#just because you’re scared of the orange man or whatever

[area51-escapee]

If you’re spreading “vote blue no matter who” shit in the Palestine tag I think you deserve to be beaten with a stick actually.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Baba Jaga’s Books

݁ ⛧ ₊ Part one

݁ ⛧ ₊ @johnwickb1tsch’s requested book/antique store au (bc she and @sweetwolfcupcake put up with all my shit on the daily and I love them).

݁ ⛧ ₊ Cw: oversized anatomy, dreams, dubcon but reader 100% is into it, creepy old buildings and cobwebs and dolls, implied female plus size reader, heavy blood, gore and horror, NSFW. This is 6.2k words!!!

݁ ⛧ ₊ Art from Pinterest, but I couldn’t find the original source & apparently google image search isn’t a thing anymore? Dividers from @isisjupiter & @plum98

The woman that greets you at the weathered door is smiling brightly. “He is dead,” she says, delighted, and you blink a few times in response, because what are you supposed to say to that?

She shoves some rusted, ancient keys into your palm and leads you through a corridor lined with shelves of books and porcelain and dust.

She’s light on her feet, quick through the moth-devoured, high pile halls, but you can make out some oddities and bobbles along the way: a little clown doll in a shimmery cotton candy jumpsuit, a whole row of assorted dog figurines in pristine condition, a pearl vase with what looks to be real jade clusters at the base, an old rocking chair with an ancient language engraved on the head.

You’ll have time to explore all of this later, so you hurry to catch up with your host once you realize you’ve fallen behind and can only hear the light thump of her footsteps ahead, scared to get lost in the labyrinth of relics and tomes.

She’s made coffee, by the taste and temperature of it probably long before your arrival, but you garnish it with a little cream and sugar anyway and slurp the dark roast down. “I’m sorry,” you tell her, fingers smoothing over the mouse nibbles in the old green upholstered couch. “About the old owner.”

She shrugs, taking the deep velvet chair across from you with hot tea. “I didn’t know him. Have you ever worked at an antique store before?”

“No,” you reply, “but I sell independently, and I’ve worked retail.”

She’s still smiling, like the Chesire grin is permanently etched into the wrinkles of her pale face, and if you’re being completely honest it’s starting to freak you out a little bit.

“And you’re used to ghosts?” she nods, sipping at her cup.

“Ummm. Depends on what kind?” Even though she’s smiling, the joke seems to heavily sour whatever palpable, stale mood is already established between the two of you.

“Winston, he was haunted by an entity in this shop for the longest time. When his memory started to slip…” She presses her spindly fingers to her temple, then lets them tumble down toward the floor with her head tipped to the side. “Well, he called it The Boogeyman, can you believe that? The old fool.”

You really can’t help yourself. “I thought you said you didn’t know him?”

“Who?” She takes another sip of tea, and you get the sudden urge to cackle with the absurdity of this meeting.

“The…owner?”

“Oh, he’s dead. Good man. Out of his mind.”

“But you said you didn’t know him just a little bit ago and—” You’ve misinterpreted her smile, you realize. It’s not disdainful, it’s blank, like the expression on that cheery little clown doll you passed by so hastily.

An icy worm inches his way up the ladder of your spine before nesting a shiver into your spongey cerebrum. “Nevermind.”

She goes on, still smiling. “The keys I gave you are master. Do not lose them, it is the only set. The orange one is for the store, and the less orange one is for the garage.”

She’s in a hurry to go, it seems, bundling up in her oversized coat and hat, handing you a crumpled, yellow stained list of daily upkeep activities from her pocket.

You don’t mind, always preferring the silencing calm of solitude over lingering company, anyway.

You wonder, as you watch her pull away in a beat up buggy, if the owner was her husband. Or maybe a clandestine lover. Either way, you doubt you’ll be hearing much from her anymore.

The sales room is nothing like you expect based on the gothic, decrepit looks of the rest of the brownstone; it’s domed in a high-reaching skylight of wintery sun, with shiny dark hardwood flooring instead of matted, once-red-now-brown carpet. A wispy spider descends through a beam of dust and sunlight, and reminds you of the woman’s delicate bony fingers tumbling from her skull. There is a large oak desk still smelling of fresh, spicy wood in the very center of the room with an updated, computerized filing system and cash register. In the middle of a far wall, next to a gaping dark corridor, is a large painting of what you assume to be father and son.

He is tall, looming, with jet black hair that curls under his ears and satiny dark eyes that you think could mesmerize a corpse. His bones are strong and sharp under golden hues of flawless skin and neatly trimmed facial hair, and the red tie looped expertly around his collar would be the only color he sports if not for the plump rose of his lips. Without thinking, you reach out to touch the intricate piece of art and jump back when you feel that familiar gritty texture under your fingertips.

Just a moment ago, you were behind the desk, with a panorama of the entire room, and now you are inches away from this handsome man framed in rose gold.

You pull your fingers back and itch the lingering texture off on your blue jeans.

“He painted that.”

The voice from behind makes you jump again, now in the opposite direction, where you slam into the cold frame with the bony blade of your shoulders. You’re much too worried about the beautiful piece of sentimental decor, rather than your own sharp pain, and you turn to make sure you didn’t disturb it, horrified to find that you absolutely did, and scrambling to lift it up and hook the dangling corner back onto its wall fixture from whence it came.

A deep chuckle rumbles behind you, like warning thunder over the crest of rolling hills, and a pair of hands the size of bear paws gently lift the painting back onto the wall.

You turn to look up at him, and he is close, and his features are sharp and pronounced and familiar. You look back at the painting, just to make sure his likeness is still captured there, too, and did not somehow escape and form into solid matter before you.

“Hello, I’m John. Winston’s son.” He holds out his hand, and you don’t really take and shake it, but rather become enveloped it its warm, calloused sanctuary.

If his voice is thunder, his eyes are the lightning that precedes it, striking and shining—deep pools of dark lake water slivered with moonlight. You have to look away from him, because his real time stare is far more intimidating than the painted one.

“When my father told me that someone wanted to buy this place, I didn’t believe him,” he tells you.

“Oh…why?” Your dry throat longs for the water bottle left forgotten in your truck.

“It’s…burdensome.”

Your smile is tight. “Maybe I know how it feels.”

Well, you’ve said too much already, that is apparent by the bewildered, bemused look on his face. “I’m sorry. Let’s start over. Hello, I’m John. Winston’s—“

“—son,” you finish, taking his hand again, maybe a little firmer this time. You feel emboldened by the strange tension brewing here, and have the courage to maintain his gaze…

For about one second.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you add.

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“Do you…live here?” Oh, that would be awkward.

“No, right next door. I was going to buy, renovate, and use it as a gym when he died.”

You snort. “Well, guess you’ll just have to keep paying for a membership to the Y.”

A little part of you is grateful that he can match your sass instead of getting offended as so many men tend to do. “For your information, it’s Planet Fitness.”

A bigger part is worried that this camaraderie only extends so far until you run your mouth just a little too much, as youtend to do, and either wind up publicly shamed or dead—you’re not so sure which is worse anymore. “righhhht, my bad, John.”

He smiles at you, those dark eyes twinkling in the natural light cast down on them from above. You think, maybe, you see him read you right then and there and decide he likes the synopsis. It shouldn’t make you preen, but his playful grin and starry orbs are hard to snub—at least, you think they are, from the minimal glances you’ve managed to steal.

“Did you have an okay time with Marjory? She can be a little strange.”

“Oh, we had loads of fun,” you reply, after a moment of wondering what he’s talking about with those sinfully unfair plush lips. “Right after she tried to steal my soul.”

He sighs. “Not again.”

You laugh together, and already his underlying aura of danger is fading away.

Replaced with…suspicion��he’s too easy to get along with.

After a minute, he says: “she was his last wife.”

“I knew it!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up in victory. “Uh, sorry.”

This is the third time you’ve made him laugh, and you’re really trying not to get a big head about it but it’s damn near impossible. One more deep chuckle and you’re going to start strutting around here like the bedazzled pet peacock of a wealthy warlord.

He’s looking at you again, and it’s making your skin feel tighter on your bones and your head a little woozy. One man should not have that much power in a single gaze, nor be allowed to look that palatable in faded blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. You do what any woman with a libido would, and deflect with humor.

“So, who’s this guy in the painting next to your father?”

It can’t be him. If it is, he doesn’t age. Winston looks twenty years younger in this painting than the recent online photos you’ve seen, and the real man before you looks exactly the same as the painted one.

“That’s my older brother.”

“Oh, what? He looks nothing like you.”

He smiles, more to himself. “Especially not now.”

You take that bait like a hungry trout. “Why?”

“He’s dead.”

“God, I’m sorry, John, any surviving family?” It occurs to you a millisecond too late that was an insensitive question, and you have the sudden urge to bite your tongue clean off.

Tact will never be your specialty.

“Just a sister, but she lives in Rome and we’re not on speaking terms... Hey.”

You tip your chin at him and give a little wave. “Hey.”

He snorts, leans a shoulder on the wall. You try not to notice how good he looks doing it. “Time to tell me about yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve told you so many things about me, and you haven’t even told me your name. I think it’s fair, don’t you?”

You hesitate, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh, it’s okay, though, if you’d rather not.” You feel guilty about his downturned mouth, and realize you’ve probably killed the atmosphere, but that’s for the best, anyway. This man would devour you, bones and all.

“I just don’t wanna bore you,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “But I’m y/n. Nice to meet you.”

His lips press together, probably holding back a dry retort, as he grabs your hand again, startling you, making you flinch back.

He drops your palm, takes a step away for himself. “I’m sorry, I thought—“

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, trying not to start spiraling into a fever fantasy about how warm he is, and how he makes every nerve in your body harmonize like a vengeful choir with just a touch. You try to compose the treacherous axons back into silence.

“Alright, fine, you can open up more as we clean. Until then, I’m not telling you a thing about myself.”

You blink at him stupidly. “What?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you? I’m helping you. Took the entire day off and everything.” He grins proudly, and you see a whole different, youthful side of him.

“Oh?” You smile again. “Where do you work?”

“Nice try, y/n.”

You giggle, hand pressed over your mouth. “Ah, damn. Almost gotcha…I don’t need any help, though, really. I got it.”

He looks around the big room with his hands shoved into his pockets. “Alright, I’ll just watch, then.”

“I’d actually prefer some solitude, if you don’t mind…”

You commend him for that expertly crafted wounded look, but you will not fall for it. Even hungry wolves can sometimes look like the sweetest puppies.

“Are you sure? I know where his supplies are.”

“I brought my own.”

He kicks some dust, looks away. You shouldn’t feel bad for wanting your space, but you absolutely do. “Alright, if you say so.”

Maybe you can soothe him a little bit with your next inquiry. “Anything you want from the building before I start going through things?”

He shakes his head. “No, if I have to look at one more book from childhood cluttering my house, I’m going to throw up.”

“Take it easy,” you rib. “What did Charlotte's Web ever do to you?”

“Stole my lunch money,” he teases.

Maybe it would be nice, to have his company. He doesn’t seem so bad—

No. Nope. Bad y/n. Slippery slopes are always captivating and luminescent from a distance…

“Anyway,” you tell him. “I should get to work. Nice to meet you, John.”

He tips his head down at you. “The pleasure is mine.”

You’re not religious, but you would swear to God himself that you put your ladder in the truck bed. But it’s not here, and you’re not a good climber, and the chances of you growing a foot taller right now are slim to none.

Grumbling, you lug your cleaning supplies in the door, and almost run into John, who looks like he’s taking his leave.

“Oh, actually,” you ask sheepishly, letting him help you set the heavy bucket of rags and sprays down, “do you know where the ladder is?”

The piece of decaying wood he pulls from a nearby closet won’t hold a toddler let alone you. You test the first moldy step and it immediately crumbles under your foot, spilling damp rot over the carpet. “Fuck,” you say.

He snickers, and you glare at him, which turns the visible laughter into a subtle clearing of his throat and a shy glance away from your wrath. It shouldn’t be adorable. It shouldn’t breathe life into your little dead heart.

“Let me show you something,” he says, and walks over to a tall shelf, reaching up on the balls of his feet to touch the spine of the highest book. “Still sure you don’t need me?”

Is it just you, or is he a little bit of a cheekier bastard than originally thought?

You huff at his timid grin. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, his devil smile and twinkling eyes whisper, to have a tall, strong man around to fight those evil top shelves…

“Looks like I have to go to the store,” you conclude.

“Ouch.”

“Why do you wanna help so bad?”

“It was his last dying wish?”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m lonely.”

You look him over, from head to toe, skipping those intense eyes, and cock an eyebrow…

“Double bullshit,” you conclude, because there’s no way in hell a man like this is lonely unless if it’s by choice.

“Earlier, you asked me if there was anything I wanted to take. There is, but I don’t know where it is.”

“What is it?” You ask him.

“It’s a book. My brother wrote it.” He looks pensive, eyebrows pulled down.

“What’s the name?” You ask.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s it look like?”

He runs his nimble fingertips thoughtfully over the spines of some dusty dictionaries, and the spiders nesting in your marrow quiver. His thick veined hands are almost as dangerous as his eyes.

“I don’t know. It was his manuscript. I was supposed to receive it before he died, but my father kept it from me. Hid it. I broke in many times to look for it.” His fist clenches at his side and all you can think about is how big his knuckles are, and how bad they would hurt striking, and how good they would hurt curled up inside you or brushing softly against your cheek.

You must have taken a step away from him, or adopted some feeble prey expression, because he turns to you and softens, jaw unsticking itself, shoulders falling back. “I’m sorry.”

No, please, anything but showing someone your soft shy underbelly right off the bat in this new town…

Luckily, you can think on your feet.

You give him a big, triumphant smile. “Made you talk about yourself again.”

“You little…” He tsks, narrowing his eyes; for a moment you think he’s going to chase you down the corridor, and the electrical conduction of your heart seizes.

You try to act like you’re not scared, or titillated by the thought of that.

“When did your brother die?” You ask him while you’re rummaging through boxes of porcelain cups, faux gold and silver jewelry tangled together in a tight wad that it takes hours to dig through, a menagerie of plastic animals and colorfully dressed figurines that fit into a miniature circus model, occult literature from the early 1900’s.

There are so many fascinating items in this collection, some of them worth more than your truck or apartment. Trinkets infused with cultural significance, bobbles laden with ancient tales and silent history. And the books—god, the books.

Tomes of famous Russian poets, scholars, eccentrics. Vintage romance novels in mint condition. You can’t wait to curl up on the old couch with some tea and a hefty stack of Agatha Christie and Anne Rice.

“A year before my father.”

You wince and fold a weathered Dickens paperback into your lap. He is pulling them from the shelves, glancing at them, and then handing them to you to sort into piles. “That’s so much.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, sitting beside you with a grunt and whoosh of air. “You want a drink?”

“I’m not thirsty,” you say, motioning to your water bottle.

“I meant something spirited.”

“Oh, well in that case, of course I do.”

He opens a bottle of sweet whiskey in the kitchenette, and you drink it from coffee cups with freezer burned ice.

He downs it without flinching, and you enjoy the view of his Adam’s apple bobbing under five o clock shadow and durable skin, more courageous now thanks to over half the liquor from your cup.

“Sorry it’s not something fancier.”

“Whiskey’s perfect for the occasion,” you tell him, motioning to your grime and dust covered self. “I think I should head back home after it runs its course, though. I’m tired. This is a big place.”

You apologize to him, because he looks exhausted, too, and he has helped you make three times the progress you would have achieved on your own with his extra foot of height…and still his brother’s book is nowhere to be found.

However, you want to see him again, and that means you should never see him again, so you withhold any invitations.

He’s been a perfect gentleman. Good company. He doesn’t need to talk to feel comfortable, and the long silences shared between you, working through boxes and cobwebs, have been pleasant. Your initial resistance to him was unwarranted, even if he is a dark looming shadow with inescapable eyes.

He is a nice man, and that is terrifying. You need to stay far, far away from him. You would put a continent between the two of you if it wasn’t for your life savings recently sinking into this bookstore.

But when he asks to come back, you fold like wet parchment, not even trying to be reluctant or resist his deep, enchanting gaze.

You’ve become soft. You’ll have to work on that.

He insists on walking you to your truck, because it’s dark outside, and this little snowy town is short on street lights. Outside, autumn is employing winter to cover some of its crunchy dead leaves in crispy white tufts. You love the smell of transitioning seasons, and as you tip your frost bitten nose up to the air to take a big whiff, John watches.

“It’s pretty out here,” you say, looking around at the mixture of Halloween, Thanksgiving…Christmas decorations just starting to sprout. Lights twinkle along rooftops, lifting the night up in rainbows.

You’re too busy paying attention to the scenery of small town magic to notice the slight dip in the sidewalk next to your truck. Your foot catches it at the right angle for disaster, and a split second too late, you realize your soft skull is headed for the hard metal of a door handle.

You screw your eyes shut, waiting for the impact, for the crack and the pain and it just never comes…In fact, seems the soles of your feet have been placed back on solid ground, and your back has been formed into something warm and diuturnal behind you.

His hands really are big, Jesus. His palms fold into the curves of your sides, long fingers resting against the soft beginning swells of your tummy, sending fizzy warmth down through your hips and deep in your guts.

Resembling a feral animal, you jump out of his arms, as if you’ve never been touched by another human or as if he’s made of spikes—it’s more to get away from the feeling of his touch—from the feeling it causes—rather than he himself

Luckily, you don’t have time to think about how much of a pathetic waste of human you are, because you’re tumbling right off the curb again in your haste to get away.

This time, he wraps his gentle hands around the divot of your lower back, and guides you up against your freezing door with a bewildered, dazzling smile.

Shit.

“Are you okay?” He asks in a white puff of warm minty breath.

You look up at him to speak, but his sharp features are highlighted in candy apple red from the nutcracker decoration mounted on a street lamp next to your truck.

