#i had a MUCH much more gorey idea in mind at first but i went with the less... obvious choice i suppose

[yandere-sins]

Guard #500

a/n: It's been a hot minute but I just got this idea for our beloved prince so I just went for it. Hopefully it comes across as fun as I had while writing it ♥

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Pairings: Yandere!Guard!Malleus Draconia x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Malleus eating out reader, Mentioning of a one-night-stand), Abuse of authority, Manipulation, Mentioning of Reader unintentionally cutting on a knife (but no further actions in that regard), Mentioning of knifes/assassination/dead/dying, Slightly unhinged behavior from the Yandere, Slightly gorey description, Long Post

[Prison Project Introduction & How to request | Pinterest Moodboard]

There was something especially cruel about having your failure rubbed into your face.

He didn't even need to say anything, much less move. It was enough for your former target to stand outside your cell, unfortunately, alive and well, taunting you with his silence. Malleus Draconia was probably the most feared name one could hear when you were sent to prison for your crimes. And the more grave your crime was, the more you had to fear him.

"It doesn't suit you," he finally said after staring at you for a long time. 

The two other guards at his side eyed him, confused about his statement. You stopped pretending to read your book, an activity you abandoned the moment he stepped up to your cell. Your mind was too nervous to concentrate on the words, but even so, you had the desire to pretend he wasn't there, hoping he'd leave.

"I don't know much about fashion—I should ask Schoenheit about that," he directed the last few words at his fellow officers rather than you. "But orange doesn't seem to suit you."

"Unfortunately," you sighed, pretending not to have a nervous tension all throughout you just from speaking in his presence. "The dress you saw me in last was just too pretty for prison."

"Unfortunate, indeed."

More silence, and you finally put down the book, looking up at him. You held no personal grudge against the man. He hadn't done anything to you yet. It had been a failed assassination, one you had been paid for and which would give you a nice retirement once you got out. Some guy stuck in this prison with you wanted him dead, hired you, and now the biggest blow was that to your ego. 

Malleus Draconia, however, still sent shivers down your spine.

He had that authoritarian aura around him and the piercing green eyes to match. When your gaze met his across the dancefloor of his private estate, you had felt your heart miss out a beat, your body tensing, trying to decide whether to run or approach. Something about him just drew you in, magically even. And at the same time, you felt like prey even though you were hunting him. It had been him who had walked up to you first, asked for a dance, and you foolishly agreed, letting him sweep you over the floor and into his bedroom like a fool. You could have killed him there, easily, and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. 

But you couldn't. Not when he looked at you with the adoration of a lover. He was a rare jewel you could never possess, but you seemed to be the treasure of a lifetime in his eyes. 

Never before had you let anyone deter you from your goals. Becoming an assassin hadn't been an easy task, betrayel your every-day business. You took advantage of your victims for as long as you needed, and then you stabbed them in the back, not caring if they knew it was you, cursing you with their dying breaths. But you did it well. Discreet and highly compensated, you thought that was all that mattered at the end of the day.

So why did the memory of that night still heat up your face?

You wanted to appear cool and unbothered by him now that you two were locked in this prison together. But how could you when you still remembered the dragging of his fingertips along your skin? The reverent way he parted your legs to fit himself between them, like the missing piece of a puzzle. 

How could you forget the way his scent drafted all around you? His sheets, his hair, his body rubbing against yours, melting you into a malleable silhouette of passion and desire. If you took off your clothes, it was most likely you'd still find a hickey or lovebite left behind in the moments of pure lust, and when you touched yourself at night, you still imagined his image that of a slightly disheveled god looking down on you with the mercy and the grace of a servant. 

At this point, you thought you saw Malleus' smile widen as if he could read your thoughts. Perhaps you never had the kind of pokerface you thought you did. But one way or another, he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking of, even if just because he was thinking of it, too. 

"I liked you so much better, draped in my green sheets. But that's nothing that can't be arranged even now. I look forward to your next attempt, little assassin."

He left, appearing pleased with himself, to the absolute horror of you and the two other guards, who took a double take at their superior before shooting you dirty glances. That's right, you thought, almost wanting to say out loud, "I fucked your great Malleus Draconia."

But you didn't. Instead, you shrugged, feigning your return to read your book nonchalantly as if nothing that happened was a big deal. You had no beef with them, and trying to hide your embarrassment by sticking your nose in your book was better than letting them see how failure raked its claws over your back.

It felt almost the same as how Malleus had done it. 

"Is this-- this even allowed?"

Your head fell back the moment you uttered your momentary concerns. Driving your fingers through the silky black hair, Malleus' eyes shot upwards, the green ever so piercing. However, instead of the fight and flight from before, now, the only thing it caused inside you was desire. 

Everything about him was so regal, from how he knelt on only one knee beneath you, to how supportive his shoulder was to your leg draped over it. His hands were buried in your hips, enough to keep you steady but also to direct you exactly where he needed you to be. You were a helpless mess, whining when he pulled his tongue torturously slowly out of your cunt, and you bit your lip when he licked over his, your slick making them shine like some kind of fruity gloss. 

"Do you not like it?" he murmured from between your legs, taking another full drag through your folds as if he was licking the spoon after eating a delicious dessert. "I suppose it hardly measures up to the splendor outside this prison, but I hope you can appreciate my gift to you."

"All I did was get beaten up by my employee, and you gift me a whole-ass cell for myself, prettied up to make it look like your room?"

You weren't sure whether to freak out or to laugh. Not having to share the public amenities and a room with three other stinky inmates was undoubtedly a welcome gift. Still, you were hardly deserving of it after trying to kill the man who presented you with it now. 

"I'm still sorry about that; I should have come earlier," his gaze dropped, the light diminishing as he looked at your stomach. The bruise wasn't forming yet, but you knew it would come sooner than later. Even if you trained yourself to be a better assassin, you weren't immune to damage. 

"But I promise to make up for it."

His eyes darted back to meet yours. Gone was the moment of regret; now, all that you saw before they lidded in the process of staying true to his words, was determination. 

You felt his tongue slide back over your clit, the unnatural longness of it wrapping briefly around the nub before he began to suck. There must have been a world record somewhere for getting Malleus Draconia to eat you out, but he, surprisingly, proved to wear the badge of honor when it came to servicing someone. 

It was wrong, but it felt so good.

Biting your finger, you held back the moans as you felt him probe at your entrance again. However, another uncomfortable thought crossed your mind, and as you pulled the finger from between your teeth, Malleus entered you, slipping right along your walls and making you buckle over.

You were glad for him supporting your body, feeling as if you might collapse there and then. "W-What about the others?" you stuttered, unable to shake the feeling even though his actions were very much shaking you. "What will they think if they hear us?"

"Let 'em," Malleus muttered against your pussy, not sounding so dignified with his tongue inside you. "They can 'now who you belon' to."

"Sir!" you gasped, only to let a loud moan escape. It was hard enough to keep up with your worries while your inside clenched around his tongue as if your life depended on it—although he seemed to not mind it in the least. Still, you didn't want to hear dirty talk from someone who was supposed to hate you more than anyone else. And although you felt a real orgasm build, hard and fast, you couldn't shake the embarrassment of being paraded to his goons.

"W-Wait, stop!"

God, you hated yourself. You were so close.

However, Malleus complied. Immediately, all movements ceased, and he looked back up at you, expecting your next command. You were troubled with catching your breath first, but eventually, you shook your head, and you felt the drag of his tongue as it pulled out—not without its tip going left and right, mind you, tasting as much as it could. 

"You've done—ngh!—done enough. I appreciate it, really. But I can't accept this—any of it! I just... I can't. This has to stop."

Malleus stayed silent, gazing at you with a mix of disappointment and, what you could only describe, defiant refusal. "We will not," he finally concluded, and you gave him a confused look as he gently dropped your leg to the side so you could stand on it again before getting up. 

"Is this not exciting for you? Have I been neglecting your needs? Given how... wet you are, I thought I was going in the right direction, but I can improve my technique if you give me pointers."

"W-What? No! It was fine—great! You were doing everything right, it's just..." Your shoulders sacked as you gestured around the room. "I shouldn't be rewarded like this for trying to kill you. Look, I have nothing against you personally. It was just a job. And what we had was great, but it wasn't that good for you to treat me like this. I mean, shouldn't you hate me? Why are you doing this?"

To your complete bafflement, Malleus chuckled while you were getting worked up about the weird circumstances you two were in.

"Hate you? How could I? You led me right to the people who wanted me dead in the first place. I recognize your role as a pawn in the scheme, but is that it? Do you think this to be boring, now that it is just between you and me? Do you miss the excitement of getting a job done?"

Turning sharply on his heels, every one of his moves so deliberate yet fluid, he stepped over to a small box on the table, opening it and taking something out of it. Turning towards you again, he only needed to snap it open to reveal the sharp, silver blade of a knife that you thought must have definitely been illegal to be brought into this prison.

"I thought of this, too, you see. That you might need some more excitement. So, here."

Taking your hand in his, he placed the cold jack knife in your hand, directing its tip towards him. When you looked up at him in shock, you could hardly figure out what he was thinking. You thought yourself good at reading expressions and little signs, but with Malleus' formal training, it was hard to make anything out. With the eyes of madness and the smile of adoration on his face, you couldn't make out a single thought in that head of his. 

"Go on, do it. Stab me, cut me, rip me open if you must. Make a mess of my body. And then let me return to where I belong, at your feet, between your legs. Let me nourish on your juices so it may be the last taste on my lips before I perish. And when I am down there, please use me for your desires so you might remember me fondly as well."

"You're crazy," you muttered, doing the only right thing you could in this situation—pulling the knife back to the point you cut yourself before throwing it to the ground so he would stop almost piercing himself on it. 

"Hm, crazy," he pondered, nodding his head thoughtfully. Even in the face of this situation, with his eyes closed, his face serene as a moonlit night, and his hair ever so slightly disheveled from you meddling with it before, he seemed completely composed. He looked nothing but otherworldly, as if he shouldn't be walking among humans but belonged to the creatures written in books. It was unnerving, just like his words. 

Malleus could have had anyone. Surely people would line up to just awe at him for a split second. They'd pay more than you could ever earn in your measly life just to be regarded by him once. Yet, he choose the assassin who wanted to murder him. Who failed yet helped him. You thought you'd eventually meet your employer now that you were in the same prison and get a reminder not to speak of who hired you. You didn't know Malleus would be watching, being able to figure out who wanted him dead just by observing you. 

And because of this, and perhaps the fling you two had on the night of his assassination attempt, he'd come to want you.

"Perhaps I am "crazy". It doesn't feel bad," he admitted, opening his eyes again to look at you. Nothing of the unreadable curse you saw before remained in his gaze. Only pure, unfiltered adoration now filled it. He looked at you like only someone madly in love could. You never thought someone could ever look this way at you, and if not for the nagging fight or flight instinct returning to the forefront of your mind, it almost pulled at your heartstrings.

But before you could react, he leaned forward, picking you up. You squeaked as he lifted you high in the air, your legs wrapping around his torso instinctively. He walked as if you weighed nothing, carefree and playful, tilting his head to nib at your hand that was gripping his uniform jacket before mending the agitation on your skin with a few pecks of his lips.

You eyed the door, waging your options. If you hammered against it, screaming for help, the two guards Malleus left in front of it might think he's in trouble and come in, even though he ordered them to stay outside. Something felt terribly off with this man you once thought to be this elegant, otherworldly prince who could do no wrong. You thought he joined the side of justice to keep up his image, but the amount of mercy he was showing you and only you bordered on selfishness.

It would be better to leave before it was too late. You shouldn't humor a beast that seemed to be starving, fixating itself on the only prey that had no choice but to obey when it was in a helpless position. 

"Crazy or not, stabbing me or not. Either way, let's return to the matter at hand: you didn't cum yet, did you? However am I going to deal with it if my darling is dissatisfied with me?"

In a swooshing motion, you were thrown forward, falling right on your back, only to be caught in softness and comfort. The mattress of the bed he provided you with molded to your body, the pillows and sheets guaranteeing you a good night's sleep on imaginary clouds. And even better support for other activities.

"And just so you know..." Malleus added, climbing on top of you, straightening his back only to pull off his jacket before he hovered closer than ever to you. As if he had to completely erase any distance keeping him from you, his body sticking against yours like a magnet. He was mesmerizingly pretty and you still couldn't believe what he was doing. All of this was wrong, and some feral instincts from a century ago feared he'd rip out your throat as he buried his face beneath your chin, kissing along your neck. 

"I soundproofed the room but I plan to let everyone hear us."

You gulped, and he chuckled, involuntarily feeling the movement press against his lips. 

"You already belong to me," he stated matter-of-factly as his face popped up in front of yours again. You looked at the door once more, fearing it was too late. You were trapped, caught like a princess by the dragon, but there was no knight in shining armor to save you. 

"And I'll prove it to everyone and you if I must."

[destinygoldenstar]

The Gaslight District Is Very Well Made (Is It My Thing Though?)

I gotta be honest with y'all, I wasn't as excited for The Gaslight District as everyone else was.

I had no BEEF with it, per say, I just never really had it catch my eye outside of it being produced by Glitch. I didn't follow any of the ads they put for it aside from the trailer. I went into this completely blind, knowing nobody's names or whatever exposition was placed in the ads, because I would rather have it be said IN THE SHOW. (Which they did)

I also have had other stuff going on at the time. But while I wait very patiently for Episode 5 of Digital Circus, I'm glad that a new show is getting its chance in the spotlight.

Immediately I think I should mention that this show is very obviously NOT a kids show. (I mean, NONE of the Glitch Shows are, but still) There's so much GORE and VIOLENCE and MILD SWEARS, there's a close up shot of a male character's exposed tits. Etc.

It kinda brought me back to Murder Drones in terms of wild gore and violence. But that show could get away with a lot of it because they were robots. These guys are FLESH.

I love it. But also, just wanted to point this out before any of my kid followers decide to watch this. (But also, what are you doing here if you are a kid? You're not supposed to have a Tumblr Account in the first place.)

I will say right now, I think writing this show off just because it's gorey and violent is... dumb. Just like how writing off Hazbin Hotel just because they cuss more than a sailor is dumb. It's fine to say it's not your thing, but that does NOT mean it is a flaw.

So, is The Gaslight District Pilot Good?

Yes.

But I'm not hooked personally.

I hope I get hooked in an Episode 2 though.

This is gonna all come down to Objective vs Subjective taste. Which is VERY different.

Objective is when you can put all your bias feelings aside and look at the quality of something for the quality it brings to the table.

Subjective is when it's solely based on your personal tastes and you judge it by what you like and don't like.

In this case, this is one of those cases where it's very different for me.

I can acknowledge when a show is OBJECTIVELY really good and really well made. Even if SUBJECTIVELY, I am personally not the biggest fan.

But if you are its biggest fan, I can definitely see that.

I'm sorry, but I am pretty solidly a Digital Circus fangirl. NOT because it's popular, mind you. It's just the Glitch show that has hooked me the most. BUT that does not mean I look down on Murder Drones or this show in any way. I quite like Murder Drones and I do want to find time to talk about it in the future.

I have nothing but respect in my blood going into this.

ALSO, THIS IS BASED OFF OF A FIRST VIEWING. THERE IS DEFINATELY SOME THINGS I MISSED.

Let's get the obvious out of the way, the animation is really beautiful.

What a shock. Glitch's team is talented.

I really dig this show's artstyle as something that looks totally different from the computer animation we're used to from Glitch's shows.

I said this with the trailer, but this reminds me of Telltale's The Walking Dead & The Wolf Among Us, if it was updated to have a Spiderverse/TMNT Mutant Mayhem flare in its action.

What I DIDN'T expect in this animation is its stop-motion movement? More on this later. But it really does feel like a stop motion animation watching this.

I also LOVE the designs for the characters. Again, that bread man is really cool of an idea. I especially love how it just basically EMBRACES its style. These are fleshy undead freaks, so of course they're going to have torn off skin. And knives casually stuck on their heads.

Melancholy, or Mel, looks the most normal of the group, and she quickly stands out.

Which was definitely intentional because she isn't like the rest of them.

I also really like Mel in this. At the first half of the episode, I was kinda worried she'd just be an Uzi knock off. Overly edgy, wanting to shake up the status quo to cope with her family issues and insecurities.

But no. She's not.

For one, Uzi is far more satirical as a character, whereas Mel is completely straight. Both are valid.

Also, Mel isn't trying to shake up any status quo of her society. She WANTS to fit in. She wants to be a part of this world and her adopted family's business, despite her body limitations.

I LOVE this little blink and you'll miss it detail of a paper on her plot board asking "Where Do I Come From?"

That, along with a couple other stuff, really demonstrates her insecurities about being a human in an undead world unable to fit in. Despite her wanting to fit in, she also can't help but be curious about her origins and even self conscious about it.

I love it cause it's very subtle characterization that elevates the complexity of the character. But also I really hope this is explored later in this show and expanded upon.

Though part of me also thinks this show is setting her up to be a mom.

Also, her voice actress KILLED IT.

So did everyone else. This voice acting is top notch.

