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soleilnomoon · 2 years

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geto suguru x fem reader | issa toxic affair, y'all.

6.2k words (i know, i know), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst city, angst angst city biiitch (yk the vibes) & smut (obvy); feat. cute stuff like a lil' degradation, toxic ass relationship, a lil infidelity, obsessive love & jealousy, lovers 2 exes 2 enemies 2 lovers, public indecency, hand job, oral (f receiving), knife play, a lil bit of blood kink, alcohol, geto is a certified asshole & but reader gets him back, yandere reader bc i love being toxic, gojo makes an appearance! also idk other stuff probably idr ok; also reader is black bc i said she is. this is for @510hz's how to be a heartbreaker collab event (ty so much for letting me participate, i had fun truly). this was inspired by mariana's "power & control"; there's also a lil inspo from "the glory" in there, you'll see. it took me forever but i survived, i hope y'all survive reading this 🤭 (if u see typos/grammatical errors no u didn't)

“you horrify me. but at the same time, / i horrify myself. we are horrible.” – hélène cixous

there’s a name for the disease you have; it’s called foolishness, or, in layman’s terms: love.

your mother warned you long ago, to guard your heart — to ensure that no man could penetrate the thick walls encasing it — yet there you are, a silly, pathetic thing scurrying behind a man who would readily cast you aside if it suited him. you truly did resist him at first; you rebuffed his advances with polite smiles and curt responses, yet he persisted daily and, in hindsight, obsessively.

it’s in his nature, after all.

a man like geto suguru simply does not concede if his pride is on the line — and your initial rejection did, in fact, bruise his ego; although, he’ll never openly admit that.

when he does manage to wiggle his way into your heart, with his charming smiles, small gestures that you somehow misinterpret as kindness, you steadily fall for him. it’s not your fault, not really. geto is just that damn good at figuring people out; and with you, it wasn’t difficult. he found it remarkably easy to sway you, he almost felt bad.

almost.

the first few months are pure bliss; he picks you up promptly for dates, takes you to nice restaurants in the city, pays for spa days and shopping sprees — buys you things you never really allowed yourself to buy on your own, surprises you with lavish floral arrangements that make you cry needlessly over how tragically romantic he’s being. and, suddenly, your heart, which was so strongly protected, becomes vulnerable and falls under his control. it flutters around helplessly in the gilded cage he’s crafted for it — a too-tight fit, where every time you exhale you feel the thick bars pressing tightly and you suffocate — but still, love makes you think that all of this is worth it in the end.

as long as geto calls you his, that’s all that matters.

when he calls your phone, you pick up on the first ring, eager and desperate —to hear the dulcet tones embedded in his voice, the words saccharine and carefully picked; things you’ve always wanted to be told, he whispers them all to you before you fall asleep.

but the thing about geto is, boredom is never too far away from him.

it wraps itself around his arms one morning, slithers along and drenches his skin, completely warping his sense of morality — making him much more severe and uncaring than he normally is. all your cute, quirky traits become bothersome to him; he tires of your laugh, doesn’t care to see that sparkle in your eyes whenever he shows up at your front door, and listening to you drone on and on about things that you like bores him to tears.

when he fucks you, it’s impassively, as if it’s something he needs to tick off his list of weekly duties, rather than something he chooses to do because he genuinely wants to be intimate. you don’t question it at first, but it becomes painfully obvious — and awkward — when he leaves every time, not bothering to kiss you goodnight or even look your way. your mind is cruel one morning, when you reflect on how sex with geto is mostly about him getting off and not you; it never bothered you before, but as the months go on, it starts one of many tiny cracks in his veneer.

the rejection is unbearable — tangible in the way it makes you sluggish and depressed — but you deal with it; you must, after all, he’s the love of your life. you simply can’t imagine being with anyone else now.

geto becomes the very man your mother warned you about, but you ignore it without question.

love is work, you remind yourself for the umpteenth time as you sit in the back of your favorite restaurant, checking the time repeatedly and seeing that he still hasn’t shown. you’re in a modest dress with a slit down the side and you’ve already downed two glasses of wine without him. it’s been forty minutes, the server keeps checking on you, giving you pitying looks despite your smiles and insistence that your boyfriend is definitely on his way.

but the longer you sit there, the less sure of that you are.

eventually you leave; they don’t charge you for a thing and you thank them for their kindness — pity, really — and head home. you try calling geto and get his voicemail again; so you leave yet another teary message, this one more incoherent than the last two, and toss your phone onto your vanity before crying yourself the sleep. you don’t know what to do with this feeling — the hopelessness is eating you alive; or maybe it’s just the wine making you overly sensitive.

geto knows he’s an asshole and relishes in it.

he has his notifications silenced while he’s downtown with a few close friends, partying in an exclusive lounge, drinking until his head grows heavy. he doesn’t remember how he gets back to his place, and barely remembers who he fucked that night, but he does have the common decency to kick them out come morning. he’s hospitable like that. his head throbs as he scrolls through his phone, promptly ignoring the twelve texts from you and the fifteen missed calls. gojo called him heartless last night, which he thought was ridiculous — he has a heart, it just doesn’t always work properly; geto now assumes gojo was referring to his mistreatment of you.

something about that nags at him a little, so he decides to play nice and call you back. the phone continues to ring as he lounges on the plush couch in his living room, causing him to frown; very strange. you normally pick up for him right away, but you’re not answering. he should be concerned, but he chalks it up to you sleeping and decides to try again in an hour.

after his third time calling, annoyance turns into anger which fuels his petty jealousy.

what could you possibly be doing that would require you to ignore him — him — of all people?

“y/n,” he says as calmly as he can while his hand grips his phone tightly, it’s his fourth voicemail, but he doesn’t really care. “i don’t know what game you’re playing at, but i assure you… you won’t win.” he doesn’t elaborate past that, and instead throws his phone at the nearest wall — not bothering to pick it up once it clatters onto the hardwood floor. his anger surprises him; subduing certain emotions is an art for him, so all of this feels very new and uncomfortable.

he tells himself this weakness is only temporary, and that you’ll come to your senses too. except, you don’t. you don’t call him back; you don’t bother texting, and you don’t listen to his voicemails until three days later. when geto finds you, you’re in the middle of rewatching your favorite show for the tenth time, eating leftover pizza in your pajamas.

with his nose wrinkled, geto shuffles through your apartment, taking note of the pile of dishes in your kitchen and the way you’ve completely let go of yourself. he’s appalled that a woman like you has succumbed to the frivolities that accompanies hurt feelings. he even says as much to you when you fail to greet him or acknowledge his presence.

it's when he turns off the tv, that you blink several times, sluggish and confused before realizing that the beautiful man before you is not a figment of your imagination.

“suguru,” you sound his name out like it’s unfamiliar, your tongue thick from keeping quiet these past few days; your mind’s a mess, you’re still reeling from the betrayal of him clearly abandoning you, discarding you like you’re just a toy that he’s long forgotten on the street. he snaps his fingers impatiently in front of your face to get your attention again.

“wh-what is it?”

he frowns again. “what do you mean ‘wh-what is it’?” his mockery of your voice and his accompanying sneer is unbecoming of him, you think, but you don’t say that out loud; instead you put down the pizza you were nibbling and yawn languidly.

“you don’t have to be an ass,” you remark carefully, finally glancing up at him as though you’re seeing him for the first time. love muddled your vision, but now you can see geto suguru for all that he is. a liar, a conman, a shitty human being; but most importantly, he’s still the love of your life. you take that last bit seriously; maybe a little too seriously.

but love has a way of making you foolish in ways that are incomprehensible to others.

geto narrows his eyes at you before his lips twitch and he laughs at your insolence. “okay, that’s fair. i did stand you up, after all.”

you turn back to the tv and shrug, flicking a few crumbs off your shirt. “doesn’t matter. what’s done is done.”

for some reason, your apathy agitates him greatly. your tone is off — detached, devoid of the usual joviality that you have whenever he’s around; he figures that he deserves that, but he knows you won’t be mad at him for long. you never are.

“don’t get ahead of yourself, y/n,” his words drift through the air, venomous and well-practiced — he’s mastered the art of tearing down others without even trying — his annoyance reaches its peak when you ignore him and he exhales loudly, as if the entire situation has bored him to death. “since you obviously don’t give a damn about my presence,” he starts, not bothering to hide his malice or irritation, “i’ll give you what you want.”

which is space. permanently — at least, that’s what he thinks you want anyway. he slams the copy of your apartment key onto the coffee table — something that would’ve made you flinch days ago, but you’re so numb you barely notice.

it’s unbelievable that after a year, this is how you treat him; maybe it’s for the best that he’s breaking up with you. after all, he’d never be able to tolerate you having the upper hand in the breakup. still, it does concern him a bit that you’re not reacting in the way you usually would; did he honestly break your heart that badly that you’ve taken to retreating to the far recesses of your mind? not that it matters to him; you served your purpose and wore out your welcome eight months ago.

he just needed a reason to end it.

once he leaves, you feel like you can breathe again. and after a few minutes, you realize what just happened. you scramble off the couch, heart beating rapidly, palm slick with perspiration as you yank open the door and call out to him.

but he’s long gone; already driven off, ready to take on the world without you.

you wear your rejection like a bruise that won’t ever heal; each word said, each call and text ignored, is like a punch in the same spot over and over.

will you ever be able to move on properly?

it’s not really his problem if you can or can’t get over him, as he’s already moved on within the hour. the thing about geto is, he always assumes he’s the one in control — that he holds all the cards in his hands; but he isn’t. he forgets that you’re entirely too observant for your own good, curious, resourceful, and lethal when provoked long enough. you foolishly grab your car keys and drive to his place in the middle of the night; you ignore traffic lights, drive faster than necessary, swerve in and out of traffic as a fit of madness course through your veins.

love continues to delude you into thinking that there’s a way to fix it all; there has to be, it’s the only thing you can believe in right now.

you think about ringing his doorbell, think about calling and texting, think about just banging on his window and demanding he let you in. but you don’t. instead, you lean against your car, dark, heavy clouds looming over that part of the city as rain comes down hard and practically oppressively.

but you don’t move.

you stand there, shivering; soaked from head to toe, hands balled into fists — his last words playing over and over in your mind, like a song you can’t seem to forget. and every time you hear his voice, your heart shatters a little more; you imagine he’s having fun inside, laughing with gojo and whatever new flavor he’s decided to whet his appetite with. you want to give him the benefit of the doubt; maybe he’s having a bad week? maybe he didn’t mean to break up with you; but the longer you try to convince yourself, the sharper his betrayal becomes.

the truth is bitter, inedible, and harsh; it clamps around your mind as the remnants of your heart morphs into ash.

you bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood, but you don’t feel it; how can you, after all that’s happened?

eventually, you hop into your car and drive to your best friend’s house — she’s the only one you can go to, now that you’ve realized that geto is serious about leaving you. after pouring your heart out and downing a few more glasses of wine, your best friend takes you by the shoulders and shakes you repeatedly.

“y/n,” she says calmly, eyes soft and warm, “honestly, babe, you need to move on from him. is he worth all of this trouble?” you consider her question, roll your bottom lip in between your teeth before answering properly.

“of course, he is,” you say quietly, and then a little louder, “my love for him is so strong that i actually think i hate him.” you’ve never seen your best friend so speechless in your life, but there she is, unable to formulate an appropriate enough response to talk you out of this.

but the thing is, as soon as those words leave your mouth, it finally clicks; all the pieces to the jigsaw puzzle set perfectly in place. how could you have been so foolish?

you love him so much that you hate him, and your hatred is so strong that it can only be perceived as love. it’s irrational, maddening, incredibly toxic; but you revel in it. you know what you need to do, you just need time to do it.

days blend into weeks, and weeks to months; you sell your soul to get back your dignity, that determination that geto stupidly overlooked continuously fuels your quest for revenge. you disappear from the city, change your phone number, leave your apartment, and become a nonthreatening ghost from geto’s past. he forgets about you every time he sleeps with someone else, forgets about you whenever he goes on vacation, forgets about you as he whispers the same sweet things to another over and over and over again.

his ego is something to be marveled, and he feels a little unstoppable these days.

six months later, geto finds himself at a stuffy gala — one that his company’s holding to legally siphon money from the upper 1% under the guise of philanthropy — and spends most of the night dodging gojo’s questions over another failed relationship.

“you really don’t think you’re the problem?” gojo says in between sips of champagne, eyeing his best friend through his dark shades, and smiling as if he already knows the answer to that particular question.

geto lets out a frustrated groan and rolls his eyes. “i’m not doing this with you.” because the last thing he needs, is gojo killing his buzz. he glances at the people in attendance, dark eyes flicking over each guest, seemingly uninterested in any of them until you walk in.

he’s not sure it’s you at first, as your beauty captivates him in a way that doesn’t make sense to him. you’re in a pair of heels that look equal parts elegant and enticing, a shimmering, gold gown with a plunging neckline and incredibly high slit. the color offsets the warm undertones of your rich, brown skin that seems silky and otherworldly under all the lights in the room. geto blinks several times, almost as if he can’t believe that it’s you. and, if it wasn’t for gojo making comments about how he didn’t realize you had curves like that, geto might’ve believed you were a figment of his imagination.

how the tables turn.

your date escorts you to a table towards the back, one that’s close enough that geto can watch you properly. something about you is different. he’s not sure if it’s the confidence you exude as you smile coyly at some of the other guests, plump lips curving upward whenever another man asks to make your acquaintance. you keep your head held high, graceful, as if you belong with that crowd — even though geto knows you don’t. you’d never be able to come to an event like this on your own, but he isn’t upset about that.

what he’s upset at, is your date’s hand lingering on your thigh, thumb caressing your knee as he leans over to whisper something in your ear; that’s your cue to smile demurely and swat at his hand. the laugh is well timed — you even throw your head back, offering geto a full view of your elongated neck and round breasts that cling to the fabric of your gown. you excuse yourself under the guise of going to the restroom, and walk past geto without glancing at him — it’s difficult, you so badly want to turn and watch his reaction, but you keep strong, hips swaying as you take the first hallway on your left.

he’s not sure if it’s curiosity, jealousy, or insanity that drives him to get out of his seat and stalk after you. geto was done with you, he knew that — you knew that — but there he is, chasing you like some lovesick teen that can’t seem to get their unrequited crush out of their head. thankfully, the hallway is empty, so when he rounds the corner, he finds you standing there, checking out your reflection in your compact mirror. you feign surprise when you realize someone’s there, one that morphs into temporary confusion before you smile sweetly at your ex-boyfriend.

“well, isn’t this a fun surprise,” you say airily, a sly smile tumbling onto your lips as you make your way over to him. he’s somehow forgotten how to breathe while simultaneously forgetting that you always looked like this — overwhelmingly beautiful and alluring — he just insisted you dress plain on purpose. you like that he’s speechless; you like that his eyes haven’t left you since you walked into the gala. when you get close enough that he can see just how long and thick your lashes are, he finally snaps out of his stupor — somewhat.

“y/n,” he says belatedly, a bit of awe and amusement coloring his voice, “i’m surprised to see you.” what he really wanted to say, was that he’s trying to remember why he broke up with you in the first place — because nothing comes to mind. not when you reach your hand to delicately tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, not when you intentionally place your hand on his chest, and call out his name softly, almost like a whisper before you take a step back.