When you were young and saw a venomous snake for the first time, it was a viper, locked inside a thick cage of glass with eerie red lights shining down on its sharp little head and black almond eyes. Generally, you had never been afraid of reptiles, because they were ostracized and feared, and you maybe knew how that felt a little too well…

But you were afraid of the viper—some primordial instinct traveled through time to warn you not to fuck with that animal, just as it’s doing right now. The once excited butterflies in your middle are suddenly desperate to break free, gnawing and sucking at the lining of your gut, digging their tiny barbed claws into tender pelvic tissue.

He sees it in your eyes, maybe, as they blow two sizes wider, and backs away, hands stuffed inside his pockets. “I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay,” you say too quickly, too sharply. Fear is such a potent thing, filling you up until you’re leaking it from every pore and orifice.

“Get home safe.”

You nod, hop into the front seat, and speed away after fumbling with your keys in trembling hands for what feels like a good five minutes. Your shakes are not from the cold snow descending upon the town.

When your eyes decide to disobey direct commands from the sympathetic nervous system and look at him in the rear view, he’s standing under the red light, on the street, watching you drive away.

In your dreams, the calm day spent rummaging through books is forgotten. There’s no peace here, trapped inside your mind. The one place you can’t hide.

It’s the same scene every night.

You are running under thick overgrowth, sharp wet earth tearing up the delicate plantar surface of your feet. It’s cold, dark, maybe right before dawn or just after sunset. The thorns snatching at your skin, the branches and vines whipping gashes into your face—these sensations are nothing compared to the adrenalized fear overtaking you.

They’ll take you back to freezing metal bondage and endless gray walls and the blistering, assaultive smell of bleach over blood. You want to live, desperately. You’ve never wanted anything more than a beating heart and expanding lungs, but you’d rather die than go back with them, so under cover of a weeping tree, you grab your little stolen pocket knife and press it to your throat.

Life, shining and wet, leaves you in gushes and spurts. It’s messy work, takes a few good sharp, haphazard digs at the jugular, and they find you just as you hit crimson gold and feed the muddy ground with your blood.

You don’t know why you still try; to die, to live, to fight. The dream captures your memories, freezing them in time, and solidifying your fate. You will yourself to struggle harder, hit, kick, scratch, bite, scream, beg, pray—to a God who has forsaken you—for just a little bit of fucking mercy for once.

Mercy looks nothing like you expect.

He is as tall as the surrounding trees, at least 9 feet, with inky black tendrils of thick hair growing down his back.

Massive, clawed hands perfect for hooking and ripping mortal flesh; he lops a head off with one finger, like opening a bottle of coke—tips the body upside down and gulps, greedily, blood and grisly clumps of viscera. Your pursuer’s heart is a tasty, candy gush sweet in his palm, and he swallows it whole.

You are covered in red, so saturated that trying to run is impractical and useless. The forest floor is garroted with it, slick and impossible. You fall into a bundle of pointy thorns and vines and the thick, muddy soup of blood.

It can’t all be yours—

It’s not. It’s theirs. He is tearing them apart. Two at a time. Under the rising silver moon, their plasma has an easy and graceful Grande Jete.

He skewers someone through the chest, and your stomach lurches at the sick crack of pulpy bone.

But you can’t puke, not now.

You need to run. You grasp at the thorns holding you, ripping at your skin, peeling layers off.

The screaming and popping and splintering and wailing ends abruptly, and in the eerie silence, as you freeze in fear, trying to listen for the creature, all you can hear is the drumming beat of your own pulse inside your head.

You have never been small-waisted. In your youth, when you still had stupid hopes that true love and chivalry could find you, you longed to have the same natural slim lines and desired smoothness of your female counterparts, watching enviously as a masculine palm could fit easily into the small of their back to lead them, protect them, court them.

He fits you in one hand just like that, and the gentle nature in which he handles you makes you audibly gasp. These long, sharp fingers, that just effortlessly took apart bone and skin and muscle, dig into your side politely, bluntly, holding you in a way you’ve never considered to be attainable.

You writhe against him, pushing your palms down to feebly pry his long fingers off your hips, but he traps you effortlessly in his arms, and lifts you to his face.

There are razor sharp fangs in place of his upper canines, and they are dripping fresh, hot blood over his bearded chin, his torso, your breasts and tummy. His hair is long, ethereal, soft, floating as if he is in water, smooth tendrils feathering around your shoulders tenderly.

His mouth is just too wide for his face, and if he grinned, it would make any mortal man tremble. You start to recognize the hard lines of his expression underneath these subtle uncanny features…and then you look into those eyes.

They are narrow and dark, and impossible to keep, just like you remember. You glance away, overwhelmed with their intensity, the second before they soften.

You should be terrified, intimidated, screaming, but those eyes prick at your heart, bead a heady drop of life’s blood. This feeling, it’s familiar and centuries old—It’s yearning, agony, imbued and heavy in your very marrow.

You gasp, and writhe against him, but now for another reason; delicious, agonizing need breeds from his touch, infecting your body and spreading through every piece of you like a ruthless pathogen.

His eyes are the key to something inside of you that you wrestled, chained and imprisoned a long time ago, and you sob with the intensity of it bursting free.

You try to hide your face in your hands, protect yourself from whatever natural, effortless connection is happening between you and this unnatural man, but he grabs your head between his thumb and forefinger, tenderly pinching at your puffy cheeks. “Look at me,” he says, voice unmistakeably deep and rough and so human.

But a mortal man could never, ever make you obey so easily without force or pain—with just the heavy infliction of his tone. Your traitorous eyes lock onto his of their own volition.

He brands your soul with black fire, makes your whole being ache, toes and fingers curling against the onslaught of it all, chest heaving with the force of your breath. Your fate is sealed, your time is up, it’s curtains, you’re fucked.

For years, you’ve been painstakingly arranging a wall against the world, against your own pedky emotions. He knocks it all over with a look, and the tough woman that built it is whimpering like a baby as the fallout buries her alive.

“Please stop.” You hardly recognize your own voice when it’s sweet and pleading.

“I…can’t.” There’s something pained in his expression, maybe confused, like he’s just as bewildered by what’s happening here between you.

A loc of his hair slithers around your neck like a curious snake. It’s alarmingly soft, like thick silk ribbons trailing over your skin and between your heaving breasts. You reach out to stop him, because it feels too good and it’s too much, and he wraps your pesky arms behind your back, binding them with the same satin coils collecting at the base of your heartbeat, tickling at the underside of your breast where your very life stems from, where you are soft and tender and feminine.

If you could think straight, you would hate yourself for the way your hips twitch and shudder as an aching throb worms its way into your heart, travels through your bloodstream, and nests inside your cunt.

He hums his approval. “Me too, little witch.” His long mouth curls at the edges like a hungry wolf’s, and it’s terrifying, but you have no sense to be afraid. Instead, you want to touch—feel through the heavy black cloak of shadow covering him, right into his heart, if he has one…

You whine, because you can’t do anything else, reduced to this pathetic mess of a woman, and test the bonds he cradles you with. They are comfortably snug. Undreakable. You are secured.

It’s been so long, since anyone has touched you with reverence, gentleness. You hate it.

Not because it doesn’t feel good. Because it feels far too good, when he folds you up in that strange cashmere darkness that emanates from his being, and exposes all your coveted vulnerability…inside and out.

And you’re just…helpless. Like a stuffed doll in his sure grip.

It takes about two seconds for rationality to drown—sink deep into the blackness again and leave you quivering and warm and wanton.

Velvet serpents test you, first at your fingertips and toes, then your palms and soles. Your calves, thighs, cheeks, collar.

It’s a libidinous swarm descending upon you, swallowing you whole. The last thing you see is his mirthy, onyx eyes before being completely consumed.

The sound you make as he slips over the dusky tips of your breasts is more animal than human. You wretch your head back and forth, because it’s the only thing you can move before he traps it, too, and you swear you hear an impish chuckle before this darkness fills your ears and takes your hearing.

He covers your mouth, your eyes, your cheeks and nose, puts you in total sensory deprivation where every caress, tease, flick, kiss…suck is amplified tenfold.

You growl like an angry little kitten as he finds the sensitive, ticklish spot at the back of your knees.

Then, you sob, or at least you think you do, while slippery little tendrils wrap around the swell of your nipples and press at the soaked fabric of your underwear and mold against all the curves of your tummy

You’ll have time later to hate yourself for rolling your hips against him, for silently begging him to touch your throbbing cunt—to delve under thin cotton and test your wetness before filling every little inch of you up with shadows inside just as thoroughly as he is out.

It’s been a long time, since someone has touched you there. It’s been…never that someone has touched you like he is.

If you were trapped here for eternity, you’re not sure if you would call it heaven or hell.

As he slides past your underwear and flicks your swollen clit, your vote is on the former. When he does not increase the pace or the pressure of these teasing touches after several agonizing moments, your vote is on the latter.

He devolves you from his shadows, placing you upright on the ground, pulling out from the curves of your body with swollen pops, smoothing your hair back against your face.

In an attempt to soothe your animosity, he runs a finger down your cheek, and you bat him away with your hand, taking a quick step back, slipping on fluids—

He catches you. You push him away again. “Get away from me.”

“It’s your dream.” He raises an eyebrow, dark mouth titling at the corner. It’s absurd—you’re arguing with a terrifying bloodthirsty creature of the night like it’s casual when you should be running and screaming.

And…well…he certainly has you there.

“Go away,” you say, because obviously you’re the epitome of wit.

You feel his eyes slide up and down your body, inspiring a deep shiver and a timid step back and a good look at yourself—oversized, ratted band tshirt, old cotton panties. Blood in various stages of drying patching your skin.

You feel your neck, and there is no gash. The thorns and sticks embedded in your palms and soles are gone; not a scratch or scrape or tender stinging place on you. It takes you a second to realize he healed you.

As if he can read your mind—maybe he can—he says, softly, “I am not all death.”

When you’ve woken up from this repeating nightmare in the past, it’s usually been with a panic attack; heart racing, mouth screaming, hands grabbing your stuffed dog to press him into your chest for some warm comfort.

This time, you’re gasping, soaked in—you have to look down at yourself to make sure it’s not blood—sweat, uncomfortably slippery and sticky between your thighs, twitchy and irritated.

You’ve never had a wet dream, not in all your adult years, and having one about a man you just met is just fucking ridiculous.

He is not that great, you tell yourself. You just met him, for God’s sake.

First handsome man that’s nice to you in years and you become a delusional school girl? No. Hell no.

Boundaries need to be established, here. Rules need to be set. You need to put your foot down, have a little bite behind the bark, and tell John, Winston’s son, to go away.

Just like you did in your dream.

Notes: when I was describing the monster, I was thinking of something like Alucard from Hellsing or Dracula from Castlevania.

[gnreadergames]

Find Something to Wrap Your Noose Around (pt 1)

Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Plot: Miguel gets tapped with a poison that makes him feral. His relationship with the reader is a stake…but neither want to give up that easily.

Cw: Angst! It gets better in later parts though…

WC: 2820

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

There was a harsh slam from the front of the apartment.

From your place in the back bedroom, folding fresh laundry, you jumped. Miguel must be home. He must’ve had a bad day.

Lyla confirms your suspicions when she pops up next to you, giving you half as large of a scare.

“Jesu-“ you clutch your heart, “Lyla you can’t ju- whatever- is he alright?” You ask, quietly as you can because you know Miguel will pick up anything he can focus on across this apartment and even through the walls with his heightened senses.

Lyla shakes her head, and your stomach drops. He’s either pissed or hurt. Or both.

You abandon the laundry to seek a more important goal.

You find Miguel clutching the kitchen island. His knuckles are torn through the suit, something hard to do with the nearly impenetrable fabric. You can see other tears littering the surface of his torso and powerful legs. You swallow.

It’s never usually this bad.

“Miggy…” you say, quietly. “What happened honey?”

He doesn’t respond so you decide to gently, slowly reach a hand out to touch his shoulder. But before you can even make contact he whips around towards you and leaps with a feral snarl.

“MIGUE-“ you can’t even get through the scream of his name before he’s on top of you, red eyes glowing and fangs popping out even longer than they usually seem. His talons sink into your thin flesh and for a minute you genuinely think you’re about to die, here on the floor of Miguel’s kitchen on some average Tuesday.

Lyla has thought ahead though, and at that moment a light flashes in your peripherals a swirling portal of blue and orange. Before you can turn to look, the weight of Miguel is thrown off you to the side and a loud crack echoes across the apartment as his back meets the side of the island with a harsh dent.

Three people hop out of, what you can only assume, is a portal.

A tall man with brown hair, a 5 o'clock shadow and a small red headed child strapped to his chest, a very pretty very pregnant taller woman, and a smaller girl with blonde choppy hair all fold out in a line.

You’re still not sure what’s happening, and your brain is on too much adrenaline to think of anything other than the immediate danger right now.

Somehow, your sweet, caring, and sometimes grumpy boyfriend has become some sort of…feral killing machine.

You realize suddenly that you’re practically hyperventilating as Lyla stands over you and snaps a few times, calling your name.

“Y/N…Y/N!” She says. Her glowing form is painful to look at right now but not as painful as the shallow cuts on your arms from Miguel’s claws. You belatedly realize you’re bleeding when the younger blonde woman comes over and crouches beside Lyla to inspect your arms.

“Peter, they’re bleeding.” She calls back to the man, Peter, you assume. You glance in that direction to see him and the other woman standing over Miguel.

“What's happen-“ you try to sit up but your head spins.

‘Minorly concussed’ Lyla explains. Which also explains why you’re pretty sure you’re seeing other Spider-people right now.

Unless everything has just suddenly gotten weird.

It seems it can only keep getting worse though, as it’s then you realize that Miguel could be getting back up any minute. You turn your head sharply with a twinge of hot pain up your neck as your heart rate spikes at the thought of the experience you just had happening again.

Your fears are quelled though once you see that Peter and the other woman, Jess, you learn from the blonde one talking to her too, have Miguel in some sort of cuff like contraption he struggles against.

He’s also muzzled. You’d almost laugh if he hadn’t tried to kill you a few minutes ago.

The baby on Peter’s chest babbles and yeah, you’re definitely seeing things now because this is just so bizzare you can’t imagine how you had gotten dragged into this.

Suddenly, a large and lanky man with a scary looking Mohawk of spikes steps through the still glowing circle in your wall.

Lovely. More of them.

Peter and the man talk for a second and then you see the scary man look towards you.

No. No.

Whatever is about to happen you’re not on board with it as this strange man hoists you bridal style like you weigh nothing. You’d attempt to fight back if you had any strength left in you, but the further you get towards the glowing portal the more your brain begs for sleep.

As the man steps through, you drift off into a dream.

-

You wake with a start.

The first thing you notice is that your headache is much, much, worse. The second thing is that you are pointedly not in your own apartment.

You were hoping the thing with Miguel was just some sort of fucked up bad dream but judging by your bandaged arms and throbbing temples, it was all real.

The blonde woman is sitting in the corner of the room, a white and sterile looking place that you’d assume to be a hospital room if you couldn’t see an absolute amalgamation of spidermen, just like Miguel, milling about outside the glass wall on your left.

Your jaw drops.

What is happening.

Are you suddenly crazy? Have you seriously gone mad? This has to be some sort of psych ward if this is what your brain is coming up with.

The blonde woman notices your consciousness. She has another young man with curly hair beside her, a similar age you guess from their similar build and height.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” She asks as she stands from a chair and walks to your bedside.

“Am I going insane?” You ask.

She blanches at that, obviously not expecting it.

“Um- no you’re not. This is all real. My name is Gwen and this is-“ she gestures to the boy, “Miles. We’re assigned to watch over you until you wake up and are feeling better.”

You swallow. That explains almost nothing.

“But- what is this place?” You look back out the window.

“Oh! This is HQ.” Gwen says, like that means anything to you.

“HQ for what?” You say.

That seems to make it click for Gwen. “You mean…Miguel didn’t tell you?” She quirks an eyebrow seemingly genuinely confused that Miguel wouldn’t share his involvement in…whatever this is.

“No- no he hasn’t mentioned anything. I mean, I know he’s Spider-Man but there’s like- a million of you…” you drift off, shifting to sit up in your bed.

Miles laughs from behind Gwen. She shoots him a look and he blushes looking down at his feet.

“Well not a million but- yeah there’s a lot.” She says. “This is HQ for the spider-multiverse.”

“The what?” You ask, still confused.

“You know what let me just-“ she sighs and pulls up a watch on her wrist. It’s identical to the one Miguel used to wear around his arm back home. He’d always been shady about it but now you know why.

“Lyla, help me out here will you?” She asks into the watch. The familiar glowing figure pops up and it sends such a pant for homesickness into your heart that you almost want to cry. She’s an island of normalcy in a horrible sea of crazy right now.

“Hi, Y/N!” She greets in her constantly chipper voice.

“Hi…” you repeat. Gwen slips the watch off her wrist and holds it out to you. Gently, you clutch it in your hands as Lyla explains the many, many, thousands of worlds and Spider people in them. The information is shocking enough but most jarring is the fact that Miguel has been running it all almost 24/7.

You knew nothing about this.

For a brief, fleeting moment you feel slightly betrayed. He didn’t trust you with this, so what else could he be lying about?

But then you remember where you left off with him. A spike of fear shoots up your aching spine.

“So where’s Miguel?” You ask frantically, looking between Gwen, Lyla, and Miles for an answer. None of them seem to have one for you.

“Let me get ahold of Peter…” Gwen says as she lifts the watch out of your hands. You twiddle your thumbs nervously, the movement of the muscles sending tiny waves of pain up your arms.

Gwen finishes whatever call she turned to make with this Peter guy and spins back around.

“So, this is going to sound weird.”

You laugh.

“This entire day has practically flipped my world upside down. Hit me.” You deadpan. Miles laughs again but Gwen huffs a snort with him this time.

“So, currently Miguel is being held in our prison sector.”

Your heart drops.

“Why? Is he okay?” You shoot off questions faster than she can answer as you sit further and further up in the bed.