I also appreciate the characterization of Ken. I have mixed feelings on Ken, I admit, mostly because I was questioning while watching it if he even cares about her at all. He's also a DAMN HYPOCRITE.

"Never leave my side!" *Leaves her side and tells her to wait in a room alone* Then becomes furious that she went upstairs alone despite him leaving her alone.

But I also appreciate how subtle of characterization he has because most of his care for Mel is shown through his ACTIONS, not his words. His words very harsh and condescending and kinda comes across as bullying sometimes. But also why wouldn't that be? He's a thug. And she's vulnerable.

He's also just flat out racist. Despite raising somebody of that race.

Yeah the first episode doesn't really explain this, but I feel like they will later in the show.

I can see people really liking this show.

So let's get into MY personal gripes with it.

The action doesn't work too well for me.

I know I praised the animation, but that's in spite of the facts that it's sometimes... choppy? And it's quite jarring sometimes.

Murder Drones and Digital Circus had animation that was smooth as butter.

So I don't know if it's just an artstyle choice or what, but it was distracting to me.

There's also WAY too many camera angles in this. It makes it really hard to follow the action and understand what's going on.

It kinda hurt my eyes sometimes from how many cuts and cuts and cuts they did. I had a hard time following along visually. Murder Drones is also action heavy, but I could follow that show's action just fine.

I DO NOT want to say this is a 'style over substance' show, because it DOES have substance. That's not what I'm saying at all.

This is also one of the most serious of Glitch's shows. Not a bad thing. It's just, I THINK it's supposed to have humor, but none of the jokes were landing for me.

If the comedy is the gore, I didn't pick up on it too much, because my reaction was 'oh, well that happened.'

There was only ONE time I laughed in the whole thing.

"And NOW I'm missing a dishwasher a busboy and two waitresses!"

Other than that, I was mostly straight faced throughout. The jokes weren't working for me.

I just watched the premiere, and I can't recall any other joke in my head.

I also am just not too hooked by the cliffhanger in this episode. Mostly cause of how causal of a cliffhanger it was compared to the other Glitch Shows.

I know that's petty. But like, the other shows Pilots had DEVASTATING character moments for our leads that made us feel for them and their situation. We want to watch more because we want them to succeed.

Uzi was betrayed by her father and is now caught in the outcast train of the Murder Drones to the point where she banishes herself from her society.

Pomni is forever trapped in the world she's tried so hard all episode to escape from.

The entire episode, I was expecting Mel's scheme to go wrong.

I like my expectations being subverted, but also, it kinda leaves the episode on a far more positive note. With the cliffhanger seeming last second. A little quirky "WUH OH, I TRIPPED ON THE CLIFFSIDE, WHAT DO WE DO NOW??"

Their mission is successful. They get exactly what they came for.

Yeah Mel gets severely wounded and hurt, but she's HAPPY. And then the next scene, she's fine. No lasting impact on those injuries. Nothing? Okay. (I guess she's nervous because of her dad's racist speech before the ceremony, but she's still going along with destroying the egg)

The prophecy stuff is fine though. I'm not as bugged about the trope as everyone else. Mel is the special chosen one. Cool. Fine.

Also, I just don’t really have many questions after the cliffhanger. Aside from “Where did Mel come from?” Which is purely a plot thing. This cliffhanger is purely a plot progression. Whereas the other two shows left me with a lot more intrigue as to what was going on with several characters and its world. I wanted to see more. Know more about how these worlds worked. Here it’s just kinda… eh? They’re undead. They hate mortals. There’s a bird in the egg. Got it.

I'm still gonna watch the show because it IS really well made and I want to support Indie Animation. BUT I'm absolutely not losing sleep over this show.

Again, it's just personal taste above all else. I have nothing but respect for Part Time Seagull for making the show they want.

And if this becomes someone else's new obsession, I am so happy for them.

For now I give the Pilot a 7/10. It's a nice watch and I would want to watch it again, even if it might be a bit in the future.

Also to all my peeps who want to spam Glitch’s socials asking where Digital Circus is on every ad Gaslight District related, DON’T DO THAT. LET THIS SHOW EXIST IN PEACE. THERE IS NO HARM BEING DONE HERE WHATSOEVER. ITS ANNOYING AND UNCALLED FOR. GASLIGHT DISTRICT DID NOTHING WRONG.

[z0mb1el0v3r22]

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╰┈➤ The start of left 4 dead 2. A news reporter from Cleveland, Ohio, gets sent to Savannah, Georgia, to document the segments of Evacuation Centers in turn for her co-workers. She could've never expected to be tied in the middle of the apocalypse...

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╰┈➤ P.S Not a finished piece of my story about Rochelles Pov BUT I need to know if this kind of shows her as more of a 3D character... somewhat anyway. Obviously there'll be more things about her past, yada yada. I just didn't want to dump all this information out in the first few paragraphs... 💔💔

The apocalypse was something she never expected to happen. It was just fiction, a story to tell kids on Halloween. It's a scenario where you can imagine yourself being the badass protagonist. It wasn't meant to be real.

Working in news lead Rochelle to being the woman she was today. So many reports of crimes and attacks. She's desensitized to a lot of gorey sights.

The first week of reports. People were starting to get sick, not a huge deal, a few masks and washings hand thoroughly would help. The station she worked in plastered these signs around. Almost every day was it shown time and time again.

The second week of reports. Okay, it was getting worse. It had to be ignorant people, right? People that thought the Green Flu was a joke. Not to mention the people with bad immune systems or the elderly… children. God, she didn't want to think about it. Too many people could easily get sick. Regardless, they were fine... right?

Third week of reports, coworkers started calling in sick. Okay… odd. They were most likely just afraid, that was reasonable. It was a bad thought but thoses calling in sick gave her more work, an unspoken promotion.

Fourth week of reports. The sickness got bad in certain parts of the US. Rochelle got sent to Savannah Georgia to do segments on CEDA evacuation centers. New job, and if she did this it'd be a promotion most definitely. It should've been easy, nothing exactly wrong with that. Doing the news reports were somewhat new but she's knows what to do, not a huge deal.

Fifth week of reports. The world went to shit.

Sirens were alarming as people were ushered to near evac stations to get out the town slowly being over run with zombies. Screams and cries of pleading were heard. Riots and outright panic plagued the city of Savannah. She abandoned everything, her safety mattered more then some stupid news channel.

The ground underneath her caused her body to reverberate with each hard step she took. The boots she wore today weren't helping either.

A tall building, a hotel, labeled 'The Vannah' was her most recent segment she documented for evac. That had to do. Her prayers ran high, hoping she wouldn't be too late or god help her.

Quickening her pace, she ran, shoving people out of her way. Others had the same idea as her, but they headed a different way. She opted for going to the staircase located near the corner of the hotel, less foot traffic and straight up to the roof.

Ascending the eight floors, she met up with some others. The eldest man, heaving and huffing. He wore a shirt with a local highschool logo on it. Another, slighy ahead of her was encouraging them to keep going. He was a country hick, no doubt. The accent gave it away to her. Lastly, a guy with a suit. He was… Something.

Rochelle didn't pay much mind, she just focused on getting to the helicopter and getting out of here.

Her body ached as the four of them made it to the roof. The Southerner opened the door. All they could see was the helicopter preparing to take off. Shit!

Panic immediately sets deep into her body as she rushes forward. Unfortunately, they were all too late. The helicopter left without the body.

She waved her arms in the air, looking utterly stupid, but all the same she was desperate to get them to turn around, “Hey! Come back!”

None of her pleas got answered as the helicopter was moving away from the hotel. What was she meant to do now?

The southerner, with his hands on his knees as he was breathing in and out heavily, “Shit, whirlybirds left without us!”

That seemed to tick off fancy suit. All he let out was a scoff.

The young'un moved the cap on his head before scratching his head. He then nudged his head up before looking at the rest of the group, "Looks like that whirlybirds headin' to the mall."

Fancy suit seemsd to have enough with the southener as he spat out, "It is a helicopter. If you call it that one more time I'm gonna—"

"I'll call it what I like, fancy suit," The hick replied. He wasn't very happy with this guy.

"Will you two shut up?" She butted in, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. She wanted to get out of her as fast as possible, maybe, y'know, get to safety instead of bickering.

In a moments notice, the man in the white suit was right in front her, most staring mockingly, "What? You got somethin' to say, sweetheart?"

"You three, shut up!" Coach, she had associated him as due to the fact he looked like a coach. He shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were looking through the chain link fence, watching the helicopter,* "Looks like it's headin' towards the mall. I live around here and it ain't that far."

Silence went through the four of them. What other choice did they really have?

“C'mon, let's get moving, I don't like being in buildings that are actively on fire.” Fancy suit said. It seemed he was in considerably in a better mood.

However, this information set some unease in her gut. The building was on fire? Since when? She shook off those thoughts. Her eyes landed on a weapon pile nearby. That was good. It seemed they made passengers for the evac center to throw them off to the side. The surprise part was that they were still here.

“Should probably get some weapons. I work in news and well… the news says we should get weapons,” She said, heading over to the weapons left behind from those who hopefully managed to escape with their lives.

Crouching down she went to grab a pistol, the cold metal against her fingers felt so abnormal. She touched msny metal things but these things were going to kill. A shiver ran down her spine. She couldn't even shoot a gun, so what was the point in having one?

Shaking off the thoughts in her head as she put it to the side. Her fingers collided with something less cold, it was more wooden. Instinctly, grabbing it out the pile she found an axe, battered and barely attached to the handle, but at least it was something she could actually use. Holding the handle was just a simple reminder of the life before, a life she alresdy missed.

The polished surface was smooth against her palm, a reminder of a time that felt so long ago. The tension through her felt like a spring that was ready to be released. Her fingertips were going a bit pale in comparison to the rest of her body.

[ff-12]

Prompt: Prime POV, he steals something

He hadn't been inside this house in years. Decades perhaps. The security system was laughably predictable, everyone inside sound asleep. And why wouldn't they be.

They had nothing to fear.

He crept softly towards the garage, disabling small booby traps while he went. The door opened smoothly.

C-137 was at his work desk, sprawled, soft murmurs almost intelligible in his sleep. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time to stop and admire him like he would have wanted. Prime hadn't brought the pause button with him, too easy.

He knew exactly which drawer to head to, how the dials would turn, the order the lights would glow in. Success was nearly so, so sweet. It was missing that special touch, that. Cherry on top.

His car was still warm, and he jumped inside, excitement bubbling in his guts. Almost, almost...

"Fuuuck! Noooo!" There they were, the dulcet tones of his C-137 rising and falling, despair and anger mixing beautifully. "Prime, y-you nookstain! Get back here, bring it b-back!"

He saw the lights in the house turn on one by one in rear mirrors. As his car screeched and eventually boomed away, he patted the ring tucked safely away in a pocket at his lower thigh. "Catch me if you can, my one and only."

[seasidepierre]

the way | charles leclerc

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS MASTERLIST

summary: You had no idea what you fell into when you fell for Charles but truth is, you might be in way over your head.

warnings: I took the mafia trope and made it soft, so you know where you stand with me.

words count: 2,3k

a/n: Wishing a very merry Christmas to @damianodavidhands who I was the Secret Santa of! I hope you’ll like this piece and that you’ll have nice holidays, full of warmth and love 🤍 As always, thank you to @dansunflowers​ for always reading my crap. This has been heavily inspired by Heaven by Julia Michaels!

gif credit to radiocheck

There wasn’t really a day to take a break when your boyfriend was the second hand of a crime organization. To be honest, it’s not like you had any idea when you first met him. Your path stumbled onto his when he came to the library you were working at, searching for a book to read. He was wearing a three piece suit, which could have been a bit of an indicator if he wasn’t that nice to talk to. You took the time to consider his likings: he said he had enjoyed a crime novel recently and that his favorite genre was detective investigations. He said he didn’t really like the gorey stuff and that he was way more into the psychological part of the plots. With that in mind, you went through the shelves to deliver him what you hoped would be the best suited book for him and he bought it in cash, saying that if he liked it, he’d be back. 

You hadn’t really expected him to stumble into the little shop about three days later, with a grin so big on his face it might have been an impression of the Cheshire cat. For a couple of months, Charles popped by the shop, sometimes with two steaming paper cups, sometimes with a flower he would have found God knows where. The only constant was that he would always wear his suits crisp and neat and he would always listen to you. You two would take the time to chat about your readings and the conversations diverted to your life, at some point, but Charles didn’t say much about his. He said he was some sort of accountant, but that it was a bit more difficult than that. He didn’t say much and you didn’t pry, thinking he was just a bit of a private person. 

Everything changed, though, the day a dodgy guy came by the shop and held a gun right to your face. In your panic, you opened the cash register and gathered every bill you could have touched, handing it to him and even proposing a paper bag to carry it. But the guy just laughed at you and you still remembered the sound of the safety lock being released. You were yet to forget how cold the barrel of the gun was, pressed against your forehead. You still had nightmares about the extremely loud bang that resonated through the shop, piercing your eardrums and catching your breath in your throat. You were certain you were dying. The inability to inhale convinced you that this was it. That you were done. You still had vivid memories of the flash of light that came about a millisecond before the detonation.  The ringing in your ears sometimes came back, like an eerie reminder that it happened and that you almost died. 

But in the gunpowder dust cloud came Charles, his own gun in hand, while your assaulter dropped to the ground. There was no time to acknowledge his coolness and calm, he just grabbed your hand and dragged you to the back office, where he somehow knew where to find the back door and pushed you into a black car with tinted windows. 

He didn’t say much at first, just took a second to punch the back of the seat in front of him and dropped his gun between his thigh and the car door. Then he turned back to you and for the first time, the gentle, warm face you had met a few months prior reflected an unknown image that you didn’t know how to handle. His hands came to your face and for a reason you couldn’t pinpoint, you didn’t flinch. He carefully inspected your face, frowning when he came to the perfect darker circle imprinted on your forehead, a trace of that barrel that was yet to disappear. He gently pushed a thumb onto the faint mark, trying to erase it and sighing when it only produced a darker path of irritated skin. Then his hands wandered on your chest, your stomach, your thighs, checking for any injury that could have happened. Your hands were still shaking and your breathing was still erratic, but his hands’ journey came back to your cheek, forcing your eyes to dive into the clear green of his. And then he’d taken a big inhale, inviting you to match his breathing, which you did, calming you bit after bit, until you had a clearer understanding of what happened. 

“Is he dead?” You’d choked.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Charles had shrugged. “They know better than to come after the people I see.”

“Who the hell are you?”

There was no point in tiptoeing around the subject and Charles knew it. After what happened, he couldn’t lie. So he explained, in detail, that his job was to make sure the mafia organisation he was a part of wasn’t financially screwed over. While his occupation didn’t usually entail anything dangerous, he was trained to handle those types of situations and he had to sometimes straighten some things up. 

You had tried getting away. You really had. But Charles had taken the time necessary for you to understand and his respectful approach had been nothing short but amazing. The trust he had put into you was mind blowing and you had everything to take him down. But you didn’t. Because taking him down would mean opening a can of worms you had no idea how to handle and you couldn’t deal with the idea of him being locked up. For months you took the time to learn who Charles really was. To understand the man behind the mafia, to find the humanity behind the monstrosity that the organisation could delve into. And the truth was that apart from his questionable choice of a job, Charles was absolutely perfect for you. He was sweet, he was romantic, he was protective without being overbearing or overwhelming, he was funny and he read. He read more books than any guy you had ever met and you loved him even more for that. 

However, dating Charles came with its own problems and it could have been overwhelming if he hadn’t been next to you in every step of the way. It could have been an enormous red flag that he enlisted you to follow self-defense classes with a couple of mobsters who you feared more than you trusted but that Charles seemed to do enough to leave you alone with. And to be honest, one of them, as dumb as he may be, had also been honest in the sense that they knew who you were and who you mattered to. They wouldn’t dare dreaming about double crossing Charles. And if Charles wanted to make sure you could defend yourself, then they’d do their best to help you with that. And the day he dragged you to the armory so that you could pick out a handgun could have been enough to spook you out, but he wanted to make sure you’d be equipped in case an incident like at the library occurred again.

You had confessed to him about feeling powerless in that instance. He had heard you whimpering, some nights, dreaming about the event. He had observed you flinching at loud noises, at flashes of light. And he knew about it. He had gone through the same process. So he knew that you needed to regain trust in your abilities. This was his way of helping you feel powerful and in control again. 

And to be completely honest, he knew that his line of work didn’t align with your values. And he knew that you were uncomfortable living in such luxury when you were perfectly aware of where that money came from. He also knew that coming back home limping with a bloodied face would someday cause you to have a heart attack. But he was trapped and he needed to find the perfect time and way to escape the organisation, which wasn’t for now. 

So in the time being, you’d both soldier on and grit your teeth through it. 

In that light, you knew that there wasn’t really a day to take a break when your boyfriend was the second hand of a crime organization. But when he dragged you to the airport in Nice to go straight to Paris for the holidays, it damn felt like vacation was upon you, finally. Like you’d be able to forget the mob, the angry Italians and everything that came with being in Monaco. And maybe taking the organisation’s jet wasn’t the smartest thing to do but he’d be damned if he didn’t spoil you rotten for this trip. If the red covering the sole of your stilettos wasn't enough, the expensive bouquet of flowers hanging in his arms, waiting for you, was a good argument in favor of turning a blind eye to the origin of his wealth, at least for the few days you’d be away. 

