#like the audacity to knife me and think once would be enough??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peachylynnie · 1 month ago

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you make him lose his cool

word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)

caleb

What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust

it's impossible to surprise caleb.

he always knows what you're up to.

whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.

last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.

you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.

even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.

which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.

to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.

however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.

"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"

you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"

caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.

"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"

"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."

your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.

"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.

"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."

after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.

but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.

because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.

caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.

"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.

"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."

but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.

"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."

"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."

caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.

you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.

his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.

with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.

caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.

"i warned you, pips."

extra (in honor of his official installment)

as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.

"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"

your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.

"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."

"oh that makes sense."

"…"

"wait, what?!"

sylus

Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)

there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.

sylus went all out for tonight's auction.

he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.

but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.

an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.

as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."

"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."

"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."

and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.

yeah, sylus went all out tonight.

catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"

you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."

sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."

"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."

"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.

"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."

sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"

that's it.

sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.

by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.

your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.

why?

oh, because he's unzipping your dress.

"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."

you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.

he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"we won't be going at all."

xavier

Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy

your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.

you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.

"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.

"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"

"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."

you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."

he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.

not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.

"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.

"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."

he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."

"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."

hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.

his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.

"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."

"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.

you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.

he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.

"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."

"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.

"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.

instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his.

"angel, what—"

you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.

he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.

“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?”

“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”

with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far.

"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”

rafayel

Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one

(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)

rafayel isn't sure how he got here.

you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.

"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."

he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?

"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.

of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.

last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.

a package, pft. no big deal, right?

wrong.

he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.

a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.

it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).

yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.

"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"

"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"

"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"

shit, he got caught.

"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"

"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"

"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."

"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)

you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.

"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."

and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.

he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—

yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.

"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good.

after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble.

suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body.

"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck.

oh.

your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.

oh fuck.

he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).

"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?"

rafayel swallows shakily before nodding.

"anything for my beloved bride."

zayne

Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!

doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.

a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.

his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.

to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.

don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-

he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.

"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.

"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."

"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"

"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.

"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.

he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.

"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.

except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?

you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.

you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?

a lightbulb flashes in your head.

"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."

and with that, you slam your hips down.

he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.

"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."

"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"

"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."

zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.

though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.

"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."

you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"

he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.

"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."

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hwanchaesong · 9 months ago

Text

━⁠☞🍽️ Fourth Course: Partners in everything until you realize that you're nothing but his mere puppet in his very own acidic heist. 🥢

🎧: Olivia Rodrigo - Favorite Crime

wc: 826

genre & warnings: angst, college setting, bets and heartbreaks, cursing, hints of sex, break-up, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Sour Restaurant series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

"Where are you going?" Yeosang asked, confusion written on his features when you suddenly got out of the bed, picking your discarded clothes on the floor.

He's alarmed to say the least, as he was expecting a cuddle session after your first night of intimacy with him.

So, why are you getting ready to leave?

When you don't answer him and continue dressing up, he repeats his question, only to be ignored again.

"Baby? What's up?" his frown deepens, now leaving the comforts of his sheets and picking up some clothes to wear as well.

"Isn't it obvious?" you huffed, putting on a shirt and looking for your bag so you could exit his apartment, "I'm leaving."

Yeosang tugs on your arm, pulling you close to him and stopping you from moving around.

"Why are you leaving? You can stay the night with me." he mumbles, his chest rumbling on your back and you hate how weak you are for him.

But you had enough. You have given him what he wants, you have given in to your desires, so now it's time for you to fix yourself. Maybe hear some reprimanding from your friend once they hear the story tomorrow.

Their voices echo in your head, pushing the knife deeper into your wounded heart.

"Don't get involved with that guy, Y/N. He's a player!"

"Save yourself from the heartbreak."

You would have listened to them, but where's the fun in that right?

Choosing to shield Yeosang from their bullets wasn't a wise thing to do, but you were in love with the man, leaving you no choice but to succumb to his charms.

"You wanted me to stay?" you scoffed, glaring at him and tugging your arm back, moving away from his body before you do something that you will further regret in the long run.

"Of course I do." he mumbles, sincerity lacing his tone and for a second you almost believed that he's been genuine with you.

He appears to be hurt at your attitude, but he doesn't deserve to act like a puppy who got kicked. The audacity to be in pain when it's supposed to be you, the one who should be grieving over murdered love that you are burying six feet under.

You hum, glaring at him with a meaningful smile that he couldn't quite comprehend, "Why? I mean— you already got what you want. Your mission is done."

He stands still and somehow, his breathing becomes shallower, his heartbeat spiking up as Yeosang slowly begins to understand your questionable actions.

You heard them. You fucking know everything.

Yeosang sits quietly in the corner of the classroom, listening to his friends talk about their endeavors and mundane problems in life.

"Oh Yeosang-hyung." Wooyoung called him, catching his attention and raising a brow at the younger in a silent question of what he needed.

"Is your mission going well?"

Yeosang's muscles have gone rigid for a second, remembering the purpose of why he courted you for so long.

But then again, he was ready to throw the stupid bet away.

Why?

Because he genuinely fell in love with you.

All the fake affections he shows, the 'I love you's', the countless nights of cuddling each other, random gossip and eating chicken in the middle of the night.

Everything is suddenly real, but then, what about his ego?

"Yeah." he answers absentmindedly, "I think I'll be able to do it tomorrow."

"Damn, looks like we have to throw in our money the day after tomorrow." Hongjoong laughs, fixing his position from the chair, "Didn't know that Y/N was such an easy target."

Yeosang's fists clenched, not liking the way you are referred to by Hongjoong. Still, he held himself back and forced a smile.

"I second that." Seonghwa butts in, giving Yeosang a pat on the back, "Advanced congratulations to you, my bro, for winning a bet successfully."

"Y/N, I can explain."

You held a hand up to stop him, shaking your head in disappointment. Mainly for yourself.

"Save it Yeosang. Besides, I let myself drown tonight despite knowing that this is nothing but a bet." you close your eyes, willing yourself not to cry.

At least, not in front of him.

"Y/N, baby, please." it was barely a whisper, a weak voice and meek begging but you're not about to give in.

You avoid Yeosang's hand that was attempting to grab you again, trudging towards the door of his apartment, ready to walk out of his life.

"Well, at least you have a new nerd in the notch of your belt. Congratulations, Yeosang."

Then you slammed the door shut, leaving Yeosang and his regrets, the pain of letting you go swallows him alive.

You did your best to love him with all you can, and even after all that, his hands remained soiled by your broken pieces. A crime that won't be forgotten and never be forgiven.

taglist:

@acciocriativity @iarayara @stolasisyourparent @shakalakaboomboo @nsixns @heartssol

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tiddygame · 6 months ago

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Ghoap god type au part 6!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

hello once again beautiful people! like i said, new chapter much sooner. the next one might be a bit more of a wait as it's not even fully drafted yet, but fuck it we ball :)

there will be 11 chapters on here [10 on ao3 as 1 and 2 are combined over there] so we're just at the halfway mark! I think this chapter might be my favorite so far, i hope you enjoy it as well!

@imjustheretofightforlove / @pieckyghost / @life-as-a-gamergirl

[and lmk if you want to be tagged!]

“Any more injured soldiers who need rescuing?” Ghost asked, not looking up from sharpening his hunting knife.

“None that you could help,” Soap answered, ignoring the sarcasm in Ghost’s tone and joining him by the fire. He was somehow completely dry despite having walked in from the downpour outside.

The little overhang he had set up his camp under didn’t offer much protection from the rain. It looked like mother nature decided to give up on making a cave as soon as she began, but it was enough cover that his meek fire and (incredibly ungrateful) horse would have at least some protection from the encroaching storm.

Ghost didn’t respond, instead choosing to focus on keeping the correct angle as he dragged the blade along the whetstone, the grating noise muffled by the rain. Taxes snorted her own greeting but still sounded rather upset that Ghost had the audacity to put her in a situation where she got her coat a little wet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Soap pet Taxes and run his fingers through her mane, walk around his hastily put together camp, look out at the rain, and eventually meander back to sit across from Ghost. Soap’s leg was bouncing; he obviously wanted to talk about something that had him antsy, but Ghost was perfectly fine to let him stew in his anxiety.

Soap managed to sit still for one whole minute before he tried to start a conversation. “You’ve been doing that for a while…?” he prompted, hoping Ghost would want to talk about his current task.

“Yeah,” he answered, still not looking at the god nor for conversation. The edge of his knife had rolled a few days ago and it was not a quick task to grind it back and resharpen it. Lightning crackled and Ghost counted the time between the boom of thunder; As viscous as the rain was, the storm was still a ways away.

Soap nodded slowly and began tapping his fingers on his leg, turning from him to look around at the rain, almost intentionally awkward. “So…” Soap drew out the word, apparently finding a new topic to try, “What are you doing camping in this weather?”

Ghost wasn’t in the mood for whatever the god was trying to pull and grunted dismissively, “Could ask you something similar.”

“Aye, but I asked first,” Soap childishly retorted.

He paused his sharpening and scowled at the god but eventually acquiesced. “Hunting.”

There was a moment of silence, Soap expecting (and hoping) for more information, but Ghost stopped there. He let the silence linger before continuing his sharpening, cutting through the quiet and giving a clear indication that he was done with his answer.

“Well, what were you hunting for?” The god asked, still trying to have a conversation. His effort was admirable, though likely ill-fated.

“Food.”

Soap bit his cheek and tried for the fifth time to prompt him into a chat, “Yes, what kind of food?”

“Edible.”

Soap groaned loudly in frustration, his accent heavier in his annoyance, “Yer a pain in the fucking arse, Ghost.”

“Thank you.”

His gratitude didn’t help and Soap huffed and crossed his arms as he glared at Ghost.

Soap, the god of death, was pouting. Ghost determinedly stared down at his task, trying not to laugh at the display.

Gathering himself, he figured it was about time he got his weekly kindness out of the way and answered, “Stocks were running low — I offered to go hunting and the general agreed, but the rain caught me off guard.”

Soap was disproportionately happy at the fact that Ghost was humoring him, excited that Ghost offered more than a one word answer.

Then again, he was the only one the god could talk to, so maybe it wasn’t disproportionate for someone who’d— No, no. He was not going to be tricked into feeling bad for a fucking god of all things. Even if he did feel oddly compelled to talk to the god after seeing how happy he got at his simple reply.

“Did the general actually agree or…?” Soap asked, knowing Ghost’s tendencies.

“He did. And no, I don’t know why either.” Considering his last “hunting trip” ended in a he-said, she-said shouting match he was just as surprised that the general agreed, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Are you sure it’s not a trap?”

“No.”

His simple answer got a small chuckle, though one tainted by worry. He didn’t care if it was a trap, he got the go ahead to be away from camp for four whole days without a search party going after him. There were very few punishments that could make him regret agreeing to that.

Soap sat in thought before he asked, “You really don’t like him do you?”

Ghost scoffed, “The general? Fuck no. I hate that bastard.”

He could see the question Soap almost asked before he changed his mind and switched to a less intrusive question. “You always call him general—”

Ghost grunted in affirmation, inspecting the freshly sharpened edge on his knife. Still unhappy with it, he added a bit more water to his whetstone and got back to sharpening.

“—Why?”

Ghost was confused for a moment before he remembered that he was talking to Soap and not just obsessing over getting his knife to his impossible standards.

“He never cared to learn my name so I never cared to learn his.” It was unfortunately not a joke. He thinks he might have known it at one point, but his passive aggressive response had gone on for so long that he genuinely did not know his name.

Soap asked, “He doesn’t call you Ghost? What does he call you?”

“He does call me Ghost,” he corrected with a confused glance.

Soap tilted his head like a confused puppy. “Is… that not your name?”

“No?” Ghost more asked than said, confused. “What the hell kind of a name is Ghost?”

Soap began, “Well I dunno—”

Ghost huffed a small, quiet laugh and when he saw the god looked embarrassed he clarified, “It’s just a nickname.”

“So this entire time I’ve been calling you Ghost…” Soap looked more than embarrassed, horrified at the idea that he had been calling Ghost by the wrong name.

Ghost tried not to chuckle but the abject horror from the other over such a simple thing made him snicker. When the god’s face fell further, he did not feel bad for him, but he did decide to throw him a little bit more kindness and clarified further, “I’m being petty towards the general. You didn’t get my name wrong.”

Soap heaved a sigh of relief but still looked put off by the revelation. It was hard to hold onto his fear of the god when he always seemed so… so earnest. For fuck’s sake, it looked like he was going through the worst day of his immortal life over a possible nickname mishap.

“And no,” Ghost added before he could ask, “I’m not telling you my name.”

Soap slumped, even more put out and Ghost certainly did not smile at his apparent disappointment.

He continued his sharpening in silence, or, well, neither of them were talking at least. The rain was still hammering away with occasional lightning and thunder. The wind was harsh, pushing in and making sheets of rain look like curtains billowing in the breeze.

Ghost examined the knife again and was much more pleased this go around. He stood slowly, his joints popping along the way, and held the knife under the rainfall, rinsing it off. He rolled up his sleeve and tested the sharpness by shaving some hair off of his arm, satisfied to find it was able to cut through with ease.

He carefully wiped off the knife and found his holster, safely storing it away. He dropped it by where he had been sitting and grabbed his dagger from his satchel, inspecting the edge on it as well. It wasn’t as bad, but he might as well sharpen it while he has the time.

He turned to go back to the fire but stopped when he saw Soap had scooted over, examining the hunting knife Ghost dropped. It was a basic knife, the only interesting thing about it was the shitty construction of the handle that led to the wood below the last pin chipping off on one side. It seemed to have Soap enraptured nonetheless.

Deciding not to bother with asking, Ghost took his place by the fire once more, making sure to give Soap space, lest he suddenly get any grand ideas with that knife. He rewet the stone and got back to work, keeping the god in sight.

When Soap was done with his inspection, he turned to watching Ghost work, surprisingly content with watching the simple task in silence. Which meant it was time for Ghost to return the favor of disrupting the peace.

“You never said why you decided to grace me with your presence,” he pointed out, sarcasm dripping from the regal phrasing with the raspy noise of the dagger dragging across the stone punctuating his sentence. The god had leaned closer in his curiosity, watching the slow process like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

“Hmm?” Soap asked, looking up from where he had hunched, not paying attention but processing the question before Ghost had to repeat it. “Oh, right… I just felt lonely.”

He would have believed it if the god weren’t refusing to even look in his general direction. That was the other thing that made it hard to cling to his fear — the bastard was an awful liar.

Ghost paused his handiwork and stared him down, admonishing, “Soap.” He didn’t add anything else, he didn’t need to. Soap squirmed a bit but cracked quickly.

“You didn’t leave an offering this morning,” the god mumbled, looking down at the ground.

Ghost had to think for a moment, only then realizing that he forwent breakfast that morning to get away from camp as quickly as he could, meaning he also forwent leaving an offering when he ate “with” the god as he normally would have done.

Soap didn’t look angry, but if he came down from the heavens expressly because of a missed offering, then maybe Ghost had misjudged him. Maybe Soap was actually a fantastic liar and just carefully crafted these supposed slip-ups to make Ghost lower his guard. Maybe Soap was—

“I was worried,” Soap said, still refusing to look at him. If part of his preplanned ruse was to look like a kicked puppy, then he nailed it.