Gwen holds her hand up to slow you down and you take the signal, snapping your mouth closed.

“Ok, well here’s what I know.” She starts. “Miguel got some sort of poison from his last battle. It reacted badly with his DNA that’s part Spider and he’s currently pretty feral. That’s why he attacked you. They have him in an impenetrable cell in the holding area and he’s been muzzled for his own safety.”

You cannot believe this.

Those scratches, they must’ve been really really bad to cut through his suit like that. That must’ve been why he had come home in such a foul mood, he wasn’t thinking straight.

He must’ve been out of his mind completely when he attacked you.

“They’re working on an antidote, hopefully it’ll be ready soon.” Gwen says with a small smile. It does little to cure your nerves but it’s still nice of her to try.

Miles pipes up finally from behind her. His voice is soothing.

“We can take you to see him.” Miles says.

Gwen really does shoot him a look then. You giggle to yourself. It reminds you so much of you and Miguel’s relationship. If these two aren’t together they probably will be soon, you think.

“I’d like that.” You say, standing from your bed.

-

They were right. Miguel isn’t himself.

He’s huddled up in the furthest corner of the red block. The cell borders are reinforced, so you don’t fear much when you walk up to crouch next to the front wall.

Miguel smells you or senses you, something along those lines, because the minute you rest on the balls of your feet, his head swivels like a snake around to fix you in that terrible red gaze.

His eyes are practically glowing as he barrels towards the wall you’re at and slams his full body weight into it. His talons are out, clawing furiously and futilely at the screen. If this cage was even half as sturdy as it currently is Miguel would’ve killed you by now.

You can’t imagine what would make him act like this, even if his primal instincts are being tapped into. You’re his partner. Surely even in such a state Miguel would recognize you?

Apparently not, as Miguel also attempts to bite at you through both the muzzle and the wall. You sigh.

There’s something cold and unsettling about seeing him this way. He’s barely ever gotten angry at you, has never once blown up on you and it’s absolutely unfathomable that he would ever lay a hand on you. So now, seeing this side of him, it breaks your heart.

“He’s a little crazy right now.” A man’s voice says from behind you. You look up from where you’re sitting cross legged on the ground to see the same man from before, Peter, standing with his hands gently bouncing the smiling baby in front of him.

You can’t help but smile as the little girl lets out a joyous giggle, even as Miguel still tries to claw his way to you from inside the cage. You’re glad it’s soundproof, you’d probably have to leave if it wasn’t.

“You know him?” You ask. Peter takes his cue and sits next to you with a groan as he saddles his body down into the same position. You feel that same sensation, painful joints and now painful muscles with your injuries. You can’t imagine throwing the exhaustion of a kid into the mix.

You won’t lie though, you had thought about it. Miguel had mentioned a hypothetical child once or twice, but you could tell it was something he wanted more than anything. And before all of this, you would’ve given him what he asked for in a heartbeat. Seeing Miguel as a dad would’ve made you the happiest person in the world.

“Yeah I know him.” Peter finally answers your question. “I’m like his right hand man. Or I was at least. Maybe his left hand man now that I have this one,” he tickles the soft tummy of the girl and she cackles with glee. You smile at them.

“He never mentioned any of this.” You say.

“He never mentioned you.” Peter says.

That breaks your heart a little, but you don’t let it show.

On the other side of the screen Miguel has seemingly given up on trying to kill you, at least for now. Tiring himself out seems to have mellowed him slightly as he now sits eye level with you, panting and crouching in anticipation.

You sigh.

“How long will he be stuck like this?” You ask. You don’t expect an exact answer, not wanting to get your hopes up.

“I…I don’t know. We shouldn’t have let him go home like that. It was our fault you got hurt. Jess and I-“ he must mean the other woman you surmise “-we thought he lived alone, and even though he doesn’t get cut often we had no idea the anomaly could do that.”

“You couldn’t have known.” You say, trying to comfort him a little, even though you feel slightly hollow.

“We’re working on it though. We’re gonna fix this.” Peter says with a new determination. You smile half heartedly. He stands suddenly, renewed with more energy than he sat down with. “I’m going to go check on that antidote. You’re a little better right?” He gestures to your arms.

You nod. It’s the best you can give him in this situation.

He nods back and walks towards a large hallway opening.

You turn back to Miguel.

The area in which they have him housed is empty and large. His cage stands in the back part of the room. As far as you can tell, it’s just you two now.

Your arms still hurt, but your head has gotten better with some walking and Tylenol.

“Miggy…” you sigh. There’s so much built up stress just from the past few hours that it makes your entire body tense. You lean forward and place your hand on the glass-like substance.

Miguel’s eyes flick quickly to it and for a second you see a look on his face that seems almost like himself again.

It shocks you when he puts his hand back up to the glass mirroring yours.

You tear up.

“Miguel.” You beg. “Please, please come back.”

He doesn’t seem to understand, and the moment passes, as he licks his fangs through the muzzle. His talons pop out and he begins clawing where your hand just was again. You sigh.

It was worth a shot.

You stand, pushing yourself up of the ground. “Okay, we’ll- if you’re like this there’s no point in me being here.”

You turn to leave, maybe you can find Gwen and ask her to get you some food. You have a suspicion you’re going to need more Tylenol to-

“Y/N-“ a ragged voice says from behind you.

You whip around.

Miguel, your Miguel stares back at you. His eyes are wide and terrified but it’s definitely him even if it is for just a split second.

As quick as it’s there, it’s gone. Whatever is overriding his system comes back with vigor as you race towards the cage and press yourself desperately against the glass.

“Say it again- Miguel, please, say it again-“ You are breathy and panicked. He’s in there. Somewhere.

Miguel, the feral one, continues to paw at where you stand with his nails.

“I’m going to get you out.” You press your forehead up against the glass and look into his eyes.

There’s a sound from behind you and Gwen’s voice echoes from the doorway.

“Hungry?” She asks as you quickly pull away.

“Absolutely.” You say, following her.

As you leave you glance backward. Miguel stands, watching you leave.

You’re going to get him back, even if it kills you.

[gaymurdersalad]

[ HOWDY Y’ALL! WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM FOR A FUN BROADCAST!

If you haven’t noticed, it’s pride month! That means we’re legally allowed to be gay for an entire month before we have to disappear into our burrows once more! To celebrate the occasion, I decided to do a fun little pride post! ]

[ I’ve gathered all the little fuckers in The Void to poke and prod at them like zoo animals. In other words, I figure they all have some neat identities and wouldn’t mind being interrogated in honor of pride month. I’ll go ahead and turn it over to them, but I’ll say now, no matter how much they kick and scream, I am definitely NOT holding them at gunpoint! This workspace is… definitely OSHA approved. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. Have attem! ]

> This is fucking stupid. Stop waving that gun at me. I’m talking.

> My identity isn’t anything special. I’m just some guy who decided he was a guy way later than everyone else did. I don’t really give a damn what pronouns people use on me because usually they just end up avoiding me at all costs or scampering away like frightened animals.

> I’m bisexual, is that anything? But, like, only bisexual in a sexual way. I could not fucking fathom living a long prosperous life with anyone. How the hell are you supposed to enjoy someone for that long? Getting married seems like a scam. I bet it is. I bet it’s like the invention of Valentine’s Day for greeting card companies. You’re not actually supposed to be in love with someone for that long, it just doesn’t seem possible.

> … My marriage with Dave does not count, that wasn’t an officiated wedding. I’m fairly certain he fished those rings out of a water fountain and pawned his dress off a hooker. I do vividly recall dumpster diving for my tuxedo.

> Uhhhhhh wuh? Hmmmm, I’onno what the hell I am, Old Sport! Fuck!

> Shit, I guess I like everyone. A hole’s a hole. Why the fuck would I discriminate? I think I got a preference for men though! They’re so fuckin’ easy to romance! Unless they’re the likes of Sportsy, then it’s the hardest goddamn thing you’ll ever seduce. He gets real gay when he’s on acid, but then again, I get real gay on cocaine. Man, our wedding was immaculate. Imma tell our kids about it one day!

> Likewise, I’ll be any gender you fuckin’ want me to be. I got like, pocket gender, I can just whip it out on request. Want me to be a dude? Fuck yeah, alright. Want me to be a pretty lady? No goddamn problem at all! I can be both at the same time or one more than the other— who gives a shit? I’m just havin’ fun.

> Good fucking lord, really? That shotgun does not scare me, you orange fool—

> … I have a complicated identity. As any other living organism does.

> I have found that over the years I do not experience sexual attraction and that I experience little to no romantic attraction. I only recall feeling romantically attracted to one person in my entire life. I doubt it will happen again. > And it may seem, uhm... Embarrassing, but I do deviate from your traditional "man's man". In laymen's terms, I do not feel particularly drawn to being male. I am very certain I was born with the intention of being a man, but my mind has refused to accept it. I am not sure why. Instead of feeling like a proper bloke, I feel rather empty. If I could have it my way, I would be some... human silhouette rather than a full fledged man. I do not know. This is idiotic. > I cringe every time someone addresses me in a masculine way. I wish I could simply have no pronouns. I can deal with them because I am indeed a grown ass... person, but I just wish it were not so. Whatever. I am done complaining.

> Oh! That’s very simple, this is really easy.

> I literally don’t have anything going for me at all.

> What with the entire fabric of time being on my shoulders and all, I don’t even think about gender or romance much. I do love being a girl! It’s one of the things I miss most about being alive, actually. Pretty dresses, playing with makeup in the bathroom, trying to curl my hair without burning my scalp— I mean, it sounds horrendous sometimes, but you can’t beat it. Feeling alive and content in your own skin. Just one of those precious things that spawned from the chance of life.

> … Uhm, Uhhh… Men.

> Yeah. I Like Them. I Think… Yes, I Could Probably Date A Man Or Two. I Don’t Know, Employee, Why Did You Pull Me Out Here? You Know I Have Copious Paperwork To Do! Some @$!# $#*@ Kid Just Fell Into The Ball Pit And Got Mauled Jaws-Style And His Parents Are Really Grilling Us For It. Dumb&@#*s, It’s Not My Fault Their Kid Heeded The Call Of The Sirens. I Swear, This Job Is Going To Kill Me Or Force My Hand Into Becoming The Next Purple Guy—

> extremely in love with my wife and my gender!

> it was actually very cute how we met, employee. have i ever told you? heh heh, we met in highschool. she was on the football team and i was a cheerleader, can you believe that? oh, i was head over heels for her instantly. she was strong, she was quick thinking, she was so hecking beautiful, employee… i never got to tell her how i felt while we were in highschool, but we were good friends. very good friends. come a few years later, some old buddies of ours want to have a get together and dish it out like old times… go vandalize and drive off into the sunset in the back of a pickup truck sipping on horrendously cheap beer and laughing off our university work or our jobs. when i get to our spot, though, i see her. i’d recently wised up to my gender, y’know, had my hair cut and fresh scars on my chest, so suffice to say i looked nothing like i did when i cheered for her during football season. she’d done the same, employee— she grew out her hair to the middle of her back in such beautiful dark curls, her bangs tied back so every inch of her perfect face could glimmer underneath the neon lights of the derelict bowling alley we’d found ourselves in. she looked at me, and i sensed instant recognition. she smiled through her bright red lipgloss and rushed up to me, wrapping me up in a hug, and i swear, she hadn’t lost any of those muscles— almost broke my ribs!

> the rest of the night, we were so… comfortable together. sure, during highschool we were close, but without saying a single word about what happened to us between then and now, we understood, and employee— i think it brought us closer. it was around three in the morning while we sat around a bonfire with the rest of our buddies when she layed her head on my shoulder and i felt an unfathomable warmth. i knew i wanted her for the rest of my life.

> … i just love her so much, employee.

> oh ok

> its rlly whatever. any pronouns any gender anybody who wants me. who cares

> oh i do have a preference for girls. theyre pretty. if you disagree u are not blessed enough to be loved by gods best creation and ur pissed about it. i can tell

> what if i was actually catholic would that be fucked up or what

> …

> … I cannot… physically stress how abhorrent sexuality is to me. What… What an utterly damning notion. Someone’s greedy hands cursing you and plaguing your with their own dirty human desires. How disrespectful. How… invasive. Why on Earth would it be my responsibility to supply someone with something to love? Am I really subject to whatever the hell people think of me? Whether they “love” me or perceive me as some… some man, some object of attraction? Disgusting.

> If I could shed every trace of a sex or gender from my loathed corpse, I would. Often times I lay awake at night and consider skinning myself for the hell of it. I’ve related this to David and he said I sounded “fuckin’ insane”. Stupid bastard. I want to be a skeleton. I wanna be a fucking skeleton! Pretty and thin and not alive whatsoever! God damn this accursed body and its… rancid flesh and unidentifiable mystery goop. Ugh. Ugh!!!! God, the biggest blight on my “life” was being cursed with gender!

> I was born as a female which was just laughably wrong, then I recall amending that and trying to become a man, but none of it worked. All of it sucked. All of it was wretched. The ideal form is a ghost or ghoul or skeletal figure. You can’t romance a ghost or ghoul or skeletal figure. Can’t have sex with that. Unless you’re really, really determined. I don’t think even David could be that serious about his sexuality.

> … I… Hope. Oh dear. Oh god, I really am unsafe from the horrors of this world. God, I wish that bear had taken me out before I showed him to his grave.

[spctrsgf]

mi luz

based off of this comment i wrote on tiktok: “he looks like he could use a hug and a shoulder to cry on.”

word count: 2.2k

warnings: nonspidey!reader, language, hurt to comfort fic (miguel needs a break. like a sabbatical or something)

a/n: ngl, i'm not too happy with how this turned out, probably because i wrote it all on a plane and it's not beta read, but i need more soft miguel fics in my life!!!

He’s tired.

He’s tired and he’s missing you. The boring, monotonous walls of his office harshly remind him of his place, the jubilant orange glow of his monitors tell him of just how much more work he’s got left before he can finally retire to your world.

Lyla, lounging atop one of his screens, watches him and his glossed over eyes, knowing exactly what the lazy flick of his fingers meant. She sighs, glitching over to bring one of his screens forward. “Miguel!” She yells, scaring the poor man out of his thoughts and momentarily extending his claws. “Lyla, what the fu- what the hell?” He growls, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“No kids are here, you don’t have to keep it PG.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, you got work to do, and if you don’t finish it soon, it'll be too late to get in some quality time with this lovely human,” she shoves the digitized photo of you up and into his face. “Before your next mission.”

He sighs, knowing she was right.

“Daydreaming about it isn’t gonna get you there any quicker,” she flickers to be right in front of his face, slapping a hand onto his nose as if she could actually touch him. “GET YOUR SHIT DONE.”

“Fine, fine! Get out of my face.” He grumbles the second sentence, swatting her away and strolling back up to his screens. His eyes catch on your photo, and he reaches to enlarge it in front of him, but—

“No,” Lyla dissipates the photo before he can even get to it, face twisted in disappointment. “No. Not until you finish working.”

“Hey! Who’s the boss here?” 

“Me. Now work.” Lyla glitches out of view with a triumphant huff.

He huffs dramatically, pouting as he pulls himself together. He lets his emotions drop from his face and slides into his stoic mask, resuming the work on his screen. It’s hypnotizing as soon as he gets into it; Lyla must’ve done something to keep him focused, he supposes. She always does have a trick up her sleeve.

In what feels like no time at all, he’s done with his work. With a final, defiant tap to close down his screens, he spins on his heel, ready to leave and go home. Ready to hop in through your window— as much as you hate when he does that— and rest his head atop yours, caging you into where you’re surely stirring something on the stove.

But as he turns, he’s face to face with none other than Hobart Brown. A look to the left reveals his partners in crime; and Miguel knows he’s in for a ride. At least a ten minute detour, as it always is with the four of them. 

“What?” His hands come to rest on his hips naturally, trying to become bigger to them as if it would make the next words out of their mouth more blunt and less angering. “We have a slight problem—” Gwen starts, before Pav butts in.

“It's not slight. It’s a pretty big deal!”

“Mate,” Hobie huffs. “That’s not helpful.”

“I’m trying my best!”

"Yeah, and that's going great-"

“Okay, stop it, all of you,” Miguel interrupts before they can go down the rabbit hole, trying to keep his already strung thin patience steady. “What’s going on?”

“There’s another fight going on.” Hobie gives the answer blunt, to Miguel’s satisfaction.

“Cafeteria?”

“Main hall. Sector D.”

The huff that erupts from his lips draws a colorful picture of his current emotions as he hops off of his elevated platform. “I’ll fix it.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Miles brings himself to stand in front of the man. “We’re not gonna hurt anyone, right?”

“I can’t make any promises.” He brushes past the kid, dismissing him with a shake of the head. 

“Miguel. Don’t take your anger out on them–” Gwen tries, but all it gets is his recoil and daunting stalk towards her.

“I will do whatever the–” the swear word is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. “I will do whatever is needed, but violence is not my first course of action.”

“Please be nice to everyone,” Pav says, peeking over Gwen’s shoulder. “It’s been a long week for all of us too.”

Miguel sighs and brushes past them, saying nothing. He brushes off their words in silent agreement. He didn’t really want to hurt anyone either. 

By the time he reaches where he'd been informed the fight was, there was a mosh pit encircling the brawl, a mass of blue and red and spidermen. He approaches from behind, the tide parting for him as each person registers his presence.

When he meets the pearl in the oyster, the hotheaded spiderman hasn’t noticed him quite yet. He’s got the other spidey— one of the many spiderwomen— beneath him, gnarly fist raised to land another punch. Miguel sighs, grabs the back of the man’s elbow, and dragssss him off.

“Everyone get away now.” His tone squeezes the air out of the room and leaves no room for discussion, not that anyone would dare to object. The spidermen flee the scene before he can even finish his sentence, and by the time he’s turned back to the perpetrators of it all, they’re gone too.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, murmuring a low cálmate under his breath as he moves to regain his bearings. “Lyla,” he waves the said woman near.  “Find those spidermen and remind me to get to them when I come back.” She sputters to focus in front of him, dipping her head in an obliged nod before sputtering off again to wherever she found herself needed. 

