think that Gil was shocked not because he didn't know about that, but because he didn't want to believe in this nonsense, you know.

And he always can see the right move when it comes to games like chess, cards and etc. But I was always wondering can you outplay him in video games? Because it's not that easy to foresee stuff while playing video games, right?

Also about his charisma, I think it's a curse because of his mood swings, you know. Like, when he feels bored he would just use his charisma to fuck somebody up or whatever, just to see what happens. Like in the situation with Kirei, Gil just gave him "the shovel" and showed him the path, and Kirei started to "dig out" his sceletons that he tried to hide all this time and accepted his true sadistic nature.

[spicy-dunkaroo]

Stuck by Your Side (Part 1)

♫Now Playing: “Stuck by Your Side (Part 1)” by Spicy Dunkaroo…♪

❀Word Count: 2.5k

❀Rating: PG 13, 18+, Minors Do Not Interact (please)

❀Genre: Mythology AU!, Kelpie! Tamaki Amajiki, a pinch of Angst, very Fluffy, Maybe Smut (Still not sure yet)

❀Summary: Due to your job, you’re forced to visit a beautiful city in Scotland in order to get some reconnaissance on the locals. While on this trip, you grab a drink with a coworker and return home where you begin to notice strange things happen.

❀Warning(s): Cursing, Mentions of Alcohol use (Characters are aged up), and Mentions of Depression

❀Author's Note: Hello everyone!! This will be my first collaboration with the BNHarem server (Of hopefully many more). I hope that if you enjoy this story that you also go ahead and check out the other talented artists/writers that participated in this server collab here. I am beyond grateful to be working with so many amazing writers and artists that have helped me and inspired me to start writing!! I would also like to ask that if there are any warnings I might have missed, please do let me know. The last thing I want to do is have anyone read my story and get triggered because I didn’t properly put the warnings here.

Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy :)

☟❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀☟

Birds singing, leaves crunching, and the wind singing in your ears was all you could hear as the tour guide went on with their one-sided conversation of tour around Inverness, Scotland. If it weren’t for your worrisome supervisor, you’d be in the cute little cottage that you rented for the next few weeks, probably playing on your switch or watching Tigtog videos for hours on end. But noooo, they mandated that everyone had to go on this hour-long tour of the city to “get a nice perspective of the city” or whatever the hell they were rambling on about.

Each person was assigned a partner for the tours so they didn’t have to worry about anyone getting abducted or ‘lost’. Knowing better, you visibly rolled your eyes as your partner looked around like a kid in a candy store. Apparently the woman was from the marketing department as well, her name seeming to leave your memory as you squinted in her direction.

“You forgot my name again, didn’t you?”

“Pfft- no- no way!”

“Yea? Then what is it?”

“Uh, erm...It- it starts with a H, I know that!!”

“It’s Hoshi, or if you’d like to continue with formalities, Ms. Tenmei.”

Hanging your head in shame you look away. Getting lost in your thoughts once more, Hoshi taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, no worries! I’m pretty bad with names myself. How’s camera duty going?”

Saying this, the woman grabs the camera from your grasp, turning it back on to see the pictures you had taken thus far. Whistling, Hoshi looks back at you, noticing the lack of enthusiasm that was painted across your face.

“I know this tour is the last thing either of us want to do, but the quicker you get all those pictures for the portfolio, the quicker we can get out of here and grab a drink. It’ll be my treat if you can get all of them before the end of the tour.”

Nodding your head, you grab the camera back from her, beginning to focus it on a nice view of the lake from the bridge the two of you were standing on. Before you can snap the shot, the tour-guide’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts as he begins to speak about a more interesting topic.

“It’s said that this lake has a kelpie spirit living within its waters. Although, that can be said about any lake that’s big enough to swim in.”

As most tourists begin to talk amongst themselves, you grip onto the expensive camera once more, hoping to find that perfect shot you had before the man’s shrilling voice had interrupted your train of thought.

“Mommy, what’s a kelpie?”

As the little boy spoke, you took the chance to snap the shot as a bird flew on the lake's surface, leaving a black blur on the perfect shot!

‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’

The tour guide you grew to despise butted into the pair’s conversation to answer the boys question.

“That’s a good question kiddo! It’s said that the origins of the Kelpie were originally told as warnings to women and children alike to be alert at all times when not around their loved ones. Despite this, you can ask any local in the area and most could tell you their story of encountering the supposed myth. I suppose we’ll never know till we see one for ourselves. Though, if you’re unlucky enough to encounter such a myth, there’s the chance that you won’t live to tell the tale...”

The boy trembled as he gripped his mother’s dress tighter in his clutch. Your partner begins to scoot closer to you as she whispers into your ear.

“Psst! Hey, what do you think about those ‘kelpie’ hm?”

“It sounds like some sort of folk-lore they tell all the tourists here.”

“Oh c’mon now, you’re no fun! I’d like to think they might not be as brutal as this guy says.”

Scoffing, you shake your partner’s hand from your shoulder as you look into the camera’s lens once more to take another picture.

‘I’m sure it’s all bullshit. There’s no such thing as a shape-shifting kel-��

Thinking this, you suddenly feel your body begin to fall forward as the bridge railing suddenly let out from beneath you. Before you realize it, you open your eyes to see the water's surface only a mere foot or two from your own face, the camera hanging by your neck and grazing the lake, your body beginning to be pulled back to its upright position.

Turning around to thank whoever it was that just saved you from having to pay for the company camera, you look to see nobody behind you. Nobody seemed to even be around you as you see Hoshi following behind the group of tourists, leaving you in the dust. You begin to chase after the group as you shake off the entire encounter.

Shuffling your bag off of your shoulder you threw it into the nearby chair, slumping into the couch that was adjacent to the chair. You began to hum to yourself as you felt the effects of the beer contest you had with Hoshi who you now knew was your supervisor. Thinking to yourself you remember losing that contest the two of you set up.

