#indigo agony

[hunterwritesstuff]

Could we hear about Ebony?

Just posted! Also, have a finished thing with him and his family(And Fiancé /derogatory) for your troubles(Hell-wise) <3 /platonic /j

As always, feel free to ask more questions! :D

Edit: changed Indigo's fur color because, like, Ebony had to get his from somewhere-

[indigowriting]

i'm working on my wip!

is it the wip you already had plotted?

shhhh don't ask questions.

[skylarsblue]

Little Things

➤Love & Deepspace…❥Multiple!

<Summary: Kisses to appreciate their features. And/or; places I wanna smooch on the guys that isn’t their mouth.> <Content: Fluff, but also some angst that came up suddenly and I couldn’t stop, hurt/comfort, some classic “consumption” metaphors in Sylus’s. Teeny tiny bit suggestive in Xavier’s(barely.) TW; mentions of vomiting in Caleb’s, mentions of losing patients & doctor guilt in Zayne’s.> (divider by @elfbar-baby )

❥Rafayel…

  The sky had turned shades of yellow and pink, blending down over the sea’s horizon into indigos, ready to turn to the darkness of night. Stars already beginning to glimmer under wispy, thin clouds. Rafayel sat in front of a medium sized canvas, already covered in cerulean & azure blue, strokes of a hyper specific pink pigment stained the brush bristles. He made calculated, perfected strokes through the base. His wrist had begun to have a subtle pain in it, but it had yet to reach the point of which he’d complain. Whine, more accurately. Even if the pain of developing carpal tunnel was hardly tantamount with past suffering. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle it, nor that he didn’t sometimes blame himself for the agony he’d been put in, be it his wrist or otherwise. But complaining felt good, he had the freedom to do so, no matter how aggravating it’d be.

Because she wouldn’t scold him for it.

Even if his dramatics got an eye-roll or a scoff every now and again, whether she’d openly agree to it, she’d come to console him. Sometimes, either because it was a real cause for concern, or his acting was simply too good to deny, she’d actually fuss over him. Regardless if she teased him or cooed sympathetically, she’d give in so sweetly. Her hands were calloused from all her hard work, but her touch had never been softer. Much like her gaze. Even her furrowed brow held some fondness, enough to make him flush under her attention, and sometimes deny it to himself. Because it was so genuine, so honest, her affection.  He still held the fear it’d be ripped from him, and when that anxiety worsened, he’d shake his head and brush it off. Deluding himself to keep away the agony, even if it was the very thing that fueled him. A paradoxical cycle.

But she did truly adore him, even now. Sat on the couch behind him, her eyes watching his back as he sat in front of the easel. The sunset had begun to dim the room more and more, but it was still enough light to bathe him in pink hues. The movements of his shoulder, the way he’d tilt his head and lean back slightly to check over his work, the subtle movement of his hair when the breeze from the open window would graze by. 

He was undeniably gorgeous. Even people who disliked him would point that out, as if it was the only thing they could think of to find him tolerable. Her jaw clicked a little as some specific people came to mind. To her, nameless nobodies with money and skulls empty. Even when he pushed her patience, how anyone could find him as anything but something to adore, she couldn’t figure out.

He was beautiful. But to only relate it to his softened cheeks, or the fall of his bangs, the slope of his lips? A disservice beyond any kind of reason. To delegate him only to the talents he had? For every gorgeous piece of art he made, there were a million pieces of his soul she’d collect in her hands to appreciate. Perhaps selfishly keep them to herself while the less observant and deserving were too distracted by what he’d put up in a gallery. She couldn’t fathom, how in any life, in any place in space or time, there wasn’t someone already revearing him. Whether he decided to be a brat or not.

Rafayel paused slightly when he heard the shuffle of couch cushions, and the rustle of clothes. He didn’t let it distract him too much, lest he lose the flow he’d found himself in, adding the blocking of coral at the bottom of the piece. He sank back into his own art, not realizing how close she’d gotten. She’d made it a point to try and avoid staring when he was aware of her, lest he get too cocky or she expose herself too much. Was there too much at this point? There were tiny details she’d found, the smallest things that only Rafayel would know of. Him and, of course, now her. 

No one else’s eyes lingered long enough. Sometimes she felt annoyed at that, both in him and his work, when someone’s superficial opinions would leave them. Gods forbid they misinterpret him, his soul in songs or sketch. He’d brush it off most times and maybe complain to her later, but she’d found it hard to keep a poker face when by his side at events, supposed to only be his bodyguard or guest, nothing more.

The way it was left side of his mouth that’d rise first when he went to smile. The smallest freckle on his chest, or on the side of his nose. The subtle hues of blue in his purple hair, and that one piece that would never stick down no matter how much he brushed. The hangnails on his otherwise perfect hands, dried paint in the creases of his knuckles, and the oh so subtle scars. She’d seen a few on his sides, along his neck. They were so, so subtle, even she forgot they were there unless she was scrutinizing under perfect lighting. His skin was essentially flawless to the passing glance, something she’d expressed jealousy of before. But as she stared, admired, every little detail rolling through her memories… Such a mix of adoration in her chest arose, blending with a strange sorrow she couldn’t place. If she was so endeared to him, and that she was, why did she ache with emotions, heartbreak, that felt like it wasn’t even her own? Like a sorrowful ghost passing through her body. And how it worsened when she’d see those little imperfections, indents on his skin, signs he’d been hurt in the past.

Rafayel’s shoulders flinched and he barely pulled his brush away when he jolted, preventing a missed stroke. The coolness of the air, no longer warmed by the sun, was gone as the softest pressure pushed across his back. Her perfume filled the space, delicate hands placed on his shoulder and grazing through his hair. His breath hitched softly. His mouth opened to speak, tease maybe, and he went to pivot his head to question her. But then the press of a kiss, warm and softened by chapstick, right behind his ear. He flinched again, though not from the suddenness. Blood rushed through the cartilage and across his cheekbones as she pulled back, but not so much that he lost the heat of her breath. He cleared his throat quickly. “Oh, what prompted this?” He intended to be sly, but the shiver that ran down his spine was too obvious to get away with it as she did it again. He barely managed a deep breath as the hand that pushed his hair back moved to the other side, subtly pulling him to face the other way, so she could do the same to the other side. His hands had come to fall in his lap, tightly holding the pallet and brush, but too lost in the moment to realize he’d stained his clothes with pigment. His eyes fluttered when her fingers reached from his hair to across his temple, a bit over his cheek. She leaned back subtly. “You have scars back here…” She whispered, grazing over the odd shape of the imperfection. Little divots, like holes left by thread now removed. His back flexed at the ticklish feeling and the warmth her words left. “Do I? …I hadn’t noticed…” He lied. He remembered what they were from. He could’ve never forgotten. There were still times the marks ached, and his body felt like it was missing crucial pieces. But she had, and as upsetting as it was, he knew it wasn’t her fault. Not this time anyway. Still, he wasn’t expecting such an intensity in her gaze when he turned to look at her. It was only her face, beautiful as ever in cold moonlight, a sight he’d seen a million times and dreamed of a million more. A human could only make so many expressions and the eyes could only tell so little in what words wouldn’t, things left unsaid could die with them. But at that very moment, he felt it all, and it grappled the organs in his chest with a tight, unforgiving fist. She missed the agony, otherwise she wouldn’t have let herself smile so sweetly, with such reverence. Like he was still worth worship despite what he’d thrown away. The sea outside was calm. Maybe one day it’d forgive him, and look upon moments like these, and begin to understand why he did what he did. Even if not, his apologies could only weigh so much. Sorrow & pain in his soul, but damn regret. He’d never say it was regret he felt, and if he ever considered it before, she washed it away with that little peck to his temple and the caress of her thumb over his cheek. Like drawings in the sand met by the tide. Like the water swallowed up the artistry, all for itself. All for him.

❥Sylus...

  It was so rare to see the Sylus Qin vulnerable. Unheard of to the general populace, really. If they even knew his name, they’d never suspect him to have fragility. Those who did were either so moronic that the man found them boring to consider, or they were already dead. The whispers of fear filled respect throughout the N109 zone of the Onychinus Leader, the devil of the city, the fiend, were all made with the assurance that the man had not one weakness. Invincible body, unshakable confidence, immensely powerful. And while for all of them, this was true, having to make assumptions based on knowledge provided? She knew better. He was all of these things, yes. Powerful, intimidating, cunning, even sometimes fiendish. But that was perhaps only a piece of his being, a small one, at that. She couldn’t claim she knew his soul, she didn’t have the arrogance. He was still enigmatic despite being so genuine with her, especially more as of now. She still wished to know more, sometimes so much it worried her. How independent she found herself, what pride she held for what she’d overcame and achieved, with little to no help. For every doubt spoken to her, her resolve to never be caught weak or helpless hardened. Sylus had scared her when they first met, but it wasn’t really for her physical safety. It was the fact she couldn’t get over him that scared her. Admittedly, it had been Sylus who’d reminded her what it was like to feel small and anxious at the idea of being embarrassed. That moment with the fake gun the twins gave her still kept her up at night sometimes.

But, she couldn’t hate him. No matter what she did. And the longer she knew him, the less she bothered to try, even if he still dragged his teeth along her last nerve like he liked the taste of his own blood it was about to be soaked in. She needed to know about him. And it worried her sometimes how she craved him. She could at least make an excuse had it only been lust. He was a handsome man, even when she’d genuinely disliked him, it was practically the only thing she could use to keep herself from losing her composure completely. Alas, lust was but a sliver of it all. So much complexity all at once, constantly threatening to break her into shards of sharp glass from the weight, so sudden and intense. 

It was his gaze, his cologne, his voice, his presence. When he’d run his eyes over her, when he’d reach out to her so casually, when he would praise her and tease her with pet names. It was so hard to keep herself steady when he’d speak her name, oh how softly he’d say it. For every shaky, anxious mutter about the terrifying demon in the N109 zone, his name said so fearfully, the letters dripping blood and rising with black smoke. For every fearful mention, she’d have a hundred thoughts of everything that made him so darling. Each time she got him to chuckle, roped him into something that was superficially out of character, and gods when she’d catch him off guard enough to make him stumble or gasp… It was indescribable how intense the feelings she had now, seeing him trust her so much, he slept. She’d come to know when it was genuine or not. The spacing of his breathing, the relaxation of his brow bone, the steady thump of his heart. It was incredibly rare for him to sleep at night, but various recent meetings and missions, combined with her desire to see him with her limited free time? He’d been up in the day for too long, and exhaustion was something he was sadly, not impervious to. She laid on her side, elbow keeping her up, cheek rested in her palm as she watched him. It was all she could do. Should she sleep, she’d miss the sight, and whatever dreams she might’ve had with him in it weren’t enough. None of it was enough anymore.

Sometimes, her hunger for him was different, and it was usually then that she’d distance herself, even if subconsciously. Something about him pulled out a ravenous and hungry part of her that she hadn’t been aware of. He’d call it her greed when he’d seen flickers of it in her gaze, and he’d smile when asking her about it, knowing the answer already. He’d grin and encourage her to lean into it. It was hard to tell back then why. 

Now, she knew it was because he wanted to see it. Perhaps he underestimated the severity of it, how it genuinely startled her with how badly she wished to sink her teeth into him. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why. She didn’t want to hurt him, she didn’t want him to ache. And so when her mouth would water and her teeth clenched, she fled, only to come back, floating in sugary scented air and a warmth in her breast bone that she couldn’t keep to herself.

Too many times did she feel them both at once, leaving her soul to writhe under her skin, clawing at itself with sharpened claws and pointed teeth. All while it’d sing sweetly, like the call of the birds in the morning he so despised. Her being in an existential plain tearing at it’s flesh while crooning delicate pleas to him to know her adoration, her endearment. A softened look with a gnashing jaw. And for fear either would be too much, for fear that the notes in the song of her devotion would lure him in, just for her jaw to clamp shut on his jugular… She kept her mouth closed entirely. No matter how much he begged for her to speak, she wouldn’t. Not until she could be sure she could say it clearly, and without the strange desire for the blood in his veins that startled her so. Even if denying herself what he offered so easily was like denying cool, clear water when her lungs were stricken with ash and the fires of the sun.

But now, her admiration was gentle, and she let herself have a taste of what it’d be like to give in. Because while letting go would be the kindest thing for him, she was selfish, and it didn’t seem like he was unaware. Even if she doubted he knew the extent. With the sun beginning to rise, she shifted her body to block its light from his eyes, allowing her to keep the moment a little longer. She raised the hand not keeping her upright and delicately traced the sharpened edge of his jaw, and across the plains of his cheeks, admiring the prominent bones. She let out a breath and the muscles in her shoulders weakened as she admired the softness of his eyelashes and the little creases on the inner corner of his eyes. The lines that’d crinkle up when she got him to laugh. There was hesitance and a subtle tremble to her fingers when her heart began to ache. He hadn’t stirred, still peaceful, and vulnerable. If he did know just how badly she wished to devour him, even if she’d savor every bite like an act of worship, then he was a fool for letting himself be so at peace by her side. But he was a smart man, and even if he didn’t know just how much she’d love to taste the blood pumped fresh from his heart, he knew good and well how much she wanted to hold him carefully. Cradle him close to her own chest, perhaps tuck him into the spaces between her ribs, keep him warm and safe there. How foolish did that desire make her? She sighed and brushed back some fallen strands of his white hair, and she couldn’t help herself as she leaned down to peck his nose. It was one of her favorite parts of his face, if not his whole being, as far as physical appearance went. The prominent hook a feature often detested by beauty standards. And while she’d hated the industry before, she’d found she adored his features so much that she’d get actively angry when she’d see it now. Once going as far as to find a way to sneakily break an electric sign outside a store in Linkon, advertising contour by denouncing hooked shaped noses. She’d punctured the lower corner of the screen with a set of heels he’d bought her, and admittedly, if that hadn’t worked? She probably would’ve shattered the whole thing.

She leaned back after the light kiss. He hadn’t moved, but his face seemed to relax further, and she couldn’t fight the curve of the corners of her lips. She let out some breaths that formed a near silent giggle. With a swallow, to keep herself composed, she leaned down to do it again, risking it all by holding his cheek in the lightest caress of her palm she could manage. Icarus’s lessons be damned, because she couldn’t even complain when she pulled back again, only to find his eyes slightly cracked open. He took in a deep breath through his nose as she twirled the ends of his bangs around her index. 

“What a nice alarm clock you are…” He said, voice gruff and a bit slurred from exhaustion. She let out an amused huff, grinning despite the crushing weight in her chest. Even if she said it hurt, with the way he nuzzled slightly into her palm, she’d never complain.

“You have a nice nose.” She said, comically understating what she really wanted to confess. Still, her pulse spiked when he chuckled a little. “Is that so?” He questioned. She bit the inside of her cheek for a moment before she sighed, leaning down to peck him there again. He unknowingly let out a hum, more like a purr, of content. Only to have his breath hitch when her teeth, just barely, nipped at him. He rose an eyebrow when she leaned back. She nodded, having not forgotten he’d asked her something. “I like it.” She said calmly. Sylus’s exhale was full of memories of floral scents and the warmth of candlelight. But his gaze was on her, lounging on satin sheets, lit by the sun, making her glow like something angelic. What a contrasting sight to the darkness around her, what a wonderful sight it was.

She blinked when he reached up and poked her on the nose. “Ditto.” He yawned. She paused, only then to giggle, letting herself escape the ache momentarily. Maybe, with enough moments like this, she’d be strong enough to pull the suffocating feeling off. Then, she could let him know the extent of her desire without fear. He wouldn’t mind.

He could wait, he was patient enough.

❥Zayne...

  Autumn leaves swayed outside, trees in their planters along the busy sidewalks, lining the streets, turning into reds as the time turned. The sun’s warmth lessening by the hour each passing day. Longer and longer were darkened nights. The sky was still in the sky, but had long since rolled over the curve of the planet, and the yellows had begun to soak through the windows. It was a beautiful sight. Every sunset and sunrise was. But in passing days, no matter how much one tried to appreciate the little things, twenty four hours was plenty of minutes for stress to procure and begin to weigh heavy.

Statistics would show it. Mathematical equations of the average minutes between deaths, a common & inescapable plight on the human race. Even if they’d tempered it with amazing medical advancements. Being near death was a strain on the psyche. Be it one’s own passing, be it watching the life leave others.

As a doctor, one constantly praised for his own betterment of his industry, Zayne wasn’t any stranger to the perils of being in the field. He’d seen just about every tragedy, and of course, he didn’t wish to denounce the beauty he saw. Whether it was his own work, or the work of one of his talent colleagues. He tried his best to remember every success he’d had. He wasn’t one to dwell on the praises of others much, especially not the times he was adored by professors and the like.

Quite frankly, he’d grown to find his face twitched in a mix of irritation and exhaustion when the word “prodigy” was brought into a conversation. It didn’t feel like a compliment anymore. He knew, logically, that was the intention. He was so young for all the accomplishments he’d acquired. But not only did he get sick of endless repetition, as much as he liked routine. But it was every failure that hit him in the back and dragged him down like chain links welded to the bones of his spine, tied to the core of the earth, tugging painfully as more time passed. 