Miguel shakes and unclenches the fist he’s made with his free hand and stalks back to his office, rubbing the palm of his hand where his claws had taken purchase amidst anger. 

Sometimes, he regrets putting himself in charge of all of this… shit.

But… he’s the only one who can do it. No one had the vigor, the dedication, the understanding of why and what had to be done to keep the multiverses in line and make sure what happened to him never happened again. 

It’s tiring. It takes his nights and his days and chips at his brain until he’s sure there’s nothing left in the expanse of his head. For someone who appears naturally angry, he’s quite good at keeping all the real anger in.

The downside of this: he bottles it all up. But the bottle isn’t big enough, doesn’t last forever, cracks at the seams, and then shatters in a explosion of tears. It enjoys crumpling him into the floor, loves the way his hands shiver in the cold breeze, shakes him to the core and, for all his confidence, makes him doubt.

Lyla’s only seen him like this once, when he couldn’t get away and instead had to sequester himself into his office, not quite getting to hardwiring her nosy personnel to do something else. 

No, he doesn’t rely on her, as he normally would with other problems. He doesn’t trust her, he doesn’t even trust himself with post breakdown Miguel, no. 

He goes to you.

You. The lovely, kind person he’s had the great privilege of calling his. His love, his support, his everything, or better yet; mi luz. My light. The light at the end of the tunnel, at the end of the world, when he feels like the walls are caving in and there’s really nowhere else to go and nothing more to lose.

You calm him, like you always do. Effortlessly caring, eternally so. Never afraid to give, to let him take and take until he’s stuffed whole. You know little things about him, take the time to learn them. Like where to get his favorite empanadas— much better than the ones in the spidey cafeteria— and that he loves when you press your fingers into his shoulder blades. He loves your massages.

He loves you.

Tapping insistently at the shitty gadget on his wrist, he mindlessly pulls up the coordinates for your dimension. Second nature. He’s walked himself into some obscure corner of the building, but he isn’t processing such mundane things at the moment. He can feel himself slipping, the mask fracturing. He can’t be left alone right now.

You.

The portal is up now, flashing and glitching in an assortment of colors, beckoning him in with its delectable light, like a halo. Miguel wastes no time giving in, diving into the portal and tucking himself tight like a torpedo.

Multiverses zoom by as he glides through hexagons and hexagons, thousands of people in each. Worlds that he keeps steady, safe, perfect. Normally, he’d stop to smell the flowers, observe and appreciate the sereneness of every special home in front of him. Pride himself in the fact that there was a special home for someone to come home to. 

But not this time. No, this time he keeps his eyes screwed shut, he wouldn’t, couldn’t get distracted by the novelty. The bottle is cracking now, cracking into long and sharp spikes aching to slice across his chest. He’s so close, all he could get himself to do was focus on his breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out—

The abrupt warning of your multiverse approaching pinches his wrist, reminding him that this whole mess was very much real. He stumbles into your living room with a not so quiet thud, startling you. You drop the spoon you were stirring something with— smells like some sort of sauce, yum— and whip your head towards him.

He’s got his arms wrapped around you before you can even process that it's him, burying himself in your neck and inhaling the calm scent of you, a mix of your perfume and your detergent, so very you. 

“Miguel.” You sigh into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist as the initial shock of his intrusion wears off. 

He slumps into you, only trusting himself to let out a low grumble of your name. 

“What’s going— oh,” your brain puts two and two together. “Oh, Miguel, shh. It’s okay, I got you.”

And he breaks. Because he knows you mean it. He knows you have him. You always do.

The tears are bubbling over the rims of his eyes and splashing down his cheeks, his hands are twisted up in your loose shirt. He’s sure his claws have made an entrance too. One of your hands reaches to turn off the stove, the other rubbing incandescent patterns into his back. 

You were always so careful. Never leave the stove on, Miggy. Don’t wanna burn the food. He loves that about you.

“Hey,” your voice wisps in through the fog of his mental breakdown, of the end of the world. “Hey. It’s me. Just me. Your absolute favorite person on this planet.”

“Multiverse.” He manages through sob induced hiccups. 

“Multiverse,” You smile, breathing out a soft laugh as you toil him in closer. “Breathe, my love. I have you. Nobody is here but me, and I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

He nods, lets himself weigh more onto you.

“That’s it, I got you,” you coax. “Get it out of your system.”

He gives all the tears he has to give. He’s sandwiching you between the counter and his stature, but you don’t seem to mind. Your spilling words, mindlessly, talking until he’s done and ready to attach himself to them, the soft baritone of your voice.

And it takes time, but he gets there. He’s in the tunnel, the walls are caving in, he’s believing he's given all he has to give, but you’re there, and you’re telling him no, no you have not. You don’t get to lose, because you have SO much more life to live.

His light.

The tunnel lets up, opens up the walls, lets him bathe in you, in the way your arms are still hooked tight around his waist and you’re going on about how there was a new episode of your favorite show that he had to watch. 

And of course he would watch it.

He’d do anything for you, anything you asked whenever you wanted. And he knows, in turn, that there wasn’t a damn thing in this god forsaken reality that would stop you from doing the same for him.

You tell him as much. To his face, into his hair, with the dance of your fingers on his back, in the way you guide him to the couch, when you place down some food and a cup of water— you just cried out your backup supply— and again when you place yourself down next to him.

“I’m so beyond lucky to have you.” He murmurs to you, some fifteen minutes into the episode of your show, something about this dude with a metal helmet and a green baby? He can’t recall the name.

You turn, a smile gracing your features. “You deserve me. You deserve everything the multiverse has to offer and more. Dunno what I’d do without you.”

“You’d have one less person bothering you.”

“Ah, yes,” you laugh, swatting his cheek. “Like you’re such a nuisance.”

He laughs, actually laughs. It’s nice.

You tilt your head onto the girth of his shoulder, snuggling in tight as your attention is again sucked into the screen.

He smiles dazedly at you, finally feeling at peace.

Mi luz. My light.

is anyone else still obsessed with him or is that just me

[try-set-me-on-fire]

How about odd socks for the soft prompts?

Eddie tries to write his vows. Poem excerpts from E.E. Cummings’ [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in], Mary Oliver’s The Mango, and Pablo Neruda’s Finale. Plain text version on AO3 here and under the read more!

Dear Buck oh its not a letter

Buck

Evan Buckley (?)

From the day we met, I

I take thee to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part except I don’t want to stop loving you when either of us die. I don’t want to part. Till the glaciers have melted and the oceans have dried up, till Mount Whitney (the tallest mountain in California, I looked it up) is eroded to a molehill, till the heat death of the universe do us part. Maybe that will be enough time

I keep thinking about that time you wore those fucking socks to work and Bobby and everyone were trying to really gently asses if you were having a breakdown because we just see AND YOU’RE GOING TO DIE on your ankle and then you laughed and pulled up your pants and it said “GET LOST IN NATURE AND YOU’RE GOING TO DIE” which like I still think is kind of a fucked up thing to put on a sock but you just did one of your beautiful sunshine grins (we weren’t even together but god I still got light headed looking at you) and were like “I thought it would be neat to remind people the importance of safety in nature” and I was kind of teasing and annoyed and laughed about it and that was like three years ago Buck and I still feel guilty about it because if you were going through some kind of crisis I don’t ever want to be annoyed and laugh about it, I want to be there for you no matter what and I hope I’ve proven that to you over the years, that I don’t just love you on easy days, I love you every single day all the time even when everything’s fucked even if I can’t write wedding vows to save my life christ this is terrible

I love your nose and your birthmark and your eyebrows and your hair and your shoulders and the bends of your elbows, and your wrists and hands, and I love your nipples and hip bones and cock and ass and knees and your shin, I love the scars on your shin, I love every scar you have because none of them killed you

How about

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

Or

But this was a rich house, and clever too.

After salmon and salads,

mangoes for everyone appeared on blue plates,

each one cut in half and scored

and shoved forward from its rind, like an orange flower,

cubist and juicy.

When I began to eat

things happened.

Or

your head on the pillow,

your hands floating

in the light, in my light,

over my earth.

It was beautiful to live

when you lived

The world is bluer and of the earth

at night, when I sleep

enormous, within your small hands.

Before the ceremony I told Shannon “It’s going to be okay” and in the moment I believed it because I had her and I was scared but she was my best friend and up there in front of her parents and mine I said the regular vows but I think that first one was what counted even if it didn’t end up being true. Maybe I’ve been telling you my vows for years. You can have my back any day. There’s no one on earth I trust with my son - with our son - more than you. Every time I tell you I love you, isn’t that a promise?

I’ve been happy before in my life, despite everything I don’t think I was an unhappy man, not always, only sometimes, but you make me happier than I thought was possible. That kind of feeling when you laugh too hard and you’re not getting enough oxygen to your brain. Isn’t that romantic, you give me hypoxia

Here’s the thing you know I’m going to get up there and just start crying immediately so I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to find words I won’t even be able to get out

No hi this is me two hours later of course this is important you’re important you knowing how much I love you is so important to me and I will stand up there blubbering at you for hours if that’s what it takes

I trust you. I love you. I am happy with you. I want to wake up beside you always, Buck I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you next to me first thing in the morning (or night or afternoon or whenever we’ve finished sleeping), touching your warm body with your lungs breathing and your heart beating and the solidity of you feels like a miracle

I’ll buy you socks so your feet don’t get cold and I’ll bring you fruit because you like to eat sweet things and wherever I live will be your home and I’ll be by your side as long as you do me the honor of wanting me there and everything I have and am is yours and I

[sh4wty18]

i saw u doing johnnie x pregnant!reader and loved it, wanted to know if u could do jake x pregnant!reader?? xx

- lisey 🦇

of course! anything for my fav moot <33

jake x pregnant!reader hcs

purple = reader orange = jake

tw: nothing here is accurate or representative of jake in real life. this is all fictional and for fun only!

★ when he finds out you’re pregnant, he wants you to be resting ALL THE TIME. like you have to explain to him that just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you can’t do stuff

★ he definitely uses your pregnancy as an excuse to order food out a lot

“hmm i think the baby wants taco bell… what do you think, babe? 👀” “i think you want taco bell, jake!” “no!!! how dare you accuse me of such tomfoolery?! the baby definitely wants it! i think we gotta get it… for the baby of course”

★ he’s constantly checking in on you and making sure you feel okay. like if tara or carrington want him to go out he’ll triple (definitely quadruple) check with you and make sure you’re okay to be alone

★ speaking of going out, he feels SO BAD that you have to miss out on partying, drinking, smoking, etc. to the point that he literally goes sober for you

★ he would choose a night in with you watching your favorite movies over a night out

★ he never was much of a date planner before you got pregnant, but now he’s planning dates 24/7… man’s down bad and he will honestly be happy doing whatever you want all the time

*cue jake looking at himself in the mirror after letting you give him a makeover for fun… makeup, glittery nail polish, etc.* “do i look like a pretty princess?” “oh yeah, you’re the prettiest princess ever, baby”

★ he’s not scared to be a dad he’s just not prepared. he doesn’t feel like he’s out of his youth yet and he somewhat wishes he had more time before entering fatherhood. however, the more your bump starts to show the more excited he gets to meet your little one

★ he doesn’t care if it’s a boy or a girl he’s just excited to have a mini version of you and him running around

★ constantly making jokes about how your kid is going to be the most gorgeous person of all time (because they will have your combined good looks, obviously)

“our baby is gonna have the best mix of both our genes and they’re gonna be so cool and smart and funny and kind and awesome!!!!”

★ happy stims when he can feel the baby kicking :’)

---

these were so fun to think of and i hope you all enjoyed :) especially @liseytopia !!!

[intheticklecloset]

