#identity v fanfiction

[beesquee]

The snow felt scorching against her skin.

Violetta did not know how long she'd been lying helplessly in the middle of the woods just beyond the courtyard. She did know, however, that the tear tracks from crying earlier had frozen completely against her cheeks. "Crying does not help you any," Maxwell used to tell her whenever she was frustrated with herself. The lecture had quelled her leaking eyes-- and made her a better performer-- but she only grew more frustrated with herself whenever Maxwell said such things.

Despite her bitterness about having been sold off, Violetta believed, at this moment, that Maxwell had been right. Her wet eyes had not saved her from Joker's paranoia-induced wrath, and they could not save her now, stranded without her mechanical limbs to carry herself out.

read the rest here !!

[fishermanshook]

F!CK BOYS GONE SOFT

( mercenary , batter & prospector ) + gn!reader

# MINOR WRITING SMUT , #ihatewritingdialouge , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

It was a mutual agreement between the both of you that you were fucking for the pure reason of letting off steam after being stuck in this hell hole. 

No feelings were supposed to be caught. No hearts were meant to be thawed. And yet, they find themselves yearning for your touch long after your last session.

꒰wc꒱ 1.7k ( longest fic so far !! )

✦— THE MERCENARY

If being between your legs was where he wished to be, then who were you to deny him access to the most private part of your body? Where Naib works his magic and milks you of your essence while paying you back in waves of pleasure.

The Mercenary looks so lost in his work that you think he doesn’t notice the change in pitch. That you’ve adjusted your grip on his hair to a softer, gentler hold. Your moans are light, airy, and not at all the ones that left your throat hoarse and raspy the night before. No, that can’t be right. And it doesn’t take him long before he finds the spot that pushes you over. The spot that has your back arching off the mattress. The spot that has you screaming his name like it’s going out of style.

And god does pleasure look good on you, as Naib refuses to remove his eyes from you as he watches the aftermath of you coming undone in front of him. Such a passionate and intimate thing for his eyes and his eyes only as your essence coats his hands and tongue. To think he’d pull his head away after you came is just stupid. Have you not learned from previous sessions? You coming only gives him more reason to drop down there and give you more, but Naib holds himself back.

The next few moments are a blur as you try to calm down after your orgasm, but it seems Naib won’t let you. The sound of something being unzipped and his pants hitting the floor pulls you from your recovery. He’s prepped you enough, hasn’t he?

“It’ll hurt a little, but only for a second.” The Mercenary whispers in your ear as a warning to brace for what’s about to come. It makes him wonder, and only for a split second, if you ever realized how much he loves you. The amount of thought and care that goes into every move he makes towards you. Maybe you’re just dense, or maybe it’s not like that. He won’t know until he tells you. Or, until you tell him.

Your hands rush to clamp themselves over your mouth in an attempt to stifle the moans flooding from it. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this (and certainly not the last…), but it’s always a tight fit. A tight fit that neither of you can get enough of. Your hands don’t last though, as the Mercenary is quick to rip your hands away from your mouth. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. You don’t need him to say anything else.

It’s not long before you feel the familiar warmth strengthen between your legs. By now, Naib’s memorized your every tell that you’re going to come. By the way your legs tighten around his waist and the way your hands reach to clasp his biceps to try and hold on. It’s the way you attempt to not pass out when you feel everything just snap.

“God, I love you so much,” Naib admits before even realizing what he just said. You’ve never seen the man freeze so fast, or go so red. Before his hands cover his mouth you pin his wrists down to the bed.

“Wait—! H-hold on,” you say, still recovering from your orgasm that happened just seconds ago. “What did you say?”

The Mercenary stares at you before opening his mouth to say: “I didn’t say anything.” He’s trying to play it with a convincing tone in his voice, but it’s hard to believe when he practically shouts it.

“No, Naib,” you huff out “Are you playing me?” You question. Your face molds into worry and concern. Instead, he avoids your gaze. There’s nothing else for him to do in this situation is there.

“Fine. If you won’t say it, then I will.” You state before grabbing Naibs face and pressing it into yours. The Mercenary tries (and he really does) to do anything but melt into your touch. In the end, it proves to be no use. Pulling away, you say: “Naib, there is no one else I love more than you.”

“Thanks for confirming what I already know, babe.”

✦— THE BATTER

Not every affair starts with a heated make-out session, but every heated make-out session ends with the two of you having sex. With your lips entwined as your fingers roam through his hair, the two of you make a mad dash to whoever’s room is closer as playful giggles slip out along the way.

It started as just another way to let yourself go and cut loose a little after another night of terror from Ganji. How could you not tell that the Batter saw you as more than just some fuck buddy? That his eyes weren’t only filled with lust, but love for you and you entirely?

Maybe this can be his way of showing you, whether you get it or not. Whether you understand the soft kisses he lays on your chest. Whether you understand the praises that fall from his lips. Whether you understand it's taken him too long to finally muster up the courage to confess to you.

You’ve stripped each other of your clothes leaving both of you bare naked. The only thing covering you are the multiple hickeys decorating your chest as well as between your legs. The pleasure overrides any pain felt from when he initially pushed his way inside of you. Before you know it, you're babbling all over his cock while he presses gentle kisses all over your face. You look so cute like this—all flushed out and pink.

Ganji's smart, but overlooks your cock drunkenness and traces his finger along your jaw and other places. Eventually, his finger meets your back and traces along your spine. His finger does weird swoops along your backside. It's all just a simple way of telling you 'I love you.' without having to utter a word.

Maybe it's the way you moan out his name as your hips move up and down on his cock. Or maybe it's the look in your eyes when he meets them. The Batter's not sure where the courage comes from, but all he knows is that he can't stand another moment of you not being his.

"[name] I- fuck, I love you." He barely manages to grunt out, snapping you from your thoughts to look at him with wide eyes.

"What-?"

It's then he thinks he fucked up. That he has demolished all of the hard work he put into this relationship. This is it. This is the end of your bond.

"No, shit I'm sorry just forget what I said," Ganji mutters out, immediately flipping you over so that your lying down on your back. "I'll make you come real hard if you just forget everything I just said, 'k?" Ganji says with caution in his voice. Maybe you're not the only one oblivious in this relationship of yours.

"Really? You love me?"

Ganji tears his eyes away from wherever he is looking at looks right at you. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If not for you I don't think I'd ever get the chance to say this," you chimed, pulling him in for a long and passionate kiss first. "Ganji, I love you more than the stars themselves."

✦— THE PROSPECTOR 

The bed will break long after the Prospector, Norton Campbell, has had his way with you. He won’t stop until his sheets are soaked in your combined essences until your scent has been embedded into his mattress, and until he can get the words out to tell you how he feels.

For too long has Norton been labeled as your “fuck buddy” and he wants out of it. Every round feels like another chance to prove he’s perfect for you. How many people know your favorite book? Your favorite place to relax? Your favorite position? The sensitive spots on your body? Who else knows exactly where to touch and what to say? All he needs you to answer is if you like him or not.

“Shit—always feel so good,” Norton manages to grunt out after thrusting into you. He knows he’s found your sweet spot (again…) when he pulls a loud moan from your sweet lips. So attentive to your wants and needs that he can’t help but hit the spot again and again, listening as your moans grow louder with each thrust.

The Prospector mutters something under your breath he thinks went by unnoticed. Pulling you from your aroused state to ask him what’s wrong. All he can do is sigh and shake his head as his arms wrap around you. A bit tighter than usual, but not uncomfortable.

“Norton—! What’s the matter?” You manage to huff out. It’s obvious something is plaguing his mind, but the Prospector is as stubborn as ever and refuses to tell you. “Fine then,” you tell him “I guess I just won’t let you come.”

Now that gets his attention, and he instantly slows his pace. You allow him to keep going, but only if he starts talking.

“I’m too scared to say it,” Norton states.

“Why?” You ask.

Norton looks down at where you're still connected. It’s only then you notice he’s stopped. “Because I don’t want it to ruin whatever we’ve got going on. I don’t want to lose everything.” He admits through gritted teeth.

“Do you think it’s that bad that you’d lose everything?” You ask, concern now seeping into your voice.

All he does is sigh before bringing his face closer to yours. “God, is it seriously not obvious enough? Shit, [name] I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time and I didn’t want to say anything in fear of ruining—“ he gestures using his hands to the both of you. “this. A-and I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me after this but you asked so—“

He doesn’t get to finish as you cover his lips with yours. “Silly prospector, I love you more than you could imagine.” You confess before feeling Norton melt into your kiss once more.

note: hiii fish nation…sorry about the random hiatus, it will probably happen again 😆😆😆. thank you all so much for 100+ followers! it means the absolute most to me knowing there are actually people who enjoy reading what I have to write. I wouldn’t be here without you, thank you for everything so far. 🩷🩷🩷. this is so ass oh my gosh

(2024) ©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[inferencesarchives]

`•- Jealous Norton Headcanons

norton campbell (survivor) x gn reader

prompt: jealousy

warnings: jealousy (yeah no shit), physical touch

a/n: i have a hard time writing jealous characters but im gonna try my best today raaah hopefully i do alright also this is valentines event day 4 wahoo alright cool let's get on with it already

ever since the two of you got in a relationship with each other, norton couldn't help but feel protective over you.

he doesn't mean it in a bad way, of course! it's just that he's used to having things he cares about being snatched away, and he doesn't want to lose you as well. he cares about you more than anything else in the world, after all.

don't worry, though, he's not protective to the point where he's constantly hovering around you, obviously. he understands that you want to hang out with your friends sometimes, and he trusts that your friends wouldn't do anything malicious towards you. he doesn't let it get to him.

what does get to him, though, is whenever someone seems to start getting a bit too comfortable whenever you two hang out. you brush it off at first, obviously, since pretty much everyone at the manor knew about your relationship with norton. surely, they doesn't mean for their actions to come off like that, do they?

but norton isn't convinced. something about the whole situation just feels... off to him. he tries not to ovethink it, but he just can't help himself. something about it just seemed to make him feel strange and sour inside. he knows that they likely doesn't mean any harm, but...

he's left feeling bitter and uneasy as he keeps thinking about it. he doesn't quite seem to realize the way he subconsciously starts appearing by your side more and more, keeping a watchful eye on anyone else around. it's just his protective instincts. he doesn't mean to suddenly start sticking to your presence, it just... happens.

norton doesn't really seem to realize that he's jealous. he just wants to keep you safe and remind anyone else who dares to make a move that your his, and you don't plan on leaving him anytime soon.

if the situation calls for it, he pulls you closer to him almost subconsciously. he wraps an arm around your waist and holds you tightly next to him, shooting a nasty glare at whoever was getting a bit too close for comfort. he'll even go so far as to grunt at them, angrily telling them to back off, though he does his best to keep his emotions under control.

if you try to tease him about this later that night, he just grumbles and denies everything you say with the tiniest tint of blush on his cheeks. him? jealous? no, he'd never get jealous... where'd you get that idea from?

a/n: me when i. nortbn cmpball

thanks for reading, and remember to take care of yourself!

