#hope the poor guy is doing well he sounds delightful

[coleblackblood]

"This man was friendly to someone I know who he has engaged with multiple times and gave us free food and drinks as thanks for eating there and for one of us being a regular ugh how creepy - he clearly just wanted to feel in power" Lady what the actual fuck kind of mental gymnastics did you have to do to reach that conclusion?

[bbyobbyo]

Everyone thinks Vernon is always at your place because you feed him. While you can agree it's mostly true, there might be more to it than meets the eye.

content: fluff, f2l, mentions of food

wc: 1.6k

notes: me taking a stab at writing lol. i also don't know how tumblr works. inspired by the fact that this man will eat everything in sight regardless if its someone else's food or not. i'd love to cook for him someday ❤

6pm on the dot. You don't even have to check to know who it is.

"Hey, Sol." You look up from the pot you've been stirring to greet your visitor who let himself in. Your apartment's passcode was practically muscle memory at this point.

"Hey, smells good in here," he comments while taking off his shoes, "I mean — it always does but you get it." You give him a little chuckle in response.

You hadn't been friends with Hansol for very long, but when a mutual friend decided to introduce you two to each other, you instantly hit it off. The whirlwind of a friend group you now shared was filled with strong personalities and quirks: Seungcheol was the self-proclaimed "dad" of the group but you'd swear he would whine and complained more than the rest of them combined. Seungkwan, the one who always had a sassy quip to share, but would be the first to cry at Disney movie nights. There was Jihoon, who showed his love exclusively with acts of service but is so tsundere he would rather die to admit he had any kind of emotions besides annoyance. Not to mention Soonyoung, who made it his mission to convince everyone that he was a tiger. No one knew how this bit started but everyone finds it entertaining nonetheless.

Amongst them all, Hansol was just a dude. A normal guy. As funny as it sounds, that's what made you two click so well. Not that he didn't have his own aspirations (and his own fair share of quirks!), but he had always been the sort of person that was along for the ride. Although a little bit clueless at times, you could tell his heart was in the right place.

"I brought dessert, by the way," He plops a plastic bag onto the kitchen counter, his cheekbones pushed all the way out in a smug grin, "hope you like it."

"Aww, Sol you didn't have to!" delight in your eyes as you wipe your freshly washed but still wet hands on your pants and scurry over to peek inside the bag. "Oh my god, this is that tiramisu from that bougie place, isn't it?! I heard the wait times were, like, over an hour. You're insane for this, thank you so much!" You're practically beaming as you put the dessert in refrigerator, promptly turning around to give him a hug. His hands automatically reach around your back as you bury your face into his chest. Man, he will never get tired of the way you smile at him over the smallest things.

"You're always feeding me, so it's like, the least I can do really" he murmurs as you let go, his own smile spreading across his face when you look up at him.

Right. Your relationship with Hansol was rooted in the fact that you both loved food. Cooking food in your case, and eating it for him. It was a match made in heaven, really. In the beginning stages of your friendship, you always noticed how he would always ask for bites of other peoples' food, the way he would eye a bag of snacks if anyone dared to bring them out, the "you gonna finish that..?" that would inevitably follow the conclusion of every meal. The guy was a human trash can with a black hole in place of his stomach. So really, was anyone surprised when Hansol practically attached himself to you that day you brought in those homemade baked goods for the friend group?

After that day, the rest was history. His insatiable hunger and the lack of his own cooking skills (poor dude would be consuming toast everyday if he didn't eat out) made him worship the ground you walked on whenever you fed him. In turn, his enthusiasm for your cooking and willingness to give honest feedback on your experimental recipes made him a regular guest at your apartment, much like today.

Hansol would be lying if he said he didn't feel like he was taking advantage of you sometimes, no matter how much you insisted that it wasn't the case. He always tried his best to chip in for your groceries or pick up ingredients when you didn't have time. He didn't even mind the way his friends teased him for being at your place more often than his own or the fact that you gained your own nickname among the guys as his personal chef. He was happy with your little arrangement, and it also helped that you were so easy to be around.

"Hey, can you help me set the table?" you say as you push a stack of plates and tableware toward him. Your attention is quickly pulled away again as you go to plate the food you've been laboring over the past hour.

The routine is a familiar one: sitting down across from each other with a wide array of dishes and sides in between. You always make him take the first bites; "I already taste tested everything as I was cooking, silly!" you would say, eyes focused and hands tucked under your chin eagerly awaiting his reactions and thoughts.

Today's meal was a hit, as it usually is. Hansol could count less than a handful of times that he didn't love your food, and even then he still ate everything despite you telling him that it was okay if he didn't finish it.

The next part of the routine, however, rivals even the food in his eyes. Both of you are glued to the chairs chatting away, even when all the food is long gone and empty plates remain on the table. Between you two, there was always something to talk about. Tangents turn to into more tangents turn into "remember when we…" turn into "we should totally do…" Hours can pass by before one of you even remembers that there was dessert in the fridge, and even more hours before either of you get up again to go wash the dishes. When that happens, you simply carry the conversation to the kitchen except this time with the gentle running of sink as background noise.

You were like a breath of fresh air from the chaos of his main friend group and someone he felt entirely comfortable with. Except lately he's been wanting to see you more and more. He would catch himself staring at his phone hoping a text from you would pop up, asking him to come over again.

He's embarrassed to admit that you have never hung out one-on-one outside of the walls of your apartment. It was an unspoken boundary that you two saw each other under the pretense of food, a boundary that he increasingly would like to cross.

You're not even looking at him, attention focused on scrubbing away at the pot in your hand, still talking about that awkward encounter with your neighbor yesterday. But the longer he stares at you, Hansol thinks to himself — have you always been this pretty? He traces every part of your form, from the micro expressions you make with your eyebrows as you talk, to noticing the little strands of hair by your face that escaped the ponytail you put it in, and the way your left sleeve is slowly slipping down your arm and in danger of getting soaked.

"...so screw me if I thought that it was none of his busine— Sol...?"

Before he even knew what he was doing he found himself abandoning his plate drying duty and sliding behind you at the sink, your back pressed against his chest as he grabbed your sleeve and gingerly rolled it up your arm once again. Just as he thinks you can't get any more gorgeous, his world stops when you turn your head around and he finds your face inches from his. The way your eyes glisten into his own makes the split second feel like an eternity before pulling away.

"S-sorry if I scared you, just didn't want your sleeve to get wet." adding a nervous chuckle to the end as he returns to the stack of tableware he has yet to dry.

"N-no! It's okay! Thank you for that!" you stammer back, trying not to look him in the eyes to hide the very obvious blush that spread on your cheeks. "Ahaha... yeah so anyways, what was I saying again?" Without missing a beat, he replies "you were talking about how your nosy neighbor thinks we're dating because I come over so often."

"Oh, haha, right..." your voice is barely above a whisper, a chuckle dies in your throat as you realize you've been scrubbing an already clean pot for 5 minutes now. You sigh as you turn off the water and start drying off your hands to put the dishes back in their places.

"I don't mind," he says after a thoughtful pause. It takes a second for you to register the words. "Sorry, what?"

"I don't mind if he thinks we're dating."

You feel like the hearing comprehension part of your brain just reset. "Wait, wha-"

"I think it would be kinda nice actually... if we dated."

After a second too long of silence from you, he was the one with panic with his eyes this time. "B-but only if you want to! Shit, uh, sorry I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. Just forget I said anyth-"

He's interrupted by your arms snaking around his neck. "You're hopeless, Sol", you say as you press a light kiss to his lips. "I think it would be nice if we dated, too."

[lesbikaiser]

lkahgilf heyyyy, was wondering if you could write smth kinda freaky with shidou and a trans guy reader ? its ok if not !! praise kink would be nice :) but also feel free to like go wild with it idk i just need more trans rep in bllk fics

it's boypussy thursday are you boypussying 🫵🏻

im still recovering from my last shidou post so im sorry if this is too short :( also i took so long to post it omg but i hope you like it just as much as ive enjoyed writing ><

first time im giving a pussy pronouns and it's he/him im so happy omg!

IN MY HEAD shidou would be delighted if he ever found out about the term 'boypussy' and would overuse it and be like dead serious about it

fem aligned people and cis guys please dni >< transboys and nbs born with a pussy you're welcome!

it's late. late as in a few hours past midnight late. the tiny rocks on the sidewalk you find yourself kneeling on slightly hurt your covered knees, the jeans of your pants doing little to protect your skin from the harsh ground – however, you can't really mind it when the feeling of shidou's dick stretching your throat fills up your senses.

the street is deserted, not a single soul there besides you and your boyfriend and you're grateful for that, because he's shamelessly moaning the loudest he can, the sounds echoing through the darkness and his skin glowing under the poor lighting the lampposts provide.

there are tears pooling in your eyes as you try to breathe through your nose, spit running down your chin and staining your loose shirt when he starts to move his hips, one of his hands resting on your nape as the other digs on your shoulder blade to keep you right where you're.

"such a dirty boy, ain't ya?" he teases, though you know when coming from him, it's most likely to be a praise. "sucking my dick out here, where anyone could see."

you can't stop a whimper from vibrating through his shaft, your tongue rubbing against his slit to savor the taste of his pre-cum, your eyes trained on his not missing when his lips part slightly and he throws his head back, yet another needy moan gracing your ears. you can see the beads of sweat dripping down his neck and disappearing on his collar, he looks so hot like this it makes your inner thighs slippery with arousal, your heavy jeans gluing to them as well as your underwear to your core.

your hands hold onto his toned thighs as he keeps face-fucking you, barely taking his dick out of your mouth before thrusting back, hitting the back of your throat and forcing you to swallow more and more of him, gagging sounds strangled in your chest as you let him use you as he pleases. you know he's close, the feeling of his pulsating veins rubbing against your tongue and the inside of your cheeks giving it away, his thrusts growing more erratic and his pace getting lazy, his teeth sinking on his lower lip when he feels you sucking harder, eager to have his cum filling your mouth.

"–ah, doing so well f'me, such a pretty fuckin' boy with his mouth full of my cock, gonna cum so hard for you– take it like a good boy, yeah?" he's babbling at this point, a whine getting caught on his chest when he feels you cupping his heavy balls, massaging them softly and urging him to come, and so he does.

the hand on your nape keeps you there when he shoves his pelvis onto your face, pubes touching your nose as long, thick ropes of cum spill from his slit, you can barely taste it as you try to swallow everything, some inevitably leaking from the corner of your lips. when he pulls away, you're a mess, spit and cum running down your chin, cheeks stained by dried tears and swollen lips slightly parted as you pant, coughing a little and wincing at the soreness of your throat, your voice surely raspy.

shidou is panting almost as much as you, thumb coming to wipe the fluids off your chin only to shove it into your mouth, your lips wrapping so prettily around his finger it makes his dick twitches, his free hand grabbing your arm to pull you up. there's a string of saliva connecting his thumb to your shiny, swollen lips when he pulls it out, though not for too long before he's fumbling with the button on your pants to push them down your legs, your hands immediately coming to grab his as you squeal his name; he must've gone insane.

however, your efforts do nothing to stop him, he's still shoving one finger inside your boxers and running it along your soaked folds, whistling when he feels you drooling onto his palm.

"c'mon, im sure this boypussy of yours can't wait to have my dick fucking him here on the outside."

[dovkss]

Dumb Bitch

word count: 5.8k

summary: after you pine after him for so long with no luck, Katsuki finally decides to take you as his; thanks to his best friend.

warning: 18+; mean dom! katsuki; dirty talk (ish); oral (m receiving); rough sex; spitting; choking; breath play; degradation; hair pulling; manipulation; dacryphilia; edging; size kink; misogyny; yandere tendencies; kinda ooc, I was having a lot of fun with this one; kinda dubcon-ish?, reader is drunk for the most part; katsuki is an ass; poor eijiro won’t take no for an answer and ends up getting fucked over bc of it; katsuki and ei are basically frenemies

all characters are aged up !!

a/n: my first published fic on this blog omg !! sorry for any mistakes or anything, I kinda rushed this but I enjoyed making this, hope you enjoy reading it :)

Kirishima stood in the middle of his room with his phone in his hand as a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He knew of your little crush on his best friend and he couldn’t help but want to play cupid. He had the perfect plan, all he needed to do now was execute it. Sure, he knew Bakugou's disdain for you ran deep, but he also couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there could be something more.

Dialing your number, he chuckled to himself, imagining the reaction he’d get out of you. It wasn't long before the ringback tone was cut off by the call connecting. Immediately you greeted him with a voice filled with joy, as usual.

“Hi, Kiri!” you greeted.

“Hey hey! How’s it going?” he asked.

You hummed in delight. He heard tiny giggles in the background. “Great,” you exclaimed. “The girls and I are having a sleepover right now… if you wanna talk to Mina, she’s right here- fuck!”

From the sound of it, you were hit as a sign to shut up. Kirishima chuckled at your guys’ antics. “Well, this is easy enough knowing you’re all in one place! I’m throwing a little get-together this weekend, I want you all to be there!”

It got a little quiet on the other end of the line, the only thing being heard is some shuffling and slight whispers.

“Hmm, who’s all gonna be there?” you asked curiously.

Kirishima smiled. “He’s gonna be there.”

He could almost hear the collective gasp that came from you and your friends. Then it went dead silent. You muted yourself. The redhead imagined your guys’ squeals.

You cleared your throat, going back to trying to act normal, and unmuted yourself. “Count us in, Kiri!” you exclaimed. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

Everything was going to plan. You and he said your goodbyes before the call ended. Kirishima couldn’t help but wear a satisfied grin. He knew he had sparked a glimmer of hope within you. The idea of igniting a connection between you and Bakugou excited him. But it was soon dampened when Bakugou stormed into the room with a couple of cans of soda in his hands.

“What the hell was that about?” he asked.

Kirishima knew he couldn’t lie to him. Bakugou knows when he lies. Bakugou set the sodas on the wood floor and grabbed two cans. He tossed one to his friend and opened up his own. He sat on Kirishima’s bed, facing him, awaiting an answer.

Kirishima popped his soda open and took a sip. The room was filled with tense silence, even if it was for only a moment. “I just invited some last-minute people to the party,” he said.

True.

Bakugou’s vermillion eyes narrowed. His intense gaze radiated intense annoyance. “Who?” he questioned some more.

Kirishima winced playfully at Bakugou’s usual harsh response. He would rather intend to pique the ash blonde’s curiosity rather than ignite his ire.

"Don't worry about it, bro. We'll see everybody there!"

For the first time, Bakugou wanted to be wrong. He shook his head in disapproval before chugging down some more of his soda. "You're a fucking idiot, Kirishima. I thought you knew better than to invite her."

Kirishima squinted at Bakugou. "I get that you don't like her, but you're also being way too quick to judge. Get to know her a little better, she isn't who you think she is."

Bakugou scoffed, his voice filled with disbelief. "You think I would waste my time on someone like her? You should know me better than that."

"I just think that maybe-"

"That fucking shallow, attention-seeking whore. I have no interest in girls like her."

Kirishima's expression softened, his voice gentle but firm. "Not cool, man. She's still my friend," he started, "and I think you watch too many movies. Not every girl that cares about how they look on the outside is some dumb bitch."

Bakugou's scowl deepened, frustration etched on his face. "I don't need you playing matchmaker, Kirishima. I can take care of myself."

Kirishima sighed and raised his hands in defeat. "Fine! I'll let it go!" He then offered a small smile to defuse the tension. "Let's focus on getting this shit ready. We need to go out and buy some cups and food and... whatever else I can't think of on the spot right now!"

Bakugou grumbled in agreement. "Whatever. Let's get this shit over with."

Your shoes clicked softly against the polished floor of the library as you anxiously scanned the aisles of the bookshelves. You were searching for Kirishima and you were in a bit of a rush.

Earlier that morning while you were packing your purse, you realized your beloved wallet, adorned with sparkling rhinestones, wasn't on your vanity. You would never dare forget it; you relied on it because it had every card you could think of in there. And some backup cash.

You rummaged through other bags and drawers, panic rising within you. It was one of your most treasured possessions, something your mother gave you as a gift before you left for college. You desperately needed that wallet, especially now, with an important event just hours away.

Realization struck you like a bolt of lightning. You remembered opening it to pay the pizza delivery man at Kirishima's house the previous day when you were studying with him and the girls. You must've left it behind. You were so stupid!

With a sigh of frustration, you dialed Kirishima's number from your backup flip phone since your main phone was dead. Your fingers trembled lightly as you held it up to your ear, you hoped beyond hope that he had seen it. You didn't expect him to pick up because he wouldn't possibly recognize the number but he did.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Kiri! Hi, how are you? Good? That's great," you greeted eagerly, "um, do you by any chance know if I left my wallet at your place?" You rocked back and forth as you shoved your purse into the front seat of your car, putting your key into the ignition.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Oh, that's yours? The one with a bunch of glitter… crap on it? Yeah, I have it on me right now actually." he said.

You let out a sigh of relief and smiled. "Great, can I pick it up from your right now? I'm kind of in a hurry..."

He chuckled. "Of course! I'll be on campus for a couple more hours, just swing by the library."

With a renewed sense of purpose, you drove to campus. It took you way longer than usual due to traffic, but you made it nonetheless.

You made it to the library and began scanning the room, looking for your friend. The scent of old books filled the air, and the hushed whispers of students studying added an aura of calmness.

You spotted Kirishima in a corner, engrossed in a thick textbook, writing down notes as well, and you made your way toward him. As you approached, your eyes inadvertently fell upon a figure sitting next to him doing the same.

A slightly taller man with spiky blonde hair. You could tell by the way he sat, he was undeniably arrogant. Katsuki Bakugou.

Your heart skipped a beat and a nervous flutter ran through you. You'd heard rumors of his fiery personality. His ability to put anyone who dared to cross his path in their place. You were very curious about him.

"Kiri!" you chirped, flashing a bright smile.

Kirishima looked up from his book and returned the kind gesture. He put his finger up to his lips, reminding you that they were still in a library. You quietly apologized and laughed at yourself.

"It's in my bag, hold on," he whispered. He picked up his backpack from the floor next to him, unzipping it to go through the contents inside.

Your gaze wandered across the library. You tried your best to not look at Bakugou. It was hard not to, though, he was very handsome. Finally, you gave in and turned your attention to him.

You offered a tentative smile. "Hi there! I don't think we've met before."