The French capital was enough to soothe your heart and soul. You hadn’t been able to visit it yet, but the Seine was just what you needed to wash away your doubts about where Charles’ heart sat. It was clear as day that he was in love with you. The admiration held in his eyes whenever he looked at you was enough to make you question your values and your conscience. Charles had been trapped in the mob way too young to know better. The promise of easy money and the enrollment through a bad friend was enough to lock him in a situation that wasn’t what he imagined in the first place. 

But as you strolled the Parisian streets, his hand secured in yours, you thought maybe there was a world in which you’d accept and enroll too, just for him and his pretty green eyes. Just so you could stand next to your Giorgio Armani suited man and claim him as yours, for good. Red traces of lipstick on his throat belonged to your bedroom only and there was no way he’d let himself get out of your luxurious condo with any hint that the woman sharing his life was taking that big of a place. He’d put you in danger, just by saying that he loved you. So every time you’d leave a mark, every time you’d imprint yourself further into his heart, he’d take a big inhale and erase it, push it back further, just so that he could pass the door of the apartment knowing that you were safe and that he’d come back to you. He’d suppress you from his life, he’d erase the marks, so that he could come back and let you do it all again. So that he’d be able to feel your lips on his skin, your fingertips in his hair, your scent on his pillowcases, just once again. 

But in Paris, you were free. You were free of the mob. You were free of the mob’s enemies. You were just you and he was just him. The two of you were just lovers and not the second hand of a mafia boss and a secret girlfriend that he couldn’t claim so that no one would come back to threaten you. You were free to do what you wanted, to be what you wanted, to become who you wanted. 

In Paris, your hearts were free, just for a couple of days. And the little taste of the life that you could have made Charles sure of his choice. 

*

You had been visiting the Shakespeare and Company library, his hand encasing yours while you were browsing the shelves and somewhat chaos of books of the shop. It felt like you were about to drown in pages and both of you seemed to absolutely love it. His smile had reached his eyes so many times already, especially when the library cat came to rub it little head between his legs while he was pointing at you an exquisite edition of The Great Gatsby, one of your common favourites. Charles had bent to scratch the cat’s skull, making it purr and meow. The giggles escaping your throat made him want to buy you a cat. And maybe he would, one day, if the rest of the day came just as he wanted to. 

You had left and found yourselves on the square in front of Notre Dame cathedral, your feet stopping in front of a marker stating “Point zéro des routes de France”, which indicated the kilometre zero of the localisation from which all the distances of the country had been calculated. That marker seemed to have been the perfect place to start over, to Charles. 

Which is why he chose to drop his knee on the exact centre of the compass star, his hand having fished a small box on the pocket of his Armani suit. And maybe he didn’t have time to actually say the words he wanted to say before you’d nod but he was adamant in his heart what this proposal meant. 

So that night, lying in bed together, your head on his chest and his hand holding yours in front of his face so he could admire the tiny shiny rock hanging from your ring finger, he knew that this was it. That he’d give his life for you. 

“Let’s get the fuck away from this,” Charles whispered. 

“I like Paris,” You whined.

“No. I meant. Let’s leave everything behind. Let’s move somewhere they’ll never be able to find us.”

“How?”

“Let’s buy a place, somewhere so far away they won’t ever think about it.”

“That would be nice,” You sighed. 

“You deserve it.”

“You do too, Charles.”

“I don’t know. But what I know is that I love you more than any word ever written could describe and I want you to be happy and free to be whoever you want to be. And maybe we won’t be able to come back to Paris. Maybe we will. Maybe we’ll have to move around every now and then, but as long as I have you, I’ll be content.”

“We’ll find a way, then.”

“We will, my love. I promise you, we will.”

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[genshin-obsessed]

(Part 1) Miss Pocket, I actually have an angst idea for you, where in the the boys (any boy you like) gets married to another girl while s/o, who is in love and is best friends with the boys unaware of her feelings for them, is heartbroken yet trying to be happy for the boys but leaves the wedding early because she could no longer bear the pain where she leaves the city to save herself from the pain and not let anyone see her cry, excusing it as a emergency commission.

I loved this idea so much... i wrote it the same day i got it <3 I was gonna make it super gorey buuut i decided there was no need lol. I chose Diluc obvi so I couldn't do that last part like you wanted (from the 3rd ask) but I did something similar <333 also yeah I added jean x diluc *ew* /j Word Count: 2.064

Warnings: angst, unedited, kinda rushed (I spent half a day on this), I describe injuries in detail, reader dies <3

✧ Cheers to the Newlyweds! ✧

You turned your gaze away when the ceremonial kiss came, feeling your heart clench painfully. Your knuckles were turning white from how hard you were squeezing your fist.

That could’ve been you… that was supposed to be you! You held back tears as your eyes flickered back to the happy couple. Jean’s face had a bright red blush as Diluc hugged her close. The entire venue burst with applause and it was almost deafening. There was so much bitterness in your heart right now, you felt no joy for them.

You tried so hard to be happy for them- him. Diluc meant so much to you. You had known him for years and it was only inevitable that you’d develop feelings for him. At first, you denied it, not wanting to admit you were in love with your best friend. But eventually, you came to terms with your feelings, realizing they weren’t bad.

So, you planned it all out. You would confess to Diluc and ask him out to dinner. You thought he felt the same, seeing as how Diluc acted very differently with you. He joked around more, he didn’t mind affection, he would often tease you, he really was a completely different person.

The day that convinced you that Diluc felt the same way was when you two had stumbled upon the topic of love. He’d asked if you had anyone you liked and you nodded, telling him you were indeed in love. Of course, you hadn’t mentioned who since you were still deciding whether to confess at the time. You turned the question on him and he just… stared for a minute.

The way he stared at you; that look in his eyes made your heart race. Then he finally nodded, saying he too was madly in love with someone.

That was it, you were convinced it was you. That night, you could barely sleep thinking about that look in his eyes. It made your heart and it sent butterflies through your stomach.

So finally, you decided to confess to him after much debate. You had been invited to a party being held by the Knights of Favonius and both of you had been invited. You attended together and that night, you had plans to confess to Diluc.

But then… tragedy struck as they say. Jean had claimed she had an important announcement to make. You hoped her announcement would help ease your nerves of wanting to confess but you were so wrong.

Jean had called Diluc to her side- which stirred up many questions. Then she said it.

“We’re getting married!” Though Diluc was an avid hater of the Knights, everyone still applauded them and even congratulated them. You, however, could only watch in horror.

Jean went on to admit that she had been in a relationship with Diluc for a couple of years and now that he had proposed, she wanted her fellow knights at the wedding.

Diluc had later asked what you wanted to talk about but all you could do was stare. He asked if you were alright, taking your arm but you roughly shoved him off. Tears welled up so quickly that all you could do was look away. You ran away as fast as you could, ignoring his calls.

Now… you were here… at their stupid wedding. You wondered why you’d even bothered to come here. As the two danced and laughed, all you could think of was how you could never have what they did.

Diluc would never gently take your face and kiss your lips, he would never hug you from behind- an act you often fantasized about- he would never lay down with you on the days you were sick, and he would never be the first face you saw when you woke up.

He would never be yours.

This was some slap in the face. And you’d finally decided that you were done. You were done with Jean, Diluc, and Mondstat. You left the wedding, leaving your drink on a table.

You packed up and you left Mondstat, no longer caring about how anyone else felt. Your feelings mattered too and you would no longer pretend to be happy about a situation that tore you apart inside.

Diluc searched that day for you, wondering why his best friend wasn’t with him. But he couldn’t find you, eventually, the wedding came to an end with Diluc whisking Jean away to his home.

As Jean slept peacefully from their nightly activities, Diluc felt an overwhelming discomfort. The shower already hasn’t helped so he decided to take a walk through his home. As he walked past a room, he froze. A very tall woman sat in a chair, her glowing green eyes staring at his figure.

“Toxin…” Diluc breathed as he stepped into the room. “You have some nerve showing up at my house.”

“Oh relax, I only came to congratulate you on your wedding. So… congratulations!” Diluc glared at her and though he was ready to fight, he waited for her to attack first, but she didn’t.

“What do you want?”

“To thank you.”

“For what?”

“You finally broke (y/n) for me.” His eyes widened at the mention of your name. He hadn’t seen you all day and now Toxin was talking about you?

“What?” Toxin brought her hand up towards her face and a green, magical butterfly appeared and landed on her extended finger. As it fluttered its wings, green sparkles escaped around it.

“I’m surprised someone as intelligent as you could be so stupid. Anyway,” Toxin stood up as the butterfly vanished, “I have a wedding gift for you!”

“We don’t want it,” Diluc glared, “where is she? Where’s (y/n)?” Now he really had to talk to you.

“I don’t know, all I know is that she was in love with you. Besides, you’ll like my gift!”

"She... what?" What did she say? You were... in love with him? No, that wasn't possible, you favored someone else! He knew that!

"That's a lie! She loves someone else!"

"Yeah, no, she loved you. Like I said, you're an idiot."

"Stop lying to me..." Diluc said, his voice cracking as he shook his head. He was in denial and Toxin could tell. But the woman didn't care. She knew something else would hurt Diluc even more than you being in love with him while watching him marry someone else.

"I'm not lying. Anyway... that gift I mentioned."

“I said we don’t want it! Stop changing the subject! What do you mean (y/n) loved me?!"

"Oh my fu- she loved you, you idiot! She loved you and you forced her to watch as you married someone else! You forced her to attend your shitty wedding, and you made her watch as you devoted yourself to that dandelion knight! She loves you like you love Jean."

"No..."

"God, now. That gift-"

"WE DON'T WANT IT!" Toxin rolled her eyes and held her hands up.

“I swear I won’t hurt anyone in the city. Come on,” Toxin walked closer to him, before staring down at him with amusement in her eyes, “I promise you’ll want it.”

“… I just want (y/n).”

“No. You want Jean. You chose her after all.”

“Fuck you.”

“Right now? Here? With your new wife sleeping in the other room-” Toxin abruptly stopped when the tip of a blade touched her neck.

“I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you.” Toxin could see the tears welling up in Diluc's eyes and she reveled at the sight.

“Then kill me.” Her words went unchallenged as Diluc’s shaking hand dropped the weapon. The claymore hit the ground with a loud thud and he backed up.

“… I just want (y/n) back…”

“I don’t think you ever had her to begin with. But sure.” Toxin commented as she walked past the man, who slowly fell to his knees.

——

The next day was horrific. All that could be heard in the city were screams of terror which had alerted the knights, especially Jean and her husband, who had been out on a lovely date. Everyone quickly gathered there, only to be placed in front of a gruesome scene. Diluc’s nightmare had come true and he could feel the fear coursing through his veins. He started shaking uncontrollably as his legs moved before he could think.

“… no… (Y/N)!!!!” Diluc screamed as he ran towards the tavern. Everyone was frozen at the sight while he was the only one taking action.

“Oh my god- (y/n)!!” Jean- finally breaking from her trance- followed Diluc with Kaeya, Albedo, and Amber behind them.

From the roof, your body hung upside down. There had been rope that bound your left ankle, while the other hung free. There had been large gashes in your torso, arms, and thighs from which blood still poured through. Your hair, one that had been so beautifully decorated, now had a mixture of dirt and blood in it. There was cut along your cheek and a weird symbol in your wide eyes- one that had been magically placed on your irises.

Diluc’s heart was beating a mile a minute and he felt dizzy and nauseous at the same time. He was in denial- this wasn’t you. There was no way this could’ve been you.

“No! God- no! Please, anything but this!” He cried as the tears started to drip from his eyes. He wasn’t one to cry in front of just anyone, yet he couldn’t keep his tears down. They just forced themselves out.

Diluc climbed to the roof where he gingerly tried to pull you back up. Due to your arms hanging by your head, he could only tug the rope to get you up to him. Once he was able to grab your waist, he released your leg and pulled you into his chest.

Diluc couldn't even begin to realize how happy you would’ve been to be held by him like this. You often wished he would just hold you close and whisper sweet nothings to you. Now you finally had your chance… but you weren’t even alive to see it.

“Get out of here! There’s no need to watch!” Kaeya yelled, shooing everyone away. Albedo joined him, his eyes finally looking up at Diluc.

The redhead was sobbing, rocking back and forth with you in his arms. Your blood painted his arms and clothes, yet he didn’t care.

“Not you too… pl-please not you too…” he whispered, “don’t leave me like this, no, no, no, no don’t leave.” He wasn’t even paying attention to the words that escaped his lips, they were mainly incoherent mumbles if anything.

“Oh god…” Amber covered her mouth at the words written on a nearby table. “LOOK!”

Jean, Albedo, and Kaeya ran to her side, the same expression forming on their faces when they saw the message.

“Cheers to the newlyweds!”

“… someone… Did this?” Jean whispered, looking up at her husband. Diluc was also staring down at the message now, a deadly glare in his gaze. Tears continued to drip from his glossy eyes, and he was still shaking, but it was now from anger. The hold he had on you would’ve been painful and would’ve caused bruising. The anger flowed through him and he felt the need to just… destroy everything.

Diluc stared down at your empty eyes, his tears spilling into your face. Where was your beautiful glow? That sweet laughter? Your bright eyes… the warmth you had. Where did it go? Why you? You didn’t do anything. If anyone should’ve been punished, it should be him. He hurt you. You never did anything wrong.

“I’ll kill her…” he vowed, closing your eyes and hugging you tightly against his chest, “I will kill her and I’ll kill anyone who helped. I’ll rip them to shreds. Every last one of them…”

From afar, Toxin watched with a sickening smile on her face. This was exactly what she’d wanted. Her eyes finally fell to the small object in her hands, one that glowed with magic. This is what you’d kept from her and she needed it back. Thanks to Diluc, she finally had it in her possession.

“I said I wouldn’t harm anyone in the city. However, your little miss pretty wasn’t in Mondstat…”

[little-diable]

Greasy Hands - Spencer Reid (smut)

Written by @playboysbunny​ and little-diable (that’s me - in case you were wondering). Thank you for writing the fluff and letting me have my fun with the smutty part. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: a soft drabble about a broken down car, a confused Spencer and some lovemaking in a garage

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

“You don’t understand,” she complained, “my dad used to fix everything! Dishwashers, washing machines, radios - anything that broke, my dad could fix!”

Spencer nodded, trying to calm her. 

“I just don’t see the issue in sending it to the mechanic.”

She threw her arms in the air, releasing a frustrated sigh. 

“It just doesn’t feel right!”

Spencer let her emotions settle. (Y/n) paced her apartment, back and forth, his eyes watching her from his leather reading chair in the corner. He kept his eyes on her with a patient expression, as she slowed eventually she stopped in front of the window. (Y/n) held a hand at her jaw as she watched the sunset; she didn’t want to admit what Spencer clearly already knew.

He didn’t push her, waiting for (y/n) to come to her own conclusion. She spoke in a whisper without turning to him.

“It just feels like he’s really gone,” she said. “He’s not here to fix my car and now it’s real. He’s really gone.”

(Y/n) didn’t cry as she had through the months. Her father had passed in the fall and the green of the trees now brought her some sort of hope and solace; things would get better. It wasn’t the changing of the seasons that brought her peace, though. No, that was Spencer. 

She turned to him then and sighed, his expression was understanding and sympathetic.

“We’ll figure something out,” Spencer said, getting up from his chair. He walked across the room and took her in his arms, placing his chin on the top of (y/n)’s head.

They spent the evening together, since she was lucky enough to have him home for a rare occasion. He unfolded the team’s latest case for her over a bottle of red wine, sparing the gorey details, but giving them to her bit by bit as she begged for them. They made dinner together, danced to music she liked, but Spencer detested, but he went along with it anyway, spinning her around the kitchen and reciting all the words to her as he memorized them instantaneously.

Over dinner, she told him the downfall of her day; on the way home from work, her car suddenly started overheating and she ended up in a strange neighborhood she’d never ventured into before. It was an industrial area without a lot of foot traffic. Every window had a set of accompanying bars. (Y/n) felt oddly isolated and out of place. She was uncomfortable and nervous and then she had to walk away from her car to get a signal to call a tow truck.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Spencer scolded her from across the table. “If something had happened to you…” he couldn’t finish the thought.

“What choice did I have?” (Y/n) countered. “Should I have stayed there and waited for you to come and rescue me?”

“I would have,” he replied. “I will always find you.”

He looked at her over the candlelight, his eyes glistening with truth. His words filled her with exultant joy.

They went to bed together, finally reuniting after weeks apart. Spencer fell asleep quickly, exhausted from the case he’d just returned from. He held her in his arms as she drifted off to sleep.

(Y/n) woke up alone and felt the coldness of his absence, frantically searching for a note; he’d always leave a note if he was called to a case and she was still asleep. She patted her hands around in the dim morning light, finding nothing.