‘It was nice of her to pay for us and to bring me back home even though I lost. I should thank her tomorrow and try to pay her back if I can.’

Suddenly feeling the effects of the liquid courage, you stood up a bit too quickly, reaching your hand out to the couch you were just laying on. Not sure what to do, you reached for your phone to scroll through Tigtog, that was until you began to hear something strange. From what you could tell, it sounded like a voice, though you weren’t sure if it was male or female. Curiosity began to take the lead as you stood upright once more. Looking around, you began to walk around the cottage, seeing if there was anything on that could be making that noise. Eventually you found yourself outside in what looked to be the backyard of your little cottage, swaying side to side as you tried to listen for the voice once more.

“Y/N? Are- are you there?”

Under normal circumstances, after hearing an unknown males voice you’d already be locking the backdoor behind you after racing to that door. Tonight, however, was not the case as you yelled back the best you could of a response.

“yYeaa! Wwwhooo- whoo arre yOU?”

After saying this, you suddenly began to burp, probably due to the alcohol. Despite everything you had experienced thus far, for some reason your fit of burps could not be funner to you at that very moment as the voice spoke once more.

“T-That’s not important r-right now. I just wanted to make sure you made it back home safe.”

The liquid courage that coursed through your veins decided that you wanted to find out more about this stranger and began to walk into the forest. You began to sway as you attempted to find them, calling out to them in hopes of convincing them to stay and hang out.

“OoooOh c’mON now!! Don’t be liiiike that! Wh-wherrrreeee are ya? Le-le-let’s hanggg ouT for a bit! I-I *hic* think there’s cards in the liv-livingg roooom~! We- we can play a gggame of poKER and- and see what’s in the fridge. Man, now I’m hungryyy!”

Despite your lack of sobriety at the moment, you began to hear a few leaves crunch nearby. It appeared that for some reason or another, what you lacked in logic you seemed to gain in your basic senses. This theory proved true as you sniffed the air, you noticed that there was a lake nearby.

‘Since when the hell did I know what a river smelled like?’

Before you can continue on with your train of thought, the stranger responds once more. They seemed a bit panicked as you heard a twig snap, followed by more leaves crunching beneath their feet you suspected.

“D-D-Don’t come any closer! Y-You should go back h-home, you’re not t-thinking rationally.”

Not wanting to take no for an answer, you continue to walk to the source of the sound, hearing what sounded like a cascading river growing louder. Looking through the trees, you noticed a few yards away the river you had just heard. You speak up once more as you begin to walk toward the river.

“I-I don’t want to be alone r-right now… It-it’s stupid I know, I just...I’d just like to talk, just for a little bit. Would that be okay?”

Your vision began to blur as you rushed to the river's edge. It didn’t matter now if the stranger responded or not, your world began to crash down around you as you looked at the reflection on the water's edge. Sitting on your knees, small whimpers escaped your lips out as you covered your face with your hands. Despite the literal lack of sight, your emotions consumed you as it felt that everything around you was losing the light that once shone in your hopeful eyes.

At this point, you couldn’t hear any signs of life as you gripped harder at your face, only the sound of your quiet cries for help being all that echoed through that hollow forest. Assuming the worst, you began to move your hands from your face, dropping them by your side once more as you looked at your reflection once again.

“Y-You said you wanted to talk? T-That’d be fine, just- just promise you won’t cry anymore?”

There's a beat of silence, it seemed that not even the wind could speak as your body froze. Sure, you could convince yourself that you were just hearing things, that you were just acting aloof because you were feeling lonely. If you could get yourself on the couch, you could wake up and even tell yourself that the whole experience was just a really surreal dream you had. What you couldn’t convince yourself was the half naked man that appeared to be standing a few feet behind you, his voice matching his lips as you watched them move.

‘Maybe- maybe I’m just seeing things? That-that has to be right, right?! But alcohol doesn’t cause hallucinations and I’m positive that none of my drinks were spiked. So- so...Who the hell is this!?!’

“Are- are you okay Y/N?”

Your body grew stiff as you heard your name roll off of his tongue. If you weren’t getting clearheaded before, you definitely were cold sober now. Those shy indigo eyes that seemed to stare back at your own off of the river's surface as they brought you back to your senses.

‘There is a strange, half-naked man, who somehow knows you by your name, staring at you- talking to you! He doesn’t seem very intimidating, but then again he is a stranger!! In the best case scenario, he could just be a nice guy who found someone in need. Worst case, he’s a psycho that found their next victim! I can’t keep my back turned like this, I have to do something and get the hell out of this!’

Taking a shallow breath in, you swiftly turn your entire body around, facing the stranger that now made your body shiver in fear as you looked up at him. Despite the appearance of the situation, the man seemed to be intimidated by you as he looked away.

‘He doesn’t really seem like he wants to hurt me. If anything, he’s scared of me? Maybe I can intimidate him to leave me alone? Though, I don’t think I could pull it off seeing as I’m still a bit drunk…’

“Y-Y/N?”

Looking back at the man, you notice he begins to reach his hand out toward you, slowly beginning to walk toward your crouched form. Worried for the worst, you scoot away as you respond.

“H-HEY!! D-Don’t come any c-closer! If-If you don’t I-I’ll- ACK!”

Speaking this, you only now notice that there didn’t seem to be any more ground beneath you as you felt your body begin to fall into the river.

“Y/N!”

Before you can process everything that’s happening, you close your eyes in anticipation for the cold water that was bound to drown you. The stranger grabs your wrist, holding your body up above the river, your body mere inches from being submerged in the cold water. Noticing the lack of impact, you flutter your eyes open as you look back at the man before you. Shocked, the man looks down at where he grabbed your wrists. Only now do you notice a purple hue that surrounded both your arms.

“What- what is this?!”