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

It Is Your Birthday, Enjoy

In honor of my birthday I wrote this really self indulgent thing featuring the first two survivors i loved in IDV lolol

Rated: Explicit | Warnings: Based on AoM, BDSM Themes, Virgin Norton, Voyeurism, okay is just horny man

Orpheus and you are writers.

Two different genres yet both understand the work and details needed to create the pieces you both make.

“He agreed!?” Stopping your pen to give Orpheus your full attention as he keeps writing.

“Mr. Campbell did indeed agree provided he is given extra pay for the trouble.”

You do not know the reason why Orpheus hired Norton Campbell, a former Coal Miner turned unemployed Prospector. You only see him when crossing paths after Orpheus pays him. Considering Orpheus is both a secretive man and one who does detective work as if he is solving real cases (you have to wonder though given most of his books are based on old cases), Norton may be hired muscle.

“I… Am surprised. Are you sure he is willing?” Concern about Norton agreeing to this with no hesitation from what your partner explained in his retelling of the event prior to him visiting your room.

The Oletus Manor, Orpheus claims it from a childhood he is slowly piecing together. The manor was in ruins, barely standing even. However, with the funds of a renowned Novelist, the manor looks as if nothing ever burned or looted these walls.

He is quite proud of it.

“Of course,” Closing his notebook, “Mr. Campbell is willing as long as the money flows into his hands.”

You frown, “You make him seem like a prostitute, Orpheus…”

There is a coy smirk on that devilishly handsome face, “Your words, not mine, beloved.” Getting up from his seat at your desk to kiss your forehead as you are lying on the bed writing. “Upon dawn, all that you desire shall be yours.”

The following morning, you go to breakfast thinking about how you rather eat ice cream right now. Oh, maybe there was that chocolate truffle cake Orpheus snuck in when he thought he was being sneaky. You smile as you enter the dining room then see Norton standing over by the window with his arms crossed and a grumpy look on his face.

“Good morning, Mr. Campbell.” Greeting him.

Norton snaps out of his thoughts to see you walking toward him, “Mornin’,” His eyes skim at you over your form dressed particularly nice today, “Suppose you're expecting something from me right now.” He is not frowning but still looks stern.

“Huh? No, I only wanted to be polite.” Oh, he probably has the wrong impression of you, “Uh-hmm, I wanted to ask about what Orpheus—” Cut off by lips on your, hand pulling you in close by shoulders. His lips are not badly chapped. When he stops kissing you, you realize he tastes of chocolate.

“Happy birthday.” Walking away leaving you confused and frazzled.

This will not be the only time he kisses you.

After breakfast, eating alone as Orpheus said he would be busy until the evening, you find out Norton is to be your company for the day.

“You can't just kiss people like that!” Currently outside on this sunny day at the racecourse, “At least, warn me!”

“Where's the fun in that,” Laughing a bit as he oversees the repairs, “Anyway compare getting a kiss to,” Lowering his voice and leaning into your space beside him, “Being told how you want another man inside of you.”

You are grateful to be up on the tower overlooking the racecourse so no one but Norton Campbell can see you embarrassed and fumbling with your words.

“Lucky you, I don't mind letting you wet my dick.”

“Must you be so crude!?”

“Why bother sugarcoating it when your precious Novelist said much worse.” Pulling back to look at his clipboard full of papers, “The man knows how to paint a pretty picture with those words of his… Especially about you.”

“How much…?”

“I'm sure he told you.” Norton glances over at you to see you looking at him, “Understand, I don't mind this arrangement so long as I get paid and I am only touching you.”

You feel shy, “Only me.”

“Only you, Orpheus will have to add more if he thinks I'm going to be his bitch. Even then, I ain’t taking his fucking dick in me.”

You want to tell him that Orpheus would much rather do the opposite but you stay quiet instead.

A few hours in the racecourse before you both start heading down the tower to go back to the manor for lunch. You only stop when Norton tells you to follow him into the stables.

There are no horses, yet, the stables are barren as it is not the priority compared to the rest of the racecourse. You wonder what and why Orpheus is repairing a place with such a dark story. His book brings back to light the fall of Mary Kreiburg, both by family and by the people's hands. You look around the messy area as Norton walks ahead of you.

“Look over here.” Norton pointed to something ahead of him. You raise an eyebrow as you go over in front of him only to see a broken shelf of trophies and pictures of horses and their riders.

“It looks old— Norton!?” Trapped in his arms.

“Relax,” You do as you realize too quickly his intentions when hands are on your breasts, “We have to be quiet.” You shiver as his breath is hot on your ear. You hold the shelf's frame as Norton touches you with the barrier of your clothes limiting the sensation of his hands on your skin.

“Open your legs,” You do, “When he said you would give in easily, I didn't think you would be this easy.”

“Would you rather I treat this differently?” You bite back though you moan when his hand slips down your pants.

A suit. Orpheus picked it for you when you wanted to be more masculine. Though he adores your dresses, he also enjoys the eroticism of suits on you.

“You can fight, your partner told me everything you like,” Norton gets your pants down your ankles, underlings moved to the side exposing your intimate part to the air, “Who would have thought you were such a—”

“Please don't.” Stopping him mid-sentence, “I know what I am… I didn't mean to force you into this.”

He stopped, your head tilted back to look up at him, “(Name), I ain’t doing this by force.” The sound of his pants being undone follows, “I want to fuck you, writer.” You gasp as his cock rubs between the lips of your pussy, “Going to make sure you are screaming my name all night.”

It is a bit difficult for him to grind against your pussy as you are not wet enough, so he stimulates you by touching more. Rubbing your clit, playing with your breasts, kissing you; you get wet and breathing heavily.

His pace is slow, one can say sweet as he guides you close your legs, kissing your neck and ear. When he goes fast you learn Orpheus made a single rule, one Norton agrees to only because he wants to see the way you are at the mercy of another.

“Don't cum. Boss's orders.”

“Norton, please.” Barely able to keep your voice down, “I need, oh God, please!?”

“No.” Slapping your ass causing you to moan louder, “Damn, you are into anything.” Chuckles at your misery, “You can cum but know you're the one facing the consequences.”

You struggle to not crumble as Norton is not making it easy for you, each thrust closer and closer bringing you to the edge.

It is downright a blessing that Norton cums before you fall, his cum on the shelf and dripping on the floor. You whine with frustration, your body trembling as you are going to have to walk around miserably horny.

“Well look at that, you didn't cum.”

You are going to explode.

“Glad to see you two had fun,” Orpheus is in the small living room with a small glass bottle in his hand, one leg over the other as he sits by the unused fireplace. There are pillows, leather cuffs, and a blindfold on the rug, “Were they well-behaved?” Pleasant as if you are not looking in shock at the things laid out so casually. 

“Very. Like a dog.”

Your arms are crossed over your chest your breasts are tender, “This feels like a chapter from 120 Days of Sodom.”

Orpheus' laugh is rich, loud, and pure, “My apologies but my greed for you will only allow for one another to share in such debauchery. All with the participants' permission of course.” Eyes shifting from you to Norton, “Mr. Campbell.”

“Tsk, I already signed the damn contract, what more do you need?” Moving from your side to stand next to Orpheus.

“Contract?” Curious.

“An agreement between gentlemen, my dear,” Waving it off, “Now this is about you, not us. We are merely your gifts this evening.” Orpheus is studying you, “Undress.”

Norton half expected him to be one doing the work or having to put on a show. Instead, you undress with no nervous moments, and when done after placing your clothes on the couch, you stand there with your hands behind your back.

“Kneel,” Orpheus is stern, “Wrists presented.” Norton is not sure what to do but watch the events unfold, this seems odd. Odd because Orpheus is cuffing your hands together with leather cuffs, tilting your head back as the blindfold is placed. Norton had to look away when you were panting from the silk gloves tracing your skin, applying pressure on the bite mark on your shoulder. The side eye he got from the Novelist has malice, it is amused.

“(Name), lay back,” You do as you are told, “Open your mouth.” You open your mouth as Orpheus pops the bottle open and pours gently the thick purple contents into your mouth.

Once done, you lick your lips then smile, “Grape.”

“It took a few attempts but there you have it.”

There you lay naked on a nest of pillows, you fidget in your spot, “Thank you…Both of you.” Beaming as your lover kisses your cheek before returning to his seat.

“Mr. Campbell, it is your turn.”

Norton snaps out of his wandering thoughts and clears his throat, “About time.” Stepping forward until Orpheus cuts him off with his hand blocking the way, “What?”

“Undress,” Spoken with a lighter tone, “We are the gift.”

“Tsk, maybe if you didn't cuff them maybe they could've unwrapped their gift, Orpheus.”

A hum, “Point made.” Norton curses at the way Orpheus, who looks weak compared to him, can also seem so intimidating, “Shall I take responsibility?” The hand moves up and hooks a finger between the suspenders and the workman's shirt.

“N-no,” Shoving passes as he undresses, “What did you give (Name)?”

“A form of aphrodisiac. They wanted to experience it.” Shamelessly watching the Prospector undress, enjoying the seconds of hesitation when Norton catches those brown eyes on his figure.