“i changed my number,” you say in order to drive the point home and pluck your new phone out of your clutch. “and i moved, but i’d love to catch up with you.” he doesn’t say anything when you type your contact information in his phone and when your lips brush against his cheek, he’s reminded of just how much he adored you initially. he wants to ask why you’ve suddenly come back, but the words stick to the roof of his mouth — thick and impossible to remove, slowly rotting through his common sense. it must be some absurd act of possession that has him pull you close enough to brush his lips against yours; you relish in the nostalgia of the moment, with memories of him kissing you spontaneously during your dates — after all, you’ve been in this position so many times before.

the difference? your claws are sharper, dipped in one of the most potent poisons in the world — hatred.

but you have a role to play now: the naïve ex-girlfriend, who knew nothing of the world before meeting him. geto’s ego knows no bounds when you part your lips for him effortlessly, back arching as he runs his hand down it; his fingers are cool against your exposed skin and you shiver from the contact. he smirks at that, liking that he can still get that sort of reaction out of you. time is essential now, so you kiss him suddenly — your lips soft, supple, and sweet as ever.

geto uses that opportunity to slip is tongue inside of your mouth and familiarizes himself with your taste. you whimper softly and he smirks, thinking that he’s somehow won you over all over again, especially when you drag your nails down the back of his neck, scratching his skin without a care. they’re much sharper than he’s known them to be, and while the sting is tolerable, it’s also annoying. yet he can’t seem to pry himself away; your body feels perfect against his, and you surprise him once again when you rub your hand against his cock. geto’s never known you to be that bold before — and in public too? your kiss transforms into something much demanding, and before he realizes it, you’ve unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.

a heat passes through both of you — and you almost forget yourself as you fall into a familiar dance, kissing him fervently as you wrap your hand around his cock. it stiffens almost immediately, a painful reminder that he’s still impossibly attracted to you, despite what he told himself months ago. you get drunk off of the power you hold over him — the man who mercilessly crushed your heart and left you alone to deal with the aftermath — and have to remind yourself that you’re only supposed to tease him a bit.

his breathing grows uneven, and it’s comical how he’s forgotten that anyone can easily walk in on you two — he just doesn’t care. he’d fuck you in front of everyone just to prove a damn point. your hand strokes faster, twisting as it moves up and down his thick length, his skin hot and smooth, keeping you in a daze. it’s always been like that with you — getting so hopelessly caught up in him that you forget anything else exists.

a voice in the back of your mind tells you to slow down, but you ignore it — the thrill of feeling each jerk of his hips has you moaning into his mouth, breathlessly kissing him like you have all the time in the world.

except you don’t.

the reality of that hits you faster than you’d like, so you bite his lip hard enough to draw blood. you pull away after, almost innocently and lick the blood off of him. the move practically pushes him over the edge, and he has to tell himself that he shouldn’t try fucking you in that hallway. you do your best to catch your breath and blink slowly as you both look at each other. to give yourself a bit of an edge, you swipe your thumb against the tip of his cock and admire the precum on your hand. you bring it up your lips, tongue gliding against your skin to savor the taste of him. it’s a polarizing and captivating experience; something about that makes him want to kiss you all over again, but he refrains from doing so, instead focusing on tucking himself in and fixing his clothes properly.

if you were cruel, you’d take a picture of this moment — of geto with a slightly heaving chest, flushed cheeks, confusion etched on his face as if he doesn’t understand why he let himself get carried away like that. your lipstick is smeared prettily against his lips — red, intoxicating, and ominous.

you smile at that; happy that you’ve successfully integrated yourself into his life again.

“let’s… pick this up again sometime,” your voice has a strange lilt to it — coy and musical, dangerously sultry. his heart skips a beat, and he thinks he’s gone mad; geto doesn’t swoon or obsess the way others do for him. but you’re different now, much more interesting, and mysterious. he knows there’s something wrong with this picture, but he can’t seem to connect the dots just yet.

he doesn’t get another chance to talk to you, as your date keeps you busy most of the night; you don’t bother looking at geto until the end of the event, where you wiggle your fingers at him before leaving.

as soon as you get into your date’s car, you get a text message from a number you’ve memorized by heart and smile as you mentally list all the things you need to do before your revenge can be complete.

little does he know, you haven’t moved at all; you still own your old apartment, but you don’t stay there. you temporarily moved into your childhood friend’s place — a ritzy, luxurious high-rise apartment by the beach — while they travel for work out of the country. it’s all for show, of course; you need geto (and gojo, by extension) to think you’ve somehow elevated yourself financially, that you’re successfully integrated into similar social circles, that you can casually score invites to lavish events that cater to the wealthy elite. after changing out of your gown and into something comfortable, you decide to pay a visit to your old place; it’s mostly empty, save for your old bedroom.

you poured your savings into surveillance equipment, have monitors set up around the room, have hundreds of candid pictures of geto and the people he frequently associates with over the past six months plastered all along the walls. you’ve scribbled out his face in most of the pics, and have drawn lines and arrows, written incoherent notes to yourself — making connections and scenarios so that your contingency plans are unshakeable.

geto texts you again and you smile to yourself, loving the way you’ve already slithered into his mind after one brief conversation with him. he doesn’t realize you’ve been watching him all this time, doesn’t realize that you placed cameras in his home, doesn’t realize that you have unfiltered access to his computer and phone — it pays to have friends who dabble in those things.

you make some tea before sitting on the cushy computer chair as you watch geto stress over you not texting him back; you chuckle and spin around in your chair, elation building up in your chest, rattling that gilded cage around your heart. he’s so stupid, it’s almost too easy; you open the text thread with him, start typing out a bogus response for a few minutes, then delete it and leave him on read.

it takes him half an hour to really lose his mind over you not texting him back, and all you can do is laugh until tears fall out of your eyes.

you want him to fall so hopelessly in love with you, that you become his very reason for living and breathing. then you want to carve out his heart and leave him behind. a perfect plan, really; there are some kinks you still need to iron out, but you know, in time, that everything will go as planned.

uneasiness settles into geto��s stomach over the next few weeks; you barely text him back, and when he calls, you’re always busy. it’s foolish the way he’s pining after you; he knows it’s just because he hasn’t seen you in a long time, but something about you is just so… different. the way you abruptly cut conversations short with him, how you keep rescheduling lunch and dinner with him; how you intentionally let yourself be seen on social media with various men and women. and even when he wants to delete your number and block you, he can’t seem to do it.

because there’s no logical reason why he should be upset. you two aren’t dating anymore, this is just his lust-ridden brain taking hold of his common sense. or, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

when you do manage to see him for dinner one night, you tease him mercilessly and without remorse. at first, geto thinks he has control over the flow of the conversation. you keep blushing whenever he strokes your palm, giggle appropriately when he bumps his knee against yours, and act demure when he gives you permission to order anything off the menu. and you do; the guilt you used to feel is nowhere to be found, instead you thrive in the high that accompanies spending his money frivolously.

in return, you slide your foot up along his leg — slow and tenuous, the first course in your act to capture his heart completely — flirt heavily without restriction and encourage him to keep ordering drinks. geto grows tired of dragging things out and insists you continue the evening back at his place.

“oh,” you say softly and, after a long drawn out moment, your lips curve into a knowing smile.

after you’re both full and pleasantly tipsy, he takes you to his place; in his mind it won’t be long before he has you begging him to fuck you — and then he can finally be rid of this ridiculous obsession. you barely make it through the door because his hands are all over you, tugging roughly on your dress to take it off of you. if you weren’t so determined to see this through, you’d laugh — at his eagerness, at his annoyance with the matter, at your uncanny ability to fool him into thinking that you really want him back.

you lay on his bed, legs spread wide, arousal dripping from your folds as he kisses along the inside of your thighs. normally, geto is an incredibly selfish lover — but tonight, he busies himself with devouring you entirely. almost like he’s trying to make up for lost time. your skin is littered with bite marks and hickeys, but you don’t mind; a few battle scars are necessary in the long run. an unprecedented hunger takes hold of his mind — drives him to eat your pussy with vigor and passion. you roll your hips forward, nipples hard as you moan his name loudly.

he likes how you’re falling apart for him — and only him; you tug on his hair roughly, nails raking against his scalp when he flicks his tongue against your throbbing clit. you forgot that when geto puts his mind to something, he really puts in work; his cock is stiff, but he chooses to ignore it for the sake of watching you writhe on his bed, hand pulling on his bed sheet as soon as he slips his lithe fingers inside of you. he pumps them in and out, fast and hard; you bite down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming, but you lose your composure quickly.

the orgasm leaves you panting and whimpering, softly moaning when geto continues to lap at your pussy, despite how sensitive you feel. you get on all fours without prompting and rub your ass against his cock. the sight is erotic and has him gliding the tip of his cock along your wet pussy, an act that wholly surprises him, even more so when he barely gives you warning before driving his cock inside of your tight hole.

again, he wonders what is different; he’s fucked you more times than he can count, and yet this feels completely new — as if you’re not you, but someone else. and he’s so close to the truth, yet so far away that you try your best not to laugh, even as he powers into you over and over, his cock thick and imposing as his pace picks up.

he knocks his hips against you, strokes lethal but pleasurable. you hiss when he grabs a fistful of your hair, but you let him do it anyway — you want to bide your time before the big finale, of course. geto’s mind melts the longer his cock is inside of you, your plush, warm walls tight around him, squeezing in a way that has him moaning your name out loud.

it surprises him, actually, but he doesn’t stop himself; if anything, he’s more invigorated as he continues to fuck you like you’re the only one he ever thinks about. and, while it probably is true, you also know geto more than he knows you. he pulls out of you suddenly, half in a daze and entirely hooked on your body, and slaps your ass before telling you to ride him instead.

it's almost too easy at this point because this is exactly what you want.

you take your time climbing on top and rub your pussy along his length, grinding and rolling your hips teasingly. his frustration gets the best of him when he grabs your hips to hold you steady.

“y/n,” he warns, voice low and husky. you like him like this — too consumed with lust to realize just how much danger he’s in.

“i’m sorry, baby,” you say almost a little too convincingly, lifting up before sinking down slowly, his cock filling you up in the best sort of way. he’s in heaven, clearly; the way your cunt keeps sucking him back in, your arousal dripping onto his skin — your pussy is the gift that keeps on giving, he tells you offhandedly. you laugh and laugh and laugh, determined to snatch his soul out of his body every time you impale yourself on his cock.

his nails sink into your skin when he holds onto your hips, lifting his upwards to thrust inside of you deeply.

“you know, suguru,” your voice is breathy and hypnotizing, his eyes are glazed over and unfocused; you place your hands on his headboard, under the guise of holding on so he can fuck you properly, but really you’re reaching behind to grab the knife you’ve taped to the back of it. “you’re a shitty person.” there’s confusion etched onto his pretty face, and you chuckle darkly as you buck your hips against his and brandish the knife in front of him.

he'd noticed that it went missing from his set days ago, but figured he’d misplaced it.

“where did you get that?” he grunts when you clench your pussy around him, still riding him as if this is a common occurrence for both of you.

you continue talking as if he didn’t ask a valid question and gently tap his cheek with the flat part of the blade. “you broke my heart, turned my love into ash,” you ride him harder, your ass bouncing on his hips, and he’s much more aroused than he should be. which is alarming because he isn’t stopping you at all. “and you went about your life like i never mattered.” that part still hurt, and you don’t think as you hold the knife to his throat, the blade sharp enough that it knicks his skin when you lean forward.

he knows he should tell you to stop, but for some reason, it’s as if he’s paralyzed by your confession. he deserves it, he knows that, but you refuse to have any sort of sympathy for him. a bit of blood drips down his neck and you stab the blade onto his pillow, nearly missing his face. he actually fucking flinches and it makes you laugh again.

“you’re so fucking stupid,” you almost pity him. almost.

geto’s life literally flashes before his eyes. he’s never seen you this ruthless; the soft, demure woman he knew before is gone — in her place, is someone cold and demanding, someone who won’t hesitate to maim him if he toes the line.

his skin blanches and he swallows hard, words lodged deep in his throat. he doesn’t know what to say to you. “i—”

you run your tongue along his jaw, and grin triumphantly when he shivers uneasily. “you don’t get it, do you? you’re mine forever.” he wants to ask what you mean by that, but you don’t give him the chance. “i hate you so much, that i want to watch the life drain from your eyes.”

it’s morbid and unreal, but it feels right. “that’s also a form of love, right?” you’re not making any sense, and you don’t care; you’ve deviated from your plan — you intended to drag things out, but once he started fucking you and acting like he was running the show all over again, you snapped. “you’re mine forever, understand?”

he had every opportunity to grab the knife, to shake you off of him, but you keep moving your hips, keep moaning for him, and keep kissing him like you want to breathe in his essence. he’s trapped and probably will never find his way out; he realizes now, that your return wasn’t a coincidence. it was planned. it’s fear that keeps him on that bad, that lets you keep fucking him until you’re satisfied, and when he finally cums, you smile wickedly and pick the knife up again.

“there’s no one who will love you the way i do, baby.”

#⋆˙⟡♡ htbahb collab #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto smut #‘i can change him’ 🥴#no tf i can't he ain't shit!!!#i love him anyway it's complicated #yandere reader #fic request #geto x black reader #jjk x black reader

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onelocket · 1 year

Note

i love your account so much and i’d like to know if you take requests? if you do can you please do headcanons or a scenario where fyodor’s gf is a waitress? fem reader or gn reader is ok, i just want that giddy romantic stuff in an aesthetic place like cafes 😭

hello anon! yes i do take requests. i’m just not talkative about it - not that i don’t want requests obviously, but since my fyodor is very soft i don’t expect any. but you’ve contradicted, i’m also taking a guess you’d want reader being a barista; since you did mention a place fyodor has been to: cafes. so thank you for your words and for requesting ♡

Fyodor with a ‘Personal’ Barista

involves -- gn reader but with feminine terms

theme -- anon wants romance so no dark topics :)

⚘

Did you intend for this, or not?

It been quite recent actually. …Your work at a specific cafe, that is. When you first dated Dostoevsky, you’d take note of how he sporadically hangs out at this one cafe, which got you hooked to the thought of what could possibly be so different with this place to keep a guy like him staying. You wanted to know what kind of food and drinks your boyfriend liked so you could get to know him better. But when you one day stepped onto the cafe, you were greeted by a barista with a hopeful smile on their face after a while of realizing their stares on you. Yet as you were stunned, your hands helplessly accept what they had given.

"Hello. I’m sorry if this seems like a rather… surprising situation, but you’re rather attractive. You’d catch many attention within moments! So I was thinking…"

"…I-Isn’t this the pamphlet for hiring people?"

They had a lengthy effort of explaining how you’d be good for this job, but also puts in the words ‘it’s okay if you don’t want to’ just for the affect of looking respectable. But as you pondered longer, your head clicked to Fyodor - making you realize… maybe this could come of use to you. I-In many ways, of course, right?

You accept it, excited to surprise him.

Besides, who could ever except their lover to be suddenly working at their favorite cafe? Most would be touched and perhaps even melt at the gesture, and it’s exiting to think what a gentleman like Dostoevsky will reply with, right? You couldn’t wait to see any form of pink on his cheeks. Sure, he was a lot more calculated and calm than most guys - but one who loves is still able to blush somehow, right? Yet when you got home and show him the familiar cafe uniform, he surprises you back with a… smirk.

"Is my little mouse too cooped up in our home to the point they’ll take work? My, I wonder when you found out about such cafe."

You tried to play dopey, "I think it’s quite fun. I’ve only heard about this cafe by a pamphlet I saw whilst shopping." even if you knew your words are too weak to lie through Fyodor’s ears.

Fyodor doesn’t comment on it, however, only standing up from his seat to lean forward. Your eyes blink in confusion towards his moment till his thumb lifts your chin up, his index pressed on your skin. It’s not plastered, but you saw a faint smile replace his smirk.

"That’s my good independent sweetheart."

Working there was… interesting.

For a guy who looks and acts opposite, Fyodor was such… was difficult the right word? You don’t really know, you just felt like your whole mind was going to explode then on.

"Mind be a dearie and actually know what I prefer, hm?"

"Even that barista over there can properly listen better than you, little mouse. Snap out of it, my beautiful dear. You’re working, act like it."