Staring him down, Ghost dropped his tools and blindly reached for his bag, searching for one of the apples he brought for Taxes. As soon as his hand wrapped around it, he threw it to the god with a little too much force for how small the distance between them was.

Soap was unprepared and caught it against his chest. Once he realized what it was, he, if anything, looked sadder. Ghost was unsure if Soap was disappointed in the meager offering or disappointed that he lost the potential leverage over him.

Thunder bellowed.

“This… is not what I meant,” Soap sighed, “I thought you had given up on food offerings.”

Ghost shrugged, “You’re not getting my knife or my whetstone.” He punctuated the sentence by dragging the knife across the whetstone slightly faster, making the noise just a bit more audible under the pounding rain.

“That’s not what I meant either.”

“Sucks for you,” Ghost retorted like a petulant child, inspecting the edge. The dagger wasn’t perfect, but it was better than it had been and his hands were starting to cramp, so good enough. “I don’t have anything to offer.”

Ghost let the white lie roll off his tongue with ease. He wanted to see how the god would react to such a blatantly false statement. Everyone always had something that could be taken if it was not given. “Take it or leave it.”

“Leave it,” Soap said, throwing it back with notably less force than Ghost had. He caught it and stared at the god, unimpressed, before dropping it to the floor uncaringly.

Soap stated with conviction, “I didn’t come down here to collect my dues, you don’t owe me anything.” Then he added on as if he were reluctant to admit, “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” Ghost asked simply, busying his nervous hands with cleaning off the dagger.

“You’ve given me offerings every morning. I was worried you got hurt and I didn’t notice or something even worse,” the god replied, managing to dodge answering the one and only question Ghost asked. “I think you’ve spoiled me,” Soap said with an almost sad grin, “One morning without an offering and I’m a mess.”

Ghost did not match the smile as he asked more pointedly, “Why were you worried?”

Soap was lost on how to answer, “Because I… didn’t know if something was wrong? I’m— I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Why did you—,” Ghost huffed, giving up on pursuing an answer as soon as he began. “Forget it. You’ll get your offering in the morning.” He stood, taking the apple over to Taxes, who was thrilled at the development and ate the rejected offering happily.

He didn’t know what answers he wanted nor which questions to ask to get them. But he did know very well that when ignorance and vulnerability reared its ugly, stupid, unwelcome head, impudence made for a fine replacement.

“I’m sorry? Have I done something to upset you?”

It was said with an air of sincerity; It was far too kind of a reply for the brashness he had undeservedly received.

Ghost needed to be suspicious of Soap, he needed to keep his guard up and always be on the watch for whatever tricks he would try to play. He reminded himself of that fact every time he left an offering or entertained a chat with him but it had yet to stick.

Soap was making it very difficult for him.

“I’m sorry if I said something wrong—”

For the first time in his life he was unable to cling on to the mistrust and suspicion that had kept him alive thus far. Anger took up where they failed.

There was a voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like someone he used to know, telling him that directing his anger towards those who didn’t deserve it wouldn’t help anyone. But that someone was dead and had been for a long time.

“I… I know you don’t trust me, but I—”

Something snapped. He seethed at himself for the truth behind his own words as he admitted with too much anger, “No, my problem is that I do trust you and I don’t fucking know why!”

“...I’m sorry?”

“Just shut up.”

And the worst part yet? He did. The god of death abided by his request.

Soap was surprised at the outburst, shock and… and not fear because he’s a god, the god of death, he has no need for survival instincts and time wasters like fear. Yet he held his hands up in surrender like Ghost could hurt him anyway.

Ghost was significantly more human and all of the emotions he had felt bubbling up ever since he first left that apple at the feet of a forgotten shrine were finally spilling over, making the fire within his brain crackle and pop at the unwanted intrusion.

“Why?” Ghost demanded, marching forward slowly as he grabbed his newly sharpened dagger. “Why, why, why do I want to trust you!?”

The god didn’t say anything, just kept his hands up while making a vague shrugging motion. Soap stood carefully like he was being cornered by a wild animal and took a few small, slow steps back.

“Why have you decided to fuck up my life!?”

Soap stayed silent, somehow looking even sadder at his harsh statement. Soap shouldn’t be calm, he should be angry. And yet, he did not fight back. The storm carried on. Ghost was advancing faster than Soap was retreating.

“I cannot kill you, I cannot hurt you, so why do you fall back!?”

Ghost held the length of his dagger up to the god’s throat, threatening to break the skin and reveal whatever was underneath his guise. Soap froze, standing stiff and looking up at Ghost with eyes full of emotions he couldn’t even begin to decipher.

His anger had pushed them both to the edge of the overhang; Soap was fully in the rain yet still dry while Ghost had some cover but was getting soaked. It only made his tempestuous emotions worse, the painfully obvious display of the divine differences between them.

“Why do you act like you’re scared!?”

Even with him raising his voice, Ghost could barely be heard over the rain. Soap looked at him with something that wasn’t patronizing enough to be pity but he didn’t want to risk trying to put another word to whatever it was.

Soap confessed, “I’m scared for you.”

The anger was failing now as well and he could feel that old snake vulnerability slithering up his spine. “Bullshit.”

“Is it?” Soap asked, with concern, tenderness, sympathy— every emotion he needn’t feel for himself written plain across his face.

“Don’t you dare condescend to me. I may just be a stupid, puny mortal in the eyes of ‘Death almighty—’”

“You’re not—”

Ghost pressed the blade closer. On anyone else, any human, blood would have been welling up.

“—But I know a hungry animal when I see one. If I die, you die too, isn’t that right?” Ghost asked, an air of enlightenment in his voice, like he could pretend hard enough that he found the answer he’d been seeking. He felt no such relief or realization.

He laughed humorlessly, “Gods, you’re like a bloody vampire aren’t you? Poor little thing has to keep a mortal alive to get offerings from!”

He felt like he could barely breathe; He wasn’t sure he could lie to himself that it was just anger making him tremble anymore. Soap remained silent. Ghost needed him to say something, anything, he didn’t care what. He could feel the last strings holding him up snap as they sat in silence.

They had yet to break eye contact, Ghost continuing to stare down at him. Soap carefully reached up, wrapped his hand around Ghost’s, and slowly moved the knife away. He didn’t even take the opportunity to disarm him, just played along like Ghost was capable of defending himself against the god of death.

Soap grabbed his arm with his other hand, gently pushing Ghost out of the storm’s wrath like he was something delicate.

Yeah, no shit dumbass. You pulled a knife on him for being nice. Of course he’s treating you like a ticking time bomb.

“Come on,” Soap muttered with that stupid fucking look of not-pity. “You’re gonna get cold.”

Ghost’s brain misfired.

He’s gonna get cold. Says the god. The god of death. Whom he just antagonized. And threatened to stab. In the neck. With a knife.

You’re gonna get cold.

What the fuck is happening?

Ghost doesn’t know if he said that out loud or if he’s just that easy to read, but Soap, the god of death, answered the unasked question, “If you want to slit my throat, that’s fine, but do it by the fire where it’s warm.”

Unable to vocalize his thoughts in any articulate way, Ghost asked in a voice that was as accusatory as it was stupefied, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Soap laughed too kindly for the statement that caused the reaction, “A lot, probably.”

He could do nothing but watch, puzzled, as the god sat him on the ground next to the fire, adding on another log before joining him. Ghost hadn’t even processed that he was cold when Soap draped something over his shoulders, a cloak— his cloak, and scooted just a little closer.

“Can’t have ye’ getting sick, right?” Soap asked with a smile that might have been charming if Ghost didn’t feel like his brain was actively imploding.

“You… are not attacking me,” Ghost pointed out. He couldn’t tell if he was thinking too fast or not at all. Either way he was lost.

“No, I am not,” Soap confirmed, “And I do not plan to.”

Ghost was exhausted. He felt tired and sad, he wanted to pass out, he wanted to slam his head against the rocks, he wanted to make sense of reality again. None of which seemed to be within his wheelhouse.

“I’m sorry I cannae give ye’ the fight you want.”

His last string snapped, and he slumped in on himself, his head hanging low. Perhaps the others at camp were right. Maybe he was the bloodthirsty monster they feared.

They had both been accused of the same, but where Soap actively defied humanity’s accusations, Ghost only ever seemed to validate them. Here was someone, not human but a person all the same, who was trying to show him kindness and he attacked them for it. Ghost tried his best not to be their beast, but maybe his best wasn’t enough. Maybe violence was the only thing he was capable of.

The monster who refused their labeling smacked him in the back of the head. Soap said not unkindly yet still firmly, “Whatever it is you’re thinking, quit it.”

Ghost slowly turned with a scowl that lacked the anger he was clawing at, upset at having his brooding interrupted, and demanded, “Why?”

“Because,” Soap huffed, “I can’t even read minds but I can hear you sulking from here.”

‘From here’ was right next to him, but Ghost wasn’t in the mood to argue pedantics. Mostly. Somewhat. Kind of.

“I’m brooding, not sulking,” Ghost corrected. He was always in the mood to be a pain in the ass.

Ghost shivered slightly, his now wet clothes chilling him through the cloak. Soap put his arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. It was only then that Ghost realized they’d been sitting that close ever since Soap dragged him over, close enough to be well within arm’s reach.

While the god had plenty of warmth to share, his body heat didn’t. The air always seemed a little bit warmer when Soap was around, the biting cold fading to a comfortable level, but he still was not a living being. Beneath his skin might have been flesh and perhaps a bone or two somewhere in there, but he had no heartbeat, there was nothing within him to provide physical warmth the same way a human would have.

Ghost wondered if it was part of an ages old reflex, pulling someone closer to keep them warm.

“Yer not a damn bird…” Soap corrected back, absentmindedly running his hand up and down Ghost’s arm, assumedly another reflex from a time long since passed.

Ghost didn’t mind; A prideful bastard he may be, but he had never experienced a true cold a day in his life. He knew good and well he should be thankful for the warmth, and considering he was almost soaked to the bone while it was cold as balls, Ghost would let his pride take the hit so long as it kept him hypothermia free.

“You do have a lot wrong with you, don’t you?” Ghost asked as if it wasn’t obvious from the start.

“I already told you tha’ much.” Soap said with that smile that you can only get after an emotional breakthrough, the kind that was genuine yet sad yet hopeful yet tired, all in one small smile.

Thunder roared loud enough that Ghost could feel the reverberations through the ground he was sitting on. Looking outside, the woodland was obscured by a haze of white, rain falling with such speed and vigor that it hid everything beyond their shelter. He watched the way the sky darkened even though it couldn’t have been noon; it would appear that the storm finally arrived.

Wind tried to blow the rain closer and closer but errant raindrops that should have been pelting him and threatening his fire never seemed to land and he knew he had the god to thank for that.

Ghost had to take a moment to appreciate that the god of death, a being capable of unimaginable power that presided over the most prevalent part of life, had been demoted to an umbrella and space heater.

“I think you could kill me if you wanted.”

Soap’s sudden statement pulled him back, turning from the deluge outside to look at the god in confusion, slowly processing his words. Ghost scoffed, genuine in his demand but without the malice that would have been there a few minutes prior, “Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not!” Soap defended as if he were stating the obvious, “We both know damn well that if I fucked up and pissed you off, you wouldn’t stop until I was dead.”

A grim statement made in a jovial tone with the manner of someone convinced they were infallibly correct. He acted as if he were offended by the notion that Ghost couldn’t kill him.

“A mortal going against a god is not a battle, it’s a slaughter,” he corrected. It was something he’d been told over and over when he was younger, back when he was still naive enough to have faith (albeit with rather different wording).

Almost every bedtime story he’d grown up with had the same lesson: Do not go against the gods. Story after story and tale after tale about supposedly greedy men that tried to take on the pantheon only to be sentenced to eternal suffering as punishment. Back then, it was worded in a little cutesy, kid friendly way but the lesson stuck. Ghost wasn’t that stupid… mostly… Regardless, he knew his limits, and killing an immortal being was certainly not within them.

“Yes, but for you, it wouldn’t be the mortal getting slaughtered,” Soap argued the point like they were debating over which color was the best, not Ghost’s ability to kill death.

Ghost scoffed, “Sure.” He had no idea what the god was getting at but he knew he wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise.

“You know it's true, you just don’t want to accept the compliment!” Soap argued, annoyed at the dismissal.

“Is someone telling you that you could kill them a compliment?” Ghost asked, more curious for Soap’s answer than anything else.

“How would it not?”

Yeah, Ghost doesn’t know what else he expected from the god of death, to be honest. He settled back, pulling his cloak closer to himself, slowly drying off, and warm in spite of the freezing thunderstorm mere feet away.

He still had hundreds of questions and half formed worries plaguing him, but well, as he said, he felt exhausted. Not physically, sleep was a long way off but he still felt like he could collapse.

Ghost tried to think but as soon as he grabbed at any thoughts, they slipped away into the mist. It was only after several minutes of silently watching the leaves shake in the storm that one question solidified into something more tangible. He didn’t know how to phrase it, but eventually gave up on finding the right words and hoped to stumble into them along the way.

“Shouldn’t I be…” Ghost regretted his plan immediately but it was too late to go back. “…Spreading the word? Singing your praises? Getting people to ‘worship’ you?” He felt weird even as he said it but he tried to keep the disdain out of his voice.

“No.” Soap’s reply was sudden and resolute, like he wanted to shut down the notion immediately. “No, please don’t.”

“No?”

“No,” he confirmed. “I… know that if I want to— to stay around then yes, but… No. Not yet. I don’t want to repeat what happened before.”

The god had a sullen, far away look in his eyes, one Ghost had seen on several soldiers and fighters before and likely one that he himself has worn as well. It was the most Soap had ever talked about his time from before.

Ghost didn’t like the way Soap had said it and he liked the spike of sympathy even less, but he had a feeling he would have to get used to emotions he didn’t like so long as he continued following the god.

The words hang over them like a lead weight. Usually, Ghost didn’t mind letting awkwardness linger, enjoying the squirming of others but this felt different. It wasn’t someone trying to push Ghost beyond his limits, but instead more like the other way around, Ghost uncaringly pushing against a sore subject for the god.

For the god. You shouldn’t feel bad for him, he’s—

Oh, shut up.

He’s well past the point of no return. Feeling bad for Soap was the least of his worries now, whether he liked it or not. Besides, if not pity, why else would he have continued offering Soap whatever he could get his hands on?

It’s not like he’s on the precipice of doing something stupid, he already did the ‘something stupid.’ Ghost saw the edge of the cliff and the warning signs around it and still hiked on.

Ignoring everything in him yelling at him not to, he leaned into the god’s side. The words felt alien even to himself as he muttered, “Maybe someday.”

Soap smiled, and the edge of the cliff came closer as Soap muttered back, “Maybe.”

#ghost gets upsetti spaghetti but don't worry soap is there to make everything worse but also mostly better #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #forgotten death au #ghost holding a knife up to soap: STOP MAKING ME HAVE GAY THOUGHTS #soap currently having gay thoughts:

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sashaisready · 11 months ago

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I'm Still Here - Chapter Five

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

In late 60s Meade, you’re married to Sheriff Bodecker, pregnant with your first child. On paper you’re the perfect couple – the respectable Sheriff and his homemaker wife. This should be one of the happiest times of your life…so why are the two of you living like ghosts? And is it too late to bridge that gap? Especially when your husband is playing a dangerous game.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Strong violence, mild violence/threat towards pregnant woman, gun violence, knife violence.