Transplants given too late, needing to tell families that even his talented, prodigious hands, skilled as they could be, wouldn’t be enough to save a loved one. The elderly, unfortunate children, mothers who’d never see their babies faces again, husbands who just couldn’t last another night. He never forgot a single one and for every success he had, it always fed a shadowy and icy creature that’d linger in the corners of any room he entered. Sharp and so frigid it burned, and when he tried to remind himself of how much good he’d done, it ensured to do its job in keeping him humble. Lest he forget he truly was just a man and no amount of skill he could hone would save him from the hubris & the wishful thinking he’d, one day, overcome what’d ruined him so many times over.

Composed as he was, the most anyone would see of his personal suffering would be the occasional slump of his shoulders when he retired back to his office. Always perfectly clean, not a pen out of place. The windows angled just enough to never get a clear view of the sun, or the stars, but only to have the room bathed in their light. Should he be lucky enough to notice how lucky he was to have that. He did his best not to wallow. He did truly try, but he was nothing but human, and the furthest from infallible. He sat in silence and stared at pages and pages of inked words, signing his name at the bottom when it called for it. A deft movement that he’d grown to do robotically. Flip, read, check, sign, stack. It might as well had been cold steel in Zayne’s shape. 

However, his world wasn’t all shadows & sharp spurs of ice hailing through heavy winds. Even if periodically he’d forget. The sun would still rise, Spring would come back, jasmine would bloom, and his reprieve would visit him.

Stepping gracefully over white tile, past a desk with a friendly wave to the woman behind it. Needing no words. The sun had begun to set and the breeze outside had begun to grow chilly, the hospital was starkly colorless & plain. But she walked with steps that bloomed in flowers behind her, and the white lights bounced off her like a prism, glowing in iridescent shattered specks of color. And while Zayne had no clue she was approaching, almost subconsciously, his soul’s dusk began to retreat. He’d set his dead steel pen in the trash, and a momentary piece of delight when he’d gone for the cup of them, and accidentally pulled one that was pink. Gold cap, a heart pattern print, and smooth gel ink. It’d helped him not get too lost in his own sorrow. And in case his metaphorical lantern in the mountain cave, signing his name smoothly on the pages in his woeful cavern, the embodiment of comfort came just in time to pull him out from under the avalanche. “Cute pen, doctor.” Her voice hit his ears like a melody breaking an ear ringing silence. Hot tea soothing the rawness of his sickened esophagus, a cat stretched out in the sun, steam rising from a bath, blankets swaddled around his skin. He hadn’t heard her knock, nor enter. But the thought of playfully scolding her lack of guest manners hadn’t even crossed his mind as his head, instinctually, raised to see her. Further seeking the soothe of her presence.

She pushed his office door shut gently. The click signifying the closing on his melancholy demons. Keeping them at a distance as she filled his prison with the scent of her perfume & her picturesque brightness of her grin. Suddenly, he found no strain on his chest keeping him from breathing. The chains that pulled him further from the heat of humanity, fires of creation and the warmth of rushing blood, all fell to the ground like dead serpents.

She held a paper bag in one hand and a singular cup in her other. She approached calmly, and heaven’s symphony seemed to be paced at the metronome beat of her heels hitting the floor. He barely remembered to respond, adjusting his glasses with the hand that wasn’t holding the pen she’d gifted him. “Mine had just died. Your gift came in handy.” He said, wearing that subtle smile so specific to his face. The one many missed at a passing glance, and what she often missed, in the other sense of the word. She could see it. Fatigue, something somber lingering in the air around him. His doctor’s coat was still on despite the fact he was sat at his desk. She knew good and well a good day at the hospital would lead him to resign the physician’s coat on the back of his chair.

She smiled back at him and stepped around him, setting the bag and cup on his desk, once he’d moved the papers over. “And this is?” He asked as she slid the cup closer to his hand. “Decaf coffee, but it’s basically all creamer, sugar, and whipped cream. And there’s some caramel in there for you.” She replied with a hint of teasing in her tone. It was still warm, and while she’d tried to wipe it away, he could see the subtle color stain from her lipstick on the edge of it.

“And where is yours?” He questioned, bringing the drink to his mouth. She chuckled as she watched as, slowly but surely, his expression began to thaw. Making sure she wouldn’t disrupt his desk, she shifted some stuff over before sitting on top of it. “I drank it on the way here.” She answered whilst digging in the paper bag. “I sincerely hope this isn’t your dinner, or your lunch. Too late for the latter, too early for the former.” He said, and she snorted and shook her head. “None of this is for me, but I ate lunch, don’t worry. At noon, no less. You should be proud of me.” He chuckled faintly and set the cup down. “Following doctor’s orders, finally?” He teased. She shook her head with a short eyeroll, fondness blooming in her chest as she grabbed hold of the plastic container contained in the bag. “I’m following Zayne’s orders. And in return, you’ll follow mine.” She instructed. She watched his face loosen further, and his shoulders brought down.

“And what orders do you have for me, doctor?” Zayne replied jokingly, to which her grin widened. She quickly pulled out the first box. His eyes fixated on it and his already widened pupils expanded a fraction further when he recognized it. “Firstly, you’re gonna need to let your shoulders relax. And to help you with that, I have some…medicine.” She held it out to him with a satisfied expression. He took it with an exhale, the corners of his mouth now stuck up, rather than stifled in a scowl. He slid the box open and as expected, an assortment of his favorite macaron flavors. “Then, once you’ve done that, you can have your reward for listening to me.” Her words made him look up again, and she pulled out a container with a single slice of cake, a plastic fork held on top of it with the pressure of her thumb. Victory fanfare arose in her head when he chuckled again, and after setting the macaron box down, he moved to remove his doctor’s coat. A habit he didn’t even realize he had, let alone something he’d figure she’d notice. Shedding the skin of his prodigal aptitude, the coat that every heavy experience in the world of medicine seemed to stick to. Leaving him without his title, and just as himself. Where she liked him best. Because he wasn’t some famous physician, he wasn’t a colorless, calculated genius, he wasn’t responsible for the lives of millions. Even if she held a deep pride for him because of all of those things, she could gush for days, perhaps years on end. He deserved it all. But, at the end of the day, Zayne was hers. And he was the more unreserved and true when she indulged that.

“I see you’ve taken the myth of doctors & dentists being enemies quite seriously.” He said. He’d taken a macaron despite his words anyway. “You’ve got plenty of time to brush your teeth later, you’ve also got the time to enjoy yourself now. I’m just making sure you don’t waste the opportunity.” She shrugged.

No matter how delicious the treats she brought were, and she wasn’t one to turn down a confectionary, she didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything. Watching him begin to properly enjoy himself with each sugary bite. She watched him with immense devotion and adoration. A feeling so deeply complex, even the most flowery language would struggle to capture it. It’d take a whole library of dedicated books written right from her heart to capture it in a physical form, and even then, each passing day they’d need to get a whole new shelf. She’d fill each one in a matter of minutes. 

She helped him step away from his duties further by talking about mindless things. Conversation flowing seamlessly and lightly through the air, and he enjoyed her chatter like one enjoyed a lullaby. He’d reckon too many composers would try for their entire lives to capture the exact addictiveness to the tune of her voice, and he was sure they’d all fail. 

He’d leaned back in his chair completely by the time he got to the cake. He sighed at the first bite, savoring the softness of it. It was only after the third bite that he realized she’d stopped talking, and he looked up to be met with the most summery gaze. She was bathed in golden toned light and it only seemed to make her glow, but as enraptured with her visage as he was, even he couldn’t miss the intensity in her own gaze. He blinked a few times and looked around at himself. He wasn’t sure what he’d be looking for, and looking didn’t give him a clue. He lowered his fork and the cake box into his lap when she stood, and he managed to swallow the bite he’d taken, on the cusp of asking what got her to look so thoughtfully. But the words clutched in his throat when she, carefully, grabbed his glasses by the temple. He managed the first syllable of “what”, but her hands on his face beat down the sentence.

Like the spark of a stray ember from a campfire, her lips pressed against his cheekbone. Soft, with a passion but not rough. And how sweet her perfume was. Invoking the feeling of nights spent admiring the lights for holidays & the times she dragged him out to enjoy the day. But when she pulled back to look at him, it brought back memories of more peaceful moments, ones between only them, only kept in their memories and whatever the stars could record. Her head on his shoulder as she listened to crickets on his patio, his fingertips over the line of her jaw, her voice whispering his name like an angel calling him to safety. 

She huffed and squished his cheeks, giving his face a little shake as she let out a sound past gritted teeth. “I cannot believe you. You’re too damn cute!” She said, as if she was complaining. Blood rushed to his ears as he stared at her dumbfounded, and once again, he could only get out the start of a word before she left him speechless again. Leaning down to kiss the softer portion of his cheek, then his cheekbone again, another closer to his jaw. There was a faint stickiness left behind, and when she managed to turn his face to give the other side the same treatment, there was considerably less pigment on her lips. He let out a mix of a snort of amusement and a scoff of disbelief when she landed a longer kiss against his cheek. She lingered this time, even rubbing her face against his own before pulling back with a dramatic sound. 

She looked rather proud of herself when she stood up, his face still in her palms. She giggled at his expression, how the redness had infected the skin under his eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “You…” He said, only to let out a sigh, glancing to the side with some bashfulness. Or maybe it was an excuse to hide against the skin of her hand. She giggled again and left another delicate peck to his temple. “You’re adorable.” She praised. Zayne took a deep breath through his nose and managed to turn to look at her. Just close enough to want, but he was only a man, and a little cowardice was something even he couldn’t escape from. But at least he could meet her gaze. How warm and darling it was. He pecked the inside of her wrist in return, allowing himself to lean into it. “You’re incorrigible.” He said with no bite. Her thumb lovingly stroked his face. “No, I’m a doctor. And based on how you look now compared to when I came in, my treatment is most effective.” She said, grinning so hard it hurt when he actually laughed. He turned to look up at her, and if she could read his mind, she’d know his gaze like this was reserved for her alone. An act of worship in a religion he’d made all himself, and what a dedicated devotee he was. “I suppose I can’t say you’re wrong.” He tilted more into her palm, melting like the frost on flowers under the dawn of a Spring day. “I feel much, much better.”

❥Xavier...

  The job of a hunter was an intense one. It was taxing & risky, and that was something every professor in the academy made clear. Not a day passed where a hunter, seasoned or new, wasn’t reminded of the perils of the job. One needed a strong mind and body, and one needed to be able to handle themselves under the most intense pressures. Those who loved the job would still attest there were times where they wondered if they could keep going. Be it the monotonous paperwork wearing at the psyche, or the burden of keeping the public safe. Most of the people that did drop out chose to because of direct contact with Wanderers. 

Monsters constantly popping up in places. Destroying things, taking lives, infecting people even. The pressure of being the frontline soldier, hoping to either kill the beasts and save lives, or use their own life as a sacrifice to give time to those who could take it down. It was a lot. And every successful mission came with its strain. Scrapes, cuts, sprains. A broken bone or mild concussion. Sometimes even strange effects that the association was constantly working on antidotes for. A most common ailment however? Bruises. Deep marks of broken blood capillaries that left a deep soreness. 

Sometimes, when one was quite gnarly, the hunters would show off their newly gained wounds around water coolers. Stories for scars and stitches, along with proud displays of how they took a whack that left an artistic stain across their skin. Most preferred to save medical leave for more intense afflictions. A giant bruise across someone’s torso did not a nearly-severed-arm make. But that wasn’t the fault of the company, shockingly. Plenty of companies existed that created a sense of pressure to hoard days off like dragons with gold. The Hunter Association wasn’t one of those. But the workers who lasted were so dedicated to their jobs, they preferred not to leave, even if it was for their own good. Practically every person in the building had the experience of loved ones or coworkers begging them to just go home & rest. 

Someone who didn’t need much convincing was Xavier. 

To his credit, he did get up and get ready to clock into work. But just a day prior, a relatively routine mission went a bit awry, and he was left a little beaten. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had it happen before. As strong as he was, Wanderers were, of course, unpredictable. However, when Xavier went to leave his apartment, he wasn’t met with an empty hallway. Instead it was his beloved upstairs neighbor. She was out of uniform and her expression was stern, hands on her hips. “And where do you think you’re going?” She’d asked him, and he’d barely opened his mouth to respond before she gently pushed him back into his apartment.

Being his partner, she’d been there. And while the mission hadn’t been the worst in the world, it was still tough. Rather than one towering, strong monster? There had been waves and waves of smaller ones. She’d handled herself well, and one thing Xavier always did that she appreciated deeply, was not underestimate her. There were various reasons over her life that people underestimated her, but she’d yet to have Xavier be one of those people. He recognized her strength and helped her, but he didn’t overtake her either. Even if he could’ve. 

That didn’t mean he’d never take a hit for her. He’d done so many times, and she, despite his protests, had returned the favor. So when the wanderers came in, wave after wave, they’d both gotten their fare share of small injuries. But Xavier had seen a movement from Wanderer Type; Thunderoar. It’s tail winding back for an attack she wouldn’t have time to dodge, and, instinctually, he’d moved to take it for her. They both walked away from the battle, but as soon as he’d gotten her to the hospital for a standard check over, he was gone. Admittedly, she was pretty annoyed when all he’d given her was a text that he was fine, just tired.

He hadn’t been lying, not really. He was able to patch himself up fine, and the bruises weren’t enough to keep him from a heavy slumber. But she definitely seemed upset with him, but not enough to yell. She’d pushed him back to his room and demanded he change back into his comfy clothes, but her hands didn’t push too hard. She scolded him when he came back and instructed he sit on the couch. Now? She was still mumbling to herself about how foolish he was while holding a bag of frozen vegetables to the worst place of bruising, his neck.

“You were already at the hospital, I don’t get why you wouldn’t just come in with me. You could’ve napped on a cot! Or at least a couch in the waiting room!” She hissed as she pushed his hand to hold the cold bag to his esophagus. She needed both of here to look him over. Xavier’s chuckle was a little wheezy and rough. He let her push up his sleeve, smiling when she clicked her tongue at the scrapes. “I didn’t need it.” He insisted, but when he spoke, his face held a visible wince.

She cringed at his voice and, even though she was still irritated, she couldn’t stay mad. “It wouldn’t have killed you to check in anyway. You got tail whipped in the neck! That could’ve been really bad.” She frowned. Her face was softened now, less furrow in her brow but a more intense downward curve to her mouth. She sighed and reached for the icy bag of vegetables, pulling it away to look at the damage. He let out a slow exhale when the uncomfortable chill left his skin, allowing him to focus on feel her body heat gave off sat beside him. Close enough she was practically glued to his side. 

Xavier rubbed one of his eyes tiredly. He was content with resting them, but she made a sound that caught his attention again. A little whine, or maybe a coo of sympathy. A mix of both. She felt a tightness in her chest as she traced the splotchy purple mark that wrapped around his neck. He was lucky it was a dull hit. Had it been a blade, his head would’ve probably come off. The mental image that stirred made her more sick than seeing the actual wound, and that broke her head even more. 

“Poor baby…” She whispered. Xavier exhaled, content, as her hand raised to cup his cheeks. Eyes closed, nuzzling into the gentle stoke of her thumb over a little scrape on his cheekbone.

She swallowed. She hated this feeling. The worry, the deep concern for him. Sure he was strong but that didn’t mean she didn’t get worried sick whenever he took on an enemy. Bad nights had her tossing and turning with anxiety. A few times, she’d forced herself awake, and she’d walk the length of her apartment. Only settling if she heard noise above. She kept any nightmares about him leaving her, in a more permanent sense, to herself. Because he’d chuckle and wave it off. Maybe he thought that’d comfort her. Seeing him so sure of himself, and sometimes it did, sometimes she just needed a reminder of how powerful he was. But then he’d get hurt and no matter how small, the reminder he wasn’t infallible made her want to cradle him in a cocoon made of clouds. 

“Xavier.” She said. Her voice was sweet but stern enough to make him open his eyes. Just enough to look at her. His brows furrowed slightly. Her expression read with too much genuine hurt for him to playfully wave it off. She was serious. “The next time this kind of thing happens, don’t disappear. It’s worrying enough when I see you get hurt, but just…leaving? You can’t do that to me.” She insisted. She pressed her thumb to his mouth when he opened it, knowing already what he’d say. “I know. You can handle yourself, it’s just a bruise, blah blah- But what if it’s not. What if it’s worse than you initially think? And- and sure, fine, maybe it’s not a big deal to you but it is to me!” She insisted.

“I…I hate seeing you hurt. It comes with the job, sure, but that doesn’t make me worry any less. Just- Imagine if I did to you what you did to me yesterday.” She asked. She waited, watching his expression shift from being in thought to an expression that could only be described as mild horror. “Exactly. My heart can barely take it when you get a paper cut, much less something like this.” She tilted his head up so she could look at the bruise again. She sighed and dropped her hands in his lap, holding his hands in her own. “Promise me. Promise me you won’t do that again.”