TickleTober Day #19: Costumes

Junta x Takato (Dakaichi)

~~~

The way Junta stared at him when he got home, Takato had a brief moment of insecurity, wondering if this had been a good idea.

He hadn’t warned his boyfriend; had wanted to surprise him for a change, taking the initiative by thinking up a roleplay idea they hadn’t done before (well, catching sight of the costumes at work and getting inspired, but still) and getting everything set up on his own as a sort of gift for him. He hadn’t exactly known what to expect when Junta saw what he’d done, but the look of utter shock and panic on his partner’s face was not among the top ten reactions he’d anticipated.

However, before he could open his mouth to say anything, the look melted away, replaced by what he had expected (and hoped for) – a look of complete glee, followed by his boyfriend snatching his own costume from the hanger and bolting back out of the room, shouting that he had to get into character.

Takato let out a sigh of relief, though he still trembled a little. Admittedly, handcuffing himself to Junta’s bed in a prisoner’s orange jumpsuit had been risky, but he’d counted on his lover getting home to discover him, and it had all paid off. Now he just had to brace himself.

“Now, then…” Junta said in a much calmer manner as he reentered the room in his officer’s uniform, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Let’s have some fun, shall we, criminal?”

Takato shivered as Junta climbed onto the bed with him. He took a breath and did his best to get into character as well. “Whatever you do to me, it won’t make me change my behavior. You can’t make me a good man.”

Junta slipped out of character quicker than anticipated at that, a genuine grin crossing his features. “Ooh, good line.”

“W-What was with that look on your face when you came in?” Tatako stammered out the question as Junta got started, kissing his neck. “You looked scared. It made me worry.”

“Oh, that?” Junta hummed. “I was just freaked out because I thought someone had broken in and done this to you. Once I realized what was happening, I was fine. Why?” he teased, gently scribbling his fingers along Takato’s bare ribs under the open jumpsuit. “Were you afraid I wouldn’t like it?”

“Ah! Ch-Chuhuhuhuhuhunta!” Takato whined, reluctant giggles spilling out of him as he squirmed, unable to go anywhere thanks to his own stupid plan. “Dohohohohohon’t!”

“You’re cute.” Junta leaned down to kiss his lips briefly, swinging a leg over to straddle his waist as he playfully growled, “And you can’t get away from me like this, can you, ticklish little bad boy?”

“Nohohohohohohoho!” Takato squealed, bursting into helpless laughter as his boyfriend ramped up his attack, poking and scratching and raking along every ticklish spot he’d discovered in their time together. “Chuhuhuhuhuhuhunta, plehehehehehehease!”

“Please what? I don’t hear you asking me to stop~”

Takato was going to murder him when he got out of this, and then he’d have to wear the jumpsuit for real. But then again…

It wasn’t like he absolutely hated this turn of events, either.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Helping Hand 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stare at the wall. Your eyes are too dry to cry. The pain, the memory of the night before, the reality you find yourself trapped in, cannot bring the swell to surface. A blur moves along the edge of your sight and your eyes come into focus.

You watch Jonathan plant the lap desk over your thighs. He pauses to pet your head and kiss your forehead. You grit down and turn your attention back to the plaster.

“Can’t have you fussing over breakfast,” he purrs, “doctor’s orders that you relax.”

You don’t respond. He hums, disappointed, but doesn’t reproach you. You almost prefer your ex and his bluntness. At least he would tell you what you did.

You sit in the fog of painkillers and disbelief. It still doesn’t seem real. Jonathan. The refined businessman, the proper gentleman, entirely above you, and yet he’s entirely twisted. Last night, the way he touched you, the way he ignored your pain and used it against it, it’s not so different than every other man you’ve known.

It’s your own fault for believing there were decent ones left in this world. Or that they ever existed at all.

He returns and lays out a generous meal; orange juice and coffee to be certain you have whatever you like; crepes rolled and sprinkled with sugar and drizzled with syrup, berries glistening, yogurt and granola in a small cup on the side. It’s all perfect. Just like everything else in his life. Can’t he see that you are anything but?

“There you are, darling,” he proclaims as he backs up.

He stands and watches. His blue eyes no longer remind you of the summer sky, rather they are icy and cold. You look down and lift the cutlery.

“Thanks,” you murmur as he clears his throat.

You eat. Not because you’re hungry but to keep yourself from sinking any further into horror. You don’t taste it. If this was anywhere else, you might be in awe of the culinary precision and medley of flavours. You can hardly think through the drug-laced nightmare.

You finish and he takes away the tray and lap table. You lean back into the pillows and grown. There’s a new pang in your hip. It started when he had himself over you, rolling against you, your legs splayed beneath him.

You close your eyes and slump. You don’t hear him return. The world shifts as he moves you to lay on your back, removing a pillow to reposition you.

“Darling, how do you feel?” He brushes his knuckles against your cheek. “The doctor recommended a hot bath? How about it?” You groan and stay hidden under your eye lids. He bends and kisses your forehead before he stands again, “very well.”

You sense him back away but do not look. You've known this helplessness before. During your first marriage when you truly believed you were trapped with Andy forever. You can only hope Jonathan tires of you just the same, but what then? Starting over again with even less time.

You hear the distant splash of water on porcelain and wince. The jolt sends electricity down your spine. You groan and grimace in pain.

His footfalls mark his return. Your eyes open as he approaches and sits on the edge of the bed. He undresses you as you put up no resistance. What’s the use in it? It only hurts more.

He removes the sling gently before he strips away your other layers. When you're naked, you don't even have the strength to be ashamed. Maybe the stretch marks might scare him away.

He gently slips his arms beneath you. As he lifts you, you moan. He coos at you, hushing your pain. You lean into him with no other choice but to let him do what he wants. So very much like your first marriage.

He takes you into the bathroom and lowers you into basin. You can't help but be soothed by the warmth of the water as it laps down. The futility keeps you there.

He shifts, his shadow moving beyond your eyelids. It isn't until he touches you again, that you react. Your lashes flick up and you wince as tension strings up your muscles.

He gently slides his hand under your uninjured shoulder and sits you forward. He's naked, a striking realization that has you even more rigid. He angles in behind you, easily, all too smoothly, moving to sit against the porcelain as he brings you over him. Your eyes dart to the ceiling and stick there as he eases you back. You're horrified at the feeling of his flesh against yours. The heat is even more intense than the water.

He sighs as he embraces you from below, your head on his shoulder, and his hands crawl around your hips. Mortified, you keep him from touching your stomach. He stops but runs his hands in the other direction, tracing along your pelvis and kneading your thighs.

You reach for him again and he brushes you off. You're uncomfortable and not because the pain. He's touching those parts of you that are ugly. The ones marked with age and fat. The ones your husband hated so much. The ones that drove him to another.

“You needn't punish yourself any longer, darling,” he reprimands, “I'm only trying to give you all you deserve.”

You scoff and feel him stiffen. He once more frames your hips and hums, “what?”

“Nothing,” you mutter.

“No, tell me what is so amusing.”

“What I deserve? To be thrown on the floor? To be kept in a bed all day at your beck and call–”

“It was an accident, darling, we both were there–”

“You know it wasn't,” you sneer furiously and try to sit up, “ahhhh!”

You fall back, heavy enough that you feel the air rush out of him. He steadies you with his hands on your sides and you groan and snivel. You hate this. You hate feeling this helpless. You never wanted to be trapped again, yet here you are.

[chonitopaz]

You sighed to yourself walking up to the Gallaghers door hoping and praying that Fiona wouldn’t be the one to answer the door. You knocked twice before stepping back from the door pulling a pack of cigarettes out of your pocket lighting one. It felt like you were out there forever till the front door opened and you were met with site of Fiona.

You took a long drag off your cigarette pushing past her letting yourself in, “Before you say anything I’m here for lip.”

She nodded following you into the kitchen, “It’s good to see you.”

You turned to look at her for a split second before turning your head to the side not wanting to meet her gaze.

“I guess you’re not gonna talk to me?”

You sighed turning to look at her, “I have nothing to say, I basically told you all I had to say the last time I was here.”

Fiona chuckled shaking her head, “Can you at least tell me if we’re even still together?”

You stayed silent as you walked over to the ashtray sitting on the kitchen table putting out your cigarette, “You hurt me Fi.”

“I know and I feel shit for what I did and I miss you like crazy,” She said stepping closer to where you were standing fiddling with the hem of your jacket.

“Fi, please don’t make this any harder than it already is,” You said trying your hardest not to give in to the temptation of the woman standing in front of you.

You looked at her for a split second and you wanted nothing more than to kiss her, she looked at you with those big brown eyes wrapping her arms around your neck.

You inhaled deeply taking a step back because you were scared that if you stood there like that with her then whatever were to happen next you wouldn’t be able to help yourself, “You didn’t let me finish.”

You cleared your throat looking down at your hands fiddling with your fingers, “It’s hard enough being here being around you.”

You paused before saying your next words, “It’s taking everything in me to not grab you and kiss you, to take you upstairs to your room and have makeup sex with you.”

“Then why don’t you?” Fiona questioned with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“Because then I picture Jimmy’s smug face and you kissing him which is what’s keeping me from doing just that.”

Fiona looked like it was taking everything in her not to cry, “Okay. Well are you at least still going to come to Carls birthday thing tonight at the house?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea Fiona.”

“He really wanted you there. Look you ain’t gotta go for me just do it for Carl at least. Please?”

You really didn’t want to go because it was really hard being around Fiona. You can’t help, but thinking back to the night she told you her and Jimmy kissed. You wanted to say no or just tell her yes that you still plan on coming then just not show up, but then you started thinking about Carl and how much you really care for that boy.

You inhaled deeply running your hand through your hair, “Okay, I will for Carl.”

Fiona nodded shooting you a soft smile. You stood there awkwardly for a few moments, you were thankful though when you heard foot steps coming down the stairs. You turned your head to see lip.

“Yo,” He announced attempting to throw on a jacket.

You kept your gaze on your shoes trying your hardest keep your cool. Lip went over to the fridge pulling out some orange juice. He looked between the two of you with a raised eye brow.

“You guys all good?” He questioned looking at you then back at Fiona for a response.

“Yeah man,” you said.

Fiona nodded shooting lip a dejected smile.

“So where are you two off to?” She questioned trying to change the subject

“I asked her to help me with this piece of shit bike I got in yesterday. Figured I could use her mechanic knowledge.”

You couldn’t stop looking over at Fiona no matter how hard you tried to keep your eyes on anything else, they always ended up back on her.

“I’ll be outside,” You said abruptly looking over at lip.

He nodded, “I’ll be out there in one sec,” You heard him shout before you closed the back door.

-

“Pass me that wrench,” You said pointing over at the tool box beside you, still keeping your full attention on the mess of a bike in front of you.

Lip did as you said handing you the wrench, “You see what I’m doing here?” You questioned

“Yes boss,” He said with a slight chuckle.

Causing you to chuckle, while flipping him the bird. “Thanks for showing me this stuff. Brads been on my ass about this bike for days.”

“Anytime man,” You said tightening up one of the last screws.

“So you and my sister still on the outs?”

You stopped what you were doing reaching over for the rag next to you wiping off your hands, “Think we’re a little more than on the outs.”

Lip nodded taking the cigarette he had sitting behind his ear before lighting it, “You know she feels like shit for what she did, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this upset”.

You sighed, “I miss her I do, but I don’t think I can trust her.”

Lip took a long drag off his cigarette, “Look I hate to say this because she is my sister. I know she doesn’t have the best track record with loyalty, but I was there that night. She made him leave and she didn’t take it any further than the kiss.”

You inhaled deeply taking in what Lip said, you knew about Fiona’s past relationship endeavors and she was honest with you about everything, but you didn’t know if you were going to be able to take her back after this.

Lip chuckled bringing you out of your thoughts, “Cat got your tongue?”

You chuckled, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. This is between me and your sister though.”

He nodded putting out his cigarette, “Just don’t dick her around, if you’re gonna call it quits just do it. It’s driving her crazy not knowing. Shit that’s all I’ve been hearing about for the past week.”

“I got it covered man,” You said patting his shoulder.

“And don’t worry even if things don’t work with your sister and I. You can still come stay with me every weekend champ. We also wanna let you know that we still love you very much,” You joked.

“Funny,” Lip said flipping you the bird.

You laughed going over to the tool box stealing one of Lips cigarettes, “You uh comin to Carls party tonight?” Lip questioned leaning up against the tool box.

“Yeah I guess I am,” You said taking a drag off your cigarette.

“Good.” Lip said.

-

As you and Lip entered the Gallagher house you started to feel a little overwhelmed, because you knew that people were going to ask questions pertaining to you and Fiona’s relationship status.

You took a deep breath only exhaling till you made it halfway into the living room, Where everyone was dancing around with beers in their hands. You were just about to make a beeline for the kitchen, when Debbie stopped you rambling about some girl she’s been seeing.

You chuckled, “Debs I just got here let me grab a beer before you unload your girl drama on me.”

Debbie groaned going over to the couch where Franny was sitting picking her up. You watched her as she disappeared up the stairs a little relieved to not have to play gay therapist.

You made your way into the kitchen grabbing one of the beers from the box off the counter twisting the cap off and tossing it to the side. You leaned up against the counter watching everyone dance around. You scanned the living room your eyes landing on Fiona, you smiled to yourself when you saw what she was wearing.

She had on a long sleeved V neck showing off a lot of cleavage and those damn leather shorts she knew you loved. You were almost positive she was wearing them to get your attention. You watched as her and V danced to some pop song you didn’t recognize, you couldn’t take your eyes off her you let your eyes travel down her body.

You wanted nothing more than to pin her up against the wall and mark her neck with hickeys. You set your beer down about to give in to the temptation, or at least you were until you heard someone clear their throat beside you.

You turned your head to see Carl, you smiled at him relieved, “Sup birthday boy.”

“Sup,” He said giving you a fist bump.

“You get the gun I asked you for?” He questioned almost causing you to spit out your beer.

“Dude your sister would kill me.”

He sighed, “I’m seventeen, she’s always got a stick up her ass.”

You chuckled passing the boy a beer, “Not a gun, but it’s something.”

He twisted the top off clanking his beer bottle against yours, leaning beside you on the counter. You let your eyes wander back to the brunette you cannot seem to get off your mind. She was still dancing with V laughing at something crazy the woman probably said.

“You and Fiona back together?” Carl spoke up.

You jumped a little forgetting that the boy had been standing beside you. “Uh no it’s kind of complicated.”

He nodded, “Do you still love her?”

You turned to look at Carl shocked to be having this conversation with the boy. You remembered when he was just a little kid running around terrorizing neighborhood animals and lighting things on fire, but he wasn’t that little boy anymore.

“Of course I do, things are just rough right now.”

“The thing with Jimmy?” He questioned chucking a little.

“Yeah the thing with Jimmy.” You said the man’s name leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

“One thing you gotta understand Jimmy is like a roach. You think he’s gone, but he always comes back and he’s hard to get rid of. Fiona loves you though and she fucked up there’s no denying that, but I really think you should talk to her. Let her know where you guys stand because it’s really eating her up. Plus it would suck to not have you around.” Carl said taking a quick swig out of his beer.

You smiled at the boy ruffling his hair, “Where’d all this wisdom come from?”

He swatted your hand away rolling his eyes, “Growin up in this house you learn a thing or two.”

You chuckled wrapping your arm around the boy.

“So since I possibly helped fix things with you and my sister?” The boy questioned.

“I’m not getting you a gun dude.” You said before he could even finish his sentence.

The younger Gallagher smacked his lips wiggling his way outta your grasp, “You guys fuckin suck.”

You shook your head as you watched the boy disappear back into the sea of people in the living room.

You stood there still debating on whether or not to go talk to Fiona. After about two more beers, and a shot you eventually worked up enough courage to go talk to her.

She was still standing with V her back turned. You inhaled deeply as you approached her. V looked at you then at Fiona causing the woman to turn around. Her eyes went wide when she saw you, almost like she was in shock.

“Hey,” Was the only thing you could think to say.

“Hey,” She said nervously.

“Can we talk?” You questioned.

“Outside?”

You nodded while following behind her.

The two of you stepped out back shutting the door behind you. You sat down on the steps as you turned to look at Fiona who followed your lead.

“You came.” She said breaking the awkward tension that was very noticeable.

“Told you I wouldn’t miss it,” You said keeping your gaze on your shoes.

“Guess you thought I’d bale?”

She chuckled, “I had my doubts.”

Before you knew it the awkward silence was back. You looked over at the woman for a split second before averting your gaze back to the ground. Your eyes landing on a twig, you picked it up tossing it into the distance.

“Look if you’re not gonna talk I’m going back inside,” Fiona spoke up lifting herself up off the steps.

“I love you, Ya know?” you said barely above a whisper.

Fiona froze, “I love you too.”

“Then why? Why did you kiss Jimmy, I thought this shit with him was over?”

“I don’t know,” She said running her hands through her hair.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” You said trying your hardest not to raise your voice.

“We have history. Okay?”

You shook your head trying really hard to control your temper, “Fi I have loved you from the moment I met you. I’ve been there through majority of your past relationships, Jimmy’s a dick, I don’t know why you always fall for his shit. Am I just not enough?”

“You’re more than enough.”

You stood up getting off the porch, you reached into your pocket pulling out a cigarette from your pack. You inhaled deeply then exhaled watching the smoke dissipate. Fiona stood up making her way over to where you were standing.

“I know I fucked up, but I don’t wanna lose you. You’re the only good thing I got goin in my life right now.”

You took another drag off your cigarette turning to look at her, you felt her icy hand rest on your cheek as she looked at you with those damn big brown eyes that have always been your weakness.

You grabbed both of her hands, “Your hands are freezing.”

“Everything on me is freezing right now,” She said moving her hands from yours. You felt her hands slide into your jacket pocket’s causing your breath to hitch as you realized just how close the two of you were.

“Fi,” You said as the gap between the two of you was on the verge of closing.

“Hmm?” She hummed.

“We shouldn’t,” You said as her lips grazed yours causing your brain to go into over drive.

Before you knew it your lips were on hers, you wrapped your hands around her hips pulling her closer. Her hands made there way to the button on your jeans.

You pulled away abruptly, “I can’t.”

She looked at you confused, “Why not?”

“Because I’d be doing the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t.”

Fiona shook her head, “I’m going back inside and you know what? You can take your ass home. I’m done trying to show you that I really do love you and that I really do care about you. I’m trying to be a different person, I’m trying not to fuck things up with the one person who has actually been honest with me, that’s actually treated me like I matter.”

“Guess I fucked that up though.” Fiona mumbled turning around.

You stood there as you watched her make it up the first step, too busy battling with yourself to even try and stop her. You took one last drag off your cigarette discarding it onto the ground. Your eyes were still on Fiona, you watched as she made her way up the fourth step stopping in her tracks, she turned to look at you tears streaming down her face.