This is the final chapter, I hope you've enjoyed! As always I appreciate reblogs and comments. This was a bit different for me and I enjoyed exploring it.

Wordcount: 3.5k

You could hear the men downstairs, roaming around and picking things up, calling out your name. Lee let you use your real first name after you married him. After all, nobody would find you with Bodecker as your last name, and nobody knew who Honeybee really was, so there was no risk. It was Lee’s idea; he was very clear that you shouldn’t lose all of your previous self in order to make room for the new you. He still liked to call you Honey, a little nod to how you met.

You felt rage brimming within as they used your first name, as they moved around your house and pawed at your things. How dare they? Your name wasn’t for their mouths, your belongings not for their eyes. The audacity to come into your home, the first real home you’d ever had, shared with the man you loved (and soon shared with your child), and sullying it with their voices, their presence, their grubby hands. Your heart pinched as you briefly wondered what they’d done to Lee…if they had hurt him…if he was even still al-

…But you couldn’t think about him right now. You needed to concentrate on you and baby. There would be time for him later.

Your finger squeezed the trigger of the shotgun.

These men were not going to take away what you’d fought your entire life for. Yes, it wasn’t all smooth sailing right now, but it could be fixed. It could all be fixed. You could see that now, finally it was clear. This wasn’t their call to make. You didn’t know yet what they’d taken from you…but if it was Lee? Well. If you couldn’t save him, you would avenge him.

“You take upstairs, I’ll do the kitchen and the garage” you heard one of them say as they hovered at the foot of the staircase.

This was it. You had been flitting between strategies since you had pulled out the gun. You had considered fleeing, but you weren’t exactly agile in your current condition. Plus, most of the neighbours weren’t around, so where would you go? Even if you called the station, which wasn’t likely as the men would hear you first and corner you by the phone, the police wouldn’t get here in time anyway. Your only choice was to go on the offensive.

Them separating was good, much easier to take on one armed man than two. The question was whether you went in guns blazing (literally) and took out goon number one, knowing the sound would send goon number two straight up the stairs right to you. Or maybe you needed to dispatch goon number one more quietly, as not to alert suspicion of goon number two and retain the element of surprise. But a shotgun wasn’t exactly a subtle shot, even with a silencer. And there was more of a guarantee you’d take him out quickly if loudly, rather than with a quieter, more discreet method. The last thing you needed was two of them coming for you at once, especially if one is wounded and pissed about it. Lord knows you’d dealt with that enough times in the past to know it was best to avoid.

The careful footsteps up the stairs and then along the hallway meant the decision was made for you. You stayed perfectly still as he drew closer; he called out your name and you gave your stomach a final cursory rub as you watched the doorknob slowly rotate…

The door gently rolled open, and you could pinpoint the moment he saw you, his features pinging across his face in a look of surprise as his fist tightened around the pistol in his right hand.

“Mrs-”

But it was too late. You fired, your feet squatting apart to keep your balance from the inevitable recoil. It was much louder than you remembered it being, but maybe it just sounded that way in the cosy enclave of the spare bedroom. The noise thundered in your ears and the stench of gunpowder and heat hit your nose as you bounced backwards slightly.

You watched his expression change for a split second as he realised what was happening, but it was over quickly as the blood and tissue enveloped his fear. His heavy frame slumped to the floor with a sickening thud and just as quickly as he’d arrived, he was face down on the plush cream carpet. You were grateful not to see the full grisly aftermath of your handiwork.

“I promised I’d never do this again, but you left me no choice” you whispered regretfully to him as you pumped the weapon once more. But of course, he couldn’t hear you.

You toed the pistol out of his closed fist and kicked it under the dresser. It wasn’t like he was going to suddenly get up and start firing – but you could never be too careful.

You held the shotgun back up and tensed your ears through the slight ringing to try and make out the sounds in the rest of the house. The fact that his buddy hadn’t run up the stairs, or even called out to check on his friend, worried you. He was either a big rookie at this and was somewhere in the house cowering, or worst-case scenario – he was more experienced than that and was being more cautious than his departed pal as he waited to make his move.

You stayed where you were for a moment, listening to the sounds of the house. Nothing stood out. You could hear the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the distant song of a bird outside, but little else. The optimist in you hoped he had fled, but you would’ve heard the front door. After some time had passed, you took a couple of steps backwards while keeping your eyes on the door. You quickly glanced out of the window. Their van was still parked up out front. No sign of anyone outside.

You moved forward again, back to your post in front of the fallen man. If you glanced quickly you might think he was praying at your feet. The adrenaline was pumping hard as you steadied your breathing and kept the gun raised. You looked out into the hallway once more, seeing only the wedding photo of you and Lee affixed to the wall across from the doorway. You smiled. You both looked so happy.

And you had been happy. It had been difficult to transition to this new life, to give up thieving and fighting for pot roasts and furniture polish. To play your new role, to be a ‘normal’ wife, smile in the right places and pretend your mother had taught you to cook and clean and sew like everyone else’s had. There was an unspoken code all the other wives seemed to know that you could barely scratch the surface of. Every fibre of your being screamed that you didn’t belong.

However, falling for Lee had not been difficult. No. It was the easiest thing in the world. You supposed you were already halfway there long before his strange proposal in the woodshed that day. Part of you had always known. You imagined you would’ve found each other no matter which path you took. It was easy and effortless. It was the one thing you didn’t have to fake. There was no artifice in that wedding day smile. You’re not sure why he took a chance on you, but you were glad he did. You had cherished every moment with him. Every late-night conversation. Every handhold as you strolled in public. Every reassuring hand pressed onto your lower back when he knew you were feeling overwhelmed. Every groan in your ear as he slipped inside of you, every caress, every hungry kiss, every sweet embrace. The safest place in the world was in his arms when the two of you drifted off to sleep. He has saved you and given you a new start, and while it wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, you were grateful. You wanted to make him proud.

And this was no exception.

Time passed and there was still no movement from the missing man. You were both in a stand-off, waiting the other out. It continued. The silence almost mocking.

After more time had passed (it felt like hours) you decided to take the bull by the horns and finish this. You would no longer be cornered in your home; you would tackle this how the Cypress gang used to. Finish it. For baby. For Lee. For you.

You took a deep breath and stepped carefully over the man’s body and out into the hallway, the shotgun raised, and your muscles clenched. You peered out tentatively. Nobody either side. Feeling emboldened you took another step forward.

Before you had time to plan your next move, the shotgun was unceremoniously yanked from behind, leaving your hands and tumbling you to the floor. Fuck. You looked up to a dark-haired man standing over you, the gun barrel pointing between your eyes. He was clenching his teeth in anger.

“You fucking bitch…” he growled.

He must’ve been hiding out in another room and waited until your guard was down. You should’ve caught that. Clearly, you were a little rusty.

“You’re gonna pay for that you whore” he snarled at you as he squinted over at the other man.

He sighed. “I’m sorry Bobo…” he muttered as he shook his head at the crumpled figure.

“Please…I-”

“Shut up” he barked, crashing the gun against your forehead. “You got lucky with your husband’s gun, but it won’t happen again”.

“Lee…Where…where is he?” you asked, your voice hoarse with fear.

“He’s alive” the man muttered. “Unfortunately.”

You thought you might throw up with the relief that flooded you. He was okay. Probably roughed up but okay. All the more reason to keep going.

“Please sir…I’m pregn-” you began to plead but he held up his hand and signalled for you to stop.

“I know. I’m not blind, sweetheart” he sighed, almost a hint of regret in his tone. “This isn’t personal, all right? Your fatass husband got you into this mess. I’m sorry”.

“You don’t have to do this…” you said quietly.

“I do” he sighed again. “I need to show Sheriff Bodecker who is in charge here”.

“What…what are you going to do to me? To us…?” you rubbed your stomach.

“Just get downstairs” he snapped. “Do what I say, and I’ll go as easy as I can”.

You nodded, your mind going a million miles an hour. Could you run? Try grab the gun off him? Scream?

“I’m going to stand up, alright?” you offered coyly, raising your hands to show you weren’t a threat.

He nodded and you slowly got to your feet. The little fall fortunately hadn’t been too rough. You were okay. Baby was okay.

All this man knew about you was that you were Lee’s little wife. He thought you got lucky with ‘Bobo’ or whoever that was. Don’t give him any reason to doubt that. Back in the gang, you used a similar routine all the time, all doe-eyed and flustered. Men always underestimated you. They simply could not fathom that you were anything less than meek and scared.

“P-please sir…” you mumbled tearfully, shaking a little.

Underestimating your enemy was the worst mistake you could make. He would soon learn that lesson.

He gestured you to go down the stairs and you cautiously descended, moving slowly. He followed close behind, the shotgun looming between your shoulder blades. He was muttering and cursing, clearly improvising all of this after unexpectedly losing his employee.

He led you to the living room when he told you to stop. Keeping the gun pointed on you, he rested it on his shoulder briefly as he used his free hand to dig around in a knapsack on the floor that he must’ve stashed when they came in earlier. You saw rope and duct tape spill out from the opening. You stood there, trembling.

Or he thought you were trembling, at least.

He pulled out a polaroid camera.

“First…I need to take a few ‘before’ pictures for the good Sheriff…” he murmured. “Really tell the story, y’know”.

Fumbling with the camera meant he lost his hold on the gun for a second. Knowing you might not get another chance; you seized the opportunity.

It all happened in slow motion.

You leapt over towards him and grabbed the shotgun barrel with one hand, punching his head away with the other. He was stronger than you, but the shock had thrown him. He managed to yank the handle and the trigger and fired, but your grappling with the barrel meant the bullet fired into the ceiling. You screamed into his face as he tried to pump the gun and reload, but you continued to wrestle the barrel away. He grunted with surprise but quickly regained his composure as he went to his pocket, and you knew he must’ve had a handgun there, just like his friend did.

In the ensuing tussle the two of you fell to the ground. He was on top of you as he cursed at you and went purple with rage, but you screamed right back at him. He pulled the handgun from his pocket with his free hand, and you grabbed at his wrist, trying to push it away.

“I’m going to enjoy this, bitch” he hissed between a clenched jaw as he raised the gun.

You slammed your hand down as hard as you could into his windpipe and as he choked and spluttered you retrieved Lee’s knife from your brassiere. You pulled it from its sheath and plunged it deep into his neck, twisting it to ensure it took. With your free hand you smacked the gun from his grasp as he moved his fingers to the knife handle. His eyes went wide as he fell forward, and you used the opportunity to roll away from underneath him as he hit the living room carpet, then pulled the gun away and unloaded it. He watched you in disbelief as he bled, stunned at what had just unfolded. You’d seen that look on men before.

“Yeah. Not what you expected, huh?” you taunted.

Panting and rubbing your belly you wiped the sweat from your brow as you took a second to recover. Baby kicked back in silent reciprocation. You noticed the blood on your hands and ruined dress. Just then, the man began to groan. He slowly moved himself up to his knees and began to crawl slowly towards the door.

You were overcome with rage as you sat up and sped towards him. Before you knew it you had pulled the knife from his neck, causing him to collapse as the blood poured.

“Motherfucker…coming into MY HOME. Hurting MY BABY. MY HUSBAND…” you screamed, punctuating your words with vicious strikes into his back.

He groaned and wheezed and begged as you continued to stab him, your anger a red cloud whipping you into a frenzy you couldn’t control. All your pent-up rage about what they’d tried to do, how they’d threatened you and baby, and Lee. Nearly losing Lee. And every bit of anger you had held onto – the injustice of the world, the unfair start you’d had in it, everything you’d either lost or never had as your own in the first place. How hard it was to slip into the shoes of a normal person because you’d never truly had the opportunity to try. Honeybee wasn’t dead after all, she was right here, and she would never fully leave.

Finally, exhausted, you dropped the knife and slid onto your back, panting. You cringed at the sight of the living room, crimson and stained with death, worlds away from the classically curated yet cosy space it was just a few minutes before. You panted, and just laid there.

Lee pulled the cruiser into the driveway so fast he knocked the mailbox over, crumpling it beneath his front tyre. Neighbours peeked through the curtains in horror as the Sheriff jumped from his car and high-tailed it across his front yard, shouting his wife’s name. He kicked through the front door, his voice booming with both anger and panic.

“Lee?” you called out from the living room, snapped out of your haze.

“Honey…” he yelled as he soared towards you. His eyes bulged at the sight of Leroy’s back torn to ribbons.

You reached for him, and he grabbed you and pulled you close, holding you so tight it almost hurt. You gasped at his black eye and the bruises on his face as you traced them carefully with your finger.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” he repeated in your ear like a prayer as he kissed your temple and kissed your face and tenderly held you.

“Are you alright? Is baby alright?” he asked desperately.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay. We’re okay” you cooed against his forehead as you kissed him back.

You told him it was okay, and that you’d taken care of it. You told him he needed to stop the shady shit and he promised he would, and he swore on the baby’s life between peppering desperate kisses all over your face.

He took a second to go and tell the peering neighbours it was okay, to stay outside and asked them to call the station as his wife had been the victim of a home invasion. Then he came back and pulled you away from Leroy and into the kitchen where he kissed you long and he kissed you hard, feeling every inch of your body as if he couldn’t believe you were here.

“I’ve missed you Lee” you finally said.

“I’ve missed you too, Honey” he sighed. “I know I’ve been distant…I guess I’m scared”.

“I’m scared too, Lee” you sniffed. “I know I haven’t exactly been present either…this is a lot for me too. But don’t shut me out, okay? We need to do this together”.

He nodded.

“I’m gonna be better…I promise”.

He held a tentative hand out to your stomach, moving it slowly towards you. You took it and gently placed it on your belly. He gasped as his fingers made contact with the swell.

“Our little baby…in there” he smiled.

You smiled back. “Sure is”.

As if on cue, the baby kicked back against his hand, causing Lee to chuckle in disbelief. His eyes brimmed with tears as your heart sang, this was what you wanted. Finally.

“Strong little thing…just like mama” he laughed.

You grinned back. “And daddy”.

His expression darkened. “I’m sorry…you had to do that. Like this. And alone. It must’ve brought back some tough memories…”

You sighed. “It’s okay. They were bad guys. They were going to hurt me and baby. They’d hurt you. I did what I had to do. I know I said I’d never do it again…but I had to”.

He nodded again, his fingers stroking at the blood soaked into your dress. “I’ll fix it for ya Honey. Alright? Home invasion. Pregnant woman. Leroy and Bobo were known to be involved in organised crime, they put a hit out on the Sheriff’s wife. It’s open and shut. Don’t worry about none of it. I’ll clean it up good and you shouldn’t even need to go to court”.

He pondered for a second. “Gonna be tricky to explain the multiple stab wounds in the back though...”

“Pregnancy hormones” you giggled.

Lee rolled his eyes and laughed with you. “I told them they’d die in this house…They just didn’t expect it would be because of you”.

“Yeah…that was unlucky for them” you snorted.

You both just stood there for a little while, both grateful to have the privilege of being together in this moment in time.

“I’m sorry Lee…another mess of mine for you to clean up…”

“Oh Hell, I like cleaning up your messes. Keeps me busy, outta trouble…” he smiled.

He tenderly held your chin between his fingers and looked into your eyes.

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you” he said gravely, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’”t.