Xavier softened. He sighed softly, and he only took a second before he nodded. He swallowed and winced again. Admittedly, the bruising might’ve hurt a little more than he let on. “I promise.” He replied, the ache radiating through his esophagus. She smiled softly. “Thank you.” She replied, her smile faltering when the next time he swallowed, he grimaced. She clicked her tongue sympathetically again, opening her arms to him in a welcoming motion. Xavier took the change to rest his head against her shoulder, soothed by her hand running through his hair.

“Poor thing. What am I gonna do with you.” She said rhetorically. Xavier’s eyes fluttered nearly closed, though his breath hitched when he felt her kiss the blemish across his neck. The second one made him shiver slightly. When he nuzzled his forehead more into her shoulder, she giggled, amused by his cat-like return of affection. “Maybe,” He spoke through the ache. “Letting you coddle me isn’t so bad.” His admission got her to chuckle again.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll coddle you more.” She left little peppered kisses along his neck, nudging his head back with her nose under his jaw to get at his throat. Xavier’s hands clenched and his breath shook when her lips lingered on his adam’s apple. He sighed when she pulled back and held his face again, and she smiled when she recognized the face he was making. Lowered eyelids, reddened cheeks and ears, a bit wobbly. Like he was drunk. “Mmmhmm, don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you.” She said with a little shake of his head in her hands. Xavier leaned further against her palms. “Yes please.”

❥Caleb...

  There was something amazing about the universe, that much Caleb could attest to. He’d seen it up close and personal plenty of times, sometimes enough to where one might figure he’d be sick of it. Being high in the air, amongst the stars, astounding sights and awe inspiring views. Swirling colors of stardust and glimmering lights. He’d been lucky enough to view rare phenomena and brilliant pictures in real time. He could even note some favorites, and he often spoke about them in length, almost poetically. Even if he wasn’t much for frilly words.

But whenever he’d be on the ground, he might miss the sky for a moment. In the sky, there was an ache of loneliness. On longer ventures, ones that lasted weeks, he’d even been known to question why he’d gone into the line of work he did.

He’d never forget his love of flight, planes, all of it. Of course not. He did adore this part of his job, even if he was only in the clouds and not the stars. But every time he broke the atmosphere, he’d dream of coming back home. Not for the reasons others might. He could do without his bed, he didn’t sleep very well anyway. Not for the food, even if the flight meals were stale, they did him fine. It wasn’t for sunsets, or the breeze, or the comfort of his favorite sweater. None of that was what would pull him back down to the ground. No.

His reasoning was sweet scented perfume, fruity flavored lip gloss, fleeted glances and, ironically, a melodic tone delivering scolding, nagging, and playfully immature banter. No matter how beautiful the sky was, it was that which always made him want to be home, and what kept away the desire to leave again. Even if his days on land weren’t great…like now.

“How in the hell did you manage to hide this from me? You know, you never learn!” She scoffed, both outraged and in disbelief. If Caleb wasn’t busy resting his cheek on the edge of a small trash can, spacing his breaths, keeping his inhales longer than the exhales because every breath out risked more than carbon dioxide coming out. If that wasn’t taking his focus? He’d smile. He’d grin like an idiot and playfully tease her.

Alas, he was on the verge of vomiting. He’d gotten sick, not something he’d never had, but still something rather rare. He often pushed himself too far and took care of himself too little. He had a pension for headaches, sore joints, stiff muscles, maybe a bit of a cough. The worst of it being times he’d get light headed. Admittedly, he’d fallen too many times in his own home from his knees buckling in under his own weight. But he was nothing if not an amazing actor. He saved face like it was his profession, and if he’d been more into the arts, maybe he’d make a killing at it. But even professionals broke character here and there, and he happened to let himself slip when she could see it so plainly. Hence why the universe was so god damned funny, in a cruel way. Of all the times for him to get sick as a dog, so much so even he couldn’t hide it. She had a long weekend and she wanted to spend it with him, she’d arrived unannounced and he’d never been happier. He’d done a good job. She hadn’t noticed when he’d flinch at the overhead lights or his subtle sluggishness. She’d been so excited to eat the food he cooked she hadn’t noticed how his portion was far less.

But then, he woke up with a blistering fever. It was disgusting really. The guest room sheets drenched in sweat and his skin clammy, and though he felt the heat around his eyes, he couldn’t stop shivering. He wasn’t sure what had happened to prompt her out of bed at four AM, let alone into the room he was in, and he had yet to ask despite his curiosity. He’d been less lucid then, but he remembered how she poked her head in, then her little gasp.

At the side of his bed, her hand pushing back his hair to feel his forehead. She’d said something to him in a delightfully worried tone, but he couldn’t make it out. He still needed to thank her for saving that fluffy rug when she, quick as lighting, ran for a trash can for him to unload into. It was awful, it burned, and it was embarrassing really. Even if she’d technically seen him this way before, long ago.

Every time she was sick as a child, he stepped up, arguably more than the woman his fake tombstone sat beside. He learned young how to care for her and he made it a mission, even at the risk of his own health. Only once did it switch, and he replayed those memories often when he could. He hated being sick. Every kid did, of course. But he couldn’t even call it miserable, it’d do her younger self a disservice. She was thirteen at the time and it was the first time he’d felt guilt because, admittedly, he underestimated her. So wrapped up in how he couldn’t care for her he almost missed how well she did caring for him. Even if she was young, and even if she chewed him out for his stubborn attempts at getting out of bed. Some things never really changed.

Caleb managed a little laugh, all breathy and stuffed up. He wasn’t sure what happened after he puked his guts up at four AM, though he remembered her pushing back his hair and her worried eyes. But it was morning now, enough that the sun was starting to rise, earlier than she ever liked to be up. He was in new clothes, and there was still a vague minty taste on the back of his tongue. The wave of nausea subsided enough for him to lean back into the couch, though one hand still weakly held the lip of the plastic bin.

He shuddered and only clenching his jaw would keep his teeth from chattering. Maybe she’d carried him to the couch, that mental image was certainly comical, given their size difference. But she’d gathered almost every quilt he owned, and at least three pillows for him to lay on. She was messing around in the kitchen whilst whispering to herself about reprimanding him. He couldn’t see what she was doing now that he’d laid down, nor smell it, thanks to the clogged nose.

“Honestly, what if I wasn’t here, huh? You’d just chug some sports drinks, eat a sleeve of crackers, and call it a day huh? You know, one of these days you’re gonna collapse and what then?” She rambled as she came from the kitchen. She’d gotten dressed in a hurry, he could tell. Her shirt was buttoned two buttons off, and her hair had yet to meet even the first step of her routine. He swallowed mucus with a grimace, shivering again as he watched her set a circular tray down on the coffee table.

Two yunomi cups and the teapot set on it, steam rising from them. She slid it over enough to sit on the corner of it. Just too far for his liking, but close enough that his arm could feel the fabric of her jeans. She looked at him with her mouth open to say more, but she paused and her mouth twitched into a frown. Even in his haze he could catch the way her eyes softened, and even past the wretched gravelly feeling in his lungs, he could feel adoration blossom around the disgusting illness.

“You’re lucky you look so miserable.” She said as she took out a thermometer out of the apron she wore. It was too big, because it was his. Of course she wore it better anyway, that’s how it was any time she took his clothes. “Under your tongue.” She instructed gently, having moved to the tiny sliver of cushion she could sit on, after moving his arm to rest on top of his stomach. He opened his mouth and blinked lazily. Her brows pushed together and created worry lines on her forehead as he shivered again. He melted internally when she brought the blankets higher. He smiled when the thermometer was taken away, turning from her to cough into his fist, a wretched sound. 

“I’ll be fine in a day, pip-” “Oh no you don’t.” She held up her finger and cut him off. “Don’t you brush me off, no sir. You’re cute but you’re not cute enough to get away with that, not anymore.” She looked at the tiny screen and clicked her tongue at the numbers, shaking her head as she set it on the coffee table. “You worry too much. I’ll be right as rain soon enough. You know that.” He said, and his voice sounded like running gravel through a washing machine. She flicked his nose and he made a short, involuntary whine-like sound. He barely had time to pout or look offended before she rested her hand on the arm rest behind his head, close enough to let him smell her soap despite the swelling of his sinuses. “Enough.” She stated, her voice firm, but it didn’t match her face. She looked over his features with such concern, a deep seated and genuine want for his recovery, and such frustration that he couldn’t take it seriously. Even if he’d always been like this. “You are sick.” She stated. She didn’t miss the flick of his gaze, how his eyes seemed to struggle on deciding where to land on her face. Limited the human body was, too weak to take it all in at once. She softened and leaned back a little, patting his cheek before she went for a bottle in one of the deep apron pockets. He made a face when she opened it and grabbed a spoon from the same pocket. “Don’t, you need to take it.” She said as she poured it into the spoon.

“Pipsqueak, that stuff is awful. Can’t we compromise with a pill?” He asked. “No, because this is your punishment for not telling me you were sick sooner.” She replied, capping the bottle. She leaned over him again and held out the spoon. “Caleb, don’t make me force you.” She insisted. It was playful when he refused, even if he really did hate the stuff. But by the third time he leaned away, he regretted it, because her upset was serious now.

“Okay I-” She cut him off with a look again. “Caleb.” She said, not rough, not mean. It was still sweet, even if she said it without a smile. “I know you care for me. I see it, I do.” She began in a tone that felt like soothing aloe to the burn in his veins. “I appreciate all of it, really. But we’ve been through this before. You cannot have me rely on you for everything. This is exactly why! You-” She looked away with a heartbroken expression before she composed herself with a breath. “I won’t go too harshly on you now, but hear my words, damnit. You cannot keep pushing yourself into the dark to let me soak up all your sunlight, do you understand? You say I blossomed well, and you’re right, I have. I have worked hard, I have fought tough, I have grown well.” His breath hitched and shook when her hand came to his cheek, stroking the reddened skin with her thumb. “I have you to thank for a lot of that. I look at what I’ve achieved and yes, I see how much you’ve done and how much it’s mattered. I wouldn’t be where I am without it. But I will not allow you to keep nurturing me and not letting me return the favor.” She let out a breath with a deep sadness. “If you are wilted, who will continue to help me face the sun, hm? When you’re weak, if I fall, what then?” Her question went unanswered, but not because it missed him. He swallowed as she brushed through his hair again. She held up the spoon again and he took it without complaint, though his nose scrunched at the bitter taste. She grabbed the tea quickly, even blew on it before she guided the edge of the cup to his lips. 

She fought the urge to coo sympathetically at how little he could lift his head to reach the drink. He rested back with the taste of tea, rather than medicine, and the sweetness of her affection. She set the cup down and used her other hand to hold his face in both her palms. Fever be damned. “Stop. For a day, at the very least. Let me help you this time.” She said, both a demand and a plea whispered so softly. “Let it be mutual for once. Give me the grace of returning the favor. There’s enough sunlight for the both of us if you let me in close enough, do you understand me?” She asked. Caleb shivered again, but he wasn’t convinced it was the sickness this time. He couldn’t speak, three words caught in heavy chains, pulling it back down his esophagus and to his heart as he swallowed. He could only nod. He floated inches above the mortal plain when she smiled, graced with the illumination of the sun behind her.

He exhaled when her lips pressed against his forehead, lingering for a moment, allowing him to feel it enough to remember it. Even past the fog. She leaned back and stroked his cheekbones again. “Thank you.” He whispered. She huffed a short laugh and pecked his forehead again, this time for herself. “Don’t bother. You never need to thank me for this, you just need to believe me when I tell you that I mean it when I say I care about you.” She replied. He pulled her closer, as much as he could with weakened limbs. He hid against her chest, hearing the heart he wished to sync with forever. Closing his eyes as she brushed his hair with her fingers. “You’re my strength, you’re your own. I’m my own strength, you’re mine. If I’m weak, you’re strong. And…” She trailed off expectantly. He inhaled. “If I’m weak…you’ll be my strength.” “Atta boy…”

[chuusheartattck]

THAT’S THAT ME ESPRESSO (TTME)

Chapter 34- You ight ☕️

You heard the sound of footsteps on the sand coming from behind you. Turning around, you saw a figure wearing a black cap and sun glasses.

Taking off the glasses, you realized it was Scaramouche. You hadn’t seen him since that night at your studio.

He still had his piercing eyes that you loved so much and his deep indigo hair that fell perfectly into his symmetrical face. He kept on looking better and better every time you saw him.

“So are you going to stand there or what?” Scaramouche’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

You cleared your throat before replying, “Um yeah, let’s find somewhere to talk first. I know a spot.”

You began walking to the giant rocks that the ocean’s waves were hitting. It was far enough where people wouldn’t see the two of you. As you were walking, you weren’t saying anything to each other, making the tension in the air awkward.

He helped you climb onto a rock where the two of you are now sitting on.

Neither of you spoke up yet and there was still an awkwardness in the air. You didn’t know what to say and it seemed like neither did he. You both were just staring at the ocean.

You mustered up the courage to finally speak, “I’m really sorry for all the times I have gotten mad at you for tiny things and for always blocking you without telling you the reason why. I’ve never been good with expressing my emotions which always led to miscommunication. I know it’s definitely not the most healthy way to cope with things.” Your voice trailed off when you realized you started rambling.

However, there was still silence coming from his end so you decided to continue, “I guess I’ve always been a people pleaser and in turn I felt like I couldn’t express how I felt to the other person. I was afraid they might dislike me if I ever said no or set a type of boundary. That’s the reason why I would get mad and not tell you why. I liked you so much that I could never tell you. I thought that you would never want to date me even if the circumstances were different. I pretended to be fine with whatever situationship we had going on. I would act in ways to make you jealous just so I can see if you actually cared about me. It’s such a stupid thing to do and I know I should’ve done something about it sooner.”

Scaramouche continued staring at the ocean. He still didn’t say anything which started to cause you to worry.

Did he hate you? Was he mad? Does he think you’re dumb?

You started to regret to opening up your mouth too much and began overthinking.

He locked eyes with yours before finally responding, “I have always liked you Y/n. From the moment we started talking, not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought of you. I was in agony that I couldn’t be with you, I tried to forget about you. I tried forcing myself to hate you because I didn’t want to burden you. I always knew how much you cared for me but I tried burying my feelings for you aside.”

His confession took you by surprise. You hadn’t realized that all this time, this was the one thing eating him up inside.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he already beat you to it, “If I don’t say this last thing now, I’m not sure if I will be able to again. As I said before, I always liked you and I always will. When I first recognized this, I backed out and gave mixed signals. I told you this before but my mother abandoned me when I was young. To this day I have no idea why but I guess I’ll never get an answer. I put all my emotions towards her so when she left I closed it all off. I was worried that if I put my emotions towards someone again, they'll end up leaving me too. I tried pushing you away because I was scared of having someone care.”

You were left speechless. You weren’t sure on what to say and ended up pulling Scaramouche into a tight embrace instead. His head was in the crook of your neck as he hugged you back.

“I’m sorry for getting more people involved than there should’ve been. I’ll never leave you for anything. I’ll always stay by your side no matter what. I wish I hadn’t acted stupid,” You finally replied to him.

He broke apart from the hug and placed a hand on the side of your face, “Don’t feel sorry, I was the one who caused you to act the way you did. I promise I’ll be more reliable to you. I promise I won’t cause you to be in anymore pain.”

You had a full view of his high cheekbones and strong jawline. His full lips were curved into a sheepish smile. You would give up anything to have him continue to smile at you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned into his lips. They felt the same but this kiss was different from the last. It was slower but more relaxed and romantic. He snaked his hand on the curve of your back for additional leverage. You were praying to not get spotted this time.

This kiss was more addictive than a drug. Every time you wanted to stop, he would pull your face in to continue. You melted into one another perfectly, as if you were meant for each other. You weren’t bullshitting when you said that you’ll never leave and neither was he. Scaramouche was the forest and you were the fire that always set him ablaze.

The two of you finally broke apart and smiled at one another. You felt relieved that you were able to get this weight off your chest, you didn’t regret it one bit.

“Yeah you cool, you aight type shit,” You chuckled breaking the silence.

Scaramouche flicked your forehead while rolling his eyes, “Nothing is stopping me from pushing you into the ocean you know.”

“If you do I’ll drag you down with me,” You responded as you rested your head against his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around you. The both of you watched the sunset and the waves crashing onto the rocks down below.

Everything had now fallen into place.

Masterlist II Previous II Next

A/N: I was lowkey smiling when i was writing this 😭😭 The most romantic thing i haver ever experienced was making out in the rain but the guy ended up ghosting me the following week 😓

ALSOOO lmk if you guys want your users to be added to this au and i’ll make you a twitter user :)

Synopsis: You’re a new idol that just debuted under ‘Fontaine Entertainment’ with your new single ‘Espresso.’ You just graduated high school which means all your classmates are shocked to see you into stardom. Including your old situationship, who happens to be an actor.