Feels like a wolf… A wolf in sheep's clothing. It would be disrespectful to call Norton the sheep, a ram perhaps?

“Orpheus,” You were quiet as the drug worked through your system, “I… Can I cum?”

“As freely as you wish, however,” Norton is not fully naked and feast for the eyes, “You should ask Norton for permission now.”

You whimper, “Norton,” Hands are on your knees opening your legs, “I was good. I didn't cum all day.”

“Begging already? Hah, you are like a dog.”

You hate that made you moan, wetter (bad enough you were wet from before still), and needy as all hell.

“B-bark.” You do not do what he wants, “L-like that?” Genuinely asking.

Orpheus snickers from behind as Norton stares in shock, worse that made his cock stir, “Just say my name, fuck.” Grumbling.

You do say his name, loud enough it echoes in the room, as Norton drives in between your legs without warning. Legs arching as he eats you out as if he has been denied all fucking day. All day as if he has not been the one keeping you on edge by randomly touching you until you were begging— And you beg easily.

Another man is touching you, another man is touching you in front of Orpheus, and Orpheus wants to see you fall apart.

Orpheus had been the one who asked your thoughts on Norton Campbell, he wanted honesty. You think the Prospector is handsome, intimidating, but you said too you understand him. Well, you understand what it is like to struggle against the odds against you, the beating life gives is relentless, and you understand the hatred.

You put that hatred into words in a book.

Orpheus watches as Norton is not the brute with you as he had tried to scare him into believing, the Novelist had simply told Norton to look to him if he needs assistance.

The Prospector is a virgin. Plain and simple, the Novelist does not think little of him for lacking experience. It is natural for a distrustful man not to allow him to be vulnerable, the world is cruel. Seeing you understand that, tell Orpheus of bitter feelings, jealousies, and resents… This is as much a gift to you as it is to Norton.

So indulge, seeing Norton explore a body already claimed; fall into the illusion of lust, see Norton consumed by the wonder that is your presence; often nightmares are the sweet dreams that ensnares, you kiss him as the man enters your welcoming heat.

[strawberryvera]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ VALENTINES WITH THEIR S/O —-˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

annie and edgar x gn reader head cannons!

cw: none!!

a/n: I haven’t written in forever, so I’m sorry I’m my writing comes off awkward!! I’m currently writing this at 1am, so my brain is kinda turned off so sorry if I make a sentence that litteraly just sounds like me yapping… nonetheless hope you enjoy!!

sfw!!

ANNE LESTER

- Annie was always such a sweetheart, and that never changed when she got with you! She loves Valentine’s Day, and she loves giving gifts! Expect to be given quite a few things by her.

- right when you woke up that morning, annie made sure to give you your gifts, the gifts consisted of a handmade teddy bear she gave you, and a small box of chocolates. She was particularly ecstatic about giving you the teddy bear, as toys were always the thing that bought her the most joy even at her lowest points, and she really hopes she can share that joy with you!

- cuddles on that day! Lots of them. She’s an affectionate person when it comes to you, and she makes sure to let you know that she wants today to be about you two. She will give you tons of hugs and forehead kisses :3 !!

- she also made you guys small matching wooden heart keychains! each of you got a half, and when you put it together, it forms a little wooden heart, how cute!

- you guys spent the day in annies workspace, you both sat down and made each other small wood carved toys about the size of your normal sea shell. With a bit of help from your dear annie, you made her a small wooden carved teddy bear, and a duck, and annie made you your favorite animal!

EDGAR VALDEN

- the arrogant and cold painter you where introduced to with your first interaction compared to how he is with you now, it’s almost so different to how he treats you now..I mean it’s still kinda there, but he tries his best to set that aside, especially today.

- he loves giving you his artwork as small gifts, he does it quite frequently actually. It was a portrait of you that he gave you on valentines, you can tell he spent extra time on this one to perfect it. Portraits and just drawing people in general aren’t necessarily his strong suit, so he was a bit nervous giving you it, but overall happy and content when he saw that you absolutely adored it.

- you very much loved the painting he gave you, and you made sure he knew. He loves receiving praise on his work, so you gave him lots of compliments and praises on the artwork, even if it boosted his ego a bit.

- he’s not very good at showing affection, let alone physical affection, but he tries, and he really did try today. He made sure to remind you that he loves you a lot verbally today, and made sure to give you lots of hugs today as well.

- you spent your day with edgar in the manor garden, where he painted you. He has painted you here before, but he did everything so that he could make it extra special, especially for the day it was.

[heartshapedbubble]

Could I perhaps have something like those 2 long and well written Joseph and Luchino fic but with Soul Catcher? Thank you🙏

anon i am SO SORRY this took so long you might as well have my first born

also english isn't my first language so please have mercy on me i know i reuse the same words over and over 😔 reqs like these sadly clog my inbox even tho i like writing them so i'm gonna do something about them after i empty it!!

my very own prince charming, a soul catcher fanfic🧲☠️

cw for vomit mention in case you have emetophobia, reader's gender not specified although soul catcher uses a few spanish pet names (nouns) that are gendered because haha language rules, not proofread, warning for intense corniness, this is very bad i apologize, ALSO VERY LONG

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

~

There are amazing forces of Attraction and Repulsion between souls; just like when fate guides some people together and causes others to part.

~

After a period of indecisive skimming through the bookshelf, you picked out a thick, hardcover book.

You'd consider yourself quite picky regarding books - just a flashy cover and a taunting description wouldn't do it for you. A beautiful, elegant maiden and a handsome, charming prince were just one-dimensional props in the story, and you found all of those "new " and "wonderful " fantasy worlds described and mapped out on the front page generic and bland. You always seeked out something new, something that would leave you thirsting and longing for each damned word pressed onto the yellowing paper, make your fingers trail over dozens of pages in mere minutes. Yet, considering your little town in the south was limited to just one small, dusty library, finding such books would be considered an extreme sport.

So for now, you had to be satisfied with the usual, popular literature that the townsfolk read.

But today was special - you weren't in the mood for something new, or something outstanding, in fact you'd even say you wanted to read something normal. Something you could nonchalantly mention to your friends during afternoon coffee, with a plot so malleable and simple it would be woven around your conversation like it was nothing. The misadventures of a rookie knight, or the sorrows of a young, noble lady, all interpreted differently and abstractly and able to be swiftly analyzed and twisted over a cup of overly sweet coffee. Although the pile of smooth, newly released paperbacks at the entrance intrigued you, a minute later you found yourself squished between two dusty, polished wooden shelves, inspecting the book you just picked out.

Well, you didn't know you'd stoop that low, but what caught your eye right now was a book of fairy tales and fables. It was an old release, presumably donated to the library considering the oil stains on the brown paper that wrapped itself around the thick leather cover. Although worn out by time and basically crumbling from the outside, on the inside the lettering was flawless and written in an old, thick cursive, and simply bringing your face closer to the text would bless you with the scent of old, yet well kept books - the fresh smell of walnuts and baldachin beds and white cotton dresses, and even lilac bushes in the spring. Although all of these associations were of a life unknown to you, for some reason they made you feel at home.

There was another reason for you picking out this particular book - a reason you'd rather carry with you to your grave out of pride, unable to bend your head down and admit it. When life got unbearable and overbearing and the only way you felt safe and well was under heavy linen bedsheets or in the shade of the old pear tree, you'd curl up and indulge in the exact same books you usually despise. A humbling experience, indeed, but at times where safety and love were most neccessary fantasies were the quickest, most low-key way of getting what you needed the most at the moment. Projecting your being onto the flat sheet of a protagonist, you'd visualise yourself instead of them, you being the one kissing the hero's fading scars or having your hair braided by the thin, nimble fingers of the king's son. The amount of scenarios was neverending, and, well, if you couldn't get your fix with all these readily available options, you felt like you're doomed.

The book was now set inside your trusty linen bag while you were walking home. Oddly, the usually loud and populated city market was silent and not a soul could be seen out on the street, not even a head popping out of the window or a hand reaching for the hanged clothes that hung on the ropes high above the rocky path. While you were crossing the town bridge, you decided to stop to take a deep breath and enjoy for a bit, now that you weren't being pushed onward by the citizens and the merchants that usually piled behind you.

It does take a while to learn savor things, doesn't it? It takes until adolescence until the dark chocolate on your tongue unveils its rich, deep and bitter flavor, until you learn how special that first sip of morning coffee is and how good of a feeling it is to simply have another hand wrapped around yours. Same goes for nature, you thought to yourself as you looked over the bridge, watching the river speed under the arch and the plants inside of it wave around like silk scarfs. Without the noise pollution, you were finally able to hear the satisfying noises of the water sloshing over the rocks, droplets hitting each other every second. Without a second thought, you laid beside the edge of the bridge, your bag lazily hanging off of your wrist, and let yourself get lulled to sleep by the melody of the current.

That is, until the straps of the bag slipped off of your wrist.

Fuck.

You immediately jumped to your feet in panic, looking around for your bag. Yet, it was too late. It was nowhere to be found - it was probably already driven away by the river, taken to god-knows-where.

Well, it's not like you weren't aware of the risk. But your heart still ached - that was not your book, after all. And what a beautiful, old edition it was as well! There was no way you'd be able to properly apologize to the librarian, unless....

"Oye, muñeca, ta libre."

You jumped at the sudden voice whispering at your ear. You were sure no one was around here except you... or maybe..?

Slowly turning around, your face was met with another, yet wider, lathered with paint and shaded by the hat above's enormous brim. As the face moved away from yours and the person straightened their back, you found yourself gazing up and down at - what seemed to be, at least - a tall, youngish man, couldn't be above 28. Dressed in gaudy purple, green and black, adorned with flowers and gilded accessories, he looked like a living puppet, his chest and shoulders wide and his waist slim, proportions of a wooden harlequin they sold during the holiday season in the toy shop. Hanging off of his wrist was your beloved linen bag, the forsaken book inside still in tact, not a single droplet of water blemishing the paper.

"Who...? How did you...?" You muttered nonsense, as your arms needily reached for the bag that he gently waved around. Props to the visuals, but you had your priorities.