Bakugou's piercing gaze met yours. He was unimpressed and regarded you as if your presence irritated him. Unbeknownst to you, it did.

Your smile faltered for a moment, but you refused to let his cold demeanor deter you. "I'm a friend of Kirishima's-"

"I know who you are," he responded curtly, his tone laced with thinly veiled contempt.

You felt your cheeks heat up. His voice was so intimidating and so attractive. "Katsuki Bakugou, right? I've heard a lot about you."

His dirty look became more prominent. "Yeah, I've heard enough about you too."

Your heart sank a little at his words. What did he hear? You weren't aware of any rumors of you or anything, and you were kind to everyone. The dummies, weirdos, everyone!

Kirishima chimed in. "Be nice, man," he said as he got up with your wallet in his hand. He handed it to you and you took it from him.

"Thanks so much, Kiri," you said, a sense of relief washing over you. "You have no idea how much I rely on this thing."

He shook his head, his smile showcasing his sharp teeth. "Don’t we all!"

You nodded, your gaze fixed on your reflection in your little compact mirror. "You saved the day, yet again, Kiri. I owe you one."

Ever since then, you got to know more about Bakugou thanks to Kirishima. How despite what many would believe, he's organized, and a clean freak. How much he hates being around kids yet are so great with them. Just how well he can play the drums or cook.

You thought you were subtle but it was obvious that you longed for Bakugou. It wasn't your fault he was everything you wanted in a man.

He had it all. Hardworking, determined, and confident. It was so sexy. The only problem was that he didn't seem interested at all. If anything, he seemed to despise you. To him, you were just an annoying bug that kept coming back even after being swatted at.

You wanted to win him over. When you knew you would be around him, you purposefully dressed a little sexier. Bending over to grab things even while wearing the shortest skirt that barely covered your ass and tight shirts to enhance your chest and waist.

Bakugou didn't even spare you a sympathetic glance. But you kept going. Tonight was the party and this was your last chance. If you couldn't even do as much as strike up a conversation with him, you told yourself you'd give up. You were too pretty for all this effort to be put into a man. But god, he was so hot.

Your anticipation grew as you and your friends approached Kirishima's house. The usually quiet neighborhood was transformed into a hive of activity. Cars lined the streets and the sound of laughter and music spilled from the open windows. What was meant to be a "get-together" had turned into a Project X party.

"Todoroki, could you go any damn slower?" Mina complained, her seat belt already off.

"You want me to run over these people?" he asked. You giggled, knowing his question was literal.

Mina groaned in annoyance, mumbling a small 'no.' Momo was in the front seat next to her boyfriend. "Don't listen to her, she's just a little impatient."

Finally, Todoroki got you guys to the front of the house. You were the first to get out, followed by Mina coming out behind you. Momo kissed her boyfriend. Then gave him another kiss. Then another.

Mina whined loudly. "Oh my god, Momo! He's just going to park the car! He's not leaving you, come on!"

You leave them behind in silence. As you pushed open the front door, the energy hit you like a tidal wave. Every inch of the house was packed with people, bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. The air was thick with alcohol, weed, and the hum of people trying to converse over the loud music.

You looked around, mouth agape. You didn't even notice Mina and Momo by your side. Their eyes widened at the sight before them.

Mina leaned in closer to be heard above the noise. "This place is insane!" she exclaimed, her voice barely audible amidst the chaos.

Momo nodded in agreement. "I don't think any of us expected this. Kirishima sure knows how to throw a party."

Your eyes scanned the room in search of the boy. You caught a glimpse of his familiar red hair through the crowd and motioned for your friends to follow.

It was a challenge to move through people. Your face scrunched up in disgust as the air grew warmer. The smell finally getting to you, it was gross. Sweaty bodies rubbed against you as you made your way through. You gagged. The once cozy house had transformed into something completely unrecognizable.

Finally reaching Kirishima's side, you tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and greeted you. It took you a moment before realizing he was shirtless. And his hair wasn't done how it usually was. It was messy and wet.

"What happened here? This was supposed to be a small get-together!" you asked, evidently in disbelief.

Kirishima laughed. "I know! It got a bit out of hand! But hey, more people, more fun, right? By the way, you look gorgeous!"

You wore a corset dress. The bodice was designed with pretty lacing and the mini skirt boasted a slit on each side. The white set was complete with thick stilettos and makeup that accentuated your natural features.

You felt your face get hot and you smiled, giving him a little twirl to show off your outfit. Kirishima dog whistled playfully and handed you a plastic red cup. You looked inside and sniffed it. Alcohol. Strong, strong alcohol.

Taking what Kirishima said, you and your friends were immersed in the lively atmosphere of the party. You all danced; twirling and spinning, laughter blending in with the melodies as you lost yourself.

With a drink in each of your guys' hands, your inhibitions further dissolved, and you found yourselves caught in a whirlwind of euphoria. You clinked cups, toasting to the night, and gulped down the concoction.

Your mind was no longer consumed by thoughts of Bakugou. The weight of your infatuation was lifted, replaced with a sense of liberation. You reveled in the present moment, finding comfort exactly where you were.

Time lost its grip and you were having fun. By the time you were worn out, your cheeks were flushed and the warmth of the alcohol coursed through your veins, the effects beginning to take a toll on your mind and body. What was just an exhilarating atmosphere now seemed overwhelming, your energy dwindling with each passing moment. Your giggles faded and were replaced with yawns that you couldn't stifle.

Kirishima approached you with a concerned look. He gently placed a hand on your head, stroking your forehead with his thumb. "You are exhausted..."

You closed your eyes for a tiny bit of rest and your ability to hold yourself up became harder and harder. Kirishima shooed away some random person off the couch to make some room for you. He helped you sit up and made sure you were comfortable before going to look for his blonde best friend.

"Bakugou!" Kirishima called out over the music. He approached the guy who sat in the corner of the party, a group of people Kirishima had never seen before was surrounding his friend.

He pushed through the small crowd. "I need your help."

Bakugou blinked at the lack of explanation. "With what?"

Kirishima nudged his head toward where you were sitting. Bakugou's eyes followed only to see your state. You looked sick and stiff, almost as if you were dead. He groaned, taking a swig of his beer. "Not my problem-"

"She's fucking tired! Just help me take her to my room so she can get some rest!" Kirishima's expression didn't waver as he pressed on. "I know we aren't exactly getting along right now, but I can't do this alone."

A mixture of irritation and reluctance flickered across Bakugou's face. His jaw clenched, the internal conflict was visible in his tense posture. After a brief moment, he finally relented.

"If she pukes on me, I'm killing both of you," he grumbled.

Together, Kirishima and Bakugou made their way through the crowded room. Bakugou downed the last of his drink before tossing it somewhere he couldn't see. He watched Kirishima pull you up from the couch, your tired form leaning on him for support and your eyes struggling to stay open.

Bakugou's mind wandered back to all the instances when you had made your attempts to catch his attention. He'd seen your efforts, dismissing them as frivolous and uninteresting. But up until recently, recognition stirred within him.

“F-fuck! Katsuki!”

The boy groaned in response. His thrusts didn’t let up even for a moment. He had her in doggy style, making sure to go deep inside her with his long strokes. His hands pressed down on her hips to keep her in place as her upper half wriggled around in pleasure.

Bakugou was turned off by her horrible acting. It was worse than a pornstar’s. At this rate, he knew he wouldn’t cum at all despite her already cumming for the first time.

The girl wasn’t ugly, she just wasn’t his type. Too vanilla for someone like him. He needed to rough someone up without worry. To grab someone by the neck and push their head into his pillow. To make someone take his big dick in full as they plead for mercy.

You were that someone.

He imagined pulling your hair and lifting you against him, your sweating bodies pressed against each other. How he’d throw you back down and pound into you from behind relentlessly. How you’d look back at him, unrecognizable with your makeup smudged and messed up, his hand rubbing along your back, up and down.

“Please… too big!” you’d bed.

He wanted badly to shake those thoughts away but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes to imagine more of what he’d do to you. Before he knew it, the thoughts set him off.

He pulled out of the girl and stroked a bit before cumming on her backside. She breathed in and out heavily, trying to catch her breath. She also began to touch herself so she can cum a second time

Bakugou didn’t help. He was busy thinking about you. Thinking about your lips, eyes, curves, and smell. You. You. You. He wanted you all for himself. But he knew your type; sweet on the outside, secretly hoping to be given a chance to play others to get what you wanted. He wasn’t going to play that game.

That night haunted him for weeks. When you came around, he went out of his way to avoid coming in contact with you. In his room, he would hear your voice ask: “What’s wrong with him?”

Kirishima would respond: “He’s been this like for a minute, but I’m not pushing it.”

Later that night, after you left, Kirishima knocked on Bakugou’s door. In one of his hands, he had a bowl of food that he cooked the day before.

“You’ve been in your room all day, bro! You need to help me set up!” he said.

Bakugou examined the boxing glove on his left hand. He wiggled his fingers only to realize it was way too stiff. Now he needed new gloves.

“M’ not hungry.”

Kirishima opened the door anyway and approached the boy, putting the dish on his desk. He looked at Bakugou and crossed his arms. "Something botherin' you, man?"

Bakugou huffed. Kirishima may have been a little slow, but he wasn't stupid. He could tell when his best friend is off.

Kirishima sighed. "(Y/n) and I noticed that you've been kinda distant lately. You barely come around anymore."

"Why is she always mentioned whenever we talk?"

Kirishima was taken aback. He raised an eyebrow.

Bakugou finally stood up, looking him dead in the eyes. "It's obvious you have a thing for her.

Kirishima stammered, unsure of how to respond. "I mean- I care about her as a friend, just like I do you. There's nothing more to it."

"You're always by her side, looking out for her, protecting her. Like you're fucking obsessed with her! It's pathetic!"

Kirishima shook his head in disbelief. "Just because I'm being a good friend doesn't mean I have ulterior motives. If you can't see that, then maybe you're the one with the problem here!"

Bakugou's body blazed with irritation. "You're fucking jealous that she pays more attention to me than she does to you."

Kirishima's jaw tightened. Immediately Bakugou knew he struck a nerve.

"Face it, Kirishima. She isn't interested, so back off. You're nothing compared to me."

Without another word, Kirishima turned on his heel, standing tall and steps firm as he walked away from the blonde. "Party is in three hours. Be ready."

Bakugou couldn't help but get another jab in as he listened to Kirishima mumble insults before slamming the door shut behind him.

"Stop worrying about me and start worrying about how you're gonna get your bitch off my dick!"

A wry smile formed on Bakugou’s lips as he recalled the telltale signs that hadn’t gone unnoticed before. Kirishima’s subtle glances in your direction, the way his eyes would light up whenever you entered the room, how his cheeks turned pink whenever you laughed at his jokes.

Bakugou knew his friend wouldn’t admit that he liked you, but he also knew you didn't know. You were nothing but a dumb bitch.

As they reached Kirishima's room, Bakugou held the door open, allowing Kirishima to guide you inside due to your unsteady steps. The room was untouched, bathed in a warm, inviting glow like it always had. It offered a haven of tranquility, opposite of the chaotic activities going on downstairs.

Kirishima led you to his bed, helping you settle down with gentle care. "Thanks. I'll stay with her for a bit. You can head back to the party if you want-"

He was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking. His eyes widened. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He got up and rushed out the door without an explanation, only a ‘be right back!’

Bakugou watched him go and contemplated leaving himself. Then he looked at you, your chest softly rising up and down and you breathe. He sighed and went to close the door before sitting down next to your resting body. He traced his fingertips down the side of your arm.

“You want me so bad, don't you?" he asked. But it was more of a rhetorical question.

Suddenly you nodded softly. "Y-Yeah..."

Oh, you were awake. Bakugou's eyes furrowed.

"More than anything..."

"Then prove it," he growled. "Prove to me that you're worthy of my attention."

Barely conscious, you didn't understand what he meant, but as the alcohol faded, your sense came back to you. Your willingness to do anything to win Bakugou over was back and took over your mind in an instant.

You began to unbutton your shirt, revealing your lacy bra. Bakugou watched you with a cold, calculating gaze.

"You think that's enough?" he scoffed. "You really are a dumb bitch who doesn't know anything."

Your eyes filled with tears. You'd never been spoken to like that before. Yet, something about it made you hot. His coldness and brutality made you rub your thighs together.

"Please, Bakugou," you pleaded.

Bakugou then shook his head as he began to knead your thigh. "Call me Katsuki."

You smiled. Finally, you were getting what you wanted. He saw you. He noticed you. He's into you.

"Please, Katsuki," you whispered. "Tell me what you want me to do..."

His hand kept moving all over your body. Your heart pounded in your chest, scared of what his response may be. But he never said anything, he just eyed you.

Looking you up and down, his index and ring fingers grazing over your lips. Suddenly, he popped them into your mouth. As if it was a reflex, you wrapped your lips around them, sucking on them sightly. He caught you off guard when he pressed against the bottom of your tongue, making you gag. You turned your head, hoping he'd pull away.

Bakugou chuckled. "Get up for me, baby, and strip."

He let you sit up but not before wiping your saliva off his fingers onto your cheek. You slowly stood in front of him, holding onto his shoulders for support. He leaned back, trying to get a better view of your full body.

Slowly you began to remove your clothes. You felt exposed. Way more vulnerable than you ever had before. You avoided his hungry gaze.

"You know..." he began.

You looked up at him, not stopping the motions of getting undressed.

"Kirishima likes you."

You smiled. "I like him too. He's a good friend."

Bakugou wanted to laugh in your face. Your naivety was cute. He decided to be nice and only nodded in agreement. He watched intensely as the article of clothing dropped to the floor. His eyes studied your undergarments. It was a matching set, in pink. Of course. He felt himself twitch.

He sat up and extended his arm out to your cheek, lightly caressing it. "That's not what I meant."

In a flash, he let go of your face to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling it back roughly. You whimper, your eyes shut tight. Your hands follow his actions, trying to pry him off.

"Aah! Katsuki, it hurts!" you winced in pain.

"Awe. Awe, it hurts? Yeah?" he mocked your tone before chuckling. "Can't even handle a little hair pulling."

He stood up, towering over you. He pushed you down slowly to your knees, praising you for your compliance. You shivered due to your bare body being exposed to the cold air.

With his other hand, he unbuckled his pants and unzipped himself. You listened to his pants fall and lightly bit your lip. Suddenly your face was pushed forward, being pressed into something hard.

You opened your eyes and looked up at Bakugou. You could see his rock-hard cock through his clean underwear. It curved slightly to the side and he was awfully big... and long... and thick.

You weren't a virgin but you weren't very experienced either. You'd never seen one so big before. You doubted that you were able to take that in any capacity. Not in your mouth, not in your pussy either, but you wanted so badly to impress him.

You rubbed your cheek against his dick, making him breathe out slowly. Bakugou pushed your head aside, harsher than he expected, and pulled down his underwear. He grabbed you by your cheeks and looked you in the eyes.

You were so beautiful like that. On his knees for him. Under him, below him; where you were meant to be.

Grabbing his cock, he slaps it against your face before pressing it to your lips. You open up, allowing him to smoothly slip it in.

"Ahh... shit..." he groaned as the warmth of your mouth took in his cock. You try to work your tongue around him as best as you could, his cock barely being able to fit in your mouth.

He gripped your hair in his fist as he began to move against your face, making you choke. The lipgloss you wore had been smeared, staining your mouth; your mascara ran down your cheeks as your eyes watered every time his cock slammed the back of your throat.

"Look at you. Eagerly swallowing my cock- fuck! Such a slut," he sighed.

Bakugou began to go faster, not giving you any time to take a break. You'd never been face fucked before, let alone roughly. Your gagging became more audible whenever your nose brushed against his pubes. You needed air, but he didn't give you any time to take a break.

You slapped his thigh a couple of times, trying to signal him. He understood; he just didn't care. Finally, he showed some mercy and pulled your hair back to allow you to breathe.

You gasped and cough. You let out unsteady breaths and it was hard for you to catch up to your normal pace of breathing. This didn't last very long though as Bakugou pried open your jaw, shoving his fingers in your mouth once again, this time reaching your throat. You choked again, more tears falling from your face. He kept his hand there for a few seconds, studying your pathetic attempt to please him. When you began to cough again, he pulled out.

"Impressive. Where'd you learn that?"

You felt your body growing even more tired than it was before. You opened your mouth to breathe, only for him to spit directly into it.

"Swallow."

You obeyed. His saliva slid down your throat with ease as you swallowed, and then you opened your mouth to show him. He smirked and stood up. You watched him lift you onto Kirishima's bed, positioning your head to dangle off the bed, facing the closed door.

You felt his tall, strong body leaning over yours as his mouth explored every inch of your skin. His fingers, still soaked with your saliva, slid off your panties and ran along your entrance. You were undeniably wet, and it was embarrassing. How easily you got wet. Bakugou thought it was adorable.

At first, his fingers rubbed just on top of your throbbing clit. You moan out softly, your hands moving down to his hair, playing with it a little. Your back arched at the sensation, causing him to push down your hips to keep you still.

"Look at yourself whoring out for me. You should be ashamed," he said.

He was right. You should have been ashamed. But... you weren't. You couldn't think straight, all you wanted in that moment was for him to be inside of you.

You lifted your head to watch him only for it to be put back down as his lips came up to kiss your neck. His fingers went faster, and you felt yourself squeeze around him. More moans came out of you as you concentrated.

His kisses, his fingers, his hot breath, his body.

His kisses, his fingers, his hot breath, his body.

Kisses, fingers, hot breath, body.

Kisses, fingers, breath, body.

Kisses, fingers, breath-

"M' gonna cum!" you cry out.

Bakugou faced you, his sharp canines showing as he laughed at you. You threw your head back and he lowered his face to nibble on your neck. You mumbled out incoherent words, on the verge of cumming.

A loud moan comes out of your mouth and immediately Bakugou pulls out. Your eyes widen, looking at him.

"No, no, no," you whined.

He ignored you and slapped his juices-covered hand over your face, pushing your head down yet again. It was too much for you. The pain of the bite on your neck went unnoticed when he forced his hips in between your legs, pulling you against him. He lined up his swollen cock with your cunt, slapping it a little. You moaned as he got himself wet with your juices mixed in with his precum.

He entered you without a warning and you screamed at the discomfort. You put your hands on his chest, whining. "Go slow, please!"