Taglist: @skyoverkill1 @quacking-simp @lolmeowing @astro-stars @kaitfae @sl-vega @scarawiki @yuminako @samyayaya @skyvella @kur0kki @practicoi @kukikoooo @scaraenthusiast1 @shutingstar @lloovvv @moonjellyfishie @miy-svz @xionri @lalalaloveallmydays @hearts4lizzzz @kathiwis @state-of-grac3 @morgyyyyyyy @scaradooche @theyluvkatt @meigalaxy @noirechomps @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @vxcmx @ariesloves @cayl33n @animeobsessed56 @heartsforni-ki @feikyuu @ichcocat @strayharmony943 @chscklvr @kunikissr @jiminscarmex @sp1ng @bananasquash @aceakariii @thegalaxyisunfolding @sartrst @cheriswag @kokomiskiss @albedomestic-airline @lxkeeeee @sundays-prince @wvvyq @amurotoorudesu @ennsposts @illu-fu @vitanye

[defectivevillain]

indigo

pairing: Eddie Brock/Reader/Venom Symbiote/Agony Symbiote

reader's pronouns are they/them; race and gender are ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used

summary: “You’re….” Eddie chokes out, not wanting to get his hopes up. But he recognizes the fatigue in your eyes; the tension in your shoulders; and the hidden synchronicity stringing you together. “Like you?” An alien voice growls. A deep blue mass stretches across your face, seeping through your cheekbones and down your neck. You bare your teeth and Eddie is surprised to see inhumanly long sharpened teeth and a drooling tongue. The sight is painfully familiar: it appears nearly identical to Venom, save for the color. In the blink of an eye, the mass is gone, leaving you to stare at him with a sympathetic smile. “Yes.”

word count: 4.2k | ao3 version

I did some research on the wiki and watched a few clips of the movie, but that’s the extent of my canon knowledge. As such, this won’t be canon compliant.

In this fic, the reader (you) is an experiment of the Life Foundation. Dr. Drake decides to try bonding you with a symbiote. While the union works, it ultimately backfires for him—as you manage to make your escape and go into hiding with the symbiote. Without a symbiote to bond to her, Dr. Skirth ends up living… and once Eddie escapes from the facility, she introduces the two of you.

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, cannibalism, and human experimentation; vomiting and sickness

There’s someone Dr. Skirth wants Eddie to meet. He hates meeting new people, but he owes Dora a favor, so he agrees to meet up with you in the park under the cover of night. Eddie doesn’t know anything about you, other than the fact that you’re a friend of a friend. According to Dora, you’re also tied to the Life Foundation (how that connection manifests, Eddie isn’t sure). Honestly, Eddie just hopes his meeting with you will be useful. Meanwhile, Venom is, understandably, skeptical about the meeting. They make sure to complain to him several times as he makes his way to the park, and they are only satiated with the promise that they can eat you if you somehow turn out to be a villain. 

Unfortunately for Venom, you don’t appear to be a villain. Rather, you’re wearing deceptively casual clothing: a simple sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. Your hands are shoved in your pockets; there are dark circles under your eyes and you’re staring down at the cracks in the pavement as you stand under a flickering streetlight. There are scars marking nearly every visible part of you—stretching up your collarbone, running down your face, laced across your hands. One thing is abundantly clear to Eddie in that moment: Life Foundation has left its mark on you, too. 

If you sense him staring, you don’t comment on it. Instead, you just look up and send him a hesitant wave. “Hi,” you say, extending a hand to shake as you introduce yourself. Eddie blinks at you for a moment, before introducing himself in return. After a second, he takes your proffered hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes catch on your cracked knuckles and everything seems to fall into place. It appears you’re far more similar to Eddie than he first thought. 

“You’re….” He finds himself choking out, not wanting to get his hopes up. But he recognizes the fatigue in your eyes; the tension in your shoulders; and the hidden synchronicity stringing you together. 

“Like you?” An alien voice growls. A deep blue mass stretches across your face, seeping through your cheekbones and down your neck. You bare your teeth and Eddie is surprised to see inhumanly long sharpened teeth and a drooling tongue. The sight is painfully familiar: it appears nearly identical to Venom, save for the color. In the blink of an eye, the mass is gone, leaving you to stare at him with a sympathetic smile. “Yes.”

Eddie stares at you in disbelief, amazed by your composure. Right now, he feels as if Venom is in complete control. Yet you seem able to switch between your symbiote and your own visage at will. It’s as if the two of you are in complete agreement. “How…?” He trails off. 

Half of your face is overtaken with the alien entity. “We are Agony.” A warped voice responds, a blend of your voice and the alien’s. Slowly, the alien—Agony—drips down your face and disappears from sight. You’re staring at him with a patient expression now. “We can help you.” You state matter-of-factly. 

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with that offer. He finds himself mechanically proceeding through the rest of the conversation, just barely staying afloat amidst the realization that there may actually be someone willing to help him. A few days ago, Eddie would’ve maintained that he didn’t need help; today, he’s grateful for the offer of assistance that he knows he needs. He has no idea how to navigate this tumultuous new existence he finds himself sharing with the alien creature inside him. 

He locks eyes with you, and an unspoken understanding passes between the both of you. There is a visceral fuzzy feeling in Eddie’s chest, as he stares into the eyes of the one person who could ever truly understand his new life. You stare right back at him, evidently having similar thoughts. The two of you are tied together by fate and its cruelties; you have virtually no choice but to lean on one another, lest you both return to your loneliness. 

Eddie leaves twenty minutes later with your number in his phone and plans to meet with you the next morning. He’s fairly hopeful about it—from what he could tell, you seem like a genuinely kind person. Worn thin from the trials you’ve been forced into, but kind nonetheless. Eddie tries to puzzle out how you could still have sympathy for a world that has shown you nothing but malice. 

“Don’t trust them.” Venom growls, breaking Eddie out of his thoughts. He feels the symbiote’s restless energy humming along his skin, creating goosebumps that run down his arms as he walks home.

Whether Venom’s remark is a profession of their suspicion or a warning, Eddie isn’t sure. He sighs. “Let’s give them a chance,” Eddie maintains, shoving his hands in his pockets as he continues down the street. “If they somehow turn out to be evil, you can eat them. Okay?” 

Venom is silent for a while. “Fine.” They eventually respond, clearly not happy about it. But the renewed promise of food must be too good for them to turn down. 

Eddie nods, secretly relieved. Admittedly, he’s pretty optimistic about you: you appear healthy, sane, and most importantly, comfortable in your own body. You don’t appear to be constantly at war with yourself, which is rather similar to how Eddie feels at the current moment.

“War,” Venom remarks. There’s no telling whether they possess the same spectrum of emotions that humans do, yet they’re speaking with clear sarcasm. “Very dramatic, Eddie.” Eddie just rolls his eyes. 

The rest of his day passes without much fanfare. He eats a rather bland dinner and falls asleep earlier than normal, if only to quiet his restless thoughts. Before long, it’s the next morning—and he’s freshening up before heading out to the diner you agreed to meet at. 

You’re waiting for him in a brightly-colored booth. Eddie walks over to you, muttering a greeting as he takes the seat across from you. You slide a coffee mug over to him, which he drinks gratefully. His curiosity seems to linger in the air around both of you, until you’re relenting and telling Eddie about yourself. He told you about himself when you met last night; now, it’s your turn to tell your story. 

What Eddie hears is enough to turn his stomach and effectively rid him of his appetite. Essentially, you were one of the human captives used as experiments by the Life Foundation. You describe a constant state of numbness at war with dread and fear. You explain how you were practically left to rot behind those glass walls, until it came time for you to be the next test subject. You recount how you were exposed to the blue symbiote… and how, upon your successful union, Life Foundation planned to experiment on you further. By the time you’re describing your escape, Eddie is resisting the urge to reach out and place a hand over your shaking one—desperate to provide comfort to the one person who understands what it’s like to have a parasite living inside them. 

“Not a parasite,” Venom hisses, breaking Eddie out of his thoughts. They sound strangely offended by the remark.

“Right, they don’t like being called that,” you murmur, tapping your fingers rhythmically against the table. Eddie blinks, thrown back into reality. “Symbiote is better.” Agony interjects. You seem entirely unbothered by the interruption. 

An awkward silence descends across the space for a moment, before Eddie blurts out the first thought that comes to mind. “I’m hungry,” Eddie frowns. Indeed, his stomach aches with emptiness—despite his knowledge that he ate just before falling asleep the previous night. 

“We’re hungry.” Venom corrects him. 

You’re looking at him—them, Eddie reminds himself—with amusement. The expression is fleeting. “Right,” you then say, as if you’re just remembering. A grimace rises on your face. “Well. There are two options: chocolate… and human brains.”

Eddie stares at you warily. He didn’t think you were the type to joke about things like this, but it just sounds too far fetched to be real. He must’ve misjudged you, somehow. As if sensing his doubt, you attempt to explain further. 

“I know, I was skeptical too,” you admit, rubbing a hand over your face. While your relationship with Agony seems a lot more clearly defined than Eddie and Venom’s, there’s still a lingering exhaustion written in the lines of your face. You take a slow breath. “Their species requires different nutrients than ours: namely, phenethylamine.” 

“Human brains are better.” Agony states. 

You sigh. “It’s true. Chocolate is really only a temporary fix, because it doesn’t last nearly as long. The two of us have struck up an agreement to only eat bad people, so there’s at least a bit of morality involved...” You break off, clearly sensing Eddie’s impending dread. 

There’s no way around eating humans. It takes him several seconds to process this. Eddie doesn’t want to believe it—doesn’t want to think about the feeling of human matter stuck between his hooked teeth; doesn’t want to think about waking up in the morning, sweat-soaked and stained with the dried blood of a dead stranger. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, your brows furrowed. Eddie hates how sincere you are. And he especially hates how he takes comfort from your reassurance. It shouldn’t mean anything to him—he never cares what people think of him. But the fact that you can not only sympathize with him, but also empathize with him, is rather significant. 

“We can do this,” you promise him. Eddie finds himself oddly appreciative of your choice of wording. You chose to say “we,” as if explicitly confirming your support for him. “We’ll help you.” You repeat. 

“Okay,” he responds stiffly, not trusting himself to say anything else. The two—four—of you spend the rest of the meal in silence. Eventually, the warm sunlight trickles through the windows next to you and breakfast is over. Eddie and you leave the restaurant and stop on the sidewalk outside, turning towards one another. 

“I’ll text you,” you promise. “Let me know if you need anything.” Eddie nods quietly. As if sensing how overwhelmed he feels, your expression morphs into one oddly reminiscent of… affection. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Eddie assents and tells you to do the same, at which a smile rises on your lips. Oddly short of breath, Eddie manages to tear his eyes away and utter a goodbye—though your smile remains in his thoughts for the rest of the day. 

Eddie begins to make progress, slowly but surely. With your guidance, he learns how to communicate better with Venom; fight with their assistance; and even nourish himself better. None of it seems to be important, in the face of the realization that his life will never return back to normal. But, somehow, the satisfied smile on your face when he accomplishes something is enough for Eddie to keep pushing himself. 

Since your first meeting, Venom has warmed up to you a lot more—to the point where they have started speaking to you directly, instead of just speaking to Eddie. Agony has still remained a bit more withdrawn and silent, but their presence is keenly felt regardless. 

Eddie still has moments when he feels as if the world is caving in on him—as if the faces of passerby are contorted in disgust and fear (which was an unfortunate reality in the beginning days of his union with Venom). There are nights when he wakes with dried blood flecked across his skin, but he has grown accustomed to washing it off and forgetting it in the morning. You are a constant companion during these moments, and, sometimes, your touch is the only thing that grounds Eddie to the world around him. Safe to say, the two of you have taken to staying at each other’s apartments more often than not. 

On a few rare occasions, Eddie is the one to hold you—as you remember confinement behind cold glass walls and calculating eyes watching your every move. Eddie can’t imagine what your captivity and torture at the hands of Life Foundation was like… And he’s certain he doesn’t want to think about it, because it will only make him feel even worse. While you’ve both been bonded with symbiotes, Eddie escaped the cruel experimentation that you were subjected to. He was just visiting to get information for an article; you were bound in chains and thrown behind nearly impenetrable barriers. 

Overall, though, things are going well. At least, Eddie wants to think so. But then the universe wants to spite him, and he wakes up one morning feeling as if he was hit by a truck. He’s practically stuck to the cushions of his couch, his limbs as heavy as bricks. His throat is overwhelmingly dry; there’s a bitter taste in his mouth; and, try as he might, he can’t seem to wrench his eyes open. 

“Eddie? …Eddie? Shit.” 

Eddie wakes to a frigid cold. He shivers instinctually, blinking past a strange sheen over his eyelids. It takes his vision several moments to clarify past a swirling blur. His temple is nearly pulsating with pain; his stomach aches and his skin is coated in sweat. Eddie twitches, recognizing your blurry silhouette and realizing you must’ve dumped cold water on him to wake him up. Even now, as he’s been torn from sleep, he’s struggling to stay awake. 

“Eddie?” You ask, sounding very concerned. Eddie isn’t sure he can remember the last time someone was so worried about him. The thought saddens him. Your hands move to his shoulders and you shake him slightly, your brows furrowed. “Can you hear me?” The most Eddie can manage is a weak nod in response. 

“Doesn’t… feel right.” Venom adds. This may be the first time Eddie has ever agreed with Venom.

“Eddie’s sick,” you respond to the symbiote. 

Eddie isn’t able to register much more of your conversation with Venom—not when his ears are ringing and he feels a familiar prickling nausea at the back of his throat. Eddie slowly pushes himself up. Upon realizing that the feeling is steadily climbing up his throat, he clumsily gets to his feet and stumbles towards the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before vomiting. Eddie can’t quite comprehend what’s happening, other than the burning sensation assaulting his throat and the sudden feel of someone rubbing his back reassuringly. You’re crouching next to him, saying something he can’t make out. Venom responds for him. 

At some point, he stops throwing up and attempts to rest his head. You put the toilet seat down and flush it, before allowing him to do so. Eddie feels a foreign gratitude for the kindness you’re showing him, despite the monster living inside him. The cold porcelain is a welcome sensation on his sweat-soaked skin. 

“Not a monster,” Venom reminds him. Even his companion’s voice is quieter, as if accommodating the headache migrating through his temple and down into his cheekbones and jaw. Eddie doesn’t have the energy to argue. He blinks slowly, the lights of the bathroom only making his headache worse. He feels rather woozy. 

“Here, let’s get you up,” you suggest. Eddie can hardly move, yet your hands bracket his arms and you’re pulling him up as if he weighs nothing at all. (That is likely due to Agony’s help, but he doesn’t exactly have the wherewithal to recognize that). Eddie lurches to the side ominously, but Venom extends a makeshift arm and rights his balance. With Agony, Venom, and you combined, Eddie makes it back to the couch easily. You help him sit down before walking into the kitchen. You return moments later to press a glass of water into his hand. 

Eddie gulps it down greedily. Or, at least, he tries to—only for you to reach out and stop him from drinking any more. “Not too fast,” you remark, taking the glass from his hand and placing it on the adjacent coffee table. “Wait ten minutes or so, just to make sure you can keep it down.”

Eddie stares at you for a long moment, frowning. He hears himself blurting out his thoughts before he can think any better of it. “Why are you here?” Eddie croaks. He is the complete opposite of presentable at the moment; the last thing he wants is for you of all people to see him looking so pathetic. Eddie isn’t exactly sure why he wants to make such a good impression on you, but… he supposes that doesn’t matter now. He can muse on the exact nature of his feelings towards you at a later date, when he doesn’t feel so uncomfortable in his own skin. 

You blink at him for a moment, evidently contemplating the question. “Alone.” Agony responds. Eddie squints at you, watching as the symbiote’s midnight blue mass crawls up your shoulders, as if wrapping an arm around you in reassurance. You don’t even flinch at the sudden presence of your companion. Instead, you take a slow breath and look at Eddie once more. “When it happened to me, I was alone. It was… an isolating experience. I don’t want you to feel the same way.” You explain. 

You then reach down, as if to touch him, only for Venom to protrude from Eddie’s shoulder and snap at you. At least, they attempt to—only for Agony to intercept them and snap threateningly in return. Eddie watches the whole scene through hazy eyes, half-convinced that he’s having a fever dream. Eventually, Agony and Venom seem to resolve their dispute and you reach out towards Eddie again, placing your hand on his forehead to check for his temperature. Eddie can’t stop himself from sighing in relief at your cool skin. You only frown, looking more worried. “You’re burning up,” you say to him. 

“Hot.” Venom adds, clearly feeling a bit of Eddie’s own discomfort. “Like flames.” 

“He has a fever,” you respond, getting to your feet and moving to the kitchen once more. You come back moments later with a towel in hand. Eddie dazedly watches as you approach, folding the towel before placing it on his forehead. He exhales slowly as the cold fabric brings a welcome sensation of frigidity trickling down his temple, fighting off the flames licking at his skin. He’s not sure how long he sits in silence until you’re breaking through it. “Here, it’s been ten minutes. Can you sit up a bit?” You ask. 

Eddie lets out a pained whimper, practically sinking back into the cushions of the couch. Venom stretches out of his back and props him up to a sitting position. Thank you, Eddie thinks. Then the symbiote rises to grasp his forearm, guiding him to grip the glass of water and take another sip. Venom and you then help him return to a reclined position. 

Eddie’s eyelids are stinging with exhaustion. He’s desperately fighting off sleep—blinking tiredly with extra effort. “It’s okay, you can rest,” you reassure him, noticing his fatigue. “We’ll be here when you wake.” 