You knew he was just teasing you and poking fun, but you can’t help it - it was honestly a bit irritating. If he wasn’t your boyfriend then it’d be sure to result out in an argument. Because how dare he? But because you love him enough, you just let his taunt. Unfortunately for you though, a lot of his acts do make your thoughts itch, making you appear just the slightest bit more short tempered to him, to other customers, and co-workers.

"They can be so easy sometimes.."

Fyodor would just whisper to himself as he watches you, only but a scratch away from being a stomping barista in such a peaceful cafe, a red heat in your cheeks not that visible to others; but a hue so cute in Fyodors eyes. Of course, his provoking wasn’t present everyday, just in days he felt like seeing you all pouty because of him.

Like your own cctv..

He frequently had his eye on you whilst visiting the cafe. Not only to take in your beauty, but to also see how you were doing. He doesn’t stare every single second - since he came here for tea too, but still a lot of glances come from him while you work. Besides, even if you can be.. a bit timid, you still knew your way without his supervision, so he wasn’t that cautious. But sometimes, Fyodor just can’t let some creeps snake in and try to seduce you, glaring at the sight even if it was tables away. If it gotten too far, the next thing you’ll see is a walking Fyodor with a polite smile that you just knew reeked dislike.

"I see you’re having a rather friendly conversation with a customer, my muse?"

You cover half of your face with a tray you were holding, "…They were just asking something." speaking quietly in reply.

"Really? I see. After your done with your shift, come to my table and share a treat with me."

And that was.. uncharacteristic of him, but enough to lower the credence of your ‘friendly customer’ to make them excuse themselves after one last word or two at you. But who were you to ask and complain the act of your lover? Fyodor knows you love him with each beat your heart produced, but while it’s also better to be safer - he secretly likes the way you get all shy when he puts a possessive abrupt.

He praises you quite a bit,

For as said, Fyodor’s taunt isn’t an everyday occurrence. Seeing you was already satisfying his want to be entertained, especially when you’re all so cute in that simple barista uniform. You were so beautiful in it, and to think such eyeful was blending in amongst a cafe quite popular, it makes him smile knowing your love is taken by his. So sometimes, he also gives your some light praises when you finally get his preferences right, or maybe give him an indulgent little treat you pay for him. Or whenever you just walked by, really.

"Mhm.. that’s right. Good, you’re getting the hang of it."

"You make it quite difficult to leave this cafe seeing you all pretty and working so well, dear."

You had to whisper out your ‘thank yous’, knowing your voice would turn high-pitched if you dare to speak up loud. It was so… hard to get rid of such a harsh red on your cheeks, but whenever you manage to, you give a sharp inhale, using those words to keep you going instead of melting right at the spot. You’d hate to give Fyodor his initial result with his words. And Fyodor knows that you resist the result, but that doesn’t make him see you any less cuter. If anything, he could smirk at how you were turning it into a mental challenge for yourself. But he’s glad he can help you, even in a way not planned out for.

bonus scenario

As you take a ten minute break after a fleeting urge wins you, a squeaky whine comes out your lips before you sink your head on your arms, tired. You haven’t been in many shifts today, but something about today was off. Like something needed to be said.

Yet as if the world follows your thought, the same co-worker who suggested you to work here a couple weeks ago lightly nudges your shoulder, making you look up. "…Oh, yes?" You ask, blinking a few times.

"Tired already?" They ask, a mocking, yet sweet enough of a smile erupting from their lips. "Today hasn’t even properly started yet."

"I can’t deny fatigue," You chuckle out, lifting your head up. "But it’s not like I’m planning to do lesser shifts today."

"…Yeah." The co-worker trailed out, your eyes deciding to follow where their eyes lingered - and that was on your lover himself, Dostoevsky.

You don’t let your jealousy start, knowing Fyodor wasn’t easy to lure over if they ever tried to steal him. But you do ask, "Something wrong?" curious.

"…Say, did you never find my sudden approach to you weird?" They ask after a second or two, turning their head to face you. They’re right… you kind of just took the offer up like it was nothing but a request. While you do get a lot of money, and a very frequent favorite customer, their question did make you think properly.

"…No? Well, now I’m hooked. Why did you ask?" You bring up, slightly scooting your chair closer to them. "I take it that my ‘attractiveness’ isn’t the only reason?" You add, a soft smile implying your joke.

They laughed quietly, placing their elbows on the table. "Don’t discard your charm like that. Though.. if you really want to know why I suddenly asked you a few weeks ago, you might want to ask that to Mr. Fyodor himself."

…

Mr. Fyodor?

Why were they suddenly referring to Fyodor formally? As if they were a member of Fyodor’s—

"…Oh.." Your voice only rang out, cheeks almost able to flash red in an instant of your realization. Did he plan this all along..?

"..Pft, he’s right." Your co-worker smiled, resting their cheek on their palm. "Your reaction would be funny to see."

"Oh— be quiet." You sighed out, rolling your eyes but in a way playful as they ‘accidentally’ dart to Fyodor himself. He didn’t seem to notice the chat, eyes focused on the cup of tea you prepared for him. But.. you just knew.

With that smile that was on his face, you knew.

"I know it was you who planned it all, Fyodor." You frowned after taking a rather sloppy seat on your couch, eyes following him as he sits down on it gracefully - very contrasting from yours. You hear his chuckle, "They told you, am I right?" referring to the barista earlier.

"They did, after weeks of you two keeping it a secret." You huffed out, crossing your arms a bit while you sit up properly. "But knowing you, maybe half of my co-workers knew too just so they can share you what kind of things I’ve been doing."

"My, little mouse. Don’t mistaken me for some creep.." Fyodor said with a voice that you could mistake as if he was genuinely hurt, but only a soft laugh escapes you at his tone.

You see his body move closer to you, his hand gently taking one of yours as he slides his fingers to your wrist, forming your hand into a lazy fist as he leaned in to press a set of soft kisses on your knuckles. The gesture makes your cheeks pink up.

"Is it bad to want an update from my sweetheart, when they’re so eager and excited to work at a cafe I’ve taken interest to?" Fyodor whispers, his breath tickling your hands that makes you escape little giggles underneath that blinking and flushed look. "I knew your initial plan, and I didn’t see any harm in making it happen. In fact, perhaps more good than bad come out of this, wouldn’t you think, my dear?"

quite the long post ^^) so sorry for my inactivity again, our classes had to change into online modality and it’s really hard. thank you for taking the time.

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honeeslust · 11 months

Text

Mahito | I’m your boyfriend now

18+ only

🖤 TW: non con, blood, death!!

🖤 WC: +1k

🖤 I see y’all whispering about him and since shes a lil demented…

🖤 Scenario: Mahito finds you lonely and stranded in the train car during in shibuya.

Rushed and sloppy, I had a bad day, 👉🏾👈🏾

“ Oh what’s this?” A tall pale stranger with a model's face comes toward you. His shirtless physique dripping with blood, his salaciously long tongue licked the corner of his mouth as he stooped to your eye level. “ you’re a cute one what’s your name?” He asked, extending his hand. “ I’m y/n.” You smiled sweetly hoping he wouldn’t add you to the rest of the scattered bodies lying around you. Hesitantly you reached for his hand. Excited by your nervous shy smile, he beams at you, that lewd tongue slipping out over his lips. “ Were you here alone?” He asked helping you to your feet. “ No, I was with my boyfriend.” “ oh, is he here with us now?” He boasted gesturing to the carnage at his feet. “ no, he ran off and left me.” You said playing with the hem of your skirt. “ aww, that’s too bad. Tell you what. I’ll be your boyfriend.” You were confused and offended. “ I don’t know you.” You spat crossing your arms. He looked back and forth dramatically “uhh, what’s your point?” “ My point is, I don’t know you. You can’t just be my boyfriend.”

“ Oh but I can,” you watched in shock and horror as he shifted his form trying on a few faces of the men that you recognized lying on the floor of the train car. “Stop, that’s so distasteful.” This makes him laugh. “Distasteful?, you’re funny, I like you.” He smiled a smile that wasn’t his as he moved toward you. He reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging lightly “ I’m your boyfriend now, which means I get to have you“ Have me?” You blushed, alone, afraid, and aroused. His breath fanned your neck making your body shiver delightfully. Every little pulse of your heartbeat could now be felt between your legs that you clenched shut trying to simmer your purring kitten. He noticed this and took a stray tendril of your hair around his finger. “ I’m kind of nervous too, this being our first date and all.” He leaned in close and the itchy bearded face of whomever's poor soul brushed against your face. causing you to flinch. “ wait,” you said gently, hoping not to unsettle him. “ I-, I think I’d prefer your actual face please.” “ Well then,” he smiles and snaps his fingers. You shudder watching the rippling flesh as it warped with bone and muscle grotesquely shifting places inside his body. Settling into his original form, he grabbed for you. “ No, sir- please I can’t.” You sobbed helplessly letting the stranger feel you up. So indecent he was. Tearing your top down so your pretty tits could bounce free. All you’d done is smile at him and the patch faced entity was serious about being your boyfriend so he could have his way with you. He smacked his perfect lips together “Aww but please, you’re just scared, just give me a chance … and call me Mahito, sir seems so formal, yeah?” “ sir.. erm I mean Mahito, this is my point, I’ve only just learned your name, so you can’t be my boyfriend. ok.” He stood, cocking his head to the side. His bubbly energy starting to seem more sinister. “ well, no big deal, this would be uh, what do your humans call it, ahh!” He snaps his fingers. “ casual, ! we’ll keep it casual.” Soon again, lips were dotting your neck with kisses but when grabbed your tits, he grew meaner, sucking them into his mouth roughly, making you yelp and grasp for his shoulders but your hands were received easily and pushed aside so he could continue his work. You flinched again. His skilled tongue was too enjoyable. It was wrong to want more of it slithering all over you. “ Mahito” you whispered closing your legs again “Sir—ah- Mahito please.” “ oh, don’t interrupt me sweetheart , I was just getting to the good part.” He comes up from your navel, pouty blushed lips glistening from sucking all over your skin. “ you know it’srude to talk with your mouthful.” He said pushing you to the wall and taking your thigh into his grasp to hoist it over his shoulder. The devilish grin makes you close your hands over your now bare pussy. His laughter was hot between your legs, fanning the wetness that leaked out of you. “ hold still sweetheart.” Before you could speak he entered you with wicked fingers. Long and lithe as they pushed in deep, “ohhhh,” he giggled like a kid in a candy store. You were trembling, feeling how well your clenching walls accepted strangers' digits. He pulsed up into that delicate center until you were dripping down his arms. If this were your boyfriend, that would’ve been it, so when he slipped that sinfully long tongue through your folds, you yelped. “ bet your boyfriend couldn’t do that could he?” As he taunted you, his fingers were behaving in such crude ways, some plucking harshly at your nipples making you squirm trying to cover yourself as you vaguely recalled where you were. The other employed his cursed fingers, transfiguring them to worm their way deep inside your other entrance. Your first instinct was to cover your mouth to hide the shameful sound of pleasure that was being forced upon you. Much as you tried though, your eyes rolled skyward as you leaned back on the wall, legs wide open as you tug at his soft ponytail.

“ Mah - mah - Mahito” you sputtered as you began to ride his face. “ does this ahhhh- mean you won’t kill me.” He smirked with a mouthful of your overflowing cunt. “ who said anything about not killing you?” You froze, the hair on your neck standing up. “ ah well, the jigs up” “ Wha—.” You were cut off by him kissing away the tear that dropped from your lashes onto your cheek. He moved to your lips pushing his disgusting greedy appendage between your lips forcing you to open. Once inside, he caressed your face before pulling away. “ you were fun, thanks.” He smiles revealing a dazzling set of teeth. Awkwardly you shuffled trying to fix your clothes when your throat began to tighten. Your eyes grew wide with terror as you felt the growing orb in your throat tearing its way out violently. He laughed shielding his face from the blast. Tasting your blood on his lips he smiled. “ yummy.”

From the blood room 🩸

#mahito #jjk smut #jjk mahito #smut oneshot #smut writer #spicy headcanons #smutxanime honeeslust #blackgirlswhowriteanimesmut #jjk season 2 #jujutsu kaisen #2023 kinktober #dark smut #non con #dub con

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whumpshaped · 1 year

Note

Been thinking about a mock execution followed by a mock resurrection in a cult setting. Like… Whumpee watched their best friend be ‘killed’ and now the cult demands all this stuff for the ‘ritual’ to bring them back and by the end Whumpee is so brainwashed they’ll play the role of being mock executed to help bring people into the cult. Deception isn’t that big a deal if it’s saving someone’s soul, and they should know- they’ve turned out fine

- @another-whump-sideblog

ok i realise this is different from the prompt because whumpee doesnt actually know theyre participating in deception..... but i think its still pretty good

tw cult setting, religious whump, murder, manipulation, conditioning, noncon drugging

There was nothing they could do. They couldn't stand up and rush over to the priest, they couldn't get their friend off the altar, they couldn't even move. They were surrounded by all their other friends and loved ones who didn't move a muscle either, didn't even bat an eye as the priest raised the ritual knife. If they had stood up and opposed this madness, they would've been shunned.

So they stayed put and watched. They gripped the edge of their seat and tried to blink away their tears, hoping that at the end of all this chanting the priest would do something symbolic instead of literally stabbing their best friend. Maybe it was a test of faith. Maybe if they stayed put, the priest would reward them by not murdering their friend.

When the knife came down, Whumpee almost saw it in slow motion. Their eyes were helplessly locked on the scene as the priest buried the knife hilt-deep inside their friend's abdomen, but they couldn't make a single sound of protest. They couldn't believe it. It just wasn't real. It couldn't be.

They watched as their friend's head lolled to the side, glassy eyes staring into their very soul. They watched as the body went limp and was carried away, and they stayed in their seat, only moving to kneel for prayer once everyone else did so as well.

Their friend was gone. What were they even praying for?

"Whumpee."

They turned towards the source of the voice, finding themself staring at the priest. The church was empty. They were still kneeling. They must've zoned out.

"I'm sorry, I... I'll leave. Sorry. I didn't realise–"

"I would like to talk to you, actually. I know you must be experiencing a lot of emotions regarding today's events."

"I... I have questions."

The priest smiled and extended a hand. "Come. I'll answer them all to the best of my abilities."

"They said they would be resurrected," Whumpee said quietly. "I thought... I thought it was a metaphor. I didn't know... I'm sorry, I'm still so new to all of this, I don't understand how– how they could give their life so willingly– they said they'd seen others be resurrected, and they trusted me, and I just... I don't know what they trusted me with."

"Their life, of course."

Whumpee's eyes widened. "But– was I supposed to stop it? They said not to stop it! They said to trust in you like they trusted in me! And I did, I didn't stop it–"

"Calm down, child. Allow me to explain the process behind the sacrifice."

Whumpee took a shaky breath and tried to settle down. They wiped the tears from their eyes and gestured for the priest to go on, putting on their best listening face.

"People volunteer to become sacrificial lambs for those closest to them. Your friend volunteered their life to strengthen your faith, and they trust that you won't run away from the trial. Because if your faith is strong enough, you can bring them back."

"Bring them back..?"

"Of course. They weren't lying about having seen many resurrections. They have even resurrected a friend before themself. They were just as shaken as you are now, but they decided to trust in God, strengthen their faith, and go through with the ritual."

Whumpee felt like they were being lied to. Who could even bring back someone from the dead? If anyone, it certainly wasn't them. But if their friend had also done it... and if they were now counting on them... "I've never seen any resurrections before," they said miserably. "It sounds..."

"Impossible?" Whumpee slowly nodded, and the priest chuckled. "Yes, it does. But that is part of the trial. You see, those who have never gone through resurrecting a friend or loved one aren't allowed to participate in sacrificial sermons, unless it's their very own — which is what you've just taken part in. Once you've seen something happen in front of your very eyes, it's quite easy to believe it could happen again. But believing that even something that sounds entirely impossible, something you have never witnessed before could happen because of your trust and devotion? That is true faith."