At a loss for words, the man can only look back between your face and where he held your wrist. Confused and scared, you rip your arm from his grip as you stand yourself back up. As you stare at the man, you look around, befuddled by whatever the hell had just happened.

While a part of you would love to ask what just happened, the more logical side of you knew that none of this was worth hanging around to find out. Dusting yourself off, the man speaks up once more as he looks away in what seemed to be guilt.

“Y-Y/N, I-I’m so so-sorry!! I-I didn’t mean to t-touch you- What have I done?!”

Not wanting to wait any longer, you began to shuffle around the man, holding your hands up in surrender as you attempted to empathize with the man. Although, you weren’t sure why he was so worried since he didn’t seem to do anything besides whatever that purple glow was moments before.

“Hey, hey! We don’t have to speak about any of this. I’ll go back and after that we won’t have to ever see each other ever again, okay?”

“Y/N, i-it’s not that simpl- h-Hey, WAIT!!”

Before he had a chance to explain, you sprinted back to your cute rental cottage that you were now wishing you never left. Looking back, you notice the man just stood there as you were almost home.

Suddenly, your body stopped moving. What was even stranger, your body seemed to freeze mid-sprint. Looking around, you noticed that somehow your head was able to move but your arms were stiff as you attempted to force your body to run once more. Just as you were about to give up, your legs moved once more, wobbling as they felt gravity work once more. Not taking any chances, you began to dash once more. Not a second later, your body rolled forward from some sort of large and heavy impact. After your body finished rolling forward, you noticed that you were sitting in the backyard of the cottage, the man sitting on his head as his body laid against the door.

“W-Who or-or What are you?”

The man sighs as he flutters his eyes open, rubbing his head as he looks up at you.

“M-My name’s T-Tamaki Amajiki, and- and I’m a kelpie…”

~End of Part 1~

[adorethedistance]

The Best-Worst Day - Roommates!Owen and Charlie x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: Depressive episode

Words: 1194

Summary: Bad days are manageable when Charlie and Owen are the best roommates a girl could ask for.

Today has been quite possibly the worst day I’ve had this year. It all started when I woke up. I was still alive much to my dismay, but not only was I alive, I was exhausted. It wasn’t the good kind of exhausted either like when you stay up too late binging a new show or talking to a friend. No, I got the same amount of sleep as always and just woke up tired.

Since my classes don’t require cameras on, I did everything in bed, sad and cold and stressed at the workload. After my classes, I was still too restless and empty to do anything so I laid in bed and watched Kurtis Conner become a magician because that’s a great fucking video. It didn’t make me feel better like I thought it would, so I ventured up to the kitchen for a fresh bottle of water and some chips because I ate the last of my lunch for the week yesterday.

Returning to bed, I watched Trixie get ready for the Streamy’s but accidentally fell asleep for two hours, so now I’m behind on homework. Depression naps are a temporary cure and a long term stimulant, so I’m caught in the middle of minor relief and major self-sabotage. Following my accidental nap, I recalled my mother’s philosophy that water fixes a lot of things, and opted for a warm bath. It wasn’t until I was settled in the suds with shampoo in my hair, that I finally didn’t feel hollow. A mountain of tears flooded my eyes, and I began to sob. Silently crying into my hands, I felt crazy. If someone asked me why I was crying, I wouldn’t even be able to tell them. I don’t know why I’m heaving.

Crying always makes me exhausted and dehydrated but I can’t be bothered to solve either of those problems at the moment. Once I dried myself off, I got dressed in my favorite pair of leggings, fuzzy socks, and a pink sweater that I’ve had since high school. The pop of color in my outfit inaccurately reflects my mood and I think about laughing at the irony.

Then I figure I should probably eat something other than chips today, and I went upstairs to make ravioli, knowing the guys would be home at any moment.

Living with Owen and Charlie is an adventure of its own. They give the best serotonin boosts by being crackheads, but on days of depressive episodes they’re not always the most observant. I hope today they’re tired from filming and I can take a backseat in the energy department.

“Y/n!! Does Harry Styles not have four nipples?”

“That’s insane, Owen. That’s not a real thing, tell him that’s not a real thing,” Charlie hollers from the entrance where the two of them are removing their shoes via my permanent request. I sigh out a last breath to conceal at least some of my bad mood before they stampede into the kitchen.

“Literally just google a picture of him shirtless you’ll see for yourself! Right, Y/n?” I nod as a reply to Owen’s question before straining the pot of ravioli. My nonverbal reply clues the two of them in, and the volume level drops vastly lower than it was before.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” I croak out less smoothly than I would’ve desired. When I set the pot back on the stove I look up to catch Owen and Charlie exchanging a peculiar look. “What?”

“Have you been crying?” Charlie asks as he stands in front of me. I simply nod, not trusting my voice to hold up again. I don’t feel like answering questions or conversation right now, but I know these two aren’t the type to leave things alone. Pouring the ravioli into three different bowls, I pray they don’t comment on the fact that their bowls are fuller than mine. I don’t wanna explain that I’m forcing myself to eat anything at all today.

It’s only been four months of living together, but Owen and Charlie can tell when I’m having these kinds of days. I don’t know why I insist on trying to hide it from them. Peering over the countertop, Owen clocks I’m wearing my comfort socks and knows exactly what kind of day I’ve had.

“Hey…” Owen beckons me closer and I let him pull me into a hug. Charlie joins in, cuddling me between the two of them. I feel myself trying not to cry and failing. Failing miserably. I got my big cry out earlier and softly weep into the comfort of my friends. It is so exhausting to be alive and it is just so exhausting to be mentally ill. I haven’t cut myself some slack in so long that I’ve burned out to a crisp.

“You want to talk about it?” I shake my head ‘no’ at Charlie’s question because I know I have nothing to say.