That comforts him far more than he’d like to admit. Before long, Eddie is slipping into sleep once more. 

“Cared for you,” Venom says days later, when Eddie has mostly recovered. They’re sharing a quiet moment in Eddie’s apartment, sitting on the couch and staring at the television on low-volume. “For us.”

Thinking about his sickness last week, Eddie can’t help but feel humiliated and weak. He’s still embarrassed that you saw him in such a state; frustrated that he needed assistance with even the simplest of tasks; and… grateful, despite it all. You stuck with him in the following few days, giving him medication when needed and ensuring he had enough to eat and drink. You were a constant presence, to the point where Eddie found you asleep on the armchair in his living room numerous times. That sight will be forever burned into his brain: the peaceful expression on your face as your chest rose and fell calmly. He had never seen you look so vulnerable before; and even in the midst of his sickness and the ensuing vulnerability he was forced to show, he felt himself wanting to protect you. It was a foolish thought: Eddie knew you were more than capable of protecting yourself. But perhaps it was just the domesticity of it all—the thought of you becoming a permanent fixture in their life. 

Venom breaks him from his thoughts with a gentle tap at his wrist. Eddie recalls their prior statement and hums. “They did care for us,” he agrees. Venom crawls down his forearm, stretching to inhabit the space between his fingers in what he assumes to be an imitation of hand-holding. There’s an unsettled energy to the symbiote’s presence. Eddie feels a frown overtake his lips. “What’s wrong?”

“It was too quiet.” Venom’s confession settles in the air around him, inhabiting every nook and cranny of his dimly-lit apartment. 

“Sorry,” Eddie eventually murmurs. He’s not sure why he’s apologizing, when the sickness wasn’t under his control. But that tone in Venom’s voice provokes guilt and remorse in him, for reasons he can’t quite elucidate. 

“Don’t do it again.” Venom commands. 

“I don’t really have control over that,” Eddie huffs, attempting to diffuse the sudden tension that settled over the space. Venom lets out a threatening growling noise and he quickly caves. “Fine, fine. I’ll try.”

“Try.” Venom repeats, equal amounts of wry amusement and frustration in their voice. Eddie just hums in response, grasping the symbiote’s tendrils with renewed vigor. Now that he thinks about it, Venom seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn during his sickness: as if they were afraid of pushing him too far past the brink of his energy.

“Sorry,” Eddie whispers again. Venom tightens their grip on his hand in response, and the two of them sit there for a long time after—hands conjoined and fates lovingly intertwined. 

Eddie doesn’t get a chance to thank you until a few days later, when he’s sure his sickness is gone and can safely dismiss the thought of getting you sick. Eddie and Venom meet Agony and you as the sun sets over the horizon, in the same spot where you first met all that time ago. 

Standing under the flickering street light in the park once more, Eddie is unspeakably thankful that he took a chance on you. He can’t imagine where he would be now, without your support. The thought dominates his mind, to the point where he finds himself uttering it aloud moments later. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” Eddie says. 

“You’d be just fine,” you remark with a smile. The way you look at him only adds more fuel to the fire of Eddie’s foolish hopes. When he sees that gleam in your eyes, he can’t help but envision a shared existence: not among two beings, but among four. The thought is misguided and horribly insistent, popping up during the most inopportune of moments. 

Eddie sighs. “I’m serious,” he maintains, trying to convey his sincerity. It seems to work, because you pause and look at him with widening eyes. “I- I couldn’t have done this alone. We couldn’t have done this alone.” Eddie corrects himself, when he can sense Venom about to object. The symbiote drags a tendril down his ribs, in an approving movement that makes his heart race. 

“I’m happy I met you,” you admit. “Selfishly speaking.” Agony crawls up your skin and pops out of your shoulder; Venom does the same, and the two have a conversation in a chittering language that Eddie and you can’t hope to understand. Meanwhile, Eddie is unable to deny your magnetic presence; he can’t help but gravitate towards you. He takes a step closer—past a socially acceptable distance—and stops, trying to study your expression and ascertain your comfort. Eventually, he surrenders and decides to just speak his thoughts.

“Can I…?” Eddie breaks off, unsure of what he’s asking for at the present moment. His thoughts are quickly cascading into a territory far past platonic companionship, but suppressing them is a lost cause. He’s spent too long denying himself the life he wants. Venom crawls up his chest and stretches across his shoulders in a reassuring gesture. Comforted by the reminder of Venom’s presence, Eddie clears his throat and summons the courage to finish his sentence. “Can I kiss you?”

You take a step closer, rendering the distance between the two of you nearly nonexistent. Your hand falls to his forearm and Eddie looks into your eyes, a nervous anticipation running through him as he sees you nod in agreement. “Yes.” You whisper, so quietly that Eddie nearly convinces himself that he imagined it. But before he can second-guess himself, you’re closing the gap between you and kissing him. 

You’re standing so close together that the two of you are practically fusing. Eddie’s hands fall to your waist; your hands cradle his jaw. Agony and Venom prickle along their partners’ shoulders, dripping down your chests and mixing together. Distantly, Eddie remembers how lost and alone he felt when Venom first fused with him. He has long grown out of the feeling, and wonders if, perhaps, that sensation was trying to tell him something. Perhaps, this entire time, existence was meant to be shared amongst three others—rather than just one. 

These philosophical thoughts quickly fade to the back of his mind, as your fingers trace his jaw and slip down to the nape of his neck. Venom rises to meet your hand, just as Agony trickles down your side and runs along Eddie’s knuckles. One realization immediately takes precedence over everything else running through Eddie’s mind: 

He’s never felt so alive.

endnotes: this is definitely the queerest fic I've ever written. and I love it.

Me: I can hardly write kissing scenes with two people. My writer’s brain, cackling: Hear me out. What about… two people and two symbiotes? Me: What. The. Fuck.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

[xxnashiraxx]

She's My Collar

✶Pairing: Astarion x female!Durge | Astarion x Ofelia

✶Warnings: MDNI. Implied Loss of Virginity, Blood

✶Word Count: 640

✶Summary: A tale enduring the test of time- of secrets and love and mournful longing. Light and dark. Devout and denied. Woven into their lives like the red string of fate.

I have no idea what possessed me to grind this out, but. I've had She's My Collar on repeat for a week and it's just stuck in my brain. Have my perspective on Astarion's yearning for Ofelia and for a very vague look ahead for the main fic. Unnescessary to read the big one!! But if you'd like more on them, they're in my pinned masterlist! ❤ Thank you for reading!

✶Song:

Atonement, heavy upon his back. His cross to bear through a verdant pass, a sprawling underground teeming with danger and beauty, a landscape wretched and choked by shadow. The weight follows, vigilant and punishing, grinding thought to dust beneath the absence of the sun.

Black and blue, a veil unrelenting. Darkness cloaking his still heart and clinging to seeking fingers in shame and contrition. Bruises indigo and stark beneath a covetous gaze, the color melting his mind into melancholy appetence.

Her. Sun-bright in the corners of her eyes, in the raven locks that drape over her body. Skin kissed by the light, rich toned and warm to the touch. Maddening curves, full and bewitching. She moves with a grace unbound by centuries of torment, though the weight upon her back remains just as potent.

Red and yellow, dripping from her fingers and painting her in accusations from the dead. Golden pinpricks flashing in her brown gaze, tearing through the hole in his heart to make a home in the space in between. A heat that saps the cold from his limbs and wreaths him in a dastardly crown of thorns that dig and dig and dig.

Whispered words and revelations that sting and cut- severing threads and reknitting them beneath distrust and agony. The yellow begins to flicker and fade, and the weight on his back becomes unbearable. Closing around his throat- a debt ravenous for payment. And he pays.

Torturous, slow, it doesn’t return until she’s begging him to snip the thread and let the weight crush her. To grind her into nothing, held like a fragile porcelain doll in his hands. He refuses, the squeeze of selfishness burning in his neck. Greedy for that light- refusing her tear-sodden pleas as they dig like the nails in his shoulders.

One little sentence, snapping bone and tearing sinew- to loosen the binds or rend his head from his shoulders beneath their eager pinch. A choice, imploring him forward to either break her beyond repair or finally relent.

“I love you…”

He surrenders to her words implicitly, shackles slipping from him to clatter and thunder in the void between his ribs. Rays that render him weak, on his knees before her, fingers decorating her hips like they’ve always been there- always belonged. Home.

Home in the violent light, in its ceaseless ache for him. In her careful palms, cradling sharp jaw and pointed ear. Mapping every angle until they soften into the pliant devotion that was written on his bones the moment his sanguine hunger was sated on her red.

Crimson that damns her to the masses. Crimson that lifts her above them all. His deference sincere, thrust into him against his will. A piety both pure and prurient.

Time, like the water that laps at the blazing tower, beneath the tree that blossoms to life and lifts the curse from the land. Beneath her patience and adoration, every touch feather light- every sup holy.

Almost lost, almost stolen from him. Ripped free and sewn back together under hands that beseech her to come back. To return. To his arms, to him.

His web of lies sundered, shattered into nothing as a feeling lost to the slow drag of years and torture blossoms among the decay. Brilliant petals, drowning the blue, drowning the black. Weight slipping from their shoulders as he loses himself to the embrace of her eternal worship.

Crimson, vivid and dripping down her thighs, under his fingers. Crimson in his eyes, eviscerating and impassioned, melting them together beneath her scorching skin and his blazing infatuation. A seizing of limbs, of breath. His love savage and voracious, he sates it inside her, against her lips, against her skin.

His sun. His salvation. His purpose.

More valuable than any treasure he could steal, any gold he could possess.

His Ofelia.

[enigmatist17]

Hadn't seen Rescue Bots in a long time, love the hc that Chase and Prowl were either friends or maybe brothers before the War

---

"Is Chase going to be alright? He's been out there for hours."

"He just needs time, son." The eldest Burns shook his head with a soft sigh, mixing up a salad for dinner. "Go get Cody from the bunker, will you?" His eldest nodded before heading for the fire pole, passing by Graham and Dani seated at the table. They were just as worried for the bot they considered part of the family, but they knew there wasn't much they could do.

Mourning was complicated for anyone.

Optimus Prime had come for a visit earlier that day, pulling Chase aside after giving some greetings and news from the mainland, the Autobot leader's expression heavy. Most of the family knew he and Chase had been sending private comms to each other but, for the most part, hadn't pried into it, as everyone was entitled to their privacy. It only became a concern about an hour after they had left when the three other bots, who had been chatting with their various partners suddenly doubled over in pain, their optics taking on an indigo hue.

"What was that?!" Kade demanded when the bots straightened, eyes widening as he was ignored, the three speaking to each other in their native language that the Burns' had only heard in the first days of their arrival. Heatwave then hurried out of the bunker and towards the woods Chase and Optimus had walked toward, leaving Blades and Boulder to keep the humans from following, still whistling and chirping in their native language as they waited for their leader to return.

That had been hours ago, Optimus and Heatwave returning alone with a command to just let Chase be. The eldest human knew the signs of a death notification only too well, herding his children back into the house after shaking his head with a solemn expression.

"Dad, Cody isn't there." Kade hadn't been gone too long before returning, concerned yet not terribly surprised. "Pretty sure I know where he would have gone."

"I'll go get him then." Charlie sighed as he fixed both himself and Cody a plate of the food he'd made, before descending the stairs and heading outside. The other rescue bots were sitting with Optimus behind the house, the elder nodding his head as he heard them talk in low voices in Cybertronian as he passed them, Heatwave's gaze on his back following the human up and into the tree line. He knew where Chase would have gone, having shown the Cybertronian a small clearing that overlooked a small part of Griffin Rock in the early days of their arrival, stepping out of the woods and approaching the massive figure who sat at the edge of the clearing. Cody was sitting beside him, feet slowly kicking back and forth as he pointed up at the stars, just rambling away as the bot beside him watched in complete silence.

"Oh, hi Dad." Charlie knelt down to offer his son dinner, Cody smiling as his dad filled his hair. "This looks great."

"Eat up, you had a long day." Charlie smiled before circling around Chase, carefully sitting beside the bot across from Cody. For a long while, the only noises were the clinking of silverware against plates and the local nocturnal wildlife, filling a silence that felt heavier the longer it went on.

"Dad, I'm going back inside." Cody eventually spoke, getting to his feet and giving Chase's arm a small hug before moving to get his father's plate. "Um..."

"I'll look in on you later, okay?" His son smiled before heading home, leaving the two officers to sit and observe the town below them. Chase must have been listening to make sure Cody had moved out of auditory range, for a noise Charlie Burns could only describe as agony ripped its way out of Chase's throat barely a minute later, frame rattling as his agony echoed over the area below them.

Charlie just placed a reassuring hand on the trembling metal, letting his partner fall to pieces. He'd had his own share of breakdowns in the past and knew having someone he trusted close by had helped him pull himself back together, and would be a silent support for his current partner. The Cybertronian eventually fell silent, servos trembling as he looked down at Charlie, normally blue optics nearly black from what had to be pure grief.

"My split-spark perished here, defending humanity to the very end." His voice was subdued as he cycled his optics, looking away from the human he'd grown to care deeply for. "I had suspected, but..."

"You needed proof." The mech nodded sadly, whatever else he could say just getting lodged in his throat. "This might sound rude, but what is a split-spark?"

"The closest human equivalent is brother, or perhaps twin. We both originated with the same spark, but for whatever reason Primus wills, we split and became separate mechs."

"What was his name, and what was he like?"

"His designation was Prowl."

[radicalnotions]

TIMELINE — May 6, 2025.

LOCATION — Cask & Vine; Cheyenne, WY.

SYNOPSIS — After a rough start to the week, Selina finds herself at one of the more upscale local watering holes with plans to discuss their father’s recent erratic behavior over a few drinks with her brother, Gabriel. But when the elder Fleury cancels last-minute, her intention for the evening shifts to something — and someone — more interesting.

Selina sat at the bar, bleary-eyed and warm with Malbec. The day had wrought unrelentingly boring work; hours of poring over ethics disclosures that were in queue to be filed by her office had left her aching. It was one of many things about her role that she detested — she felt as though she merely performed a series of administrative tasks, day in and day out, all in the name of the great state of Wyoming, and without any true power. 

With her body in the clutches of an all-too-familiar pain — the tendrils of a dull and persistent agony beginning to coil around the metal in her spine, rising up to her neck — Selina reached into her purse, perched on the leather high-back stool next to her. Nestled under her wallet and cosmetics was an Altoids tin, its original contents long gone, replaced with prescription medication. A cliché, perhaps, but it served its purpose. Years of experience in the art of discretion allowed her to deftly withdraw a small, indigo-colored capsule and slip it between her lips. A mouthful of vintage red chased it down the back of her throat.

There would be some fifteen minutes before the medication would begin to work — the process hastened by a skipped dinner and six ounces of wine. 

Selina reached for her wine glass once more, draining the last of the pour. On the bar top, her phone vibrated to life. She scarcely noticed the newcomer who took the seat one over from her as she glanced over the text message from her brother, displayed on her device: Can’t make it. Work emergency. Raincheck. 

“Son of a bitch,” Selina breathed, settling back in her seat. Gabriel had canceled on her, again, leaving her to her own devices.

Faced with the choice of having another round or going home to listen to Harrison’s awful music reverberate through the house, it was an easy decision to wave on the bartender when he offered a top-up. She went as far as to encourage the server as he poured, six ounces quickly turning into nine. He would be well-compensated when the bill came, and he knew it.

Selina drew the long-stem glass closer. The man that sat at the very end of the bar, two chairs away, had ordered a flight of wine. She watched as it was prepared, four different wines funneled into their respectively-shaped glasses: Burgundy, marked by its flared rim; Bordeaux, full-bodied and in the largest glass; Cabernet Sauvignon, the darkest of the collection; and Pinot Noir, light-bodied in a bulbous bowl.

Curiosity taking hold, she continued to observe as it was presented to the man, whose face she knew, but couldn’t place. It dawned on her as he thanked the bartender and proceeded to down half of the first glass: dressed in an ill-fitting jacket, gulping down a $22 pour of vino, was William Cunningham's foreman.

Her interest quickly took root, a myriad of questions racing through her mind. She intended to answer each and every one. And so, with her glass in one hand and her purse in the other, she rose from her seat and took the few paces required to close the distance between them.

"You know," Selina started, resting her elbow on the back of the unoccupied chair next to him, "most people take their time with it. Taste it. Savor it. It won't disappear if you don't drink it fast enough, I promise." She could feel the haze of the medication beginning to take hold as she flashed him a grin that felt ever so slightly more earnest than her usual picture-ready Politician Smile. "Care if I join you?"

[bardic-tales]

Let It Burn - FWC / FF 7 FanFic

Summary: Bianca, trapped in a Mako tank and subjected to Hojo's experiments, teeters on the brink of madness as her demonic nature wages war against Jenova’s corruption, all while hallucinating Sephiroth’s presence and confronting the agony of his betrayal.

Pairing: Bianca Moore (f!OC)/Sephiroth

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abandonment, abuse, body horror, captivity, emotional manipulation, existential horror, experimentation, hallucinations, hopelessness, hysteria, medical torture, mind control, psychological trauma, self-harm, sensory deprivation, unreality, violence

1.