His gaze at you visibly softened. "You want me to be gentle, hm?"

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "Y-yeah... yeah..."

He whined just like you did. "Yeah? You want me to be soft with you? Help you adjust to my big dick?"

You repeated yourself. He smiled, carefully moving some strands of hair from your face. "You're so cute."

He slammed into you, instantly making you wail. His thrusts were slow, but hard. It hurt so bad. You whine in pain as his fingers went down to play with your clit again, laying a couple of smacks on your cunt.

Tears streamed down your face. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything you'd ever felt before. Your cunt was already sensitive, now paired with Bakugou's hand around your throat, and the pain slowly letting up, you felt so good. You were in heaven.

Bakugou's groans mixed in with your moans filled the room along with the sound of his balls slapping against you as his thrusts became even harder, you couldn't help but be loud, it wasn't like anybody could hear you. Your pussy throbbed around his cock and your back began to arch. You felt yourself coming closer and closer to your orgasm. And he noticed it.

He slowed down a bit. You were a little grateful as you were finally able to take him comfortably. But you questioned his change of pace.

"You know," he panted, "Kirishima wants us together."

You continued to moan, only murmuring over and over again how big his dick was, barely listening.

"He always talked about me and you- ugh...! Getting together..." he revealed. "Probably something he wants the most..." He lifted your head, putting his forehead to yours. "Let's do him a favor, yeah?"

The tightness on your throat grew tighter, cutting off your airflow, and his thrusts started to become harder again. Your eyes widened as your body struggled under his.

He whispered in your ear while increasing the pace of his strokes. "Be mine, baby. Cum all over my cock."

So you did. Your legs began to shake as your lungs begged for oxygen. Your orgasm was intense, your body squirming uncontrollably. He groaned as your pussy clenched around him for the last time. To be fair, he let go of your throat and your head went flying back over the edge of the bed.

You were officially head over heels for him. You would do anything to stay with him, even if it meant sacrificing your happiness and well-being. And you had a feeling he knew this.

The doorknob of the bedroom turned and the door opened. "Someone broke the damn vase with the-"

Kirishima.

He examined the scene before him, his breaths slowly becoming inaudible and his heart pounding in his chest.

Bakugou’s gaze snapped towards Kirishima, a smirk flashing across his face. "Kirishima. We didn't expect you to come in."

Kirishima ignored him, only focusing on you. His eye twitched as he took note of your cock drunk daze. You smiled innocently at him, your chest pumping up and down deeply.

"Kiri... I don't owe you one anymore."

He clutched his hands together, his knuckles turning white.

"You dumb bitch."

[catsgut]

Anon : Uhmm is there any chance of doing a surprise Sukuna fic in your kinktober list? Make my baby shine with your top-tier dark fic writing pleaseee 👉🥺👈

OMG i’ve been wanting to write sukuna for a while now i don’t think im quite ready to do a full fic, but i hope this suffices hehehe

warnings : noncon, reader doesnt know about sukuna, blood, virginity loss, not proof read

yuuji simply failed to see what was so awful about him dating a nonsorcerer. his friends had called him dumb for even the thought, yet yuuji actually wasn't the most astute. all he knew was that you were super hot and that he really liked you. to such an extent that consistently now he has set aside time for you, whether it be taking you out on a date or getting you a gift with the cash he saves up. you really felt appreciated when you were around yuuji.

and you were just oh so sweet. even gojo had a go at hitting on you a couple times, however you just accepted it as him being kind, flashing him a comforting grin as you clasped yuuji's hand with yours. "lets get going, sweetie. the movie will be starting soon," you said, your voice dissolving off your tongue like sugar, and yuuji wanted a taste.

the two of you finished your movie, neither of you liking it very much. "the part where she screamed sounded so fake," you giggled before leaning forward to take a sip through the straw of the soda he was holding. he thought his heart was going to explode seeing you so comfortable with him. the way in which your cute mouth folded over his straw made his dick twitch.

“hey uh… would you like to come back to my place for a bit? we would be alone and i just… want to spend more time with you,” you said bashfully looking into his eyes, and the virgin had never nodded his head so fast in his entire life. his reaction made you laugh as you took his arm to lead him the way. the walk to your house was filled with comfortable silence, the both of you being much too shy to say anything.

but what the two of you didn’t know was that sukuna was watching the entire time. from the moment yuji had met you, you caught the interest of the spirit. funnily enough, you were sukuna’s type as well, just for different reasons; sweet, pure, and most importantly, a virgin. it made him smile with delight seeing the poor, unsuspecting girl lead her boyfriend to the comfort of her home unknowing to the fact he was housing something far more demonic than she could ever imagine.

“i know it’s not much, but i hope you don’t mind,” you clap your hands together and grin shyly gesturing to the small apartment. no, yuji didn’t mind at all, only caring about what was going to happen next. would you guys cuddle? kiss? grind on each other with clothes on? the poor, horny boy had a million thoughts running through his mind, it didn’t register right away that he felt your small hands against his pecks. looking down at you, you were focused on feeling his muscles through the tight black shirt he was wearing. You peered up at him with an innocent look that made him feel like he was on cloud 9.

“wanted to for s’long,” you mumbled, dragging you soft finger tips down and down and down…. yuji felt like he was going to explode in his pants right in the entrance way of your home. it took everything in him to control himself, but little did he know sukuna was planning something that allowed little room for self-control.

yuji leaned down to gently meet your lips with his, tongue swirling inside your mouth in an inexperienced manner. he moaned at the taste and reached down under your thighs to pick you up. he wanted to make you think he knew what he was doing. you wrapped around legs around his waist as he carried you over to your couch. you could feel the hardness of his dick press against your core. “you’re so needy,” he smiled sheepishly. you just laid there watching the boy above you run his hands all over your body. yuji was trying to make himself seem confident, but on the inside he was screaming out of nervousness. 

“let me have a go,” he heard a taunting voice echo out in his head. he ignored the voice, instead latching his wet mouth on your neck. you whimpered, feeling his lips and teeth smear drool all over your skin. it didn’t feel the best, but you were happy with it being yuuji doing this to you. 

yuuji didn’t mean to take it so far, roughly grinding down on you. it just… it had been so long since he came and you felt so good. he didn’t mean to slip up this badly, but before he knew it, his body soon wasn’t his own. he watched his body move, unable to control his movements. ‘fuck,’ he thought, eyes widening as he watched his own hand reach down and grab your neck. 

you were too busy feeling him touching you to realize what was happening until you were unable to breath. eyes snapping open you looked up to see your boyfriend smirking from above you. 

“my my, you’re being so obedient,” sukuna spoke, words purring off his tongue. you gulped trying to wiggle out of his strong grasp but you were unable to do so. “it’s been so long since i’ve had a virgin,” he growled, leaning down to run his hot tongue up the side of your face. 

this didn’t feel like yuuji anymore, instead he was acting completely different. almost scary. you stared up at him as he ripped your shirt open with ease. has he always been that strong? one of his hands reached down to grip your writs together while the other groped and squeezed at your body. “y-yuuji this hurts,” your lip curled and you stared up at him hoping he would see you're uncomfortable. 

the sight below him made sukuna groan in excitement. you looked so pure…. so innocent as you looked up at him with your teary eyes. “there’s no use in fighting this, little girl.” a sinister grin etched across his handsome face, dread filling your body. was this actually happening? “please,” you voice sounded weak and frail only making his dick harder. large hands finished ripping the clothes off your body leaving you cold and bare. 

before you knew it, he was unbuckling the belt of his jeans. yuuji screamed and begged as he watching the cursed spirit strip his girlfriend of her clothes, but it did nothing to stop what was happening. sukuna only laughed, loving the sound the pain he was causing. it had been too long since he was able to ravage a woman properly, tired of watching the brat he was trapped inside of watch porn before bed everynight. intercourse was something that was to be bloody and rough, not loving and intimate. just the idea made him bored. 

you were flipped on your hands and knees. his hand pressed down on your upper back and you realized it would be useless to try and fight it. with a shaky breath, you braced yourself as he slammed his cock into your untouched hole. sukuna's eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the feeling, teeth harshly digging into his lip. he stood up off the couch with one leg and kept the other propped on the couch. without hesitation he began pounding into you. "cmon make some noise, bitch!" he laughed loudly slapping your ass knowing you were unable to make even the slightest of noise with the air being fucked from your lungs. you've never been in more pain in your life till now and you were sure the wetness dripping from your thighs wasn't just your body's arousal. 

"dirty girl bleeding all over your boyfriend's cock," his words both confirmed your fears and confused you. what happened to your sweet boyfriend? the one who couldn't even bring himself to step on an insect. What flipped inside him to cause him to act this way towards you?. 

you were slowly unable to think of anything but the excruciating pain in your lower stomach. you could tell yuuji, or whoever he was, was close by the way his breathing was picking up. by the time he did finally finish, you felt your hole gush and swell with the amount of cum he fucked inside you. slowly, he pulled out whistling at the sight. your hips were brusied black and purple from his grip on them and your pussy was smeared with cum and blood. sukuna felt satisfied with himself, knowing yuuji wouldn't be able to fix any emotional and physical damage that had been done. it was almost a little sneak peek into what he was capable of. 

eventually, after enough time had passed, yuuji had gained control of his body again, but little could be said about you. slowly you crawled your way to the other side of the room, shaking with fear, yuujis heart broke hearing you beg for him to leave, demand he go, but after a few minutes of watching you cry he decided it was best he did. you cried yourself to sleep that night, feeling nothing but betrayal while yuuji cried feeling nothing but guilt for what he let happen. 

[gremlinmodetweeker]

riffing off socially awkward deeply anxious König, do you think he would do better digitally? chatting with someone he met online or someone who streams an obscure game? you have a lovely relationship with him and then before you meet in person he's like so. i'm. very. awkward. as a real person. i might not. talk a lot. you'll be carrying the conversation, don't take it personally. you have a captive audience for ANY topic. anything. you want. and why is it going to be a/b/o's spn origins

Okay yes this absolutely. I can totally write something for that. I hope this story suffices!

Now, I have no idea what you mean by the omegaverse, but I could try making an omegaverse!König if you’d like. I do not understand by spn omegaverse origins. Please feel free to either respond here or ask in my inbox. It should be open??? Tell me if it isn’t.

Anyways, onto the story! More below the cut.

König Prefers Quiet Time

König is a voracious reader, so he’s rather verbose and eloquent when online. His messages are witty, insightful, yet practical and grounded. He’s quick to become your best online friend. After all, he’s so well-spoken! He writes beautiful paragraphs that are easy and amusing to read. It’s rare to find such a delightful person online.

And he’s so quick to win over your heart. Whenever he can be, he there’s for you. He’ll take pictures and videos of sights on deployment or jot down little stories to tell you when he can. Sometimes he can drop off the face of the earth, but he’ll be back online soon enough and messaging you about how his latest mission went and what he did (within reason, can’t give away secrets).

Every time he comes back online, you know you’re in for a good time. Whether it’s him complaining about teammates, or having to argue about directions with a local, he’s got fantastic (yet terribly awkward) stories about his days. He always says he’s so shy and hates social situations, and sure he sometimes sounds a bit strange when he recounts the stories, but they're so fun that you don't really take in how it would look from an outside perspective. Sure, he sounds a bit dorky in these stories, but still so eloquent! He’s got this little way of describing things with abstract metaphors that make you smile and wish you were there by his side.

It took a lot to convince him to have a relationship with you. It’s not that he doesn’t like you, it’s that you ask to meet up in person. He tells you that he’s happy to meet you, but then why does he suddenly have more missions? He’s so punctual, but he missed his flight? When he goes on about having a stubbed toe, you have to put your foot down. You want to see him, and that’s final.

Begrudgingly, he books a vacation with you.

When you go to pick him up from the airport, the first thing that stands out about him is how tall he is. Then how big. You didn’t think they made people in that size. This guy has Shaquille O’Neil running for his money. Like, how? And then you realize that he’s crouching down to make himself look smaller. It’s insanity. At the very least, he’s easy to pick out in a crowd, what with his hood and all. You do worry about him fitting in the car, though.

So you go up to him, and then he sees you and he looks nothing but elated. It’s a beautiful moment between you two. In that hectic airport, with people calling in many languages and bags squeaking and the cars outside honking and revving their engines, it’s perfectly silent and beautiful. It’s a wonderful moment that you think you’ll cherish until you die.

The next moment is where it all falls apart.

He accidentally drops his bag and it spills everywhere. He scrambles to pick it up and he keeps looking around with wide eyes of terror so you take pity on the poor lad and lean down to help. He then promptly stands up and cracks the crown of his head against your nose and now your nose is bleeding and oh no he dropped his bag again and now he’s apologizing and then he’s rushing to the bathroom and you’re left with the realization that you fell in love with an absolute mess. 

By the time he’s back, your nose has stopped bleeding and you’re packing his belongings back into his pack. He tries to silently offer you tissues, so you take them and wipe your nose tenderly, but when you make a joke about it he doesn’t say anything. Odd, but maybe he’s just a bit frazzled.

You’re driving back home when he finally says his first words to you besides ‘hi’, ‘sorry’ and ‘oh no’.

“Thank you,” he says as he stares at the road ahead.

“What, for the drive?” you laugh, “it’s no problem! I mean, it’s not too bad. It’s about an hour’s drive, but I’m fine with that!”

König says nothing, just nods as you speak. You’re starting to worry that you picked up the wrong person. Where was the confident and friendly man you spoke to online? Where was his friendly joking? At least you now understand his awkward and amusing stories he told you, because even though you love him, you can’t help but feel terribly awkward. If he’s this bad with you, you can only imagine how bad it is with others.

You were prepared for someone who was going to talk your ear off, but you felt like you just picked up a skinwalker instead. Was he even blinking? You can’t tell. He looks shell-shocked as he gazes off into the distance.

“So, um, how was the flight?” you ask with a wide smile.

“Gut.”

Anything more? No? Nothing more. Well, that’s helpful.

“Did they give you anything to eat on the flight? Are you hungry?” you ask, hoping to pry more than a couple words out of him.

“I ate,” he says quietly.

You nod and bite your lip. So this is what it was going to be like?

You take him into your home. For the entire night he refuses to take a step outside.

By the time noon rolls around the next day, you decide to take the initiative and knock on his door.

“Hey, König?” you call.

You get a hum from behind the door.

“Can I come in?” you ask nervously.

There’s a pause, then a hiss and a curse, then the door opens.

“Thanks,” you whisper as you squeeze by him, but he doesn't move to let you in any easier.

König sits delicately on the edge of the bed while you sit on a stool across from him. You look at each other for a few moments before you crack.

“Am I… Am I not what you thought I’d be?” you ask nervously.

König tilts his head as he narrows his eyebrows.

“I mean, just…” you sigh, “you talked so much online, but you’ve barely said a word since I picked you up from the airport. Are you okay? Is there something wrong?”

You hesitate for a moment, before you tack on, “Is there something wrong with us?”

König’s eyes slowly widen before he shakes his head quickly, the fabric swinging like a dog shaking after a dip in a lake.

“Nein, you are…” he gestures towards you with one hand, “you are perfect. It’s just… Ah…”

You brace yourself.

“I am not good at talking,” he admits.

You deflate. That’s it? He’s not good at talking?

“But you’re fine online,” you point out.

“Ja, but this is… It is different,” he sighs, “I am not good at talking to people in person. It is.. Scary. I do not like to talk much.”

You nod as you listen carefully.

“So…” you rub your thumb over your kneecap, “would you like me to do most of the talking for us? Would that make things easier for you?”

König nodded quickly.

You laugh as you feel your shoulders relax.

“Great. I think I can do that.”

From then on, the visit is wonderful. Now that you know that König just isn’t great at talking in person, it’s a delight to talk to him. Sometimes you think you talk at him, but you realize pretty quickly that he’s listening attentively to everything you say. He’s a delight to speak to. If you ever lose your train of thought, he’s quick to help you get it back so he can listen to you further.

You realize pretty quickly that he worries too much. When you take him out to places, he’s nervous and flighty. The louder and more chaotic, the worse his social anxiety gets. As such, you find yourself going to more quiet areas. You chill and relax in quiet cafes, go to the aquarium at night, even play some games at a board game cafe in the middle of the day, when there’s nobody else there.

He’s a friendly man, all things considered. You also quickly learn the basis of his awkward stories.

You’re at a grocery store when you see it in action.

“Oh my God you’re so tall!” a woman looks up at your boyfriend with wide eyes.

König barely turns to acknowledge her, but he gives her a curt nod.

“Can you, like, help me with something?” she asks eagerly.

König looks down at you, then back to the woman.

“What is it?” his voice is sharply cold, and you can see the woman wince.

“Well, um, there’s this thing on the top shelves, and I was hoping you could get it for me?” she says, a bit nervously.

“What is it?” he’s somehow worse than last time.

“Um, uh, I can show it to you?” she offers meekly.

“I need to know what it is,” König practically tears her head off with how brutal he sounds.

You grab his hand and squeeze slightly, but it seems like it’s all going downhill too quickly.

“It’s-”

König turns to face her abruptly and she’s stumbling back before scurrying off. König watches her go, then turns to you.

“Why did she go?” he asks innocently. You can hardly believe him.

“König…” you start slowly, “is that how you usually speak to strangers?”

He thinks for a moment, then nods.

“König I think I know why you think people hate you.”

König’s eyebrows raise up for a moment, “You do?”

You nod, and give him a brief explanation. You can see his brain doing somersaults in his head, practically melting out his ears as his entire world view is shattered before him. Before he can respond properly, the woman is coming back with security in tow.

It’s no wonder König has so many interesting awkward stories.

[eldritch-spouse]

Someone who for whatever reason wants to get eaten by Vorticia and so goes to the gluttony ring hoping to find her. They by some miracle get to interact with her but when they beg her to eat them she’s like “lol no,” because it turns out they’re her match

[This is fucking hilarious. Fem reader.]

TW: Macro/micro themes; Vore.

Tightly tied to a chair, you can hear them talk behind the kitchen doors.

" You're telling me you just found this one trying to break into the premises?! " The short imp you've only caught glimpses of so far sounds exasperated.

" Yes... " The much taller demon with a dark mane replies. " She wasn't very successful, but I'm fairly certain her goal was to get caught. "

" And she said she wants to get eaten. " It's not even a question.

" By mother. Specifically her. "

There's a beat of silence.