“I know…but I coulda”.

“Lee…” you said softly. “It’s gonna take more than two thugs with guns to get rid of me, you know that…You’re stuck with me.”

You smiled at your joke, trying to lighten the mood, but he just looked sullen.

“Sometimes I worry…that I’ve put a bird in a cage, here” he told you, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “Maybe you’re stuck with me”.

“No…no. You saved me, Lee” you whispered. “I’m not a prisoner here. I’m your wife”.

He smiled. And you smiled. And you knew it would all be okay, now. You both found your way back to each other once more. You weren’t a caged bird at all, you were free. Truly free for the first time in your life.

“I love you, Honeybee”.

“I love you too, Sheriff Bodecker”.

THE END

#lee bodecker x reader #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader #im still here fic

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bhaalschosenone · 1 year ago

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Jiwoon thinks theres a lot of things one could be insecure about. Really, in his earlier Idol days, his bandmates whined day in and out about dry hair, weirdly done makeup and most important... their bodies.

Jiwoon is a lot of things, but he doesn't judge.

Okay, he definetly judges. A lot. But not you. Mostly because... there just isn't much to judge you for.

Obviously, you would disagree. "My weight!" this, "My looks!" that, when to him- you're the most beautiful human in the world.

Which.. given, his world isn't as big as it once was - Entity and all - but that doesn't matter.

He himself couldn't believe how weak he's gotten.

It all startet when he found Ghost Face's camera laying around with his owner no where to be seen. Jiwoons lips twitched, Danny must've visited his little "He's not my boyfriend, dipshit"- Frank. They made a cute pair, if one could consider constantly bitching at each other cute.

Nosy as he was, he picked up the camera, filled with Dannys gruesome selfies and disgusting- wait a minute.

A new face. A pretty face. A... really bloody face.

A new survivor?

Jiwoon didn't like the way Danny executed the survivors. It was so.. rushed, he didn't take his time, he didn't even let them scream. Most of the photos were pasable, some he could even call aesthetic but that new face.. your face.. It would stick with him. He denied it but.. he wanted to see you. To face you in trial. He wanted to hear your voice. Your pain. And he wanted to cause it.

As so many things in Jiwoons life, this too turned out to be harder than he thought.

Because when he finally, finally faced you in a trial - that ugly and sandy Coldwind farm of all places - he couldn't bring himself to kill you. Hurting you, even. Somehow all his knives missed their mark - and he never missed. Or.. so he thought.

You were getting on his nerves, sure you were pretty, but how fucking dare you make such a FOOL out of him?! Don't you know who he is?! Everyone here knows!

So.. why won't you stop running? You didn't know him yet! Sure your little friends would have told you about him but those maggots couldn't possibly tell you EXACTLY how great he was.

Luckily, he found the Hatch before you and closed it. And just as he turned around-

There you were. In all your dirty, bloodied and scared beauty. He couldn't hide the cocky smile started to lift the corner of his lips.

So you came to him after all. Of course you did, how couldn't you?

"You're a slippery one, aren-", but he didn't get to finish. A small, silver - thing? - flew right in front of him and exploded into a bright ball of light.

Did you just fucking blind him and take off?

Seconds later, he heard the gate doors' siren and he knew you'd escape. Never in a billion years would he steep so low and try to run after you. Pft, he wasn't desperate.

So he leaned against a fence and waited until the Entity took him back again. Your audacity infuriated him. "Didn't even fucking let me finish... little brat..", he muttered and threw a knife into the air.

He would get you. If not today, then tomorrow. And if you didn't stop for him on your own, he would make you.

You'd be on your knees for him soon enough - just like everyone else.

This screams pt.2, doesn't it?

#trickster dbd #trickster #the trickster #dbd #dead by daylight #the trickster x reader #the trickster dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #dbd x reader #ghostie #ghostface

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androgynousblackbox · 3 months ago

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10 Things I Hate About You. [Appleradio, Radioapple]

Number 1: You never think before you act

Alastor never thought much about his own death. Unlike his devoted mother, he didn't had any faith to give him hope that there was a fluffy bright resting place for his soul, even if he discounted everything he did after he buried her. In the best case escenario, he just ceased to be, just like he imagined it happened to all the people whose lives ended under his knife. The lights behind their eyes just turned off and they stopped caring about what happened to their bodies, about who consumed it, because there was no one else to care. If the pastor his mother dragged him to hear when he was younger was right in any way about the afterlife, then so be it. At least some form of justice existed in the universe.

Turns out, though, that dying was the continuation of a new existence. Instead of fire and brimstone polluting his senses at all times, there was a constant warm weather and contaminated air that didn't made it impossible to breath. There were still rude people and people who clearly deserved a worst fate. Streets to walk by in his way to the next victim. Their screams were just the same as they were when they were alive. There was houses with neighbors that didn't want any trouble, or wanted them and therefore nobody helped them out when someone stabbed them repeatedly on the sidewalk. The golden rule of don't bother me and I won't bother you was the usual ettiquete.

For a while there, he thought this wasn't hell exactly. This was just the garbage disposal for all souls everywhere, that people assumed it was hell because everyone was awful, and maybe some decent people could still be there. But after three weeks of searching and asking subtly for the name of one woman, he had to assume that she wasn't there.

His father, in the other hand, was absurdly easy to find. He was just as big as he was in life and his laugh was just as strong like a punch to the chest of whoever heard it. As different as he looked on his new sinner form, Alastor still recognized him easy enough. A heart attack was what did him in, according to the doctor, but Alastor was never truly sure. There would have to be a heart there to be attacked in the first place.

Unofortunately, he doesn't quite remember what he did. He remembers a surge of rage like no other before. Rage at how that man had the audacity of still laughing after what he made them go through. Rage at the way he looked at the world like he deserved to have an space on it, like he just assumed he had it. Rage at the way he asked who he was when Alastor stood in front of him, before slamming the nearest bottle against his face. Something inside of him unlocked like a muscle he didn't know he had before and the static was stronger than ever before.

But then screams started to join his own personal music, screams that he never heard in life because that man only knew to bark orders and insults and he was too small to inspire him such fear. Now things were different. Now he could finally put him in other's shoes, smaller, tinier, defenseless, in front of his own overwhelming rage. The taste of his first consumeed soul was bitter and heavy in his tongue, but it went down so easily. The more he trashed and fight it, the more giddy he became.

When he came back to himself, the bar he went to was empty. He could lift his hand and synthonized the right frequency to hear all the patrons and staff. Hear him finally suffering like he deserved. Like so many other people deserved.

To say that he went off in a little bit of a binge was an understatement. A big part of it was simply the novelty of managing to do what he pleased, whenever it pleased him, and nobody minding it too much. Police officers reached that place everyday, but they had no such jobs anymore once they were there. Violence was the norm and it was all about who had the power to submit others. To kill or to be killed was also the norm of Earth. In Hell, however, they just stopped pretending like it wasn't.

He made friends. He found himself old friends. He learned about what deals were, what they actually meant for him, and the silver tongue he inherited from his mother was especially useful for that. If he couldn't make a deal, he consumed them all the same. Some souls tasted better than others, but they were all the same, weighted down by feelings of guilt or shame that he had no use for. Their screams was all that mattered to him. They were never going to be as satisfactory as the scream of that first soul, of that man, but they were pleasant to his ears all the same.

By the time he learned that apparently Overlords were a thing, he was already aiming for more rare souls, more exquisite ones. Those that should be able to defend themselves better, to give the all buffet a little bit of excitement and shake things up. It was only fun if he got to win, though, and he always made sure to win by choosing wisely his next step. Sometimes it took him some more time, use of some more conning, some manipulation here and there. But in the end he always got what he wanted.

As fun as it was, there was one black spot on his enjoyment that he did not appreciate having there. He could consume an entire block of souls if he so chose so, shake all the hands of those souls and keep growing his army of shadow minions through his power, and still would never be enough to move above the state of a simple Overlord. Above him still were, and would always be, beings that were far older and far more powerful that he could even imagine.

It didn't mattered if those beings generally kept to themselves to their own rings and their own issues. It didn't mattered that their ruling, if it could even be called that, was to let all the souls basically do as they pleased without any restriction. It didn't mattered that they didn't even had a face he could properly despise. Their mere existence was already annoying. Who is to say that someday they didn't get bored too and decided to start taking it out on the lower classes? They had all that power. It was inconceivable they just didn't use it. What was the point of having it then?

So he took all he could and he ate and worked as hard as possible. He already knew what was to be defenseless and vulnerable in front of a tyrant. He was never going to let himself be on that position again as far he had any say on it. No matter over how many souls he had to walk on to reach a point in which he didn't had to keeo fighting anymore.

That soul he encountered still smelled to fresh earth and cleaner air. A meek smaller sinner that understood rather quickly where he was and therefore was desperate for any friendly voice. The easiest kind of prey anyone could wish for. Candy in the hands of a toddler could have represented of a struggle. If Alastor haven't been the one to take that opportunity, no doubt about it, someone else was going to do it. Souls such as that one were not created to last long in Hell. If anything, Alastor did him a favor by devouring him as he did. At least he bothered to keep the mask of a friend until the very end, something that many others would not do. If you are going to join the scream of the damned, at the very least you would want a pleasant entry.

That was all he was thinking about when he finished with his meal. By the moment he turned on the street, ready to go home and rest for the night before having another day terroryzing sinners, he soon realized that something wasn't right at all. For one, he wasn't on any place at all that he could recognize. The transportation had been as seemless and effective that it only took one blink of an eye.

He was in a living room, that was obvious enough. A large couch, a small table, decorations like ducks and carousel horses here and there. But there was a lot of empty space and only he at the middle of it, standing on top of a red and golden carpet, without any immediate idea as to why.

His ears perked up at the sound of some shuffling behind him. As he turned around, he saw a tiny demon with a unnaturally pale face walking in. If the fluffy pink robe and duckie slippers wasn't a clear indication this man was supposed to be unassuming, then the holding an entire ice cream bucket against his chest and stop with a spoon in his mouth screamed that in bold letters. Clearly, if that man was expecting any visitors, he had a different definition than Alastor in how to receive them.

The moment they both landed their eyes on each other, Alastor saw a golden light on the black hand of the demon holding his spoon and he stared at it as it completely its passing around one finger. It took a second for Alastor to realize the same thing was happening to him and that explained the slight tingling there. A mere second later, all there was left was a golden ring that looked as solid as any other piece of metal could be. But somehow, it didn't feel like any normal ring.

"Oh" came out from the demon in front, bringing his attention back. The butcket of ice cream slipped away from his grasp and rolled away, but the demon didn't paid any mind to it. All his focus was concentrated in looking at that ring, a expression of horror like it was his actual intestines instead. "Uh…" the demon finally lifted his eyes back at him. First the ring on Alastor, then his face. Then repeat until he managed to close his mouth, swallow and speak again. "Hey. Um. By any chance, how many… souls have you taken? Buddy?"

Alastor squinted his eyes, all his senses in high alert. Something was clearly wrong there and it had to be with those matching rings. He tried to pull his own out without making it too evident, with his thumb under his hand, but there didn't seem to be any point of separation between the metal and his own skin to grab onto. The other demon was not even attempting to do the same, as if he knew already it was useless.

"A few" responded Alastor at last, staring him. He never kept score for such a thing, that would have felt vulgar and beneat him. His own power should a testament enough to the amount being more than considerable. And why that would matter at all in that situation? "I couldn't say. Why?"

"Ah, I see. W-well, just let me have a check then, just to make sure."

The tiny demon swallowed up and lifted his hand in front of him. A soft glow of red magic surrounded it. Alastor tensed up and got himself in position for an attack, but what happened instead was like nothing he had ever experienced before, either alive or after death.

It was like being suddenly naked in a way that had nothing to do with his clothing and therefore even more ennerving than that, because there was no way for him to cover anything. The spell, or whatever it was, lasted maybe a couple of second at max, but Alastor did not need anything else.

Treating it just the same as any other attack, he launched himself forward and grabbed the slim, delicate looking neck up until he could slam the rest of that tiny body against the wall. The red tiny hooves remained hanging above the floor. Without trying to kick him away. Without fighting him at all, actually. The tiny demon was just cringing into his hand like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

"Alright, okay, you are pissed, fair enough" said the tiny demon, having no difficulty to speak at all despite how hard Alastor was squeeing the skin. Was that another spell? Maybe he wasn't actually talking at all and it was all mental messages? "Listen, I am sorry, but I really need you to let me make a call so I can confirm a thing. Would you mind?"

Alastor cracked his neck to a side.

"So you do know what is happening" said, towering over him, which was easy given their size difference. Even though the tiny demon did not looked intimidated at all by it. "Tell me right now what happened or I will enjoy finding out how long I can spread your entrail all over that fancy carpet."

The tiny demon pulled his lips downard and out with a slight frown between his thick eyebrow. It took a second for Alastor to fully understand that this demon, this demented tiny demon, was pouting like his request was merely an annoyance for him. No fear or concern whatsoever despite the position they were in. There was not even the insane joy he had seen in a few sinners who liked to be treated in such a manner.

"That won't be necessary" said the tiny demon with a small sigh. "I have an idea, but I am not entirely sure. If you just let me do that call, we can sort this out."

Alastor didn't know if he was impressed or just profoundly astonished at the utter suicidal stupidity of this demon. As he stared down at him, he send his shadow to go as far away as possible to test the limits. Soon it came to him with the notion that they were not magically restricted. He could get away from there at any moment if he wanted to.

With that certainty in mind, and his own curiosity pressing, he finally opened up his hand to let the demon go. He was, really, so tiny. His blonde head barely reached the height of Alastor's chest.

"Thank you" said the demon, moving under his arm to a phone stuck to the wall.

At first it seemed he was going to keep an eye on him, but as soon his caller answered on the other side he shrinked between his shoulders and turned away from Alastor's gaze. His back turned to him, giving Alastor plenty opportunity to attack him if so he chose.

He didn't, though, if only because he wanted some actual answers.

The call itself didn't last long and sooner than later it was done. The tiny demon hang with a deep exhale. When he turned to see Alastor, standing close right under the entrance to the living room, he cringed again.

"Um, my friend should be here soon enough" The tiny demon cleared his throat and walked over to the long couch. "How about you… take a seat? We… should know what happened soon. I am sorry for the inconvenience" said, looking at the ground.

Alastor did not bother to reply, taking seat on the individual chair there was nearby. He kept his eyes attached to the demon as they waited. At least his whole squirming and looking like he wanted exorcists to take him already was more entertaining than anything else in the room. Oh, for some other people that could have been the definition of awkward, but Alastor was perfectly comfortable in staring down without barely a blink. If that bothered his host, or whoever that man was, it wasn't his problem to deal with.

For long, slowly passing minutes, neither of them said a single word. Silence stretched out with merely the distant tiktok of a clock somewhere to break it off. Sometimes the sound of the friction between the fingers of the other demon as he twindled with his thumbs. Nothing else.

When a portal suddenly opened up nearby, Alastor conjured up his staff and hold it in front of him. He squeezed it tight as a flaming blue head first came out, followed by a thin neck attached to a thick body that quickly rised up. As soon he saw him, Alastor already knew who that was.

Asmodeous. The king of Lust who had the advertisement for all his products around certain districts that Alastor prefered to avoid unless necessary. One of those beings that were a constant reminder that he was, after all, nothing else but a mortal soul. Someone that could smite him on a whim.