Bianca floated in the green abyss, weightless and burning, her body a battlefield between celestial grace and monstrous corruption. The viscous Mako seeped into her pores, flooding her veins with agony, whispering to her of power, of surrender, of ruin. Her naked form trembled in the dim, fluorescent glow of the containment tank, her once-porcelain skin now marred with curling veins of bioluminescent blue.

Her indigo eyes flickered open, pupils narrowing to razor-thin slits. The glass distorted her reflection. No, that thing in the glass was not her. Not Bianca Moore. Not the celestial who once soared through star-kissed skies. This was something else, something Hojo had made. Something Sephiroth had abandoned.

And there he was.

A figure stood beyond the glass, silver hair flowing like moonlight caught in water, green eyes glowing with an unnatural luminance. His presence was an unspoken promise, a cruel mirage her broken mind summoned to taunt her. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. She needed him.

“Sephiroth…” Bianca’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper, distorted by the liquid cocooning her.

He did not respond. He never did.

Her fingers twitched before she reached for him, her palm pressing against the cold glass, aching for the warmth that would never come. And yet—his hand lifted, mirroring hers, touching the other side. Her breath hitched. It didn’t matter that she knew he wasn’t real. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Where were you?” she whispered, her voice a ghost in the artificial silence. “Where were you when they strapped me down? When he cut into me? When I screamed for you?”

Her body shuddered violently, the Jenova cells inside her writhing, trying to overwrite her very existence. She could feel them, insidious, slithering through her marrow, whispering secrets of cosmic annihilation. But her demonic blood rebelled, lashing out, consuming, subjugating. A war waged within her, a celestial horror against an eldritch plague, and she was the battlefield.

Her nails scraped against the glass, leaving faint trails of red from where her own sharpened talons broke skin.

“I would have burned the world down for you,” she confessed, her voice trembling with hysteria, with desperation. “We were meant for more than this. More than the lies, more than their games. More than her!”

Her wings, dark and iridescent, twitched violently behind her, their movements erratic, uncoordinated. A failure. A mockery of what she once was.

“I should have known,” she crooned, pressing her forehead against the glass, her lips parting in something between a sob and a laugh. “You always belonged to her—that thing in your head, whispering to you like a mother’s lullaby. But I—” Her voice broke into something raw, something jagged. “I believed in you, Sephiroth. In us.”

A hysterical giggle bubbled up from her throat.

“Tell me, did you even think of me when you left me here? When they ripped me apart?” She tilted her head, her smile manic, desperate. “Or was I just another experiment? Just another pawn in their grand design?”

Sephiroth’s expression never changed. He never blinked, never moved beyond that one, simple touch against the glass. He was a statue carved from moonlight, his silver hair weightless in the artificial glow, his eyes burning with that same haunting luminance she had once drowned in. The glass between them may as well have been a chasm, infinite and unyielding, a cruel reminder that even in her most desperate hallucinations, she could not bridge the abyss he had left in his wake.

But she saw something. Something in those endless green eyes. Not pity. Not sorrow. Recognition.

A spark, subtle and fleeting, like the dying light of a star before it was swallowed by the void. It wasn’t love, wasn’t regret. No, it was something deeper, something raw, as if for one, impossible moment, he truly saw her. Not as a failed experiment, not as a discarded past, but as Bianca. The woman who had whispered his name like a prayer, who had bled for him, who had stood against the tide of fate itself just to keep him in her orbit.

And that broke her.

A scream tore from her throat, primal and ragged, reverberating against the glass, sending ripples through the Mako as if the very liquid recoiled from the force of her anguish. Her wings flared behind her, violent and wild, their iridescent black sheen shimmering with the unstable fusion of celestial grace and eldritch corruption. Her body convulsed, muscles spasming beneath skin that burned as the war inside her escalated. It was too much, too loud, too unbearable—the Jenova cells screamed, her demonic nature raged, and she—she was nothing but the battlefield upon which they waged war. The agony seared through her every nerve, setting her veins alight with white-hot fire.

But she welcomed it. Pain was all she had left.

Her vision blurred, her pupils dilating, swallowing the indigo of her irises until her gaze was nothing but black voids, endless and hungry. Sephiroth’s form flickered, unstable, like a dying ember struggling against the wind. No. No, she couldn’t lose him. Not again. Not when he was the last tether to the reality she had long since lost.

“Don’t go,” she begged, her voice cracking within her head. Small, childlike, pathetic. The word clawed its way out of her throat, raw and desperate, barely a whisper yet heavy with the weight of every abandoned dream, every shattered promise. “Please, don’t leave me alone in the dark.”

But he was already fading. His form wavered, dissolving into mist, slipping through her fingers like sand through an open palm. He was a mirage, a cruel trick of her broken mind, and still she reached for him, reaching for the impossible, reaching for the ghost of something that had never truly belonged to her.

Her hand, still pressed against the glass, trembled before sliding downward, her nails dragging deep, jagged lines across the surface. The motion left behind streaks of crimson, a grotesque contrast against the sterile, artificial glow that bathed her. Her breathing hitched, erratic, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps as the weight of his absence settled into her bones.

She was alone.

She had always been alone.

2.

A slow, deliberate scratching of pen against paper filled the sterile air of the observation room. Hojo leaned forward slightly, adjusting his glasses as he watched the subject convulse, her unstable physiology waging war against itself. The data was fascinating. The Jenova cells should have already overwritten her original genetic makeup, yet her demonic lineage fought back with a ferocity he had not accounted for. He tapped his pen against the clipboard, as his eyes narrowed behind his thick lenses.

"Subject N01 continues to exhibit extreme instability in cellular fusion. Contrary to prior expectations, the demonic DNA has not yielded to Jenova’s superior influence. Instead, an ongoing battle of genetic dominance persists. Psychological deterioration is accelerating—hysteric episodes becoming more frequent. Subject appears to be experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations, manifesting in the form of former experiment Sephiroth. This fixation on Sephiroth suggests an emotional dependency, possibly exacerbated by pre-existing histrionic tendencies. Worth investigating further."

The scream that tore from her throat was almost melodic to his ears, a crescendo of agony and madness blending into something sublime. She clawed at the glass, the viscous Mako shifting around her like a womb of suffering, her body twisting as if caught between realms. The celestial grace that once defined her had all but shattered, replaced by something grotesque, something divine in its monstrosity. Hojo scribbled another note.

"Psychotic break evident. Subject is no longer in control of cognitive reasoning. Emotional response remains erratic, but attachment to Sephiroth presents potential for further psychological manipulation. Will escalate experimentation to determine full extent of demonic resistance to Jenova’s influence. Subject N01 is not yet perfect. But she will be."

A slow, satisfied smile curled at the edges of his thin lips. Yes… she would be.

@themaradwrites @craftyhal @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[iamthecomet]

Kinktober - Day 26- Watersports

IT'S PISS DAY, MY FRIENDS.

1.7k (ish) words of Dewfrit piss kink. Water!Dew. Some sex magic. Ifrit being so overwhelmed he's basically useless. Dew being a fucking freak (affectionate). Merry Pissmas!

It hurts. 

That’s all Ifrit can think about. The pain. An insistent throb low in his gut. Good in a way he’s not wholly prepared for. Not unlike when he’s been hard for too long. A rolling ache. It’s all consuming though, obsessive. He feels so full, bursting. 

Dew bracing his hands on Ifrit’s stomach don’t help. Neither does the way Dew bounces on his cock. Slick spilling down over him, drying in the short curls at the base of his dick. Dew moans a little louder than necessary–a show. And Ifrit feels like he’s going to combust. 

He can’t take anymore. He can’t wait any longer. He digs his fangs into his cheek. 

“Dew–Droplet–you gotta stop. I’m sorry. Just for a second I have to–”

“You won’t.” Dew doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause. He clenches hard on a down stroke and Ifrit swears the corners of his vision go black. Dew says it with such confidence. Nonchalance. 

Ifrit shudders. He grips Dew’s hips a little harder like he’s trying to get his attention. “Dew you don’t get it. I’m gonna piss myself. You have to–”

“No you aren’t.” Dew insists. “I won’t let you. Not until I’m ready.” 

Ifrit chokes. Shudders. Goosebumps breaking out over his skin. He flexes his fingers on Dew’s hips. Dew sounds so confident but Ifrit doesn’t think his body got the memo. He thinks every roll of Dew’s hips is going to be the last. Every time his ass drops down onto Ifrit’s pelvis. Every flex of Dew’s fingers on the taut skin of his belly. 

Dew doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow and Ifrit doesn’t push him off–he could. But fuck he doesn’t want to. It feels too good. The cool clutch of his body on Ifrit’s always warm skin. The way his back arches as he fucks down onto Ifrit, takes what he needs. Grinds Ifrit’s cock over his prostate. 

Dew pulls one hand away from Ifrit’s belly to tug at himself. Short quick strokes that send pre-cum splattering onto Ifrit’s stomach. Ifrit can’t untangle the sensations now. The urgent aching need in his gut to piss and cum are entanged. Warring with each other. 

He can feel the trickle of Dew’s magic holding both at bay. A damn against an onslaught of pressure that makes Ifrit feel like he’s going insane. 

“Fucking water ghouls,” he muses to himself, gritting his teeth as Dew picks up the pace. Fucking himself with Ifrit’s cock urgently. Ifrit plants his feet and tries to help things along, but that makes everything worse.

“What about water ghouls?” Dew pants. Icey eyes blown wide. Ifrit can’t resist touching more of him. Sliding his hand up Dew’s cool skin to stroke at the feathery gills over his ribs. To tug at the rings threaded through his dusky nipples. 

“Freaks,” Ifrit says, affectionate. Rolling his hips up as best he can to meet Dew. It’s agony. Blissful, perfect agony. 

His body is screaming, lit up white hot with pleasure pain. He’s torn, always, between begging Dew to just give him relief. Or pushing onward. Dew could keep him here forever. Right on the edge. Seconds away from cumming. Seconds away from pissing himself. Never getting relief. 

Dew blushes. Deep indigo color spreading over his pale cheeks. “If you’re complaining about it I could just–”

Dew lets go of his magic for half a second. Just long enough for Ifrit to realize how wildly out of control he is. In that span of time, the clench of Dew’s body drags him inexorably toward an orgasm that promises to ruin him. Dew grinds his hand down and Ifrit is sure–positive–that he’s going to lose control. 

“Dew. Fuck. Wait I–oh shit–oh no.” 

He starts to shove Dew away, off. And then the magic is firmly in place again. A wall Ifrit can feel himself bump up against but not break through. His body screams at him. 

“Let me cum at least, Dew. Fuck, please.” 

“Not done,” Dew admonishes. Ifrit drops back into the pillows with a groan. He closes his eyes. Can’t look anymore. Can’t do anything except feel. It burns. Aches. Every flutter of Dew’s body is a reward and punishment. He wants to help–to contribute, he’s useless. Every move he makes feels like it will be the last one. 

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as overwhelm sets in. His cheeks burn. He pulls one hand away from Dew’s body to sling his arm over his face. He’s dimly aware that he’s making noises, like hearing them from across the room. Small gut punched sounds. Whimpers. High and broken as Dew grinds down on him. Uses him. 

Ifrit wants to touch. To tease. Wants Dew to be fucking into his fist instead of his own. 

“Tell me what it feels like,” Dew asks, voice hoarse. Breathless. “Hurts.” 

“More.” 

“So fucking full. Like I can’t take anymore but I do anyway.”

Ifrit moves his arm just in time to see Dew grin. 

“You like it.” 

Not a question. “Yes,” Ifrit hisses, hips jerking up toward Dew’s body, fucking into him as best as he can manage. 

“Like it so much you’re crying about it.” Dew swipes a finger through the tears leaking from Ifrit’s eyes. Ifrit chokes on a sob, tries to hide it–can’t. There’s no use in it. He’s nodding again without even telling himself to. 

“Please, Dewy. pleasepleaseplease.” 

Dew’s pace picks up and Ifrit starts to babble. Tells Dew everything he thinks the little water ghoul wants to hear. How gorgeous he is. How good he feels. How fucked up Ifrit is for it. He begs–for what he isn’t even sure. For Dew to cum. For Dew to just let him go–let it go. 

He talks until his throat hurts. Babbling incoherently as Dew fucks himself stupid on Ifrit’s cock. Clenching and fluttering as he strokes at himself with increasing speed. Splattering copious amounts of pre all over Ifrit’s stomach to dry in his happy trail. 

“Gonna–fuck–gonna cum.” Dew pants. He makes a wounded noise when he cums. Doubling over and shooting thick spurts over Ifrit’s stomach. Clenching so hard around Ifrit’s cock Ifrit thinks he might black out. Dew sags. Doesn’t move for a mintue as he catches his breath. It feels like an eternity. Ifrit can feel hismelf coming apart at the seams. 

“Dew–”

“Yeah, shit, sorry.” Dew pulls off with a hiss. Revealing Ifrit’s cock, wet, sticky, and flushed nearly violet in color. Dew settles between Ifrit’s thighs. He curls his fingers around the base of Ifrit’s cock and squeezes. Ifrit jolts. He wants to swallow the noise he makes–but he can’t. Low and pained. 

Dew gives him a few strokes. Soft, gentle. Thumbing delicately over the head as he looks up at Ifrit, blue eyes wide and still so devious despite having just cum. Dew’s magic is subtle in that Ifrit can’t really feel it when it’s there–but as soon as he lets go Ifrit knows it. The absence of Dew’s control is obvious. Ifrit scrambles for it when Dew lets go. All of his muscles tightening. Clenching down on nothing to try to keep it all in. 

Each of Dew’s strokes is maddening. He doesn’t really know what’s going to happen first–but he has his guess. If he doesn’t ge tup and go to the bathroom right now he’s not going to make it. He moves to sit up but one look from Dew stops him. He pauses, holding Dew’s gaze like they can read each others minds. 

Dew takes the hand not wrapped around Ifrit’s cock and presses down on his stomach again, on the swollen bulge between his hip bones. Ifrit bows in on hismelf. He gasps. A small dribble of piss wells at the tip of his dick before he manages to stop it. Dew gasps, rolls his fingers through it. “More,” Dew demands.

“Dew–”

“Please. Give me more. Let me see.” Ifrit feels more tears well in his eyes, heat floods his cheeks. God he wants to–wants nothing more than to give Dew anything he wants. But he knows if he lets go now it’ll be more than a dribble. It’ll be a flood. He shudders. 

“Dew I–”

“C’mon. Do it and I’ll let you cum.” 

“Dew–I–the sheets. I’ll make a mess.” 

“I don’t give a shit about the sheets. I want you to make a mess. I want it. Give me all of it, ‘Frit. Please.” 

Ifrit sobs when he finally lets go. That little dribble turning into a full stream. Spilling from his cock to run down onto his belly, his thighs, the sheets beneath him. Dew strokes him through it. One hand on his cock and one on his thigh. Fingers dragging through the mess as it keeps coming. Mouth open, jaw slack. Watching with rapt attention as Ifrit empties himself for all he’s worth.

“Fuck yeah, just like that,” Dew groans. Ifrit can see his cock twitching back to life between his legs. Kicking as Ifrit’s piss soaks into the sheets under Dew’s knees. 

Ifrit moans with it. The relief of it. The rush of warmth and wet. The tension bleeding from his muscles as he finally empties himself. He gets two blissful seconds of peace before Dew is stroking harder, faster. Fingers frictionless against his wet cock. The wet sound of it makes Ifrit’s stomach hurt. 

“Oh fuck, Dew. I’m gonna–you’re gonna make me–” Ifrit sobs, back bowing off the bed as he cums, finally. The edges of his vision darkening, eyes rolling back in his head,  as he paints Dew’s hand and his own stomach. 

Ifrit doesn’t move for a minute. Lying in his own mess. Covered in piss and cum. He closes his eyes tight while his heart hammers out of his chest. When he finally cracks them open it’s to the sight of Dew licking his fingers clean. Sucking cum and piss-coated fingers into his mouth. Tongue flicking out to catch the cum on his knuckles. Ifrit groans, spent dick twitching hopelessly against his thigh. He grins up at Dew all the same, ready, always for whatever comes next. “Told you water ghouls were freaks.” 

[stararch4ngelqueen]

In spirit of ur last Jason fic can u do a Drabble or small fic w ghost where he has a night terror and when reader tries to help him he really hurts her? Even though she forgives him he doesn’t trust himself. (Maybe she is also a military personnel)

This is not proofread

- -

It’s unclear who’s hand Simon believed he was clutching back with all of his strength. A forearm withholding glimmering, serrated steel from his jugular by an enemy.

The hand of his bastard spawn labeled as his father preparing to strike him down with a fist.

Hands attached to painted faces grasping rusted butcher hooks behind their backs.

A whisper invaded his conscience. A trembling plea from quivering lips, begging him to wake up from his cursed agony. Your voice was soothing, like warm milk and honey, encouraging him to open his eyes.

His heart never hurt so horribly when his mind slipped back into reality, meeting your petrified gaze full of distressed tears.

“Simon.” You speak up through a forcibly calm demeanor, like you remembered to practice.