True faith... But how were they supposed to believe something so outrageous? "I, I'm not sure I can do that," they stammered. They didn't even attempt to hold back their tears this time. "My friend– my friend trusted me this much? Why? Why, when I can't– I can't imagine how one could believe in such a thing! I wasn't ready! They gave their life for someone like me, and I'm not even– I'm not even faithful enough to, to bring them back!"

"They trusted you because they believed you were ready." The priest reached out and gently took their hand in their own. "They came to consult me about it, and I told them that I shared their sentiment."

"Why would you–"

"Because you are, child. You are ready. And I can help you grow your faith in the coming three days before the resurrection ceremony. I can help you trust. And I will, if you ask me to." They paused for a moment, their determined expression softening into something more understanding. "You can also choose to walk away from the trial, of course. Nobody can stop you. I know your friend would never hold it against you."

"How can you even say that?" they sobbed. "You murdered my friend, and now you're saying I have a chance to undo it, and– and that I can walk away? Of course I can't. I can't. I can't let them die if there's another way!"

"I assumed you would say that. And your friend did too."

Whumpee barely slept in those three days. They were advised to fast, read the holy texts, and pray. Nothing else mattered. They told themself over and over that everything was possible for God, that the people who said they'd already witnessed several resurrections weren't lying, that if they believed hard enough their friend would come back and hug them and tell them they'd done well.

On the day of the ceremony, Whumpee was sweating bullets. They were terrified that their faith hadn't grown enough to bring a person back to life. As they walked up to the altar with their dead friend on top of it, they thought they might pass out.

"Let us pray," the priest said loudly, and Whumpee heard the sound of a hundred people all get onto their knees. They lowered themself to the floor as well, clasping their hands together with the desperation of someone who was truly suffering. "Lord, examine the heart of Your humble servant closely. Reward their faith if it pleases You, and give them the gift of life and love. Show them that with faith, everything is possible."

The crowd murmured the word 'amen', and Whumpee took a deep breath. "Amen."

Days without food had weakened their body, and they felt lightheaded as they rose to their feet again. They looked down at their dead friend, then up at the priest and the religious symbols on the wall behind them. In that moment, a wave of complete and utter peace washed over them. They knew that everyone in the room trusted the same God as them, and that they had all seen this happen before. Nothing was impossible.

"I believe," they whispered, and the priest took their hand and gently guided it to their friend's chest.

"Let it happen according to your faith."

Ba-dum.

Whumpee broke down in tears as soon as they felt it, dropping right back to their knees while muttering words of gratutude and worship. Their faith had been enough. Their friend was alive! Their friend was alive again, because they had trusted and believed!

"Praise be," they choked out, and the priest laughed.

"Praise be!" they repeated joyfully, and the people behind them enthusiastically joined in.

"I can't believe I'm about to spring this on my friend," Whumpee said with a grin. "Like you did to me! That was the scariest day of my entire life, and I'm about to do it to someone else..."

"But it was followed by the best day of your life, wasn't it?" Their friend was cheery as ever, the scar on their stomach carefully covered up by several layers of clothes. "Your faith would not be as stable as it is if I hadn't done that! And now you get to help your friend like I helped you."

"You're right. Besides, I'm sure they'll do amazingly." Their smile faltered, and they stopped walking. "Were you scared? Before the big day?"

Their friend turned around to be able to look them in the eyes, but there was nothing on their face that indicated that this question was a bad one. They looked compassionate. "Yes, I was. Not because I thought you wouldn't pass the trial, just... I knew it would hurt."

"Does it hurt a lot?"

Their friend nodded a little, and absentmindedly raised a hand to their stomach. "It's over quite quickly, though. Quicker than I'd assumed."

Whumpee nodded as well, but then quickly went back to their joyful attitude from before. "Well, no need to be sad about it! It's for a good cause, and I'm happy to be a part of it!"

Their friend smiled back. "Yes. It's quite the thrilling experience."

The priest was quite pleased when Whumpee sought them out to talk about the sacrifice. They were eager to continue the cycle, which was always a good sign. It meant that they didn't suspect a thing.

They talked to Whumpee for a good while, answering all the questions they had with utter nonsense they made up on the spot. There was no truth to any of it, really, but all the idiots in the group ate it up. The real preparation started once Whumpee was out of the room.

They prepared a portion of their special drug cocktail, the one they used to coat the ritual knife. It had some anaesthetics in it to dull the pain, and of course something that would cause the subject to black out quite quickly. It gave the very convincing impression of seeing somebody die on the altar.

They prepared all the IVs and the surgical equipment, making sure everything was clean and in order. They couldn't have the sacrifice actually die, after all. No, they had to be kept in a limbo for three days, not dead but not awake either. The only time the heart needed to be stopped was right before the ceremony, in case someone got overwhelmed and decided to check for a pulse before they gave the go-ahead.

The priest pulled out one of the drawers, grimacing when they realised they would need to cook up a new batch of the other drug as well, the one they used to restart circulation. It was always remarkably easy to inject the sacrifice while all the sheep had their heads bowed in prayer. No one ever looked. No one ever noticed.

For all they knew, they were witnessing one resurrection after the other.

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em

#asks #another-whump-sideblog #whump #whump drabble #cult setting #religious whump #murder #manipulation #conditioning #noncon drugging

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spnexploration · 1 year

Text

Collared part 37

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: You deal with killing Azaneth.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Word count: 2.5k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 36 <- -> Part 38

Dean watched you zone out a few times as Azaneth taunted you, probably getting caught up in the memories. The taunting of him and Sam was annoying, but he could just brush past it. It cut much deeper for you.

He rubbed your back, hoping to bring you back to the present.

Your eyes focused again. He watched you look at your blade, then up to Azaneth. He expected you to say something more to Azaneth, or perhaps to look to him and Sam.

So he was surprised when you stepped away from him and plunged the blade straight into Azaneth’s belly. He was mildly impressed, it was a good stroke for an amateur.

You didn't really react afterwards. Both Sam and Dean hastened forward, hands splayed out in case you fainted and they had to catch you. But you just stood there, looking at the body, still tied to the chair.

“I forgot there was a human inside,” you said in a small voice. “Did- did I just kill a human?”

Dean exchanged a quick look with Sam, over your head. He didn’t want to be honest with you, but he knew it would backfire if he wasn’t.

Sam, however, beat him to it. “It’s not as simple as that,” he started, voice sincere and quiet. “There are ways to get a demon out of a human, like an exorcism, but often demons will react when you start doing one and kill the host. And if he’d treated the vessel badly already, they might have been going to die anyway.”

You nodded slightly, still staring.

“Remember in the car,” Dean continued, “Azaneth was whacking the hell out of that man’s body, including his head. I don’t think he would have survived, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, his last vessel died as soon as he smoked out,” Sam added.

Dean watched your body closely, trying to find any clues about how you were feeling and what you needed from him and Sam. You were still just standing there, staring. He didn't know whether to give you more time or step in and try and get you to move on. He looked helplessly at Sam.

Sam edged closer, face full of concern for you, but not interrupting you. Dean got the feeling he was letting Dean make the moves here.

Dean looked back at you. He remembered how much Azaneth and the witch had taken away your free will, made decisions for you. He wouldn't be like that.

“Sweetheart, you can take as long as you want,” he said quietly. “Do you want Sam and I to stay with you?”

“What happens to the body now?” you said, not really answering him.

“Sam and I will salt and burn it to prevent the man becoming a vengeful spirit.”

“Can- can I be there?”

“Of course, if you want to.”

“What about all the blood?” you said, gesturing to where it was pooling on the ground and on the angel blade still in your hand.

“We’ll clean it up. We're pretty used to dealing with blood, gore and gross stuff in this job.”

“Ok.” You returned to silence, still staring. Dean waited. He figured you’d have told him if you wanted them to leave.

You slowly turned away from Azaneth’s dead vessel. Sam held out his hand and you gingerly relinquished the angel blade to him. It looked like you’d been clutching it tightly, and your fingers were hard to open.

You now faced Dean. He wasn’t sure what you would want from him, so he waited to follow your lead.

“Dean?” you asked quietly.

“Yes, Bambi?”

“Can we go outside?”

“Course we can.” He gestured to the door and followed you out, nodding to Sam on the way.

---

You sat on the picnic rug that Dean had grabbed on his way out. The man himself had gone to stand up out of your way but you'd patted the rug next to you, so instead he sat. You noticed him glancing at you frequently, but he wasn't interrupting you or trying to talk. He just sat and let you be.

You were happy he wasn't demanding anything of you. You just wanted to sit and watch, but it was better with company.

Plus you were pretty sure he still had his gun and angel blade hidden on him: your own personal bodyguard.

You looked into the forest. Sometimes you thought about your life with the witch, about everything you had lost just because you were the first unlucky human to walk past her on the wrong day. About everything that could have been.

But sometimes you just sat in the moment. Not thinking anything. Just enjoying being outside, feeling free.

It was a strange mix of emotions. But it felt better being outside.

It felt better sitting with Dean, too.

“You ever regret what led you to become a monster hunter?” you asked Dean.

“A demon killed our mum,” he said quietly. “I was 4, I carried 6-month-old Sammy out of our burning house.”

“Shit. I suppose I should be grateful no one ruined my life until I was an adult “

“We still had our Dad. We travelled around the country, changing schools and being left in motel rooms while he hunted.” He took a breath, then continued. “I wouldn't say it ruined our lives, but for a lot of my childhood I was jealous of others who had things I didn't have – a mum, a house, reliable food.”

“Thank you for telling me, Dean.”

He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you. “Some bits of the job are good though. It's not all doom and gloom.”

“What, like being left with a slave?” you joked.

“That was... different,” he said with a smile. “Hopefully we didn't fuck it up too much.”

That gave you pause. “Crap, I never thought about what it was like for you two.”

“That wasn't what I meant-” Dean hastened to say.

“No, no, it's ok. I know you weren't trying to make it about you. But I just realised. I just- I never thought.”

“You had no need to think about us,” he said, somewhat gruffly. You had a feeling the gruffness was masking his discomfort. “Still don’t. We didn't have the hard part.”

“It's not a competition, Dean.” You took a breath and contemplated before continuing, “When I think about it now, it would be hard having someone who blindly does what you tell them, and doesn’t understand the context of anything.”

The corners of his mouth threatened to spread into a grin. “Well, yes. Sammy used to bitch that I was ordering him around when we first started hunting without Dad, so it was probably karma that I had to say absolutely everything in a way that you didn't take as an order.”

You laughed, “I used to think you were so stupid, not even knowing how to give an order properly.”

“Couldn't believe I didn’t think of the 'Everything I say isn't an order’ order until like 3 hours before we got the bloody thing off you.”

“And then I was kinda a bitch to you afterwards.”

“No, you were hurt, and trying to work out your place in the world, and grieving, and I dunno, lots of other shit. And I never wanted to be your master, but I was, and it was fair enough to push back on that.” His smirk came back and his tone turned playful again, “That's not to say I'm not happy that the yo-yo has dialled down.”

“Yo-yo?”

He suddenly seemed to get embarrassed, perhaps regretting saying it. “When you, ah, would go from happy to screaming at the drop off a hat...” He scratched the back of his neck.

“You had a name for me?” you said with mock indignation.

“I- uh- I'm sorry- I shouldn’t have-”

“It's ok, Dean,” you said with a smile, “You really need to get better at recognising when I’m messing with you. A yo-yo is a pretty good analogy.”

He looked relieved, “Sammy always said you’d be funny when the collar came off.”

“You didn’t think so?” you said in mock indignation again, but this time he recognised it and smiled.

“Well, all I ever got was ‘yes, sir’, but he used to tell me you were sassy to him.” You laughed.

“You know,” you said after a moment, back in a reflective tone, “as much as I appreciate everything you've done for me, from when I had the collar and afterwards, you can relax now. I'm not fragile.”

“I know you're not, Y/N,” he said sincerely. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

You looked into his eyes. He looked back.

The look, somehow, intensified.

You suddenly felt embarrassed: this D&M session had suddenly become far too deep, far too meaningful.

“Umm, how about some breakfast?” you said hastily. “I'm starving.”

“Good idea,” Dean said, moving to stand up. He looked like he was relieved that the uncomfortable moment had passed too. He held out his hand to help you up, then gathered the picnic rug. You tried to help, but he was too efficient. He held his hands out, indicating you to lead the way inside.

You were starting to feel a bit better.

---

“I want to go shopping,” you told the brothers as you all sat on the kitchen floor eating breakfast. It was sweet that the brothers would still join you down here, if a little embarrassing.

“Ok,” Dean slurred with his mouth full. Sam looked mildly exasperated at his brother.

“What do you want to buy? Clothes?” Sam asked, looking back at you.

“Yeah. I’m still keen for some pants I pick myself.”

“Fair enough. When do you want to go?”

“Umm, today? Or is that too soon, do you guys have to do a lot of work dealing with, umm, you know...”

“No, no, it’s ok,” Dean said, mouth now empty. You caught Sam flicking Dean an amused look, but weren’t entirely sure why. “You say the word and we'll go.”

You nodded and returned to your breakfast. You could do this. After all, you'd killed Azaneth!

---

Dean pulled into the same carpark as last time. “You sure you're ok, Bambi?”

“I'm fine, Dean. Not fragile, remember?”

“Didn't say you were,” he said a little gruffly, opening his door and getting out. You were feeling surprisingly ok about this. A little anxious, yes, but not as badly as you thought you'd be.

You started to walk to the shop door. You can do this. Fake it till you make it. You are a strong, confident woman. This is not going to define you.

Also, the Winchesters are right behind you.

That was reassuring – your personal bodyguards, plus they'd saved you last time when you'd freaked out – and a motivation to show you were fine. You wanted to stop being the damsel in distress to them.

Ok. Deep breath.

Doors open.

You headed for the women's clothing racks, the same ones you remembered from last time. You looked through the pants, feeling choosier than last time when you'd just grabbed the first pair you'd found. You'd looked up the size on your current clothes 3 times before coming, so you grabbed that size and headed to the change room.

In a tiny moment of insecurity, you looked for the brothers before going in. Sam gave you an encouraging smile from where he was, a couple of metres away, pretending to look through a rack. For a moment you couldn't find Dean, but then you saw him, making himself at home in the 'husband chair’ they always put near the women's change rooms. He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes, amused by him.

You headed into the change room. You tried on the first pair. Not a great fit, but ok. Didn't love the colour against your skin tone though.

You tried on the next pair. Oooh, this was better. You moved back and forward, looking at yourself in the mirror from all angles. Yes, these were perfect!

Feeling more confident, you tried on the remaining pairs you'd brought in. Eventually, you decided on 2 of the pairs. You got dressed in your own clothes again, hanging the ones you didn't want back on the rack for staff to return to the floor, and carrying with you the pairs you'd liked.

You left the change rooms with a big grin on your face.

Dean stood up and smirked at you. “That looks better than last time,” he whispered when you were close enough. You smiled back at him.

You started to head for the door, feeling overjoyed at your success.

Dean appeared at your side and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, then started to lead you to the side, away from the doors. You looked at him with a frown, wondering what he was doing. “C’mon klepto,” he whispered, “We still have to pay for them.”

You gasped quietly and raised your hand to your mouth. You had been about to shoplift, so caught up in choosing pants that you'd utterly forgotten about this step.

“Hey, hey,” Dean said quietly, gently pulling your hand away from your mouth. “Don't spiral on me now. You haven't bought anything in a shop in how long? I ain't blaming you for forgetting.”

You nodded.

“Alright, you wanna pay or you want me or Sammy to?”

“Me,” you said, fighting to regain your confidence. He pulled out his wallet and handed you some cash, taking his arm off your shoulders.

“We’ll be right behind you if you need us, ok?”