"It's all reflexes, sugar. Was taking a nap underneath the bridge, you know, all that wandering around numbs out your legs, and your little sack here just happened to fall close enough to my hand for me to grab it in time. Be a little more careful next time, will you, doll?" The man-puppet replied nonchalantly as he tossed the bag into your arms.

"Thank you, I- wait, what?" You quickly snapped out of your daze. "Napping? Under the bridge? "

"Don't judge it before you try it", he whistled, crossing his arms behind his head, "The cobblestone ain't the comfiest, but it does wonders for your back."

You sneered at his carefree expression, as if lying under a bridge was the most normal thing to do. Who exactly was this fellow, and who did he think he was?

"And you expect to believe me all that?"

"Hm?" He jolted a bit, not expecting a question, maybe a compliment, but definetly not a skeptical remark.

"Napping under a bridge? Seriously? You catching my bag is impressive, yes, but there's no way it was that much of a skillful feat. You probably dozed by the river's shore and suddenly found a bag by your side like any other guy at this hour. Who are you even, some wannabe-show-off-superhero?"

To your suprise, he just smirked back at you, lowering his torso until his face was just inches away from yours. So close, you could feel his warm breath on your cheeks, and his raspy voice rumbled inside your ears.

"How about you take a wild guess."

Stumped by his question, you took a few steps back. Your eyes now digesting his form in his entirety, you rubbed your chin as you gazed up and down at the man, posing, obviously very into the careful stare you were dissecting him with.

"Enjoying the view, hm, azúcar? "

"Give me a break! I'm trying to focus." You mumbled, panicking a bit, sensing that your cheeks started to flame up. To be honest - even under all that fabric and thick paint, he was quite a looker. The black paint defined his jawline in all the right places, and man, that silly outfit of his was tailored pretty damn well, gripping his legs and his biceps enough to define them nicely.

Although visually he was as fancy as a rich man's birthday cake, nothing seemed to pop out from his outfit, as if every embroidered piece of textile and every golden stud was carefully planned out. However, upon better inspection, one of them seemed to take the cake - it was the small shiny skull on top of his hat, shaped like a squished pear, a few nails stabbed into it like birthday candles. The cherry on top of it all - metaphorically and literally.

"The skull on your hat... looks like a well-made prop to me. You're some kind of entertainer, huh?"

A playful smile appeared on the lad's lips, yet it wasn't a confirming one. "You're getting closer, but no, not exactly."

"Street musician?"

"I can be one if you desire, but it's not exactly my main job."

"Actor?"

"Only behind the scenes, dear. But I can see by the look in your eye that you're going to head in the right direction." This little guessing game seemed to amuse him to no end.

"With all that flashy wear, it seems fair to assume you might even be some kind of high-end magician, performing for nobles or aristocrats. Or some wannabe wizard."

He bit his lip, the smile widening with each guess. He seemed more excited about this than you were.

A flower painted around his left eye. A belt fastened around his waist, with a big golden buckle. Sheer black gloves covering his hands in their entirety, bones painted in gold on his knuckles and fingers.

A glowing ring - no, a disk - hanging from the side of his belt, rocking with the movement of his hips.

Wait. It couldn't be. The disk looked too...

"Hold on a second. You couldn't be..."

"Sí, muñeca? "

"Are you..."

Before you could even finish your sentence he grinned from ear to ear and inched even closer to you, his nose now touching yours, as if he just managed to read your mind.

"Bingo."

~

The legend of the Soul Catcher was told times and times again, twisted and folded like fresh taffy to suit every possible scenario in one's life. To children, it was told to scare them into going to bed in time. To teenagers, it was told to ward them off from the forest at the edge of the town. To young adults, it was told to motivate them into becoming independent and to work hard. To newlyweds, it became a prayer, to protect the newly formed family and to bring safety to their home. He was not the Reaper, but if a soul was left astray, detached from the body it resided in, everyone knew well that once the Soul Catcher gets his hands on it, that it won't be back ever again. He was both a devil and a saint, a villain and a vigilante - but one thing was sure, he was well respected. No one knew if it was out of fear or out of genuine admiration. And what was even weirder - not a single person was sure if he ever actually existed.

Not a single adult, at least.

The legend was not a new one, in fact, it has been told for a little less than a century. If you were to have a little extra patience and attention, you could hear the town's elders occassionally mumble about seeing him as a child in the forest, or him visiting them in a dream. But their interpretations varied from tale to tale - he went from a spirit, to a ghoul, to simply an omen, either good or bad. Since the townspeople couldn't agree on a single, concrete definition, the Soul Catcher remained a concept, embodied by what seemed to be multiple entities.

However, if you were to ask a child about the Soul Catcher, you'd get a much more vivid and universal description than anything an adult could tell you. All of them were along the lines of "magical jester", and what was weirder, almost all of the children confessed that the Soul Catcher played with them. And no, it wasn't just a single sighting, he played with multiple kids at once, even going as far to balancing three of them on his shoulders and telling them stories. During the hot, damp afternoon hours of the summer, huge groups of children snuck out of their homes just to play with him. When their mothers soaked their cramped hands and their fathers took their first break after the morning shift, their beloved kids were out on the dusty streets, carefully following every word seeping off of the Soul Catcher's silver tongue.

The only thing that bound the varying opinions and theories of both the young and the old was the trusty disk that always hung by his hip, rumored to be the tool he used to attract and harvest souls. And this same legendary disk was now hanging off of the belt of the man in front of you, green and purple mist enveloping it.

The myth himself, in the flesh, in front of you.

"You were quicker than I thought you'd be. Bravo, dollface." He smiled and patted your head. "If we ignore your initial hostility, you seem quite confident in the fact that i'm the real deal. Mind telling me why?"

"Well, you don't see someone parading around with THE exact disk that the Soul Catcher uses. Everyone agrees on the main description of its appearance, but to be completely fair, no one around here is skilled enough to make a replica that's convincing enough."

"I see. It's nice to see somebody with both the wits and the pretty face." He chuckled. Who would have known that he's such a flirt? Nontheless, to your shame your face lit up at his silly compliment. There was just something about him that made you weak in the knees.

"Alright. I believe I should prove you I'm the real thing now." He unhooked the disk from his belt, spun it around in his hand, and hopped a few steps away from you. He pointed the disk at your chest, positioning himself as if he's getting ready to react to a suprise attack. You didn't know what he was trying to do, but you felt as if you shouldn't make a sound or even object to it.

A tension-filled silence wrapped around you two for 20 seconds. After 10 more which seemed more like 10 minutes, you felt your body move. Move, although your legs were planted at the same spot they were before. Your head ached and pulsed, you felt dizzy as if your intestines were tying themselves into knots. To be sick without actual pain, to move without any movement, what was he doing to you? If this keeps up, you might just end up vomiting out your stomach along with its contents. It was like being carsick, except the sickness rumbled not only through your abdomen, but through each one of your limbs as well.

"Here, I stopped. It's all over. Sorry for this."

The headache seemed to halt, and your body was back to normal, yet your hands and legs still felt a bit sore. He was now above you, his hand stretched out to your sides in case you lost your balance.

"...What did you just do to me?" You yawned, trying to stand up straight again.

"What you just experienced was your soul being harvested from your, already inhabited, body. I usually refrain from doing this, but I felt like I should let anyone that witnesses me up close go through this. Y'know, I want to be honest with people. That although they've seen me in the flesh and talked to me, they're fully aware of what I can do so they can prevent themselves from getting harmed."

"Does this imply you sucked someone's soul out from their living body?"

"Maybe", he shamefully turned his head away, "but it was never on purpose. Usually it was them reaching for the disk, or trying to see it up close. It pains me, since in most cases it's nearly impossible to return the original soul to its old body."

An awkward silence ensued.

"Sorry for ruining the mood, I felt like I needed to warn you first."

"Oh no, seriously, it's alri-"

"May I walk you to your house, jewel?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me the first time." He extended his hand, waiting for your next move.

~

What a peculiar man, indeed. First he tries to suck out the life out of you to give you a heads-up, and then he offers to walk you home like a gentleman.

And you'd be lying if that offer didn't sound thrilling. So now, your hand was intertwined with his, you trying to slow down as much as possible to make the moment last.

"I realized I had forgot to ask for your name. My apologies. Not very gentlemanly of me, isn't it?"

"Oh, I don't mind it. It's ____."

"___..." He looked up at the sky, rubbing his chin, as if he was trying to remember something, your name echoing on his lips multiple times.

"Pretty name, but it doesn't ring a bell. You're not among the horde of youth that I visit, are you?"

"Nope. I'd say i'm more of a loner most of the time. I like socializing and all, but nothing's like a good book that you can read in one sitting."

"I figured. No way in hell I'd forget such a cute face like yours, even if I saw it for a split second." He smiled and pinched your nose. If his plan was to drive you insane, he was incredibly effective.

"How come people have such different reports about you? Can you shapeshift?" Trying to lead a conversation with him felt like navigating through a mine field - there were no known limits, no known good or bad questions, or any shared topics you two could talk about. But you'd lie if you said it didn't excite you - waiting for his response, never being able to predict the next word that will come out of his mouth.

He sighed. "If you wore the same pair of pants every day, wouldn't you get tired of it?"

"I suppose..?"

"Well, yeah. It's that. Mix it with hallucinations the brain dials up once it's met with something outside the world it knows, and here's your answer. I'm no sprite or shapeshifter, just a regular guy who made a regrettable deal years ago. I might have the powers of the dead on my side, but at what cost?"

You shrugged. As much as you wanted to quiz him and get him to talk about himself, right now biting your tongue and playing it cool seemed like the best idea. Getting deeply invested in his life might not lead to good places.

"So... you're one of those so-called bookworms, hm? You've been carrying a book inside that bag of yours the entire time, too." You could feel his hand slip from yours, trailing across your arm to your shoulder, then to the other, gripping it softly. His touch felt warm on your skin, very human and real despite what he did for a living.

"...Yeah. In fact, I was just on my way from the library back at the bridge where I met you. I just borrowed it." You smiled shyly, holding the bag tightly in your arms. Knowing his curiosity and boldness, a feeling of panic unfolded in your chest, dreading what he might say next.