Alastor hold onto his breath. That was not at all the kind of friend he was expecting was going to arrive. Worst case, he expected a bunch of other demons coming over for him. He didn't even considered a royal into the equation. From his impossibly long height, the king looked directly to him and then at the other demon. He clicked his tongue, putting a hand on his waist.

"Luci" said, casually, "is that the guy?"

Alastor stared at the tiny demon as he stand up. In a flash he suddenly understood. The actual devil that his devoted mother was taught to hate. The incarnation of evil that doomed humanity with one apple. The sovereighn of all of hell. No wonder that man was never truly intimidated by him. Alastor's strangling must have felt like rubbing of paper napkins, if anything at all.

Unlike Asmodeus, this king had never made an advertisement with his own face. His name was known by everyone, but not what he looked like, the sound of his voice or anything at all. Somehow, looking over at him again, it made sense. Not the part of that being the ruler of everything on that realm necessarily, but that a creature like that could have been an angel before. He had a face like no other Alastor had seen in Hell. If the explanation was that it came from above before falling, then he could believe that.

"Y-yeah, I think so?" Lucifer cleared his throat again, looking up to see at Asmodeus's face. "B-but, um, do you remember the thing with the thing?"

Asmodeus sighed deeply, passing a hand over his face.

"Luci, I thought you nullified that silly thing years ago. Or if you kept it around, you were upping up the account so we would stop bothering you about it. Not that you just let it fester this long."

"I know, I know" Lucifer groaned, rubbing his temple with both hands. "I just forgot, okay?"

Alastor stand up from his chair. He was officially more confused than he had ever been before. If they wanted to kill him for whatever reason, nobody was doing the first move. If this was something else, then he couldn't imaigne what.

"What is happening?" asked. "Why I was brought here?"

The sudden elevation of his voice made Lucifer to flinch and want to hide away in the fluffy collar of his robe.

"You didn't say anything to him?" said Asmoderus to Lucifer, arching an eyebrow. As a wordless uncomfortable shrug was all the answer he got, he sighed deeply and shook his head. "I guess I can explain it myself then."

Asmodeus walked over back to the couch. As he did, his height became smaller and his steps less heavy over the floor. By the time he sat down, one leg cross over the other, he was only slightly taller than Alastor himself.

"Please, have a seat" said, offering the chair he just lifted himself off. "Would you like perhaps something to drink or eat?"

What was with this treatment now? Alastor looked over at Lucifer, but the king of pride just slipped at the other extreme of the couch and covered his face with his hand, refusing to engage with the conversation.

"I am fine" hissed Alastor, glaring at him and then inspecting the other royal. "I just want to know what did I do to be here."

"Oh, nothing, you did nothing. Well… no, actually, you probably did a lot of bad things to end up here. Horrible things. But this wasn't your entire fault. Wait, I am getting ahead of myself and making it more confusing" Asmodeus shook his head again. "I should start from the start. Do you know who we are?"

Alastor nodded, keeping the eye of a hawk in both of them.

"Good, then you know already that we are old. As if, old-old. Not even your oldest silver fox hottie has nothing on us. Because of this, we had a very long life, you following?" Alastor groaned, his ever present smile twitching at the side. "On that very long life, there was a time in which we tried setting up Lucifer with other sinners or demons. To rule Hell with or just have a good time, you know? He is a little shy, but he is a good guy and we hated seeing him all alone. But there was no sparks, or at least nothing that lasted very long, so we kept trying and trying. Until I suppose it came to a point in which it just became too annoying to deal with and Lucifer got wasted. And I mean, wasted with a capital W, man. I have only see it happen a handful of times since we are here and, trust me, it was a blast everytime. He danced with Bee, our gluttnous queen, and made musical number all night about how he didn't need nobody at all because the single life was so much better anyway. At some point during the night, he brought me aside and told me, fuck looking for anyone else, you know? Fuck that. I want to be free and remain free, he said. Unless a certain condition is met. Which condition, you ask? Easy. Whoever got to gather 666 souls at their disposition, that should be the most horrid, disgusting, psychopatic, low…" Asmodeous looked over at Alastor again and cleared his throat. "Anyway, a very particular kind of person that Luci felt at the time that would be his perfect match. He wouldn't stop insisting on it until I had wrote it down and make it official. Again, he was wasted. And like I said, I thought he had nullified it years ago or changed to make it even more difficult with more and more mortal souls coming to this realm that could get to that number. But apparently not" said, bobbing his head as he looked over at Lucifer, making his mouth into a disapproving line. "We tried to respect that nonsense, because that is what you do when your friend has been burned enough times. But that meant that sooner or later, someone was going to reach those numbers. I guess that means congratulations to you, sinner, because you are the first one of all of humanity to get that many souls."

Alastor blinked at him as if he had spoken in gibberish. He slowly moved over at Lucifer, who was also looking back at him between the fingers of his hands.

"I… forgot" said slowly, like it pained him to say such words. "I am so, so sorry."

Alastor turned back to Asmodeus.

"Are we sure there isn't a mistake?" asked, still trying to understand. "I wasn't counting, but I never thought I had that many."

"Mmm, let me guess" Asmodeus said, pointing at him with a finger. "By any chance were you also devouring other sinners who also had souls under their control? How are those called now? Otherlords?" asked to Lucifer, but the king of Hell just shrugged.

"Overlords" Alastor took a deep breath, suddenly reminded of the bridge between mortal souls and royalty again. "Yes, I did."

"Then that explains it" said Asmodeus, snapping his fingers. "All those souls they had came to become yours. You were duplicating or even triplicating your number with one single meal and you didn't even know it. Well, even if you did, it's not like you would have known what was going to happen once reached a certain number. This was always just one of those things you would only know if you were there, you know? Since someone never advertised it because, apparently, they forgot all about it the next day."

Lucifer groaned and rubbed his face, standing up.

"Listen, it doesn't matter" said. For the first time, Alastor saw a golden color extending over the porcelain skin that could only be the king's version of a blush. "This was all a very stupid mistake I did a long time ago. I just wanted Ozzie to confirm that it happened and he did, so now that we are all in the same page we can talk about just undoing it all. Once I do that, the condition will be null too because it was already fulfilled and we can pretend none of this happened" Lucifer inhaled, finally lifting his eyes to meet Alastor's. "I am very sorry that you were brought here. I will just get the papers, sign them and both our rings will dissapear instantly. You will be able to just go back to whatever evil things you were doing before any of this."

"Wait, wait, hold on" Asmodeus straighten up in the couch, reaching a hand to pat gently the shoulder of Lucifer. "Maybe there is no need to go that far yet."

"Ozzie" Lucifer stared at him like he alreadyd didn't like what was about to come out of his mouth.

"I mean!" Asmodeus made a wide gesture towards Alastor, "Of all the kinds of demons you could get in Hell, this guy is not bad looking at all! You could have done a lot worse. I am just saying, he is already here anyway, you already put a ring on it, so why not give it a go? Worst case escenario, it doesn't work, you get a null and then we forget all about this."

"You are insane" said Lucifer, turning towards him. "How do you figure that any of this is okay?"

"Oh, I am sorry, but if we are going to start pointing fingers, you are not coming on top, Luci. I am just trying to make a suggestion here. See a positive side."

Seeing as Lucifer was opening his mouth to protest, Alastor stomped his cane in the floor and spoke first.

"That is a great idea, your Majesty!" said, earning himself the attention of both royals. Asmodeus nodded, as if encouraging him further, while Lucifer looked like he couldn't believe he had been looked up with two lunatics. But Alastor finally had a clear idea of what he could do in this situation and wasn't going to just let it go. How many sinners could ever say that they were on his same position, literally brushing next with the throne of Hell itself? If he played his cards right, he could get all the control he ever wanted and nobody would ever be above him.

"I have to admit, I was also facing a bit of bad luck on the dating apartment, so this opportunity actually comes at the perfect time for me" continued, taking a step closer to Lucifer, only for the devil itself take it back until his feet hit the couch behind him. Alastor straightened up again, keeping up his smile friendly. He didn't mention that his lack of dating was entirely a choice he made, one he never regretted or felt the need to change in all his years of living. "I am terribly sorry about the rude way in which I treated you before, your Majesty. I had no idea who I waas dealing with. I thought I was defending myself from a possible attacker, and surely I don't have to say to a man of your vast experience how necessary preucation can become for a soul down here. But if it's instead for the sake of exploring a new union, well, then that is a different story altogehter. One I don't mind to find out how it continues, if you are willing to give me a chance" Alastor looked at those black hands and thought maybe holding them. The image immediately brought another of the the devil using them to pierce through his chest and destroy his heart between his fingers like it was nothing but a grape, soft and squishy. A shiver ran through him at the violent prospect, at the very real danger he was standing in front of such a being, no matter how absurdly small he was. Oh, it had been a long while since he ever had a reason to be concerned about someone's strenght. Even Hell itself could become boring if there was no challenge. "I can say for my side, sir, that I do not find you bad looking at all either."

"Oh, swoon" said Lucifer, not impressed in the slightest.

Asmodeus clapped his hands together, standing up.

"Then it's decided then!" Asmodeus went to the side of Lucifer and rubbed his shoulder, bringing him closer. "You two will keep up this thing rolling and see where that take us! Congratulations on your new husband, Lulu!" The king of Lust brought Lucifer to his wide chest for a hug, the face of the first fallen almost dissapearing between the thick arms of the sin.

Alastor stood still and tilted his head, in part relieved that he wasn't expected to participate in. Mostly still in shock that between the two of them, the figure with the duckie slippers was the most powerful one. Just how more absurd this whole issue could be?

"You do realize I didn't say I was okay with this, right?!" protested Lucifer, almost buried on the blue chest fluff.

"But you totally are, Lulu, I know you. Now don't whine in front of…" Asmodeus made a gesture towards Alastor and he was actually surprised to realize that, during all of this, he didn't even presented himself.

So many other things have gone and go through his head to make that a priority.

"Alastor Abaddon, sir!" said, regaining his composure instantly. "The Radio Demon, at your service to make your acquantance. A pleasure to be meeting you, quite the pleasure."

Asmodeus snorted, covering his mouth, as Lucifer's pressed together into a uncomfortable line.

"Oh, sweetie, I hope you weren't too attached to that last name you had" said Asmodeus with a playful smirk. "While this thing with Luci last, you will be a Morningstar from now on."

"It's o-okay, we can change it" said Lucifer, blushing even more as he turned his head to the other side.

"I don't mind" Alastor shrugged with a dismissing handwave. That was just a last name he made up to detach himself from the name of his father once the mand had died. He was no more endeared to it as he was for some old shoes that had outlived their usefulness, especially when he had some newer and shinier ones that could fit him just as well. "I assume anyway that this whole new development is to be kept underwraps and between us, am I wrong? Since the king never had an inclination to show himself to the public, not that I know of at least, then I can't see this new development being all that different."

"Uh, yeah, actually" said Lucifer once Asmodeus put him back on the floor, more relaxed because he didn't have to make that request himself. "A-at least for now, you know."

"Of course, your Majesty" Alastor had no issue with that. Just like he had no issue to be patient if he knew that the rewards was worth it. "I value a private life just as much as you do. I won't say a word about our new arrengement until we are both ready for that."

"Aww, but it would have been fun, though" sighed Asmodeus, blowing up over his upper lip. "All the drama, the gossip. Every news media in all of Hell would eat that up for months. We don't even have to say how it happened. Just say hey, guess what cute king got himself a hottie now."

"Ozzie" Lucifer chuckled with a half assed frown. "Not a word, please."

"Whatever you say, Luci" Asmodeus shrugged. "What about Bee and the others? Are you going to tell them?"

Lucifer sighed. He threw a look to Alastor and then at Asmodeus, scratching the back of his neck.

"I guess I will. Eventually. For now, though…"

"I got it, I got it. Keep my pretty mouth shut" Asmodeus chuckled and offered his hand to Alastor. "For now, then, welcome to the family, Alastor."

Alastor looked at that giant hands and then at the giant it was attached to. A giant that who even knows did with those hands in a daily basis while advertising all kinds of sexual toys and entertainment. He kept his smile neutral as he offered the tip of his cane.

"Alright, whatever makes you comfortable" Asmodeus snorted, but did shook it in the end. If he noticed when Alastor cleaned his cane with his hankerchief later, he didn't take offense as he talked to Lucifer again. "I will leave the two of you alone then. Give me a call for anything you want, Luci. It was nice meeting you, Alastor!"

In a moment, another diamond portal opened up and Asmodeus walked to the other side with a wave. Once his magic was gone, it was only the two of them again. Alastor prepared himself to speak when Lucifer cleared his throat first.

"I probably should change" said with a little chuckle, snapping his finger. His pink robe and duckie slippers changed into a stripped vest, buttoned up shirt as white as his pants and black boots up to the knee. If that was his usual attire, it was an improvement over what he had before, but still didn't scream king in Alastor's eyes. "That is much better. Uhm, hey, since you are going to be staying here, you should get your own room. Unless you want to…?"

"My own room sounds fine" said Alastor before he could finish that sentence.

Lucifer nodded, his shoulder relaxing as if that was also the option he prefered. The king made a gesture for him to follow him to the hallway. As Alastor went behind him, he also saw that the bucket of ice cream had dissapeared and there were no traces of it in the carpet either.

"I have like, a bunch of unused rooms" was explaining the king, casually going through a portal he opened up with merely a flick of the wrist. When they both traspassed, Alastor saw a long hallway with doors at both sides. Despite his lively talking, Alastor noticed that Lucifer was still avoiding making direct eye contact with him. "Pick whichever you want and then you can decorate it however you like. I guess the only actual rule would be, maybe don't invite people over? To not explain the whole living in the palace now thing. Don't do parties or stuff like that either."

"I wasn't planning to do either, but it's good to know. Something else?"

"Mmm… maybe just don't blow up stuff, I guess?" Lucifer chuckled, shrugging. "I don't know, I can repair almost anything in a second so it's not a huge deal either."

"I was more thinking about the schedule in this place."

"Oh" Lucifer blinked, as if the thought haven't even crossed his mind. "I guess, just breakfast, lunch and dinner at the usual hours? But you don't have to come to those if you want to get out or have something else going on. Just because of… this" Lucifer sighed, lifting his hand with the wedding band, "I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything or change your whole life. It's not like you were the one who set this up" Lucifer frowned. "Technically speaking, you don't really need to live here, now that I think about it."

"Oh, but if it's no issue for your Majesty" added Alastor before that thought could go any further, "then I would like to try cohabitation. I don't think it's a stretch to say that it would be far more convenient for the both of us if we really want to make this work. It would also just be my pleasure to accompany your Majesty during the meal times. It's no trouble for me at all."

Lucifer looked up to him for a moment and then looked away.

"Well, if you say so" sighed. "Again, if you have something else going on, it's fine. You can come and go whenever you want. I will see that you have your own key and security recognizes you as well. If you need something specific, I can get for you as long it can be bought. And isn't like a human pet or something, because that is just weird."

"Understood, sir" Alastor chuckled. "Don't worry, I can get those on my own anyway."

"Oh, goodie" Lucifer turned towards him, crossing his arms. Alastor got the impression that he wanted to say something else than what ended up coming out of his mouth. "I guess that is all. Anything you think we should discuss?"

"Can I see the rest of the palace?"