She launched herself out of the bed and threw on whatever she could find. (Y/n) ran into the living room in his boxers and his button down from the night before.

“Spencer?”

The hollow echo of the empty apartment made her heart drop. She scanned the room quickly, looking for him. His go-bag was still sitting by the door, his keys and badge on the table beside it. A cup of cold coffee was resting there too, under the faint light from the floor lamp that Spencer had left on. In his leather armchair, there was a thick book she hadn’t seen before.

(Y/n) picked it up and read the cover aloud. “Haynes Repair Manual based on a complete teardown and rebuild?”

It was for her 1969 Chevrolet Camaro, though she was positive she didn’t own the manual. Why would she? She had no idea how to fix anything. 

(Y/n) grabbed the only pair of shoes she had left at the door - an old pair of tall, yellow, rubber rain boots - and ran into the hallway of her apartment building. She rushed down the stairs with the manual still in-hand. (Y/n) ran out to the back alley, where her car and others were in a long string of garages; of course, her garage door was already open.

“Damn!” Spencer yelled, clattering around under her car.

The hood was propped up and the car was up on jackstands. Spencer’s legs dangled out from underneath and tools and parts were scattered about the garage floor.

“Where did you get all this?” (Y/n) shouted.

Spencer rolled out from under the car and propped himself up on his elbow. He was in ratty blue jeans she’d never seen before and a plain white t-shirt. He was covered with splotches of black grease like a child that had been dabbling in finger paints. 

“All of what?” he said, incredulously.

(Y/n) waved the manual in the air above her head. 

“Spencer!” she laughed, “What are you doing?”

He stood up then, tossing the bolts he held in his hand to the floor. He ran a hand through his messy hair, stopping to pull on the roots. 

“You need your car fixed and that’s what I’m going to do! It shouldn’t be this hard, really,” he huffed. “It’s simple mechanics and mathematics, you’d think someone with a Ph.D in both would be able to do it!”

He continued rambling on, kicking the bolts he had scattered, waving his hands as he struggled to explain to her how his brain and his hands seemed to have a disconnect. Spencer carried on like that for a while and she knew best to let him have his soliloquies. But (y/n) didn’t miss a single drop of sweat that ran down his slightly heated skin. 

She couldn’t help but stare, forcing herself to stay calm, trying to drown out the needy longing for her man.

There was something about the way the frustration spurred him on that made her lose her focus. His intensity and passion had (y/n) biting her lip in anticipation. She couldn’t control the feeling that arose in the pit of her stomach. 

He moved back to the car and attempted to refocus himself, reciting the steps of the manual he had memorized as he got back to work. How easy - she thought - it would be to let him bend her over the car, to allow Spencer to run his oil covered hands all over her body.

“You’re staring.” 

The change in Spencer’s tone recaptured her attention, though he didn’t lift his head to make his remark; his eyes were focused on his task, his expression strained from stopping his smirk from spreading.

For a profiler, Spencer had never been very aware of her advances, to the sly glances she’d cast his direction. But now - with her thighs pressed together, her teeth pierced into her lower lip, the soft humming that she trilled while she was lost in her fantasies of him - he knew all about the heat that took over her senses. 

He didn’t need to be a genius to understand her, to know the arousal that was dripping from her folds, about the way her nipples were beginning to harden, uncomfortably rubbing against the material of his button down shirt hung over her body.

She stumbled over her words, nervously pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. 

A small “sorry” left her slightly parted lips, coaxing a chuckle out of him. Spencer rose from his kneeling position, hand reaching for hers, pulling (y/n) in for a messy kiss, tongues meeting, teeth clashing - clearly projecting the lust that kept them both distracted. 

He pulled her in close, resting himself on the side of the car.

“Maybe I should get cleaned up first,” Spencer said, putting some distance between them, very well knowing that he’d lose control soon. 

But the pleading whine that escaped her held him frozen and gaping as she fell to her knees in front of him, reaching for his belt loops. He braced himself on the car behind him. His usually busy psyche suddenly emptied, thoughts instantly leaving his mind as his tongue wet his lips, enjoying the feeling of her warm hands on his clothed bulge as she rubbed him through the fabric.

“Somebody's excited,” (y/n) teased. 

He turned down to her, a wide smile on his pretty face, his eyes glazed over in ecstasy. Slowly - teasingly - she undid his trousers, kissing up his thighs as she toyed with the elastics of his boxers. Her touches burned on his skin, pushing the genius into a dangerous headstate; the blood was quickly rushing down to his hard cock. 

He couldn’t remember his own name, and best yet, he didn’t care.

As her hands grasped his length, Spencer gasped her name - relieved to finally feel her soft skin pressed against his sensitive one. (Y/n)’s thumb circled his tip, smearing the drops of precum that bearded his skin. She couldn’t help but have a taste, lips parted, allowing him to thrust forward, cock disappearing down her throat.

Every moan that left her vibrated on his skin, pushing him closer to his release - but it was much too soon for Spencer's liking. He wanted to fill her up, claiming her, his lover, in the most sinful way, with his seed spilling out of her as she’d cry out for him.

“(Y/n), I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll-” he moaned, she cut his rambling short as she added more pressure to her movements. 

She couldn’t deny the effect his words had on her. (Y/n) loved to hear his dirty talk and the promises he’d make as waves of euphoria would clash upon him. 

It was no secret that he was close, tightening his grip on her hair, unevenly panting her name. She was eager to push him over the edge - oh, so eager to please him - but he pushed her away before he could reach his peak.

A few moments of silence engulfed them both, the only sound echoing through the air came from the heavy breaths spilling from his lips as he tried to calm himself. 

As if he had heard her thoughts, he reached down, yanked her up by her biceps and turned (y/n) so that she could rest where he had been on the side of the car. His hungry lips grazed her neck, leaving wet trails on her skin as he snapped the hood of the car down with a forceful crash. 

Wordlessly she positioned herself for him, ripping the boxers she had thrown on down her legs, exposing her glistening wetness to his wide eyes. She leaned back as he lifted her onto the car’s hood. 

(Y/n) pledged to take him on a wild ride as she’d beg for her release.

Spencer took in every word, “let me taste you first. I bet you made quite a mess, didn’t you?”

Two fingers of his ran through her slit, spreading her slick on her folds, on her clit. She was addicted to his touch, completely at his mercy. 

(Y/n) was putty in his hands, would do anything he’d asked of her if it meant that she could cum on his fingers. He enjoyed watching her moan for him - she was begging for more, so lost in the fantasy that her words became nonsense.

As he pushed his fingers into her, pumping them in and out of her tightness, her head fell back against the hood as she arched herself off the metal. She was so close, too close, plagued with the wish that this moment and feeling would last forever.

“Feels so good Spence’,” she cried, slurring his name, eyes squeezed shut, her breaths falling short. 

Though just as she wanted to let go, he stopped, smirking at her with the special glint in his eyes. He was toying with her, using her body for his pleasure. Watching her beg for him turned him into a touch-starved, hungry man.

“I will fuck you so good, you won’t remember your own name,” Spencer moaned. 

His words sounded more like a command than a promise, cock ready to rip her in half, to fuck her till she’d cry heavy tears of pleasure. 

Her lips met his in a rather passionate way, tongues fighting, teasing one another, distracting her from the feeling of his cock pressed against her entrance. As their bodies connected in the most intimate way possible, she called out his name, pulling him close, holding onto him for dear life.

Spencer kept his gaze focused on her heat, watching his length split her in half, glistening with her arousal clinging to his skin. She was losing herself in waves of pleasures, slowly forgetting about the world outside, only caring about their love and the pleasure that ran through their bodies.

His pace was ruthless, bruising, keeping her lungs from letting any air flood through them. She was too distracted by the feeling of his cock buried deep inside of her. Sounds of praises left them both as they felt themselves climbing higher and higher, ready to reach their peaks.

“I’m so close.” 

Her words didn’t get a reply. He was focused on making her cum, adding more pressure to the speed of his thrusts as her body moved against the hood. Sweat dripped down her skin, pooling on the small of (y/n)’s back. Their lips connected once again all while she tumbled over the edge, fingernails piercing into his shoulders, as she cried out his name.

The way she looked - sweaty, hair in tangles, makeup smudged - pushed him into the arms of his own orgasm. His release spilled out of him, painting her walls white, claiming (y/n) as his.

She laid her head down and let her body collapse onto the hood of the car as he bent himself over her to rest. Forehead to forehead, they gazed into each other’s eyes as they struggled to catch their breaths. They both shared sloppy, quick kisses and murmurs of “I love you’s” as they laughed breathlessly together in the afterglow.

Spencer pushed himself off the car and straightened his pants again before handing her the boxers she’d stolen. She hopped off the hood and redressed herself as they heard nearing footsteps.

”Hey, pretty boy,” Derek chanted, announcing himself before he walked through the wide open door of the garage.

(Y/n) covered her mouth to hide her wide smile, admired Spencer as he struggled to keep himself composed. 

“Hey, Derek, thanks for coming,” Spencer answered, still struggling to breathe evenly.

“(Y/n), you can go back to bed and rest easy little girl,” Derek laughed. “I’m here now, I’ll take care of you.”

Derek’s taunt was entirely directed at the difficulties Spencer faced with fixing her car, but she couldn’t let the moment pass.

She smiled brightly in Derek’s direction as she walked past him on her way out of the garage, “Oh, Dr. Reid has already taken care of me, Derek. Don’t you worry.”

(Y/n) heard Spencer laugh as she sauntered off. She imagined the look on Derek’s face as the realization hit, but she didn’t look back to see it.

“Pretty boy!” Derek yelled in surprise.

She basked in the sound of Spencer’s laughter.

Criminal Minds Taglist: @huntheimpossible​ @23victoria​ @jensenackles512​ @trickassmotherfucker​ @miraclesoflove​ @shrekboobies​ 

Fallen Angels: @honiebee​ @itstaylorcale​ @mcira​ @megamieversole-blog​ @amelia-song-pond​​

Add yourself to my taglist

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Masterlist

[un2-verse]

BILLY — Kim Taehyung (3)

Synopsis: News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right?

Pairing: yandere!Taehyung x f!reader

genre: angst, horror, weirdly some fluff lol

Warnings: dark themes, yandere, stalking, manipulation, conditioning, mentions of abuse, suicidal ideations/attempts, self harm, murder, depictions of torture etc (basically its gorey and fucked up), angel trap, etc stabbing and guns. do not read if triggered!!!!

wordcount: 2.2k

taglist: @yes-sol-not-soul @yoongiofmine

a/n: pt 3 is here!! honestly i wasnt expecting this amount of support as i’ve never published my writing before so thank u sm ♡ i was inspired to write this one night and i had no idea where it’d go or anything but i’m happy with the way its turning out :D fun fact abt me, i’ve been obsessed w the franchise since i was little and i actually have 2 saw tattoos, one of billy and one above saying “cherish your life” since that’s pretty much the motto of saw :) and i have quite the collection of saw/billy items so why not turn my fav horror film into a fucked up love story! let me know if u would like to be added to the taglist and pls enjoy reading^^ feel free to send me asks abt the series or anything u want~ i love hearing from u guys!! :D ps— taehyung and the reader dont have much interaction in this part,, theyll definitely be more of them together in part 4 :) unedited so pls excuse any mistakes!! tysm <33 and remember these are fictional characters and do not represent bts personally in any way!!

series masterlist

part one part two

The headlines constantly named the Jigsaw Killer, Billy. The somewhat eerie little doll that had a face as white as a Calla Lily with spirals on it’s cheeks as red as the blood that was shed during the tests. Billy was always dressed in a little black suit with a red bowtie and he was (most of the time) situated on a squeaky battered tricycle. Attached was always a tape that read “play me” and when the subjects did, a chilling voice— one that could make even the world's worst predators shiver with terror— would echo around the room.

Everyone knew that a doll clearly wasn’t responsible, yet they gave it the name Billy in hopes to somewhat humanise the face that instilled panic— they did not want to live in fear.

It was the only face behind the killings.

But this time, there was a different subject stuck in the test and Billy had made sure there was no way for them to survive.

“How are you scared of heights? You’re practically a giant yourself!”

“Just because I’m tall doesn’t mean I can’t be scared of heights Y/Nie.”

You had no idea how long had passed since Taehyung had turned up at the garage, you were too busy chatting away squeezed into the kitchen while your Dad, Yoongi and Hobi worked on the cars in the shop. If anyone could hear you both, they would think you’d known eachother since childhood— the playful jokes and light touches exaggerated that.

You’d only known him for a few hours really, if you added the time spent with him on the first day and now. It hadn’t seemed like all those weeks ago that you first met, he had a familiar presence, as though you had known him for years compared to the hours.

“I just wouldn’t imagine you to be scared of anything Taehyung… you seem so confident and fearless.”

You saw the way Taehyung looked at you. His eyes flashed with understanding.

“I did have my fears back then, much like yours.”

“What do you mean?” you had a rough idea on what he meant but you needed him to voice it.

A deep inhale and the words flowed from his lips before he could stop it, “The fear of living. I had been through some stuff you know, growing up. My mum was working a lot and my dad was an alcoholic, he was so fucking possessive and wouldn’t let her go anywhere without kicking off. It was a fucking shitshow and so toxic. This one time though, I’d pretended that I’d gone to school and waited outside the front door. It didn’t take long before I heard shit getting smashed and my dad shouting.” Taehyung was telling the truth only, he left out the part where he was also as possessive, if not more, than his father. Well, let's say… obsessive. “I just ran in the house and saw my dad towering over my mum and I don’t remember what happened but, I do remember my mum crying and my dad disappeared.”

Now Taehyung was lying through his teeth. He remembered clearly, almost like it was yesterday. He smashed the nearest bottle, pulled his mother away from the monster that scared her and stabbed him. Not just once, not twice but thirty-seven times. Hence the thirty seven tattoo on the palm of his right hand (the one he’d actually killed his father with). There was only Taehyung who knew what it meant, he counted every single time the broken glass pierced his father’s body, he counted with a smile on his face and a chuckle in his throat.

You were at a loss for words. Your mouth gaped in shock, eyes wide and your brain scrambled for the right thing to say. You reached over and grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers. His thumb running back and forth along your hand. “I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.” There was no way you could relate, your mother and father were happy and in love. They had the ideal relationship, one you wished for yourself. You could empathise though.

“You don’t need to be sorry baby, it’s in the past and I’ve moved on from it. I was like you though, poisoned by the roots that keep you on the ground even though you wanted nothing more than to break free and be no longer.” A silence fell over you both before Taehyung uttered, “I wasn’t successful with my attempt so now I’m here to help you.”

Warmth spread throughout your body, a smile graced your features as you no longer felt alone.

You had a completely different idea to what those words actually meant.

It was nearing the evening when Taehyung’s car had been fixed. Yoongi popped his head in the kitchen to tell him but stopped himself so as to not interrupt the scene before him. You were laughing along to whatever Taehyung was babbling about with your hand resting on his bicep, with that look in your eyes that he hadn’t seen for years. Yoongi felt himself smile as he saw you hanging onto Taehyung's every word.

For the first time in forever, you looked alive.

Yoongi cleared his throat which drew yours and Taehyung’s attention, “Sorry to interrupt guys. We’ve finished with your car so whenever you’re ready we’ll be outside.” The infamous gummy smile overtook his features, you felt yourself beam in return.

“Thanks man! I’ll be like, five minutes.”

Yoongi nodded his head in reply and swiftly left the room.

You’d taken Tae’s hand into yours, playing with the array of rings that occupied his fingers. Solemn thoughts overtook, am I not gonna see him again? Was this, whatever this is, over before it had even begun? Your eyes stayed on his hand as you turned it over and traced your finger over the inked ‘thirty seven’ on his palm. “What does this mean?”

Taehyung didn’t think twice before he practically beamed out, “It’s my lucky number.”

The difference was, it wasn’t really his lucky number… although he did see it that way. It was the number that had stayed with him. It was something he was proud of, whenever he looked at the hand that killed his father, his chest filled with pride and a joyous feeling overtook his senses. It was his first murder. Something he relished in and thus, created the onslaught of Jigsaw killings. He targeted a certain type— those whose sins would lock them up forever if they were ever found out. Racists, murderers, rapists, drug dealers, con-men. Authoritative figures who abused their power. He even went as far as subjecting suicidal people.

You see, things aren’t sequential. Good doesn’t lead to good, nor bad to bad. People who steal, don’t get caught, they live the good life. Others lie, cheat and get elected.

Some people would call it karma but Taehyung, he called it justice.

He’d started this with one thing on his mind— those that don’t appreciate life do not deserve it.

Whenever a serial killer was on the loose, the press did what they always did. They gave them a nickname. While the public had named the doll Billy. The actual killer was named ‘Jigsaw’.

This stemmed from the jigsaw piece that was cut from the victims skin, no one knew why he was doing it or what it even stood for.

It did have a meaning although unknown to the public.

The jigsaw piece that was cut from the subjects was only ever meant to be a symbol that that subject was missing something. A vital piece of the human puzzle. The survival instinct.

After all, until a person is faced with death, it’s impossible to tell whether they have what it takes to survive.