“I'm fine, Dean,” you said, frustration starting to edge into your voice.

“Yeah, you are,” he said with a wink. You rolled your eyes and walked to the registers.

Paying went smoothly and then you were headed to the exit. Success!

Sam gathered you in a bear hug outside, his long arms enveloping you. “Thanks, Sam,” you whispered.

“I'm just happy I won't have to keep pretending I know what I'm doing, buying women’s clothes,” he joked. You playfully punched him in the arm and headed for the Impala.

---

“You remember that time you accused me of buying her a pony if she batted her eyelids at me?” Sam teased Dean. You were long gone, in bed asleep.

“Yeah, you were letting her sleep on you in the living room.”

“Remind me why we’re mopping blood at 2am?”

“Because the stupid demon bled everywhere.”

“Or is it because someone couldn't agree fast enough to delaying cleaning up when a certain someone else wanted to go shopping?”

Dean stopped what he was doing to look at Sam, “You wanted me to say no to her healing?”

Sam grinned at him, “Of course not, but I still found it funny how quick you were to answer.” He put on a fake-posh voice, “Will Madame require one stable or two?”

“Shut it, bitch.”

“Just so long as you know how adorable you are, jerk.”

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hinamie · 9 days

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ok i have composed myself i have transcribed the lyrics for wish you were here as best as i could. i am going to listen to this and only this until i lose interest or the ability to hear, whichever happens first

this song is SUCH a bop the soft guitar intro in2 the main beat is so good but can we TALK . about how . HE STARTS IT WITH A "MWAH" WHAT A FUCKING ICON I LOVE HIM I LOVE THEMMMMM the percussion is so good i love the soft offbeat claps in th bg they add such a nice lil pep n especially in verse 2 after "love you even if you hate my guts" they add like 4 extra clap beats and i am !!!!!!! ASCENDING

verse 1 is iconic i love the line "pack up my head might mail it back to your house" its so fucking funny it reminds me of that post thts like "i didn't know how to deal with the fact that i had a crush so i wrote her a note that said get out of my school" . but listenok listen. verse 2 is the one they posted a snippet of last year and first of all i love the electric-y/tv-turning off/guitar slide/quiet video game laser effect as the vocals start it makes my brain buzz aNYWAY this verse is my favourite between the two and has absolutely s tier lines such as "as long as you think of me I don't care what" and "love you even if you hate my guts" PLUS the lil clappy bits i mentioned they r so GOOD. not to mention his voice pls.,,, he sounds so good when he belts,,, his voice has a slight rasp to it that they lean into with the slightly muffled old speaker sound god he sounds so good all the TIME his vocals are so clear when he hangs on the words "singing" and "myself" into the chorus PLS. also the bg vocal 'a t-t-t-touch too sentimental' is so gd CATCHY

speaking of the chorus oh my god the CHORUS. the desperate cry of "don't you miss me? / don't you want me around?" is so devastating and heartfelt head in HANDS also the lyrics . im so excited abt them i cannot put into words how !!!!!!!! they make me just. gestures helplessly

wishful thinking is all that’s holding me down lost on a blue moon i wish you were here right now

in chorus 2 especially the way the beat cuts out after "lost on a blue moon" n comes back after "I wish you were here"??? AUDIBLE SEROTONIN TO ME ((plus in the final chorus changing the "lost on a blue moon" to "not like you used to" ??????? OW ???????????? that had a lil kick that got me a bit.. , being stuck with ur own wishful thinking as a stand-in for the physical affection of the person u like,,, ....fushiguro touch starved megu- *is shot dead*)))

HOWEVER the absolute lyrical Backbone of this song is the fucking bridge. i knew it would be i heard the snippet ages ago and i was like holy shit these lyrics go hard what are they from only to b dismayed to find that whatever song they were from did not yet exist. but now it DOES and i can listen to the way the bridge sounds like lights dimming. like headlights passing through a hazy window. it sounds like clouds parting

nobody else in this life or next will ever have me the way that you do nothing in hell, heaven, earth, or the rest could ever take me away from you

THAT FUCKING EMOTIONAL BOMBSHELL against the original soft guitar from the intro drop the drums just reverb-y lyrics and background vocals and some of the most romantic fucking lyrics i've had the pleasure of reading let alone hearing one of my favourite artists sing.

i am going to once again fuse my fv brainrot with my megumi brainrot. realistically ik this is probably a missing your ex song but i do not care. this is a longing megumi song to me i dont CARE argue with a WALL (said to no one). the verses and chorus are pine-y and a bit snarky n very i like-like you and don't know what to do with how much i miss you. it's wry and frustrated n just tsundere enough but then u get to the bridge n there lies the sheer undying devotION god im unweLL this is all i'm going to listen to. this was worth waiting a year for if this is part of a new album they have in production im actually going to die

#hina.txt #fv posting #A TTTTOUCH TOO SENTIMENTAL #ok my incoherent thoughts are written out. i can now loop this in peace

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madisonmontgomeryimagines · 2 months

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OK HEAR ME OUTTT Brooke and Madison + reader in a situation where they all somehow meet and reader can’t decide which one she likes more 🤭🤭🤭

I haven't been able to think of a better scenario where they all meet but hear me out (also to the other 2? asks, I know you're out there, tumblr just won't show me what you say)

Montana's sense of humor suddenly felt less funny when you arrived at her apartment to meet the roommate she was setting you up with. She opened the door, more dressed up than you were, and seemed far too pleased with herself.

"Hey, I need to get something real quick, but have fun!"

Okay, you were probably leaving with her roommate in a minute anyway, and you were used to the chaos that could come with Montana.

"She's here," the blonde yelled towards the doorway on the other side of the room before winking at you and grabbing her keys. Then she was gone.

The punchline came a few seconds later, when a striking blonde who looked like she knew she could be a movie star appeared on the stairs. Her dark eyes openly appraised you, a smirk on her features that threatened to destroy you. Before she had a chance to introduce herself, another figure joined you, a brunette who seemed perhaps a little more mellow but no less dazzling coming to lean in the doorway between rooms.

"I'm Brooke, hi, just give me a second and we can head out." A warm smile, delicate fingers lightly squeezing your shoulder as she turned.

"I know you have a sad personal life, but you're not coming on my date." That sharp gaze turned to you again. "Madison Montgomery, Montana's hot roommate."

Oh. While you hadn't been entirely surprised that a place this size meant more than one roommate, you had thought that Montana would surely not intentionally set up this type of confusion. Perhaps you underestimated her.

"Montana said she was setting me up with a friend of hers today," Brooke stood her ground, far less impressed with Madison than you were. Though, to be fair, the novelty had probably worn off after living together.

"Maybe you heard her talking to me." Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, and both girls looked to you expectantly.

Your throat felt dry as you shook your head helplessly, your hands rising in a helpless gesture of defensiveness. "She just said I'd love her roommate, never gave me a name..."

"Okay, so pick one." Madison's confidence was absolute, the unfamiliarity of such boldness drawing you like a moth to a flame.

"Hold on, she just walked through the door twenty seconds ago," Brooke reprimanded her roommate, but showed no sign of putting her keys back on the table.

#madison montgomery #madison montgomery imagine #madison montgomery x reader #brooke thompson #brooke thompson imagine #brooke thompson x reader #blind date roommate

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onboardsorasora · 8 months

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Enchanted Au: Part 31

mob wife Daniel tried to derail meeeee but I'm still here!

Part 1 | Last Chapter

Part 31

Max leaned against the patio door, staring sadly at Daniel who sat on the daybed. He was mindlessly stroking Sassy, who hadn’t left him alone for a second. It had been a few days since…that morning. Since Daniel cursed himself, they’d all managed to figure out a system of sorts.

Daniel had complained of feeling empty, silent. So the only solution was to get him a pair of headphones. He wore it everywhere, and what he listened to varied from simple brown staticky noise, to podcasts and music. He was used to having a brain full of sounds– voices, and it was very jarring to be without all of a sudden.

Michelle had suggested that they go as normally as possible, do what they would do daily. So Max texted the boys who confirmed they were all back in town and set up a day. He warned them to be careful around Daniel, that he was ‘sick’. And they promised to not be assholes. That was to be determined.

Max stepped out onto the patio, this got Sassy’s attention who in turn got Daniel’s attention. Listless brown eyes looked up questioningly. They haven’t spoken yet, not really. Daniel hadn’t truly allowed them the time. Too afraid to be left alone with Max again– not after last time. Not after being so distraught he did this to himself.

Daniel was also embarrassed that he managed to do this. Who curses themself? Who knew that magic was strongest when the caster felt heightened emotions? He for sure hadn’t. And now that he was back at a fairly baseline level of feeling (under baseline if he were being honest with himself) he didn’t have enough of anything to reverse it. Not a drop of magic in his blood.

So he avoided Max as best he could, because he really couldn’t manage Max seeing him like this. So boring and useless. Dull and no longer bright. Because who was Daniel if he wasn’t magical? No one.

Daniel pulled the headphones off of his ears and Max could hear the heavy, steady tone of the brown noise sound he used the most.

“Do you want to go for a drive? The guys are back and are thinking of going karting.” Max offered.

Daniel bit his lip, that did sound fun. But that also involved people– people who knew what he was supposed to be. He thought there were worse things he’d rather sit through thankyouverymuch.

“No, I’m ok. Thank you.” He shook his head, looking away when Max frowned sadly. He couldn’t bear it. Sassy chirped and Daniel yanked the headphones over his ears again almost violently.

Max sighed and walked back into the living room. He took out his phone to maybe cancel their plans when Michelle put a hand on his.

“We’ll get him to go. You go get ready.” She smiled a quick upturn of her lips before walking out onto the patio. Max nodded and went to his room, snorting when he heard Daniel’s indignant cry of Chelle!

The car ride was quiet. Max chose to drive the Ferrari, thinking it would at least cheer Daniel up a bit. He’d made a small happy gesture when he got in, but had been staring out the window since.

“Daniel.” Max whispered, almost desperately. “Please talk to me.”

Daniel wasn’t wearing his headphones, Grace forbade it, so he heard the small crack in Max’s voice and flinched.

“I– what’s there to say?” Daniel asked helplessly. He fiddled with his fingers.

“Anything. I would listen to you say anything right now. Just… please don’t shut me out.” Max knew he was pleading, but he didn’t quite care.

“I’m sorry– about all of this.” Daniel said after a while.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I messed up–”

“No actually.” Max cut him off. He glanced over quickly at a stop light to see Daniel still staring at his own fingers. Max rested his hand on Daniel, causing him to look up quickly– then away. “I’m sorry.” Max said.

“What?”

“This is my fault.”

Daniel went rigid before sinking into the chair bonelessly. Resigned. He nodded.

“Right.. It’s ok that you like don’t feel the same way. My reaction was a bit overdramatic I guess.” Daniel chuckled humorlessly to himself. Max felt like rolling his eyes, instead he squeezed Daniel’s hands.

“No. You are not listening.” Max barely stopped himself from sighing. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when they were going to have this conversation, when he was finally going to be able to say it to Daniel. He could think of a thousand other ways and times.

The dash lit up with a phone call from Charles and Max wanted to groan. He glared at the contact before pressing the deny call button. Perhaps a bit too maliciously. He didn’t want any more interruptions. God only knew when he’d have another moment alone with Daniel. Without him running away.

“Daniel, I love you. Of course, this wasn’t exactly how I wanted to say that but it doesn’t change the fact that I do.”

Daniel inhaled sharply and looked over at Max who was looking at the road and trying to glance at him at the same time. Daniel knew his eyes were wide.

“You don–”

“I do. I love you. And I was trying to tell you that how you found out was a mistake. I didn’t mean to just blurt it out to your sister and have you overhear it. But your sister is scary, I think. She does that thing with her eyes.”

“Yeah… she can be like that. The eye thing isn’t even her powers, she just…does that.” Daniel mumbled, his brain felt scrambled.

“I should have I think, been more clear. Of course you are misunderstanding me if I am not speaking clearly y’know. You can’t read minds I don’t think– wait, can you?”

Daniel shook his head.

“Okay. So yeah– I should have been more clear. And I wasn’t and I’m sorry I hurt you with my carelessness. I’m sorry you felt you had to do this to yourself.”

Max pulled into the parking lot to see that it was empty, no one else had arrived as yet. He put the car in park and turned to look at Daniel who was looking at him stricken, with tears in his wide eyes.

“Max…”

Max grabbed Daniel’s hands and rubbed his thumb along the unmoving rose. “You mean so much to me Daniel.”

Daniel untangled himself from his seatbelt and threw his arms around Max’s shoulders. He pressed his face into Max’s neck. Max loved him, he truly did? His body felt like it was vibrating with energy. His chest felt too big. He could cry. He was crying. He mouthed against Max’s neck, singing a wish, clenching his eyes shut. Maybe this emotion was enough to wish himself back.

There was a knock on the window and Daniel looked up to see Lando trying to peer through the dark tint of the car. He looked behind him to see Charles trying to do the same on his side. A giggle bubbled up and out of his mouth.

“They are such idiots.” Max mumbled, stroking along Daniel’s back.

“Yeah, but they’re our idiots.”

Max huffed a laugh and agreed. He pulled back and searched Daniel’s eyes before smiling a small smile. “I told them you were feeling sick.” Max shrugged and Daniel nodded.

Daniel pulled him in for another tight hug, even while the boys’ knocking got incessant and annoying. “I love you too.” Daniel mumbled into Max’s neck before pretty much bolting out of the car. Max watched him tangle Charles in a hug with a slack expression before his soft smile returned. He got out of the car and rolled his eyes as Lando and Charles bickered about something, Daniel squished happily between them. Alex was standing off to the side, he raised a brow and Max shook his head with a smile.

Next Chapter

#wow #we're actually coming to the end of this arc #max/daniel #maxiel #enchanted au #disney princess dan

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inherstars · 3 months

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Gears of War | Rise and Fall (3 of 3)

Continued from here.

He’d never been to her flat before. He and Del had gotten close a few times, they’d lingered outside over beers, played cards and shot the shit in the wooden chairs scattered in the courtyard out front, but go inside? No, not yet.

Kait never had the need to offer, and J.D. never had the nerve to ask. All the rest of the time Reyna was conspicuously nearby, keeping a mother-hen eye on them.

I see you, boy.

He actually double checked the immediate area before following her inside, as if they might get caught out.

“Are you sure this is OK?”

Kait laughed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Your Mom scares me.”

“Oh wow, I’m going to have to tell her that. She’ll be thrilled. Lucky for you, I don’t have to ask her for permission anymore.”

Like energy, space too was at a premium. Although Kait enjoyed her own private flat, it was about as minimal in appointments as it could get: one single main room with a blanket-draped futon and packing-crate coffee table, a hotplate and sink in lieu of a proper kitchen, and an overstuffed mattress behind a curtain of batiked wall scarves that served as a bedroom. She was lucky enough to live adjacent to the pubic showers, never more than a convenient trip outside and across the courtyard.

J.D. stood awkwardly as she ghosted around the room, fingering on a few lamps to half-light, switching on a string of bulbs that criss-crossed the low ceiling. The only thing that saved him from saying something awkward was the threat of another sneeze, and with an unhappy whine he turned his back on the room, hiding his face against the inside of his arm.

Kait stood and stared as his body clenched like a spastic fist -- six, seven, then eight times, until he picked his head up with a desperate, “God damn it, STOP.”

Her composure crumbled into helpless, sniggering laughter. She hid it badly behind the cup of her hands.

“Not funny,” J.D. protested, wristing his eyes and groping for the handkerchief.

“I mean it… it’s kind of funny.”

“Fuck me,” he growled, bowing his head to blow his nose.

“Come on.” She gestured at him to follow, holding aside one of the scarves curtaining the bed. He looked at her over the edge of the handkerchief, sniffing and folding it away.

“In there?”

“Yeah. Oh--well, wait. Better take your clothes off first.”