"Oh, sure. You can see anything, just not my office or my room. I keep a especial order on those."

Alastor nodded, translating that as they were both a mess it was best not to touch. Even if they weren't, he wasn't going to commit the dumb mistake of just invading the privacy of the king immediately after knowing him and risk being turned into decorations for the walls.

"Other than that, I think you are good" said Lucifer and it wasn't a smile what passed on his face, but it was pretty close. "I… I guess I should probably let you settle in then. My room is on the hallway at the right so, you know, if you need something come knocking. Oh, and call any of the servants if you want to eat."

"I will keep it in mind, your Majesty" Alastor smiled what he hoped was a charming gesture, but Lucifer had already turned over his heel to walk the rest of the way into a new portal.

"Great! I guess that is all then! See you tomorrow!" said the king without looking at him, dissapearing from his sight.

Alastor ended up chosing the room at the very end of the hallways, where he could conceivable could still see the king walking out. It was big and luxurious, just like he would expect from a guest room in the palace, but far too impersonal for his taste. Only once he had all his minions setting it up exactly to his taste, Alastor sat down on his new bed and bounced off of it. Slowly, a realization started to creep in at the side of his neck until crawling inside of his ear and nesting at the very center of his brain.

Make himself into the most powerful being of all hell by marrying the king was a good plan, but one for which he had no details to count on. This was, after all, a completely new situation for him.

All his experience dealing consisted in pretending to be a friend or a helper, someone that could provide a essential that a poor soul needed, but he wasn't entirely sure how could that apply with a king. What could he give to one that he couldn't obtain in his own?

Company?

Would that be enough to sustain a whole marriage? Enough for the man to concede him all the power he could want? He had no idea.

#radioapple #appleradio #duckiedeer #hazbin hotel au #lucifer x alastor #arranged marriage au

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affectionatenouns · 2 months ago

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I'm no contact with my dad and low contact with my mom. There is zero chance of having a mature conversation with either of them, let alone getting a straight answer to any serious questions. But sometimes when I'm alone late at night I do sit and wonder: do they resent me for simply being trans? for having the audacity to transition, to change my name, to marry my husband, to live happily and freely? Do they ever, even accidentally, catch themselves thinking of me as their daughter, as a woman at all, even some lesser kind of woman? Do they ever slip up and say it out loud? Do they ever wonder where they "went wrong" with me that I ended up this way? Do they wonder where they actually went wrong that led to this being our relationship? Are they even capable of understanding the pain they put me through before I decided enough was enough? Given the last argument my father and husband had, I don't think they are.

For all their posturing as allies, all the flags and t shirts they have, they never once bothered to try talking to me about it. The most I ever got was my mom asking if I was going to be single since my husband identifies as a gay man. And they both asked about "the surgery". I was neither mature nor confident enough to tell them back then that that's not a question they need an answer to, nor one they should feel entitled to ask. They never tried to understand me. Just a lot of "well it's a big adjustment, so be forgiving with us" which turned into "but you were [deadname] for 23 years" into "I can't feel like I'm waking on eggshells around my own son".

Really, no one has tried to understand me except my husband. No one, not my brother, nor any of my friends, has come to me and asked me about Me. I've extended the offer multiple times, including that I'm more than okay with them asking uncomfortable questions. No one has taken me up on it. On the one hand, I suppose I should be grateful that everyone else accepts me on the face of it. On the other, I can't help but wonder if they even care. I know my parents don't, if they did, they'd have made the effort 5 years ago. My friends, though, they've done everything right. A couple accidental misgenderings early on in my transition, always corrected quickly. I changed my name on them twice, they never messed that up. But there's always the gnawing feeling at the back of my mind and deep in my chest that they don't care because they never asked anything.

I know the answers to all the questions I would ever want to ask my parents, and I really only entertain the fantasy of asking them to use them as a knife to twist in them before walking away forever. It's the only hint of catharsis I'll ever really get with them I think.

#nounsposts #trans #transgender #transfem #vent post #trans vent #vent #ramblings

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mamirhodessxox · 11 months ago

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I hate you more (Part 5)

Mafia!Cody Rhodes x Fem OC!Mafia Reader

(Sasha Francesca Ricci)

Enemies to lovers trope

Credits to @alyyaanna for helping me come up w the storyline because I had like 3 different mental breakdowns trying to figure out what to do

Storyline: Sasha was born into a world of darkness and fear, Despite the harsh circumstances she was out in she managed to drag herself into finding love at a young age especially when she least expected it but unfortunately not all love stories are fairytales, Sasha resented the man who once brought her love in her life just to leave and break her heart while having the audacity to invade her life many years once again and give her conflict of love and war on how she was to overcome the feelings she feared while trying to focus on her job with him being so close and invasive to her.

Contents: Smut in future chapters, Knife Play, Choking kink, Degradation kink, Praising Kink, Alcohol, Smoking, Violence, Mentions of m1rder, drug dealing, Fluff, Angst.

🏷️ list: @alyyaanna @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert @alicerosejensen @bunnybot55 @agent-dessis-posts @adollonyourshelf @mini-rhodes @kabloswrld @southerngirl41 @harmshake @femdisa

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) likes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

“Do it.” Cody’s voice echoed throughout the parking garage as he held her hand against the pistol that was pressed against his head. Sasha’s breath was shaking which made him scoff shoving the gun away from him “I knew you wouldn’t do it. Not me at-least, maybe for someone else but you still don’t have the guts to kill me because you have a weak spot for me don’t you?”

Sasha sneered at him and turned away from him suddenly while kicking her heel into the ground “One day I’ll do it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day I won’t have that weak spot anymore & I’ll finally do it.” “Oh? And how’s that plan working out for you?” Cody snickered while making her turn around to face him “Answer me.” He spoke to her sternly as she raised a brow before looking away and clenching her jaw & suddenly smacking him across the face & shoving him against his own car “Your not the one who’s going to give me ANY kind of fucking demands. I don’t owe anybody any sort of explanation and I certainly don’t owe YOU one. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are but you are NOT going to talk to me like that.” He held his jaw for a moment before lightly laughing.

“With my name cut into your fucking thighs which you got off to by, I think you do owe me an explanation, I don’t know if all this fucking bullshit with you & Roman has got to your head but allow me to give you a reminder, I own you Sasha. You own me, but most of all, I fucking own you, I cut my name into your fucking thighs & stomach, You are MINE. Not Romans, Is that clear enough for you?” He scolded before she glared crossing her arms “You know what’s interested about that entire little speech of yours Cody? You are such a big fucking yapper about how You own me & I own you but you’re still busy sticking your dick in some bitches used up fucking pussy to keep yourself entertained. If I own you as much as you own me, you’d think to cut off Athena, since apparently I can’t sleep around with Roman- oh wait! That doesn’t matter anyway because I don’t have to fucking see you for as long as I want!”

Cody glared at her pettiness & shook his head “You truly are a pain in my fucking ass you know that? Your a stuck up spoiled little brat & I’m fucking tired of it. Jealousy doesn’t look good on you Sasha.” She frowned at his words “Then don’t make me jealous Cody. Don’t feed into my feelings when you know I am still disgustingly in love with you to the point where it drives me up a fucking wall.” Cody’s expression softened as soon as he saw her walls go down even by a little bit & carefully approached her as she started tearing up & wrapped his arms around her figure.

The pair stood in silence for a while until Sasha collected herself & huffed against his shoulder “I’m sorry I threatened to shoot you in the head..” he smiled and pressed a gentle kiss against her temple “It’s fine gorgeous, just make sure you actually do it next time.” She let out a breathy laugh “I hate you.” He grinned against her hair “I hate you more.” Sasha eventually pulled away & pushed away her hair while she admired his face for a moment before she turned around realizing she had no way home as Roman had took the car. “I’ll take you there, alright?” She looked over and hesitantly nodded her head before she gets in the car after he did. The drive was silent & tense, they shared a few glances every now and then but still ultimately felt awkward.

Once they had arrived to Romans manor & she got out Cody rolled down the window “Sasha don’t do this, come back to u-“ she shook her head & went over to the car leaning against the window before slipping her head through it “Trust me on this one alright? Tell them I’m safe & be patient.” She reassured the black haired man while he smiled softly & pulled her into a deep kiss while his hand rested on the side of her face she pulled away & walked away from Cody & his car before entering the house where Roman sighed “Where’s my money?” She rolled her eyes “Good to see you too. He didn’t want to go through the sale anymore” Roman glared & grabbed her by the throat pinning her against the wall “I don’t appreciate my sales being melded with. Don’t do it again.” Sasha raised an eyebrow & quickly kicked him in the crotch & shoved him into the marble flooring “If you ever put your hands on me like that ever again I will cut your fucking dick off.” She warned before walking off.

For the remainder of the day Roman had avoided Sasha like the plague but once nightfalls Sasha snuck into his office & started rummaging around eventually finding filed involving her father but what left her even more surprised was one of the files belonging to Athena…Sasha hummed & quietly walked out of the office with these documents.

“Cody I’m not playing these games WHY is she with him?!” Barbra shouted as she paced around her office as the absence of Sasha was slowly killing her “I can’t tell you that because I don’t know, all I know is she has some sort of plan on her own against him & wants us to be patient and trust the process.” Randy sighed running his hands down his jaw “That’s Sasha alright. Always going up and beyond for everything seeking her teeth in for more when she feels like it.” Cody nodded his head but soon started hearing foot steps approaching the office expecting it to be a tired Marianna asking for Randy to come back to beck but he was quite wrong.

Sasha made her way into the office holding her side as she had been nearly stabbed while her other hands held the many documents involving Athena & Her own father Barbra gasped rushing to her daughters aid but Sasha protested “No. I’m fine. I just wanted to give you these as 3 of them involve Athena & her being associated with Roman even today. She’s one of his spies.” She explained making Randy pick up the filed and look through them “The rest involves dad & enough evidence to get him in jail.” Cody stared at her with a shocked expression before Barbra nodded turning to Cody “Get Athena & do what you need to do. Understood?”

He nodded his head about to leave the office but Sasha beat him go it and started walking up the stairs still holding her side before bursting into Athena’s room which immediately woke her up in shock “Get up.” Sasha said sternly while snatching the blankets iff the bed “wha- why whats going on?” Sasha looked over at Cody and back at Athena “I said get the fuck up” Sasha glared before snatching Athena off the bed and dragged her by the hair before shoving her down the hall & stairs “Sas-“ Cody tried speaking but she held up a hand “Stop talking.” She warned before kicking Athena into Barbra’s little office “What the hell is going on right no-“ Randy stood up holding the documents Sasha gave them “I don’t know Athena, you tell us.”

Cody stood by the door & grabbing Sasha gently “C’mon let them figure it out.” She turned in confusion but he shook his head “You need to be disinfected anyways let’s go.” He spoke and took her into the kitchen & sat her on the counter before finding rubbing alcohol & lifted her shirt looking at the multiple slashes that laid against her skin “What’s all this about?” He questioned while she shrugged “wasn’t quiet enough while sneaking out of his office” she replied blandly while he lowered his eyes back on her body & placed bandages over them since they weren’t bad enough to get stitches. “Why don’t you spend the night back here hm? It wouldn’t be wise to sleep in the same house you got caught in.” Cody questioned while lightly running his hand down her arm while she smiled a little “I wouldn’t see why not..” she muttered while he pulled away to put away the med kit he found before helping her off the counter & took her upstairs to his room. Randy watched from the sidelines as Barbra was having a private discussion with Athena & noticed Cody looking over at him from the stairs but he turned around acting clueless.

Sasha took off her jeans & climbed into his bed moaning at how comfortable she was which made Cody chuckle and run his down her back as he rested his head against the palm of his free hand “Did you ever consider us getting back together.?” Sasha mumbled before turning her head to look at him while he came up with an answer “Yeah, a lot actually, I’m just scared that it could end badly if it doesn’t work out.” He muttered before pressing delicate kisses against her shoulder as she spoke “We already hate each other enough. How worse could it get?” She questioned while he sighed and wrapped his arm around her “I can’t really remember what we were fighting about all this time. Most of our arguments were all random bullshit.” She smiled and ran her nail against his neck tattoo before sinking her fingers into his black hair “I always enjoyed bickering with you, it was entertaining sometimes.” He chuckled tiredly & placed a soft kiss against her lips

“I always loved you Sasha.” She froze immediately & he became nervous as he noticed her tense body language “Please don’t tell me that..” she mumbled while he sat up for pull her in his arms “It’s true Sash’ and you know it is. I don’t think another woman had made me feel the things you make me feel. You drive me fucking nuts sometimes, you make me wanna slam my head in a damn wall and go insane and I love that about you l- I probably shouldn’t but I do.” He marveled over how she drove him insane, he loved everything about her, her attitude, her moments of rage, her weakest points of life, He loved her in a way that others wouldn’t understand, Both of them did.

Sasha looked up at the man she laid with & played with his shirt to keep her hands busy “I love you so much that I hate it, I hate you for making me feel like this, like I can’t be loved by someone else because they wouldn’t love me like you do.” She muttered out while he messed with her hair listening to her every word. “Why don’t we try again, take things slow, even if we don’t I don’t care. I’ll still wait for you. I want to be yours I want you to own me Cody.” He looked at her and held her face gently “Let’s wait to jump to that level when we know Roman won’t be danger towards you, we can still do the things we do, mess around & figure it out from there.”

Sasha nodded meekly and held onto his hand before lying her head back down soon falling asleep against his chest. Cody stayed up for hours admiring the way she slept peacefully in his arms, her hair slightly disheveled, her lips forming into a pout when her face was squish against his chest or shoulder, the way she didn’t even make a single peep, for someone who was so filled with rage & hate she looked so calm & relaxed. At some point he had carefully got out of bed & walked into the kitchen only to see a stressed and angry Athena who stared him down “Can I help you?” She huffed and approached him gesturing her hands upstairs “Is She happy? Because she’s the reason why I’m getting fucking kicked out of the team Cody. Your bitch takes things so fa-“ “Was she taking it to far or did she find out you were a fucking spy for Roman and your just mad she caught you?” Athena stood there with a scowl across her face as she listened to his words

“I don’t know what’s with you & always defending her but it’s getting ridiculous, We had something Cody! I was good for you! But then she just snatches you away from m-“

“There was NOTHING between us Athena! We had nothing!! I don’t know why You’re so fucking delusional but last time I checked Sasha was MY first love, WE have history! That’s a goddamn woman I’d sell my fucking soul for if I had the choice, But You?! You were just a fuck to keep me entertained & you pleased once a week. You mean nothing to me and never will.” Athena glared & shoved him “Your gonna regret tha-“ “Was that a threat Athena?” Sasha yawned out as she moved Cody out of her way tiredly “What do you think Sasha?” She tilted her head challenging the wrong person, “I think, you need to get the fuck out of my house, and don’t ever talk to him like that again. You must be fucking stupid to talk about me & not only that but THREATEN him under the fucking roof that took you in and kept you alive when you weren’t shit. You wouldn’t even be alive if I didn’t convince my mother to let you join our family business.” Athena and punched Sasha causing Cody to mumble a quick “Fuck.” Under his breath and quickly move out of the way as Sasha froze for a minute holding her jaw, he watched the thought process in her eye as she debated whether she should be calm or go all out. I think we all know what she did.