"Mind me taking a peek at what you're reading?"

Aaand this was it. The moment you prayed will not happen, but his chin was already resting on your shoulder, trying to get a peek at the contents of the bag.

"H-hey, hey! Back off! That book's my business, after all!" You giggled, holding it tighter and tighter, trying to laugh off your growing anxiety. If there's one person that you wouldn't like knowing about your little self-indulgent hobby, then it was Soul Catcher. But your tightest grip was easily undone by his loosest, and now your book was in his left hand, clumsily open, and the digits of his right were buried in the strands of your hair, holding your head away with careful but great strength. Even with your annoyed and panicked groans and your hands clawing at him, he simply couldn't miss the opportunity to steal a look at a few titles.

"Calm down there, you're acting as if it was a pipe bomb that you were carrying!" He chuckled, trying to stay composed as his body lost balance under your pushes and pulls. Yet your delight was short-lived, as only a second was needed for him to spread the pages open with his thumb and smugly read some of the titles out loud.

"Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty... seems like someone's a sucker for Prince Charming, hm?" He snickered, but gave in to your pleas and dropped the book right into your sack.

"Would it hurt your pride to not dig through others' stuff?" You hissed, patting the bag in relief. "A-and is there something so wrong with indulging in childhood comfort anyway?"

"Oh, not only would it hurt it, it would kill it. Besides, something tells me that this little guilty pleasure of yours goes beyond just childhood comfort", he whistled in his usual self-satisfied tone, yanking at his suspenders, "But hey, who am I to say?"

"Oh, does it?" You gave him a taste of his own medicine, grimacing right at his face, making sure each word rumbled through his skull. "Well, what if I told you that such absurd assumptions are indeed incredibly untasteful, especially when left unelaborated? Just imagine how much of a hit that could be to your fragile ego..."

"¡Dios mío! You couldn't possibly...!" He dramatically threw his head back. At least something was true - he really was an actor behind the scenes. "Oh lord, it truly seems like the only way to make it up for you, your majesty, is to explain myself beneath your ice-cold gaze, like an accused pauper chained and laid before the king!"

Both of you laughed away at your ridiculous actions.

He cleared his throat, after a good minute of dying from laughter. "O-okay, where were we? Ah, yes, your dirty little secret." With his hands crossed behind his back and his gaze innocently directed at the sky, it seemed like this was a touchy subject for him, too. "Well, from all my previous experiences with people, I noticed that a lot of them like to fantasize about, well, a world where everything is just better - usually some kind of unrealistic fairytale utopia. It helps them feel better about their problems, especially during adolescence." His eyes briefly shifted to yours, watching them as if he's waiting for you to point out a fuck-up nested in his wording.

"Alright, continue...?"

"And, uhm, although fairy tales are meant for kids and all and are read by them, these same adolescents use them as a vessel for said utopias, or simply, a medium."

His lips were pressed into a firm line, waiting for your feedback.

"Bravo, jester", you treated him with a teasing smile, ruffling the stray locks of hair peeking out from his hat, "You got yourself out this time."

"Well then, call me Houdini." He smiled back, scratching the back of his neck. "Jeez, even though that fantasy thing should have gotten into my skull for the most part, I still can't fathom what's so special about the Prince Charming trope.. It's so annoying! Are y'all really drooling over the same guy in different fonts?"

"To be fair, it leaves a lot to the imagination. You can interpret him however you like, twist his personality to your liking."

"But that's exactly why it's horribly overused! Dressing every fictional man in a suit of already desired personalities is... boring! No variety, no depth - nothing! Do they really not find real people with actual lives, emotions, thoughts and opinions more appealing?"

It was a bit funny, him getting worked up over this, as if he was deeply insecure about it. You decided to fuel the fire a bit.

"Well, what does your average Prince Charming have that, let's say, I lack?"

"A great personality?"

"Oh, come on. Now you're just being mean." He sighed, traces of laughter in his sigh. "Damn you, muñeca." You chuckled.

"Big muscles?"

"These babies don't look defined to you?" He pouted jokingly, flexing his arm. Shit. Your face warmed up for a bit. For a second, a satisfied grin appeared on his face, liking the reaction he coaxed out of you through your composed armour.

"Strength and brave- AH!" You didn't even get to finish your sentence, and a moment barely passed, but his left arm was already wrapped around your calves, his right under your arm and around your back, his body leaned into yours and suddenly - you were hanging off his shoulder stomach-down, like a potato sack. "Oh my god yo- put me down!"

He whistled, holding you down to supress your squirming. "Strong enough for you, doll?"

"Not fair..." You groaned, lifelessly plopping onto him.

"You didn't answer my question~"

"Yes. Strong enough." It was quite enjoyable up on his shoulder, actually. After the initial panic passed it became nice, the rhythmic bouncing of his walk lulling you to sleep. You could get used to this.

"Now that's music to my ears." He showed no sign of letting go any time soon, perhaps he liked the smell of your perfume on your neck, and your weight resting on top of him, like a thick winter blanket.

"Since you've already decided to pick me up, would you be kind enough to carry me to my house?" You mumbled, your eyelids already feeling heavy. "That house, over there." Pointing at the tall, cobblestone house, you yawned.

"Entiendo, sirenita."

~

"How did you- actually, you know what? Nothing can suprise me anymore. You climbed up my balcony, didn't you?"

The sun was setting, and Soul Catcher was leaning against the railing of your balcony, your bag thrown around his frame.

"Actually I slid off the roof, but you're not that far off, beautiful." Every time your name was replaced - or you were simply called by - a soft pet name coming from his mouth, you felt as if your stomach would explode. Something about the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, whispering endearments to you like you're the only person remaining in the world along with him. And whenever he read and peered through your façade as your face turned red and your breathing got deeper, he took a step further, engaging in the sensual, mental tango forming around you two. "I forgot to return your bag. Sorry."

"It's alright. I appreciate that you went out of your way for me." Gosh, the way you tortured him! Whenever he was smooth and flirtly and you punched him in the face with your kind, unfiltered smile instead of flirting back, it was like his heart was momentarily shattered into pieces and then bound again. The irresistable two-step of games and suave words was driving him insane and momentarily, in his mind it was your face, and your body, and your voice that called for him and your coldness clashing with his warmth, and it was making him dizzy. Behind his eyes, his brain was melting, and his heart was no different. To fall so quickly for a stranger - well, it's no secret that he's been depraved of actual love and affection beyond one night stands and empty promises to dozens of lovers from different times - was nothing new to him, but this attachment was not the same, it was permanent, stable, and wasn't going away any time soon.

"So, ___..." You turned quickly. When it was just your name and not something snarky on his lips, it seemed more important. "...You got any plans for the evening?"

"Oh- not really. Do you, though?"

"Not a plan, but rather an idea, a proposition, even." His voice was breathier as if he was nervous, coughing up the words from his chest. "If you want to, we could, y'know, watch the sunset together. I'm quite fond of sunsets myself, so I was wondering..."

"So you're proposing a date?" A date. As if he flinched when he heard the word.

"Well, yeah, a date, if you want to call it that." He said as he bit his lip. "Are you up?"

"Why not?" You whispered, creeping slowly towards him. "That sounds like a nice way to spend the evening."

"I'm glad." he smiled. In that little moment all of his confidence returned, and now his voice was clear again and he was back on his feet, jumping on top of the railing like the most skilled of acrobats and making his way to the roof. "You're coming, no?"

"And how exactly do you want me to come?"

"Grab my hand. Come on." His hand hanged from above, pushed as far as possible to reach you. "I'll pull you up."

You gulped. Heights remained a minor fear of yours ever since childhood, and having to face said fear head-first out of nowhere wasn't very appealing. "But what if I fall?"

"Believe me, muñeca, you won't."

"How can you be so sure!?"

He took a deep breath, trying to speak as gently as possible to calm you down.

"Trust me, ___. It's my hand around yours, no one elses, and my strength that's going to pull you up. I'm here for you. Please."

You didn't know when, you didn't know how, but the height suddenly stopped being a problem and, in a flashing moment, you were in his arms, being pulled to the middle of the roof.

~

"The clouds are such a beautiful color today. Light pink, as if they're crowning the sun before the moon rises."

Your back facing him, his chin on your shoulder, his breath on the nape of your neck.

"It's even more beautiful right before it goes down. They turn blood red, melting with the sky."

His arms wrapped around you, your hand around his wrist, your legs thrown over his.

"Do you have to go soon?" You whispered with a heavy heart.

"I should go." He suddenly stopped. "But I don't want to."

"Please. Stay for another moment."

He pulled you closer and closer to him, now his mouth right by your ear.

"Of course. A moment."

And it was more than a moment.

And more than an hour.

And only the crescent moon was the witness, and what it saw was sealed for eternity once the sun rose on the horizon again.

[overmore]

Identity V - top 100 ships based on ao3 stats

I made this spreadsheet that has all 100 ships ranked by how many fics they have on the archive. fics unable to be viewed in collections are not counted. This was all done manually, so there might be some mistakes, especially when you go to lower numbers. This was done for the fun of it and I will keep it updated every once in a while (probably once a month or every two months depending on how many new fics there are)

All the counting was done in the evening between of 4th and 5th of August, so anything posted after that was not counted.

If you want to. you can have a nice conversation in the replies or by reblogging, I'd like to hear thoughts of other people and how happy they are their ships are here hahah. as long as y'all are not being mean to people over which ships have more fics everything is fair game.

Link to the spreadsheet

for the sillies: top 10 ships will be tagged in this post. enjoy!

[mail-posting]

Arcing sparks [OUTDATED! I've already rewritten it]

(Luca and Alva reunite in Oletus Manor. It goes... Worryingly.)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The moments that lead to Alva's death were caused by a catastrophic misunderstanding.

Luca found his father's manuscripts the day before. Appalled by the thought Alva was stealing from him, he'd try to work on the invention that he and Alva shared several times without Alva's knowledge, to spite him.