His head picked up. “Wait, for real?”

“Gotta do my little dance around you, don’t I? Oh--did you think I was the one getting naked for that?”

“Oh,” he deflated. “You’re being funny at the expense of the sick guy. I see how it is.”

“Seriously, though,” Kait laughed, then snapped at him and pointed. “Take everything off from the waist up.”

Compliant -- and maybe a little bit intimidated -- J.D. shrugged out of his denim coat, tugging and pulling the ribbed shirt beneath and wrestling it over his head. All of it? Like everything everything? Okay. He kicked his boots to the mud tray by the door, brushing his palms over the bare skin of his arms as his skin rose with gooseflesh.

Kait was a silhouette behind the bohemian veil of scarves when he finally, somewhat timidly, joined her, looking all around as he went. She’d cast off her bolero and belt, dressed down to a gray tanktop and fatigues that rode low on her hips. She looked over at him as she palmed a small indigo glass vial in one hand. The bed was turned down invitingly to mismatched, mis-patterned sheets.

He was right back to wanting to kiss her.

They stared at each other, her expectantly and he like a soldier nervously awaiting his physical exam, feeling strangely naked for a man who was technically still half-dressed.

“Well?” She smiled, crooked, and nodded to the bed. “Get in.”

“A… are you gonna, uh…”

“Ravage you? Lustily take advantage of you in your weakened state? Rip open my bodice while moaning helplessly, Oh, J.D., you’re so irresistible--”

Nope. There went the kissing urge. The shameless, pantomiming caress of her own arms just killed it.

“Okay,” he said wryly.

“How can you be right about so many things all the time?”

“OKAY. Never mind. I’ll do anything you want, just… stop talking.”

Pointedly ignoring her giggling, he heaped onto her bed, rolling flat onto his back. Kait was all smiles as she climbed over him, and though he thought for a split second she might mount him like a bronco, she just summited him to sit on his other side.

But he was still nervous. Self-conscious. As she folded her legs and unscrewed the cap of the jar, he laced his hands together at his chest. Then put them back down at his sides. Then folded them. Kait shook with laughter.

“Stop it.”

“I’m not… what am I doing?” He put his arms back down for a second time. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You're overthinking. Relax."

"Is this the part where I close my eyes and breathe again?"

“Not yet."

With two fingers she carved out a frosting-like dollop of translucent cream, the camphor smell of it immediately hitting him. His nostrils flared as he inhaled, grunting in his throat, and Kait spread it slowly, liberally across his bare chest, massaging it into his skin until only the scent of it remained. Wherever she touched him, his skin blossomed with radiating, chemical warmth.

“Okay,” she said more softly. “Now you can.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the pressure that had been slowly rebuilding in his head releasing again, cool air filling every recess of his head and lungs. His head pressed back into the pillow, breath coming out in an unintentional moan.

Kait watched the muscle-by-muscle release of tension, the weight of his shoulders dropping as his whole body grew heavier on the mattress. She recapped the jar and wiped her palms clean on the hips of her fatigues, then slipped down more deeply beside him.

J.D.’s eyes reopened, suddenly sleepy with weight. He watched, as if from far away, as she gathered him closer to her, pliant and comfortably limp. He turned instinctively into her, then resisted. She corrected him with an arm around his shoulder.

“No. Go ahead. It’s alright.”

He hesitated just a moment, then rolled more deeply against her. Kait eased and shifted and drew him to her with a cradling embrace, finding a place for his head against the hollow of her shoulder, a place for the heavy drape of his arm around her ribs. He was timid at first, self-conscious, but the brush of her fingers through his hair chased it from him. He made a happy noise, eyes heavy.

“This is okay?” She asked.

J.D. was afraid that if he said anything, it would be stupid. Or sarcastic. Or unnecessary. He just wanted to enjoy it. He didn’t even want to sleep, though it felt irresistible. What he really wanted was to write this all to memory… to make it last for as many future iterations of recall as he was allowed. He settled for a nod.

"Good,” Kait said, and brushed smooth his hair. “Sleep. I've got you."

#Gears of War #J.D. Fenix #Kait Diaz #My Writing

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aroeddiediaz · 10 months

Text

Tease tidbit tuesday

Thanks @cal-daisies-and-briars for tagging me

Ok we’re finally in the endgame of the kitten fic. It sure was interesting going back through what i’ve written so far to pick out the juiciest bit to post. Get ready for the most excruciatingly soft dom Buck you have ever seen in your life lmao

(Nsfw under the cut)

“Shh.” Buck’s other hand cradles the small of Eddie’s back. His voice is still soft, but it carries a gentle command that Eddie couldn’t ignore if he tried. “Kittens don’t speak.”

Fuck. Eddie’s not going to survive this. He looks up helplessly at Buck.

Buck’s thumb slowly swipes across his cheekbone. “Safe gesture?” He asks.

Eddie taps his hand 3 times.

Buck’s eyes sparkle. “Such a sweet kitten,” he coos. Fuck, Eddie really likes that. “I think I’d like to keep you. Would you like that?”

No pressure tagging: @aspecbuddie @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @lemonzestywrites @eddiebabygirldiaz

#911 abc #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #artemis writing

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justmeinadaze · 2 years

Text

Unattainable Part XII ( Eddie X Theater Girl)

A/N: I rewrote this a few times. To be fair, my brain is all over the place. I need a Joseph Quinn hug lol Anyway, I THINK I have one more chapter left (maybe 2) with this one. Ugh! It's going to kill me. I love them so much.

Warnings: Definitely trauma filled when it comes to Theater Girls parents. Lots of arguing and her dad being a douche. Her anxieties do make a cameo in this one but Eddie's got her <3. Protective Eddie abound in this one!

Word Count: 2968

“Hey, kids.”, Wayne greets us as we enter the trailer; he and my father rising to their feet. Almost on impulse, Eddie took a step in front me acting as a barrier. My dad looked him up and down with a stare loaded with contempt.

Wayne gestures towards me. “Um, your dad said he came down here to check on you but no one answered the door at your house so he came here.”

“Yeah, Wayne here tells me you guys had gone on a trip alone.” The tone of his voice gets sour at the last word.

“We took a tour of the school I got accepted to in New York.”, I respond, my own voice shaky. It’s not that I’m afraid of my dad. Sure, he can have a temper but he never lashed out at me like my mother. That doesn’t mean he still couldn’t hurt me with his words or his actions.

Eddie remained silent but I could tell from his posture he was prepared to defend me if need be. Wayne cleared his throat, startling me. Neither of the other men moved an inch. “Eddie, why don’t you get the young lady’s stuff from your van so she can head out with her dad here.”

“No way in hell.”

“Excuse me?” My father took a determined stride forward and to his, and even my, surprise Eddie did the same.

“I don’t trust you. You left her here to deal with everything by herself. You have no idea what she’s been through.”

“And you do?!”

“Edward!”, Wayne shouts practically shaking the trailer. His face and tone soften as he turns toward me. “You know you are welcome here if you don’t feel safe.”

“It’s ok. I’m ok.” My voice comes out small and I see Eddie’s shoulders deflate in defeat. He turns around without looking at me, slamming open the front door to head for his van.

Closing my eyes, I try to keep my emotions in check. I listen to Wayne as he speaks to my dad. “Daniel, you may have some idea in your head as to the kind of boy my nephew is. I assure you he is nothing like his father. He’s a good kid and good man for your daughter.”

My eyes open when I hear the sound of footsteps coming towards me. “Yeah well, that’s for me to decide.”

When we head outside, Eddie is standing by my dad’s rental with my things. The car unlocks and he opens it placing the bags in the backseat. He comes around to the passenger side to open the door for me and I fling my body into his, wrapping my arms around him. To my dismay, his arms stay by his sides.

Welcome home.

I reach up to cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “No. Don’t go back to that place, Eddie. I need you here with me, ok?” His jaw clicks as it tightens, his eyes now fully meeting mine. Balancing on my toes, I place a kiss on his lips. He flashes me a small smile as his finger pushs my hair behind my ear.

My father huffs air through his nose. “You know what? Maybe Wayne is right. I don’t know the boy. Why don’t you come over for dinner later, huh? What do you say, Munson?”

Eddie turns and glares at him. “I’ll be there.”

My heart breaks as he stares helplessly as we get in the car and drive away.

####################################

My dad looks around hesitantly as we enter the house. He hasn’t been here since the night he left.

“So, uh, where is your mother?”

“I’m not sure. She said she’d be out late.”

“Can you call her to see if she’s willing to come home early?”

My eyebrows furrow at his question. “She doesn’t know you’re here?”

“Not exactly. I flew down here as quickly as I could after our last talk.”

I leaned against the back of the couch, crossing my arms. “Wow. Quickly, huh? Only a little over a month. Must be a new record.”

He sarcastically laughs in my direction as he folds his own arms. “You sound just like your mother. Or did you learn that from the Munson kid?”

“Eddie.”

“What was that?”, he snaps.

“His name is Eddie. Not the Munson kid or freak. Eddie.” I scowl at him. “And no. Believe it or not I learned how to stand up for myself on my own.”

He walks over to the phone and brings it to me. “Just call Abigail and get her here.”

#######################

My mother was extremely upset when I told her what was happening. An hour after I phoned her, she barged into the house ready for a fight.

Preparing for the worst, I had changed into my jeans and one of Eddie’s shirts I stole from his closet. I packed a small bag and hid it near the door knowing that depending on how things went tonight, Eddie would insist I leave with him and I wasn’t prepared to deny him. When my parents are talking to each other, let alone in the same room, it’s complete and utter chaos.

“So, you’re telling me that not only did you just show up unannounced and welcome yourself back into my house but now I’m expected to cook four people dinner?”

“We can order something. Abby, I’m surprised you haven’t done this already. What do you know about this kid? I mean his father is in jail for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m not sure why you even care. You didn’t even know she had a boyfriend until I told you.”

I was already overwhelmed. I knew this was the beginning of what would be a long evening. My parents watched me as I exited the front door to go outside. The air felt cool against my skin. I laid in the grass, staring up into the sky.

Soon none of this will matter. Soon we will be far away from here and we will be happy. This is just a good reminder of what you are leaving behind.

No matter where you go, you’re taking it all with you. You can’t run from this.

“Is there a particular reason you are laying on the dirty ass ground, my lady?” Eddie’s voice pulls me from my thoughts as I smile up at him. “And excuse me, is that my shirt?!”

We both laugh and he casually lays down beside me placing his hands behind his head. “Why ARE you out here?”

“I couldn’t take any more in there.” I sigh as I turn my face to meet his. “I know how you feel now. When you say you don’t like the way they talk to me. I’ve been used to it for so long I didn’t think about it…until I heard my dad talk to you and about you. It makes me angry.”

He reaches and intertwines his fingers in mine. “I can take it though. All I care about it what you think of me.” He sits up on his elbow and kisses my forehead down to my lips. The taste of cigarette is stronger than usual on his tongue. “We’re going to be ok tonight. Remember, you’re safe with me.”

“My knight in shining armor.”

#################################

My dad ordered a pizza because my mom refused to cook for him.

“I’m not obligated to do shit like that for you anymore.”

When it got here and the table was set, everyone sat around it, awkwardly staring at the plates in front of them.

“So, no one is going to eat then? Fine. More for me.” My dad leans over, grabbing the large box, and placing a couple of slices on his plate. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve had Indiana pizza. In California they try and fancy it up. It’s so odd—”

“Daniel, can you get to point? Honestly, no one cares and, speaking for myself, I don’t want you hear any longer than you have to be.” My mother interrupts him and his eyes narrow in on her.

“Fine.” He tosses the pizza aggressively back on the table and wipes his hands before placing them under his chin. “Let’s get to it then. Edward!” Eddie looks at my father and I can see that his own protective wall is up, preparing for anything. “I don’t like the idea of you with my daughter.”

“Dad. You said you wanted to invite him over to get to know him.”

“I know what I said!”

“Shocking. Danny says one thing but means another.” My mother takes a sip from her glass.

“Why?” Eddie’s tone is completely controlled.

My dad’s angry gaze shifts from my mother back to him. “I know. I know people like you. I grew up here to and yes, I knew your parents. Especially your father. If I wanted my kid to be with some future jailcell bound trailer trash—”

“Dad!”

He points his boney index finger in my direction. “Don’t interrupt me. I’m TIRED of people interrupting me!”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Eddie’s voice sounded like he was still in control but his eyes flashed with warning. “I know I’m not the best guy in the world and yeah, I may be some trailer trash freak but I love your daughter. Even though I know she accepts me for who I am I still want to be better so I can give her the life she deserves.”

I watch him speak with wide, admire filled eyes. Growing up I always felt like everyone was looking out for themselves. I had to take care of me after my world came crashing down. Eddie was the first person I met who actually cared about what I wanted.

“And deserves way better than what you both have put her through.”

My mother looks down in shame as my dad immediately comes to the defensive, rising to his feet. “You don’t know anything!”

Eddie stands up as well. “I know what it’s like to have your father abandon you and a mom who doesn’t care!”

“I didn’t abandon my family. Your father is in prison. I can see and visit my daughter anytime I want.”

“Then why don’t you?!”

His question startled my father into silence. I closed my eyes, trying to control my breath. I could feel myself wanting to hyperventilate and Eddie saw it to. He sat back down beside me and pulled my hair out of my face.

“Is that how you feel?” My dad asks me. “Do you feel abandoned? Like I don’t want to see you?”

When I open my eyes, they are met with my mom’s tear-filled stare. She quickly looks away, taking another sip from the vodka in her glass.

“How else am I supposed to feel? You left us in the middle of the night and run off across the country to be with your new family. Since then, I rarely even see you. Your wife has something coming up or Susie needs a new thing or something going on with the baby. I’m your daughter to.” The tears start to feel and I don’t try to hold them back. “How could you leave us like that? How could you leave me?”

“Honey, I…” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Your mom and I; we started dating when we were really young to. We thought we loved each other and we tried to make it work but… I just couldn’t bring you. I needed to find my own way and figure out who I was. I don’t want you to experience the same thing. I don’t want you to blink and then suddenly it’s ten years later and you’re stuck in a dingey trailer in a small-town taking care of a family by yourself.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The ridiculousness of what he was saying was just so absurd. I felt Eddie’s palm touch the back of my hair. “You know, I think I understand you a bit more now.” He says with a small smile. Grabbing his face with my hands, I pull him in for a kiss. His smile grows as he reaches up with his thumbs to wipe the tears from face.

Eddie turns to my mom. “You got it from here?”

“Yeah. I can handle him. Did it before either of you were born.” She places her cup down and stands up as we rise from the table.

“Wait. What the fuck is happening?” My dad’s face in painted with a bewildered expression.

I grab my little bag by the door and without missing a beat Eddie takes it from me, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Have a great flight back to California, Dad. Maybe now that you supposedly figured out who you are you’ll have better luck with your other two daughters.”

As we open the door to head to Eddie’s van my dad reaches for my arm to pull me back. Eddie was quicker, spinning me around, and out of the way. “Not a good idea.” My father straightens up to square with Eddie but I can tell in his eyes he’s done. He genuinely does just want to get out of this town and head back home.

“It’s funny that you’re so afraid of me hurting her yet you break her heart every day. I wish you two could understand how amazing she is. She’s changed my life in just a few months. You guys had her for her whole life and this is what you decided to do with it?” Eddie shakes his head in disappointment. Taking my hand in his, we head for his van, and drive off into the night.

###########

“Eddie, stop the car.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” He glances between me and the road.

“Just pull over, please!”

The van screeches to a halt on the side of the road as Eddie pulls over. “What is it? Are you ok?”

I unbuckle my seat belt and climb across the small area into his lap, pulling his mouth to mine. His hands slide up to grip my face bring me closer to him as I grind my hips against him.