“Simon. It’s okay, you’re okay … you’re fine. You’re safe.”

He almost believed you, until he fully collected his bearings.

What he saw, what he had done, made all your calm words reach chiming ears.

Its unclear if he had you pinned down to the mattress like he’d done with his shadowy victim. No, regardless, why are you choosing to forgive him so easily?

What he remembered that night was scrambling out of bed, tossing the sheets off his sweaty back. He didn’t look back, refusing to acknowledge your worried cries when you follow him, only halting once the front door slams shut behind him.

He didn’t come home the first night. All phone calls going straight to voicemail for a solid nine hours, just until you remembered he didn’t leave with it.

Simon told you to slap him if he ever caused harm on you. Hit him back, punch him, stab him deep in his scarred ribs, but you never could. Violence struck with violence never stuck well with you, regardless of the battles you fought for your country.

Simon said nothing to you when you greeted him from the kitchen when he came home the next evening. You behaved as if it didn’t happen at first, offering him a sweet, hopeful smile he had no right to visually bare.

“It wasn’t your fault, Simon,” you attempt to convince him, not seeing the wrong he believed he had some to you the night before. No, the wrong he knew he had committed.

“Better off putting a bullet in my damn head.” He murmurs, exhausted eyes refusing to meet yours.

It was the first words he had said since he came back home. Those very words striking a bullet in your heart instead.

“No. No no,” you approach fast, grasping his face in your hands. “No! Don’t you ever say that. Don’t even think about it, Simon!”

Without warning, he clutched your hand, wedding bands clinking against each other as he yanks up your long sleeve, revealing the damage he’d done.

“I hurt you!” He shouts, forcing your other hand off his face. “Get that through your head! How can you stand here and forgive me for this?!”

Bruises. Broad, indigo bruised the size of his fingerprints. Grape colored crescents from his naturally crooked nails painfully digging into your skin, nearly drawing blood.

“You did hurt me,” you say, meeting his furiously narrowed expression with glassy eyes. “You’re hurting me right now the more you keep blaming yourself.”

Simon scoffs after releasing your hand, wanting nothing more than to rid himself of your presence out of self disgust. However, your hand grasps hold of his arm, encouraging him to halt in his step.

“Did you intend it? No,” you shook your head. “You didn’t. That’s not your fault, this is something you can’t control. You can’t blame yourself for that!”

There you go again, continuing to insist he wasn’t to blame for your injuries, conveniently hidden under your long sleeve to appear presentable. As if you could pretend it didn’t happen.

Simon wished he could pretend too, but he’s a strict believer to reality.

What else could you tell Simon to get it through his mind? It was difficult. Even after this discussion, he slept on the couch for nearly two weeks. His natural silence was painful, his heartache for harming you without intent was difficult for him to process.

You couldn’t take it, sleeping alone without your husband. He hadn’t had this kind of episode in weeks, nearly two months in total. Yes, he never hurt you before, but the harm he inflicted upon himself left you feeling powerless to help him.

“Simon?”

Your sweet voice opens his eyes to darkness, his rattled mind preventing him from receiving an ounce of sleep.

There you stood in front of the couch, a thin blanket draped over your shoulders, a heavily distressed expression invading your sniffling face.

You missed him. Even since before you were married, you used to enjoy sleeping alone. These weeks of distance had you realizing what hell you were immersed in, sleeping in an empty bed without your death masked killer protecting you from the cold.

Sleeping on the couch wasn’t new, crammed together like little fishes in a tin was how the both of you slept when you first moved into your home late at night. The both of you too tired to construct the bed frame or unwrap the mattress from copious amounts of heavy plastic.

Simon missed you too, regardless of his guilt. He missed your koala like tendency to cling to his body as if you lived in the Antarctic all your life, submerged in your dreams with the sound of his heartbeat to keep you company.

Thousands of screaming apologies express in the silent essence of his tears as he holds you, pondering over what he could do to make sure this never happens again.

[missmilkie]

DC Smutshots

Dick Grayson and Wally West x fem!reader

Warnings: mild gang rape scene, drinking, threesome, vaginal sex, anal sex, blowjob, eating out, vaginal fingering, using super powers for inappropriate activities, voyeurism, overstimulation, no protection, thigh fucking, dirty talking

Since leaving the Teen Titans, you got used to being on your own. The friends that you had been so close with were now distant from you. You didn’t go to the arcade or the mall to screw around anymore. You just sent them a happy birthday text when you had the courage to.   

It’s not that you were lonely, you just knew that people grow apart sometimes. It was important for you to separate and do what was right for you.    

You moved to Indigo Falls for college. At Indigo State University you majored in (your major). Your roommate was nice to you, but had her own friends that she hung out with away from you often. Most of your days were spent studying, working, and patrolling the city. And you were content with it.    

Your classes were enjoyable and your coworkers didn’t suck. Indigo Falls has as much crime as any other city, so you were kept pretty busy. You really didn’t mind. Having close friends would be nice, but you didn’t really need it when you called some old titans friends every once in a while. 

After finishing up your homework, you shoved your textbook back into your backpack. Your roommate was out as usual, so you changed into your suit and went out the window. 

The early autumn breeze caressed your skin through your skin tight suit. You easily slipped away off campus to the rest of the city. It was noisy and a little stinky, but you were mostly used to it by now. Your legs pumped as you broke out into a run, flying across the rooftops. A satisfying burn took your legs before fading to the background. Your eyes scanned over the streets, analyzing every detail.    

For a while there was nothing. Nothing amiss among the alleyways. Then you saw it. The flash of a gun or two. You swiftly changed direction to loom over the scene unfolding. Gang rape.  

A teenage girl in a crop top and baggy ripped jeans was sobbing as one guy wrestled her clothes off with another pointing a gun to her head. You silently dropped to the street behind the guy aiming the gun at her. You disarmed him so fast, he didn’t have time to think before you knocked him out. The others immediately became defensive and whipped out their glocks.  

You whipped fireballs into existence with a flick of your wrists and hurled them at each guy in rapid succession. Their guns clattered to the pavement as they howled in agony. The guy who was undressing the girl let her go and began to back away slowly. Fixing him with a burning glare, you coated your fist with fire and lunged for him. He took your flaming punch to his chest with a scream. You knocked them out easily before tying them up to leave them for the police.  

“Are you alright?”   

The girl looked up at you with wide tearful eyes. She didn’t appear to be hurt, so you relaxed a bit.   

“I think so.” She mumbled. “Thank you.”   

“They deserved it. Filth like them don’t belong anywhere near innocent people.” With that, you turned on your heel and blasted off onto the rooftop to sprint away. It wasn’t far before you stopped in your tracks.  

“Hey, Inferna~”   

“Hope you don’t mind visitors.” 

Nightwing and Kid Flash were looking you up and down, grinning.  

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming??” You ran to jump into their arms.  

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dick chuckled.

“We wanted to surprise you.” Wally shrugged it off as if this wasn’t a huge deal to you.   

“You guys wanna patrol with me? I got enough cash for some pizza if we get hungry.”   

“Let’s do it.”

When your roommate texted saying she wouldn’t be back tonight, you invited the boys to stay a while. The three of you sat on your bed, drinking twisted teas and eating pizza. Wally easily destroyed an entire pizza on his own. You chuckled at his appetite. Super speed really takes it out on his metabolism.

You had changed into an Indigo Uni T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. No bra because you were comfortable with them. You’ve seen each other with a lack of clothing several times due to injury or missions. 

“So how’s college?” Dick asked with his smooth voice.   

“It’s alright. Decent grades, even better attendance.” You nodded as you said that.   

“Go to any fun parties?” Wally questioned between chews.   

“Haven’t had the time. I don’t really know anyone here anyways.”  

“You did always keep to yourself.” Dick remarked with a smile.  

“Someone’s gotta patrol the city at night.” You shrugged.   

“Even heroes gotta have fun.” Wally scooted closer, moving the empty pizza boxes.   

“I am.” You smiled, “you two are here.”   

Dick crawled over to sit beside you. He turned on a movie while you and Wally cleaned up a bit. The boys sat at your sides to watch the movie, effectively sandwiching you between them. Their different scents overloaded your senses. Dick’s sultry cologne mixed with his natural musk and Wally’s breezy outdoorsy smell. The warmth radiating off of them made you hot. It was so comfortable between them though.

   

Dick leaned his head on your shoulder about halfway through the movie. Towards the end, Wally’s hand was resting on your thigh. You hadn’t noticed how close you all were until the credits started rolling.   

“Should I put in another movie?” You asked, sitting up straight with a deep blush.  

“No, you should just stay here.” Wally tightened his grip on your thigh.  

“I second that.” Dick snuggled into the crook of your neck. 

“Ok, I’ll just put some music on instead.” Your phone was nearby, so you had no trouble putting one of your playlists on shuffle.

The boys sang along softly and sometimes off pitch. It was entertaining to listen to. You even joined in sometimes. Their voices were warm and familiar. They brought back memories of drunk karaoke while hiding away from one of your superhero mentors. Or late nights patrolling in each other’s cities.  

The titans were your life. How could you have let them go like you did? You left to pursue a career that would always come in second place to your heroism.

You missed them. You missed the made up lingo and inside jokes. You missed their warmth and support. You missed Dick dancing or breaking out into song at random moments. You missed Wally’s spontaneity and dumb science jokes that had you facepalming to the high heavens. You missed their flirty banter with you.

“It’s nice to be with you guys again.” You murmured against the music.

“It’s been way too long.” Wally whined.

“Yes, let’s make the most of our time.”

“We want you.” You could feel Wally’s hot breath on your ear. Your breath hitched.

“You do?”

“That’s why we came.” Dick chuckled lowly.

“We couldn’t resist any longer.”

“I’m glad you came then.”

Wally turned your head to kiss you while Dick dove at your neck. The redhead’s hand on your thigh rubbed along the length of it, inching closer to your crotch. The mouth on your neck sucked a bruise on the skin. You had a hand on the space between Wally’s neck and shoulder, while the other caressed Dick’s jaw.

“Guys..!” You giggled breathlessly at the sensations they gave you.

You felt a hand slide across your ribs to gently squeeze your breast. A squeal escaped your throat. A thumb hooked into the waistband of your pajama pants. You were growing wetter by the second.

“Dick you should taste her mouth, it’s sweet.” Said male resurfaced from your skin.

“You should taste her skin then.”

They switched jobs, Dick turning your head to kiss you hard and slide his tongue in. Wally licked a long stripe up your neck. You shivered at his touch. The three of you moaned into each other.

You felt a hand dip into your panties. Warm fingers brushed across your clit, moving to your entrance to collect your slick. It brought your wetness to your bud. The fingers rubbed slow circles that had you clenching your thighs. The fingers gradually increased speed until they were vibrating on your clit. Wally.

“What do you think of this application of my power?” He asked cheekily.

You cried out as the pleasure increased. You couldn’t form intelligible sentences. Orgasm was so close for you.

“Gonna cum already? It’s gonna be a long night, just so you know.” Dick took in your fucked out face with his dazzling blue eyes.

“Should I stop then? Or should I push her over the edge?”

“Finish her. I wanna see her face when she cums.”

“Okay, but I get to see next.”

It wasn’t long until your insides pulsed, more wetness staining your panties. Your thighs trembled as Wally’s fingers slowed down. The redhead slipped his hand out of your pants.

“I think we’ve been in our clothes way too long. Let’s fix that.” Dick suggested, tossing his shirt over his head.

Wally pulled off your pajama pants while Dick went for your t shirt. Your nipples hardened at being exposed to the outside air. After snapping the band of your underwear, Wally took those off too.

The redhead was undressed in a blink. Dick wasn’t too far behind him, tossing his pants aside.

“I wanna eat it.” Dick grabbed you by your hips and dragged you closer to him.

“You should suck me off while you’re at it.” Wally grinned while he rubbed at his length.

You ended up with your head hanging off the bed and your legs on Dick’s shoulders. The man between your legs pushed his tongue into your dripping hole. The intrusion was welcome, but you were still sensitive. His tongue then flicked out to lick up to your bud and suck at it. Your legs clamped around his head in response.

Wally pressed his tip to your lips and you opened your mouth to let him in. Your tongue brushed against a sensitive part of his shaft, causing him to shiver.

“Fuck, (Y/n)…” he groaned as he slowly thrusted into your mouth.

He didn’t go in too far to start with. Wally built it up gradually until you were crying and coughing on his dick.

Dick didn’t let up on you and ate your pussy like he was starving. He edged you with his tongue several times to force you into a more intense orgasm. The bottom half of his face was glistening with your cum.

“Her pussy tastes even better! Wally, come try.”

Wally pulled out of your mouth and plunged two fingers into your cunt. He finger fucked you into another orgasm before pulling them out to suck your juices off.

“You’re right! She’s so good.”

“I’m getting tired of playing around though.” Dick’s voice darkened. “I wanna fuck you now, (Y/n).”

You were flipped over onto your hands and knees.

“Now I can finish fucking your tight throat.” Wally chuckled.

You felt Dick’s cock rub against your entrance. He fucked your thigh gap for a few moments before actually slipping into you. It took a second for him to push the head of his cock through, but once he was in it felt incredible.

“Her pussy’s tight too. Squeezing me so tight~”

Once you got into the rhythm of Dick fucking you, Wally pressed his dick to your lips again. The acrobat picked up his pace soon after and had you moaning on Wally’s cock.

“Oh, fuck~ Keep sucking me like that, babe.”

As Dick’s pace increased your mouth brought Wally closer and closer to climax. His hips stuttered before he came down your throat. The saltiness of his cum burned a bit, but you swallowed.

“Good girl~” the redhead ruffled your hair.

Drool seeped from your mouth as Dick pounded you into your cheap dorm mattress. Your ass rippled with every thrust. Every time he brushed a good spot, you cried out in pleasure. Soon he was hitting all the right places and you were barreling towards release.

“Cum on my cock for me, baby. I wanna feel you squeeze me.”

He didn’t let up, his pace perfect and aim even better. Dick felt you tighten around his cock before coating it in thick, sticky cum.

“Oh, fuck~ So good for us~~” he groaned before pulling out and cumming on your ass.

You barely caught your breath when Wally declared that he wanted a turn inside you. The guys positioned you so that you straddled Wally, facing him. Dick sat off to the side to watch his friend’s dick disappear into your folds.

Wally thrusted up into you, and you gripped his shoulders tight. Your nails were sure to leave marks.

“Fuck, you’re really squeezing me! You just love our dicks, huh.”

You were fucked so dumb beyond the ability to speak. The redhead just kept pounding into you, taking your moans for an answer. You couldn’t see it, but you could hear Dick pleasuring himself behind you. He watched his best friend impale you on his dick and was enjoying it.

Bringing your hips down to meet his thrusts, Wally made you cream on his cock.

“You’re making such a mess~” he purred. “Dick, you’d better get over here. I won’t last much longer.”

The bed shifted behind you. You felt his chest against your back and his dick against your asscheek.

“Alright, I’m going in.”

You felt a pressure at your ass. Dick suddenly thrust up into you, filling your other hole. You cried out at how full you were. The boys fucked you in search of their own release. Their paces weren’t synced in the slightest, but it had your head thrown back on Dick’s shoulder.

He leaned down to messily kiss you. A hand groped at your breast while another snaked down to your clit. You were falling apart on them.

“Give us one more, babe.”

Wally went super speed in your pussy, your entire body jolting and cumming intensely. They both groaned at your reaction. It wasn’t long before Wally came inside you, Dick following soon after. You all rode out your orgasms before moving.

Dick helped you lay down while Wally got you a water and wiped you down with a towel.

“One of us can carry you to the bathroom if you need.”

You gave them a tired smile before accepting.

The next morning, you were woken up by your roommate screaming. You were between the two men who fucked your brains out the night before and all naked under the blanket.

You were embarrassed, but the guys just smirked. You were theirs.

EDIT, 5/15: I removed the song bc ppl thought Dick and Wally were saying the n-word. Just imagine whatever song you want, I guess. Thanks for reading!

[ruffy-ruffles]

sooo

i found a slugcat generator, and because I was bored.

I drew the slugcats generated WITH

My own additional touches to some of em.

I don't know what indigo or teal looks like because I'm dumbbbb, so don't blame me if it's wrong....

Because her hobby was hunting, I made her have a lot of scars because well...

She probably gets hurt on her hunts.

A SLUGCAT I might use this as an important character in ONE of the campaigns.

Renaming the spine to the sharp.

Tried making their ears as flat as can be

After the cycles of their agony pass, they ascend, but only for a brief moment, before waking RIGHT back up again, also their neck is being squeezed tightly and dug into by the karmaflower around it

Might keep this guy as a side character, but they will have attention sometimes!

Renaming the story to the neverending

Fluffy dewlap!

They're apart of a colony called the karmic Colony

The karmic Colony WILL occur in our current project.

They will be a awesome side character.

Tamer's nickname is monsoon, or storm, by iterator s.

They're in a permanent state of looping from ascension and back.

They can only see their brother, but nothing else except darkness, and the ascended brings, whom guide their steps

This guy will be a side character, but will have some attention like their brother

Side note:

Let's all be related to karma 10 without telling sharp!!!