It made your heart ache and for spilt second nothing else mattered. Jimmy’s smug face didn’t matter, you telling yourself not give in didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered right now was Fiona.

“Damn it,” You mumbled jogging over to the porch.

As you made it to the fourth step Fiona threw her arms around your neck, you let your hands find their way to her waist.

“I really do love you,” Fiona whimpered.

“I know and I love you too.”

Fiona pulled away to look at you as you brought your thumb to her cheek wiping the tears that fell, before bringing your lips to her forehead.

“Does this mean we’re still together?” Fiona spoke up her tone slightly uncertain, but hopeful.

You took a deep breath bringing your hands back to her waist. A small smile creeping onto your lips as you looked at the woman in front of you.

“Yeah I guess it does.”

-

You awoke the next morning to the sunlight shining through the window practically blinding you, you yawned looking around the room that definitely wasn’t yours. Memories of the night before flashed through your mind.

You rolled over only to be inches away from Fiona’s face. You smiled to yourself as you listened to the sound of her light snoring bringing back a sense of comfort that you didn’t realize you needed. You brought your hand to her face moving some of her hair behind her ear causing her to stir around.

“Stop staring,” Fiona said her voice a little raspy.

“I can’t help it, I forgot just how hot you look in the morning.” You chuckled wrapping your arms around her waist.

She groaned bringing her head to rest on your chest, “You know as much as I’d love a round three, I’m still pretty exhausted from the other two rounds from last night.”

“Ah giving up are we, thought Gallaghers didn’t give up?” You joked causing Fiona to giggle.

“We don’t.” She yawned.

You chuckled bringing your lips to the crown of her head, “I love you.”

Fiona moved her head to look at you with a soft smile, “I love you too.”

You brought your hand to Fiona’s cheek running your thumb across her bottom lip, completely mesmerized by just how beautiful the woman truly looked in the morning, even with bed head and bags under her eyes she still looked like a dream.

You couldn’t even deny that you missed mornings like this because to you and Fiona nothing else mattered. It was just the two of you too wrapped up in your own little bubble to care about anything else.

“You don’t know how much I missed this, how much I missed us.” Fiona spoke up her voice filling the silence in the room.

Instead of saying anything you leaned in till your lips connected with hers. The kiss was slow, but passionate although it did begin to escalate from there. Before you knew it you were on top of Fiona as your lips trailed down her neck, you were half way under the covers when you felt Fiona’s body jolt.

“Damn it Carl!” She yelled angrily.

You took that as a sign to throw yourself on the other side of the bed making your way out from under the covers. You looked over at the boy who was standing in the door way with a smirk on his face.

“Dude knock next time,” Fiona sighed running her hand through her hair.

“This mean you guys are back together?” Carl chuckled which only irritated Fiona more.

“What do you want?” Fiona snapped.

“Frank’s in the kitchen trying to clean himself in the sink again,” his smiling fading to a look of disgust.

Fiona groaned, “You guys can’t deal with it?”

Carl shrugged before walking off.

You chuckled watching as Fiona stood up picking your black polo jacket up off the floor throwing it on.

“Fuckin Gallaghers,” she mumbled.

You shook your head as Fiona tossed you your t shirt, “Man I missed gettin cock blocked by your family.”

Fiona huffed looking over at you with a sour look on her face as she attempted to get her sweats on, “Meet you downstairs?”

“Yes ma’am,” you said bringing two fingers to your forehead saluting her.

Fiona rolled her eyes letting out a slight chuckle, “You’re such a fuckin dork.”

“But I’m your dork!” You shouted as the girl made her way out of the room flipping you the bird.

-

As you made your way down stairs you couldn’t help, but smile at the familiar sound of the Gallaghers bickering. That was one thing you never thought you’d miss, you made your way into the kitchen adjusting your jeans.

“There’s the woman of the hour!” Ian was the first to greet you lifting up his coffee cup like it was a beer.

You chuckled attempting to make your way over to the coffee pot as you watched Fiona swat Frank with a news paper.

“So I guess you two made up?” You turned your head to see Lip who was coming down the stairs with a cigarette dangling between his lips.

You were about to answer the man until Carl beat you to it, “I heard them fuckin makin up all night last night.”

You nearly spit out your coffee at the boys comment.

“Yeah you guys are loud,” Debbie chimed in picking up Franny sitting her at the kitchen table.

“Alright enough,” Fiona said walking over to where you were standing as you pulled her into your side.

“Don’t you guys got somewhere to be?”

“Why got some more makin up to do?” Carl joked causing the other Gallaghers to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Bet you didn’t miss this?” Fiona said gesturing to all the chaos going on around you.

You turned your head to look at the woman, “Believe or not I actually did.”

Fiona chuckled shaking your her head, “How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one,” You said pulling her closer to you kissing the crown of her head.

In that moment you felt like you were home because to you Fiona was your home and you were hers.

[llovelyclouds]

notes on cristabel oct

here's all the relevant info on cristabel i took note of during my tlt reread, in one place!

you can find the rest of the posts in this project here!

CRISTABEL OCT

titles:

Mercymorn’s cavalier, first gen, founded the eighth (with Mercy)

name meaning: in latin the meaning of the name Cristabel is: beautiful christian/follower of christ

notes from harrow the ninth:

The reason Mercy is the Saint of Joy (htn. pg. 177)

Mercy won't talk about her to Harrow, even though John thinks she would, and that her name would upset Augustine (htn. pg. 177)

Augustine doesn't mind talking about her though, and says: "A total delight. Effervescent. Kind to animals and children. A master of the sword. Did not have the intellect you'd ordinarily find in a sandwich or an orange, and was a sickening twerp into the bargain. The Eighth House will never see her like again." (htn. pg. 177)

“‘You know what I feel… you know I don't think she was the best influence on Alfred… you know I think they brought out the worst in each other, and I don’t think you disagree.’ God said, ‘They were very similar people.’ ‘No,’ said Augustine. ‘They weren’t, John. She was a fanatic and an idiot- yes, she was, Mercy- and he… was a man who regretted he wasn't. It took surprisingly little to lead my brother astray.’” - Augustine and John, discussing whatever happened between Cristabel and Alfred (double suicide, maybe?) (htn. pg. 274)

Augustine hated her for sure, but he’s ok with pretending he didn’t for dios apate reasons (htn. pg. 279)

"Cristabel always said I was tidy." - Mercymorn (htn. pg. 410)

"you picked the wrong man to enter a suicide pact with. I hate 'em. Cristabel might have undone all my good work with Alfred, but here comes the reckoning." - Augustine (htn. pg. 487)

notes from nona the ninth:

"The only other people I put through that damn trial were Mercy and Cris, because only Cris didn't mind being trepanned on the regular."- Pyrrha, about her and G1deon's trial at Canaan house (ntn. pg. 84)

Was Mercy's nun best friend pre-resurrection (ntn. pg. 128)

"I was worried I was going to get the Antichrist bit from her too, but she was just like: stop doing this! Read your Bible! This was Christ's whole problem! I was like, What are you talking about, Jesus cured the lepers and everyone was all, Hooray, thanks man. M-'s nun was all, Are you kidding, Christ never said no and never asked anyone to pay and got everyone to pay way too much attention and brought the heat down on everybody, Christ didn't keep to office hours, she said. Don't do that." (ntn. pg. 190)

“Me in my bedroom with a nun and a migraine, her thinking that if she pushed me enough we’d instantiate the Trinity and we’d all be saved.” (ntn. pg. 399)

“Eventually it was the nun who changed things. She knocked on my door and said very nicely, John, how are you doing? And I said, Not great, honestly. She said, John, how close are you to finding the soul? And I said, I can’t, Sister, It’s too big. I don’t understand why it’s so huge. I can’t find the soul inside the body, I don’t know where to look. I don’t know what I’m doing. She prayed over me, and then she went away for the longest five minutes of my life. [...] Then the nun came back and knocked on my door and said, John, I think I have it. I know you’re very scared right now, but I’m going to help you. Please let me in. He said: I let her in. She’d brought P-’s gun. [...] She just smiled at me. She said, John, don’t misunderstand. I want to help you. I truly believe that in our most terrible hours we don’t instinctively reach out to God; we push ourselves away from Him. Don’t feel bad for not rising heroically to the occasion right now, Fear doesn’t help us achieve a state of grace; it deafens the heart. John, I truly believe you can save everyone. So concentrate, please. She said, Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for our sinners, now and at the hour of our death. And she shot herself.” (ntn. Pg. 404)

[itskenickie]

Gendrya Masterlist

The list is from newest to oldest.

When I'm With You

“Got room for one more?” The sudden and unexpected voice made Arya to sharply turn around. Her eyes widened at the figure standing before her with a cocky smirk, “Gendry? What are you doing here?”

can you feel the things I feel right now with you

“You’ll be sorry!” Gendry wasn’t afraid of Daenerys and her empty threat. She is powerless without her dragons and he doubts that Jon and his sisters would allow for his execution solely for rejecting the title of a lord.

The Bull and The Wolf

It was Tryion, who was hidden behind a large chair in front of the fire, still drunk out of his mind from the feast earlier, who spoke up, “I do believe the hound meant that mating season had come early for the wolf and the bull.”

I Think Your Love Would Be Too Much

It had been too long. Too long from being away from Arya. He missed her so much.

M'lady

When Arya Stark walked out of the forge after showing Gendry her wish, she felt like she could breathe again. Like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. She was expecting many things once she returned to Winterfell; reuniting with her siblings, avenging her deceased family and protecting her land. But she never thought that she would reunite with Gendry.

Pen Pal

Arya signs up for a pen pal because Mademoiselle Margaery says so.

Pink

The love of his life is his best friend’s sister. She was the tiny girl with a lot of spunk who played football and the guitar. She also loved getting down and dirty while fixing up cars. And, Gendry is going to be cringy for a bit, she was the emo princess of his dreams.

Him

The sound of Valyrian steel swords crunching through the bones of White Walkers was all that Gendry could hear for they were louder than the cries of the dying men.

Scar Tissue

His hold around her tighten and right when he noticed she was about to doze off, he kissed her head gently and closed his own eyes. Thoughts of Winterfell and Arya on his mind.

3 times arya stark wasn't scared and the one time she was

Lommy, Hot-Pie and Podrick try to scare Arya.

Clueless

Arya met the strangest men while visiting her brother Jon up North.

A-Z

A list from A to Z on why Arya Stark loved Gendry Waters and vice versa.

Instagram Thirst

Just then, Arya’s phone beeped. Indicating that she had a new notification on her phone. She fished out the silver device from her phone and swiped on the notification which took her to Instagram and showed her a post from one of the accounts she followed who posted a new work out video. She smiled to herself, or she thought, while double tapping the screen and a big red heart appeared before her.

A Lady and A Smith

“You know, you’re just like your mother.” Gendry chuckled while twirling Lyanna. “How? I thought Ned looked like mommy and I looked like you?” Her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

Prince Gendry

Gendry Baratheon. A man who is dubbed as the handsomest in all of the seven kingdoms. Rumor has it that when he was born, the first children had gifted him with eyes that were forged from a gemstone that was known as Blue Apatite.

Shy Encounters

The sunlight shining through the train's window illuminated her skin, making her glow, as if her skin were made of tiny diamonds.

The Titanic

The ship stood tall and grand at the harbor unlike anything Gendry has ever seen. The orange and black funnel of the ship almost covering the bright sun. A rare sunny day that bestows Winterfell. Basically, the Titanic AU that no body asked for in which Arya is Jack and Gendry is Rose.

Heaven

Sometime around the afternoon, Gendry was sitting on the white love couch with Arya’s head on his lap, his tanned fingers were running through her brown locks. Lips turning upwards at whatever it was on T.V that was making Arya laugh loudly. Those same tanned fingers then began tracing the thin arms when Arya quieted down from laughing. This is Gendry’s favorite way to spend his free time, watching his lover being happy. Laughing and smiling without worrying about the smallest of things. It made Gendry feel lightheaded from the amount of adoration he felt when watching his lover. Gendry heaved a pleased sigh as Arya laughed again.

[bunskiper]

The Sentence

Chapter 2: House of Grief

The walk back to my new home is interesting but very unnerving. I feel like I’m on the set of Halloween Town. Trees stood tall and looked dead, covered with just vines and crows but no leaves. Fog lingered in the air. There was no one in sight. I found myself jumping at footsteps that weren’t there. I believe animals were scurrying but I couldn’t help constantly checking over my shoulder. Every time I did I could tell Mammon was staring. But he never mentioned it or tried to calm me. If he’s not scared I have no reason to. 

 This place didn’t seem real. It looked nothing like any place in my country. It seemed like the dead of winter, but there was no snow and the air was quite warm. The moon looked even bigger outside I couldn’t help but be thankful for its presence. Even if the sight of it was unnerving it illuminated this path that would otherwise be chilling to walk even if I wasn’t alone. But I can’t help but wonder where the hell am I? These people could have built up a whole society somewhere people barely are. Maybe Antarctica? I kept my arms crossed as I trudged behind Mammon. He seemed just as awkward. Stomping with each step he took. We haven’t spoken a word since we left. He puffed out a sigh rolling his eyes then narrowing them. Not really at anything just showing his annoyance. We kept walking. He signed again, rolling his eyes once more. This time he kept glancing over to me, waiting until I looked at him, and then quickly looking away annoyed. What the hell is he doing? With one more sigh, I realized he wanted me to ask what was wrong.  

“What’s,” He interrupted me with an UGH

“I don’t believe this. Of all the rotten luck…” I nodded chewing on my lip. I had no idea what to say. 

“Why should I have to look after some human? It’s insulting, that’s what it is!” I hate how they keep calling me Human like they aren’t human themselves. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the roleplay of this group. 

“That rotten bastard... Does he really think he can scare me into doin’ whatever he wants?” Mammon seems to be speaking aloud his inner monologue. I don’t think he cares if I’m listening or not. He stopped in his place turning to me  placing his hands on my shoulders twisting me to look his way. God, this again. 

“Listen up Human! Just so we’re clear… it’s not like I can’t say no to Lucifer, okay!? I only agreed to babysit you because, um… Well, you know, because.. Uh…” Mammon trailed off trying to find some excuse to make me believe he wasn’t scared of him. I didn’t care if he was scared of him or not I  just wanted him to take his arms off me. 

“Anyway!” he shouted out taking me aback. “It doesn’t matter!  Just don’t go thinking that I’m scared of Lucifer or anything! Because I’m not!” I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying and in all honesty, 

“I really don’t care.” I did not mean to say that aloud. 

“WHAT?!” He screamed offended. God damn it. I really have to watch my mouth. “Oh, now you’re REALLY in for it…!” He stopped removing his hands from my shoulders and placed one hand on his jaw. “Although come to think of it, I’m surprised you’ve got the guts to talk to me like that. You’re not scared?” I shook my head. No, Mammon, I’m not scared some neurotic man. 

“I mean, that's just surprising. You get that I’m a Demon? Right? Like you understand what I am?” I nodded my head. Sure of course you’re a demon. He huffs in reply. “You’re one strange human, I’ll give ya that.” He grunts turning and walking. “Whatever. Let’s move on we’re almost there.” And we continued to walk on the path.

 It wasn’t long until we arrived at the huge castle-like house. It was fucking massive. Grey brick fence lined the outside. Gravestones were just past the black spikey gate that Mammon pushed open. The house was church-like and stunning. Huge glass pane windows and bright orange lighting illuminated the path. There were people home. 

“Well stop gawking at it, let's go!” Mammon yelled from the door. 

“Sorry,” I mumbled taking my eyes off the house and over to him speeding up my pace. 

He held the door open for me pushing me a bit as I walked through. 

“This is the House of Lamentation. It’s one of the dorms here at RAD.” He raised an arm and presented the room to me. Wow. Despite the kidnapping, this place is gorgeous. They had to be rich. Large gargoyle statues sat next to the two staircases that led up to the second floor. Multiple paintings lined each wall. The wallpaper was a beautifully designed purplish-blue. I believe the stairs were made of marble. We stood on a brown rug that led down the hall between the two stairs.

He clicked his tongue. “Well, it’s not JUST one of the dorms. It’s the dorm reserved for student council members. Consider yourself lucky to be placed here.” 

“You know, Lucifer, Asmo, and the others take every chance they get to insult me. Callin’ me scum, sayin’ that I’m a money-grubber and stuff… but I’m an officer on the student council, same as them. The elite of the elite, the top of the RAD social pyramid.” He placed his hands on his hips and triumphantly raised his head. “In other words, I’m a big shot. A REAL big shot. Like, even regular big shots are impressed by what a big shot I am. So don’t you go thinking that I’m just some ordinary demon. I’m nothing like those other peons walking the halls here.” I’ve got to be honest, having someone tell me exactly how cool they are really doesn’t make me think they’re cool. Still, I put on a polite smile. Hoping he stops talking soon and shows me to my room. 

“Oh, and by the way. Diavolo is even MORE of a big shot. He’s so important that he’s got his own castle. That’s why he doesn’t live here with us.” He pauses thinking for a second. “Anyways, the long and short of it is that us seven brothers all live here together. Now, it’s time I show you to your room..” He takes his hands off of his hips and pivots his feet in the direction I assume my room is. I notice on one of the walls there’s a bulletin board. There are a couple of photos and flyers. One of them mentions a part-time position. Thats interesting. This has to be one big community. I’m assuming they’ve been around for a while. I think the big boss man is the Diavolo guy. Perhaps his dad or his grandpa started it with lots of money and it’s carrying on throughout the generations. Interesting.

“What in the Hell are you doing standing with your jaw open? Hurry up, or I’m gonna leave ya behind. If there’s something you wanna ask me, you’d best do it now.” Maybe I’ll check out the job listening to see if I could get a break from this place and make some money. God that sounds stupid. But I would like to check out the rest of the town. 

“What’s the job listing?” I said pointing to the board. He shakes his head. 

“Huh? If you’re curious then why don’t you read the flyer yourself? You can read can’t ya? Go ahead and read it later once I’m done showing you the room. But before you even think about getting a job let me tell you this one survival tip: If a demon looks like they’re gonna kill ya… run away. Either that, or die.” 

“Do I look like a demon that’s going to kill YOU Mammon!?” A boy with blue hair and yellow eyes screamed from the top of the stairs. His uniform seemed to be sloppily put together. Only one button was buttoned on his overcoat and his undershirt had the two top buttons unbuttoned despite the fact he was wearing a tie. Maybe it was a style choice. He skipped multiple stairs as he raced down presumably toward Mammon. I gotta hand it to him he’s running without a single fear of falling. Good on him. 

“Oh Fuck, Levi!” Mammon's eyes widened. “Uh… l-listen up, human! This here is Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy. He’s the third oldest of us brothers.” He was skipping and stuttering on his words anxious to leave. “Since his name’s sorta hard to say, you can just call him Levi! Okay then, come on your room let's go!!” He grabbed my arm and started to drag me. 

“Ow! What the fuck let go!” I pulled my arm back trying to loosen it from his grip. God damn this guy is strong. 

“Mammon, give me back my money. Then go crawl back to your fuck ass hole and DIE.” Levi pushed himself in front of Mammon who finally let go and put his hands up in defense. 

“Come on, I told you I’d get it to you! I just need a little more time. … And you still want me to die even after I give it back? Come on Levi we’re brothers that’s really harsh!” 

“How much more time could you need jackass!” Levi was practically fuming I think I see smoke seeping out of his ears. 

“Just a little more okay!?” 

“You’ve been saying that for 200 years!” 

“200? It has been 260 years get it right, Levi!” 

“Unbelievable. Seriously Mammon, you’re,” Levi was cut off by Mammon shouting in his face.