" Vorago. You can't expect me to present a fetishist to your mother. That is ridicu- "

" Is it? I would much prefer if my meals walked directly into the plate. " The prince counters. " You're doing the poor thing a favor. I've advocated for this in the past as well, think about the time and resources we could spare during ceremonies if we take in people just like her. "

" My prince- "

" Do you like chasing after them, dad? Do you enjoy spending money on increasingly expensive hunting services? "

Dad?! That little imp? Imp-ressive.

" No, but we can't just- "

" Then give this a shot, perhaps it'll open your eyes to more sustainable alternatives. "

An unmistakable defeated sigh rings out. " ... Fine. "

You smile silently, happy that the tusked high-ranker who caught you managed to get your dream to come true. For such a scary-looking guy, he's actually not that bad.

When the doors part, your head snaps towards the curly-horned imp. They spare you a skeptical glance.

" It looks like you're getting what you want after all. "

" Yes! " The cheer is immediate and juvenile, met with a grimace.

" ... Right. " They're clearly uncomfortable. " Undress please. "

Words cannot describe how wildly your heart is beating within your ribcage.

You've been dreaming of this day ever since you discovered the nuances of your sexuality. Queen Vorticia is the most gorgeous, regal, seductive demoness to ever slither upon this galaxy and to feel the caress of her tongue would bring you to a level so beyond Nirvana that you have to contain a freakish noise of delight just thinking about it. Not that it would have escaped very fair, with the strange fruit crammed in your mouth- It's starting to hurt your jaw a little actually...

Yes, you're not the most normal of humans, but that hardly matters now.

The cart you're laid upon is wheeled towards what you assume must be the main dining hall of Gluttony's mansion. The pace is slow, the imps in charge of transporting you dare not displace a single element of your large plate's design. See, upon hearing about your situation through the curly-horned imp, the chefs present decided that it would only be fitting if you got properly and excellently decorated for the occasion.

A few of them sympathized with your situation. Few things are as romantic as loving someone so much that you would like to become a part of them, be consumed by them. One of the girls was a bit emotional hearing you talk so sweetly about the Queen. All in all, you feel lucky to have gotten this far so smoothly.

A noise from beyond crashes your train of thought.

A crash. Hissing.

The imps pushing your cart whimper and look at each other fearfully.

Ah, a tempestuous mood. You wonder what has the Queen like that.

Your chaperones slow down even more, and if you could, you'd stomp your foot on the cart to make them hurry up. You're not about to be left stranded in this hall because these cowards are doubting their life's decisions.

Finally, oh finally, you can see the tall, intricately carved doors to the dinning hall. The last room you'll ever be in, if all goes according to plan. The realization breeds a heavy feeling that causes shortness of breath in you, but for some odd reason, you have no second thoughts about any of this. More servants stand stationary, guarding the doors.

At the sight of your cart approaching, said guards hurriedly open the doors much taller than themselves, seeming frantic in the way they hurry everyone inside.

You have to strain your neck to get a good look at the scenery.

Tones of orange, red and gold shower the room, it's large enough to be mistaken for some kind of bombastic ball room- But you've done a bit of research, and you know the dinning areas are the real focus of the Gluttonous Household.

Little does it all matter. You can't bring yourself to focus on anything other than the absolutely gigantic scaled woman currently seated at a massive, tall table. Her sandy yellow scales glimmer under the jeweled chandelier's light, everything from the twin-tipped tail that lounges across the room to her drooping black robe and pupils nearly as sharp as her eyes make you want to swoon, toes curling in delight.

Queen Vorticia reaches down below, you get to watch the demoness grab a flailing, kicking man by the ankles. He's muffled just as you are, but a lot more bruised and roughed up, trying his damndest to scream past an unforgiving muffler. He knows what will happen to him the moment he's raised in the air, as do you. And there's nothing he can do but close his eyes and accept his fate when the bottomless pit that is the Queen's maw stares back.

One second of mind-numbing anticipation is all it takes, then he's gone. Dropped. Her jaw clamping the second the man was submerged. Hardly a lump forms in the column of her long throat before it's over. With neither a scream nor a whimper, his doom arrives. The Queen however, looks unsatisfied. It's almost as if she didn't even eat anything to begin with, frowning at the wall pensively.

Until the platter that man was in goes flying across the room and nearly rips a chunk out of the wall. It was so fast you barely saw the flash of gold before your human eyes.

Two of the imps escorting you scurry beneath the cart for safety.

" I trussst you've brought me ssomething worthh my time? " Her voice finally rings through.

" Y- Yes, your Majesty! " One of them is brave enough to squeak, rattling the cart and everything on it as he pulls it forward, the others sticking to the back.

You can kind of understand them. Vorticia could easily swipe a hand down and capture two or three of these imps as an appetizer.

" Then hurry! Do you wisshh me to starve here?! "

A slam of a powerful fist causes the ground to quake.

" Never, my Queen! "

In a blink, your platter not only lifted off the cart but rushed onto the table, quickly turned and pushed to be in front of the demonlord herself. You almost get dizzy from all the jostling, and as your vision settles, you see the Queen wordlessly wave before scrambling steps follow. The servants nearly trample each other to leave the room alive.

You don't even look their way.

You can only bore holes into the gorgeous woman before you.

Vorticia raises a brow ridge, humming.

When a single claw descends, you imagine she'll slice your skin, peel you like an apple or go for your innards first. Instead, she stabs a tomato next to your waist and brings it to her lips, tongue roping it inside in a blink.

You're sure she can hear your poor heart thunder in its fickle confines.

" You mussst be the human they mentioned earlier. "

You blink.

" Pretty thhhing, wantss to be my dinner... " She nearly purrs, making something stir low in your belly.

At the way you attempt to frantically nod, she actually cracks a smile, incredulous. Although the hunger you've always yearned for resides in her thin eyes, there's also a hint of genuine curiosity you wouldn't typically see in the gaze of such a predator.

" Hmph. Well I hardly buy it. "

" MmMMF! " Even if you had something eloquent to counter with, muffled grunts are all you manage.

" Don't mumble, it'sss rude. "

She begins flirting with the decorations on your platter again. Every single time, you study the movements of her calloused, scaled hands as they move, waiting for the cut that never comes, the grip that never follows, she simply steals bits and pieces of vegetables and frivolous dressing. You're almost offended for a second. But... The anticipation is actually causing some curious effects in you.

In a way, every single time her claws scheme the platter, brushing over the bare skin of your legs and tickling your sides briefly before retreating with a slice of fruit or veggie, she's playing with you. Having her fun, as both an apex predator and a teasing mistress. Fear mingles with sparks of arousal you've poorly contained thus far, creating a fire that has you sweating under her serpentine gaze.

" You're almossst too cute to eat. " She chuckles eventually. Something wooshes nearby, it takes you a moment to notice it's her large tail.

You notice, rather belatedly, that there's no one else in the room but you and Vorticia, and a suspenseful quiet has fallen between you. You could not have asked for a better environment. It feels as if you're both sharing a very intimate, sacred moment.

The next time her hand dips, instead of skirting around the main course, she tip taps her way up your trembling figure and circles a long claw under the swell of your breast, watching you shiver attentively before edging the decorative leaf covering it. A more than pert nipple catches on her sharp extremity, and she uses a thumb to flick it idly, casually, head tilting at the way you squirm and exhale through your nostrils.

Your other breast is easily uncovered as well. The Queen betrays nothing in her expression when she grabs a piece of bread and soaks it in the condiment that coats your skin, dragging it upwards, swirling it around one of your tits before eagerly devouring it.

This is repeated enough times to drive you a little stupid with want, groaning miserably when she merely teases your tits and continues to torture you with featherlite caresses.

The sweet torture continues when she takes care of the rolls covering your spread legs, watching the shameful state you're in become more and more noticeable. Your cunt flutters beneath her mere stare.

" Ssstrange, I've yet to cut you, and you're already dripping. "

You'd shake your head in denial if you weren't able to feel your own soaked folds right now.

She has the mind-numbingly erotic audacity to grab another useless vegetable decoration and generously coat it in your wetness. The rounded tip of whatever she's pressing against your womanhood bumps your clit. She swirls it intentionally, tapping it down and circling the nub with enough pressure that you strain against your binds and whine behind the gag, wanting to beg her for more yet only drooling pointlessly.

She makes a noise like an amused snort, and when you toss your head back, you can hear her practically slurp the thing for all the flavor it has, her thumb replacing the vegetable and leisurely keeping you stimulated.

When you're able to look back, her pupils have blown wide, the black nearly drowning her acidic sclera.

" To thhhink that, ssomehow, suchh a preciouss gift would fall upon my table... Withhout notice... "

Even if you're loving the attention, heating up like a small fire -Probably enough to cook the ingredients around you- You could never have guessed the Queen would take such an intense liking to you. It feels like a dream.

" Do you wisssh to be eaten, my sssweet morssel? " She curves, shadowing you, strings of drool falling onto your neck and chest.

Her hues acquire a nearly hypnotizing quality, prohibiting you from glancing away while she toys with you. All you can respond with is frantic, vapid nodding while you grind yourself down on her finger like a mutt.

" Truly? "

" MMMhmnn!! "

Not even the gag could have curbed that whorish bleating.

" Then I will. " Vorticia grins wide enough to crinkle the edges of her eyes. " Tonight. In my chambersss. Your wissh comess true, in a way. "

You're not given enough time to rationalize anything before her touch vanishes, leaving you cold and miserable. The snaps of the Queen's fingers attract the same imp you met when this all began.

They look at you with a mixture of confusion and mild caution. " You called, Highness? "

" Yess. Run a bathh for me and my Queen to be. "

He coughs and chokes.

When your head snaps to Queen Vorticia, you find no hint of mockery on her face.

You're fairly certain one of the sauces you were doused in must be causing you to hallucinate...

[venus-haze]

Sinnerman (Father Paul Hill x Reader)

Summary: You can’t even see your old life from Crockett Island, but nevertheless it weighs on your conscience like an anchor on the ocean floor. Father Paul Hill tries to pull the anchor up, only to sink your whole damn ship.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Reader is a lapsed Catholic for plot reasons. I also played with the show’s timeline a little bit for this fic. Anyway, 10 years of Catholic school later and this is the result. Inspired by the Nina Simone song. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 7k

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood and violence. Reader’s morals are all over the place. Obviously a lot of Catholic themes (especially guilt) and imagery. Sexually explicit content between a member of the clergy and a lay person. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Unlike pretty much everywhere else in the country, houses on Crockett Island garnered very little interest. There were no frustrating bidding wars or last minute phone calls made to real estate agents. The available houses barely registered on the listings you scrolled through, some having been on the market for years. When you called about a two bedroom you’d never even stepped foot in, offering to pay upfront in cash, the agent on the other end of the line almost hung up on you, assuming it was a scam. No scam. You just wanted to disappear.

To the world, you were gone, a vapor who abruptly quit her incredibly well-paying job with a generous severance package. Painting was a hobby that got increasingly pushed to the backburner as you focused more on your career until you couldn’t remember the last time you touched a paintbrush. Of course, that wasn’t why you quit your job, but it sounded a lot nicer than the reason that ate you alive. You hoped that if you disappeared, the guilt that made its home in your gut would go away too. On Crockett Island, however, you were far from invisible. 

Despite the unforgiving ocean wind that raged the day you arrived, you were met with nothing short of a welcome party. The mayor, his wife, the sheriff, and the elderly monsignor of the singular church on the island accompanied by a woman who constantly hovered. Nice enough people who greeted you with a mixture of delight and disbelief that you were moving onto the island instead of off. You shot yourself in the foot the second you mentioned you had been raised Catholic, as everyone but the sheriff extended offers to join them at mass that you awkwardly declined.

Sheriff Hassan gave you a sympathetic look when he left your new home, the last of the informal welcoming committee to do so. Get used to it, his eyes said. You almost asked him to stay for coffee if you could dig your pot out of whichever cardboard box you packed it in. You decided against it. On an island so small, coffee could turn into something else quickly enough.

It took a week or so to get into a comfortable routine. Wake up early, make coffee, take your time eating breakfast, then head out to some new part of the island with your art supplies in tow, only to be held up for fifteen to twenty minutes by someone inevitably stopping you to talk. Usually small talk, but you could tell a lot of people were just happy to have someone new to tell old stories to instead of regurgitating them to the same handful of people all the time.

Some days, when the fog made it almost impossible to see your outstretched hand in front of you, you’d find yourself drawn to St. Patrick’s, painting or sketching the church. The fog would inevitably roll away, and in the distance you’d see the monsignor, sometimes with Beverly and other times by himself. He’d always wave at you, though his face betrayed his confusion as to who you were. Poor guy. You thought the parishioners were crazy to send him over to Jerusalem.

The day after he left for his trip was another foggy one.  You made your usual trek out to the church to draw. It was a nice, informal ritual. Spiritual enough for your tastes without the risk of bursting into flames if you stepped foot in the place. With the monsignor gone, mass wasn’t being held, and the area was quieter than usual. Not completely, though.

“You know, you’re always loitering outside of the church, but I never see you in it,” Beverly said while you were sketching the weathered wood building. 

You kept your focus on the page you were working on, not sparing her a glance. “Not my thing.”

“At one point it was, though. You said it yourself on the day you moved in that you were raised in the faith.”

“Not my choice.”

Her lips pressed in a thin line, her voice strained, “Well, you’re always welcome at St. Patrick’s. I’m sure when the monsignor returns, he’d be overjoyed to see you in the pews. We all would.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“Yes, well, have fun doodling.”

Your jaw clenched. Doodling. You shot her a glare over your shoulder when she walked away. 

Luckily, you weren’t the focus of the islanders’ attention for much longer, because the Flynns’ son had returned home from prison on the mainland. A quiet guy who kept to himself despite Annie excitedly introducing you to Riley. You were polite, but didn’t pry. It seemed like he wanted to keep to himself too. Then, the following day, the parish was in a tizzy over the unexpected arrival of a new pastor, a temporary replacement for the aging monsignor. You didn’t know the old guy very long, but he wasn’t quite with it. Doubtful the replacement would be temporary. Maybe he said that to soften the blow of not being able to give their monsignor a formal goodbye.

You had mixed feelings about the new guy. The evening following his first mass on the island, Father Paul had sneaked up on you while you were trying to paint an old fishing bungalow. He startled you so bad that you jumped, arm jerking and leaving a green streak on the paper in its wake. He was nice enough, apologizing profusely for scaring you. Still, you felt the pit in your stomach that’d become somewhat more manageable recently threaten to engulf your psyche again when he said that Beverly mentioned you were a lapsed Catholic, because of course she would, and expressed disappointment at not seeing you at mass.

“You’ll be at the potluck at least?” he asked. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

You laughed. “Yeah, the Crock Pot thing. I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic, maybe we can talk more then. I’ve bothered you enough, nearly ruined your painting.”

“Happy accident. I can make a tree,” you said.

“That’s a nice way to look at it, but really, I’ll be going now.” He smiled. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

You caught his profile as he walked away, handsome in the golden hour. Setting your painting supplies aside, you grabbed your sketchbook and a pencil and began drawing. Maybe the guilt you felt was for finding a priest attractive and not the resurgence of your past sins. The word weighed heavy on your conscience. You could sleep better at night convincing yourself you’d made some mistakes. You could learn and grow from mistakes. Sins held magnitude beyond what you could manage on your own. 

The day of the potluck, you slept in, only rolling out of bed an hour before it was supposed to start. When you walked over to the gathering, you felt that pit in your stomach causing you trouble again. The islanders’ devotion left a sour taste in your mouth, and seeing the physical embodiment of it in the form of ashen crosses on their foreheads didn’t help. 

You made small talk and wandered around with your plate of food, taking a seat on one of the benches. One huge perk of living on the island was the fresh seafood and dozens of people who knew how to cook it all perfectly. Everything on your plate would’ve cost at least sixty dollars in a nice restaurant on the mainland. You got it all for your five dollar donation. 

While tearing apart a piece of bread on your plate, you could hear hushed voices arguing to your left. They were either speaking louder or getting closer to you, but either way, you recognized Beverly and Father Paul’s voices.

“Her? Father, she doesn’t attend mass. The church should not be—“

“I’ve made up my mind, Bev,” Father Paul whispered loudly before waving you over. “Y/N, I have something I’d like to run by you.”

You gave him a hesitant nod as you got up from your seat, leaving your plate to walk closer to where he and Beverly were standing.

“I’d like to commission you to paint a mural on the west-facing wall, where the sun sets. I already discussed the idea with Monsignor Pruitt, and he raved about your talents.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna end up being the next monkey Jesus lady.”

He gave you an amused smile. “I’ve seen your work. You’re more than capable of what I have in mind.”

“As long as it’s not that godless abstract nonsense,” Beverly interjected.

“Tell that to Alfred Manessier,” you said.

“I don’t know who that is.”

You scoffed. “He was one of the most celebrated modernist painters of the past century. He created some of his best works using St. John of the Cross’ Spiritual Canticles as inspiration.”

“See?” Father Paul interjected. “I can’t think of anyone better for the job. I made a mock-up, a crude sketch, really. I can show you when you have time to go over some of the details I have in mind.”

“Sounds good.”

“You haven’t given your price.”

“Why don’t we work that out afterward?” you said, not sure if you were even going to go through with this. “I am going to need supplies, though. Different paint and materials depending on the type of mural you had in mind.”

“Yes, of course, whatever you need, we’ll have Sturge bring it from the mainland.”

Not long after that, the festival ended on a heartbreaking note as Joe Collie’s dog died, was poisoned more like it, but there was no proof. You didn’t get much sleep that night. It didn’t matter. Early the next working, you were pulled from your half-slumber by a rapid knocking at the door.

Without thinking, you shuffled over, opening it to find Beverly standing on your front porch, less than impressed with your wrinkled pajamas and dazed expression at the sunlight in your face. 

“Yeah?”

“Father Paul has time this afternoon to speak with you about the mural.”

“Okay.”

“Will you be there?”

“I guess, what time is it anyway?”

“Seven-thirty, I wanted to come by before the school day began. If you’re not serious about this, don’t waste his time.”

“Alright, I’ll be there around two.” 

You didn’t wait for her to respond, shutting the door in her face and heading back to bed. If you woke up in time to make it to the church, you supposed you’d do it. When you lifted your head from the pillow later on and checked the time on your phone, it was a quarter after one. Damn. You were actually doing this.