[madychi]

Agony Infected AUIt probably wasn't the intention, but Boz and Byl gave me a bit of a gay vibe because of their silly doodle and the latest drawing. I'm not the best at shipping characters (I ship an adult and a raccoon, lol) because of an Indigo Park fanfiction. Shipping two killers is just another normal day, lol.

… eh, yknow what it’s fine. Not the vibe I was going for but I can understand it. Boz literally bit Dylan in the neck. To infect him. And I did a doodle of pit traps agony doing the “gay gay homosexual gay” meme.

At least their both kids in the same age range.

[g0j0s]

a painting of the passing of the mughal emporer, Shahjahan, looking at the taj, with his favourite daughter, Jahanara by his side

“bapa,” she whispers, clasping his wrists to feel his pulse. a damp wind rises over the yamuna river & flutters through her silk ghagra. the moon shines in its full glory, witnessing the reverence of this royal family. princess jahanara gently rocks her father whose cold skin remains still. titled the king of the world, Shahjahan, descends into the after world as a pauper. she wipes her tears, wailing and calling out to her brothers with whom he’ll unite soon.

“farewell, bapa,” she kisses his hands that smell like kashmiri apples. she rises from his side, her flushed cheeks smeared with dried salt. across the indigo river she can see the luminous tomb of her beloved mother, resting by the flowing river. she weeps, but relived that her father is out of his misery. nine years of agony & finally he can be with his begum, his aziz.

[treviso-nights]

he loves me not - shall we date? obey me! (mc vs. belphie)

rating: T-M words: 4k summary: a one-shot addressing the MC's emotions after That Scene from the first season. idk why they never bring it up again, but if you're gonna fight, you might as well keep it in the family & go all out, bb! (ewww.) (spoilers for the first season, obvi.) (characters include all of the brothers and a FMC.)

read on ao3

The sharp sound of her hand across his face is a gunshot, a cannon explosion which detonates all around them.

The amethyst-eyed demon balks, mouth wide open, the unending indigo of his gaze flaring to life at the assault. He staggers where he stands, dazed, not by the pain itself but because of the shock. 

Everyone else is frozen as well, varying expressions of horror and fear etched onto their faces. No one steps forward to stop or restrain her, and Freya sways from the force of her own attack, though she orients herself at once. And then, without an ounce of hesitation, she tenses again, all of the muscles in her body rigid with fury.

The opposite hand slams into the demon’s face, palm and fingers hard against him. Her knuckles collide with a delicious impact, and a fodder of gasps dissolve into the air. The demon stumbles, just once, his back foot catching on the ground to steady himself.

But she is already vaulting, clinging to the demon’s body as they both crashed to the ground with a painful thud! Straddling his waist, Freya cocks her fist back and prepares to strike and strike and strike. She doesn’t realize she is screaming until the grass beneath her is shivering from the force.

XXX

She is fading. She is dying. She can feel the sides of her trachea being crushed underneath his fingertips, folding into itself and mawed by his supernatural strength. She cannot even gasp for air as he lifts her a few inches off the ground, her toes intermittently dragging across its surface. Freya is beating and slapping and hitting at the arm and hand which kills her so easily, but she knows. She knows she doesn’t stand a chance.

“I can’t stop laughing,” he giggles, the staccato array of chuckles darkening into madness. “The look on your face! Ahahaha!!”

Her eyes wander, desperate to claim one last look at the person she loved most in the three fucking realms. He isn’t there yet. No one is. Will she really die before smiling at him one last time?

“BELPHEGOR!”

All at once, a horde of demons appear. They’re seemingly conjured from the void, racing into the foyer from the kitchen, the dormitory hallways—Satan nearly trips down the stairs from the force of his own shock and terror.

A swell of hot, stinging tears gathers behind her eyes, and suddenly, she is crying. She is sobbing, in fact, unable to choke out noise or phlegm or snot, and twitches because of it. As she gazes upon the faces of her most cherished loved ones, she finds that her chest not only constricts but convulses as well. The six, demon brothers stare at her, horror and agony blended together upon each feature, twisting their eyes and mouths in harsh ways.

Satan is the first to speak, hands trembling by his sides. “Let her GO, Belphegor!”

But Belphegor only grins, the smile exposing too many of his teeth to be natural. “Why should I? Look at how the human squirms. Isn’t she lovely like this?” For a moment, Belphegor’s gaze rakes over her face and body, slightly suspended as it still is. “Her face… tightened in pain… she’s exquisite.”

A hiss pulses through the air. She finds Lucifer, black aura gathering around him in waves. Wings suddenly explode out of him, and he shifts into demon form.

“Do not force me to take action, Belphegor.” Lucifer’s voice is sharper and more severe than she’s ever heard it before. He takes two steps forward, surpassing the crowd his brothers have formed in front of them.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Belphegor only sneers. “It’s too late.”

And indeed, it is. Freya gazes into the churning, broiling eyes of a man plunged into insanity, and she finds nothing there but the desire to cause pain. Although a fire erupts inside her chest, a deep, unending cold seeps into her skin, her bones… Freya’s eyes flutter closed of their own accord, until another voice, cracking with desperation, snaps her back to the present.

“Belphie…” Beezelbub pleads.

“Please.”

It’s almost imperceptible—the flash of doubt, so minute, illuminating Belphegor’s eyes. The flash is replaced by rage however, and Freya feels her arms drop to her sides. She’s so close to death, she can’t even lift her limbs. The fire swirls hotter, calcinating her heart and lungs into dust.

She wants to speak… but death will not let her.

Goodbye, she thinks, trying her very best to somehow project this thought into the minds of the brothers. She thinks of deep, red, carnelian eyes before the endl, too weak now to even find them.

 I love you all.

The bonfire suddenly stutters, and the world goes black.

XXX

She is airborne… and then something hard and rock-solid collides with her back. If she was breathing, the wind would’ve been knocked out of her. Instead, she simply lays there, every sound around a garbled concoction of noise.

Tendrils of warmth snake around her, pressing her close to something which is also warm. Her neck is suddenly supported, though her head still tilts over it, limp.

“Freya… Freya!”

She can barely make the words out. She knows that voice, though. A painful, weak lick of fire stabs through her. Mammon…

“Freya, don’t you die! FREYA!”

“Ahahaha! Mammon, you look like such a fool!”

“Belphie, what have you done!?” Beel…

Something fluid then drips onto her cold, frigid face. Warm and wet, she can feel the liquid trailing over her own cheeks and neck.

Tears?

Is Mammon… crying?

“Freya,” he chokes, his voice a mere whisper. She can feel him start to shake against her. “Come back. Please come back to me.”

Freya never wanted this… never wanted to leave the brothers, Simeon and Luke, the Devildom… hell, even Solomon, who contains more secrets than she could ever fathom. Barely cognizant and even in the clutches of imminent death, she realizes that she hates Belphegor for taking her away from them all.

She hates him. He did this. He killed her. And now the brothers will suffer. They will cry and scream and wail, and Belphegor will swallow it all whole, such is his taste for destruction.

If she could, Freya would kill him. She would end his life.

Freya is fading. Her last thoughts are saturated with rage and despair… not quite a fitting death, she thinks. Still. She will die in the arms of someone she loves deeply, someone who, despite the ice-cold shell of her broken body, keeps her tepidly warm against him.

The vibrations of loud, combustible clamor suddenly sounds off in the foyer. Yelling. People are yelling, though she is nothing but a pinprick of sentience left. Freya knows she will go in the next several seconds, and the warmth from before descends onto her forehead. Skin… Mammon’s skin. Mammon’s forehead. He is rocking them back and forth, his eyes spilling droplets of tears onto her own.

“Freya, I love you,” he breathes onto her cheek. “Don’t go. Don’t die. I love you.”

Reality dissolves, unravels itself like an infinite, cosmic ball of yarn. The void sings a haunting melody which resounds throughout the entirety of her body. Freya, exhausted, lets go. The blackness overtakes her and she is unwillingly, but peacefully, shrouded inside a dimension of nothingness.

Mammon… be happy.

XXX

They’re on their way to class. The twinkling constellations glimmer back at them from the sky, their once unfamiliar skeletons now relatively memorized. Each demon is a mass of towering splendor, and Freya, with her long, raven hair and heterochromic eyes, is a slender body weaving between brothers, exchanging banter and small-talk.

Asmodeus leaps forward, seizing Freya’s right arm to his chest. “I want to walk with Freya! You want to walk with me too, right, gorgeous?”

Similar sentiments—as well as louder opposition—sound off behind them.

“Oi! Asmo! Get your filthy hands off of my human!”

“T-That’s not fair! What if I want to walk with her?”

“Are you all really incapable of ever shutting your mouth?”

And then, a slighter demon with indigo-grey hair is at her side, zipping to her at incredible speed. His hands, delicate and pale, proceed to encircle Freya’s left arm. She is subsequently yanked to him, hot breath washing over one cheek as he speaks with a laugh.

“What Freya isn’t saying is that she really wants to walk with me, rig—“

The sharp sound of her hand across his face is a gunshot, a cannon explosion which detonates all around them.

The amethyst-eyed demon balks, mouth wide open, the unending indigo of his gaze flaring to life at the assault. He staggers where he stands, dazed, not by the pain itself but because of the shock. 

Everyone else is frozen as well, varying expressions of horror and fear etched onto their faces. No one steps forward to stop or restrain her, and Freya sways from the force of her own attack, though she orients herself at once. And then, without an ounce of hesitation, she tenses again, all of the muscles in her body rigid with fury.

The opposite hand slams into the demon’s face, palm and fingers hard against him. Her knuckles collide with a delicious impact, and a fodder of gasps dissolve into the air. The demon stumbles, just once, his back foot catching on the ground to steady himself.

But she is already vaulting, clinging to the demon’s body as they both crashed to the ground with a painful thud! Straddling his waist, Freya cocks her fist back and prepares to strike and strike and strike. She doesn’t realize she is screaming until the grass beneath her is shivering from the force.

“Don’t,” she hisses, green-and-black eyes flaring with rage. “Do not ever touch me!”

Belphegor doesn’t move. He lays there, soft, cultivated clumps of vegetation cradling his back and legs as they remain unnaturally still. Like before, the others are frozen as well, though Freya sees Lucifer shift from the corner of one eye.

Her head whips to the side. “Stay,” she snarls. Lucifer’s face goes blank with surprise.

The command itself is profane… she does not invoke the pact between them, however, the afternoon air vibrates heavily with magical warning.

Freya turns back to Belphegor, who eyes her warily. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, so quiet is his voice. She can feel every modicum of attention seeping into her skin, but it is an afterthought.

Nothing but fire and red and blood and tears and fury broils inside her. She needs an outlet… has needed an outlet, but was too burdened by the weight of Diavolo’s request. 

He’d wanted her to help reintegrate the youngest brother back into the fold, to mend the bridge shattered long ago by hate and pain–to help prepare Belphegor for RAD’s exchange program and the future humans it would bring into the Devildom, whether that last condition was implied or not. It hadn’t mattered. When Diavolo asked you to do something, no questions were to be asked.

In all of this time, Freya knows that there’s been zero regard for her in the process. Nobody has batted an eye or worried about her acclimating back into the fold. After all, she was the one who’d been killed. She was the one who had DIED.

Freya can’t see the Devildom’s constellations above her anymore, can’t see how each alien star shivers with anticipation. Her head is too bowed, too hunched, too coiled over in fury. She never once takes her eyes off Belphegor, who remains still beneath her legs and waist.

“How does it feel?” she near-mumbles, placing a shaking hand on top of his throat. “How does it feel to be incapacitated by someone you thought you knew?” She lightly squeezes his throat with her fingers, though not enough to cut off his supply of air.

Mammon’s voice immediately sounds off behind her. “Freya, c’mon, kid… knock it off.”

A reactive growl builds in her throat at the sound. “Funny how protective you lot are when you want to be,” she nearly spits. Belphegor holds her gaze regardless, the amethyst in them swirling limply. He does not attempt to fight back.

“I asked you how it felt,” she prompts him.

Beel. “Freya—“

“It hurts,” Belphegor finally answers. “But I can’t say that I blame you. After all, I did much worse than this in the end.”

Freya’s eyes narrow dangerously at him. “Yes, you did.” She considers him thoughtfully for a moment, her head slightly cocked.

“I’m not strong enough to crush your throat the way you crushed mine.”

At this, Belphegor pales.

“But, you are.”

Her heterochromic eyes flash with a ripple of magic, glinting in the lowlight of the always-full moon and its rays. The hand upon his neck is suddenly replaced with one of his, snapping up and gripping his own trachea under the authority of her wordless, magical command.

“All right,” Lucifer snaps. “That’s enough!”

“No!” Belphegor croaks, expression blown wide open. “Leave her alone.” His eyes nervously dart back to Freya’s. “This is what I deserve.”

She sneers at him. Tangles of raven-black hair obscures much of her face, blocking most of the hateful glare she throws at him. Then a pause so quiet, Freya thinks she can hear the creaking of everyone’s jaws tightening up. “You crushed my throat with your bare hands. Did you know that before dying, I was choking on my own blood? That you squeezed so hard, I couldn’t even cough it back up again?”

The trembling spread to the rest of her, until her whole body shuddered with rage.

“You deserve much worse than this, Belphie. You deserve to die, like I did.”

A thick, gray silence smogs over them and for a moment, Freya’s expression falls, eyes and mouth slackening with the beginning of grief.

“B-But…” Leviathan stammers, “It was the other you who… died… right?” The atmosphere seemed to flicker with an unseen shock which wrapped all around them. “You existed separately from the Freya who… right?”

Freya could practically feel the brothers’ horror, sharp as a whip, crack through the air. She peered into each of their faces, wordless, speechless at the obvious fear clutching ahold of them.

“Did you truly not know?” A whisper. Her eyes close, not wanting to remember, but feeling a blade in her chest regardless. 

Another oversight. Another betrayal. Her teeth bare themselves of her own accord, and she was sure that if she were truly a demon, black wings would punch themselves through the back of her school uniform.

“I am the one who died. I remember the pain,” she murmurs, eyes drifting closed once more. “I remember the cold, the white-hot bonfire in my chest as I struggled to breathe… I remember the taste of my own blood, my throat crushed beneath two, steady hands… his laughter…”

The wordless confusion in the air screamed out, silently breaking against each of them.

“And then I passed on,” she said simply, shoulders shrugging up. “And my consciousness merged with your version of Freya. Past-me.”

The wind yells too, tossing her raven-black hair around her cheeks. “So… yes, I remember.” Freya’s voice grows dark, angry again. “I remember it all.”

“Fuck, Freya,” Satan breathes. His expression twists, a sliver of desperation flashing in his emerald eyes. “We had no idea.”

It may have been new information, but the reveal is entirely unsurprising. Freya knows how much the brothers love her. She can feel it, the magic of each pack humming through her veins. The brothers have become a literal part of her entity, and so she knows that they’d never abandon her if they’d known.

But they didn’t. And she’d been alone in life, just as she was in her death.

Hot, wet tears prick at the back of her eyes, but Freya denies them, forcefully shoving them back from where they came. This was not the time to leave herself vulnerable, no matter how much she wants to cry and heave and mourn in their arms.

She is far too angry for that.

Her jaw flexes underneath the river-waves of her hair, then loosens as her brows lower.

“You could have asked,” she says. Her voice is a hollow-boned knife. “I needed you guys to be there, but instead I was told to help him.” Her green and black eyes snap back to the demon she still straddled.

“The demon who killed me.”

The brothers are frozen again, seemingly locked into place as she speaks. 

“I hate you,” she says to the youngest brother. “I wish you were dead. And God fucking knows that I am tempted to make that real.”

Belphegor remains silent, hands by his sides, visage ghostly white and stoney throughout her monologue. Freya has never seen him this way before. Not even when she came back to life. Not even when she found out that they were practically family. This was the face of a man afraid, and there is a raging, lava river inside of her that roars with gratification.

Maybe she really is becoming a demon. However… she grits her teeth, peering down at her murderer with magic swirling in her eyes.

“But I’m not like you,” she sneers, eyes and voice hard as knives pinned to rock. “I don’t kill people because of a mood swing or because it’s funny.”

The burning prick of tears surfaces again.

“I don’t kill people and call them exquisite while they die in my hands.”

Everyone flinches.

And then she is on her feet quickly, ripping herself from Belphegor’s body as if it is poisonous to her very flesh. They hold eye contact, the surrounding brother’s attention thick and viscous, sticking onto them both and waiting. One corner of Freya’s mouth twists, like it can’t decide whether to smile or scowl at the injustice of it all.

“You are a literal Prince of Hell, Belphegor. Fucking act like it, hm?” 

But she leans down, slowly shuttering the space between her face and his. He, who still lays fearfully on the ground beneath her. 

“The next time you think about coming for me,” she breathes, “you just remember the woman you chose to bind yourself to.” 

Then her eyes unexpectedly flare, the wild magic in them releasing with all of the rage quivering along her body. Belphegor flinches, his mouth opening in horror as her irises glow brightly, unnaturally, and twist into a vivid amethyst.

The same color as his own. 

Glaring. 

Unmaking. 

A predator yearning to eat.