Sasha grabbed Athena by the hair immediately and slammed her head against the counter and followed her out of the kitchen as she ran off. Cody tried following behind but once Sasha knocked Athena’s head in a wall causing a very loud thump which made Randy, Marianna, Barbra & Seth run out from their rooms just to see Sasha & Athena finally fighting it out. Athena got a few hits and kicks in but not as much as Sasha. She threw her on the floor yelling about she won’t be disrespected in her own home. Barbra attempted running downstairs but Seth stopped her immediately “No, No Mom- just let Sasha handle it.” Cody attempted pulling Sasha off but she elbowed him in the stomach making him groan “Your hitting the wrong person Sasha!” Athena tugged on her hair shouting about random shit but Sasha soon slammed her head against Athenas making her knock out while Sasha stumbled up on her two feet and even kick her in the side before Cody gently pulled her away “Alright that’s enough I think you got a good amount of hits in.” He breathed out while she huffed while everyone from the staircase stared at her while Marianna randomly started cackling & running down the stairs “About goddamn time she got her ass knocked out!” She cheered while Randy cleared his throat but she didn’t budge “Oh c’mon don’t act like you didn’t think the same!” She approached Sasha with a grin & pulled her into a hug “God I missed you, especially with her around and you weren’t? I thought I was gonna kill’er!” Sasha lightly laughed hugging her bestfriend. Seth & Barbra walked down the stairs & hugged her.

Just as everything was going so well the front door had been kicked open & everyone turned around in confusion wondering who had the audacity but then they soon came face to face with Roman & many of his little pets.

xtripleiiix’s Masterlist

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atefingersdagger · 3 months ago

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clato + 34 because I love horny clatoisms

Prompt: "If you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it to a bed."

Thank you for requesting!

Might not be what you were expecting, but heres a little Cato/Clove drabble for all the Clato shippers!

"If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to a bed.”

Cato says this thickly, voice molten. He stands at the other end of the room that is barely lit for nighttime visage; the lounge they’ve been given in the Capitol as tributes. The absolute audacity and gull for him to say that.

“I’m contemplating where would be best to stab you.”

In response, Clove removes her knife from where she’s been twisting it into the mahogany table next to her chair. She raises it in his direction with a glare aimed alongside it. Her legs cross to keep her nonchalant appearance, but she knows that’s not the only reason.

“Is that a threat?” Cato asks, slouched on cushions.

“Depends. Do you want it to be?”

Technically, she’s not supposed to be messing with the cutlery from the kitchen. Clove only hates to have her person vacant of a blade in some way. She’d even take a box cutter. Otherwise, she’d feel naked in front of a crowd, which Cato certainly would enjoy.

“I just might.”

“Good, because I’m going to kill you in the most delicious of ways, Baby.” Clove puts a wicked emphasis on that last word. If he wants to call her Princess, she’ll infantilize him like the bitch she is.

“I quite like it when you look at me like that.”

“it’s because I want to kill you, not fuck you.” She snides with a smile. “And I’m sure that just murders your ego.”

Once again, Cato’s cockiness is ever present. Doesn’t seem to ever end or fade out. It makes their alliance for the Games even more unstable because she’s becoming rather impatient and may just slit his throat first thing in the arena.

“No.” He shakes his head carelessly. “I’d say it seems like you want to do both.”

She purses her lips with an idea. Being a woman means she naturally has an upper hand. Sensuality. Now it might not be like what most District 1 tributes can offer, Clove assumes she’s got his eyes enough to be a quality tease.

“I’d rather…” Clove waves her knife like she would her finger to a disobedient subordinate. “Screw this knife.”

“That would most certainly be less fun.”

To prove her point (and to desperately find a way to turn herself off from this whole conversation), she drags the flat of her blade against her thigh. Clove pulls up the hem of her nightgown to expose more as she moves it up the inner expanse of pale, freckled skin. Hopefully, if this works and he starts salivating, Cato is less likely to talk.

“Not when you’re excruciatingly aggravating.”

“I’ll concede to that.” Cato leans forward to get a more proper view. Working! “But I think you’d change your mind if you’d replace that knife with me.”

“Admitting you’re a tool?”

He licks the side of his mouth as the smooth of her blade nears her core. This was rather insane on her part, although insanity was fitting for who she is. She volunteered for a fight to the death after all.

And her actions are odd because they are erotic in a way a trainee shouldn’t be. In a way an inexperienced eighteen year old shouldn’t be. However, Cato looks close to crawling her way on the carpet so as far as she knows, she’s performing well.

“If it means you’ll use me.”

Clove laughs at that with no reserve. “Okay. I’ll use you.”

“Really?”

Cato’s large, tempting hands, are gripping the couch, his face so intrigued by the sight of her moving the flat part of steel over soft skin he’d previously commented on when their hands brushed during the chariot ride. She beckons him with her left pointer finger. There’s barely any time for her to nod before he stands and bends over her while she is still seated.

“Yeah.” She whispers into her ear, trying not to sound too on the cusp of making a soft, lustful sound. Poor, tall man, having to lean down so far for this, her free hand gingerly touching his neck. “I’m going to use you.”

“How about in a bed?”

“No, there’ll be no need for one.”

“Why, Princess?” His breath cascades into waterfalls of shivers on her shoulder.

Clove answers his question by slicing his arm with a quick move of her knife. She might get in trouble for the cut, but she doubts he’ll tattle on her to his prep team for the interviews tomorrow night. Surely, he’ll think of a decent lie as they’ll heal the abrasion now boldly a nick that releases a thin flow of blood.

Just to freak him out more as a he hisses and tries to move back, she licks the crimson to taste it’s rust. Similar to the iron of home that is mined and turned into metal objects. Cato curses, despite that twinge of heat and arousal coiling in him so obviously. He inspects his new wound on the thick muscles of his upper arm, perfectly on display from his tank top.

Maybe she does want to fuck him. Clove knows she wants to kill him. They’re District 2 peas in a pod of screwed up interests that make her laugh.

“Because I’m only going to use you for target practice. Bed not required.”

#the hunger games #hunger games #clove #clove and cato #clato #cato #thg fanfiction #fanfic #drabble

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esta-elavaris · 1 year ago

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Some (non-angsty) thoughts re: my being estranged from my shitty mother for almost 11 years now --

So at least once per year lately (more this last couple of years, but before that I had a good few years where I heard literally nothing) she tries to reach out in some way or another, and it's always very dumb. Like, once she accidentally liked a very old IG photo of mine (before I privated my page) so I blocked her. Another time she commented on a photo, praising my appearance. Blocked. She makes new accounts to do it every time.

Earlier this year her brother tried to follow me accidentally, blocked him. Her brother's wife tried to friend me on FB a while ago - blocked, again. That's all I do, ignore and block, because anything else feeds into it.

But it does make me laugh that, eleven years on, there's never been a single apology for everything (or anything) she did to me. And she's idiotic enough to think I'll get less angry over time, but the thing is, at the time I was so convinced I was way more grown up than I was. The older I get, the more I realise how utterly fucked up it was of her to do that to me, and that I really was just a fucking kid??? It's funny too, because the comment of "beautiful 💖" on one of my selfies on IG came while she was actively playing a role in making me homeless. She's genuinely not clever enough to be doing that to stick the knife in, it wouldn't even occur to her that the timing was dodgy. Fuck knows where I get my brain from.

She used to stalk my WordPress blog, where my private email address was listed, and she never used that to once try to send an apology.

The last attempt at communication was when someone my brother and I grew up with passed away just before summer, and she tried to use informing me of that death (I'd already learned of it via his sister, who I'm still in touch with) within twelve hours of the family making the announcement, as a way to get back in contact with me again, on my public writer page on FB.

And like, I know she'll never be sorry, I do not need an apology from her, nor do I desire one. But there's something to be said for the sheer balls it takes to plod on through these desperate attempts without even trying to offer an empty one - y'know, the sort where it's like "I'm sorry you feel that way but YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT I WAS GOING THROUGH---"

Like for your whole personality to revolve around how neither of your kids want fuck all to do with you, and how desperate you are to mend fences (will never happen, I will throw a party when she kicks the bucket), while still having it absolutely never occurring to you to even try to apologise, or try to explain. The last message (I didn't open it, I never do, but I saw the preview) even began with "I know you don't want to hear from me..." like a) manipulation/guilt trip b) showing a flagrant awareness of "yep, I know that - but ANYWAY HERE I AM".

Absolute waste of oxygen, man. Like I'm not even bitter or upset by it, I'm just sort of? Exasperatedly amused at the sheer audacity? It only ever confirms that I was right to cut ties the fucking second I could, honestly.

You'd think that both of your kids cutting you out of their lives, at separate times, and one doing so the SECOND she turned sixteen, would be a hint that like? The calls are coming from inside the house. Narcissism is a hell of a drug.

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zoeysandin · 2 years ago

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you alone are enough. ( @politestrange )

she gets in her head a lot about the state of things between them at times. zoey will have days where she allows it all to sink in of what kind of person he is. it’s not like she forgets but when he’s not the full scope of himself 364 days out of the year, a person can be lulled into a false sense of normalcy that she has to proactively work against.

she replays it over & over again in her head. the feeling of him walking around in the room while she hid under the bed.

the word EXQUISITE still makes her shudder.

but then why? why does she get split in two when she sees him mingle with other women. why does the insecurity spike within her? that he may not want her anymore? that he’ll want a fresh, new, unused girl. that he’d get bored & dispose of her & move onto the next one — why does she care? why does it break her heart?

they’ve just come back from a purge convention gala. RELEASE THE DANCING BEAST & DANCE THE NIGHT AWAY. purge priests were there, politicians, some of the most ELITE in insurance ( like her father once ), & weapon aficionados that were selling the top of the line machinery for maximum purging effects. they’re home now — & she wonders what people think when she’s introduced. of course, zoey doesn’t say much. & when she does she makes sure to simply play the part.

i’m lucky to be with him. he’s my entire life.

he SAVED me on purge night.

they don’t want to hear that you’re simply a SPOIL OF WAR that he was able to walk away with.

instead the crotchety old fucks will just aww and swoon like the FUCKING PSYCHOPATHS they are. and they say purging doesn’t bring about love! one of them will have the gall to coo that at her & christian will laugh along with them while she just smiles, screaming internally for some kind of salvation from this impossible hell she never fathomed would be her reality. to top it off, he’ll tug you flush into him & grip your ass as a job well done. THAT’S MY GOOD GIRL you can practically hear him say & you pray to God ( yes you still do sometimes ) that He forgives you for immediately getting soaked between your legs. you’re doing this simply to survive. just to survive.

right?

she’s taking her earrings off now as she frowns & tries not to let the tears well over. as soon as her job was done at establishing just how in love with the murderer of her family she was . . . ( the knife & torture of it all twisted in deeper by every person’s laugh throughout the night ) . . . he’d left her to her own devices so he could go schmooze & flirt with a gaggle of giggling young girls that didn’t know just who they were flirting with. that wanted their throats slit.

that rancorous jealousy & hatred followed them all the way home. quiet & distant from him — having the AUDACITY to swat his hand away from the possessive & comforting way he always always grips her thigh during car rides. it’s where his hand belongs, so it stalls him when she does that. as if she thinks she’s above being. . . trained in the basement again, now that she’s been promoted to being able to leave the premises at all. what an ungrateful little bitch.

she can see his jaw set & clench from the corner of her eyes. she’s surprised that he doesn’t hit her, attack her, something. the driver has already heard & seen enough. why would he shy away now? she just looks out the window of their fancy limo / away from him, silent the whole ride home.

the door will open behind her to the large marble flooring of the master bathroom, also ornate in gold & crystal chandeliers & fine tastes & he’ll walk through. she’ll see him in the mirror before her as she puts away her earrings. she doesn’t turn around to greet him though & the man will walk over behind her & she’ll feel more tears well. it’s one of those moments where she nearly buckles at his proximity, his hips lingering so close to her own that it makes her weak. you’re MINE, her entire figure screams.

and there’s no fight in her when he gently moves her hair out of the way to find the clasp of her necklace. if anything she R E V E L S in his touch, peering ever so slightly towards him over her shoulder.

“you alone are enough,” will come his soul quaking words & she’s his, she’s his, she’s his. he’ll take off the necklace & put it away without much care into the little jewelry box, his focus on finding her lips — & immediately she’s melting into him — into his hands — & she’s his, she’s his, she’s his. completely & utterly his.

@politestrange | inbox fun. | yes pls send!

#hiiiii u think i forgot this one heck no techno :D #politestrange #secret place.#arc. his mouth is your confessional.#v001. the purge.#my religion.#polite stranger #polite leader #zoey sandin

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f5ith · 5 days ago

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[ ✞ ] ───── i have met Death. He was a flash of cold steel, a warm weight in my abdomen, the stickiness of my blood seeping into my shirt. He was not kind to me — no, he was sharp and bitter, cruel. He grabbed hold of me and held tightly, and it was only with the tips of my fingers, nailbeds ripped to shit, did i manage to crawl out of the grave — AND BUFFY STILL DOESN'T UNDERSTAND WHY I WAS ANGRY.

i have met Death, and even though it hurt, and i was lost, and lost in that hurt ... i was not afraid. i fought, because i have never known another way, and i won, because i have never known another option. i met Death, and i lived, and even then, at the end of all things, i was not scared. But.

this but is where I find myself terrified.

i don't remember what started the argument. that's not true, i whisper to myself, a liar attempting to forgo her ways, because i catch myself remembering nearly everything involving arturo. i remember his smile, his touch, his warmth. i remember when they're directed at someone other than me. this is where the shame creeps in, dirty and wide, because i know he is not mine to keep, not mine to sully, and still, even remembering him glancing at another woman is enough to hurt.

does it hurt more than Death? the answer is yes, immediate — and it's this space again, this undefined potential, that terrifies me most of all.

he smiled at a client, let her get close. could he smell the Chanel on her? did he think of me and my dollar tree body spray? TRAILER TRASH! there's another space there, the difference between me and Her, and the Her is always so vaguely-Buffy shaped that it makes me sick to think about.

i don't think about it. i snap, i snarl, i grimace, i ear myself to shreds, before anyone else can do it. i bite into that wonderful intimacy we share, before he can cast it aside.

i have bitten off too much this time, so it seems. arturo surprises the room into silence with his response.

❛ if you want to kill yourself, do not use us as your knife, ❜ arturo growls in response.

he's close enough that the heat of his body radiates towards me. i fight the urge to shiver. even here, with his voice flat and eyes cold, all this proof of his anger and frustration, it is not enough. but, i want to say. — i have nothing else to say.

he turns from me then, fury condensed. it is very easy to watch him walk through the doors of the office, to keep my eyes on his back. i forced myself to watch alejandro leave, and then my father. diana followed, then wilkins. who won't leave me?

this is what i'm familiar with, this leaving. it does not terrify me — it is a warm embrace, warmer than any i ever received from my mother. it is familiar, it is my truth.

faith lehane once again stands at the scene of the crime, i think, and not for the first time. maybe i've never learned from my past mistakes, but i have learned to fear. there it is, still on the tip of my tongue, that But. what follows it? i don't think i know. or i do, but i can't say it.

the client is still there, standing foolishly in the middle of the room. she's shocked, surprised at my audacity, or startled by arturo's response. he usually lets me go on for a little while longer, lets me make a bigger fool of myself. she catches my gaze, and her eyes fill with pity. ❛ i always hate to see a couple fight, but i'm sure he'll be back, hon. ❜

in two steps i could cross the room and slap her to the ground. i could hit her hard enough that the impact would kill her near immediately — blunt force to the carotid, a traumatic rupture, internal bleeding and gone within minutes. i'm even nearly certain that izzy would help me bury the body.

in the time it takes me to think that, arturo still has not returned. But, i want to call after him. But.

but this is not facing off with Death, or even greeting him like an old friend. this is something terrifyingly new, something I am not familiar with. this is the space where dreams are born, hopes are realized, and i realize, abruptly, that i have them. hopes, dreams ... aspirations of something i do not deserve. it comes to me then, what follows that but.

i do not share my realization. i close my mouth. i turn away from the client. i do not follow after arturo. there is no space for that but, not here, not with me.