“I’m What? Scum? Is that what you’re gonna say? Because I’ve heard it,” Levi then cut Mammon off screaming louder. What a way to be introduced to my new home. 

“You’re a lowlife and a waste of space.”

“Hey! That’s even worse come on!” Mammon looked down ashamed no longer yelling. Levi threw his hands up in defeat.

“Whatever…. Just give me my money. I need it to buy the Blu-ray box set of Journey to the Devildom: The Tale of Little She-Devil and Her Reluctant Companion. The initial round of copies includes promotional tickets to a live event as a special bonus” What an oddly specific title. How did he even remember all that?

“I’ve got no idea what you’re even talking about, Levi, but it doesn’t matter! Because I don’t even have any money to give you. How am I supposed to give back money I don’t have, huh!?” Mammon shrugs. 

“So then, you’re telling me you refuse to pay me back?” 

“That is NOT what I’m saying. Are you just looking for a fight? Is that it?” Damn. I like this. I’ve got my own Jersey Shore playing out in front of me. Maybe if I yelled world star they’ll start beating each other's asses. 

“Listen up human! Remember the advice I told you about with demons? Well, get ready. It’s time for you to die because it’s either me or you and it’s gonna be you!” He shoves me into Leviathan taking off. Levi then shoves me back away. I feel like a ping pong. 

“Ew what... What the fuck. Mammon! You ass... He just ran off. Do you realize what just happened? Mammon used you as a distraction to get away from me. He used you as a sacrifice.” Levi was shaking his head. Wow, making Mammon my protector was such a good idea. “I’ll admit that Mammon is one of the scummiest scumbags you’ll ever meet… a total lowlife. But still, that was pretty dumb of you letting him use you like that.” He breathed out a really exaggerated sigh. “This is EXACTLY why humans are…” He stopped mid-sentence. I truly don’t understand anything these guys say. Why do they keep calling me human? Did Lucifer not tell them my name? 

“WAIT A SECOND..” Leviathan yelled. Jesus fuck. “Humans.. Yes, that’s it…” He started rubbing his hands together maniacally. The only thing this guy is missing is a cat to stroke. “Suddenly, I’ve got an idea!” Holy shit I see the light bulb shining above his head. “Listen, are you free right now? Of course, you are. You’ve gotta be, right? It doesn’t matter! Either way, you’re coming with me.” I opened my mouth to respond when the phone in my pocket buzzed. 

“One second sorry,” Levi sighed again tapping his foot impatiently. It was Mammon.

Heya, I suddenly have business to take care of sorryy. If you have questions ask Levi!  He sent a little demon emoji winking with a star. That’s cute but he’s a dick. Oh, and just make sure… Don’t go around tellin’ stuff to Lucifer, ya got that

He then sent me an angry bird thing. I scrunched my face. Should I tell Lucifer? I really don’t want to talk to him. I clicked on the emojis I also had the cute demons and weird birds. I pressed the one that had a little ok with stars. He then texted me a little purple demon with big green horns blowing me a kiss. I blushed. No, I’m not attracted to him I just don’t take flirting well. I’m fine this is fine I don’t have Stockholm. 

“Umm... Hellooo,” Levi broke me from my thoughts. Thank god. The last thing I need is to develop feelings for my kidnappers. Come on I have to think smart. 

“Yeah sorry, let’s go I guess.” 

“Great uh…” He looked down at my hand. I’m pretty sure I saw him shiver. “Yeah… um just follow me.” He twisted his heel and started up the stairs. I followed close behind. When exactly will I find out where my room is? 

Once we got to the top we took a sharp left and immediately we were there. Before he twisted the handle he dramatically looked to his left, right, and behind him. Then he pushed the door, shoved me in, and quickly slammed it shut. 

“What the..” I murmured. 

“What’s that? Oh I see, you want to know why I looked around to see if anyone was watching before I closed the door? Why do you THINK I did it?! Isn’t it obvious!? Imagine what would happen if someone saw me inviting you into my room! A human who doesn’t even look like an otaku, but a NORMIE! You know what people would say, right!?” His long ramble allowed me to see how beautiful his room was. The ceiling and wall was like an aquarium. How was that possible? It seemed to have actual water and fish that swam by. There wasn't a normal light he had a chandelier of jellyfish lights. There wasn’t a bed but a bathtub. 

“I asked you a question,” Ok snappy. 

“Are you worried people might gossip or something?” Buddy turned Bright red and covered his face with a hand. He continued to stutter over his words.

“Of.. No Of c-course of No! That’s that’s crazy! There’s only room in my heart for one person and she’s animated! I am completely faithful to my lovely, sweet Ruri-chan! Always!” His eyes widened as he removed his hand. He’s kinda cute. “Why would people gossip?! I mean, me and some non-otaku-some normie!? And not only that, a THREE-DIMENSIONAL one from the real world!? It's insane, that’s what it is!” Another long explanation I have listen to. I turn to the bookshelf next to us. There are posters and collectible figures on top. I look over at the books. There’s this huge thick one. The spine reads the tales of the Seven Lords: The Lord of Shadow Awakens 

“What is it, human? What’re you looking at?” He speaks to me like a dog as he traces where I’m looking.

“Wait.. that’s… you’re looking at The Tale of the Seven Lords. Are you a fan of that, too?” I couldn’t stop my face twisting to confusion. 

“I’ve never heard of it…” He looks offended. 

“... Excuse me? You don’t know TSL?! And you call yourself a human!! Just how clueless ARE you?! How could you not know ?!” 

“I don’t you guys do,” I snapped back.

“That’s not the point… Just the fact that you don’t know TSL alone is proof that you’ve been wasting your life! So, I’m going to do you a favor and teach you about TSL. Make sure you pay attention.” He motioned to the bean bag chair next to his bed allowing me to sit. He then proceeded to tell me the entire plot of the books in an even pace back and forth. It was kind of alluring how much passion he had for this show. I love it when people love something so much they can’t help but ramble when it’s brought up. I tried to pay attention as much as I could but he talks fast and a lot. I continued to pass gaze around the room. He had a huge wall of posters and another bookshelf this time surrounding his PC. I was sat in front of a glass table where a bottle and headphones lay. He had multi-colored tiles throughout the whole floor. He had such a captivating room.  I loved it. I tuned back in to his ramble when he ended it with 

“I want to shout it at the top of my lungs! … actually, you know what? I want to BE Henry!” he shouted at me.

“Maybe someday you WILL be Henry,” I spoke not really knowing what else to say. He was passionate I’ll give him that.

“Stop it. You’re just saying that to make me feel better. Don’t lie to me. Alright enough. This is starting to depress me. Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to tell you about TSL. I don’t think there’s any harm in just coming out and saying what you already know is true: Mammon I a complete and utter scumbag. It’s very important that you understand this. So, I’ll say it one more time. Mammon is a hopeless. worthless. SCUMBAG! I lent that scumbag money, and now I want him to pay me back. But being the scumbag that he is, he won't do it. I wish I could force him to, but despite what a rotten waste of space he is, Mammon’s still the second oldest. As the third oldest, no matter how hard I try, I don’t stand a chance against him…” 

“When did this all start?” I ask. Why is Mammon Levi’s sworn enemy?

“It’s a long story but… sure I’ll tell you, human. Once, a long time ago, Mammonn won a prize in a convenience store promotional campaign. If you bought something, they let you reach into a box and pull out a piece of paper that told you what you’d won. And the prize Mammon won was a Seraphina figurine, something I would’ve died to have. But, despite the fact that Mammon had no interest in it at all, he refused to give it to me. Why? Because I wanted it... He just wanted to be a dick for the fun of it. He’s such an ass. I knew that that scumbag wouldn’t take care of this pristine figurine so I sneak into his room in the middle of the night. Come to find that he had just thrown it straight to the floor! Still in the packing one a dirty floor that obviously hadn’t been cleaned in months. I was so pissed I marched my way to his sleeping body and brought my heel down straight on his stomach as hard as I could. In a flash he was no longer in his bed… no he was behind me. Grabbed me, picked me up, and slammed me head-first into the floor.  He was butt fucking naked too! I was passing out questioning why he slept nude. He couldn’t wear some underwear or something? I have no memory of the rest of the night. I’m thinking if a human can make a pact with Mammon, and bound him to their service… then he’d have to do whatever that human told him! This means in order to get the money back I need you to make a pact with Mammon. He would have no choice but to do it.”

“What is a pact?” 

“You haven’t seen the movies? The demon lends his strength to a human to make their wish come true in exchange for their soul.”

“I don’t want to give up my soul…” To be convincing I need to go along with what they’re saying. I just need to keep reminding myself this when they say weird shit. 

“That isn’t always necessary. It depends on what’s in the pact. But you need SOMETHING to the exchange with the demon to make the pact happen so it’s pretty much inevitable. But if you don’t want to give up your soul, then I’ll tell you how to negotiate with Mammon. Not to mention, having a powerful demon as your servant could be extremely useful. Don’t you agree?” 

“Yeah! I can do that,” I had a bright smile on my face! 

“Are you actually this optimistic or are you just that stupid to know what you’re getting into? I guess it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you think. What’s important is the plan I’m going to explain to you right now so listen close!”

Looking for chapter 1? Here's the link! https://www.tumblr.com/bunskiper/756204493300006913/the-sentence?source=share

[soobjvn]

TULIPS 🌷⁎︎° ✳︎ CHAPTER 27 : “ mission success (pt. 2) ,, ( smau + written )

— cw: none afaik!

[ prev. ✧︎ toc. ✧︎ next. ]

THE GROUP HAD been walking around the park for another two-ish hours after getting off quickcoaster, stopping at every cliche game tent and taking every possible photo op. as the sky turned from light blue to vibrant pinks and oranges, the mood continued to lift. especially between yn and yeonjun.

“what do you mean you’re scared of butterflies? they’re like the least scary things ever.” the two had fallen behind the group, walking so closely any passerby was sure to perceive them as a couple. truthfully, yeonjun had totally done this on purpose. he’d watched a few guys give yn ogling looks, and had to do something to show she was off limits. or, she would be soon; wishful thinking on his part.

“no, no, jun. you’re so wrong. have you ever seen a magnified picture of them? if aliens are real, they’ve already infiltrated our planet, and are flying RIGHT above us.” he laughed at how passionately she spoke about her irrational fear of butterflies, and, as he’d learned, all bugs. “well don’t just stare at me like i’m crazy.” but his gaze was certainly not filled with judgement.

“i dunno, yn, you definitely sound a bit crazy right now. aliens?”

“whatever, you’re scared of roller coasters.”

“okay, that’s just, like, not even comparable in the slightest,” yeonjun scoffed. “the cart could totally fly off the tracks or something. but what’s a butterfly gonna do, huh?” yn was prepared to spit out another sassy response, when yunjin called out to the pair.

“hey, do you guys wanna get some funnel cake?”

“um, duh!” yn ran off to join the rest of the group, leaving yeonjun to smile at her in adoration. taehyun paused to let yeonjun catch up to him.

“you doin’ alright?” taehyun put a hand on his shoulder as they began walking. “well, i know you’re doing more than alright. how bad is it, i guess i should ask.”

“definitely more than alright. and yeah, it is pretty bad, tae.”

“look,” taehyun began, sighing. “i know i act all… i dunno, like i’m uninterested in your guys’ relationship. because, well, listening to your cousin flirt is gross. but i do really care about and want the best for you both, genuinely.” taehyun offered a small smile which yeonjun reciprocated.

“wow, that was beautiful, taehyun, i could cry.” taehyun rolled his eyes when yeonjun wiped a fake tear from his eye.

“but, yn’s my family. if you hurt her i will put instant mashed potatoes in your front lawn.”

“i live in a dorm, but i get the sentiment,” yeonjun said, grinning.

“whatever.”

“i think i’m gonna tell her tonight.” he watched taehyun’s eyes widen in shock, but he hummed in affirmation.

“you have my blessing.”

“yn… she likes me too, right?” taehyun grinned at the pleading look in yeonjun’s eyes.

“well there definitely wasn’t another guy, as i tried to tell you, idiot.“

“yeah, yeah, i get that now.”

“but you should tell her. she might feel the same. or not. dunno.”

“i hate you, you know that?” taehyun laughed, and the two walked towards the group when yn impatiently called out their names.

“c’mon, we want funnel cake!” she and beomgyu stared up with childlike excitement at the menu of sugary treats. “ok, i’ll get the regular, gyu, you get the one with chocolate drizzle, aaand,” she turned to face yeonjun, pointing to him commandingly. “you get the strawberry one. then we can all share.”

“yes ma’am,” yeonjun saluted.

“love it.” beomgyu reciprocated her eagerness excitedly. “yeonjun’s paying!”

“hello?” yeonjun crossed his arms, ready to protest, but he stopped when his eyes fell on yn. “um yeah, sure. whatever.”

“thanks, man.” beomgyu held up a hand to high-five yeonjun, but put it down when yeonjun didn’t reciprocate the gesture. “buzzkill. anyways, you and yn can save our spot in line. yn, i’m actually gonna go sit with the others! yeonjun will order mine for me.” he winked as he walked to sit at the picnic bench where the others were seated, where the boys attentively tuned in to whatever gossip yunjin and winter were rambling about.

“thanks for buying, jun!” yn said as yeonjun stood next to her in line. “still a gentleman.” he didn’t have time to reply, though, as it was their turn in line. yeonjun repeated the order yn had recited, handing his card to the cashier.

“you guys are a cute couple,” the cashier said when she handed them their order, a bright smile on her face. “young love. ah, i miss it.”

“oh, we’re not-“

“thanks!” yeonjun cut her off, an innocent grin on his lips. “love to treat my girl.” he gave yn a pat on her head as she looked up at him, confusion painted on her face. the lady was also visibly confused by their conflicting answers.

“seems like you two need to have a conversation…” yeonjun laughed when yn put her head in her hands. “well, have a nice night, sort-of-couple.”

“thank you,” yn quickly said, grabbing the bag of food and escaping the uncomfortable conversation as fast as possible.

“um, what was that about?” yn asked, walking towards the bench their friends had been sitting at.

“just felt like teasing you. you’re cute when you’re all flustered like that.” yeonjun ruffled her hair, leaving yn’s face even redder.

“freak,” she muttered.

“you really aren’t good at whispering, yn.”

“wait, where’d they go?”

“hm?” he turned his attention from yn to the empty bench, which they were both certain their friends had been gathered around only minutes before. “oh. weird… group bathroom trip?” he shrugged.

yn pulled out her phone to send a text to their group chat, but realized it was unnecessary as she read the text yunjin sent her.

those sneaky bitches.

clearly they’d planned this out well, as all of her friends’ locations were disabled. yeonjun was right: they truly were determined to get them to talk.

yeonjun had seemingly received a similar text, looking up from his phone to yn. “guess we’re on our own for a bit. um… what d’you wanna do?”

yn smirked as she looked at the line for quickcoaster, which was significantly shorter than the first time they rode it.

“oh no. no, no, no. the first time was bad enough yn.”

“shh, i have an idea!”

“oh god.”

“i’ll give you 20 dollars if you don’t scream the whole ride.” she smirked, putting her hands on her hips.

“yup, goodbye.” he turned to walk away, but yn swiftly grabbed his hand and he turned back around.

“you can do it! you already know where all of the drops are and what they feel like. and, i won’t make you pay me if you lose. it’s a win-win situation!”

“uh, what’s the other win?”

“junnie, pleaseeee,” she dragged out, yeonjun’s heart melting at the nickname. “i don’t wanna ride it again on my own.” he sighed in defeat. he truly was incapable of saying no to her.

“fine.”

“yay!” she kept her hand in his, dragging him behind her as they got in the line.

she’s totally gonna be the death of me. quite literally.

IT WAS AN hour later, and yeonjun and yn sat on a park bench, a seat that gave them a perfect view of the sky as it was placed at the egde of the fair, no attractions present to block the sight. it was well past 9 now, and the sky was dotted with stars.

after riding quickcoaster again (and yn, to her shock, losing 20 dollars), the two had played a number of fair games, took a few pictures at a photo booth, and spent an unnecessary amount of money buying matching bubble guns.

but now, they were completely out of energy. they had sent the group their location and were told they were on the way, so they decided to sit and wait.

yn sat with her legs curled up to her chest, trying her best to keep her eyes open. yeonjun had won a plush for himself at the claw machine — which he named yeonjun junior in “retaliation,” he said, for the time they were at the market and yn had criticized the name — and yn was resting her head on it.

“this was fun, yeonjun,” she said after a moment of comfortable silence. “why are we so stupid?” he laughed, realizing she was talking about the whole tweet miscommunication situation.

“we really are. i can’t believe you were so jealous you ignored me for five days.”

“hey, you were jealous too. you could’ve texted first.” his heartbeat quickened at the use of “too.” he watched her eyes widen as she realized her slip-up. “i mean—“

“oh so you admit it? you were jealous?”

“whatever.” yn turned her head away from him. yeonjun grinned, using his finger to turn her chin, forcing her to face him. she parted her lips slightly, her eyes sparkling with bewilderment. the thoughts going through her head were scattered and indescribable. but in short, she was totally whipped.

“yeonjun—“

“don’t you know?” she swallowed, using any strength she had left in her to form a coherent response.

“d-don’t i know what, jun?”

“that you’re the only one i wa—“

“oh, there they are!” yeonjun dropped his hand and the two turned their heads towards the sound. beomgyu. “mmm, i can smell my funnel cake from here.”

yeonjun was seriously gonna murder this kid.

“hey guys!” kai waved. “sorry, we got a bit lost.” he giggled, and yunjin took a seat next to yn.

“yup. big fair here,” yunjin added, wrapping an arm around yn’s shoulder. she leaned in to her ear.

“i need full details, yn. the second we’re home.” yn couldn’t hide the smile forming, but it quickly faded when she realized what could have happened had she and yeonjun not been interrupted.

“i think we call it quits. not sure what you two did, but i’m exhausted,” soobin said, yawning.

“yup. good idea. beomgyu, let’s go, yeah? i’ll walk with you!” beomgyu stopped stuffing his face, getting the idea this was much more than a friendly stroll. he cleared his throat and closed the box.

“um, yeah, for sure.” yeonjun stood up, walking in the direction of the parking lot with his arm around beomgyu’s shoulder. soobin trailed behind, resembling a tired father. yn laughed thinking about the scolding yeonjun was going to give beomgyu.

“yeah, you definitely had a good night,” jay said, grabbing the car keys from his pocket as the group approached the car.

“i really did.”

“mission success!” kai cheered from the passenger seat.

the cashier lady was definitely right. she and yeonjun desperately needed to have a conversation.

TAGLIST 🌷@bangchansbae @raehyun-byeoll @yyawnjun @junhuicosmo @n034sy @wintertxt @fanfangying1304 @crystal-jellies @gyuszie @lightprincess-world @hyuneyeon @tocupid @cookiehaos @222brainrot @choi-beomgyulvr @hyehae @yunwonie @you-make-skz-stay @mrsyawnzzn (bold couldn’t be tagged)

— pssst, feel free to use my asks / comment here if you’d like to be added to the tag list <3

A/N 🌷 are we… actually getting somewhere…

[simp4strongwomen]

You’re in my Seat.

Y’all this is my first fic, pls go easy on it it’s my baby. I literally fell in love with Becky Lynch so quickly and I’m constantly on her X reader tab just to find new stuff so I thought ide try my hand at writing. The bold is the dialogue prompt I found. All credit goes to the owner, though I’m not sure who it is because I found the prompt in a random google doc and thought ide use it. So if you know who owns it pls tag them. Lots of Love.

Becky Lynch x Reader “What's that look for?” Becky Lynch looked up at you, after seeing your shadow block out the light.

“...You’re in my seat.” You replied, slightly scared of the fiery wrestler.

“Well I’m not moving, so either stop being a little bitch about it, and get another seat, or sit in my lap.” The red headed Irish woman took you by shock with her reply.

You have had a crush on the champion for quite some time. Actually ever since you joined the professional wrestling world three years ago. Once you had finally moved up to Raw, you tried your hardest to be friends with her, the only conversations you would have with The Man would always end up in her flirting and you flustered. You never thought that she would ever reciprocate the feelings you have for her. But maybe she did, but who are you kidding? That was just her personality, there is no way she would like you. Not when she is the Women's Champion, and you’re just a newer, younger, protogé. Little did you know though, that she enjoys the conversations you both have, and notices the effect she has on you. You have been the reason for some of her sleepless nights, just wondering what life with you could possibly be like. She enjoyed your nature and the aura that surrounds you, likening how it’s so different from her commanding fiery spirit.