The otherwise unassuming church seemed to loom over you as you approached. You sighed. It was just a building. Still, you hesitated outside of St. Patrick’s for a minute or so before building up the courage to walk inside. No hellfire or spontaneous combustion upon your arrival. Though, there should have been, with the way Father Paul was sitting on the steps leading up to the altar, legs splayed out in his jeans. Your mouth almost went dry. Suddenly his eyes were on yours. You panicked, dipping your hand in the font and making a sign of the cross with the holy water. That had to absolve you of thinking a priest looked hot for a split second.

He practically jumped up from where he was sitting, closing the distance between you with an excited smile and a folded up piece of paper that he handed to you. 

He spoke animatedly and used sweeping motions in reference to the wall and what he wanted it to look like. “Call it divine inspiration, but I had a vision of an angel. It’s burned into my mind. It needs to be up here for the parish to see.”

You looked at his sketch, tilting your head as you took in the monstrous creature that resembled Nosferatu rather than an angel. Still, it wasn’t like artists regularly were commissioned to paint elaborate church murals anymore. You supposed the prestige of being able to say you did such outweighed the odd nature of his vision.

“I was thinking just on the wood wall here. That shouldn’t be too difficult, should it?”

“No, but I think for the best result, I’ll have to strip the existing paint off the wall and then prime it to paint over. That may take up to a week, depending on how much of the wall you want the mural to take up.”

Father Paul chuckled humorlessly. “Bev’s going to have a heart attack when she hears that. Why don’t you write a list of what you need, and I’ll give it to Sturge.”

You would have been surprised at how quickly he agreed if he weren’t so enthusiastic about his vision coming to life. He kept talking, rambling was more like it, about the angel and his vision. There was an air of conspiracy to his voice, almost as if he was telling you something that was meant to be kept between the two of you. His rambling was interrupted by Beverly’s appearance. You took the opportunity to slip out, claiming you promised your mom you’d call her to catch up before dinner.

By the end of the week, you had all of the supplies you needed, and Father Paul gave you free reign of the church when mass wasn’t going on. You hadn’t expected him to be such a big help in the preparations, figuring you’d be scraping the stripped paint off the wall yourself. It made the process go by faster, even though Beverly looked constipated every time she saw the bare wood wall in contrast to the rest of the church. Father Paul had to remind her it was temporary.

The hours spent with him felt almost natural, like you were talking to an old friend. At least, he was nice enough to let you ramble about art and the mural techniques you read about on your phone the past few days. Though, you didn’t miss his offhand comment about how so many great artists were Catholic. You wanted to clarify that you weren’t Catholic, not anymore. Besides, there were great artists of all faiths. The Catholic Church just had the money to bankroll some of the more prominent ones. Deciding it best not to stir up any unnecessary tension before you even started on the project, you let the comments roll off your back, not bothering to acknowledge them. Things were going great, otherwise. At least, they were until it was time for you to actually start painting.

That pit in your stomach started acting up again as soon as Father Paul told you that he went ahead and primed the wall already, so you could start painting the mural. 

“I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you’ll work better if I’m not breathing down your neck. Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

You smiled, giving him a silent nod as he left. Hesitation overtook you, soon followed by dread as you looked at the wall in front of you. There was no way to back out, at least not without drawing the ire of the growing number of devout islanders. You hadn’t witnessed Leeza Scarborough’s miracle, and as much as the skeptics tried to talk circles around it, you couldn’t think of any other explanation for what had happened. It scared you, how real the faith you were raised in felt here. 

As soon as your brush touched the primed wall, you nearly passed out. It was a holy place, meant to reflect the power and glory of god. You didn’t feel worthy to alter it in such a significant way, as if you were Michaelangelo or DaVinci and not some corporate flunkie who only got such a big severance package because—no, you couldn’t think about it in this church of all places, not one where god seemed suffocatingly present. The brush then fell from your hand with a clatter that seemed to echo through the church, through your ears.

Father Paul spoke your name softly, tentatively, like you were a wounded animal. “Why are you crying?”

You weren’t sure how long you were in your fugue state of despair for him to find you like that. “I don’t think I’m the right person to do this. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s you. It has to be you.”

Shaking your head frantically as he approached you, you threw your hands over your mouth to muffle your sobs. He outstretched his arms, not forcing you to accept his comfort, but you felt inexplicably pulled to him, to the absolution he offered if you’d just accept it.

“Do you know what St. Teresa of Avila said about prayer?” 

“What’s that?”

“She said that prayer is allowing yourself to be loved,” he said. “Pray with me.”

He took your hands in his, bowing his head and closing his eyes. You did the same, though you were unable to focus on his words, not when your mind was racing so much. Too loud, too overwhelming, you couldn’t take it.

In the middle of his prayer, you blurted out, “At my old job, my boss did a lot of illegal stuff, and I helped her cover it up because I knew if I did that I’d be set for life. Except it’s been eating me alive ever since. She offered me this huge severance package if I’d sign an NDA when I quit. I can’t–I feel like it’s gonna drown me one day.”

“What did you—surely it can’t be that bad.”

The cry you let out was akin to a howl. “Father Paul, I can’t—I’m a horrible person—“

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been—“ you paused. “I’ve never truly confessed in my life.”

He nodded, understanding and encouragement in his gaze rather than the judgment you expected.

“My boss was one of those cutthroat types. I admired her for it for the longest time, even when she got indicted. I used to work late nights, so I told her if she gave me a raise and a promotion, I’d testify that she was in the office with me on the days the prosecution had her doing some of the stuff she got charged with,” you said. “I thought it wouldn’t bother me. I’d been screwing people over to claw my way up the corporate ladder for years and learned how to shake it off, but this shit—it might as well be in my veins. Some people lost everything because of me, because I lied.”

You were hyperventilating, and all you could focus on was how tightly Father Paul was gripping your shoulders.

“The worst part is, I thought it’d make up for the emptiness. I spent so much time working that I pushed people away, and I wanted something to show for it. I’d give anything to feel that emptiness again,” you choked out. “I am sorry for these and all my sins.”

“It’s okay,” he whispered. 

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. I promise it is. The bible shows us time and time again that god can use our past sins to glorify him, to show the power of forgiveness in the blood of Christ. You feel guilt, regret, and sorrow. That’s good. Your penance,” he said, pointing to the blank wall. “God brought you here knowing you needed absolution, while this church is on the verge of a renaissance. I don’t think something like this happened by chance.”

“Okay,” you breathed. “I—I’ll do it.”

You fumbled your way through the Act of Contrition, Father Paul guiding you through the short prayer you’d embarrassingly forgotten most of the words to. In his name, my god, have mercy.

“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and the resurrection of his son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the church may god give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he said, making a sign of the cross over you.

You nodded, making a sign of the cross. “Amen.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he brushed his thumbs along your cheeks, wiping away the tear tracks that’d begun to dry. He smiled kindly, warmly, and you felt warm too. Taking a deep breath, you brought the paintbrush to the wall, making the first stroke of what would become Angulus autem Crockett Insulus, the Angel of Crockett Island. 

Work on the mural went smoothly after the roadbump the first day, and you felt better than you had in months. The guilt that’d tethered itself to you for so long had vanished. You’d never received so many compliments on your art in your life. Suddenly dozens of people were admiring your work, regarding it with awe as if it were in a cathedral rather than a small fishing town’s wooden church. Erin even had you come to the school and teach an art class for the students. It helped that Father Paul took every opportunity to talk up your skills whenever someone would mention the mural. 

While the lighting in the church was undoubtedly better during the day, you’d work at night sometimes, just to get an idea of how it’d look when no one was around to see it. The shadows that fell over Father Paul’s angel made it appear almost sinister. You wondered if it was something you could fix in the morning, soften it a bit to not be as harsh and imposing.

You almost laughed when you saw Father Paul standing in the door of the sacristy, knocking on the door frame as if it weren’t his church the two of you were standing in. 

“I know it’s late, but do you want coffee? I’m about to brew a pot,” he said.

You smiled. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Door will be open, just let yourself in when you’re finished here.”

“Oh, in the rectory?”

“Yes, but if that makes you uncomfortable–”

“No, of course not. I’ll be there in a few.”

He made his leave, and you grabbed a paintbrush, noticing an odd, shadowy spot on the angel that wasn’t due to the lighting. You winced a bit. Your hand had started cramping recently. Of course carpal tunnel would catch up with you, working almost non-stop on an elaborate mural would do that. 

The last thing you wanted to do was take a break on the progress you’d made. Father Paul’s enthusiasm was infectious, and you didn’t want to lose the inspiration you were running on to bring his vision to life. 

Taking a step back, you frowned. The shadow over the angel almost looked worse. You set your brush down, figuring you’d have a better idea of what to do with a fresh set of eyes in the morning. 

You kept your supplies on a plastic tarp to avoid getting paint elsewhere, and so it could be easily moved out of the way for mass. From what you’d heard, there was a full house every Sunday, and daily mass actually had decent attendance. You could remember seeing only Beverly, Annie, and Leeza making their way into the old church for the early morning services during the week. 

The lights were off in the sacristy, and you took a few tentative steps toward it. You knew there was a door through there that led out back toward the rectory, but something in you hesitated at entering that part of the church. Instead, you walked out the main doors and around the building.

There was an eeriness to the lone house not too far off in the distance. You’d learned from your time on the island that lighthouses were meant to warn incoming ships that they were nearing cliffs or rough waters, not so much welcoming them in as advising them to stay at arms’ length, be aware and alert. The light that shone from the rectory gave you a similar impression. 

You walked up to the small house, finding the door open for you. A staticy oldies station played in the living room, Father Paul leaning against the kitchen counter as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. 

“All of this stuff is so old. Radio barely picks up any reception,” he said bashfully.

“It has its charm. This whole island does. I feel like I’m really starting to be part of things.”

“You are!” he exclaimed. “Our resident artist. Everyone’s wondering when they’ll see you at mass.”

“Maybe next Sunday,” you said unconvincingly.

“I think you’ll be impressed at how different it is from what you remember growing up with. Things are changing—for the better,” he said. “How do you take your coffee?”

He grabbed a mug from the cabinet, older and chipped with a faded ‘Crock Pot 2003’ printed on it. He poured the coffee, preparing it to your liking and handing you the mug. You followed him over to the kitchen table, taking the chair next to him rather than on the other side of it.

The radio became the slightest bit clearer a few notes into Dusty Springfield’s version of Son of a Preacher Man. It was one of those songs you grew up hearing, but never truly understood the lyrics until you got older and really listened.

“You know, growing up, I didn’t know Protestant pastors could get married. I thought they were like priests where that wasn’t allowed,” you said. “Do you think it makes that much of a difference? Not being married, or even romantically involved?”

He paused, furrowing his eyebrows before giving you the non-convincing answer of, “It allows me to devote myself to God and focus on my congregation.”

“Yeah, but the Catholic Church is so pro-family, saying all that crap about not using contraception. Why not lead by example? Isn’t it natural to do that?” you asked, stopping yourself before you could go on talking about pregnancy with a priest. “I overstepped, sorry.”

“No, they’re good questions. I’ve thought about them myself.”

“Have you ever wanted to have your Sound of Music moment? Y’know, how Julie Andrews just says ‘Fuck it’ and gives in to her feelings for Christopher Plummer?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Maybe not Christopher Plummer specifically, but in more or less words, yes.”

“Do you ever feel lonely?” you asked softly.

He didn’t speak, only reaching over to squeeze your hand. The suddenness of the tender gesture sent a shock through your system, and you could feel your heart skip a beat. Whoever was the late night DJ at the oldies station must have had it out for you as Roy Orbison’s Only the Lonely started to play.

You squeezed his hand in return. “So do I.”

He stood up, murmuring something about refilling his cup. You kept your slight grip on his hand, standing up from your seat at the table. You shouldn’t have even been thinking about it, not when you’d finally rid yourself of a guilty conscience. The corners of his lips quirked up, and he tilted his head slightly, a silent inquiry as to what you were going to do next.

You kissed him. You kissed a priest, and it didn’t even feel wrong. Father Paul pulled you closer by your entwined hands, releasing it when your chest was pressed against his. He was a bit clumsy, but you’d have been surprised if he weren’t. You opened your mouth for him the slightest bit, feeling his tongue on your lips, inside your mouth, a hesitancy behind his actions still.

Pulling away from him, you caressed his cheek. You couldn’t absolve any guilt he may feel, but you could keep it at bay, only if for a night.

“I want this, Father,” you assured him. “I want you.”

His eyes searched your face for any indication that your words weren’t sincere, and finding none, he pressed his lips to yours with more confidence than before. Still, you took the lead on deepening the kiss as he became more comfortable with how you felt, his nose brushing against the soft skin of your face. His hands held onto your hips, fingers digging gently into your jeans. Your tongue gently swiped at his lips, and he opened his mouth, allowing you access. 

Your lips curled into a smile when you finally pulled away, but only to divert your attention to his throat. His breath hitched upon feeling your hand on the side of his neck, thumb pressing into the base of his throat. You bit into the crook of his neck, sucking and biting the same spot until he made a pained noise of protest. 

“Don’t worry, Father. I won’t leave a mark,” you whispered, proud of the way he reacted to you, to your touch, feeling his length pressing against you through his pants. 

You kissed his neck again, gentle this time, though you slid your hand from his neck, down his torso, to his crotch. Palming him through his pants, you lifted your gaze to see his eyes hooded, head tilted back a bit. He was still holding back, you could tell that much, so you squeezed a bit, feeling his cock twitch against the fabric, his hips involuntarily thrusting.

“Bedroom,” he choked out to your surprise.

Your hands were still on him, groping his crotch, his ass, the softness of his belly as he clumsily led you to the small, sparsely decorated bedroom. He kissed you again, barely managing to shut the door behind him. He moaned into your mouth as you began unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly and relieving some of the pressure from his hard cock. 

His passivity didn’t last long after that. He pushed you onto his bed, lustful determination in his eyes as he undressed you, hesitating just a moment when he reached your panties. As soon as his fingers hooked beneath the waistband, it was like a switch flipped. You watched as he rid himself of his clothes, your fingers teasing your wet pussy when he pulled off his clerical collar and unbuttoned his shirt.

You laid back as he climbed on top of you, allowing him to take the lead. He fondled your breasts, his thumbs brushing your sensitive nipples, making you gasp.

“You’re so soft, honey,” he murmured.

You smiled. Honey. Too sweet for you, what you were doing. Taking one of his hands, you guided it down to your pussy, making him feel your wetness, velvety between your folds. “Softer,” you whispered.

“Fuck,” he groaned, sliding his index and middle fingers inside you.

He pumped them in and out, almost cautiously before you lifted your hips for more. His thumb brushed your clit, rubbing it as he curled his fingers drawing a ragged moan from you. A groan escaped his lips as he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, wet and wanting for something more.

“Father, I need you,” you moaned. “Inside me—I—“

You choked out a gasp as he slid his cock inside you, your pussy clenching around his length as he thrust into you. He pressed your hands into the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours, loving and intimate. You whimpered beneath his intense gaze.

“You’re so good,” he whispered, his voice a bit husky. “Feel good. Take me so well.”

A harsh thrust, and you cried out, throwing your head back on his pillow. He kissed your open mouth, greedy for you. He released your hands, and you immediately grabbed at his forearms, digging your nails into his skin as your body began to tense up before its release.

“I’m close. Father–fuck–I’m gonna—“

“Let go, honey,” he moaned. “I’m there too.”

He came inside you, his cock pumping his cum into your pussy, his thrusts sloppy as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. Your orgasm followed the brief, scandalous realization that you’d let a priest cum in you. Tangling your fingers in his dark hair, you tugged at it as you rode out your orgasm on his cock, not as hard, but still buried inside you. 

After a few moments, he pulled out, lying down next to you. His eyes didn’t show any regret or guilt, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

He traced your features with his fingertips, softly, mindlessly, as if he were in a haze until he whispered. “How long have you wanted to do this?”

“Since golden hour.”

“Golden hour,” he repeated softly

“When you first came to see me, I was working on the painting of the fishing hut at sunset. Artists call it golden hour, when the natural light is perfect, like liquid gold.”

“I think I’ve always wanted to, it’s come and gone in waves, but it’s always been there. You—you’re something else.”

“You’ve done this before,” you said, an observation, not in judgment.

He closed his eyes, exhaling as if he were about to make a confession to you. “You asked me earlier if I ever wanted to have my Sound of Music moment. I did. I should have. That mural you’re painting, the angel. It’ll make things right.”

The church bell chimed its midnight tune, and you sighed, reminded of where you were, who you were with. “I should go.”

He gave you a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I wish things were different, that you could stay and—“

“Hey, it’s alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hastily threw on your clothes and gave him one more kiss before cracking open the front door. Glancing around briefly, you didn’t see anyone else around, and slipped away into the night. The overwhelming guilt you expected to feel never manifested. Instead, you felt almost giddy at the thrill of what you and Father Paul had just done. 

When you returned home, you let out a laugh in disbelief. You had no expectations of it becoming a regular thing, that it’d even happen again, you having sex with Father Paul. The subtle intimacy that had coiled around your relationship with him from the start had only magnified with this. Perhaps once was all you needed, but you secretly hoped it’d devolve into something far more torrid. 

Bright and early the next morning, you woke up feeling light, almost wanting to chalk up the past night to an unusually vivid wet dream, if it weren’t for the ache between your legs. You decided to detour from the church for the day, opting to work on something else temporarily while you were in a great mood. A smaller part of you worried things would be awkward with Father Paul. He didn’t seem guilty or regretful when you left, but he still had plenty of time to overthink.

You ran into Father Paul as he was leaving the Gunnings’ house, an odd expression on his face as he looked back at the place briefly.

“Would you mind coming by the church later tonight?” he asked. “I have something—it’ll be easier to explain there.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “See you later, Father.”

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, you sat at the docks, sketching portraits of the fishermen as they came and went. They were all so expressive, their weathered skin and deep lines in their faces betraying the decades of hard work they did. You’d heard from the islanders how difficult things had become for the fishermen between the oil spill and restrictions on what they could catch. Still, the ones who recognized you from St. Patrick’s smiled, stopped and talked to you despite being busy. Maybe you really would go to mass on Sunday.