Across town an underground abandoned warehouse, was where the next subject had found themselves.

They were suspended in the air, their feet merely dangling above the ground. The putrid smell of death lingered in every crevice, the sound of rats scurrying along the concrete floor filled their ears just as they began to stir awake.

A pain in their ribs was the overwhelming factor to them finally coming around. When they groggily opened their eyes, they were paralised with fear due to the scene in front of them.

A doll sat a few feet ahead, perched upon a tricycle. Adorned with a black suit and a red bowtie. A slow red light flashed in his eyes.

Billy.

Before the subject could even register how, when or why they found themselves trapped in a test, footsteps echoed behind them. The subject called out, “Help! Please, somebody help! I shouldn’t be here!”

A tsk reached their ears, as a disembodied voice replied, “Trust me, no one can hear you. Scream all you like. You’d just be wasting your breath, you may as well cherish it before it's gone.”

With hairs stood on end, the subject stilled. “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” The man's footsteps grew louder. “I’m here to serve justice, that’s all.”

The man rounded the subject, settling in their view with only his cloaked back visible while he tended to the little doll. He touched Billy delicately—like he was a little child that he loved dearly. He combed his gloved hand through the doll's black hair and eventually pulled his fingers from the tresses to pat his head gently.

“You fucking psycho! Let me go!”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that which only infuriated the subject more causing them to shake in anger, a movement they soon ceased when they realised something was penetrating their ribs.

“I’d be very careful if I was you, we wouldn’t want you hurting yourself now… would we?” The cloaked figure spun around. An angry glint to his eye.

“What the fuck, you’re fucking crazy. Let me out, this isn’t right!” The subject tried their hardest to swing their legs, to somehow kick the man who’d imprisoned them.

“I think you’ll find it is right. You’re unworthy of the body you possess.” He inched closer, “see, when someone purposely intends to harm others, they lose their right to life.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The man arched a brow as he replied, “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He felt like it was a game of cat and mouse except, he was a tiger and his subject, was the tiniest prey to mankind. “But, let me remind you! Since you can’t get your thick fucking head to work. You’re a liar, a cheater and an abuser. That ring any bells?”

The subject's face dropped.

“Ah, I see by your expression you know exactly what I’m talking about! Glad to see we’re on the same page.” He shrugged his cloak off placing it to the side of the doll. “I want to play a game.”

“What game? This isn’t a fucking game! You’re sick in the head you fucking cunt!”

The atmosphere shifted, the man remained calm while the subject went ballistic.

“What is this? What fucking game?”

“You feel the machine that’s currently occupying your ribs? Well, in about ten minutes that’s going to rip you apart. I’m proud to say that trap is my baby. I’ve been working on it especially for you! How nice is that?” he reached out to tug at the subject’s legs, tormenting them like a cat would a mouse. “Anyway, as my beautiful angel trap will rip you apart, my darling little friend Billy over here,” the subject followed the direction the man's hand pointed, “is going to match your face with the ugliness of your soul.”

“Fuck, fuck this! How do I stop it? Tell me how I fucking stop it!”

A boxy grin overtook the man's face, laughter poured from his mouth as he leaned over and slapped the subject’s leg. “This is a special game.”

“Who are you? What do you mean by ‘special game’?”

He raised himself so he stood tall and grabbed a knife from his pocket, “I’m the man you call Jigsaw.” He traced the tip of the knife along the subject’s ankle, “and when I say a special game… I mean you can’t get out.” While the subject was screaming in realisation, Taehyung walked back for his cloak, hung it over his shoulder and stalked off back the way he came. He sent one last smile to the subject as he rounded them and within the blink of an eye, he gripped the knife and slashed the subject’s achilles.

A chilling scream pierced the eerie atmosphere, the subject couldn’t string words together. Abundances of anxiety, terror and pure panic took reign of their body. Taehyung grabbed the injured muscles and forced his gloved fingers in as he gripped and twisted them, “That’s for Y/N.”

Taehyung had pressed the timer before he cut the subject’s tendons. He grabbed the tape from his pocket and threw it on the ground and with a chuckle he shouted, “Game over!”

Before he reached the end of the hallway, he heard the gunshots pierce his subjects face followed by the sound of the angel trap, even this far away Taehyung heard every crack of the ribs and the noise of the body being tore apart.

Without looking back, Taehyung rounded the corner and slammed the door shut.

He’d chosen the Angel trap for the irony, the subject that was currently hanging from the ceiling was no angel. They were a fucked up, evil, waste of space. Taehyung had done the world a favour, he’d done you a favour.

That got him thinking, how much blood would you shed in order to stay alive?

[a/n: who do we think was in the trap???👀]

[obeiii-mee]

Hey! Sorry to bother you with a second ask but i thought this one would be cool. Fluffy headcanons of the demon brothers watching scary movies with MC??? Somewhere MC gets scared, and some where they don't? Thanks again!! :)

It’s no bother!! I love getting requests from you guys! The more, the merrier. I sort of hc that the brothers and MC do have movie night every week or so and with them being demons, they tend to levitate towards the horror genre. Thank you for sending this, this is really cute :)))

Without further ado—-

————————————

The Brothers watching Scary movies with MC:

Lucifer:

-Haha mf already knows how this is going to end

-He warned you, he really did

-The horror movies DevilDom has to offer are nothing, and I mean nothing, like the ones from the human world

-I’m not going to go into detail but imagine Two Girls One Cup, in a less kinky and more gorey way (then times that by 10)

-But you were adamant into giving it a go and he literally could not deny you in that moment

-Because you were giving him the puppy eyes

-That’s like, the finishing blow you use every time to get your way with him and as far as you know it’s the only one that works so-

-He expected your reaction to the last second

-You were traumatised for lack of a better word and you were basically watching the whole film through the cracks between your fingers

-Seeing you in that state was like a punch in the gut but he couldn’t stop himself from throwing in a subtle ‘I told you so’

-“I told you watching something like this before bed is a bad idea, MC.”

-He might be a bit condescending and judgemental at first, but he’s probably going to baby you a bit for the rest of the night

-Because he feels bad he allowed you to watch it in the first place

-HAHAHAHA SOFT LUCIFER HAS BEEN SUMMONED, USE HIM WISELY

-He will start muttering words of comfort to you later because he’s certain you’re going to have trouble sleeping

-Because of that one time, he’s very hesitant to let you watch another horror film anytime soon

-But he will relent eventually (especially if you want to watch a human horror film as those are technically less extreme)

-If it makes you happy, he will go through with it, even if he has to let you cling onto him for the rest of the day

-Besides, the way you cuddle into him while you’re watching a horror film is very cute and endearing to him

Mammon:

-Ah yes, the most effective method of waking up the entire House of Lamentation at 3:00 am

-Mammon screaming his own vocal cords out in his room as he tries to get through his human’s favourite horror movie without dying of a heart attack

-It was his idea because he’s definitely the type to go: “Yeah let’s do this, it will be fun. Don’t get too scared alright MC? The Great Mammon will be here to protect ya.”

-And then ten minutes in, he’s basically in your lap

-Half an hour in, he turned himself into a demon burrito with his blankets

-You were enjoying the movie, laughing at the stupid sound effects and poor quality while Mammon next to you has wrapped himself in like two dozen blankets and pillows

-“Mammon you’re going to overheat.”

-“Don’t be silly human, I’m a demon who lives in hell. I can take high temperatures the same way I can take this damn movie!”

-He doesn’t take either of them well

-Mammon and the horror genre don’t mix well together to begin with

-So even if you might enjoy horror, he doesn’t react well to it at all

-And he’ll be low-key relieved if you tell him you guys don’t have to watch any sort of horror film for your date night

-“Well I guess if you don’t want to, then we don’t have to. Can’t make my human do something they’re uncomfortable with eh?”

-But if you do watch a scary movie with him, be sure to show any sort of physical affection to him as often as possible

-You don’t have to say anything, just hold his hand or let him put his head in your lap or something

-It might stop him from screeching like a female sloth in heat

-The last time that happened, his brothers weren’t too pleased with him

-They about to recreate the horror film scenes onto him, bring the popcorn have fun

Levi:

-For some reason, I feel like he doesn’t get scared easily while watching stuff

-I mean, after decades of obsessively watching animes with brutal character deaths (like Attack on Titan style) and grotesque horror games that are pretty nasty even to demons, let alone humans;

-A horror film, from the human world or even DevilDom, doesn’t do much for him

-It will have to have very good psychological horror in it if you want the hairs on his arms to stand up in anticipation

-Tension is a big deal for him and he will immediately shut off the TV if there are any cheap jump scares

-But, if you manage to find just the right thing for him?

-You’ll both be hiding under the bed in no time under the bathtub more like

-Hell, if the film you’re watching is that good, he might even be holding onto you for dear life without realising it and getting flustered about it

-For weeks afterwards, any sound that is remotely similar to one from that movie will probably send both of you into panic

-You came to his room one night because you’ve had a nightmare about the stupid film and legitimately thought there was a fucking demon serial killer in your room

-So you wanted to stay in his

-“But what if there is a serial killer in your room and now you just led it to me MC????”

-It’s all jokes, there’s no question he would lock both of you in his room and then stay there with you wide awake until dawn

-You’re his best friend after all, he would have to be completely heartless to leave you on your own! (Besides Levi is terrifying when he wants to be)

-One time you were sleeping over and the sound of fumbling woke you tf up

-And Levi immediately turned into his demon form, like he was ready to throw hands with this fictional murderer that supposedly sneaked into his room

-“DON’T WORRY MC, I’LL PROTECT YOU!”

-“Ah never mind, it’s just Mammon breaking into your room again to steal your Ruri-Cham figurines and sell them on Akuzon.”

-“Oh OK.”

-“.....”

-“WAIT MAMMON WTF YOU FUCKING SCUMBAG, GET OUT OF MY ROOM-“

-I’m playing Minecraft

Satan:

-Believe it or not, Satan doesn’t care much about horror movies

-Don’t get me wrong, he loves watching his brothers shit their pants out of fear in the middle of one while he silently smirks to himself because watching other people suffer brings him euphoria

-Especially if someone actually manages to find a film that is excellent enough to spook Lucifer, because then he will be cackLING

-But, overall, he watches a lot of shows revolved around drama and crime

-That’s his thing

-However, he won’t turn you down if you’re up to watching a scary movie with him

-Any time spent with you is valuable time seeing as it won’t be long before his brothers start hogging you again like the cockblockers they are

-He is honestly surprised to find out you seem to be rather amused by those sort of movies

-So, even if it’s not inherently something he does on the regular, he would definitely watch a scary film with you if you enjoy them that much

-But in exchange, he makes you promise to read with him until bedtime rolls around (imagine Lucifer having a fucking curfew for his brothers and you lmao)

-So for the rest of night you guys just read together, ya know, like sappy romantics

-Tbh, this man will do almost anything with you as long as both of you are having fun

-He knows it’s not likely, but he insists on sleeping in the same room that night just in case you have nightmares and he needs to comfort you

- :)

-Satan is a gentleman. Idk how many people that don’t play OM expected to hear this

Asmo:

-Why would you want to watch a movie when you could be watching him???

-I mean, you would rather watch all that gory stuff on the TV than his beautiful face?

-He may get salty over a fucking movie tbh

-Horror films aren’t something he generally looks for while trying to pick a movie to watch

-He can definitely handle them better than Mammon but it’s not something he takes great pleasure in watching

-But the first time he ever sits down with you to watch one, he’s very intrigued to see your reactions

-You started feeling the sensation of absolute dread creep in at the very beginning and you were trying your best to act like you weren’t getting affected by what you saw on the screen

-But you were

-You went from “I’m grown ass adult, I can watch a fucking horror movie, no problem.”

-To “Welp, not enough of a grown ass adult for this-“

-And Asmo thought the way you tried to hide your nervousness was very mesmerising in a way

-He was planning on flirting with you during the movie anyway, but now that you were pressing himself against him?

-Oh boy, Oh boy

-“Darling if you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just said so. Making the excuse of watching a movie is unnecessary.”

-Nightmares? What nightmares? You won’t have time to have nightmares ;)

-haHAHA funny inappropriate joke

-It’s Asmo, it’s mandatory to have at least one of those added in here

Beel:

-Beel will show up if there’s food and that’s that

-He doesn’t care what type of movie is playing on the TV as long as he has a bucket of popcorn next to him at all times

-Horror films aren’t something he can’t handle, he’s a demon like the rest of his brothers and he is used to...violent deaths and such

-He doesn’t get scared but there are times where he gets attached to the characters

-Especially movies with actual good and not cringeworthy dialogue

-Therefore, when they die, he gets sad even if they’re just fictional and their death had no real impact

-He also thinks that the way you can watch these things without flinching is impressive

-I mean, he can watch it and so can his brothers because they are demons

-They’ve done worse things than the things you see in horror films

-But you’re a human! So it’s weird to see you watch a person get repeatedly slammed against a wall until their neck snaps without batting an eyelid

-Overall, he does not have an opinion on scary movies

-He gets a bit emotional when a character he really liked dies

-But other than that, he’s just focused on eating

-And occasionally patting your head affectionately

Belphie:

-He doesn’t really like horror films because there’s a lot of screaming and tense music and he’s just trying to nap in your lap (rhyme)

-He doesn’t really need sound effects like that in the background while he’s trying to sleep

-But one day he was like “Hey, what if I show my favourite human this particular scary film?”

-And he did

-And he’s internally dying and feeling guilty and yet so flustered because of you

-It’s like you suddenly turn into this very fidgety and anxious mess and he thinks you just look....cute

-At some point you were getting overwhelmed and sprung up on your feet to turn the lights on

-And he just grabbbed your wrists, pulled you down next to him and let you press your head against his chest

-As mentioned, he’s a little shit and will tease you for being such a scaredy cat

-“That was the most predictable jumpscare and you still flinched, wth is wrong with you lmao.”

-But at the same time....

-“Relax. It’s just a horror movie. You’ll be fine. Besides, I’m here. Like I would let something bad happen to you.”

-That’s sweet, even if the tone of voice may not imply it because he’s such a brat-

-He actually really likes holding you for once, because usually he’s the little spoon

-He’s still a bit of a sadist so I imagine him sitting there and watching this while giggling to himself

-Isn’t he the cutest, laughing at other people’s misery and their never ending suffering?🥺🥺🥺 UwU

-Ah well, at least he has the decency to spoil with affection afterwards and make sure you have no nightmares that night

-You know, as payback for the horrific shit he made you watch with no warning

————————————

OK, I think I made a decent job of this even though it took longer than it actually was meant to. Thank you for reading though. I’ve got so many requests to go through and I’ve been feeling motivated lately so yeah!

See you soon

Al~

[fawnhunter]

Lincoln Clay SFW A-Z

- written with a chubby reader in mind, but that’s not the main focus at all.

!: possible suggestive themes. nothing too serious tho

A= activites- what do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

When Lincoln does have time to spend with you [ Aside from any missions he takes you on] he likes to take you out to do things. He will take you to areas and districts he has already claimed so that it’s safe for the two of you. And then he leaves it up to you. You want dinner? You got it. You wanna go to a show? You got it. You wanna have a night in with just you and him? You can have that too. But he wants to show you off.

B=beauty- what do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Lincoln enjoys his s/o’s shoulders/chest. He thinks that your collar bones are beautiful, and he enjoys a sweetheart neckline. When he sees you during the day, his arms always find their way around your shoulders. And at night in the bed, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and crushes you against his side. His face finds its way to your neck and chest by the end of the night

C=comfort- How would they help their s/o during hard times or when they need it most?

When you come to him with an issue, and it so happens that you ended up getting hurt or threatened. Then he handles the issue right away, he may have other things to do but you are at the top of his list. He will make sure you never have to deal with this issue again. If the issue happened to be more emotional, he may not be as much help. But he will hold you until you pull yourself together and assure you that he has your back.

D= dreams- how do they picture their future with their s/o?

All Lincoln knows is that he wants you for as long as he can keep you. He will continue to fight to keep you, but he knows some day soon his story will come to an end. The thought that his life is not guaranteed is the only reason why your future is iffy.

E= equal- are they the dominant one or are they more passive in your relationship?

As much as my switch ass hates to admit it, he ends up being the more dominant one in the relationship. He leads the way day in and out. Let you know when to go and where. Stands in front of you when you go places, and nudges you behind him a little for most conversations. Checks in on you all the damn time, and does most of the stuff for you when at home, even when you insist you can handle it.

F= Flirting- how often do they flirt or tease their s/o? How smooth are they?

He is flirting with you every chance he gets. Sly little things whisper into your ear when you try making breakfast. Lingering touches when you begin getting dressed for the day. Filthy things said over the dinner table, just to startle you a little. Smoother than he should be. Every move he makes has the ability to lead into a quickie somewhere. A dangerous man indeed.

G= Gratitude- How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o does for them?

Lincoln is very grateful for you. He knows he can be considered scary, he hears it enough from the people on the street. But his heart swells every time he returns to your shared Apartment and all of you are still there. He Doesn't know how he would patch himself up if you were there as well, you keep him clean and healthy after a long day.