“Are you actually hungry?” I nod ‘no’ once more, sniffling away the last of my tears. Brushing a tired hand down the back of my head, Owen practically peels me off of him to tell me he and Charlie will eat all the ravioli in a record time. The thought places the smallest smile on my lips, and Charlie says to go grab my favorite blanket and curl up in his bed. Charlie has the biggest bed since he got the biggest room and as a result we use it for movie nights when I feel like this. It’s better than our tiny couch on days like this.

After a few minutes of waiting and praying that the commotion upstairs didn’t result in them breaking anything, I see Charlie enter and begin to change into pajamas. Owen has already done the same and plops next to me on the bed.

“Which comfort movie are we watching today?”

“I wanna watch High School Musical.”

“This isn’t about you, Charlie!” Owen fake yells. As Charlie slips a t-shirt over his head, he jumps onto the bed, tackling Owen in the process, smothering him next to me.

“Stop it, both of you! We’re watching Newsies... You idiots.” Charlie stops suffocating Owen via my request, and settles into the left side of the bed placing me between the two of them. The sound of the overture music prompts me to lay my head on Charlie’s shoulder after taking Owen’s right hand in both of mine.

By the start of “That’s Rich” I feel my eyes begin to droop after fighting it for so long. I’m bordering unconsciousness when I feel Charlie’s soft breathing dust the surface of my face.

“Is she asleep?” I hear him whisper to Owen.

“Yeah.”

“Can we watch High School Musical now?”

“What if she wakes up?”

“We can change it back if she wants.”

“...Okay. Can we watch the second one?”

“I wanted to watch the first one.”

“But the second one is so good!”

“We should ask Y/n which one is better.”

“You want to wake her up to ask which movie we should turn on instead of the one she picked out?”

“...Yes?”

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13​ @kaitlyn2907​ @itz-jas​ @crybabyddl​ @kcd15​ @kinda-really-lost​ @calamitykaty​ @morganayennefertyrell​ @n0wornever​ @yikesgillespie @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @mrstodorooki​ @vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys​ @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker​ @lovesanimals​ @thebloodthirstyvampress​ @bumbleberry-pie​ @losers-club6​ @dmcfarland1​

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi!!!!💘 here have another “ian processing things” ficlet inspired by this post i saw today by zo @grabmyboner <3

(contrary to zo’s amazing post, ian does not have a new instagram in this to fuel the slight angst🤕)

--

He was having a weirdly good morning when it happened— it was Sunday, and he and Mickey had woken up late tucked together in a warm cocoon under the sheets, legs tangled and bodies pressed close, with Mickey breathing out huffy, just-waking-up breaths into Ian’s neck that tickled his skin until Ian had rolled onto his side and playfully shoved him away.

They’d laid under the sheets for what felt like hours, lazily scrolling on their phones, with Mickey letting out puffs of air through his nostrils in a silent chuckle every time a particularly outdated and stupid meme came across his Instagram Explore page— and of course Ian had to combat Mickey’s intense glee at holding up dumb Instagram memes too close to Ian’s sleep-bleary eyes by clicking open his own phone and thumbing over to the pink and orange app on his home page, to try and find some other stupid shit that would make his groggy half-asleep husband laugh.

It was then, when he opened the app and passively flicked over to his notifications, when he saw the memory:

See your post from 6 years ago today.

Before Ian even clicked on the thumbnail of the picture, before he touched the pad of his finger to the blurred, too-small image beside the words bolded in black, he felt the telltale tightening creeping into his chest— the one he couldn’t really explain most of the time, the one that snuck in and left his heart rattling and pounding against the walls of his ribcage despite the shaky, measured breaths that he tried to sip in and out to fight the rush of feeling.

But out of curiosity, or maybe a little bit of self-sabotage, he clicked on the image—with Mickey still obliviously smirking at his phone screen beside him in the bed, his free arm draped casually across Ian’s chest. So Mickey didn’t notice, really, when Ian pulled up the full post on his own screen— a pixely photo, taken on a now-outdated iPhone in the hazy darkness of the Fairytale.

Ian’s pale skin, the strobe lights bouncing off of it, was the only really visible item in the foreground— and in the shadows behind him, a group of unfamiliar faces. It didn’t even really look like him— his heavy-lidded gaze was murky, definitely hopped up on some bizarre cocktail of drugs quickly taken in a dirty bathroom stall with shaky hands. Ian— Ian in the photo, Ian at the club— was leaning sloppily against the chest of a grey-haired stranger in a dark button-up; glitter on his hollow cheeks, a barely-there mesh top, smudged eyeliner almost masking the purple shadows under his eyes. A black feather boa wrapped tight, too tight, around his neck— an older man with his hand snaked around Ian’s waist, another with his fingertips tangled in the end of the boa.

The tightness was still there, a rubber band wrapped snug around his chest. Aside from the shame and disgust swirling somewhere in his gut at seeing this stupid fucking picture, the thing that Ian felt most was the annoyance welling in him, thick and heavy— what fucking person couldn’t look at a picture of themselves being a stupid teenager? What type of person still felt the aftershocks, like fire and ice and fucking bee stings swelling under his skin, just by looking at a fucking old Instagram post?

“Hey man, are you good?”

Mickey’s phone was now face-down on the blanket, his body twisting under the sheets towards Ian. His eyes flickered to the phone clenched tight in Ian’s hand, undoubtedly searching for the reason that Ian’s heart was thrumming just a little bit too quickly under where Mickey’s hand was still limply resting on his chest.

Ian tried to swallow down whatever was in his throat, whatever was on his tongue. “It’s fine. Just thought I deleted all these old pictures and shit.” And despite that, he couldn’t really look away. “I guess I only got rid of the ones with the sleazy comments. And the videos or whatever.”