Your stomach reminded you that you’d missed lunch, so you headed back to your house to get something to eat and look over your work from the day. Tonight. Father Paul wanted you to meet him at the church, but didn’t give a time, just at night, after dark. You wondered what he was going to tell you. Surely if it were about the two of you having sex, it could be said privately in the light of day.

Around nine o’clock, you left home again, heading for the church. It was dark. The rectory too. Was he even there? You walked up to the building, opening the front door to near pitch black. For some reason, you stood there, not bothering to call out for him.

The only light in the church came from the sacristy. Your eyes were drawn to your mural for a moment. Somehow, the angel looked like it was enrobed in shadows, far more sinister than when you’d started painting it. Your attention was soon returned to the sacristy. You could hear shuffling, low murmuring, and something almost like a strong gust of wind. Your brow furrowed. Maybe some of the local kids sneaking communion wine. 

You took a cautious step toward the illuminated room, and for the first time in years, you truly prayed to god that none of the old wooden floorboards would creak and give you away. Not that you deserved his favor, having repented of your sins and then turning around and sleeping with a priest. The light only grew brighter as you approached, your heart in your throat as you peered into the room where the priest and altar servers would prepare for mass. 

Father Paul stood in front of the communion wine. Your eyes were glued to the creature by his side. It looked like it could hardly fit in the room between its height and the width of its wingspan. Huge, imposing, sickeningly pale. It opened its mouth, razor-sharp teeth in full display.

You nearly gasped at the realization of what it was. The angel from the mural. Monstrous, otherworldly in a way that made you want to vomit. Surely even Beverly would regard something like that as demonic. In either shock or self-preservation, you weren’t screaming, though your brain was howling for you to leave. Get the fuck out of there while you still could.

Father Paul looked inexplicably calm around the thing, comfortable, even. You didn’t know how. There was no way you could ever look at something like that and consider it holy. You held your breath as you retreated, internally begging god for enough mercy to get out of the church alive. A floorboard creaked just as you got to the door. You ran.

The cool night air stung your eyes as you bolted down the unpaved roads, too afraid to look back and see if you were even being followed. Aside from a few porch lights, the island was pitch black. All you needed to do was make it home, and you’d be safe. No. You needed to get the fuck off of Crockett Island. Then you’d be safe.

You may have been a shitty person and an even shittier Catholic, but you knew things like this weren’t acts of god. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing all along, a power-hungry false prophet intent on turning the whole island to fit his corrupted vision of holiness. 

With a final push of adrenaline pumping through your veins, you sprinted to your house in the distance. As soon as you got inside, you locked the door, pushing one of the kitchen chairs in front of it. Realistically, it wouldn’t do much to stop the angel if it were coming after you. At least you could say you’d done something.

Grabbing your suitcases from under your bed, you opened them on top of your comforter, considering what to pack. You wouldn’t be coming back to Crockett Island. Soon enough, there wouldn’t be anything to come back to. You could tell as much. That thing you saw, the monster in the mural, it couldn’t mean anything good for the islanders. They deserved some kind of warning, even if they didn’t believe you. 

You paused for a moment. Your mural was their warning. They could see the grotesque angel materializing for themselves, and they praised it, full of wonder and awe. A voice in the back of your mind said it wasn’t enough, it was a cop-out, another way to shirk responsibility for your actions, falling into old cycles all over again. You drowned out the voice with a bottle of wine you’d kept around for cooking, and shoved clothes and painting supplies in your suitcases in your half-drunk stupor.

Pale, golden light filled your bedroom as the sun rose. With a shaky breath, you looked around your house for the last time. In the weeks you’d been living on Crockett Island, it’d become a home. You should have known it was all too good to be true.

The suitcases in your hands made your fleeing the island appear less conspicuous, going on a short trip with the intention of returning rather than abandoning the community that had taken you in, leaving them at the mercy of the creature that was waiting to pounce.

You bought a round-trip ticket for the Breeze’s morning voyage back to the mainland. Round-trip. As if you’d be coming back.

“Father Paul know you’re headed back to the mainland?” Sturge asked, helping you with your bags.

He’s just a priest. It’s none of his business, you wanted to snap back. Instead, you gave him a small smile. “Yeah, my mom’s come down with pneumonia. I’m gonna help her around the house for a week or two.”

“Late in the season to get pneumonia.”

“Her immune system isn’t great.”

“Maybe bring her on over to the island. Miracles happening here every day.”

You knew your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I think she’d really like that.”

As you watched the island shrink on the horizon, the guilt that settled back in your gut felt comfortably familiar. Maybe you weren’t meant for absolution.

[homesickturner]

Homesick || Chapter 2

A week after John’s departure, Gracie visited the University of Washington campus to see the campus and meet some classmates. Her mother and father accompanied her, and took to shopping for the day once they dropped Gracie off on the campus.

Gracie was a bundle of nerves as she met with her classmates, but she tried her absolute best not to show it. She immediately noticed a kind looking girl with a bright smiling waving her over to a small group of girls.

“Hello!,” she said smiling wide once Gracie approached. “I’m Rose, lovely to meet you.”

“Hi there, my name is Gracie. It’s very nice to finally meet you all ladies.” Gracie looked to them all with a small smile.

The girls spent the next few hours talking as they explored the campus. Gracie had decided that she certainly liked Rose the most of them all. She could tell that Rose was kind and did not push her to talk if at some points in the day she was quieter.

“Do you have anyone away in the war Gracie?,” Rose questioned as they sat down on a bench in the campus park.’

“Yes Rose I do,” a small, ever so slightly sad smile ghosted Gracie’s lips. “My best friend John, he’s just gone about a week. I’m missing him terribly. What about yourself?.”

“I do indeed. My John also headed out to England just last week. John Brady, maybe if you mention him in your letters we may find that our boys are already friendly,” a small chuckle escaped Rose. “I spoke with our professor earlier Gracie, and he mentioned that last years first year nurses have already been sent to aid,” her voice quietened to a low whisper. “She mentioned that if things keep going the way they are we could be looking at getting shipped out before next spring.”

Gracie’s eyes widened. “Oh…well I certainly didn’t expect that.”

Two weeks after her visit to Washington, Gracie was elated to receive her first letter from John.

My dear Grace,

I’ve finally made it to England! It’s absolutely beautiful here, although it rains a great deal more than back at home. You’ll be delighted to know that I’ve settled in well here. All the boys are good natured and up for a good time. We are all getting along well

There’s this fella here and he looks exactly like Buck from high school you wouldn’t believe it Gracie. So, I’ve named him Buck. I don’t think the poor guy likes it too much but he’s accepted his fate because it caught on quickly.

We’ve had lots of dances on the base but they’re not the same without you Grace. No one has rhythm like you, or rather lack there of. The ladies or certainly the boys can’t sing ‘Blue Skies’ like we used to so I’ve had to resort to singing it alone.

We all sat around the fire the other night talking about who we were writing home to. My guy Buck has got a girl at home, Marjorie. I told him I’d give you her address to write to, I think you’ll like her. I was telling the fellas about you………my partner in crime. As much as I’m enjoying learning everything here and all the partying, you’re missing from it all. I’m missing you like crazy Grace.

Enough about me, tell me how things are going with you. How was the visit to Washington? Did you like the place and the people you met? How are you feeling……and you better be honest cause I’m not there to see if you’re telling the truth or not. I want to know anything and everything Gracie. I look forward to your letter arriving.

Best wishes,

Your Johnny

Gracie’s heart swelled with happiness as he read his letter. She was overwhelming pleased that he was alright and seemed to be finding his feet extremely well. Overall Gracie was just overcome with the relief that so far he was safe. She had received her first letter and hoped for many many more.

When she finished reading his letter, she immediately sat down to write her reply. Plenty had happened in the two weeks the two had not spoken and sh planned to update John on everything.

My Johnny,

I’m so thrilled to hear from you. I’m very happy that you are settling in well and this Buck sounds like he’d got it in for him when it comes to you.

I am missing you more than you’ll ever know John. The dances certainly sounds like great fun and I’m sure it’s a splendid way to relax after a hard day. I am sure you are not partying to hard as I’m sure those planes are difficult to fly sober let alone after a few drinks.

I am glad to hear how all you boys are getting along so well. You can tell your Buck that I have written to Marjorie and am awaiting my reply. I’m sure that she’s a lovely girl.

I would be lying if I said these weeks without were not the hardest in my life. I’m missing so much John and no one around me understands that I may be in Wisconsin, but half of my soul is in England. I’m thinking of you all the time John, I promise.

Two weeks ago now I visited the Washington campus. Johnny, gosh it was absolutely beautiful. The buildings were so large and everything was just magnificent. I met some very kind girls who would be joining me in September. We spoke about the war and I mentioned you. Another girl, Rose, mentioned that her friend was also in England. John Brady, if you have seen him. A few of us discussed that we’d like to join the aid efforts although I believe we would need to stay until late December at college and travel to England in January. I know you’ve said time and time again you don’t want me to see what the war nurses do, but if my duty calls for it then I must do it.

I’ve been a little anxious since you left, but I promise you that I’m alright. Ma and Pa are keeping me busy and I still have to work hard at school for my place in Washington.

I think of you every moment and I will be eagerly awaiting your next letter. You may tell all your buddies a hello from me.

Sincerely,

Your Grace

Gracie posted as soon as she could, but she knew it would take some time to reach John. She also knew that John wouldn’t be too happy about the thought of her joining him in England because of the horrors that the nurses have to treat. Something told Gracie that she, Rose and their other nursing friends may end up in England sooner than expected. Washington was the best nursing program in the country, and the war wanted the nurses newly trained so that they could learn everything fresh and not have their own ways of doing things like many of the older nurses. The war was anticipated to go on for some time, and within a few months of the girls arriving they would certainly be well adjusted to cope with the injuries.

The casualties were only getting worse and worse so it certainly would not surprise Gracie if she were headed to England before Christmas. She and Rose had realized in their discussion that their cohort would be the next to go as Washington had already send last year’s freshman out to assist.

The thought of seeing John again obviously made Gracie happy, but the thought of what she’d see when she would arrive in England made her feel sick.

A long sigh escaped her lips as she posted her letter. For now, all the girl could do was wait.

***

hi everyone, I hope everyone likes chapter 2 😭 I will like chapter one here as it has been awhile…I appreciate the patience and love. Any feedback is appreciated. Love you all and there will be a new chapter soon !!!! Tagging some of my faves and people I know read the first chapter 🫶

[makriiii]

Caught XV (Arthur Morgan × f!reader)

Word count: 3.5k

Authors note: GUYS IM SO SORRY I LOVE YOU FORGIVE ME😭😭 THIS CHAPTER DOES NOT DISAPPOINT!! I rushed it just a bit, so there might be a few mistakes. I also have a few oneshot ideas that I both hope you'll like and that I'll get out soon. <3 ;)

Warnings: 18+, blood, cursing, alcohol, other stereotypical outlaw things.

♡

Caught XV

“I wish to god I’d passed her by…” the four of you harmonized, the sloshing of water from the sides of your boat making your voices compete with the noise level. “Taters got burnt n’ so did I! Mmm hmm mmm hmmm.”

The humming graduated into heavy chuckles between you, Arthur, Dutch and Hosea. Arthurs laugh was deep and hearty, a genuine sound you'd never heard from Arthur before and for once his eyes toward you seemed soft. You and him exchanging glances as you sang together, it was enjoyable to be with him for now.

From the way the day began, you hadn’t expected it to end like this, having this much fun singing along with these men, especially Arthur. However, given the earlier happenings, you and Arthur weren’t quite as haughty with each other - for now at least.

From the shoreline birds chirped and the sun set into heavy shades of purple, orange and yellow. Arthur's face aglow with the sun's painting, his face relaxed yet cautiously keeping his eyes from lingering on you for too long.

Once he realized you were still looking at him, he turned his hat down, erasing the light with the shadow of his hat. A small grin still peeked out from under his hat though.

Even a man as chronically grumpy as Arthur could be a bit more chipper at times. It was nice to be around him when he was like that, at least.

Before you knew it, Hosea and Dutch already had already agreed on the next song and one you well recognized from the times you spent with the O’Driscoll boys. “Well, we be three poor mariners, newly come from the seas!”

Arthur started singing along as you did, you weren't entirely sure, but he seemed to keep eyeing you.

The boat came to a sloshy, belated stop, granting you all a good position to pull out your rods and start your quest for dinner.

"I'll be redeeming my fishin' reputation today, boys." You announce proudly, casting your line out and praying for some sort of kind, large, preferably, hospitable fish to bite your hook.

Arthur scoffs and casts his out not too far from yours, giving you a competitive glare.

"See if you can outdo Arthur." Hosea remarks, attaching his lure to his line.

"You know, that actually reminds me of-"

(This is where Dutch tells everyone about Arthur's fishing story, supposedly catching a fish himself that was actually purchased. Which he doesn't like to hear as is but is even more irritated due to your presence. I was too lazy to write it and wanted to get this out sooner)

It'd been a good hour or so you lot had been out here, the sun nearly completely gone and you had caught only but a small perch.

It was looking glum for you, while Arthur was alit with delight.

"This is four. Maybe a good ten or so pounds, what do you think Dutch?"

"Good for dinner my boy, good for dinner."

You fought back a yawn as you scanned the water line, disappointed that your reputation was further tarnished. Small waves reflecting the nearly full moons light that had replaced the sun; thankfully, else it'd be pitch black.

"Y/n." Arthur coo's holding his wriggling fish out just for you to see. "I reckon it's time to get back, suppose your luck ran out today."

As you stared him down your whole body suddenly jerked forward, your hands unrelenting in their grip on your rod.

"What the hell.." You gasp out in disbelief as you start pulling your previoulsy preyed for, yet unkind and inhospitable fish in.

"Keep a hold on it, y/n!" Hosea encourages, now focused on you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Arthur's face of grim dismay, which you couldn't help but start smirking as you did your best to win this fat fish.

You waited till it tired out, then started reeling again. As it turned out to Arthur, your fishing ability was in fact existent.

While everyone sat in silence, only broken by the sloshing water underneath, you stood fighting your second catch of the day.

It wasn't until, with another surprising yank from your prey, did you realize you were too close to the edge and your boot stuck on the side of the bench in the middle, nearly leaning off the side.

"Shit." You curse as you try to regain balance as well as keep this fish on the line.

Arthurs hands gently slid onto your waist, pulling you closer to the center of the boat. You could feel his front on you for a short bit, a shiver running up your spine as your face heated.

For a second, you thought he was going to shove you in to go swim with the fish instead. But, that - that was different.

"Thanks, princess." You grant, although with angst, as your pride was still hurt from his earlier trophies.

"Psh." He scoffs, his hands slowly slipping off your sides. "I should toss you in as bait for that."

"Quit botherin' me." You scold and with a final, persistent tug, you finally got the fish close enough to the boat. Arthur quickly obliged and assisted you with getting the big bastard out of the water.

"Well, I reckon it's about as long as you, y/n!" Dutch chortles as he marvels at your catch, his eyes switching between the two of you for comparison.

If you were anything of the fisherman you said you were, you recognized it to be a sturgeon. A massive one at that.

"Looks to be a sturgeon you got there." Hosea confirms your thought, examining it closer while avoiding the droplets of water that flew from the fish's tail.

You bubbled with excitement and pride, holding the massive thing down.

Arthur had a nearly proud look on his face as he knelt beside you, absolutely gobsmacked with your catch.

"It's fair to say I'm a decent fisher, no?" You laughed, unable to contain your excitement.

"It's fair." Arthur admits, chuckling out his surprise, not even a man as petty as him could deny it.

—

The sun had now hidden itself well beyond the horizon by the time you had gotten back camp and floated up to, what was best described as skeletal remains of a dock.

Fires were lit and dim candle lights came from the tables. A warm setting to come back to, but as much as Dutch and Hosea seemed to disregard your presence as an O’Driscoll, the rest of camp hadn’t yet come around.

As you got out of the boat behind Hosea, Arthur helped you pull out your sturgeon, but his arm, you could tell, was still a bother.

"I can carry it," you gripped onto your fish harder, leaning back with the weight as you stepped one foot over the boat.

Arthur's hand on your shoulder stabilized you as you wobbled and swayed with your fish that you were unwilling to let Arthur help with. Whether out of kindness or pride, you didn't want to admit.

"Just let me take it, I have no problem with it."

"Well, I do, so let me have my fish where I want my fish." You hugged it with all your might as you walked up into camp with your catch, careful to not let it slip out of your grasp.

He started snickering, for what reason, you couldn't tell.

“What?” You grumble, clutching your sturgeon closer.

“Don't worry about it.” He dismisses, yet still laughing.

“Don't tempt me to sin against you, Morgan.”

“There's many ways you've threatened sin,” he retorted with a sneer, “some don't sound half bad now.”

You knew what he was referring to. The remarks you had made with innuendo that could be taken in a certain way - the way Arthur always took it.

“For you, the prices have gone up indefinitely.”

He feigned a big disappointed sigh, “Should've taken my chance when you only wanted five.”

That quickly prompted a raised brow, which of course, had him laughing even more. He was supposed to be showing his disagreement.

With your fresh fish in hand and Arthur lumbering behind you with his dinky fish, Pearson perks up as he looks you both up and down with eyes wide as a dinner plate.

Arthur slightly bumps into you as he stood by you, which prompted a grandiose gesture that the size of your fish was in fact bigger and he should be acting proper.

"Did you catch that?" Almost giggling with excitement as he ushers you guys to deliver them to the cutting board.

"I suppose I did." Your grin wide as could be, this was sure to be something you could hold over Arthur for a while.

"That should feed most of camp. Well done, O’Driscoll." With his hands on his hips, he contemplates his plan with it. "You're not so bad after all."

"Well, thank you, Pearson. At least some of you think so." You elbow Arthur, a suggestion to take a note.

He huffs out a grumble and side eyes you under his hat with a shake of his head. You return that with a big shiny smile, prideful and cocky as all hell.

As you and Arthur start floating away into camp without a direction, Pearson hollers for you both to come back to him.

"Arthur! Y/n!" He calls, waving you both over. With near perfect synchrony, yours and Arthur's shoulders slumped as you realized your work was not done for today. "Do you mind helping me prepare the food for tonight? Abigail and them are busied with work Ms. Grimshaw wants done."

You showcased Arthur and offered him up, volunteering his services. "I'm sure Arthur would be up for it. Kind as he is, cover for me as well."