H=Honesty- do they have any secret that they keep from their s/o or do they share everything

Lincoln doesn’t talk about the things he did during the war, he will talk about his time, and about the activities he did with donovan. But he leaves out the gross gorey details, he doesn't want to come off as a monster

I=Inspiration- did their s/o change something about them or is it the other way around? (it could be personal issues or just trying new day to day things)

You have reminded him that there is still a little heart within him. When he comes home, he tries to remind himself that this is you. And that you love him. And he tries to put that hardcore, Sal killing mindset away, and just tries to relax

J=jealousy- do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

I don't think that he is given many chances to get jealous. I think he knows that the two of you are in a relationship, and I think that he would have trust for you. If he ever does get jealous, he will bring it up and maybe ask a question. But he really just wants peace of mind not to create problems for the two of you.

K=kiss- how do they kiss? What was the first kiss like?

Well for starters Lincoln alway kisses you when he sees you, and when he's saying goodbye. These kisses are short and chaste, just enough to give a taste of you for good measure. His other kisses are always more intense, his hand squeezing your waist or thread through the hair on the back of your neck, just to hold you in place while he kisses you. Breathes in the scent of you deeply and doesn't let you go until he’s done kissing you

L=Love confession- How did it go down?

He was hurt pretty badly after a mission. It seems like all the adrenaline shots in the world couldn't help his case. He was hurting real bad, but all he could think about was coming to you, and making you the last thing he sees, before his time is up. But your home appeared closer than he thought it would, and before collapsing on your doorstep he knocked on the door. [Ever the gentleman] And After hearing your concerned gaps and the watering of your eyes and felt safe enough to sleep. And when he woke up, the first thing he saw was your form right next to him. He had to let you know how felt, before he never got the chance again

M=Marriage- do they want to get married? How do they propose? Wedding day description?

Marriage may seem like a far off dream for Lincoln. The only thing he sees set in stone for his future is Sal Marcono’s death. I think Under different circumstances, with Sammy still alive, he would be a married man for sure.

N=nicknames- what do they call their s/o?

Puddin

Peaches

Darlin

Honey

O=Obsessed- how protective are they of their s/o? How much are they worried about them?

Lincoln is as protective as one can be. When at your home, he is alway in the same room as you. He may be doing something like reading a file, or fixing his guns but his glance always finds its way back to you. When he is out with you he is your shadow, right behind you or almost flanking you. He worries about you sometimes, when he has to leave the area of your home, he finds himself calling you, or asking Donovan to check up on you.

P=PDA- are they obvious about the relationship? Do they talk a lot about his s/o? Are they okay with affection in front of others?

Lincoln does not just go running around yelling about you. That being said his immediate crew does know about you, sometimes with you coming with him on missions you run into them. Cassandra and Vito are favorable to you, And Burke is.. well.. Burke. PDA in front of the other is rare as when you two are out together there is rarely time for that.

Q= Quirk- some random ability they have in a relationship

Lincoln is just a little touch starved, the human contact he receives is associated with pain and lies. So i think he won't ever need any space, sit next him, on his lap, look over his shoulder when he reads. Just touch him he loves it

R=Romance- how romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o smile? Are their ideas rather original or creative?

Lincoln takes any chance he has to be romantic.When he isn’t trying to get things done, he likes to spend his time with you. Dates outside of your home are not a common occurrence, he just doesn’t feel like he can really keep you safe. His romance has more of a catering feel. He shadows you a lot so you find yourself not needing to grab things or reach on your own, he’s already one step ahead of you. He likes to make you laugh by being his cute butterbean self.

S=support- do they push their s/o to do better? Do they believe in them?

lincoln isn't the type of person to get to involved in his S/o’s personal life, i mean we all know he is a busy man. If he does push his S/o to do better it's because he knows it's something his S/o is passionate about. He wants the best for you and believes in you as well, he just isn't overbearing about it and may need to be reminded to express that verbally sometimes.

T=thrill- are they okay with a certain routine or do they need some spice every once in a while?

Lincoln needs routine in his life. He has spent most of it away at war where nothing is ever the same. And when he attempted to rebuild his life the first time, everything went sideways. Knowing exactly what going to happen when he comes to see you is something that make him feel stable, and it is something that he craves

Understanding- how well do they know you? Are they sensitive to your emotions?

If Lincoln has committed to being your S/o then he knows you like the back of his hand. He knows when you have good days and bad ones and is always ready to step in and lend a hand

V=Value- how important is your relationship compared to other things in their life?

This question is a little tricky for Lincoln because he has a job to do . He loves you but he also knows that this is a thing he needs to get done. And in order to do that sometimes his job may have to come before you. In the names of people on his list, you are at the top. If you are not his first thought then you are the second.

W=Wild card-Random Fluff bomb!!

Lincoln finds great pleasure in being helpful towards you any time he can get involved in something you’re doing, he wants to be the one who helped you finish.

X=XOXO- how affectionate are they? Are they a cuddle bug or do they like their space?

Because he can always see you, he tends to be very affectionate with you. In his day to day life he doesn't get much healthy skin to skin contact, so any chance he has to get some love from you he takes it. He is a cuddle bug, when you take a seat on the couch he sits next to you but much closer than he should be. When out in public his arm finds its way around your waist and shoulders on its own.

Yearning- what happenes when they miss you

When he misses you he finds anyway he can to reach out to you and tell you that he loves you. He most likely has a memento that you've given him in the past that he keeps on him for moments like this. Other than that he gets really solemn, he punches a little harder so he can have a reason for you to clean him up.

Zzz- how do you both fall asleep/nap

When sleeping you both are engulfed in each other. His arms wrapped around you pressing you to him as tight a possible. One leg thrown over his side and your arms around his neck keeping him close to your chest. ITs hot and sticky and gross but you can hear his heartbeat and the sound of his breathing and decide that it's worth it.

[kangaroo-sniper-imagine]

Unintimidating reader who’s a killa killa

-snipers is longer solely because ive had that idea in my head LONG before i got this request-

-also, little gorey so beware-

Medic

Ludwig is almost instantly enamoured with you once he got comfortable with you on base. He finds you sweet and calls you “kleine krankenschwester” (little nurse) whenever you insist on helping him in any way with his workload. You apologize when you bump into inanimate objects and try copying Archimedes’ cooing. You’re a cupcake!

And finally he gets a good eyeful of you on the field. You’re brutal and vicious and smiling the whole time as you bash in an enemy Heavy’s head with a sledgehammer. You take out an enemy Scout’s leg with your weapon and let him try and crawl away from you before you finish him off with a laugh. Ludwig is now convinced you’re his soulmate

Our dear doctor loves tenderness that hides ruthlessness. Loves that you are sweet as a bumble bee to your team but a beast to your opposers. He’s excited at the new possibilities between the two of you know that he knows that he no longer has to hide his own ferocity with his experiments in front of you

Sniper

Hell, Mick isn’t even convinced you should be on the field. You wore brightly colored clothes and skirts and for fuck’s sake you bake, all. The. time. You're like Holly Homemaker, why the hell are you hanging with a bunch of mercenaries? How were you even picked for this job? At your first match, he debated on whether he should watch you from his perch to protect you or do his job. He chose his job, duh. But only for a few matches. When he finally decides to track you,and oooooh boy.

An enemy Spy has his knife in your shoulder, pining you to a wall. Mick doesn’t have a clear shot to take out the spook without getting you too. It’s not fun watching a teammate die, even if they do come back. But right as he was about to shift his attention to the main battle he sees it. You. Pissed the fuck off.

Mick watches with interest as you grab the hand that’s stabbing you with one of your delicate hands as the other grabs the spook’s lapel and drag in the enemy, mouths crushing together. A shot of betrayal and shock freezes the hitman before he sees it. The red running down your chin; the struggle of the enemy Spy trying to thrash himself away from you; the look of manic rage in your eye. When you let the Spy go, Mick can see teeth but no lip and it hits him. You bit off the man’s mouth.

After you swiftly wretch the knife out of your shoulder and into the neck of your opponent, you wipe your mouth, you call for a medic and return to fighting. Mick is now a little scared of you, but now will no longer ever think again that you can’t handle yourself on the field. Never brings up what he saw but will sometimes watch you work now

Heavy

Mikhail already finds hardly anyone intimidating, you are no exception; especially with your short stature and demure demeanor. He worries about you honestly, watching you to make sure none of the other mercs try to take advantage of you because you give off the energy of a doormat. It’s his big brother senses in part, he thinks, also in part of because he has a leetle crush on tiny woman who will listen to him drone on about Sasha and Russian literature well into the night.

You do more protecting than defending during the fighting. You watch the case and keep people away from it as Misha mows down the enemies to keep them away from the intel (and you), so he hasn't had the pleasure of watching you work. But buddy, when he gets it. A chance of happenstance allows Heavy to finally see you operate, lets him see you sit pretty as the enemy steps on your hidden bombs and walk into the line of your automatic tracking weaponry and get mowed down in a hail of bullets as all you do is smile and hold the briefcase. So well covered by your own inventions you don’t even need to be worried as the blood of your enemy splashes up onto your clothes

Misha finds you even MORE endearing now. Man loves intelligent women and if you made all of those killing machines holy fuck, could you mod Sasha?? You’re in your element as you effortlessly kill the opponent, and Misha loves watching your inventions do what they do best (he feels a kinship with your weapons as he too, preforms extreme violence to protect you) (He’s still gonna watch your back at the base tho for sure)

Scout

You were like another Spy, except without all the European flair that Spy had. You were kinda bland, tired looking. Jeremy’s never seen you train or fight; you spent most of all your free time being “tutored” by Spy to become a better Infiltrator, and frankly, Jeremy is more afraid of bread than he is of you (and not just the tumor filled bread). Spy hasd insinuated that you were ready to finally be put on the field with the rest of the mercs for the next match, and now Jeremy is more excited to have another person to show off to rather than to see you in action

But of course, Jeremy fucks up. He’s hiding in an empty building, bleeding from a shot from an enemy Sniper, and staring at the wrong end of a Heavy’s gun, hating the feeling of defeat. The Heavy was rambling on about something but the wound in his side had more of Scout’s attention; that is, until, a figure slowly, silently descended from the rafters. It was you, dressed head to toe in black save for a sliver of your team’s color on your armband. You look at the monologuing Heavy before giving Jeremy a look that said “Man, he’s a wind bag, huh?” you gestured to the enemy, then drew your finger across your throat with a questioning look in your eye. Scout manages a weak nod, losing focus quickly.

Another long cord, similar to the one holding you to the ceiling, unraveled itself from around your arm, and very quickly you whipped it around the enemy’s neck, jumped onto his back, and wretched your arms back, almost instantly decapitating the Heavy. Even as the lumbering body fell down, you remained upright, hopping off the body gracefully. With swift efficiency, you kicked the head out of the way, grabbed the comically large gun, and aimed it at the door. Before Scour could even ask what the fuck was going on, an enemy Medic came in through the door. Before the German had a chance to yelp, you shot him dead.

“Yo, what the-!” You hastily toss a med-pack at him before melting into the shadow, Scout almost missing the darkening blush on your mostly covered face. After that little save, Jeremy now goes out of his way to be nice to you, and learns a lesson that looks are hella deceiving. It would pay to have someone watching his back on the field without all the unwanted french commentary (and you’re nicer to look at than Spy, let's be real)

Demo

You’re cheerful, but not in the sadistic, almost taunting way many of the other mercs are like. Not like the Doc or Spook. Nope, you were just happy. Not ditzy or stupid or anything, just a smiley little thing that had as much bite as a toothless alligator. The thought that someone could take you as a serious threat, some wee thing that eats rainbow colored cereal and wears bunny slippers throughout the base, was so hilarious that Tavish starts chuckling whenever it crosses his mind. The two of you don’t typically fight together, you sticking to high ground to pick off enemies as Demo gleefully stays in the thick of it all to implode the other team

Due to unfortunate circumstances, you're both pinned down together, shoulder to shoulder under a makeshift barrier as the enemy gets closer and closer; your bow at the ready with an arrow and his bombs prepared to go off at his command, but no opening to go up and take a shot/throw a bomb. You huff, looking around wildly before nodding decisively, looking to Tavish. “Gimme one of your sticky bombs.” He complies, half thinking that you’re gonna take the both of you out in a blaze of gory glory.

With a look of determination, you aim in front of you, not even at the enemy. Tavish prepares to die for the third time that day, but this time by his own creation, and you release your arrow. The projectile bounces off a scrap bit of metal on the ground, ricocheting the arrow up into hitting the lamppost, and then flying over their heads into the enemy’s ranks. Once the bomb went off, you instantaneously bounce out of the hiding place and opened fire on the stragglers who didn't get offed by the bomb. Tavish can only stare as you mow down the other team as a random stream of sunlight illuminates your figure. Demo catches feels in that moment

Pyro

Pryo liked that you were lowkey and sweet. The fact that you weren’t especially harsh or violent while relaxing initially made them flock to you just to hang out in their down time. Pyro loves to give you cute little toys and stuffies and see you smile! The only time Pyro really sees you on the battlefield is when they’re looking for you. They’re worried about you! You’re their favorite!

They catch you, mid-battle, covered head to toe in the blood of an enemy Scout, laying only a few feet away. They think you look so pretty! Like sparkles and rainbows are all around you and flower petals are floating in the air and surrounding you (it’s ash; pyro started a blaze not that far away and it was finally beginning to get to the two of you)

Pyro just sees this as more couple binding time, now that they know that you also tend to get a little too into the battle. It’s an excuse to spend even more time together

Engineer

This boy was so dang in love with you and he’s never even seen you fight. On the base, you were as sweet as a peach and harmless as a mouse. You spent most of your time in Dell’s workshop helping him with menial tasks like refilling his coffee mug or reorganizing his tools or alike. You got along well with all the other mercs and were quick to help others. Dell never really saw you while fighting because he had to stick near his machines while your job took you all over the battle field

He hears about you fighting from the others. Scout was retelling the group about you “friggin’ awesome fight” between you and an enemy Medic. You had, according to Scout (and Heavy, who nodded along in agreement) got into a fist fight with the enemy, physically beating them into submission. Dell wouldn’t believe it if you hadn’t walked right at the end of the tale with a black eye, bloodied knuckles, and a lopsided grin. Dell almost has a fucking heart attack seeing you in such a state. The Doctor heals you up back to normal like nothing ever happened but the fact that you relied on physical violence to fight made him anxious

He doesn't talk to you about fighting differently, he wants to know if there's anything he can do to help you fight, like making special gloves or armor of some type. Homeboy just wants to protect you, he gets hella worried.

Soldier

Jane, seemingly perpetually stuck in the 40’s and 50’s, believes most women shouldn't be on the battlefield at all. And even though you were there working with a bunch of other mercenaries, a lady is a lady and he, the old fashioned man he is, prioritizes keeping you “safe” (taking your kills before you get the chance to land the finishing blows). In his mind, he’s doing you a service. After all, you are far too soft spoken at the base to have any form of bite in you on the field.

Across the field though, one fight, Jane was just too far away to swoop in and “save” you like he normally would; not even his rocket launcher would get to you in time to stop the Spy from doing you in! The instant the enemy’s knife was about to pierce your back, though, Jane saw you turn around whip fast, your own machete thrusting forward to impale the enemy.

The soldier now thinks that your “womanly intuition” is far more superior and more finely tuned than his own, and will now generally leave you alone to fight and stops hovering over you. Will shout out encouragements from across the field whenever he sees that you hack someone apart and loudly brags that you have the “natural advantage” to sniffing out enemies.

Spy

-This is gonna be a drabble cus i dunno how to bullet point this-

Jacque didn’t think particularly much of you. You were a teammate, an asset to be used. On the base you were reserved, spending most of your time in the Doctor’s infirmary or discussing something with Mikhail about books or whatever. You stayed out of his way, not like it was hard for you, seeing as you were just some wisp of a thing, someone who if they sat still long enough would blend into the background like air. Spy never assumed that you would ever be of any use to him in a fight; you just didn’t have the look of a fighter in you.

So right now, his life being in your hands, made him uncomfortable in ways he couldn’t care to count.

The enemy Spy, who was almost as tricky as him, cleverly disguised himself as Jacque, and right as they were about to confront each other, you burst through the door, looking surprised at the two of them. Almost immediately, they started to accuse the other.

“He’s the enemy!”

“No, HE is!”

“The intruder is HIM!”

Jacque will give you some props, seeing as you drew your gun as soon as you saw the pair, but rather than aim it usefully at at least ONE of them, YOU aim it uselessly to the floor! Jacque would’ve scolded you for your unprofessionalism if the imminent threat of death wasn’t less than six feet away from him.

You looked wildly in between the two of them, your normally pleasant face now stricken with panic. Your eyes land solidly on the enemy Spy, and with a sharp intake of breath, you run to him, throwing your arms around him and burying your face into the falsely colored lapel.

Jacque felt disappointment bloom in his chest, along with dread when he watched your mistake.

The spy looked so damn smug as he wrapped his arms around you, throwing Jacque a satisfied look. The gun still was gripped in your hand, still aiming at the ground.