Mickey’s brows furrowed. They both weren’t really social media aficionados— if anything, they’d only really gotten into it recently, after the wedding and the move and needing some way to keep the rest of the Gallagher clan plus Kev and V in the loop about their various gardening endeavors and pictures of Baz sleeping, and to see Lip and Tami post baby pics of Freddie and his new little sister. Ian had rebooted his old Instagram account, the one he’d made in his final moments of high school and posted heavily-filtered pictures with Mandy on before joining the army. When he’d started working at the club back then, the Instagram quickly became a place to drum up business, to post specific photos and to flirt with clients in the comments— and he thought he’d deleted all of them when he redownloaded the app, keeping the pictures of a freckled 15-year-old Ian and removing the rest up through youth center brunches with Geneva. Apparently he’d missed this one, and all the memories that could come flooding back with it— and neither he nor Mickey had really noticed.

Mickey’s eyes stayed frozen to the screen— cautious, thinking. “Just fucking delete it, man.”

Ian thumbed over the red delete button, sending the picture into some sort of pixelated oblivion. But even that couldn’t really scrub the image out of his mind— the fingers pressed into his hip, the scratchy feathers tangled around his neck, the now-heavy boulder lodged in his chest. He ran his free hand through his hair, trying to ground himself in the face of whatever weird floatiness he was feeling—tugging at it, just a little.

“Hey.”

Mickey reached over— gently plucking the cell phone out of Ian’s white-knuckled grasp, placing it beside his with a soft thud on the bedsheets. Running his own hand through Ian’s hair— a hand that was gentle and slow, a hand that slightly dulled the buzzing in Ian’s brain, soothing the pain at the roots of his hair.

“Sorry.”

Mickey opened his mouth to protest Ian’s apology, but the words kept spilling out. “I don’t know why seeing stuff like that still makes me feel like shit. It’s like I forget it actually happened.”

He was healthy now— he was stable. He had an apartment with his husband, and a dog, and a savings account. How could he feel so fucking good one second, be laying in his bed from Ikea under a fucking duvet next to the love of his life, and feel so shitty in the next when he looked that version of himself in the eye?

It was stupid— it was so fucking stupid, but the feeling didn’t stop. He closed his eyes— he tried to focus on Mickey’s fingers, still scratching a slow pattern onto his scalp.

“You’re okay, Ian.” He let himself release a slow breath as he absorbed Mickey’s words. “You’re not there anymore. You worked fuckin’ hard to get here.”

Ian forced his eyes open. Mickey squeezed his wrist, tangled their fingers.

“I wish I could erase all that shit.” He hated how thick his voice sounded.

“You already did, Gallagher. Look where the fuck we are right now.” Mickey gestured to their white-walled apartment, their minimalist furniture.

Ian breathed out a throaty laugh. “Yeah. I guess.”

Mickey pressed a quick peck of relief to his temple, and Ian felt the warmth of it trickle down his spine. “You don’t gotta think about that shit anymore. It’s still gonna be there— but you’re filling everyone’s fucking Instagram feed with fucking tomatoes these days. You definitely ain’t the same person you were back then.”

Ian felt the corners of his mouth creep upwards. “You love my tomato pictures and you know it. And you love my captions even more.”

Mickey rolled his eyes— and leaned in close, settling again against Ian’s chest.

“Yeah, I guess I fuckin’ do.”

[ave-aria]

Rewind

Ectober Week 2020 Day 3: Rewind Summary: Maddie can't believe what she's seeing on the security tape. In shock, she hits rewind. Tags: Reveal fic, Blood, Angst, Implications of character death, Tragedy, Trauma, Oneshot

-

Rewind.

Maddie keeps her eyes on the tv screen as the figures wind their way backwards to the start of the video. She won't look away. Can't. Doesn't dare.

If she looks away, she'll have to focus on something else. The quiet, dusty lab around her. The uncleaned ecto-weapons by the door. The green blood smattered on the blade.

The hollow, empty house looming over her head…

The video hiccups a bit as she hits the start of the feed. Old VHS tapes are odd like that, buzzing out with static where the film wore thin from too many pauses and restarts. It's a sign she's hit the beginning. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

It was an old security tape, filched from the lab. Onscreen, three teenagers, her son at the lead, slip into the camera's field of view. Maddie leans closer, enraptured by the movement, even though she's seen this moment enough times to have it seared into her brain.

Maybe, if she focuses hard enough, she can learn the secret - how to rewind her own mistakes, go back to a time when none of it has happened, just like in the video.

"Whoa, check it out! This thing's huge! I can't believe your parents built this!" A pause, while the kid adjusts his glasses. "Bummer that it doesn't work though, dude."

"Damn. Was it really supposed to open a portal to the underworld?"

"It's 'The Ghost Zone,' Sam. And yeah. My parents were pretty heartbroken when it didn't work. It kinda just… fizzled out. I hope they're not too upset."

The detached, clinical angle of the shot doesn't do the moment justice. Danny'd always been such a kind boy, thoughtful and empathetic to a fault. Maddie's throat closes up a little, leaving her struggling to breathe. They had been upset. Unbearably so. Their life's work - as Danny put it - fizzled out before their very eyes. It'd been a hard loss to take, one that she and Jack might never have recovered from, had the Portal not miraculously started working on its own, days later.

God. Now she almost wishes it hadn't.

A bright flash draws her from her reverie. Maddie blinks at the screen. A camera flash. In her distraction, she's missed part of the video; Tucker's casual "Lighten up, dude,", Sam's request for a photo op, Danny grabbing a hazmat suit to pose with while she dug the device from her backpack.

"—Got it," Sam waves the printed Polaroid to air out the negative.

"Okay. I showed you the portal. Can we get out of here now? My parents could be back here any minute."

Where had they been that day, anyway? Maddie wonders. Grocery shopping? Visiting the park? Moping, as they tried anything to get their minds off of their most recent failure? If they'd been there —

If they'd been there—

"Come on, Danny," comes Sam's voice, treacherous in its fascination. "A Ghost Zone? Aren't you curious?"