And spite him it did. The two had an argument about it one day. Alva apparently had no idea what Luca meant by "robbing" his father's research, or "blocking" Luca from completing it. Luca simply left to do things away from him.

It was only that night, when Luca was caught working on the machine alone, that Alva knew what it was like to feel robbed. He yelled in anger that Luca was the one stealing, and he charged towards Luca determined to find out what the hell he thought he was doing.

Luca was very startled by this. Panicking, he hit Alva with the parts he was working on in a panic, only realising far too late that those parts were highly electrical. Alva was dead on contact. Luca was somehow spared by the deadliness of the current, only to be arrested the next morning.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

In truth, neither were attempting to steal anything at all. The revived Alva, after many nights spent contemplating the moments leading to his demise, began to wonder if that was the conclusion he should come to.

Luca thought much differently, but not in the way you might imagine.

Prison had taken a harsh toll on Luca's sanity while he was there. Hated by everyone less fortunate than him, and taunted by those who knew what he did, his memories of the events began to twist and warp.

A cacophony of head injuries and the other prisoners' harsh cries of "murderer!" started to make his judgement slip as his memory got more disjointed and fuzzy around the edges. If everyone said he was a murderer, then he had to be one. Simple as that.

Despite how simple it seemed, it was nowhere close to truth. In a mind drenched with guilt, a desperate accident turned into an attack in the heat of the moment. (Luca couldn't have been careless enough with his delicate machinery to hit someone with hundreds of volts on accident, right?)

A misunderstanding between potentially stolen ideas turned into uncertainty if those manuscripts were even his father's at all. (Why would Alva be so confused about what he meant if they were?)

A strong bond between geniuses that turned sour at the last moment turned into the smartest man in the world and his forgetful, impulsive, stupid apprentice. (After all, he can't have been good at all if he can't even remember what they did together properly. What did he do to deserve such a perfect man to mentor him?)

What once was an unfortunate sequence of events was now all his fault. And the guilt suffocated him.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It was years before he and Alva would meet again, now within the halls of Oletus Manor. Alva could recognise the man in front of him as clear as day. But Luca could not do the same back. He barely even remembered his mentor's face. To him, this man was just the Hermit, as he introduced himself.

Something about the Hermit's words strangely calmed the Prisoner. It was like he recalled it from a distant memory, a life he could never come back to. But he couldn't recognise who it was from. The Hermit only gave a soft smile when Luca brought it up.

After a while, The Hermit was allowed into Luca's room. They were surprised to find the sheer amount of devices and gadgets strewn across wall floor and table. The Hermit offered help with Luca's mechanical problems, (since he clearly had a lot of them) with only one type of meagre compensation. To listen to him talk.

And Luca found it strangely easy to talk to this stranger, who felt soothingly familiar in the way they helped him. Almost like a father. Or a teacher. Or a... Mentor? He wasn't sure. But he kept talking, even if the stranger never said their name.

Alva wanted to know what Luca's side of the story was. That was his main goal, after all. But he didn't need it yet. It was enough to see his former apprentice ramble on about anything he wanted. Just so he could pretend things were still alright, for a while. He found himself smiling, several times. Luca smiled back.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It was in those meetings that Alva began to prod. He would never force Luca to tell him what happened, but he asked. And Luca answered. Vaguely at first, but sometimes it'd spiral into a whole rant.

First the Hermit asked about prison, and Luca blabbered about how much he hated when fellow prisoners would treat him like dirt and kick him and yell at him and hit him and— he stopped as he noticed the Hermit quite clearly boiling over with rage, even as they promised that they were angry at how he was treated, not him. The scars that couldn't have been from normal inventing suddenly started to make more sense.

Another day, the Hermit asked about his life before that, and he rattled on about how his mentor and him had been friends despite Luca's struggles, until an "incident" happened and everything fell apart. The man didn't seem surprised when Luca said how much he thought his mentor hated him, but was quite a bit more surprised when he started explaining how great of a man that mentor was. The Hermit joked about not expecting compliments, only to get "you remind me of him! Just... Less intimidating?" Thrown his way. They'd never thought about how much pressure Luca must have been in underneath them.

The day he tried asking about the Invention was the first time Luca cried in front of him. Luca had frozen up when asked to explain, and the words flooded out like a waterfall as he broke down, saying how he couldn't even remember the what damn thing, or how it worked, or what to do, or anything. The Hermit held him, then. Not close, but enough to comfort. They pretended not to hear Luca's quiet cries for his mentor.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

One night, after preparing for this moment the whole week before, the Hermit came into Luca's room with a single request. "Tell me everything you remember about what happened between you and your mentor when he died, and I'll never ask for anything from you again. I promise."

And Luca stares in disbelief for a while, until he bolsters himself enough to speak. He starts slow, reiterating things he's said before. Invention, Mentor, everything was okay, then a problem arose.

He found manuscripts that he believed belonged to his father. He'd never seen them, so he thought Alva had been hiding them intentionally to steal from them.

[Alva didn't even think of that at the time, though he's wondered about it many times after he died, of course. But Luca should know they belonged to his father. His name was plastered everywhere on them.]

After he found them, he explains there was an argument where he was harsh, too harsh, and ran off to where the invention lay in order to calm down.

[The argument part was correct, but he wasn't harsh. He was just confusing, and didn't explain. The entire last part was wrong, however. He'd done several other things before that.]

He tells about how his mentor had walked in, and in a seething fit of rage for what had happened he'd picked up the tools he was using and— it was an accident. He swears it was an accident.

[Alva had barged in, not walked. And the replay of that fateful moment that's forever stuck on loop in his brain shows Luca startled, not angry. But whether or not it was an accident doesn't matter right now.

Because the man he took under his wing for all these years is crumpled on the floor under the weight of his breathless confessions.]

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Luca clings to the man at the first offer, feeling himself shatter into tiny pieces. This man should hate him for all he's done. Do what the others did back then, hurt him, condemn him, kill him too! But the man doesn't. Luca doesn't realise he's not the only one crying as he begs. For forgiveness, for pain, for hatred, for this to stop, for— for Alva.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Luca knows, somewhere, that his mentor is here to hold him. But that somewhere likely isn't part of his conscious mind. But Alva hears his name, over and over again, as Luca collapses into him. He doesn't know if Luca can even recognise his response, but he calls back anyway

"Luca, it's me. I'm here. You're okay. You're okay..."

Even as Luca tries to fight against a sea of emotions, that voice he now recognises makes him fracture more. He doesn't let go, even as he drowns in it. Even when he passes out.

Alva doesn't know what to do. But it'll start with an apology. His own apology, not Luca's broken one. Maybe it'll be like old times. Maybe it'll be better.

They'll be okay. And that's a promise he can keep.

[akuma-tenshi]

writing a cute little college au halloween fic and this is basically a summary of the whole thing

[m0-rax]

KINKTOBER DAY 6: Tentacles

Pairing: Hastur x GN! Reader

——————————————————

Hastur was always doing this. Mid match you’d be decoding a cipher and then he’d use one of his many tentacles to find you.

Once he found you, he always ensnared you in the tentacles on his body hidden beneath his clothes.

Quick work was always made of your clothes.

The fleshy touch of the massive tentacles he had on him always had you squirming, but he liked it that way.

To see his touch make you moan his name. His large hands would grasp at your waist and he’d fuck you right then and there.

He loved to see you writhe when your holes were filled to the brim by him. His tentacles pulsating in and out of you by the minute.

You could never move during these times, grip on you too tight to do so. Hastur would stare at you with his many eyes as he fucked you.

You always had to hope that you wouldn’t be caught when he decided to do this during matches.

His large fleshy cock would stretch your walls and have you screaming his name and pleasure engulfing your body.

Tears would stream down your cheeks but he wouldn’t listen. Any hole not being used by his cock was filled by his tentacles.

The slimy texture and smoothness of them made you feel so strange yet filled inside. He rubbed your sensitive areas just right.

If his hands weren’t on your hips they roamed your body feeling every part of the skin he’d exposed for his own viewing pleasure.

He’d use every part of your body for his pleasure and his enjoyment. You don’t know how much he enjoyed the view of you restrained by his tentacles.

The way those long, wiggly limbs penetrated you so rhythmically that you could beat a drum to the pace of each thrust.

He always filled you with his own cum and when he was done fucking you during a game, he’d leave you to get yourself put together again.

It would never be the last time though, he’d always come back for another round whether it be the day after or in the very same night.

Ever since he’d found another use for those tentacles of his.

[tallemy]

Florimatt Drabble - Unfinished

Time had already passed midnight and the rings of the bell became quiet whispers in the starless night, barely reaching the windowless office hidden in the heart of the library. No matter how much he listens, its melody remains unfinished, empty, just like the homunculus that never gained the spark of life and the letter that was supposed to be sent by the morning. His last words will remain nothing more than another unfinished sentence, a soft greeting written in pitch black ink cursed to be fed to the fire.

Eventually the only end Philemon had found was his own.

[tatertotsafterdark]

Confined - Nightmare x Reader

18+ MDNI. READ “CONTAINS” SECTION BEFORE READING.

|| Exchanging your body for a chance to escape.

CONTAINS: -> DUB-CON <-(Sex in exchange for safety, though verbal consent is given), AFAB READER, P IN V, PUBLIC SEX/VOYEURISM (briefly mentioned), NO AFTERCARE, MONSTER/MUTANT FUCKING, NOT CONSISTENT WITH LORE

1.2k words

As your fingers pound incessantly on the keys of the cipher machine, your back aches. Staying your days bent over a typewriter isn’t good for you, and your body protests against your current lifestyle. It isn’t really your fault, of course, because you didn’t really know what you were getting yourself into when you accepted the invitation to Oletus Manor. A colleague from an event you didn’t remember was so kind as to invite you to participate in a game in his lavish mansion, so you couldn’t decline. Thinking back to your happy, almost greedy, past self, makes you cringe. You’d much prefer to be at home in your favorite chair at the end of a long day, humming along to a tune you used to love. Your longing memories have lost so much detail since you’d come to the manor. You couldn’t remember the rhythm to your favorite show tunes or the faces of your favorite people.