“Ma pauvre petite fille,” he crooned, “est-ce que le grand méchant espion t'a fait peur?”

You sniffle, and bring the gun up to the imposter’s head. “Je n'ai pas facilement peur.” Jacque didn’t think you could ever say something so coldly, and say it in french to boot. One shot rang out and the man in your arms fell to the floor, suit changing back to what it was meant to be, stained with red from the blood of his fatal wound.

After some deliberation with yourself, you shot him again, in the chest. You looked to Jacque, your face now once again passive.

With a sigh and a dramatic flourish, the living Spy fetched a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it quickly, taking a deep huff before addressing you.

“How did you know that he was not me?”

You holster your weapon back, mulling over your answer. “Few things, uh… you never speak French to me,” you stuck out one finger, “you wouldn’t ever hug me,” another finger, “you don’t stand with your feet that far apart,” one more, “and you smell completely different.” with all but your thumb sticking out, you nodded to yourself before jamming both hands into your pants pockets, tucking in your chin and turning heel back to the door, seemingly finished with your explanation and conversation.

Amused, Jacque took another slow drag of his cigarette, planning on paying more attention to you in the future, being sure never to underestimate you again.

-this, uuuuuhhh, took on a life of its own-

[randynova]

randdddieee bestie, I'm back whether you like it or not I'd be back!

so you know, ofc you don't since I haven't tell it yet, so okay here it is..

I have this idea and I thought to myself it's nice and I should try to write it cuz you know why not I'm the only one who's going to read it anyway. I already wrote a few things and now I don't want to finish it... help what should I do? (╥﹏╥)

lmao, wassup, bestie, enjoying ur company so dw (´・ω・｀)

But I hear you and it's okay! I've had moments like that where I don't wanna finish my own work either, which results in me,, lagging. But I managed to find some methods to help me get back into the swing of things.

I'll tell you what I do, may or may not work for you (im sorry):

Leave it alone for a few hours/days and come back to it with a fresh eyes when you feel inspired --- it lets your mind take in what you already wrote and add more ideas/details. I had moments where I was out in public and inpiration hits me out of nowehere, it's always a few days after writing the piece.

Listen to some music of your choice ( specifically upbeat, emotional, or folk music) while you write --- it can feed your creativty and inpsire new paths you didn't even consider taking before. Study even the lyrics and see what first comes to your mind hearing it. For example, "Oh Mami" was inspired by Chase Atlantic and the line "I might have to fuck her on the highway" led to the writing of the fic.

Read others work or even your past work --- this one is weird but it basically shows you how the story was paced and the amount of detail that went into a certain scene. You can try out the style the author described something or see a way the wrote a charcter, giving you a feel to how you may want to approach it. Even your past work can revive the engine of your mind.

Check out writing prompts and see which one sparks -- yea, I worded that weird. But hear me out: reading dialogue prompts does help your creativity go wild, so give it a shot.

Write it like a script --- if there's anything my professor taught me this semester, it's writing out your pieces like a movie script. In brackets, parentheses, astrids, whatever, write out what you want to happen. Ex.: [Iroh gives speech about his plans while fighting so-and-so]. Something like that.

First write out the scene that inspired you to even create the piece in the first place. Usually, or most of the time, we write something because of a random idea that hit us out of nowhere and sometimes, we struggle to write around the scene we wanted to get out or we don't know how to make something out of the idea we wrote. But that's okay. It doesn't even have to be detailed, it could be short and simple, just write out what you wanted to get to first. It forces your head to think of every possbile scenario

Look at Pinterest -- idk about you, but looking at photographs of a guy covered in golden paint gets my mnd going. Explore your pinterest feed and see what makes your mind click and if it relates to your fic.

Watch the movies/tv shows that inspired your fic or watch different media to for ideas -- you'd be suprised on how much I do this and how different shows inspired my fics. Take a concept that interest you and see if it works for your fic. Hannibal definitely inspired the gorey parts of my fics while Shameless inspired the smut.

Force Yourself -- this one, as much as I hate it and don't really recommend, does make me do a sloppy outline of what I want for the fic and when I'm more inpired, allows me to add onto the outline or even change it up a bit. It tricks me into thinking that I actually finished it, when I didn't.

Rest -- sometimes your mind is just overworked and needs time to rest and relax, bb. So its okay if you take some time off to gather yourself. It's a risky cycle if you write when you're already overwhelmed with other responisbilities. It's okay if you dont finish it for awhile, do it when you can or when you're more relaxed/inspired. You can always come back to it and it's not something you should beat yourself over -- it's okay.

I mainly reccomend 1 and 2 the most, because that's what works for me. But I hope at least one of these helps and I wish you luck, anon (♥ω♥)/ ♥

[impulstor]

explanations behind my song choice for my 3lsmp playlist under the read more! keep in mind, some of these songs don't really have a reason beyond just... vibes. and that some ideas have changed over time. anyway!

playlist here

anti-hero — originally added as an etho song, and still applies. with him being prepared to fight & kill for ren + the rest of the red army. also, he tends to be a bit unpredictable and has a very different moral standing from someone like, say, martyn.

kill the sun — fits with the series as a whole, with shifting alliances and friendships, and with people killing and being killed by one another.

special — this ones for all the mfs who didn't pick a side until really late, or were bouncing between factions for a while 💪. especially for tango, as an example, making friends with someone who he can also consider his enemy, and being completely unsure where he stands in any group, though he wants to have their faith.

villain — this song is just really good for making a mental amv for lmao. it's good for demonstrating differing alliances n sides, n of course that applies here.

oh, death — not a lot of specific thoughts for this, just. yknow, death, vibes, dying for someone, watching your friend die, etc.

6up 5oh cop-out — first of all, I'm just a slut for will wood sometimes. second, a lot of the lyrics on their own could 100% be applied to events in the series (I mean I did use some from it for my etho n tango drawing for funsies) so. it's a strange song but the vibes fit well, in my opinion :]

kill of the night — a bit self explanatory, I think. in a series about trying to outlive, and to eventually kill your friends? no doubt you're going to end up hunting certain people down, hmmm? revenge, n all that. works well for multiple characters, really.

you're gonna go far, kid — impulse. just like. tango, or maybe etho, at impulse. "with a thousand lies and a good disguise, hit em right between the eyes" I meaaan 🤔 how is it NOT impulse lmao

kill the lights — once again, killing, death, murder, yknow. good vibes. also people lying and betraying one another, and watching as their friends and enemies die in front of them, people being changed by the events that transpire.. also technically they ARE actors sooo. kill the actor, yknow

mad IQs — mostly this song just slaps (thank you eexer 🙏) but also the lyrics fit well with the events! death, murder, killing your friends, burning. there is a lot of fire.

go get your gun — works very well for the whole war goin on. one side vs another, fighting and losing allies, fighting to win for their fallen allies, cheating fate if they DO win. also the line "when this is over, we'll raise a glass straight up to the sun" could be seen as like. everyone coming together to be friends once it's all over bc they are!

c'est la vie — it fits well. bad things happen, you lose people, you hurt, karma kicks your ass, but that's just life, and that's the game. c'est la vie.

i'm gonna win — fits for how they're all fighting to be the last one standing. and also with having to work through literally dying and to not give up, if you want to win.

mr capgras... — once again, I just like will wood. also fits well with people fighting each other, mostly with the chorus. "you'll never take me alive" / "you better pray that I die" likjkeeeee 👀 you could make art fitting those lyrics tbh

curses — red & green duos (at least. when they were intact :/) sticking together, taking care of one another when everything is going to hell, people are dying, and it's getting intense. they trust each other, at least.

under the pressure — don't really have something specific, it just fits well, with the lyrics. honestly this one fits well as a skizz song, now that I'm thinking about it. he went from trying to be friends with a lotta people to taking two out for good and went out in a blaze of glory. yea. that's what I got lol

everybody wants to rule the world — I dont think I really need an explanation for this one. it just fits well with everyone trying to win the whole game, and with everything slowly ramping up in intensity

rebels — for scar and grian being crime bros for the first while :] everything IS burning, good for them!

outrunning karma — impulse once again. playing everyone, playing to everyones good sides as much as he could, until the act didnt matter anymore. but karma might really kick him in the ass, if he ends up as one of the last survivors, and others turn on him for betraying everyone earlier on.

you're nobody til somebody wants you dead — shrug emoji. just fits well mostly. friends fighting eachother, betrayal, yadda yadda.

thanks i hate it — mmm,, tango? idk, im just a tango enjoyer, and he has spent quite a bit of effort trying to please certain groups to like. no avail. especially team crastle. like tbh he was solidly on board with em for a while, and mightve gone back to them on his own. but cleo blackmailed him anyway. rip tango.

the riddle — ALL OF IT. the whole series. it fits

crazy = genius — i dont rly like brendan urie like at all. so i might remove it from the playlist at some point. but it does fit with scar and grian being villains.

icarus — mmm fits well with grian. with the wing imagery, and with the fact that he made SO many enemies by working with scar. and he never reaallllyyyyy apologized, did he? he's walking a dangerous line, with few allies,

cradles — idk lmao. vibes only.

wolf in sheeps clothing — impulse again mostly lol. sung by skizz or etho probably. betrayal <3

how villains are made — again, for those neutral parties that had to choose a side. its about being torn between two sides & having to choose. honestly, I could see it fitting bigb, if he does some funky villain stuff next session. he deserves it I think <3

killing butterflies — trauma, ouchie, angst, murder your friends. everything hurts.

king — ren!! that's it.

little lion man — bruh if ren dies and leaves martyn alone.... ghost ren to martyn.... ouch.

gives you hell — red army @ sand people. specifically etho and ren get to be petty at scar i think

wine red — [gestures vaguely] all of it

i bet my life — red and green duos again. though it could be after some of them permadie.

miss missing you — (thanks again eexer this one also slaps <3) ouch impulse and tango angst. or impulse and etho angst. OR etho and tango angst. THEM. :(

youth — all of it but like. after it's over. just like going back and looking at how it all went down.

a gorey demise — i just think it would be fun to animate everyone's different deaths to this song tbh

another one bites the dust — they are once again Dying. but it's not angsty and dramatic this time.

god rest ye merry gentlemen — 😔 the whole thing again. pain

[sagurus]

01. “no, come back,”

So, I’m doing my own sorta... write-tober thing, based off of multiple prompt lists that other folks have made! I’m going to do my best to do one every day, and it might not necessarily be all that good because I’m just trying to smash out the story concept and get it in writing. Each day that I do one of these, I intend to post it here, and any that I’m especially proud of / want to polish up will get put onto my ao3 at a later date.

This one was inspired in part by @fictober-event​‘s day one: “no, come back” (here’s the prompt list)

---

Saguru stood in the company building’s surveillance room, gaze flitting between various screens as he tracked KID’s movements and watched the task force scramble. Into the radio provided to him by Nakamori, he said, “It would appear KID has tampered with the cameras in the east hall leaving the display room.” This was a lie. It was true that the camera’s feed was corrupted and incomprehensible, but he knew it was not KID that had induced it. This had been his own doing.

The bait was laid. New orders and affirmatives barked down the line and the officers all veered, rerouting to go where Saguru had pointed them.

Into a separate communication device, better-secured than the task force’s line, he said, “Coast is clear.”

“Thank you, Tantei-san,” sing-song cooing from his ear-piece. Saguru held his breath, straining to see if Kaito would fail to evade any of the cameras. Misdirection was well and good, but Saguru could risk scrutiny if he failed to report a sighting elsewhere.

Movement on a monitor.

It wasn’t KID, though, or if it was, it was a disguise he hadn’t been expecting. Instead, Saguru saw Officer Hirata, apparently inspecting a room near the stairwell. Saguru watched the stray officer look somewhere toward something in the camera’s blind spot. As Saguru watched him lift the radio, the camera’s feed cut.

He said to “No—come back. Something’s strange—”

Saguru broke off; he heard the sound that came before someone spoke into the radio along the task force comms, the signal of input. He strained to listen. There was never a voice, though. Saguru readied to report the loss of another camera, this one not his doing and as far as he knew, not Kaito’s either, but he was interrupted.

A single resonating, calamitous noise.

A gunshot.

It was certainly from within the building, although Saguru could determine only so much directionally beyond not in this room and not near enough to deafen. Before Saguru could say a word, voices poured over the radio. Saguru couldn’t hope to get a word in edgewise over the racket, so he turned attentions to his communication line with Kaito again in time to hear KID’s voice, thinly, “—Shit—”

“Are you with me?” Saguru managed, airless with rising panic. A gunshot. The cut camera. Had that been Kaito in disguise? Had it been a task force officer?

“Wasn’t shot. Where’d—nevermind.”

“—Where are you?”

Silence.

Saguru’s insides knotted with unease and he accepted that Kaito had, for whatever reason, disabled the communication device. With no time to hesitate, Saguru tucked his own away. He had to fumble a little with the power button, leading him to realize somewhat detachedly that his hands were trembling.

Over the task force comms: “—It’s Hirata-san. He’s—”

“Where?!” Inspector Nakamori’s voice cut in, turning the feed garbled and broken.

“The display room near the southern stairwell,” said the other voice, the same as the one that had reported the discovery of…the body, Saguru’s mind supplied, before he desperately shook the thought away.

His ears were ringing as he careened out of the surveillance room, bounding down the hall to reconvene with the task force. It occurred to him that nobody knew who the shooter was or where they had gone. Perhaps one person had an idea, but—Saguru dreaded the logical conclusion.

Saguru reached the inspector before he reached the room. Urgent and clipped, he reported, “The camera in that room cut just before the shot. I saw Officer Hirata there—looked like he had noticed something. I don’t know where the—”

Inspector Nakamori growled a litany of obscenities, crashed into the room ahead of Saguru. Saguru’s stomach lurched. I don’t know where the shooter went, he had been trying to say, but the inspector charged ahead anyway. In Saguru’s mind’s eye he saw the inspector stagger back from the impact of another gunshot. The sound of the imagined scene resounded in his ears at the same frequency as the awful ringing.

No such thing occurred, however, and Saguru followed the inspector into the room. Saguru could see a corridor which would have existed outside of the camera’s view. He could see three total escape routes the culprit may have had—the corridor itself, the entry to the stairwell (to which the door hung open), or the other entrance into this particular room, leading to an exhibit hall.

There was a smear of blood against the wall adjacent to the camera’s blind spot. The smear led to what should have been Hirata. Lifeless eyes confronted Saguru head-on, and Saguru’s throat felt as if it was closing up.

As he sought to steady himself, Saguru found himself making eye contact with the officer standing nearest to the corpse—that being a handful of metres away, but still closer than the rest of the task force had yet managed. Saguru recognized this to be the owner of the voice of the individual who had reported the scene in the first place. Officer Daita stood ashen and horrified, seeming to look past Saguru before looking back to the body.

From a purely unemotional perspective, there was nothing exceptionally horrible about the scene, other than the profuse blood from the apparent shot to the heart. What was horrible was that it had happened here, at a heist, where these sort of tragedies were not meant to happen. That KID’s playground truly was a place where things could go terribly, horribly wrong, even if not by the thief’s own making.

Saguru’s mind ran on repeat—escape routes, blood spatter, dead eyes staring into nothing, the gunshot, the black screen, possible vantage points for additional attacks, possible hiding places for the shooter, Kaito’s voice over the communication line, ‘Wasn’t shot. Where’d—nevermind.’ The movements and voices of the task force muted and distant, as if rooms away.

Nobody noticed the way Officer Daita backed away as the inspector and others surged forward.

Saguru registered that he lost track of Officer Daita only when Inspector Nakamori demanded details from him. Daita, from beside his partner, insisted that he hadn’t been the one. It didn’t make sense—the inspector snarled as much. Saguru threw his mind back to moments ago (124 seconds, to be precise), recalling Daita’s clearly terror-filled face as he stood metres away from Hirata’s corpse. His attention had been overtaken by the gorey details, and he’d lost track, although he could recall the notion of the officer melting into the crowd. From there, he was gone without a trace.

Kaito?

The gunman?

Saguru wanted to tear away from all this noise and go searching for Kaito just as much as he wanted to stay and get to the bottom of the murder.

The logical part of him reminded: if you run off, you’ll look suspicious.

He remained where he stood.

 Two quiet hours of fruitless searching later, Nakamori sent Saguru off with his driver. He wasn’t sure if the inspector had noticed how rattled he seemed, or if he just wanted a teenager out of his hair when there was a murder investigation afoot, but the result was the same. Saguru was at once relieved to get some distance from the dead body, and tied himself in knots at the fact he hadn’t gotten a handle on who, specifically, the culprit could be, yet. He knew it was entirely possible that it was one of the dark-clad gunmen after KID, but he also knew it was possible that someone in the task force was working for the enemy, and the idea that one of the officers he worked alongside could be responsible for this was—reprehensible. Terrifying. All too likely.

In the car, Saguru risked a glance at his phone’s notifications. Baaya said very little to him, expression grave, and he was grateful for the quiet.

No texts from Kaito.

“Baaya?”

“Yes, Bocchama.”

“Please take me to the Kuroba residence, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Of course, Bocchama.”