“Now. Need you. Please.”, I whimper between kisses. He unbuckles his own seatbelt and lifts my up, pushing me between the seats to the back of his van. I hastily fumble with his belt as he aggressively pulls my jeans and panties down.

Eddie removes his lips from mine and spits into his hand, reaching between my legs to spread it into my already weeping folds. I exhale a heavy moan as his fingers glide against me. He pulls out his cock, pumping it a few times with his soaking hand, and easily inserts himself into my aching cunt.

Pushing my hands against his chest, I roll him over onto his back. I grind against his hips as quickly as I can but for the moment it’s not hard enough. I need it harder. As if reading my mind, Eddie’s hands grip my waist, guiding me till I’m bouncing on his cock. He hits that spongey spot inside of me making me moan out his name.

“Harder. Baby. Please.” I beg him. “Please.”

He sits up and locks his arms around my back as he thrust up into me roughly. Wrapping my arms around his head, I cling to him, pulling him to my chest. I can hear and feel him grunting into my skin. I fall over the edge as I cum, my pussy tight and throbbing around him. Eddie slows his pace but pumps his hips hard into me as I ride myself through my orgasm.

I lean my cheek against the top of his head as he picks up speed again chasing his own release. His arms let me go and one of his hands reaches to pull my head back. His thumb traces my face as he looks up at me with those beautiful lust blown eyes.

He pushes me off of him and I watch as he gives his dick a few more quick pumps with his hand before his body shudders as he cums. I look around and hand him a napkin which he uses to clean himself off. I lean back against the cold metal of the van and Eddie slithers with his pants still stuck around his ankles beside me, both panting as we try catch our breath.

He takes my hand in his. “You okay?”

I smile as I turn my head to face him. “You ask me that a lot.”

He chuckles. “You’re right. I should stop caring.”

“Yeah. I’m okay. More than okay.” I reach and move a piece of his long hair out of his face. “I’m really sorry for what he said to you. About you. I don’t think any of that stuff.”

“I know. That’s all that matters to me.” Eddie grins as he places a kiss on the back of my hand. “I’M sorry for what he said to YOU. No one should have to hear bullshit like that from one of their parents. But, um, like I said, I do understand you more and some of the things I know you tell yourself even though they are nowhere near true.”

The sound of my stomach growling echoes through the van making Eddie cackle as he grabs his own stomach. I punch his arm lightly. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m hungry! We didn’t actually eat anything.”

He leans forward and pulls up his pants crawling for the front seat. I do the same as he extends his hand to help me. “Come on, Princess. Let’s go find some sustenance!”

#######################

Tages: @hufflepuffprincess24 @fanfiction-lover-24 @theoriginaldoll87

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie fanfic #eddie smut #eddie munson smut #stranger things fanfiction #eddie stranger things #fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn stranger things

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queen-of-the-queers · 2 years

Text

Let me In- Stellatrix

This is my first 'Fate: The Winx Saga' fic. Is it my new favourite show and hyperfixation? Very much so.

Synopsis: Set after the scene where Beatrix wakes up in Stella's bed after being rescued, the air fairy realises that not only is her magic gone, but so is her father. How long will her stubbon resolve last before she eventually allows her friend to help her?

TW. parental loss, blood mention, swearing

Even before she tested it, she knew her magic was gone.

Beatrix’s bottom lip quivered as she bit back tears, making a futile attempt to summon up the last dregs of electricity she could feel simmering under her skin. Nothing.

“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath, “fuck.”

She could feel Stella shift slightly beside her, still running her fingers up and down her bloodstained arm in a way the air fairy suspected was not just meant to calm her own nerves.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry Beatrix. We’ll get it back, I promise.”

The brunette fell back helplessly against the bed cushions. They felt unnaturally silky and soft against her skin. On any other day, she would have enjoyed getting to lounge in what she was now certain were the princesses personal quarters, however at present, it brought her nothing but a sense of alienation. She didn’t belong here, being reassured by the heir to the Solarian throne who was being nothing but kind to her despite her past actions. She should have been alone in her dorm, drinking her sorrows away, or lying in the infirmary with her father at her bedside.

“Where’s Andreas,” Beatrix said suddenly, “He should be here.”

Stella looked down, biting her lip. When she finally looked back up, her eyes were glassy and she shook her head slowly, refusing to meet her friend’s gaze.

“Beatrix-” She started, but the air fairy cut her off.

“You’re lying. You’re fucking lying. Where is he? I want to see him!”

She watched Stella slowly inch away, raising both hands defensively in front of herself like a shield. The gesture gave Beatrix a small pang of guilt, but in that moment, she was too overwhelmed by grief and anger to care.

“Hi- His casket is in the courtyard. There’s a memorial there. They were waiting for you to wake up before they buried him so you can see him one last time,” the light fairy choked out, her voice quivering.

The room was silent as Beatrix wiped away a stray tear, struggling to sit up again through a haze of nauseating pain. Eventually she managed, hissing sharply through her teeth.

“What makes them think I’d want to see his body? Sick bastards.”

Stella reached out to her, and Beatrix immediately recoiled.

The blonde sat silently for a moment, watching her friend carefully, as though she might break at any second.

“I’m so sorry Beatrix,” she finally whispered, for the second time that day,

“Oh for God’s sake, your voice is dripping with pity. I don’t want it,” Beatrix snapped, sliding out of the bed and refusing Stella’s arm, even as her legs threatened to give out from under her, “I don’t care about all of your ‘it’ll be ok, just let me help you’ nonsense. It’s bullshit and you know it!”

She stumbled towards the door pushing it open and bursting into the living room, ignoring Stella’s cries of protest.

“Beatrix, you’re injured. This isn’t safe! Please just wait until-”

The air fairy ignored her, breaking into a run as soon as she reached the exit to the suite. She could hear the sound of urgent voices behind her but when it became apparent that nobody appeared to be pursuing her, she slowed into a walk.

Her first thought was to go somewhere secluded, where she could mourn her losses in peace, perhaps with the help of the trusted flask she could feel still tucked into the pocket of her dress. But despite her best efforts, she found her mind wandering, and her feet carrying her in a different direction.

The main courtyard wasn’t busy, only occupied by a few clusters of loitering students, all of whom turned their heads to watch as Beatrix strode towards the make-shift memorial in the centre of the area.

Andreas’ casket was a deep brown colour with silver embellishments, and it was propped up on a small, raised platform. The floor surrounding it was littered with flowers and small, white envelopes.

The air fairy picked one up, ignoring the horrified faces around her as she slit it open with a single, ruby nail.

“Thanks for helping me in training, I’ll miss you,” she read under her breath, before tossing the note to the floor and squishing it under her boot.

To her side, a tiny-looking Specialist gasped and one of her friends wrapped a hand around her shoulders, leading her away. Following the pair’s lead, everybody else in the area began to slowly filter out of the area.

“That’s right, fuck off,” Beatrix called out, causing the last few loiterers to not-so-subtly run for the door.

After surveying the courtyard carefully to ensure the absence of any pupils, Beatrix inhaled shakily and lifted the lid of the coffin. She stood there for a moment, taking in her father’s stiff form and peaceful, sombre expression, half expecting him to suddenly sit up and chide her for her abhorrent language. But of course, he never did.

“Dad,” she muttered, her voice carefully emotionless as she took Andreas’ lifeless hand in her own.

“You just had to go looking for me, didn’t you. Stupid fuck. Look where that’s got you now.”

Even as she spoke, she knew she didn’t mean it. She never did, really.

She hadn’t when she was ten, and told her father she hated him for the first time. Nor had she a week ago, calling Andreas incompetent and stupid over a minor mistake.

He’d always been the person to bring out her best, but frequently, this was at his own expense. She couldn’t help but wish she’d been just a little kinder to him while he was- no. She didn’t want to think about that, not yet.

Wordlessly, Beatrix slid to the floor in front of the coffin, buried her face in her hands and choked out a broken sob.

She stayed there for a while, kneeling in front of the Mahogany coffin and losing track of time while she allowed herself to soak her already bloodied sleeves with tears of pain and guilt.

The air fairy would have stayed there all night, if not for being interrupted.

After what could have been several minutes or hours, she heard the distinctive squeaking of Crocs against the polished floorboards, immediately followed by the sound of somebody sitting down beside her. She looked up to see that godforsaken light fairy, gazing at her with such gentleness that it was impossible to hate her. But Jesus, was she everywhere?

“Don’t push me away,” Stella whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder, “I want to be here. Please.”

As much as Beatrix wanted to fight back, wanted to tell her friend that she was completely fine, and didn’t need any pity, thank you very much, she couldn’t will the words out of her mouth. So instead she just nodded and allowed herself to fall into Stella’s comforting embrace.

After all, she could always threaten her into silence later on.

#this is my first time writing these characters #but i really enjoyed it and i love their dynamic #stellatrix #fate the winx saga #stella of solaria #stella #beatrix #beatrix x stella #stella x beatrix #stormy #musa #bloom #terra #flora #muaficcies #ftwsficcies

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bi-demon-ium · 2 years

Note

ok I'm gonna send two and you can pick whichever one(s) seem interesting: 5. with the twins and/or 25. with Nicholas and hmmm Rhonda perhaps? or just any of the adults

ohhhohohohoho :)

5 ("I don't know if I can forgive.") + the twins (ao3.)

Nicholas was looking out at the stars when his brother walked up behind him.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” he said, without turning.

Right. He’d always done that. It was a little uncanny.

“May I… sit?” he asked, tone even—but it was uncharacteristically hesitant of him.

Nicholas gestured, but still didn’t look at him. “Please,” he said.

He gingerly sat on the bench next to him. Not close, but not at the other edge, either.

There was a beat of silence, not quite comfortable, but not quite tense, either.

“You wanted to talk,” Nathaniel said finally. “I’m here. Now is as good a time as any, don’t you think?”

Nicholas doesn’t answer for a moment. “I suppose,” he says.

He doesn’t continue.

Curtain waits, patiently. Nicholas was gathering his thoughts. Nathaniel knew him well enough to see that.

They sat together for what could have been minutes or hours.

“…do you think we can even fix this?” Nicholas said finally, voice almost small. Far away, like he wasn’t just looking at the stars above, but among them.

Curtain looked down at his hands. “I… don’t know,” he admitted.

“We’ve hurt each other a lot,” said Nicholas.

“I think,” Nathaniel said, and it hurt him to admit it, “I’ve hurt you more.”

He had hurt Nathaniel badly, once. Once.

Nicholas didn’t disagree. He just hummed for a moment. Then finally tore his gaze from the sky to look at Nathaniel, eyes dark and sad.

“Were you punishing me?” he said, and damn him, he sounded genuinely curious. “Lashing out?”

“I don’t know,” said Nathaniel quietly, and it was his turn to look away, look up. “Maybe.”

He had just wanted Nicholas to choose him. To take his side. But—no. It wasn’t as innocent as that. He’d wanted control, like he always did. It wasn’t that he’d really wanted to hurt Nicholas: he’d just wanted to take care of him the only way he knew how. By controlling everything, just as he did for himself.

Another beat.

“…I am sorry,” said Nicholas. “I don’t—why I left—I shouldn’t…” he sighed as he struggled to come up with the words. “…I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “I had to leave, but I never wanted—”

His voice broke off again, and he curled in on himself a little.

When Curtain looked back at him, he was staring at the grass under their feet. A slight breeze ruffled his graying curls, but he didn’t seem to notice.

And then, much quieter, almost a whisper, “…do you know what it’s like?”

Curtain blinks, unsure how rhetorical that is, if he should say what, what’s like, but Nicholas continues and the choice is made for him.

“To have something inside your head? Without asking?”

…oh.

“To—to feel things that aren’t yours, remember doing things and saying things you wouldn’t do, the—the humiliation of that, the—the violation.”

Nathaniel can’t say a word. He’d just wanted Nicholas to be happy, wanted to do something good and right, wanted Nicholas to be happy enough to stay willingly. He’d been stupidly, recklessly desperate, determined and bullheaded, blindly forcing himself to believe in what he was doing.

He could make Nicholas happy—undo the pain and trauma he'd caused, undo the stress and anxiety that had grayed his hair and exhausted him beyond measure and left him at the end of his rope all the time—and he could make Nicholas want to stay.

And for a while it had worked: the shock of Nicholas with him again, easily praising him, telling him he was worth something, telling stupid jokes and being his affectionate, intelligent self, so easy to talk to and bounce ideas off of, so easy to get lost in memories with—it had been… good. So good.

But it had been false. False for both of them.

“…it hurts,” Nicholas said, his voice cracking a little. “Being changed like that. Knowing you’ve been changed but being unable to feel it.”

An I’m sorry feels completely, utterly inadequate. He’d known it was wrong. He’d just wanted him back. He’d been willing to force him.

He’d justified it to himself as being for the better—Nicholas would feel better, would be happier, would finally sleep like he should and relax and be healthier and he would stay, and they’d be together.

“…and,” Nicholas says, now on a roll as Nathaniel sits there, frozen, “and—so much, so much—do you know—do you know what it’s like to have everyone think you’re—you’re crazy? To mock you behind your back and to your face, to—to be considered untrustworthy and paranoid and jealous? A downer, a conspiracy theorist, to be—to be completely isolated, and—and—and the gaslighting—”

His voice was going pitchy with his distress, high and upset and on the verge of breaking, almost squeaky, and something in Nathaniel’s chest felt tight. He couldn’t swallow around the lump in his throat.

Nicky only sounded like that when he was truly, truly, horrifically upset. It was rare. Or it had been. He’d heard it more in the little time they’d had together as adults than he had the entire first twelve years of their lives together.

“…It’s hard,” he says, voice breaking again, and he sounded on the verge of tears now, and Nathaniel could feel some burning in his eyes to match, “when no one believes you, when you’re told over and over you’re being—being unreasonable, being paranoid, being jealous.”

He nearly flinches at the word. He, too, had said some of these things, he knew. And Nicholas knew it, too, of course, even if he wasn’t saying it directly.

He breathes funny for a second, like he might fall asleep, like he’s catching his breath, but he doesn’t crumple.

“For a long time I wondered,” Nicholas said, quieter. “If maybe I really was imagining things. If they were right, if I’d just—finally cracked.” He gives a breathless, tiny, humorless laugh. “I suppose I should thank you, actually—the first time your Greys tried to kidnap me, I was pretty sure I couldn’t be seeing things that weren’t there after all.”

That was. kind of horrifying, actually.

Don’t thank me, he wanted to say, but his voice was caught in his throat. Please. Don’t thank me.

“…but then,” he said, and the next little laugh was more bitter, almost ugly in a way Nicky’s laugh never has been, and he didn’t fall asleep, because why would he with such a joyless thing, “then, I have nightmares about that, too. It’s hard to sleep. Harder.”

Right. Of course he did.

(And Nathaniel couldn’t fix it, couldn’t wipe the slape clean and give him Happiness—could only watch what he broke, watch the pieces tremble.)

“It was terrifying,” he said. “Being grabbed, manhandled off the street, no one even tried to help me—I have scars, you know. From the shock watches. They hurt every time.”

Every time. Because, of course, Curtain hadn’t just tried once. Nathaniel hadn’t just tried once.

“I felt so unsafe,” he said, and now there really are tears running down his face, and he’s staring up but not at the stars, just up, just away. “All the time. Scared. Alone. Hunted. And I had no idea—” his voice cracks, and he abruptly scrubs at his eyes with his sleeve almost violently. “—and then in my home. When I realized—when I realized it was—”

He actually sobs then, like he can’t get out of the word, can’t say you, it was you, it was you all this time, and then buries his face in his hands and just trembles. Shaking apart.

Nathaniel wants to reach out, wants to comfort him, wants to hug him, but he’s no longer sure if it would be welcome. If it would ever be welcome.