Danny looks into the Portal, clutching the custom white suit made specially for him. Sam smirks, knowing. "You gotta check it out."

Maddie hits pause.

Rewind.

"You gotta check it out."

Pause. Rewind.

"You gotta check it out."

Rewind.

"—gotta check it out."

The remote feels cold and heavy, like ice in her hand. In that moment, a selfishness grips her. She could blame Sam. For all if it. Everything that happened, it all started here, and it started because—

—But she can't blame Sam, because the next moment, Danny turns back, his eyes sparkling with an adventurous spirit. It's a spark of curiosity, brimming at the thought of the unknown; a look she's all too familiar with, one she's seen often on her daughter's face, her husband's - even her own, in the mirror.

"You know what? You're right. Who knows what kind of awesome, super cool things exist on the other side of that Portal?"

That curiosity, it's a Fenton trait, not one that needs to be stoked like a fire. That spark's been burning within him, since the cradle.

"Don't go in," she whispers, as if her advice could change the course of history. Even if he could hear her, though, it would be no use. He can no more resist the call than he can resist breathing.

He pulls on the hazmat suit. Skintight, white with black edging. It's like staring at a photo-negative. Watching her son, Maddie's stomach twists.

How couldn't she see it before?

"Alright. I'm going in." He says. His first footsteps echo, loud, in the hollow of the blacked out Portal…

Maddie's breath shudders in. She grips the remote and, before she can stop herself, hits the button.

Rewind.

She watches as her son walks backwards, double-time, out of the entrance to the Portal. The panic that gripped her fades.

"Mads?" From somewhere up above, echoing down the staircase, comes her husband's voice. Maddie is glued to the video screen, and almost doesn't hear him. Regardless, she definitely can't answer. What would she even say?

"Maddie?" His heavy footsteps echo in the stairwell, trudging closer. "Are you down there?"

A hitch in the tape. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Drawn by the sound, Jack trudges the rest of the way down the narrow staircase. She feels a slight reverberation in the floor when he reaches the landing behind her. She doesn't turn around.

"The police called back. Officer McNally said he'd file a missing persons report, and they promised to keep their eyes open. But—" she hears the way uncertainty causes his voice to die in his throat when she doesn't turn to greet him. After a long moment of silence, he draws up to her side. "What are you watching?" he asks at last.

"It kinda just… fizzled out. I hope they're not too upset."

Question. He'd asked a question. Maddie swallows and struggles to answer. "Security tapes," she chokes out.

Understanding, an incomplete kind, dawns on Jack, and vigor jumps back into his bones. "Mads, that's brilliant!" he booms. "Why didn't I think of it? He comes into the lab all the time! We can use the security tapes to see when he last—"

"I found this tape in Danny's room," she interrupts.

Again, his voice falters in confusion.

"Under the bed," she elaborates, as if that will help. And continues watching, detached.

"Can we get out of here now? My parents could be back any minute."

The flickering light of the tv fills the lab, ominous in its glow. Jack hesitates. Maybe he's picked up on the subtext by now. Maddie can picture his eyes drifting from the staticy screen to the items in front of it, scattered across the table. He reaches out fro the shoebox sitting beside the tv. Taped to its front, written in the cursive, unmistakable scrawl of their son's handwriting, is a note that reads:

'If I Never Come Home'

"Maddie, what is this." Jack's voice is uncharacteristically heavy. Looking to her for guidance. For answers.

For once, she has none to give.

"Watch," Maddie whispers, still trapped by the screen. Automatic, her fingers hit the button.

Rewind.

With no other options to grasp at, he does.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Watches as the kids approach the Portal.

"Aren't you curious?"

Watches as their son zips up the hazmat suit.

"Alright, I'm going in."

Watches as he disappears into the empty cavity of their greatest invention.

Click.

Watches as it thrums to life, with a scream.

"Da—Danny no!" Jack yells in tandem with the two remaining teens. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, to stop the agony onscreen. "He's not - when did he -"

"It's old, Jack," Maddie whispers. "From when the Portal started working."

Jack spins to stare at her. "You mean - Danny's the one who—" he's visibly struggling with the information, the same way she did, on her first viewing. "But—he never said—"

Right, Madie thinks. He never said anything. Jack's confusion is laughable, though. Why Danny never told them—that much is painfully clear.

"Guys?" Over the yelling and the panicking and the electric cackle from the Portal, their son's terrified voice cuts through the din. "G-guys help, what's happening?!"

Tucker and Sam are black silhouettes stumbling backwards from a swirling green glow, but they freeze and scramble to right themselves, lurching forward to catch someone as he stumbles through the gate.

Phantom - Danny - emerges from the portal, falling to his knees.

"…No," Jack says. Disbelief is thick in his voice. "That can't be… no."

Maddie lifts the remote.

Rewind.

A flash of light. A curdling scream. A shock of confusion, panic, scramble.

Danny Phantom stumbles from the portal.

Jack stares for a long time. Then he reaches out, snatching the lid of the shoebox for a second look at the evidence. The note, accusatory, stares back at them.

"This is how he tells us." Jack doesn't often whisper, but it seems like he can't do anything else. Her husband looks at the empty shoebox, the screen, the VCR. "Our son is Danny Phantom, and this is how he tells us. I…" he trails off.

Maddie almost can't believe it, how easily Jack arrives at the conclusion. It took her twelve viewings for her to wrap her mind around it, and it still hasn't really sunk in. But then, that's always been Jack's strong poing - those intuitive leaps of logic. Ones every scientist both loathed and envied.

"Did it kill him?" he moves seamlessly onto the next question that tripped her. Somehow, Jack's voice is even quieter this time.

Maddie shakes her head no. If they watch the video long enough, about ten minutes in, Danny manages to change his way back to human. If their invention did kill him, it wasn't permanent. Not that time, at least.