“What?!” And once again, Lynch has been able to cast you flustered with one simple sentence.

Becky, not wasting any time, responds so coolly, yet panicking on the inside. “You heard me. I don’t care what you chose, but hurry it up, we don’t have all day.” At that point in time you're pretty sure your heart just pushed your brain out of the way, all thoughts about what could possibly happen in the future with this decision. Yet you pushed away all the negative and focused on the positive that came along, when you sat down on her lap.

Becky was in shock, she didn’t expect you to actually go through with that choice.  Reeling her head back in shock she asks you one question,” You comfortable lass?”

You, just deciding that whatever happens from here on out happens, so fuck it. “Quite actually. I think I should sit here more often. Though I think some people here might get a little jealous.” Wrapping one arm around her shoulder and messing with a strand of her curly orange hair, you busy yourself with looking anywhere but in her brown eyes.

“Oh well, that’s their loss they ain’t it. A pretty girl like you should just be sitting on anybody's lap, not unless they deserve it.” Her hand reaches around you back to squeeze your waist, watching the affect her touch has on you.

Finally looking into her deep brown eyes, you bite back,” Oh and you think you deserve it?” Messing around with the necklace around her neck helps your fidgeting calm down so you could hopefully keep up your badass attitude.

“Oh yeah I deserve it. You know why?” Shaking your head no at her question, you shiver when her free hand comes up to rest on your cheek. Becky pulls your face close to hers, you can smell her minty breath, her mouth just a couple inches away from yours. “Because I can get you to throw all cares out the window, and because we both know that we’re the only ones with our eyes set on each other.”

“So what you're saying is that we’re destined?” You both slowly get closer to each other, that is until The Man finally pulls you into her for a deep kiss. A kiss filled with all the words left unspoken between each other. Finally breaking apart after the need for oxygen became a necessity Becky spoke in a whisper as you two weren’t that far away, your lips still brushing when either one speaks.

“What I’m saying is that you and I are going to go on a date, after our matches are over, and not only that, but I’m going to be redoing our first kiss, because as much as I love the whole kissing you while you sit on my lap thing, we can save that for another time,” she smirked at the blush that crept up your face,” because you deserve the perfect night, with the perfect first kiss.” Sitting in silence for a few minutes thankful that one has walked past, or became witness to the very intimate moment.

That silence was broken when you spoke up,” So you’re telling me that you like me? Like actually like me.”

“Yes I actually like you, might I dare even say I love you.”

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Yukako Yamagishi x f!reader [ SYNOPSIS ] You attend a Halloween party hoping to engage in some pleasant normalcy, but your night takes a turn for the worse at the hands of your classmate. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.4k [ CONTENT ] College AU, typical yandere behavior, alcohol, drugs (weed), seriously dubious consent, violence (murder), blood, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), tribbing, social anxiety, English literature references, y/n is implied to be around the same height as Yukako.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you said to yourself, smoothing out your Halloween costume. “Sure. I’m alone. I don’t know any of these people and would rather be back at home with my actual friends. But it’s okay. I’m gonna have a great time… And I’m gonna stop talking to myself because sane people keep that to a minimum.”

Every word sounded pained as they fell from your lips. You adjusted the straps of your dress and took a deep breath.

You were dressed as an angel, inspired by the costume Clare Danes wore in Romeo and Juliet. Your wings were white and delicate, the feathers of the finest quality. And your dress was… alright. Most of your effort went into the wings, leaving the dress an afterthought. You were lucky enough to find something at the thrift store, a gauzy cream-colored shift with thin straps with a hem that rested above your knees.

Skipping the house party did cross your mind. Going all the way to the secluded suburbs miles away from your university sounded nightmarish, but everyone in your program was going and you felt compelled to fit in.

It reminded you of high school, someone throwing a rager at their childhood home while their unsuspecting parents went out of town. You didn’t realize people still did that kind of shit in college.

The front door swung open, ripping you from your thoughts and startling you. A hulking man stood in the doorway wearing a Ghostface costume.

“Look at you! You look great!” 

“AHHH! Th—thanks!”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped aside and let you in. “It’s just you were standing out there and I was like, ‘Is she comin’ in? Is she leavin?’” He laughed warmly. “I figured I’d take the leap!”

“Okay. I mean… Cool.” You paused, trying to recognize his voice.

There was a level of familiarity to it that made you feel like you should know him, but you couldn’t place it.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked, leading you inside.

“Maybe. Wait. Yeah. Uh, what are you having?”

“A slutty swashbuckler!”

You immediately regretted asking because now you felt obligated to drink whatever the fuck that was.

He recognized the trepidation on your face. “It’s spiced rum and blood orange soda. You’re goin’ to love it. Everyone does.”

You weren’t convinced. But you felt compelled to trust whoever the hell was under the mask. Passing through the crowd you tried to get a good look at everyone without being too obvious. You didn’t want to come off as desperate or let your anxiety shine through.

Faces looked familiar but you couldn’t place any names. The only named face you gazed upon was Yukako Yamagishi, a girl from your 19th Century English literature class. She was wearing a sweeping white Victorian nightgown with her long black hair cascading down her back. She looked hauntingly gorgeous, distractingly so. Her violet eyes met yours and she smiled warmly before redirecting her attention to a few drunkards trying to impress her.

“Here!”

A glass of repugnant brown-orange liquid was forced into your hand. You tentatively sniffed the glass and said thank you even though not a cell in your body meant it.

“Excuse me. I just… I’m gonna go sip this outside. Get some air.”

“Oh,” the masked man said, frowning. “Alright.”

You turned and headed towards the door, pushing him from your mind.

“Wait up!”

A heavy hand fell upon your shoulder, putting the breaks on your exit. You held your breath, hoping you didn’t spill the putrid liquid on your pristine dress.

“Do you play beer pong?” You couldn’t see the guy’s face but his posture seemed bashful. “I need a partner for the next game and I’d love it if you would, you know… play… with me!”

“Sure. Just find me when your turn is up.”

You slithered out the door, hoping he would get drunk enough to forget you agreed to anything. Once outside you rolled your shoulders, trying to release the tension that had been blooming in your back. You took a sip of your slutty swashbuckler and spit it up back into your cup like a baby.

“Foul. Fucking foul. Ugh.”

It was cloyingly sweet and acrid, and the carbonation made the taste linger on your tongue. You dumped out the rest on the ground and sighed.

“Heathcliff,” you heard a soft voice whisper in your ear. “It’s me.”

You jumped and turned around, seeing a very amused Yukako.

“Oh shit. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She was so beautiful; it was almost disturbing. No human was meant to be so ethereal. She took a step closer to you, her sweet scent filling your nostrils. She smelled like fresh cut wildflowers and amber. It was intoxicating and settled your nerves.

“You look great—I mean—your costume looks great.”

“Do you know who I am?” She asked, leaning forward.

“No,” you answered honestly. “No idea.”

She pouted and leaned back.

“I’m Catherine Earnshaw, silly.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes and flatly replied, “Cathy from Wuthering Heights, the book we just talked about in class. Or were you not paying attention? Did you even read it?”

“I read it! Most of it. Part of it.”

“No wonder you weren’t very active when we were discussing the text.”

You paused. It never occurred to you that Yukako paid that much attention to you. It wasn’t like she acknowledged your presence much outside of benign pleasantries. She was barely an acquaintance.

“I do plan on finishing it for the record,” you said, still feeling the need to paint yourself in a better light.

“Promise? It’s one of my favorites. I really like how—”

She was interrupted by the shrill shouting of your name. You flinched as the voice washed over you.

“The game’s startin’!!”

You saw that the random guy dressed as Ghostface was standing expectantly by the door. Yukako looked like she was going to explode, her knuckles white with rage.

“I gotta go play beer pong, but we can talk after?”

She didn’t utter a single word, instead opting to glare at your beer pong partner.

“Hey, Yukiko,” he said, dumbly waving.

Correcting him crossed your mind, but you stayed silent. The words refused to leave your mouth even though you wanted them to. You couldn’t wrap your tongue around the syllables.

The guy put his hand on the small of your back, directing you inside. You felt as if your body wasn’t yours, like it was something that needed inherently to be guided and acted upon. Your mind was too overwhelmed to exert your agency.

“Woo hoo!!” He shouted upon seeing the wet table.

It was speckled with tiny puddles of piss beer. I should tell them to wipe it down, you thought. But of course, nothing came out. You just grimaced, and tried to look like you were enjoying yourself. The guy removed his Ghostface mask and you realized you had no idea who he was. It only added to your discomfort.

The werewolf you were playing against stared you down; you didn’t recognize him either. His face was a blur. “You played before?”

It was as if he was interrogating you.

“Like once in high school.”

He groaned.

A guy with a stained sheet draped over his head explained the rules, putting an obscene amount of emphasis on the fact that bounces were not allowed. You hated how seriously he was taking everything. It was a drinking game. Wasn’t it supposed to be fun? Weren’t you supposed to crack jokes and grin wildly under the hyper bright, fluorescent lighting of the kitchen while making memories that would last a lifetime?

Apparently not. The experience was anything but fun. The beer was room temperature and you couldn’t steady your aim, your nerves getting the better of you. It didn’t help that Yukako kept her eyes on you the entire time. You felt like you were on display.

Your partner tried to be supportive, offering kind words and remaining hopeful in the face of utter annihilation.

“You got this,” he said as you hesitated to throw the ping pong ball. “I know we’re pretty far behind, but I believe in you.”

His words were vaguely inspiring so you decided to try your best. Sadly your best was complete dog shit and you missed. The other team made their final shot and the two of you were cursed to chug the remaining beer.

“That was awful,” you said, dumping a cup into the sink.

“Hey, don’t waste good beer,” he said, hip checking you.

You smiled and continued dumping it down the drain. There was no way you’d be drinking that shit. If anything you were doing the world a favor by sending it on its merry way.

“I’m serious. At least drink the last one.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“C’mon. Get to drinkin’, angel. It’s a party.”

You stared down at the cup in your hands and held it to your lips. You went to take a sip, but Yukako walked up and snatched it from your hand. She chugged the beer like a professional. You never expected someone as elegant as her would drink watered down, warm beer out of a plastic cup.

“Damn, Yukiko.”

“It’s Yukako, scum.”

He blew her off and put his mask back on. Oddly enough it was more comforting than his actual face. At least Ghostface was familiar.

“Hey, do you, uh… smoke weed?” He asked, effectively cutting Yukako out of the conversation.

You nodded.

“Nice! Let’s go smoke a blunt. I got one in my car.”

“Okay,” you mumbled.

Yukako groaned and walked away muttering expletives to herself. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, though it clearly was dripping with disgust. You watched curiously as she opened a kitchen drawer, stealing something out of it.

Chasing after her crossed your mind, but you wouldn’t know what to say once you caught up with her. It was a compulsion, something about her drew you in. Maybe it was the way she walked, confident with her posture erect. Maybe it was because she skipped wearing a bra, leaving her nipples on display underneath the thin fabric of her costume. Or maybe it was because she seemed to be just as enchanted by you.

You shook the thoughts from your head, desperate to stop imagining yourself burying your face between her breasts. Lucky for you the brisk night air was enough to calm your throbbing cunt.

The guy failed to mention that he parked quite some distance from the house party. You assumed it would be a quick jaunt down the street, but instead you found yourself weaving through the suburb, deeper into its unnerving uniformity. When you finally got to his car you were displeased to see he parked beside a pocket of undeveloped land, a flat wasteland of dry dirt and dead grass.

“Just a sec,” the guy said as he opened his trunk. “It’s an indica, do you mind?”

“Nah. I could use the relaxation.”

You tacked on a laugh to seem personable.

He pulled out a pencil case and fished out a perfectly rolled blunt. It smelled delicious, musky and sweet. He removed his mask much to your chagrin, forcing you to confront his visage.

“Here,” he said, handing the blunt over along with a lighter.

It felt like the weight of the world was in your hands. You hated how dire everything felt. It was just a night out. It didn’t have to be complicated and yet you were befuddled by everything. You lit the blunt and took a deep hit, holding it in your lungs. You passed it to the guy and let the thick smoke seep out of your mouth.

“So are you really friends with that bitch?”

You coughed.

“Uh. Who?” You asked, playing dumb.

He passed the blunt to you. “Yukie or whatever.”

“Yukako.”

“Close enough.”

“Not really,” you snarked, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“C’mon, don’t be like that. It’s just hard to imagine someone like you is cool with someone like her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The guy took a few steps closer to you, his eyes radiating a hunger they hadn’t previously.

“You’re chill and down for whatever. She’s so fuckin’ uptight.”

“I’m hardly chill.”

“Yeah you are. You go with the flow. Most girls aren’t like that.”

“It’s called social anxiety,” you hissed, taking another hit. “It’s not really a choice.”

He plucked the blunt from your hands and stubbed it out on his car door.

“That’s kind of cute though,” he said, brushing your hair out of your face.

You smacked his hand away.

“Can you not? I think I heard something,” you said, hoping that would make him stop.

He just laughed and palmed his cock.

“Hush. You know you wa—”

Before he could finish his sentence a set of slender fingers laced through his hair and yanked his head back. Another hand appeared in front of his neck, dragging a steak knife across his throat. A spurt of blood splashed against your face. He tried to say something but all he could do was gurgle as the knife sawed through his Adam’s apple. He reached out to you, grabbing ahold of your white dress now stained crimson. Your teeth chattered and your skin felt like it was tightening around you. You pushed past him and broke out into a sprint and ran through the desolate undeveloped land, hoping you’d escape the assailant.

“Wait!”

You turned to see Yukako, the front of her nightgown drenched in blood.

“What the fuck?” You wheezed.

You found yourself frozen in place. It didn’t take long for her to catch up to you, her long legs allowing her to take sizable strides.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

You didn’t bother to answer her question; wasn’t it obvious?

“Why did you do that?! What’s wrong with you?!”

“I saved you.”

“From what?” You cried, tears now streaming down your face.

“From him. He was going to do something awful to you. I could tell.”

“Maybe so, but you di—you didn’t have to do that.”

She took your hands in hers. Her palms were soft, her fingers delicate. Her touch was almost calming.

“Yes I did. He didn’t deserve to bask in your presence.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Someone like you shouldn’t have to suffer being around someone like him. He’s trash with no room to grow. He’s stagnant in his existence.” She tightened her grip on your hands. “Not like you. You’re always changing, always striving. That’s why you came tonight, right? You’re trying to break out of your shell.”

“You sound fucking insane. I… Fuck! Please don’t kill me.”

She looked like she was going to break into tears. “How could I ever kill you? I love you too much. You’re all I think about.”

“We barely know each other!” You shrieked, trying to yank your hands out of hers. Her grip was impressive. “We, like, never talk to each other!”

“That's the thing about us though. We don’t need words. Our love is that strong.”

She pulled your body close to hers, pressing her breasts up against yours. You felt like you were going to have an anxiety attack. You regretted smoking weed with every ounce of your being. 

“Please just let me go.”

“I can’t,” she said sadly. “I’ll have to kill you if I do. I can’t bear the thought of you ever being with someone other than me.”

“What if I promise to never fall in love ever again and we act like none of this ever happened? Like we never even knew each other!” You laughed nervously. “How about that? That sounds nice.”

She slipped her hand up your dress and rubbed your cunt through your underwear. You were ashamed to realize the fabric was soaked with your arousal. Terror coursed through your veins, but it was thrilling.

“That sounds like hell on earth. Besides, you obviously want me too. Don’t deny it. I hate liars.”

She pushed your underwear to the side and slid one of her fingers inside you. The sensation made your knees weak and your body limply rested against hers. She slid another two into your cunt and you mewled her name. You were embarrassed that she managed to break you down so easily. You knew you should have put up more of a fight, but she was right. You did want her.

Yukako brushed down one of the straps of your dress, letting one of your breasts meet the chill night air. She pinched your nipple between her fingers.

“You know I fell for you the moment I saw you. When you walked into class I knew you were the one for me.” She curled her fingers inside you. “I spent so many nights thinking about you and trying to come up with ways to tell you.” Her breath was hot against your ear. “But you never gave me any opportunities. You were so shy, always avoiding everyone. That’s why I was so surprised to see you tonight.” She pinched down harder on your nipple making you moan. “I knew this was my moment.”

She removed her fingers and sucked them clean before letting out a pleased hum.

“Take your costume off,” she cooed.

You gulped and did as you were told, dropping your wings and dress on the ground. You shivered as the cold air enveloped you. Yukako gazed at your naked body, her eyes radiating lust and hunger. You could tell she would do whatever it took to claim you as her own.

She pulled down your underwear and lowered herself so that her face was in front of your glistening cunt. She gazed up at you, her alabaster skin speckled with blood. She placed her hands on your ass and dug her nails into the soft flesh.

“Shit,” you croaked.

She lapped at your clit, giving it slow, languid licks. It didn’t take long for you to start moaning. Again, you hated how easy you were and cursed your inability to show restraint when it came to her.

Her tongue was soft and warm as it swept over your throbbing cunt. She was truly a master; no one had ever managed to make you feel such pleasure. You didn’t even think it was possible. You held onto the back of her head, unable to control yourself. She moaned as she continued to suck on your clit. You looked down and noticed she had started to finger herself. The sight alone was enough to make you come.

“Yu—Yukako, I’m close,” you whined.

“Lay down,” she ordered.

You could have slapped her for leaving you hanging, but you obeyed her command. The dirt was cold and uncomfortable, but you were too focused on the ache between your legs to really care.

She hiked up her dress and positioned herself so that her cunt could grind up against yours. She rutted up against you, your clits rubbing together. You felt like you were seeing stars.

“You feel so good,” she moaned.

You were both panting like dogs as you desperately got each other off. The sweet sounds of your moans filled the air.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she babbled.

You watched as her chest bounced under her blood stained nightgown. You quickly tore at the buttons and sucked on her breasts the moment they popped out. You swirled your tongue around her nipple, relishing in her ardor filled gasps.

“Ah!” She cried out. “Don—don’t stop!”

You moaned and held her nipple between your lips as your own orgasm overcame you. You clung to her breast, sucking away as your body gave way to euphoria. Your body sang with pleasure.

Yukako’s moans grew louder as she climaxed, holding your head to her chest while you continued to suck. She collapsed on top of you once her orgasm ended.

“You’ll never leave me, right?” She said in a small voice.

You paused and contemplated. Deep down you knew you should push her off of you and run like hell, but she had bewitched you. There was no way you could deny her, especially not after she let you drool all over her succulent tits.

“Right?” She growled expectantly.

You wrapped your arms around her and stroked her back, letting your hand brush down her spine.

“Never.”

She seemed pleased with your response and nuzzled her face into your neck. You knew there was no escape, that there was no way out. You belonged to her now.