He wants to say you hurt me too, to revel in the anger and hurt and self-pity and buried pain that drove him all those years, to say you abandoned me, you broke me, you made me like this, but the excuse feels hollow now. The anger and pain are still there, but it no longer feels like righteous justification. It just hurts.

Nicholas’s shoulders jerk with another rough, wet sob, and then his trembling palms pull away to clench into fists for a moment, pressing against his legs, and he takes in a shuddering breath and continues, voice wavering.

“And my friends,” he says miserably. “My friends. You hurt so many people, you hurt children—you hurt children, Nathaniel! But—they were hurt, too, people I love, they were hurt so badly, and—and Milligan. Do you even remember him? He’s—he’s the kindest, gentlest person I’ve ever met. He’s strong and smart and wonderful and for so long, so long, I wondered who could have taken everything from him. I never even guessed how much.” His face crumples and still, still, he won’t look at him.

“He lost a child, Nathaniel,” he cries, “a child—his whole life, taken from him, his daughter growing up alone… and you took that from him.”

He almost hiccups with the force of the tears he’s trying to hold back, trying to stay coherent. “And how can I—?”

Curtain blinks away tears and realizes that he’s actually been crying silently for a while now. He doesn’t draw attention to it. He lets them fall. Best to let Nicholas say his piece.

(Hearing it all laid out before him is… overwhelming.)

(For the first time, Nathaniel thinks, rather grimly, that perhaps he is a bad person. Perhaps he has been the whole time. Perhaps that’s what the Glenns saw, when they chose his brother over him, perhaps they saw that he was rotten inside. Rotten and selfish.)

Nicholas is crying now, properly crying, and he says, “You’ve hurt me so badly. You’ve hurt people I care about. And I—I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

He says it like it takes a weight off his shoulders, almost gasping as the words come out, eyes wide and tearful.

…right. There it is, then. Nathaniel is. unforgivable.

He looks away entirely. He knew that. He knew that.

“Nathaniel,” Nicholas says, quiet and oh-so-sad, voice still thready and thin from the tears. “Nathaniel, look at me, please.”

Does he just want to really drive it home?

Nonetheless, Nathaniel turns to look. Isn’t it the least he can do?

Nicholas’s face crumples a little when he realizes Nathaniel is crying. Silently. Expression barely changing.

“Nathaniel,” he says again, “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

Nathaniel isn’t sure what his face does but Nicholas makes a distressed noise.

“Wait,” he says, “But—but I want to.”

Of course you do, you sentimental fool, Nathaniel wants to say, but again, the words won’t come. He thinks his voice is gone, caught like a bird in a cage.

“I want to so badly,” Nicholas says, and his voice strains and stretches like it might break again, like he might just shatter. “I love you, and I miss you, and I—I don’t think you’re evil, or irredeemable, or rotten—”

Nathaniel actually jerks, the unintentional blow landing far too close to home, but Nicholas continues, voice soaked in tears, “I just want to be your brother again. I just want to try to fix everything. I miss you so much.”

“…what if it can’t be fixed?” Nathaniel finally manages to say, and in any other circumstance he’d be horrified at how hoarse and cracked his voice is, how audible it is that he’s been crying. “What if I can’t be fixed?”

Nicholas’s face crumples again. “Oh, Nate,” he says, and it feels like a punch to the heart. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’ve done bad things, but I—you aren’t bad. I’ve never thought that.”

Nathaniel’s face twitches and he pulls his lips tight, forcing his face to remain steady. But his eyes are too wide, his lips trembling, his hands clenched in his lap. Nicholas can tell.

It bursts out of him before he can stop, sticking in his throat painfully like something sharp forcing its way up. His voice cracks.

“Then why did you leave?”

Nicholas looks stricken, like he might just crumble, and then he all but launches forward and pulls Nathaniel into a hug. Tight and fierce and trembling.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and Nathaniel shudders in his arms, shoulders curling inwards.

“I won’t leave again,” Nicholas swears, rocking them back and forth a little. It shouldn’t be soothing, such a childish gesture, but it is, it is. “I won’t. I was young, and scared, and—I just felt so alone and I didn’t know how to talk about it, how to get away from feeling—controlled—”

Nathaniel flinches, almost pulls away, but Nicholas holds on. “—but it wasn’t—I never wanted—I didn’t want it to be forever.”

“You wanted away from me,” Nathaniel says, and it hurts, it hurts.

“I was young,” Nicholas repeats helplessly. “I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do. Nathaniel, they—they shouldn’t have separated us. Heavens, if any of the children were having problems like this, they’d—they’d come to us. It’s—it’s a guardian’s responsibility, they were the adults—”

He sighs, then squeezes him tighter, and he sounds so, so tired. “It’s my fault, too,” he says quietly, “but—I—I talked about it with—well, it doesn’t matter, just… she’s right. There were adults in that situation, we—we were both just kids, Nathaniel. It isn’t fair.”

Somehow, he sounds more devastated at this than anything else. It isn’t fair. We were kids.

“You were only a child, too,” Nicholas says, sounding small and tired, and he buries his face in Nathaniel’s shoulder. “I know. I know. You said—do you remember what you said?”

“Should have been me,” Nathaniel echoes hollowly.

“But you were only a child,” Nicholas says again, like he’s reminding himself, even though he still sounds so hurt. “And—and. Nathaniel. Nathaniel, they didn’t choose me because I was better. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Then why? Nathaniel wants to scream, but he doesn’t.

(He knows it’s not what Nicholas is going to say, but he can’t help but think it: no, he didn’t do anything wrong. He simply was wrong.)

“They just—they wanted a quiet child,” Nicholas says, lifting his head but not pulling away. “They wanted low-maintenance. Easy. And—well. I didn’t take up much space. I didn’t eat too much.”

Oh.

“It wasn’t you,” Nicholas says again. “It was them.”

Nathaniel lets himself lean into the embrace more, lets his head fall on Nicholas’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Nicky,” he whispers, finally. “For everything.”

He is. He’s got enough regrets to burn through his chest. He’s been angry and hurt and running for so long, he’d truly let himself believe he was wholly and completely right, that all of the means were justified by the ends. And now he was sitting in the ruins he’d made.

“I’m sorry, too,” Nicholas says, and he says it sincerely, as if this is equally his fault, as if Nathaniel hadn’t burned the world down for a mistake he’d made when he was twelve.

But something selfish in Nathaniel settles under the apology, like it’s healing. He’d needed to hear it.

“…what if you can’t forgive me?” he says.

“Can you forgive me?” Nicholas counters.

“It’s not the same.”

“Maybe not,” says Nicholas. “But can you?”

Nathaniel pulls away to meet his gaze. Nicholas is staring, eyes wide and dark and sad.

No, is on his lips, but I want to.

For decades, he’s carried this.

“Yes,” he blurts out, and he’s a little shocked to realize he means it. “Yes. I forgive you. I forgive you, Nicholas.”

Nicholas actually looks shocked, like Nathaniel had just slapped him.

“…oh,” he says.

“What if you can’t forgive me?” Curtain repeats. “You don’t owe it to me. You’re right. I’ve done too much.”

“I don’t know,” Nicholas admits quietly. “But—we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

“What about your friends?” Nathaniel says, almost desperately. “What if it’s a choice?”

Nicholas blinks. “Are you aski—”

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Curtain snaps, “But you’re right. I’ve hurt them, too. They have no reason to forgive me.”

Nicholas—his hands still on his shoulders, and he squeezes gently. “Nathaniel,” he says, “I’ve already talked to them. They’re not asking me to choose, either.”

There’s a slight tension in his eyes like he still is genuinely shocked like this, like he’s guiltily glad, and Nathaniel finds he shares in that guilty relief.

“I don’t know if they’ll forgive you, either,” he says. “But—we’ll figure it out together. I’m not leaving again. Okay?” He gives a little shake for emphasis, and Nathaniel nearly laughs, small and relieved.

Nathaniel wipes away the tears on his face with his sleeve. “…okay,” he says.

“Good,” says Nicholas. His hands slip from Nathaniel’s shoulders and he turns to look up again. “Oh,” he says. “You see that?”

Nathaniel blinks and turns his gaze to the sky.

“The north star is very bright tonight,” his brother says, and he smiles.

He can't help but smile back, small and uncharacteristically uncertain. And they look up to the stars together.

25 ("I know you have no reason to trust me. But please... I'm asking you to anyway.") + mr benedict & rhonda (ao3.)

The thing is, Rhonda actually hears about Mr. Benedict before she meets him.

And unlike Milligan, the rumors she hears aren’t so kind.

He’s gone off the deep end, I’m afraid, she hears someone laugh, all tin-foil conspiracies…

Crazy, they whisper behind hands at parties, hiding tipsy grins, eccentric geniuses, you know, that kind of brain has a price—

(She never actually hears what crazy things he believes, but conspiracy theorist has certain implications to it, doesn’t it?)

Still, it doesn’t prepare her for meeting the man.

He does, unfortunately, look exactly like his reputation had painted him: curls a disheveled mess, gesturing wildly, voice pitchy with distress.

But what really strikes her is the very real fright in his voice.

“Please,” he says, and he looks almost terrified, “Please, Miss Kazembe, don’t go to that island.”

There’s no reason to be unkind.

“Mr. Benedict,” she says, “I’m afraid I’m on official business. I can’t simply not go.”

That isn’t entirely true, actually. But she’s not about to admit that.

There’s something fishy about that school, and she’s going to figure it out. That’s what a good aspiring journalist does, even if no one has hired her yet: looks for the truth.

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” Mr. Benedict says, “But please, please. I’m asking you to anyway. Just—just for today. It’s vital, you’re—you’re in danger.”

If she were a cruel person, she might say from what? aliens? but she isn’t, even if she’s a little exhausted.

Gently, she says, “It’s a school.”

Not a cult, or a landing site for aliens, or some sort of conspiracy of a secret government.

“It’s something more,” he says. “People are going missing, and no one’s looking for them. Why does a school need security that tight? Why does a school take up so much power? Why are they hiring scientists, and not just any scientists, but chemists and neurosurgeons? Why is there no oversight on their curriculum, their teachers, their anything? Why is a school so shrouded in mystery I can’t find the headmaster’s name?”

When she stares, stricken—because this, this isn’t crazy at all, this was, at least partially, exactly what she was looking into—he says, hopelessly, “Please. The last people who went there—I tried to warn them, too, but they either—they go missing, or they never leave the island. They’re on employment records but its impossible to contact them. But no one seems to care!” His hands wave wildly and his voice cracks. “Something is wrong.”

I don’t want you to go missing too, seems to be what he’s getting at, and the desperation in his tone says this has never worked before.

She snaps her bag shut. “What do you think is causing it?” she says, and he—he stares at her for a moment.

“…what?” he says.

“What do you think is causing it?” she repeats, slower. “The missing people. Human trafficking?”

He blinks. “I—no, but—you. you believe me?”

Rhonda’s lips purse with sympathy. “I’m not actually a prospective teacher,” she admits. “Well, I have a background, but—I’m investigating the disappearances.”

The naked relief on his face almost feels like an invasion to see, and he slumps with practically his whole body.

“Oh,” he says. “oh. Oh, thank god.”

And then he collapses.

She gives a shout of alarm, but a man seems to almost materialize out of nowhere—he’d been lurking around the corner, she realizes—and launches forward to catch him, as if he’d been expecting this.

He straightens, awkwardly holding Benedict up, and gives her a nod of greeting. He’s… large. Long, neat hair, and kind eyes.

“I—wh—” before she can sputter out a full question, Benedict jerks awake again.

“Oh! Oh—I—oh, thank you, Milligan, I apologize,” he says, and the man—Milligan, apparently—helps steady him, acknowledging the thanks with another silent nod. “How long was I—?”

“Only a few seconds,” he says, almost reassuringly, and Benedict sighs with relief. “Oh, good,” he says. Then he turns back to Rhonda, who’s gaping, as if remembering she’s there.

“Oh,” he says, “oh, I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t frighten you—”

“You. Did you… faint?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, waving his hands, “no, I just—I have type one narcolepsy with cataplexy. That means—”

“Oh,” she says, “Okay, right. Sorry. I understand now.”

He blinks, taken aback by her easy understanding and acceptance, then gives her a small, hesitant smile.

“My apologies,” he says again, “Milligan here is—uh. Security, I suppose. And a friend of mine.”

Milligan nods—he’d stepped back, both physically, and seamlessly away from her attention—and she doesn’t quite know what to say.

“We have, uh, one other,” Mr. Benedict says, “she’s—hmm, she’s. not here right now. But if you like—you. you could meet her? And we could talk?”

He peers at her hopefully.

This is such a bad idea. She doesn’t even know these people.

“We can meet in a public place,�� he adds helpfully. “Although. Um. Maybe not too public, uh, the kidnapping attempts are getting. a little hard to avoid.”

Oh, what the fuck.

“The kidnapping attempts?”

“It’s a long story,” he admits, sounding a little sheepish. “I—I’m more than willing to share, I’d—I’d invite you back to my home, but somehow I feel that’s. probably. mm. worse?”

“Can you give me the rundown?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

He winces. “I’d really rather not—honestly, I’ve never gotten this far, and I’d really rather not scare you off now.”

“Hm,” she says. “That’s encouraging, eh?”

He hunches a little. “No one believes me,” he says. “I know how it sounds. But I do have—proof. Not enough, not—but. it’s not nothing. Um, actually, can I ask you something really quick?”

She blinks. “You just did,” she says, almost automatically, because it’s a joke she and her roommate have shared too many times, and she almost apologizes, but he laughs, and as tired as it sounds, it’s also sincere.

“Ah, of course,” he says, with real humor, “may I ask you a third question, then, after this very one?”

“You may,” she says graciously, and he beams at her. It’s impossible not to smile back.

“Do you watch a lot of TV?”

The non-sequitur is so startling it surprises the smile off her face. “What?”

“Or radio,” he says, “do you listen to the radio a lot?”

“Uh, no,” she says, unsure what to even make of this, “I prefer books. TV gives me a bit of headache, to be honest.”

He beams again, brighter, and she thinks, relieved. “Wonderful,” he says. “I mean, no judgement, it’s not—it’s only—well, it’s too complicated to explain right now.”

“Oh..kay,” she says.

“Here, meet—can you meet me outside the Monk Building, in town? Tomorrow, at, say—ah, do you have a preference?”

“No,” she says, “not really.”

“Noon then, does that sound fine? Noon, yes,” he mutters and writes something down on a pad he’d produced from some pocket, scrawl loopy and lopsided. “Alright. Here.”

He rips out the page and shoves it at her. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says, “Please. For the safety of both of us.”

“Can you—can you at least tell me what this is about?” she says.

“…The Emergency,” Mr. Benedict says, and he looks far more serious now. “It’s about the Emergency.”

Oh. That was… big.

She takes the paper. “I’ll see you then,” she says, with more confidence than she feels.

He smiles, nodding a little to punctuate this, and then turns to go.

“Mr. Benedict,” she calls after a moment, and he pauses and turns back.

“…I’m trusting you,” she says, and holds up the paper. She thinks maybe he needs to hear it—hear that someone doesn’t think he’s crazy, someone other than his strange friend(s?).

He hesitates, eyes widening, then smiles, small and unsure. “And I, you,” he says. And then he sweeps out the door, and Milligan follows quietly behind him, eyeing her as he leaves.

She looks down at the piece of paper in her hands—an address, scrawled next to “NOON” and the initials “N.B.”, and then a little smiley face. He’d added a smiley face.

It seems Mr. Nicholas Benedict wasn’t crazy at all. But whether he was onto something was another question.

She rolled the paper up between her fingers and hummed. Whatever the case, things were about to get a lot more interesting.

#snippet #my writing #mbs disney #the mysterious benedict society #the north star.... binary system... twin stars #mysterious benedict society #nicholas benedict #mr benedict #mr curtain #ld curtain #rhonda kazembe #mbs #tmbs #mbs spoilers

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