She's too close to thinking about it.

Rewind.

"But—" she can't stop Jack from thinking, though. He barrels on, heedless of breaking the fragile grasp Maddie has on her sanity. "But if all this time — Phantom—"

A hitch in the tape.

"We've been—"

Press play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

"—Don't tell me we've been trying to waste our own kid—"

If Maddie weren't so detached, she might laugh. Waste. God, he can't even say it.

"Trying?" she asks instead. Bitter, the word sticks to her tongue.

She's not looking at the tape now. She's looking at him. And Jack, oh, Jack, he just stares down at her, a dark horror growing in his eyes.

He whips around to look at the bloodied weapons sitting at the base of the stairs.

Exactly where they left them two days ago, after that nasty ghost fight. When they came home to find a broken house, their daughter crying at the kitchen table, and their son just - gone.

"No." Jack backs up a step. "No no no no no no no—"

A flash of light. A curdling scream—

In an instant, Jack is moving. He snatches up weapons, whatever he can find, and bolts for the staircase, vaulting his way up to ground floor. Distantly, Maddie hears the doors slam. The RV thrumming to life. The screech of tires as Jack peels out of the driveway.

In the cold wake of his departure, Maddie turns back to the tv. She should go after him, she knows. But she's not quite done watching. Jack's always been a man of action, after all, but she's the analytical one, who studies, who marvels, who gathers the facts she sees.

Phantom, onscreen, slumps against his friends while he drips ectoplasm to the floor. He stares down at his white-gloved hands, his glowing green eyes wide in shock. Maddie wonders if he knew, then, what would become of him. What his parents, who raised him, who swore to protect him, would do.

She can't face those questions. Not yet. Not yet. Instead, she lifts the remote.

And rewinds.

A good scientist, a rational scientist, never draws conclusions while she's still gathering evidence. So as long as she's still watching—

A hitch in the tape. She's at the beginning. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

As long as she keeps watching, she doesn't have to do anything with this information. All she has to do is watch.

So she watches. She rewinds. And she plays. She can't look away—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here—"

She doesn't dare.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down h—"

All she can do is rewind—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let y—"

And rewind—and rewind—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if—"

Until she finds evidence contrary to her theory…

"Mom and Dad would kill me—"

Or she finds Its inevitable End.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Rewind.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

-

[AO3] [FFN]

[woahitslucyylu]

Tip.

credit to @nerd4music​ for the GIF. 

Author’s Notes: Frands. This is filth. Pack a pair of panties and read it twice! Love you, sleazies! xo

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The clubhouse buzzed with life - smoke billowing from blunts and cigarettes as pool balls clicked together and heavy beats vibrated through the house. 

“Ante up, motherfucker.” Angel mumbled through his tight lips as he pulled hard on a blunt. He squinted at the worn playing cards in his hand as he watched his brothers place their bets. Despite the noise, the vibration of a cellphone rolled through the table as cards were shifted in play. 

“Hermano.” It’s you.” Coco jerked his head towards the bright screen - initials and a sweat drops emoji revealing the caller. Angel crushed the blunt in the ashtray as he stood, “Night, brothers.” 

Angel stood in the cool night air as he watched his phone ring until your name faded and the screen dulled. He held his breath, exhaling as the phone brightened - your pattern consistent - a call, a text, and if Angel held out long enough, a picture and a video to remind him what was waiting just for him. 

Daddy. 

One word. 

He read it in your voice. His bulge hardened at the thought of you - he took a long drag of a fresh cigarette, the nicotine numbing the edge. He shouldn’t indulge you. He already spoiled you beyond what he had ever done for any of his other arrangements. Another wave of nicotine brought a wave of dominance - he should punish you. Edge you until you cry and leave. He’s capable of worse, but he has a soft spot for you. 

The vibration buzzed in the quiet night - the yard clearing out slowly. Angel rubbed the cigarette in the sand - the toe of his boot leaving stamps under his weight. 

“Goddamn.” His shock audible as he stared at his screen. Your knees were pulled to your chest - your breasts pushed under the pressure, but the aerial view of your glistening pussy made his heart drop. 

Be there in ten. 

The Harley rumbled to life under Angel as he pulled out of the scrap yard - dust blowing in his wake as he sped onto the street. 

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Angel took the stairs two at a time as he thundered up the narrow stairs behind the carnerica. 

When Felipe rented out the apartment above the shop, Angel was indifferent, but when your toilet flooded the bathroom and he met you frantic and wrapped in a towel - he suddenly became hyper aware of the honey living above the shop. 

He knocked sharply as he rocked back and forth on his feet. He heard the locks twist and drop. He had installed two more locks after you had called him tucked in the bathtub, whispering about boogeymen and bumps in the night. 

You opened the door slowly - your body clad in a short silk nightgown, “Hey.” Your voice was breathless as you raked your eyes over his hulking frame. You felt flush as he raised his eyebrows, “Are you done, mami?” He sauntered towards you - eyeing you like prey, licking his lips as his eyes focused on your thighs - soft under the laced edges of the gown. 

The predatory gaze left your insides fluttering as he pushed you into the couch. His close proximity left you panting as he folded your legs - pushing her knees into your chest - recreating the picture you had sent him so bravely. 

“There she is. Did she miss me?” A single finger slid over the glistening mound - your breath catching as you wiggled under his tight grasp. “Ah, keep that same energy you had when you asked for Daddy to come.” He pulled your knees apart - lewdly spitting on your slit as he sank further to his knees - “Your pussy is so pretty. Did I ever tell you that?” His eyes, half-hooded, stared at you as you laid still - paralyzed  with his boldness. 