Swiftly, you were met with a shove forward into Pearson's kitchen get up. "I'd be so glum without you by my side, y/n. 'Fraid I can't let you go."

"Oh, aren't you just darling tonight, Arthur." You mock in a sweet tone, picking up the knife next to uncut veggies. "A gentlemanly side I never thought I'd see."

"You two are quite the entertainers, aren't you?" Pearson interrupts, seemingly unbothered by the childish banter. "You remind me of two of my old crew members..."

Arthur immediately groaned, another story he had probably heard before. Though you were so focused on belittling Arthur, kindly, of course, that Pearson's voice seemed to just fade out, all it was was you and Arthur.

As he bent over to grab the water pails, you shoved your hip into his backside, throwing him off balance but not enough to knock him over.

He hisses something out as he stands to face you, staring you down.

You wave him off with your hand and start your work with the veggies left out for you. He was sat there plotting, not doubt, staring you down before he went to the lake to fetch water.

As you cut the veggies, Arthurs remark from just moments ago lingered with you. What you had meant and what he took it for was different, so what way did he mean what he said just now?

"Just neither of them had come close to dying so many times, I guess." Pearson continues, cutting into the fish as he has many times before. "You both seem to have a knack for it."

"I'd say Arthur started my string of bad luck." You clarified just as Arthur returned back with the full pails.

"Yet without me, you'dve never made it alive." He was quick to raise a brow and lay out his point.

You shook your head. You knew it was true, in some ways. Maybe you would've bled out on those mountains, or maybe, not.

"I guess we need each other then." You hinted toward the fact that you had kept his ass from getting buzzed multiple times, but the reaction you got wasn't quite expected.

His facial expression softened, just for a second, the gaslights and dim fire light adding to his quiet gaze as he stared at you.

It was only an ever so slight change, but nonetheless enough to make your stomach flutter. You searched his face as his eyes lay still on you.

"Need me to save you," he flips the switch, not a moment longer lingering on that look he gave you. "You like me to get you out of the trouble you get into."

Your face contorted and your eyes squinted as you took the blow, a blow you full well expected, despite that small encounter you just had.

It didn't feel normal, but it hadn't not happened before between you and Arthur. There were things going on between you and this big rat of a man that shouldn't be going on.

"Hmm." You hum along, grabbing out your flask for a well deserved drink, even more so after all the quality Arthur time you had today. "That's not how I remember most of it."

He walks right up close, all the while with a haughty look on his face, the reason for it was quick to be figured.

Arthur snatches your flask right as you were about to take a swig of it, instead finishing off the last of what you had left in there.

You glared at him angry and then jabbed his side with your fingers, making him tilt over quick, trying to fend off your attacks.

"Well, hell, woman!" He chuckles, handing back your flask as he holds onto his side. "There wasn't even that much in there." He made it sound like you had promised him you'd save some for him.

—

You had done your best, you really had. Finally giving up on trying to eat the meal Pearson had made for camp.

"Oh.." Arthur groans, taking his hat off and holding it against his chest to pay his respects as he examined what Pearson had done to the fish in the stew.

You both sat there proper defeated, your prized fish in a supper that was - well, edible enough, but not by choice.

There was too much water, rendering the fish tasteless, and the broth just faintly tasting of the potato and carrot you had cut up. It was salty, as salt was also used as the substitute for all other spices.

Arthur tilted his head back, finishing his first bottle of booze that you both had rummaged for. It was enough, luckily to stave off the discontent attitude toward the dinner.

You yawned in your dreary, tipsy state as you reached for your bottle that now matched your flask. Empty.

"What're we supposed to do now?" You pout, not in your right mind, whether it was due to the stew or drinking, you were beyond being able to tell.

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Drink."

Your bottle was empty, so you weren't drinking, but he was.

You scooched closer as he hung his head back, chugging down his second drink and as soon as he set it down, you snatched it.

He made a half hearted attempt to grab it back, his hands around your wrist, yanking you lightly in his haze.

“C’mon now, y/n.” He grumbles, “let a man have his booze.”

You glanced over at him as he made next to no effort to take his bottle back, now it just seemed like his touch lingered, neglecting to pull his hands off you.

His brows rested even, relaxed, and most of all tired. His eyes reflecting the somber feeling of going hungry tonight.

As you greedily slurped up the rest of the alcohol in your hands, you suddenly felt a familiar touch.

Arthurs head fell softly on your shoulder, his weight leaning into you. He smelt of beer, fish, and grime. Probably exactly what you smelled of too but your nose so thoughtfully became blind to it.

You watched him drowsily, the occasional half drunk hiccup both of you had interrupting the otherwise complete stillness.

“Let me see your arm.” You didn't give him a chance to even oblige before grabbing it yourself.

“What-” He questions before hissing out and wincing as you prodded his wound. The fabric had done it's job with stopping the bleeding, but now the blood dried and effectively stuck to his arm. “Can't you be more kind with me now?”

“I don't reckon you've earned it, Mister Morgan.” His satchel was stuffed aside on the table, which you had no qualms with rummaging through as if it were your own.

You felt his eyes burning through you as you searched for his first aid items. Certainly questioning the gall you had to willy-nilly through his things.

The more you searched, the less you came closer to finding the gauze and ointment he kept, which had you confused. The bag he had wasn't that big.

Out of the corner of your eye, his cocky little look worked it's way back into full force.

“Maybe you'll finally let me help you?” Arthur asks, gently pulling his arm out of your lap to show you where he had it.

A tiny, badly sewn and hidden pocket near the bottom left had what you were looking for tucked away.

You considered him for a moment as he set out the things on the table in front of you, offering his arm back.

“Thanks ever so kindly.” You granted with a sarcastic drawl, tending to his arm now.

Most of camp was asleep now, the fires burning out. Soft snores and otherwise quiet conversation from some of the members still awake.

As the minutes ticked by, you finished Arthurs arm, leaving it where it was on your lap, not particularly thinking about moving it.

Sitting there with Arthur, again, on your shoulder, his quiet breathing, his completely relaxed state - it was all strange, yet so calming.

“Arthur?” You beckon in a whisper, trying to see if he was asleep, remaining still for him.

“Hm.” He musters, barely a conscious response.

The question you wanted to ask perhaps wasn't the best suited for this moment, but it was the only time you felt you'd get a truthful response.

“Why is it you let me stick around?”

That elicited more of a reaction from the drunk, sleepy Arthur at your shoulder. He turned his head to meet your eye for a second, not even bothering to remove himself from your space.

“You're a capable young lady. Useful.” His voice labored, but thoughtful. “Despite the trouble you give me for it.”

You stared at the candle on the middle of the table, waxy run off further plastering it to the table.

“You felt that outweighed the risk of me ratting you lot out?”

“Are you confessing?” He murmurs, uncaring entirely, despite the possibility your words held an admission.

“I have no bad conscience.”

He hums out a dismissal of your bothers. “Everyone will warm up to you eventually.”

That felt like it would take years. If you were so lucky.

“You think so?” You continue, hoping the future he proclaimed was to be true. “Well, I suppose you have.” You let a small chuckle out at what you were obviously pointing out, which had Arthur effectively turn to hide his face closer to your shoulder.

That had put an end to the conversation, you finally allowed him the peace to sleep. And on you, nonetheless. You recalled easily the other morning where you had given him much guff for it.

As you stared into the flickering candle light, you realized you no longer heard the rest of camp. At this point, you had no clue what time it could have possibly been.

It was this man who had gotten you here. The one you fought tooth and nail with day by day, and still the one who had your back many times over the course of just a few short months.

He ruined your life.

That was one way to put it. Ruined and completely turned the trajectory of your future. Though, as many cons as there were, the pros seemingly started to outweigh what had transpired.

He wasn’t a terribly unsightly man neither, you had to admit. And now you had him asleep on your shoulder, his arm around your torso and you were letting it happen.

But his thoughts about you were only as confusing as how you felt about him. You didn't know if he actually wanted to be around you or if he just felt responsible to watch over you, as your O’Driscoll status still flew high with the people in camp.

And that picture- the pretty lady he had kept away in his things.

The longer you sat, the less you wanted to move him. As much as you felt it was what you should do, you couldn't muster it.