It doesn’t matter anymore, though. This is your life, and this is probably where you’ll die. Deep in thought, you finally crack the cipher you were working on decoding. The machine makes a loud popping noise, and a small light above it fizzles to life. The sound makes a shiver run up your spine, despite hearing it countless times before. 

You knew you were lucky - hearing that sound so many times meant that you’d survived through so many of these twisted “games.” As you briskly jog to the next cipher, your mind starts to swim with negativity. Why haven’t you died yet? Why did this cruel world let you live, time after time? You’d outlived allies and enemies, and you didn’t let your mind take note of their faces or names. It’s best not to linger, especially at times like these. 

You approach the next cipher, cracking your knuckles. It’s too late by the time that you notice the crow flying in circles above you. Shit. You’d been marked by the hunter, a mutated man with a bird mask. You’d taken to calling him the same name that a woman you’d befriended had called him - Nightmare. He truly was one, a beastly creature that defied standards of natural sciences. Bulging muscles, a pen that appeared to be part of his hand, and extremely top heavy… you didn’t think he was human, frankly. But if he wasn’t human, what else would he be?

You’re broken out of your philosophical thinking by your heart starting to beat, breaking away from the machine you’d just arrived at. Your head swivels, looking in every direction to see where that… thing… was approaching from. You huff, breaking into a run as you dash towards the nearest wall. Around the corner, you find one of multiple bronze lockers scattered around the area. They served as perfect hiding spots, though they were definitely a tight squeeze. 

You take a deep breath in, swinging the doors open and slipping yourself inside of the locker. You take shallow, quiet breaths as your heart begins to pound. The beastly man was nearby now, and you knew it. Your kneecaps press into each other as you try to stand despite wanting to crawl up into a ball, thinking that Nightmare wouldn’t be able to find you if you were as small as possible. Your heart nearly stops as you hear a crow’s call outside, and you’re certain it does as you hear the clicking of a bird landing on top of the locker. Seconds later, the doors to the locker flings open and you try to scream. Despite your best efforts, not a sound escapes your lips. You stand there, looking pathetic, with your mouth agape. Your eyes look at the purple goggles resting on Nightmare’s face, and your knees buckle again. You fall to your knees, and your voice box decides to start work.

“Please- please don’t hurt me.” You whine out, feeling the hard metal below you. You uncomfortably adjust, putting on the facade of a poor beggar for the monster in front of you. 

“I can provide you with any kind of service you desire, I’m a jack of all trades, and in exchange you can let me go.” 

Your words are met with a huff, and you’re quickly lifted up. This monster only needed one hand to grab you by the shoulder and lift you to your feet. You know you should be scared, but you can’t help but feel somewhat aroused. You hadn’t so much as touched yourself since you arrived at the manor, unless it was to clean yourself. Your legs quiver a bit, and your cunt throbs at the thought of what taking this monster inside of you would be like.

Clearly, you’d broken your begging facade, as you’re quickly turned around. Your cheek presses against the cold metal, and your pants are haphazardly ripped off. It happens so fast, but you have time to say two words: “Yes please.”

If you were going to die, might as well go out with a bang.

The locker doors close slightly, trapping you between Nightmare and the back of the locker. Your lack of touch must’ve driven you crazy, because you slowly move your ass side to side, welcoming in this monster that’d mercilessly slaughtered at least one of your teammates. You're not disappointed, though, as he suddenly thrusts into you. You almost scream, feeling stretched out. His cock is so thick that it almost hurts to take it, but you ignore the stinging of what’s surely a torn hymen. It felt so good to be so full. 

Your pussy quickly adjusts to his size, slowly pushing yourself back into him, moaning desperately as you start fucking yourself on Nightmare’s cock. You were enjoying yourself, despite being scared out of your mind moments before. Claws on your hips signal you to stop, and Nightmare takes full control. His hips slam into you, filling you to the brim with his thick endowment. Moans of pleasure fill up the locker, feeling louder due to the small area.

Your cunt tightens around his length, already prepared to reach your peak with such little stimulation. Your back arches and you shake a bit as you start to cum on his cock, but he doesn’t slow down. Without hesitation, this monster that you should be terrified of continues to slam his hips against your ass, fucking you mercilessly.

Another grunt escapes Nightmare, and his claws dig deep into your hips, causing you to whimper. He cums, and you swear that your stomach started to bloat due to the sheer amount of his seed he’d pumped into you. A few sloppy thrusts later, he pulls out of you, leaving you sore and empty.

You turn around to face him, feeling his cum starting to drip out of you and down your thighs, but he’s already walking away, set on one of your teammates who had been watching. You pull your shirt down, trying your best to cover your ass and bruised hips. With a sigh, you fall back into your cycle, walking over to a cipher machine.

[fishermanshook]

ASK: pretty pretty please… fools gold.. smut if you can.. I CANT KEE EDGING TO HIM WHENEVER I MATCH AGAINST HIM 😞💻 I GOTTA TAKE HIS CRYSTAL ROCK COCK

ROCK HARD!

( fools gold sex h/c’s ) + gn!reader

# MINOR WRITING SMUT , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

I suppose it is your fault, you shouldn’t have underestimated your boyfriend's ability to fuck you raw in his bedroom, not caring who hears either of you or if his Survivor counterpart walks in as you do it on his bed. 

His opposite shouldn't be back for a while though, as he's stuck in a match against that Ivy chick. Guess you'll just have to stick it out for a while, huh? Don't worry, he'll make it worth the wait. 

꒰wc꒱ 535

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold who is undoubtedly rough with you in the bedroom. Leaving marks in their wake decorated across your soft and delicate flesh unlike his own. Bruises from your last session have only just started to fade away to make room for more to come.              (He doesn't mean to hurt you, it's just that you're so much tinier than he is and he can't help but toy with you a bit.)

↳ on top of this, jealousy runs through the Hunter's veins. The cuts and bruises and hickeys and whatever else he does to mark you up is an indication of who and what you belong to. He can’t stand watching you interact with the other Survivors and, hell, that pesky Prospector who takes up far too much of your time. Time that could be better spent splitting you in half. 

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold is such a tease too. He'll mess around with your tiny little body and force you to leave for your match all hot and bothered. It's all part of the plan though because it means you'll just come crawling back to him for relief, not realizing what you're getting yourself into. 

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold who loves to get messy in bed and uses his hands and fingers to make you cum 1, 2, 3 too many times, leaving your body overstimulated and all too sensitive to his rough touch. It doesn't matter how many times you beg or whine or claw at the rocks on his back, he doesn't stop. 

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold who is always the one on top. It doesn't matter if you start it or end it, you'll always manage to find him towering over you with that same devilish smirk that adorns his face. 

🪨⛏ | Fools Gold who has the stamina of a 10-time gold place Olympian runner. He can go all night and then morning and then night again if called for. But know that once he starts, he won’t stop. The little sympathy he has goes toward calling it a night after round 5 or after you've passed out in his arms. He gets it, it's hard having a boyfriend who could last longer than he could. (Norton.)

The sound of keys unlocking the door pulls you from your aroused state as both you and Fools Gold turn your head toward the door. 

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Norton sighs while turning his head up towards the roof. 

"Speak of the devil, could you leave? We're kind of in the middle of something." Fools Gold says, still halfway inside you as you cover your body in embarrassment. 

"That’s it, both of you, OUT!" 

note: I picked this up b/c I thought it'd be interesting especially because I've never written for him before,,,also annon im going to haunt your dreams now b/c you didn’t read rules (I’m calling you rocky annon now if you ever decide to send in something else)

also you guys help I have 37 (36 after this post) drafts

(2024) ©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

[inferencesarchives]

`•- Their Love Languages

antonio paganini, andrew kreiss, kevin ayuso, luchino diruse, matthias czernin, naib subedar, william ellis x gn reader (all seperate)

prompt: love languages

warnings: physical touch (obvs cuz it's one of the love languages lmao)

a/n: wasn't able to get this out on time cuz i was busy but day 6 of the valentines event yippee!! also i have now spent 161 pulls for matthias and i still haven't gotten him yet. im now entering my villain arc

Starting off, Antonio loves giving you words of affirmation and physical touch. Every single day, whenever he's around you, he'll be holding your hand or hugging you affectionately as he whispers compliments and sweet words into your ears. He'll back off a bit if you dislike PDA, though. As much as he just wants to pick you up and smother you with his affection, he'll happily wait until the two of you are in private if that's what makes you comfortable. When it comes to receiving love, Antonio likes words of affirmation and quality time. He's often busy with matches or practicing a new song, so any time spent with you is time he treasures. It also makes him giddy whenever you compliment him. Whether it be you praising him after playing a song or doing well in a match, he always loves receiving your compliments.

Andrew is a bit awkward with his affection, but he loves to give you quality time whenever he can. It's not really something he can explain, but something about you just being there with him seems to wash all his worries away and make him feel truly at peace. Also, he likes to receive words of affirmation from you. Again, your presence is soothing to him, and whenever you give him kind words and reassurances, it always makes him feel calm and happy.

Kevin is extremely affectionate, and he loves giving just about everything. Oftentimes, when he's near you, he'll come up behind you and gently wrap his arms around your waist, giving you a surprise hug as well as a quick kiss on the cheek. He also likes giving you little compliments accompanied by affectionate petnames as he hugs you. Also, he'll be happy to take care of just about anything for you if he sees that you're feeling tired or unwell, and he'll give you a little gift in hopes that he can cheer you up, even if just a little bit. When it comes to receiving your affection, Kevin adores whenever you spend quality time with him or do little acts of service to help him. It never fails to make him feel warm inside when you offer to do some little mundane tasks for him before sitting down on the couch and cuddling with him.

Luchino is very busy, so he tries to apologize for it by spending quality time with you. He doesn't have very much time between matches and continuing his research on whatever new topic has caught his interest, but he always tries to make time for you at least once or twice a day. Oftentimes, he'll spend lunch with you, engaging in a pleasant conversation with you before he returns to his work. Sometimes, though, his work keeps him busy during your usual noon meeting times, so he tries to apologize by finding you sometime later in the day and spending a few moments with you. When he's receiving affection, Luchino loves whenever you give him words of affirmation and physical touch. It always warms his heart whenever you pay him a visit while he's working himself to the bone in his office. When you walk over to his chair and gently massage his shoulders while you whisper kind words in his ears, he just absolutely melts. He has a soft spot for you, and whenever you're sweet and kind to him, he always feels warm and fuzzy on the inside.