 Saguru worried that he would have to let himself into Kaito’s house, worried that Kaito wouldn’t be home, worried that everything was even more wrong than he thought it was.

After ringing the bell, though, it only took twenty seconds for Kaito to open the door for him. He was coiled tight, Saguru saw immediately. His gaze darted past Saguru’s shoulder, scanned the street. His expression was taut, face lined with tension. He studied Saguru as if seeking out any sort of threat, as if distrusting that it might actually be him. Kaito seemed to arrive to the conclusion that it really was Saguru, though, because Kaito ushered him inside.

Behind them, the door fell shut. Kaito locked it.

“—Are you—” Saguru struggled to find the right words. He toed off his shoes as he sought them out. “—hurt?” He couldn’t ask if Kaito was okay. Because of course he wasn’t.

“No,” clipped and almost harsh. “No, I’m fine. Not a scratch on me!” This came out thin, a pained sort of giddiness. Forced, shattered cheer.

Saguru’s mind drifted back to the last time there had been a death at a heist. That time, it had been the corrupt Interpol officer, a murderer who’d claimed numerous lives. A life Kaito had tried to save, except he’d slipped quite literally out of Kaito’s grasp. It had been a great tragedy, and Kaito still held himself responsible.

But there’d never been a murder. Certainly not of an officer working at the heist.

Kaito’s hands were shaking.

If Kaito held himself responsible for the death of a man beyond his reach, beyond saving, Saguru could only imagine that the weight of this death was immeasurable in comparison.

Saguru reached for him, and Kaito drew away on automatic. It stung.

Kaito was hurting, Saguru couldn’t blame him. But he burned for reassurance that Kaito really was intact, that he had at least in some ways gone untouched by tonight’s violence. He persisted, grasping Kaito’s hand tenderly.

The tremors were still there. Kaito didn’t pull away this time.

“I’m glad you aren’t hurt,” Saguru said, trying to act as an anchor even as he ached for something to hold him steady. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Everyone else is safe.” For tonight, at least, he didn’t say.

After a few beats of this cautious contact, Kaito pulled away in a swift motion and started walking up toward his room. Saguru hesitated, let Kaito get some ground ahead of him, before following after. He hadn’t been told to leave, so he was going to stay.

“I’m not great company right now,” Kaito said after they both reached his bedroom, him sitting on the edge of his bed, Saguru lingering just at the threshold. Being in Kaito’s room still felt like an intimate and treacherous thing, even at this point in their entanglement.

“I’m not looking for good company,” Saguru said after processing Kaito’s words, turning them this way and that as he tried to discern everything that may lie beneath them. “I just—” don’t want to leave you alone. “—don’t particularly like the idea of being alone, at the moment.”

Silence fell, and Kaito scrubbed a hand over his face, not looking at Saguru.

Saguru could venture a guess as to the things going through Kaito’s mind right now. The shame of someone dying ‘on his watch,’ a sense of dark, spreading self-loathing as he considered the events that led to the shooting. The terror, that something so final could happen, and that it wasn’t him acting as the target despite his best efforts to be the primary focus of violent intent. The goading, garish target, clad in glowing white, impossible to miss. And yet, it had been an officer, and not only had he been hurt, he had died.

A man with a family. A man with prospects, a future, aspirations.

He felt sick with the pain of it.

He awaited any kind of protest from Kaito as he edged closer, ensuring that he moved slowly, but apparently. Kaito said nothing. After a great amount of deliberation, Saguru eased himself onto the edge of the bed, leaving half a metre of space between them. He opened his mouth as if to speak. “…” There was nothing to say. He didn’t want to speculate about the murder. He’d spent the past two hours and change spiraling over it. He could only imagine Kaito had done the same. “I’m staying here,” he said finally.

Kaito didn’t protest. His hands continued to tremble. Saguru wanted to still them, but he let Kaito have his space.

It was mere minutes later that Saguru felt a weight against his side. Kaito, having edged closer, leaned against him, a heavy weight pressing into Saguru’s side. Saguru put his arm carefully behind Kaito, not holding him, but helping to brace his weight. Silence stretched. Saguru strained his ears, and heard breath catching, halting, continuing. Tremulous.

“Stay,” Kaito said, barely audible, as if Saguru hadn’t already affirmed that he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“It was you who found him, wasn’t it,” Saguru murmured, recalling Officer Daita’s ashen face, and then Officer Daita’s denial of having been first on the scene. The tightening of Kaito’s shoulders was answer enough. 

Saguru exhaled, slow and steady. “I’m here,” he murmured.

[poptod]

hey there! hope i’m not bothering u. maybe a snafu x reader after the war where he tries to impress them at a bar with war stories but y/n was an air force pilot and it turns into a debate of who was more badass during the war? sweet at the end maybe? i’m addicted to ur writing lmao. thanks again for always answering my requests!

notes: not a problem at all :) unfortunately the power has been out at my house for a day or two so this is a tad late, but youve got fun ideas so i dont mind writing them at all. hope you like this one too

It had to be past midnight – somehow despite that fact, you were still wide awake. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn't taken your sleeping pills, or the pounding loud shouts of the bar's drunken patrons, but you did not lag behind your friend. She'd dragged you there, saying something about getting free drinks since she was banging the bartender. Before either of you knew it, she was off flirting with another man (which the bartender did not like), and you were ordering your third drink. Not the most you'd drunk in one night, not even close, but it was enough to give you a pleasant buzz, allowing you to relax against the bar counter and look out across the crowd.

Within the next several hours most of the crowd had filed out, making way for a new wave of soldiers, ones that had just arrived home and were celebrating their life still belonging to themselves. You were once part of that menagerie; the only difference was you had become a marine before the war ever started, and while you were there for the beginnings of the war, your contract with the marine corps ended soon after. It left you feeling apart from both citizens and soldiers – someone who didn't know the horrors of war, but who was traumatized enough that society didn't care to love them anymore.

Unlike many returning soldiers, you did not turn to alcohol to fix your issues. For the most part you distracted yourself with work, working and working till there was nothing in your head but work – there was little else in your life besides work now, the one exception being your friend, Penny. She made sure you ate, made sure you got outside and had human contact. For that you will always be grateful.

Your attention wavers from her only when one of the returning soldiers stands right beside you at the bar, ordering a bottle of beer before noticing you, his posture suddenly changing as he does so. His back straightens out a little, his hips a little more forward, elbows on the bar behind him so as to show off toned forearms and a skinny waist. He stares for a little while – you pay him no mind. When he gets his drink, that's when he actually speaks to you.

"What's a doll like you doin' here?" He says, and you almost roll your eyes. What a typical start.

"Keepin' a friend company," you answer him quietly, taking a swig of your own drink. It's not entirely a lie, although you feel you're keeping less and less of her company the more she drifts off to the side, caught up in the stare of a rather handsome man with a fair amount of scruff.

"Really? You come here often? I'm - jus' curious. I've never been here before," he says, clarifying that he isn't that stupid so as to use that specific line, a clarification you appreciate.

"This is my first time. My friend though, she comes here often, says she likes the atmosphere," you tell him, nodding in the direction of Penny, who is currently in a corner with the stranger. "You're a soldier, right?"

"Yessir," he says with a proud nod, "just returnin', actually."

You nod absently, looking out across the general crowd before you at last meet his eye. In the neon red lights you can barely see him, the shape of his face against the black mass of people, the color of his eyes against long eyelashes that flutter when he scans you up and down. All you can tell about him is his voice – rough and deep, drawling his words and humming his thoughts.

"You meet many marines?" He asks, and you can already tell he's gearing up to tell you some horrid stories of the war. Unfortunately, you don't know him well enough yet to know if he's going to tell you the truth, and a small part of you hopes he doesn't tell the truth. The truth is gorey and dangerous and heartbreaking, and you're not ready to live out such memories and tales again. Not yet.

"I've met a few," you say vaguely, watching the way a grin cracks across his face as he chuckles smooth and low.

"All I gotta say is you're lucky I ain't no army kid, those assholes are weak as all hell," he says, something you fully agree with, and something that has a sweet giggle coming involuntarily out of you. He smiles even bigger when he watches the way you laugh.

"My father was a marine," you say, coming down from your high. "He said the same thing."

"He's right, y' know... me n' my troop, we was out on that godforsaken island in the Pacific, hot as hell every day – humid, too. We saw hell n' back, shootin' at Japs n' gettin' shot at, sitting in all those damn trenches, up to ya knees in mud, and there go the fuckin' army soldiers, prancing around like goddamn deer. Funniest shit I ever seen, though to be fair, I don't think any a' us had much to eat that day," he recalls fondly, but you can tell he's suppressing the worse memories. You don't ask on that – it'd be rude, and it's not a subject you want to talk about. Nonetheless, he continues. "An you know, you're sittin' in mud all day n' night, you're gonna get pretty dirty, right?"

You nod attentively. If there's one thing you're still good at after your time in the marine corps, it's listening well.

"So we're all covered in mud, and they come by in a neat row, with their freshly washed hair and white as all hell skin – I made a bet with this one fella, Burgie, a' said they'd get so sunburnt after a week on that island, they'd be cryin'. I was right, of course," he says, motioning with his hands as he told the story. At the end he rubs his nose and turns back to you, watching for your reaction, and loving the way you still manage to enjoy his story.

"So you're tellin' war stories now?" You ask, leaning in closer and smirking imperceptibly when his breath catches in his throat. "What's your best story, then?"

He doesn't skip a beat, another one of those sweetly impure smiles coming across him as he starts.

"Hell, there's a lot to choose from. I do remember though," his hand comes up to his shirt collar, unconsciously toying with it, "this one Jap snuck into our camp, still don't know how, but he was one a' those damn kamikaze soldiers, the radical ones. He shouted somethin', don't remember what, but everyone went for their guns – I did too, an' we all pointed at his chest, cause it's easier to aim that way, y'know? But the bombs were tied to his chest, so a' aimed at the head. Shot him dead center between his eyes," he tells you with an air of pride and a hint of disgust. You don't blame him.

"That's a good story," you say with a small smile.

Anticipation creeps up on you as you wait till he's done prattling off little details, just waiting till you can watch the light die in his eyes as you tell him your own war story.

"I think my best marine story would have to be when I was flyin' over this active war field, there's fighter pilots everywhere in the sky, and sometimes it's hard to tell which jet belongs to which side in the moment. Everythin' goes by fast, but I saw this Jap flagged plane drop a bomb the size of a whole person. Immediate reaction was to shoot at the bomb, and I got pretty lucky – it blew up midair, and I was far enough it didn't hurt me," you say, unable to stop a grin from coming to you when the man slowly realizes that he's talking to another marine.

"Oh, you're a marine too, ain't you?" He says, but it's not a question – no, it sounds more like a challenge, and one you're completely willing to participate in. "Where you stationed?"

"I was in Hawaii at first," you say quietly, and he immediately gets the implication. Although you both now know what you saw, and the topic is in your heads, neither of you explore that further. "Later got stationed at some place in the Pacific. Like you. Though, I was on the ocean, not an island."

"What's your kill count?" He asks, and he leans forward just a little bit, drawing closer to you.

"Does it really matter?" You ask in return.

"'Course it does. You gonna be out here tellin' me you didn't count?"

"I didn't," you say truthfully. "A bit hard to see how many y' kill from a thousand feet in the air."

"Y'ever do parachute drops?"

"Once," you say. "Did you?"

"Nah, parachute drops ain't nothin' compared to the shit I did," he says, dismissing the notion as if it wasn't important. Now he's trying to impress you – again.

"Really?" You ask, almost sarcastic, but you manage to hold that part back. "What is it that you did then that was so much more terrifying and dangerous than freefalling through the atmosphere?"

"Try carryin' mortars on ya back in searing heat, n' all the while you n' ya company's out takin' a little hike 'cross a whole island filled with Japs," he says cockily, angling his chin upwards in a motion that accentuates his already sharp-as-hell jawline.

"Wow, a whole island," you say sarcastically, but he sees the humor behind it.

"Hey, Japan's an island too an' they big enough that they got the whole nation in uproar," he points out.

"Whatever makes you feel better," you say, taking a sip of your drink.

"What's your rank anyway?" He asks as he puts his drink on the counter, crossing his arms.

"I'm a major," you say, and once again the light dies in his eyes. You almost want to spare him the embarrassment of telling you his own rank, but you are curious, and it's just too fun to let him off. "What's your rank?"

"... corporal," he answers quietly, and you have to hold back a laugh. You try really hard, you really do, just so hard not to laugh, but you end up snorting anyway, and you can't even begin to work on your smile.

"Alright, corporal," you say, still trying not to laugh. Placing your own drink down on one of the bar coasters you turn to him, curling his loose tie around one of your hands and pulling him forward, practically devouring his nervous delight. "Y' really wanna play this game?"

"I'm the one who started it, ain't I?" He says, and you admire his tenacity to talk back to a superior officer.

"What's your full name and title, Corporal?"

"Corporal Merriel Shelton," he answers softly, his eyes suddenly stuck on the words that form on your blushing lips. "Ma' friends jus' call me Snafu, though."

"Mmm," you hum, looking him up and down much like he'd done to you earlier, "the hell you do to earn that kind a' name?"

"Oh, I'm just reckless, baby," he says with a smirk, gaining the confidence needed to lean into your touch more. You can feel his hips almost pressed against yours, the feeling doing nothing but making you pull his tie even more, a smile beginning to tug at the edges of your lips.

"Mind showin' me?"

"Not at all," he says in the impossibly low voice of his, and with that you're his, if only for the evening.

[tibbinswrites]

The Final Season: Home is Where One Starts From

Well guys, it’s here! I have poured a lot of blood, sweat and tears into this fic and it’s finally time to post!

The fanart (if it’s working properly, I’ve never added art to a fic before, sorry!) is by the wonderfully talented @love-nakamura and the fact that I finished it at all is thanks to the deadlines provided by entering @spncanonbigbang. 

Please be mindful of the tags, there is some gorey stuff in there.

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandom: Supernatural

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester

Summary: Alternate Season 15. Grieving the loss of Jack, Team Free Will is splintering. Cas needs time to process, leaving the Winchesters to find the solution to the God problem. But when Chuck interferes with their home by dredging up the past, they, and Rowena, have to figure out a way to reclaim it while learning how hunting as they know it has been changed forever. Meanwhile, Cas finds a complicated case and a familiar face in Cope, Colorado. Can he find the thing turning this town on its head before it catches up to him? Intended as the first part of a series but can be read as a stand-alone. Title taken from a T. S. Eliot poem.

Read it on AO3

Snippet

They stood together back to back, shoulder to shoulder as they had done so many times before. Jack’s still smoking corpse was kicked aside by one of the approaching zombies, as though he meant nothing, as though he hadn’t been a son to all three of them just moments before. Cas let out a strange, hollow sound from behind Sam as Jack was trampled under dozens of pairs of dead feet, and Dean stepped forward to scoop up Chuck’s gun and shove it into his waistband before retreating back into position and out of his view. Sam’s makeshift iron spike trembled slightly in his hands as he watched the monsters advance, almost tentative, probably at least somewhat disorientated from their sudden resurrection. His shoulder hurt. It had been a stupid move to shoot Chuck with that damn gun; satisfying sure, and he hadn't been aiming for anything vital, but still, stupid. Now he was the weak link and judging from the appreciative sniffs and wild, manic grins on some of the creatures’ faces, they knew it too.

He’d fought with worse, against worse, but they were desperately outnumbered and these creatures had been summoned by God . It was only a hunter’s instinct and assumption that led Sam to believe that these things were zombies of the like they were used to. He felt more than heard the hitch in Dean’s breathing, the only outward sign that his brother too was scared shitless.

At some invisible signal the monsters began to speed up, incensed into rage by who knew what. When the first wave crashed over them Sam lost track of time, lost track of where the others were or if they were even still alive. He was wrenched this way and that by the horde, their unspoken plan of staying together immediately thwarted. He heard a gun go off and desperately tried to twist around to get to his brother but it was impossible. He hoped Dean was giving warning shots rather than trying to hit anything.

The fight seemed to last for days. He cut down zombie after zombie but it didn’t seem to make any difference to their numbers. He was covered in blood; some of it his own, most of it not. He tasted it on his tongue, mixed with earth and rot, cold and congealed. He spat and gagged, his ears rang with angered howls and roars and screams, and still they kept coming.

“Sammy!?” he heard once, his brother’s voice full of panic, “Sam!?”

“Here!” he tried to yell back, though whether he was heard or not he had no idea. He could barely see through the press of bodies; sunken eyes and grey skin hanging off bones, all in the ragged Sunday best they’d been buried in. They gave off a putrid smell, different stages of decomposition mixed with some fresher embalming fluid. It was strong and more than concentrated enough to make Sam want to fall to his knees and throw up. His shoulder burned, his every muscle ached with fatigue, and still he fought. Another head went rolling, another brain impaled. He wrenched the spike free and whirled around to deflect another attack. Gore dripped from the end of it, crusted and black in the artificial darkness. The flashes of red that still sparked from the fissures in the ground were pretty much the only light source. Well… that and the occasional blaze of white grace that told him Cas was still alive, or at least he had been a few minutes ago.

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