“Ah!” The smack was sharp against your thigh and you hissed in shock. “What do you say?” Angel slid one finger between your wet folds, curling the tip across your velvet walls. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” You stared down as he slid another finger into your heat - your pussy clenching as his thick fingers pushed into you. The cool metal of his rings burnt your sorching core as he scissored his fingers inside you - your whine was stretched as his free hand plamed your breasts, massaging you roughly. 

“I knew she missed me.” He watched his fingers slide in and out of you - covered in stickiness as you wiggled your hips. Your knees relaxed, going slack, as his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit - your muscles weakening at his touch. 

“Ah!” Your thigh stung - the harsh slap making your leg jiggle as he stilled his fingers inside of you. “Pick ‘em up.” His request punctuated by a flex of his wrist - his fingers stretching you. Your hands grabbed your thighs weakly - your grip weakened by the euphoric feeling rushing through your body. 

“I said hold your legs, mami.” His heavy hand slid over your throat as his fingers began to move inside of you once again. The tightness of his grip and the feeling of being full left you rolling your hips against his fingers as you mumbled his name. 

“Already, querida?” Angel mocked as he licked his fingers - his gaze burning into your sated form. “How many more can I take? One, two, three?” His words tumbled onto your skin as he pushed the gown up - palming your breast as he took a waiting nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirled the bud into a harden peak as your back arched, pushing your chest into his mouth. “There you go. I knew you would come back.” He pulled back - draping his kutt over the coffee table and started to undress as you watched him - eyes heavy from lust. 

You sighed heavily when Angel dropped his shirt. He was gorgeous. Tall, chiseled, and he worshiped in the temple of you - using every gift to bring your body to pleasure time and time again. Somewhere between him teaching you how to squirt and the first time you spent the night together, you had fallen hard and fast and you couldn’t stop yourself from sinking into Angel. 

“It’s so beautiful.” Your compliment was genuine as your fingers traced the smooth skin of his penis. Every part of Angel was exquisite and his dick was no exception - heavy, thick, and slightly curved - your pussy clenched at the thought of him ruining you. 

Angel lit a blunt as he stood above you, “Earn it. Show me you deserve this dick.” The smoke billowed over you as you spit on him - your hand sliding over each vein as you flattened your tongue against his tip. 

“Damn, bitch. Do it just like that.” He inhaled again as he watched your cheeks hollow and your throat fill with him. “Fuck, swallow my shit.” The words were choked out as the smoke slipped past his pursed lips. Your throat burned from the stretch as you bobbed back and forth. Saliva dripped from your mouth as Angel thrusted into your throat, “Your mouth is almost as good as your pussy. Stand up.” Angel snuffed the blunt in the ashtray as he turned you - your back pressed into his tall frame. 

His mouth left wet, hot kisses on your neck as you rubbed against him - feeling him against your bare ass. “Get down.” He pushed his pelvis into you - sinking your knees into the couch - your back arched before him. 

You bounced your ass in front of him - rolling your hips as you glanced over your shoulder, finding Angel staring intently at your jiggling cheeks. His hands pressed into your plump ass - his fingertips pinching your skin as he spread you lewdly. He slid himself against your swollen folds - his cock glistening with you. The feel of his tip against your clit made you rock back - seeking that filled feeling. 

“Sit back.” He pushed forward. As his tip slid past your lips, you sighed - even after weeks, the stretch left you whiny as he stilled inside of you. “Go all the way to the tip.” Angel commanded as you rocked back and forth - gripping the couch cushion as you brought yourself to his tip each time. 

“All the way to the tip.” His words were strangled as his eyes stayed glued to where your bodies were connected - your pussy gripping him as you pushed against his hips. The burn in your belly felt familiar as you sped up, your ass bouncing against him as you chased your orgasm. 

“I said all the way to the tip.” His hand landed sharp against your thigh, stilling your ride, as you slid all the way to the tip of his dick. “I don’t care how good it feels. Do what Daddy says.” Angel’s hand wrapped through your hair - pulling the strands with his ringed fingers. “When I said the tip, that’s what I fucking meant.” The way he held your body left you defenseless to his assault as he shallowly thrusted - pulling his dick back and forth from your wet heat. 

Your breathing became erratic as Angel’s torturous strokes left your pussy dripping, “Please, Daddy. You feel so good. Please let me come.” You bent back, leaning into him, as he pushed into you - each thrust touching that sensitive spot. His mouth found your exposed neck - hot kisses falling against your glistening skin as you lazed against. The pad of his thumb pressed against your clit and you cried - tears swelling your eyes as you fell forward and arched - begging for him to ruin you. 

“There you go, mama, Give it to me.” Angel’s smirk was heard in his voice as you cried, gushing against him - a flood running down your thigh, “Thank you, daddy.” It was a mumble as you collapsed into the cushion - your body weak against his thrusts. 

“You welcome, bitch.” His hands held your hips in a bruising grip as he slipped in and out of your swollen lips - your cream covering his dick as his hands pulled at your breasts - pinching your nipples as he came inside you. 

Whimpers escaped your lips as he eased out of you - the sight of him leaking out of you sending stars across his eyes. You slid onto the couch - curling your legs into you as your eyes fluttered. Exhaustion running over you as Angel ran down your legs. 

Angel loved you the most after he fucked you. Your skin radiant, your features soft, and eyes heavy with love for him. 

“I got you, querida.” The humor in his voice is not completely lost in your hazy state. He padded down the hall, returning with a warm cloth. His touch was gentle - a contrast to the tight holds and smacks from minutes ago. Pulling on his boxers, he bent to pick you up - your face instantly nuzzling his neck - addicted to his unique form of aftercare. 

“Scoot your sleepy ass over.” Angel hovered over your body as you scooted - making room for his hulking frame. “Will you order food?” You melted into his frame, “I’m hungry.” A yawn escaped as you let your body relax. “Take your ass to sleep. Daddy will take care of you.” A soft smack to your ass brought a sleepy smile to your face.