Matthias doesn't really know how to show affection, but he always tries to give you some quality time and gifts in order to show his love to you. Mostly, he just likes to be around you, as your presence tends to make him feel less worried and more peaceful. Oftentimes, the two of you aren't really doing anything specific together, he just likes to tag along with you wherever you go. Also, he'll often try to give you some small things that remind him of you. Typically, he either picks a few flowers from the manor's garden and gives them to you in a small bouquet, or he'll give you small little trinkets like a locket or something of the sort for you to keep in your pockets for good luck. When he receives affection from you, he values words of affirmation the most. Your kind reassurances always help him whenever he's feeling worried or doubtful of himself, and he feels honoured that you think of him so highly. He also likes receiving physical touch, though he prefers if you'd ask first before you touch him; It makes him more comfortable.

Naib isn't the best with affection, but he tries his best for you, and he often shows his love through acts of service and quality time. Most often, he tries to take care of miscellaneous tasks for you so that you're not too exhausted by the end of the day, and he loves to sit down and relax with you on the couch in the evenings. He's not used to receiving affection, so any kind actions from you tend to make him feel warm and jittery inside, really. Though, he especially loves whenever you give him words of affirmation or physical touch. After a long day, Naib loves nothing more than when you cuddle up to him and make him swoon with sweet compliments. He practically melts in your embrace every time, and all of his worry and stress that built up our the course of the day seems to dissipate immediately, leaving a happy and content Naib leaning comfortably into your touch.

Lastly, William is also very affectionate, and he likes to show you love through physical touch and gift giving the most. Several times throughout the day, he'll just casually walk up to you and proceed to give you the tightest spine-crushing hug ever before letting go, ruffling your hair, and walking off to go participate in another match with a goofy smile. He also gives you a bunch of random things, usually for no reason besides that he thought you'd like it. He gives you just about anything, whether it be flowers, chocolate, necklaces, or other things. He just likes to shower you in love and affection constantly. When he's on the receiving end, William is a sucker for words of affirmation and quality time. He just loves it whenever you tell him how great he did in a match or how well he did when practicing rugby, it just seems to always make him feel all giddy inside, and he can't help but grin like a lovestruck fool. He also adores the moments whenever you two are hanging around together. It doesn't matter what the two of you are doing, he just loves being able to spend time with you.

a/n: was gonna add some of the girls and also a few more guys in here too but i ran out of time rip

thanks for reading, and remember to take care of yourself!

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Upon Your Birthday, I Shall Name A Nebula After You

-loud crying in the background- MY FELLOW GEMINI AAAAAA

Rated: Mature: Warning: it feelsy soft with spoilers of his birthday letter

For all the times you have been intimate with Frederick Kreiburg, he never took his clothes off. You noticed this after the fifth time, alone in his room, you had tried to reach for his clothes thinking the privacy of the bedroom was what he needed, but he stopped you. You never saw him look so scared, an expression he had tried to make an excuse for… Apologizing for ruining the mood, offering to satisfy you, but you were worried. Worried you crossed a line by mistake.

A worry that grew as he had not spoken to you in weeks.

You had hoped giving him space would help, yet, you fear he misunderstood your intentions and believe you are upset with him. He has not been free long enough for you to speak with him as his schedule has been back-to-back matches with every spare moment to rest. You are still determining how to approach him, nervous the more time passes the more likely he will believe you are upset with him.

Then a letter is slipped under your door, a small envelope, a request to see you from Frederick. The penmanship is elegant but you can tell by the line strokes and ink spots from pressing the quill on the paper for too long, the man was nervous writing this-- Seems detective novels are not all full of bullshit!

Later that evening, when the manor has a moment of peace, you enter the room after a single knock and enter as the door is left unlocked for you to slip inside.

“Lock the door then please stand here.” Pointing at a spot in front of him. The light source in the room is a few candles and the waning moon's light. Following his instruction, you can see he looks both tired and with a lot on his mind.

Frederick stands still he does not look at you as he apologizes for his absence… And for what happened prior.

He has not shown anyone this, the only ones who know are his family.

You are confused before shifting to a bit of shock; your eyes widen as he removes his gloves, and politely places them on the bed.

Is there something on his hands?

Each article of clothing is removed with great care, stalling as he folds his coattail jacket and his ascot tie cravat. The hesitation as he touches the buttons of his dress shirt, you fear he is pushing himself.

He starts after taking in a breath of air.

Then the shirt falls on the bed, turning his back to you, a slight tremble of his fragile form. The shadows of the candle highlight the marks on his flesh, the swirls of what you know already could be deemed as cursed marks on Frederick's body. Though the path of logic and science is right there, doctors and scientists proving not everything in the world is magical and mysterious… There are still fools out there. People and their fears make false evidence appear real.

"Frederick?" He is silent as if waiting for something, something you can piece together to be some form of insult at him. You go quiet trying to think of what to ask, yet you blurt out the first words to come to mind. “You look beautiful.” Speaking to break the silence. Frederick turned partially around ready to explain himself. Those warm grey eyes look in awe at how you say those words. Your next words are, “Can I touch you?”

Frederick slowly nods before taking your hands into his hands and then placing them on his chest, blushing from the sensation of a lover's touch directly on his skin. Your hands wander, then you take his hand, bringing it to your lips.

Kissing his fingers, knuckles, and palm, showing the gentle love he needs.

“(Name).” You smile against his wrist as you leave the first of many hickeys on his wrist.

“Frederick,” Holding his face, “May I touch you further?”

“... Yes.”

“May I see you naked?”

He has plenty of sex, and has his cock used to gain favors and money, but never was he naked for it. You are the first to see this much of his skin, “I want to worship you.” Make it clear what you are going to do.

“Don’t,” Letting out a breath of anxiety, “I don’t need worship, your love is enough.” His eyes looking in yours which never fails to gaze upon him with love and happiness, “I can… Only undress this far.”

“I understand,” Kissing his nose, “We can do as much as you are comfortable with.”

You had him lay on his stomach as you climbed on top of him, lips kissing the discolored pigmented skin. Your hand rubbed his sides as he trembled, you know he must be trying not to cry as you tell him how much you love him. How beautiful he is. How thankful you are for his trust.

The Composer does break into a voice-cracked laugh when you tell him these are like nebulae, you explain with your fingers tracing the skin and naming the nebulae you know from the top of your head. Of course, you explained what a nebula is to him with all the wonder in your voice.

“Only you would say something like that.” Turning his head to look at you, “Now can I turn around?” You move off of him as he turns around and sits up, “(Name),” Opening his leg for you to sit between, “Come here.” And you do. Frederick cups your face in the palm of his hands, angling your face as he kisses you.

[smittenroses]

Hiii

If you have time could you write Hastur comforting (or helping in his own strange way, he's still an eldritch god lol) overstimulated reader.

Sensory overload has been kicking my ass recently </3

Your work makes me so happy, and motivated me to start learning how to write in my free time

— To Be Human

ask box open | commissions open | hit the tip jar | Patreon

Fandom — Identity V Pairing — Feaster | Hastur/reader (suggest this takes place in the same universe as the Mouse and the Cats) Summary — Hastur's knowledge of humans is still lacking. You constantly confuse him — he adores that. Content Warnings — mentions of Hastur eating people Word Count — 532 words Author's note — when I got this in my inbox my heart bloody melted, nonnie. To be the person that motivates you to learn how to write is such an honor and I do hope to be able to read your stuff sometime in the future 💕

Endless knowledge, endless power, and yet Hastur always found himself to be confused by you. So tiny, so frail against his mighty form, one that you had grown close to despite the knowledge he had feasted on mortals, feasted on the innocent and guilty alike, yet you always sought comfort in his endless robes.

“For what does my most devote follower need?” He asked one day as he felt your presence against the back of his robe, feeling the way your arms came to wrap around the vast colours of soiled yellows and whites of his sins, your face pressed against the fabric that smelt of the sea. When you did not reply, he allowed his body to shift ever so slightly to look down at you, seeing the way your hands trembled and shook. Though his form of slightly involved his body contorting in inhuman ways, his spine audibly growing and shaping in order to allow him to commit the impossible.

Like a rabbit or sheep ready for the dinner table, your soul smelled divine to him as the two of you stood in the manor’s library.

“I cannot aid you unless you speak up, mouse.” His hand came to cup itself under your chin, raising your face away from his clothes, tentacles appearing from the abyss to slowly stroke at your legs. “Ah, have you been crying, little one?” He muttered, his thumb coming to caress your cheek. “I can smell your sadness,” he muttered softly, even if his voice may boom like the mountains in your mind, “who did this to you?” To make a devotee cry, to sadden the one thing that did not fear him besides the snake wrench that wandered the halls, it was a notch on his soul, one that fanned the embers of rage that constantly welled in his heart.

“No one…” You finally muttered, your words soft and meek in reply, “the world is just too loud, lord.”

“Too loud?” he questioned as you buried your face back into his robes, escaping the merciful touch of the Lord in Yellow as you weeped. “What thing do I have to silence to bring you peace?” For you, he would send any animal, person, god to the abyss, to the eternal silence and madness that was where he crept, but yet your fingers clenched tighter on his cloak and he knew all at once something that made his soul ache and burn.

This was not something he could squash with the weight of madness. He could not even grasp it in his feeble hands. “Talk to me, dear mouse. What is it that makes you cry so?” As you began to talk about the sound of the wind in the trees, the texture of food you dislike, the feeling of cuts and bruises on your skin that would not fade; it all overwhelmed you so, caused for your mind to whirl and your senses to increase.

“Stay for as long as you need, mouse.”

Wrapping the edges of his coat around your shoulders, he did not let you leave until your heaves softened and your eyes dried, you were his most devoted follower after all.