Your eyelids grew heavy as the surrounding fell deeper into the darkness of night. You hesitated before your cheek rested gently atop Arthur's head.

~~~

<33

[lostamongthestarz]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING TRANS MASC READER X KANO FICS

my autistic hyperfixation with this man is driving me feral also gay kano is very underrated (his one intro scene with Johnny from mk 11 has a death grip on my brain)

If you want to could you maybe write a black dragon pit fighter trans reader X Kano fic where reader fights in the club and maybe earns Kano's respect and attention that way (I'm a scrappy punk trans man who loves combat and blood sports)

I LOVE WRITING FOR KANO, you're so real for being feral for him. I'm more than happy to write this for you!

going to format these as a mix of head canons and writing

Kano x trans!male reader

divider credits: @/cafekitsune

warnings: blood/violence - normal MK11 stuff, Kano himself but nothing too bad.

❗❗FEM READERS, SHE/HER + SHE/THEY - DO NOT INTERACT, DO NOT FETISHIZE MY WRITING, I WRITE THESE HEADCANONS FOR MY FELLOW TRANS MEN/ENBY FREINDS❗❗

You had lost track of how long you had been fighting in the pits - having only recently joined in the black dragon's fighting pits. You had come for the thrill of it all, while most didn't care for the large amount of gore, it didn't bother you. The money was a nice plus - People would bet on how well your fights went and you got a hefty sum of the money - it's only because Kano allowed it ————————————————————————————————

Kano said he didn't have favorite fighters - as long as they fought well and didn't get their ass handed to them, but you? you were one of his favorites - one of his only favorites

⤹after your first couple of fights you catch Kano's eye, He had watched the next couples of fights - his eyes never left your form. ⤹the sound of cheering ⤹the Sicking sound of bones crunching and your fist connecting to some poor man's face.

⤹the look of pure delight on your face?

⤹Something about it made Kano respect the way you carried yourself. You didn't flinch even facing off some of the biggest guys in the fight pits. You had earned his respect and you two haven't spoken to each other yet. that would change - Kano would make sure about it. ————————————————————————————————

The first time you and Kano spoke - he could tell he would like to have you around. You had a certain spunk to yourself that Kano enjoyed. He gave you attention all the time - Kano didn't hide the fact he liked you more than others.

during and after each one of your matches he would always be there - always. Whether it was too come get you and bring you back to his own "office" area to clean you up. Or he'd be there watching you kick the shit out of some guy

You being trans does not bother Kano at all, he admires your strength even more - although he won't pry into that if you don't want to talk about it. He won't tolerate shitty comments towards you, He doesn't give the person a warning before he breaks their face.

He likes the bloodied look on you, more when it's someone else's blood. although he won't say anything out loud. he pays more attention to you when you're covered in blood.

⤹Kano likes to deny he has favorites, but when it comes to you everyone notices the way he tends to keep you closer in between fights

⤹No one comments on it although - they act like they don't see it for their own wellbeing.

I HOPE THESE ARE GOOD ENOUGH !! I've been in a funk lately with writing Requests open ! 💌 My inbox is open <3

[timefospookies]

Post Meursault arc ADA!Sigma and the average workplace convo 😋👍

“I fantasize about killing you a lot these days, I hope you know that.”

“I fantasize about killing me too! Any tips on how you’d go about it?”

Though Sigma almost choked on their own spit, no one else in the office seemed to bat an eye. Dazai, who had been silently bothering his work partner Kunikida for the better part of 20 minutes, had nearly gotten the poor man to snap. The poet tried to ignore that bastard the entire time, growing increasingly more agitated with each tease to the point Sigma feared he might explode. So when he finally threatened Dazai through gritted teeth, they felt inclined to fully believe his murderous intent. Kunikida twitched visibly, but made no move to spare his partner a single glance (whether that be to keep his own composure or to not satisfy Dazai was anyone’s guess).

”I'd hit you on the back of the head and toss you into the ocean.”

They couldn’t blame the guy, though. Sigma themselves had only known Dazai for, what, a month? And they couldn’t say the thought of killing him hadn’t slid through their mind at least once. But Kunikida had known him for YEARS. The bandaged man seemed to have this sort of cursed aura that made anyone within a 5 meter radius immediately want him dead, so it’s a miracle he was still standing in one piece. Dazai, on his end, leaned back into his chair in disappointment.

“How unceremonious of you, Kunikida,” he huffed, bored, “Can’t you do better than that?”

“Why, you…”

The man took a deep, shuddering breath to ground himself. He balled his hands into fists as he exhaled.

“Just. Get back to work.”

“Hey, wait, now you’ve got me curious,”

Both of the men and Sigma glanced at the end of the room towards the source of the voice. Ranpo, the super detective, had glanced up from his handheld to look at Kunikida. Now that he had their attention, he popped the lollipop out from his mouth and began to wave it around as he elaborated.

“You’d kill him via blunt damage, but with what? Where? When? How would you dispose of his body? I know you’d toss him in the ocean, but how would you go about it? Would you stuff him in the trunk of your car? Take a boat? How would you conceal his body?”

Sigma shifted uncomfortably in their seat. He is a detective, so with the amount of murders he must see on the daily must make for a pretty effective reverse engineered murder plan. However, this topic of conversation was rather unsavory for an Agency who was supposed to jail murderers, not become them. Kunikida, on the other hand, looked at the detective like he’d suddenly been enlightened.

“Good point…” he muttered.

Good point?!

“Hadn’t thought about it in detail, huh?” Ranpo smirked.

“No, I suppose not,”

Dr. Yosano, the Agency…well…doctor, spoke up.

“Me, personally? I’d tie him up, chop him into little pieces, and flush them down the toilet,”

Oh, so now they’re actually planning Dazai’s murder in front of him, that’s nice. Sigma glanced at the bandaged man in terror only to find him absolutely delighted with the situation. They didn’t know what else they expected out of him, honestly.

“Now, that’s an interesting way to go!” he chirped, “Though the chopping bit sounds rather unpleasant,”

“You’re getting murdered, it’s not supposed to be pleasant!” Kunikida snarled.

“I was just saying…”

“Sounds like an awful lot of blood,” Ranpo mused, interrupting, “What would you do about a mess that size?”

Then the little farm boy, Kenji, chimed in cheerily.

“Just kill him at a meat factory! No one would suspect random blood puddles at a meat factory!”

Consequently, Jun'ichirō, the illusion ability user, piped up as well.

“I feel like that would open up more problems than solutions though…” he said sheepishly, “Like, how would you even get into the meat factory?”

 “Are there any meat factories in Yokohama?” the doctor asked.

Dazai sighed, spinning in his chair.

“Not anywhere nearby, I reckon. You’d have to get me there first, and trust me, kidnapping is as much a hassle for you as it is for me.”

Kunikida spoke, thinking out loud more than anything.

“So dismemberment is too complicated, and blunt damage is too elaborate..” 

He suddenly perked up, in what Sigma could guess was…excitement.

“What about a staged suicide?”

Murmurs of agreement spread throughout the office.

“That’s more believable,” Ranpo said, nodding approvingly.

“Not just that, but you’d barely leave a trace,” Dr. Yosano added, “Just spike his drink and you’re done!”

But Dazai hummed once more, pondering over the idea in dissatisfaction.

“You’d need an ungodly amount of poison though…” he grumbled, deeply troubled, “I’m terribly resistant, you know? What could kill and elephant could give me a mild tummy ache,”

“Oh my god, never say tummy,” the doctor cringed. 

“My tummy wummy~”

The room was, again, filled with noise, only this time it was that of collective groans of disgust and Dazai’s vile cackling.

“See?! This is why people want you dead, Dazai!” she cried, “God!”

“Wait, okay, wait,” Jun'ichirō intervened once everyone had calmed down, turning his chair to face the man, “You’re not affected by any type of poison? Like, not even the strongest created or something?”

“Nope! I’ve tried it all before and-”

“WHAT?!”

Kunikida shot up from his seat and slammed his hands on Dazai’s desk- the latter looked up at him like a dog who'd been wrongly accused of something.

“What do you mean ‘what’? This is useful information!”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘WHAT DO I MEAN’?! I-! WHY-!”

In his absolute red-faced bewilderment, the poet fumbled over his words way longer than any regular person should. Dazai didn’t seem to mind as he patiently awaited his partner’s response. 

“D-! DON’T DRINK POISON!” he finally sputtered.

“I wasn’t going to,”

“YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!”

And with that, the poet brought his iron fist down on the man’s head, and the impact seemed to shake the room. Dazai sprung to life.

“OW, WHAT THE HELL?!” he cried, comically gripping his head in terror, “KUNIKIDA, DO YOU WANT ME DEAD OR NOT?!”

Sigma honestly wondered the same thing. 

“YES. NO?! IT’S COMPLICATED, OKAY?!”

Kunikida grabbed his partner by the collar and began to shake him around forcefully, bringing Hell down as he continued to yell and as the other resumed his complaining. What is happening? Sigma involuntarily grinned in grim confusion.

“Is this…normal?” they wondered out loud.

“Pretty much,”

Sigma yelped, their soul nearly leaving their body in surprise. 

“How long have you two been standing there?!” they cried.

The realization that Atsushi (Dazai’s mentee) and Kyōka (Atsushi’s mentee) had been standing behind them (possibly through the whole ordeal) struck them uncomfortably hard.

“Tummy wummy,” the two chorused in response.

It seemed no one’s ears were spared from Dazai’s horrible words. 

Sigma made a face, feeling generally disoriented, and Atsushi chuckled nervously as he waved his hands around in an attempt to comfort them.

“H-Hey, don’t worry, you’ll get used to it!”

“You’ll have to if you want to leave work psychologically unscathed every day,” the girl then deadpanned.

“Kyōka..”

How comforting. 

‘You’ll get used to it’, huh? The tiger boy didn’t look exactly convinced of that either as he stared at his arguing seniors with a tired look of amused disappointment. Sigma soon realized that the same look was plastered on all of the Agency members’ faces. What a bizarre thing this was- the weird dynamics of these peculiar people. What was even more bizarre was the look of genuine fondness in everyone’s gaze. Did they hate each other? Did they care about each other? Is it just both? Did this feeling of endearment and annoyance apply to everyone beyond just these two idiots? Sigma sighed as they felt themselves relax, just a little bit. How truly, truly bizarre…they’d get used to it.

[moonspirit]

Hi Moon, I hope you are well! I wanted to drop in and say OH MY GOD THE NEW CHAPTER?!?!?!?!?!!?!!?

First of all, remember you made a poll/question asking what readers want to see more of and I said REINER POV and YOU MADE IT HAPPEN. It was heartbreaking but also SO SO GOOD AND AAAAA I can't believe how well you wrote him and his thoughts. Also fuck Karina man, I hope she falls in the lake and freezes over 🌚 maybe she can take Mrs Leonhart with her too👀

Then, CONNIE??? HE'S THE STAR HERE OMG I fucking love the way he's so serious about this ginger bread project. But also, how did Connie of all people become the serious, responsible and grounded one of the group🫢

Then, JEANPIKU AAAAAAAAAA I can't believe they're acting so flustered and they didn't even kiss yet like HELLOOO how will you guys react after that??? Terrible at hiding emotions fr!

I also want to take a moment to appreciate LEVI IN THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE THIS MAN HAS MISSING FINGERS AND IS STILL DOING HIS VERY BEST. Him sulking?? Him agreeing with Connie on the Annie crystalizing moment (which btw made me snort), him going along with this "plan" to help Armin and Jean?? Yes!!!

Below I added my favorite passages from this chapter. What a delightful read! I can't wait to do some drawing in the future of my favorite moments! Absolutely want to capture some of these!

Hellllooo stella!! T_____T Thank you so much for reading, I'm so happy to know you enjoyed the chapter aaaaaaaaa T^T

Yeeesss the poll-not-poll thingy xD This chapter has been in the works for months now, so it wasn't a sudden thing! But you actually guessed right under that post and it was a struggle to not tell you "Bingo!" XD

I'm very glad to know you liked the Reiner POV tho T_T I admit it was quite difficult to actually put into words; severe depression, especially the physical manifestation of it, is tricky to actually explain seriously without it sounding silly. Imo a lot of the ways depression shows up in daily life are very quiet and "tiny" - for example, Reiner's struggle to get out of bed and the sudden confusion that envelopes him as he stands in the middle of his room and doesn't know what to do next.

Also fuck Karina man, I hope she falls in the lake and freezes over 🌚 maybe she can take Mrs Leonhart with her too👀

I laughed SO hard xD Glad to know you all hate her! Horrible reptile indeed.

On a serious note, I think... the warrior parents (with the exception of Pieck's father who seems, for the lack of more information, quite nice actually) might've actually had their eyes opened to the cruelty they dealt their children, but such realizations imo aren't total 180s. Both Mr. Leonhart and Karina are different now, yes, they no doubt value Annie and Reiner as actual people more than just as tools, but... it's highly likely they both also continue to hurt their children, probably unwittingly. Parents who view their children as trophies do not easily come down to a level where they are content with just the happiness of said children. I won't get into Mr. Leonhardt right now (to be discussed at a later point), but while Karina might really love Reiner, his status as Hero and Ambassador is still valuable to her. He is still a trophy son, someone she can show off to others. I don't say Karina does this intentionally, but it is incredibly harmful behaviour, especially to a vulnerable son like Reiner.

Okay wait I rambled, sorry xD

CONNIE BTW, IS THE ONLY ONE WITH THE SINGLE VALUABLE BRAINCELL AT THE MOMENT (among the six). I hc he'd really love community projects - hence gingerbread town, it's kinda funny he'd be the only one so fired up about it xD That said poor guy has his work cut out for him now, so RIP Connie Boy.

I also want to take a moment to appreciate LEVI IN THIS CHAPTER

T_____T Father of several adoptive children humouring his idiot son's excitement over gingerbread-town - ISN'T IT A NICE PICTURE TO HAVE?!! Aaaahhhh I really loved writing him doing such a silly activity, it was very heartwarming. But where Levi is, there are also sarcastic one-liners and maybe I enjoyed those a little too much xD So glad to know you enjoyed them too, Stella, thank you T_T!

These passages... yeah xD Things have been too sad lately, it was time for the sillies! I'm incredibly glad this chapter made you laugh.

Thank you so much for the lovely words, you're too kind T^Tb

[the-graves-family]

No. 7: Unconventional Weapon

Aaron grins as he crouches down over his newest victim. A young twenty-something who’d thought it was a good idea to go home with the first stranger that had offered him a drink.

His brother is in the shadows, presumably watching. He knows Aaron gets pissed off if he looks away or zones out. And Aaron has something very special planned for tonight.

The guy is barely conscious, but they can fix that. Nothing a shot of adrenaline and a hard slap can’t fix. His hands are bound together with duct tape, same as his mouth. Just the bare minimum to keep him still while Aaron gets started.

The adrenaline makes the guy frantic. Aaron should have taped his legs shut together, too, because he almost gets a kick to the face. Ah, well, the poor fuck is gonna stop moving soon enough. Why not let him think he has any chance of escape? It’s funnier when the hope leaves their eyes, shattered under the crushing weight of reality. A reality in which their captor is their fucking god.

Pretty green eyes. Shape the formaldehyde ran out last week. He’d have liked to keep them, at least for a little bit. He knows how fucking uncomfortable and paranoid Ace gets when he’s surrounded by eyes. It’s funny.

Humming to himself, he puts some thick leather gloves on, something he’s nicked from one of his acquiantance’s workshops. He’s gonna need them if he wants to keep the continued use of his hands. He can tell Ace is confused by the way he shifts and focuses on the dark leather. With a grin, Aaron bends down to carefully pick up his choice for the night.

The thing on the floor doesn’t recognize it, that’s fine, he will soon enough. Ace does, by the way he breathes and inches away from him. He must have seen, and touched, razor wire back when he was an army grunt.

Aaron approaches the squirming man and narrows his eyes, spool heavy in his arms. “This is going to be a lot more fun for me than for you.” No apologies. Why would he ever apologize for something he wants to do? And he’s going to enjoy this thoroughly.

Pleased with the fear in his victim’s eyes, Aaron carefully starts wrapping the wire around the guy’s wrists. It seems harmless at first, until the man moves even a little. The inch-long blades start digging in, and that’s when the screaming starts as well. He’s unbothered by the noise. They have no neighbors, and even if they did, the basement is solidly soundproof.

At first, he just wraps it around the man’s arms, making sure the razors dig in nicely. “It’s not so bad, huh?” Aaron purrs, even as his victim cries and nods, trying to get away from him. Every movement making everything worse. “Don’t worry. It’s about to get way, way worse for you.”

Aaron lies. A lot. Often for no reason at all. Except for when it’s funny.

There are hooks dangling from the ceiling of the basement, because he is nothing if not a drama queen, and having his basement look like a slaughterhouse freezer is aesthetic. Grinning, he slowly drags his victim up by the razor wire wound up around his arms and neck, listening to the screams. Then, with strength belied by his lithe frame, he heaves them up and hangs them from one of the hooks.

The skin rips and shreds, and the sounds of pain are delightful.

Aaron glances back at his twin, who looks a little sick. Good. It’d been a while since he’d managed to actually perturb Ace, and that had been nagging at him. What kind of brother is he if he can’t even make his twin want to die every once in a while?

The sack of meat struggles as he bleeds, apparently unconvinced of the fact that the more he moves, the more his skin will rip. Aaron could end his misery, could take one of his many blades and gut him, give him a quicker death than having his neck slowly sliced by his own weight.

But he’s not going to. Because Aaron is Just Like That.

Taking off the gloves, he steps back and admires his handiwork. The barbs have already dug deeply into the man’s arms and neck, and have started ripping the skin off. Tendons and muscle glistening with blood move underneath. He’s surprised his victim is still even conscious. Sometimes humans are more durable than expected.

Grinning, he glances sideways at Ace.

“I’m thinking steak for dinner, hm?”

[annymation]

Don’t mean to sound pushy, but are you gonna post the conversation that Simon had with Magnifico?

Not pushy at all! I didn’t share it before because no one asked for it so I assumed people weren’t interested, but now that you asked, here’s how it played out:

The king looks at Simon through the mirror with an intrigued look, wanting to know what this is all about.

Simon takes a deep breath, no turning back now, he just hopes that this works

“I… I know where the star is.”

The king’s eyes light up with delight once he hears that “Oooh do you now? How fortunate!” he smiles at the mirror, but then he remembers the lie he told his people was that the star is a threat, so he adds with a faux sense of worry in his voice "I do hope you're not too close to it, lad. That star can be quite cunning."

Simon is conflicted if he believes that's true and Asha was manipulated or believe that Aster is genuinely a good guy and the king is mistaken... But right now the truth doesn't matter, all he knows is that he can't let his friends go through with this plan, or they'll all be in danger, but they won't listen to him so... This is the only way.

"He hasn't done anything to us. Now, I can tell you where he is if you swear tha-"

"Us?" The king asks, knowing full well who he means, but faking confusion "Ah yes, you mean you and Asha, of course, well, make sure to not let her get away when I arrive, poor thing is clearly under a spell, but I'll be sure to fix that."

"N-no wait! You can't take her!" Simon protests

Magnifico raises an eyebrow at that "Can't I? And why is that?"

"... I want to make a deal." Simon says determined

"... Go on." The king is curious to where this is going

"I can get Aster away from Asha and lead him to you if you come here in the woods... But in turn, I need you to swear no harm will come to her."

"... Hmmm" Magnifico thinks for a moment, that sounds way too good to be true... And weird. Why would this boy who claims to be Asha's friend do this? "Before we agree on anything, I must know... How did you find them before my soldiers?"

Simon gets nervous, he didn't want to mention his friends in all of this, then they'd just get in trouble, and that's exactly what he's trying to avoid "Uh ya know... I just went alone and found them, nothing much to it really..." He lies, quite badly.

Magnifico takes notice of his nervousness, and decides that maybe Simon just need a little push to give him the answers he wants...

"Now now, I do hope I'm mistaken but... I sense you're not being completely honest with me, Simon." His eyes glow green, sending a mesmerizing gleam through the mirror straight to Simon's eyes, the young man feels his eyelids grow heavier "Let's try this again, shall we? How did you find them?" He repeats the question with a friendly smile, his eyes shinning bright green.

"... My friends wanted to go find them... So I went with them to help..." Simon shakes his head a bit... Why did he just say that?

"Friends you say? Interesting, and what are Asha and these friends up to?" His eyes glow green longer this time, his smile slowly turning more malicious as there's no need to hide it.

Simon feels even more tired than usual, his mouth speaks without him wanting it to "We planned on how to defeat you..."

"Oh my, you don't say" He says with obvious sarcasm, pretending to be shocked "Now I'm curious, how do you plan on achieving such a thing?"

He snaps back to reality again, Simon realizes he's speaking too much, this isn't what he wanted at all, and the king is clearly using his magic on him "This is all wrong, I can't tell you these things I... I- I made a mistake." Simon is distressed, he looks away from the mirror.

"A mistake?" the king repeats his words with a fake voice of concern

"I- I just wanted to keep them safe, I tried to tell them it was dangerous for us to go in the woods, but they didn't listen, they never listen! And I knew they wouldn't listen if I said this plan won't work." Simon is ranting more to himself than to the king, who is listening every word with a wicked smile, ready to take advantage of this added context. Simon makes up his mind that he's not going through with this, he picks up a rock from the cave, and looks angrily at the mirror ready to break it "I thought I could keep them safe if I just gave you what you wanted... But you're even worse than what Asha said! And I'm not gonna let you use me to hurt th-"

He looks at the mirror one last time before smashing the rock on it... And that was a big mistake.

When he looks at the mirror Magnifico's eyes are glowing green, not momentarily but constantly now, sending his hypnotic magic at full force to the already sleepy teen.

"Shhhhh shh shh there there Simon, that's quite enough... Put that rock down now." His voice is smooth as silk, Simon tries to fight it, but it's pointless. He let's go of the rock "Well done... So all you wish is to keep your friends safe, but they are dead set on defying me, hmm?" The king says with a mocking voice of pity, Simon nods slowly, unable to looks away from the mirror "Tsk tsk tsk how exhausting this must be for you, being the only voice of reason and all... But don't you worry Simon, trust me, I shall bring them no harm whatsoever... If you do as I say. You can do that, can't you?" Simon once again nods yes, he's deep into the spell, but deep down he's still trying to resist, Magnifico smiles sinisterly but still with a slow and calming voice "Of course you can, it's so much easier to just do as your king says. Go on now, tell me aaaaall about this little plan of theirs, and don't leave any details~"

And Simon does, however, with the little resistance he still has, he omits the information about Asha's magic pencil, leaving it vague how they'd get to the castle or unlock the doors.

Magnifico finds out about how they plan to break his staff, and to get in the castle through the dungeon, and he already begins to plan in his head how to fool them with a fake gem, and how to trap them in the castle. And as for Asha, well, the king promised he'd bring her no harm... But Amaya didn't say anything.

And she was standing there listening to the whole conversation while petting Bravo, already thinking how she'd make the girl pay.

Once he gets all the information he needed, Magnifico's eyes go back to normal, allowing Simon to finally snap out of trance.

Simon blinks a few times feeling dizzy, he doesn't quite remember all that he just told him, only a few glimpses of what he wants Simon to do "Ugh... Wha- what were we talking about?"

"Ooh I think you just dozed off for a bit there, don't worry heheh" Magnifico smiles innocently like nothing happened "As I was saying, all I need from you is that you keep your friends locked up in the kitchen, that's easy enough for your sleepy head to handle, isn't it?" He says condescendingly

Simon doesn't like this plan at all but... What choice does he have? "Y-yes... And you swear they'll be alright?"

"Like I said, IF you keep them in there, then I won't do anything to them... Am I clear?" The king is not even trying to hide that he's threatening them now, either Simon makes this go just as Magnifico wants, or his friends will pay the price... And it would all be his fault.

Simon just wants this to end, all he can say is a quiet "...Yes"

But Magnifico is not satisfied with just that, and singsongs ""Yes" what, Simon?"

"... Yes, your majesty." Simon adds, sounding defeated

"That's better. Thank you so much for your service, little one." The king calls him that knowing full well Simon is almost as tall as him, but he wants the young man to feel even smaller than he already feels.

The king just snaps his fingers and and the mirror no longer shows his face, it stops glowing, now showing only Simon's frightened expression.

The oldest of the 7 teens wishes he could scream in frustration, but the others might hear him from the camp fire... He probably should go join them... Even though he's not even sure he can look at their faces after what he just did.

He just hides the magic mirror inside his pillow case and gets up to go join the others, but just when he's about to leave the cave... He sees a huge ball of light coming in his direction at full speed.

"AAAH!"

"Oh good! You're awake!" Aster said with a huge smile.

[ask-felix-aberg]

*You found a letter in the middle of your class required Arithmancy book*

*The sealed envelope has sketches of bluebells on the sides that comes with a note on the front that says 'To: Felix' while on its back—'You didn't see that coming, don't you? ;)'*

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Dear Felix,

Hejsan! 'Tis I again :D

I truly hope that I used that in a proper context. Fascinating thing languages, isn't it? Seemingly breaking one barrier at a time and such a fulfilling way to connect to people.

By the way, Amit told me how he got frightened when you caught him. Poor Amit, but I'll be forever grateful for his help.

On a different note, I'm glad that you sounded excited about the cinnamon rolls; I actually made them, and I followed my mother's recipe. I hope that it turned out as delightful as she makes them. Also, I wasn't initially aware that you can bake? If you ask me, I think it is impressive that you can. As a baker's daughter, I approve of your gingersnaps! I absolutely enjoy munching on it.

Felix, I have a confession to make...

I, in fact, am the reason behind the stare you intuitively feel during Arithmancy class. So fret not, you are not going around the twist. It's really just me.

Was it intentional? Well, how do I put it...

There's always something magnetic and almost difficult to wrap around in a logical way about you; an energy I can't even begin to fathom fully or understand— and that's why I would go from a glance to a stare without me even noticing it.

You're interesting, Åberg.

To point the obvious, everyone already knows that you have a rather aesthetically pleasing exterior. Well, they're not wrong. But more importantly, I like the way you think. The way you express your thoughts on a subject that you are interested in. Merlin, should I even mention the way your eyes light up when you're excited to answer a question in Arithmancy class? It's priceless.. and somewhat inspiring, I must admit.

Oh, Felix... I know you always tell me that you're just a simple guy. But that reason itself makes you extraordinary to me: that you don't need to feel powerful or famous just to be proud of who you are. And that's beautiful in ways words can never be described.

You're my muse. I hope you let me paint you through words in every letter I will send you by how I see you.

Until then..

With much adoration,

Your Secret Admirer

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

*You then noticed that a book was also left for you. It's titled 'The Universe In A Mirror' alongside another note—"I just finished reading this and thought you might find it interesting, too!"*

Felix turned around in his seat, casually scanning the classroom. A few of his classmates were hunched over their notes, some whispering in hushed tones and others staring blankly at the board, clearly lost in thought. But there was no sign of who might have slipped the letter into his book.

With a bemused smile, Felix leaned back in his seat as he carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter inside.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─☆: .☽ . :☆─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

To my Secret Admirer,

Hejsan back to you! You used it perfectly. Thank you for another beautiful letter - and for the surprise delivery. You were right, I definitely didn't see that coming!

I really have to thank Amit as well, and I hope I didn't scare him off too much when I caught him on my doorstep. Poor guy. I'll have to make it up to him somehow. Maybe some sweets will do the trick?

Now, about those cinnamon rolls - they were beyond delicious! Far better than any I've ever made. My own attempts always end up a little lopsided, but yours were perfect. I'd love to exchange recipes sometime, if you're up for it. I've always enjoyed baking, though I mostly started to keep my younger brothers entertained. They're a picky bunch, but they always come running back for more, so I must be doing something right. :)

I'm glad to hear that you enjoyed the gingersnaps. It's always nice to know that something I bake can bring a little bit of joy. You mentioned that you're a baker's daughter. Did you grow up helping out in the bakery? I'd love to hear about your favorite memories or lessons you learned.

Your observations about me are touching, though I still stand by what I said before: I'm just Felix. I don't feel like I deserve all this praise, but it means a lot to me that you see something special. I guess I never really thought much about the way I am.

I'm excited to dive into the book you left for me. The title alone has already caught my interest. Thank you for thinking of me!

Until then, take care of yourself and keep being you. I'll be here, waiting to hear from you again.

Until our next letter,

Felix