[ ✞ ] ───── 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 : always open ───── arturo laurel , @learningtodie

#learningtodie #ok if u ask me what this is i could not tell you #just know i blacked out and wrote all this #and now i'm going 2 bed before i die in the mornign mwah mwah #THEY MAKE ME SICK IN THE HEAD!!#[ ✞ ] writing. ───── let’s take that hell ride together.

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sansthesalt · 2 years ago

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i’ll never forgive you (i can’t stop loving you)

i said i knew you and if we didn’t put specific things in place you’d never reach out

and you said that it wouldn’t have to be forever

and i said, you don’t say goodbye to people you’ll see again, you say see you soon.

and i just wish she came out and said it. said that it was forever, that she had no intention of ever being friends again, not really, that it wasn’t that friends were too much,

it was that I was too much.

and there were no words that could spill out of my mouth— pleas, begs, screams— that could ever make you stay. that could ever make any of them stay. but you had the audacity to ask for a hug. and you hugged me like you never did before, but you still couldn’t find the courage to say that you loved me.

maybe that’s why you left, because you didn’t have enough love in you to give. because maybe a mean heart weighs less than a trying-to-be kind one. because maybe sitting there, across from them, laughing and making fun of teachers, is easier than telling me you love me.

it is easier. i just thought that maybe for me you’d try. because you said you tried, and i know you did, but trying isn’t just putting in effort to change, it’s to work around those stones we already have settled in our bones. to one day pass over and move through them. but no, i was simply too much.

i sat there in the corner as you sobbed and sobbed— why do you get to cry as you’re hurting me? you don’t see a assassin beg for forgiveness as he turns the knife. because with you, i am not allowed to be hurt. i am supposed to take your hands around the blade and say that i forgive you. that is not love.

love is you hurting me and me saying “it’s okay”, not because i feel okay, but because i love you and i know i will be okay. because love is permanent. love is something that makes you feel like air and you drag with your foot. i cannot say that you cancelling last minute, lying to me when you had no intention of going, making me feel awful for being upset, didn’t upset me. i felt annoyed, or disappointed, or let-down, but i didn’t hate you. hell, after an hour or two i wasn’t even mad at you.

i just missed you. i just wished you were there. and so i tried to text you, but you barely had a word for me; even when i sent u a video trying to make you feel included, you couldn’t be bothered to type real words.

sometimes the softest people hold the sharpest blades. sometimes the loudest people just want to be soft.

i swore i wouldn’t tell myself we would last— i did it every other time, and i was wrong every other time, but with you, eventually, i fell back in. sometimes when i think about you i want to swear my love away forever— to never give it to another living person again. to never loan, borrow, or give my love to another soul.

but like my mother, i cannot stop loving someone i once had. maybe we’re different in that way. i cannot stop loving you. i can turn it into sickness, or unfamiliarity in my stomach, but no, i cannot stop loving you. even when you can’t say it back to me, even when you can’t be bothered to send a real paragraph, even when you can’t look me in the eyes. i cannot stop loving you.

but as you sobbed in that room, you just overstimulated me. i didn’t want to be around you. i was ready to walk out of there and smile at a freshmen and leave you behind forever. i could’ve done it. i could’ve left and never came back. and maybe i will, maybe i’ll switch schools and never have to hear you awkwardly chuckle when you can’t make a decision, or never hear how your voice gets higher when you get tired, or how sometimes, when your back is away from me, you can tell me something you wish you could say more often.

but i didn’t. i sat in that room, trying not to have a panic attack simply from the room being so loud, and i heard you say words you’ve said before. i heard you say words i’ve though before… over and over. it’s not you it’s me over and over again like you were trying to reassure every part of me. but what they don’t tell you as you grow up, saying things more times doesn’t hide the fact you’re lying, it just covers your eyes until you realize you can see right through.

your hair looked pretty today. i couldn’t tell you that. i also realized you either skipped school to get your hair done, or in your some-kind-of-grief, decided that a new hairstyle was the perfect move.

tomorrow we have two of our classes together, shared table, shared notes, shared post-it’s— but now i don’t have anything. because now the table is longer than it is wide. now the space across from me is not long enough for my hands to reach. and you said we could be friendly, just not close friends. but i heard it in your voice, i felt the pause. so when it left your mouth i heard,

“we can be friendly… just not friends”

(and i can go anywhere i want, just not home)

and i can notice you but you can’t notice me. because love is a drink i never learned how to sip and hope is not something you can believe in.

i hope that time heals all your wounds. i hope you find someone to love and you love them with all you’ve got. i hope you get your mom out of her house and get your brother out too. i hope you learn to live away and speak your mind. i hope you learn how to be brave and be alone without being lonely. i hope you find some scrap of courage to leave everything you’ve ever known and find some kind of home. i hope one day you never have to worry about your mom and your brother changes his name. i hope one day you get to feel like you’re in charge of the world. i hope that one day you look at the stars and you never feel more excited. i hope you stick with your best friend and i hope you never stop loving your passions. i hope you live a long and full and healthy life, but i pray to god that i never have to see it.

and i pray, that one day, you’ll see doc martens or a french textbook or a monthly tumblr post and think of me. and think of the way we laughed. and think of the way we ran.

i hope you see a quote about lost friendships and think of me, and you know i’ll think of you, too.

#poem #poetry #friendship #teenage years #hell is a teenage girl #poetblr #poetsandwriters #prose #i hope she doesn’t see this but also yeah i do #and i hope you’re doing well #i love you forever #sad poetry

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neon-junkie · 2 years ago

Text

Breakin’ a Sweat

Summary: Hunter’s enhanced senses have been kicked up into over-drive as you come back from a session at the gym. Your post-workout shower can wait, as your Sergeant seems rather irritated at your natural scent.

Pairing: Hunter x f!Reader (she/her)

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: Scent kink, First time, Sub/dom, Oral (receiving) Facesitting, Knife play (if you squint,) Playful bickering, Dirty talk, Teasing.

"You alright, Sarge?" Hunter's been bouncing his heel against the floor ever since you returned, no longer putting his stimulating focus into twirling his viroblade. His brows are furrowed, arms are crossed, and there's a broody expression plastered across his form. To a stranger, Hunter would be nothing more than a sulking man; but to you, he's clearly agitated. "Fine," Hunter instantly replies. His hands come up to wipe his face, and you notice the light layer of sweat forming above his brow. His chest rises and falls as he lets out a deep breath, and once more, his arms cross against his waist.

"Are you sure? Because you-" "-I'm fine," Hunter sternly replies, his brows dipping even deeper with frustration. "You're not fine," you blatantly state, rather unhappy with his defensive tone. If the others were here, Echo would be the first to curse him out for his snappiness, but shame on them for being on a supply run!

"I am. I'm just..." Hunter's bouncing leg comes to a halt, and he swivels his chair around to look over at you, looming in the Marauder's hallway. "Weren't you about to go and shower?"

"Uh... yes?" your tone heightens, confused at the sudden change of conversation. "Okay, well... hurry up." Hunter spins away from you, zoning out at the wall, and you can hear his leg begin to bounce again. With a sigh, you roll your eyes, "do I smell that bad?" you mock. Sure, Hunter can be weird when it comes to his heightened senses - stinky things especially irritate him, which would explain why Wrecker has to follow strict orders of showering after every work out - but come on! You're not that bad! Your time at the gym was barely worth it!

"No, but... It's not that. Just go and shower," Hunter urges with a wave of his hand. "Not that?" you repeat his words. "Then what is it?" There's a pause, a moment of silence, and Hunter seems hesitant as he slowly turns his chair around to face you again. "You don't smell bad, but you do... smell." Your hands come to rest on your hips, and it's obvious how Hunter's gaze is struggling to meet yours. Only, when they do, you notice how wide his pupils are, and suddenly, it all makes sense.

"So," you stretch out the word. "If I don't smell bad, then how do I smell?" you question, and now, your tone is obvious. You've caught on, and you're teasing him about it. How cruel! It seems Hunter is buying it, as his tongue runs across his dry lips as he thinks about his next set of words.

"Good." "Good enough to eat?" you coo, batting your lashes innocently. "Stop it." "Come on, Sarge. I want to know what's getting you all worked up," you continue teasing, and you have the audacity to begin slowly making your way over to him. The second you start moving, Hunter's eyes dart up to meet yours, and there's arousal glistening within them, along with a tint of fear. Hunter is a man of self-control, but in weak-willed moments like this, he can't help but allow his heightened senses to get the better of him. He's enticed, so enticed that he remains seated, and looks up at you with pleading eyes as you stop at his knees, and look down at him. "Tooka got your tongue?" you tut. Hunter's keeping his breaths short, but he caves, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to relax. With it, he intakes your scent, and his nostrils flare before he brings his palms up to his face. He groans into them, and his heel begins bouncing again, looking debauched without a single inch of contact.

"You smell good," Hunter mutters into his palms.

"What about me smells good?" "This," Hunter points with one hand to your crotch, the other sprawled over his face. He's peeking at you between his fingertips, and the second your eyes meet, he looks away.

Your hands come forward to softly grasp Hunters, and he allows you to remove them from his face, and settle comfortably on your thighs. "Do you want this?" you question, causing Hunter to dart his head up in your direction. "Are you sure?" Hunter stutters, his eyes widening at your proposal.

"I wouldn't be offering if I wasn't sure," you reply with a soft shrug. "Then, yes. I want this." Hunter dampens his lips with his tongue, the sweat on his brow now softening as his form relaxes. You're on the same page. However, you're the one holding the reins. It's surprising - a man such as Hunter, dominant and forward, but eager to submit the second his senses start acting up. Still, he's attempting to hold his breath. You're inches from him, and if he was struggling before, when you were down the hallway, then Maker knows how bad he must be now. Hunter has been teased enough, and you take pity on him. You command your first order, in a sweet, yet firm tone. You can play the role of Sergeant, for now. "Lie down." "But the others could be-" You cut Hunter off with a click of your tongue, and shake your head in disappointment. "I said down, boy," you order once more as you point to the floor. Hunter pauses for a moment, his heart thumping in his chest, in awe that this is happening - this is really happening. With nervousness, Hunter slowly rises from his chair, only to fall down to his knees, and then back onto his ass. "Like this?" he sheepishly questions whilst lying on his back, his hands coming to rest on his chest. "Like that," you agree with a nod. The second that your words leave your lips, you begin kicking off your shoes. Your fingertips find the waistband of your gym leggings, and Hunter instantly jolts upright, a hand reaching out as he yelps, "wait!"

"Something a matter?" you question, fingertips sitting on standby, tucked into your waistband.

"I... is this..." he mumbles, and clears his throat before deciding his next set of words. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make you face your problems."

With that, Hunter gulps. All he does is nod as he lies back down, watching you with pleading eyes. After a few seconds, you resume, sliding down your leggings and lazily kicking them off. "On or off?" you question as you point to your underwear. "...On," Hunter decides after a moment. "I... I want to take them off, when the time is right." "Alright, Sergeant," you say with a mindless shrug. Hunter is already losing his mind with you like this, only wearing your underwear and gym top, now walking over to him and getting on your knees. His hands rub over his face as he watches you, fingertips flexing as you shuffle forwards, and position your clothed cunt over his face. Your hands come to rest on his chest, sitting almost upright. You peer down, and soak up the sight - Hunter is beneath you, with his gloved hands now moving around your body to grasp onto your thighs. He tugs at them, and before you know it, you're being pulled down onto his face.

The first thing that you feel is Hunter's nose bump against your clit; it rests there, and you overhear Hunter groan beneath you. "Somebody has a thing for scents," you comment.

Hunter's hands flex against your thighs as his groan turns into a grumble, "enhanced senses, and all that," he mindlessly explains. You're about to bite back with another comment, but all that comes out of your mouth is, "oh!" as Hunter drags his tongue against your clothed pussy. Once, twice, then Hunter's hands move up to tug at the waistband of your underwear. "I can't tolerate these any more! Get them off, or else I will." "You will?" you scoff, silently giggling at Hunter's short fuse. "How?" Hunter replies by removing his hands from your thighs to unsheathe his viroblade. He, without looking, twirls it between his fingertips, and chuckles as you, once again, reply, "oh!"

A smug smile crosses your lips, and you mentally say goodbye to your underwear. "Go on," you urge. Hunter is oh-so-gentle as he hooks the blade beneath both sides of your underwear, cutting the garment off one leg at a time. It falls straight onto his face, and he lets out a huff as he pulls it off, and throws it into the distance. His viroblade is sheathed, and the second that it clicks into place, you're being yanked down, directly onto his face.

Hunter lets out a low and deep moan as he licks your pussy for the first time. His nostrils are flaring, soaking up your raw scent - it can't get any better than this, truly. Your upright position begins to wither, slowly arching forward until you're pressing your head on Hunter's stomach. He's not holding back, lapping at your cunt as if it's his last meal; if anything, he's moaning more than you are, grunting and groaning beneath you as he gets his credits worth.

Hunter lets out an, "mhm!" as he wraps his lips around your clit, and sucks, causing you to jolt in pleasure. "Fuck," you mutter. Your body automatically pushes down against him, rutting your hips, grinding against Hunter's mouth. He doesn't seem to mind; if anything, he encourages it, as the hands on your thighs have begun pushing and pulling, urging your hips to grind.

"That's it," Hunter mutters against your lips. "Ride my face." Huh, you don't need to be told twice!

All Hunter needs to do is stick his tongue out, and relax as you roll your hips down onto him. He's on cloud nine, totally blissed out! His legs have since bent upright, and one heel is thumping against the floor, going stir-crazy over all the action. And his erection, his poor, poor erection, is straining against his cod piece. Sure, you can't physically see his erection, but his cod piece is looking rather off. So, what do you do to help? You decide to place your fingertips right in the centre, and push the armour against his already-pained erection. Hunter lets out a "mhm!" followed by a deep groan, that shifts into a growl. "Don't you dare tease," he warns, before kissing your pussy. "How am I teasing?" you innocently coo. Again, you push down on his cod piece, and something inside Hunter snaps.

Within a flash, Hunter somehow manages to pull your hands behind your back, causing you to fall flat against his stomach. Gloved hands keep you steady, not allowing you to move - all you can do is lie on top of him, quite literally, and hold on tight for the ride.

Hunter, now with the upper hand, curses, "bad girl," against your cunt before diving in. He's pulling out all the stops - sucking your clit, tongue fucking your entrance, doing anything and everything to turn you into a whining mess. And from the way that your legs are trembling, it's obvious that he's doing an incredible job. Minutes pass, or were they merely seconds? Time spirals into a blur as you become engulfed in pleasure, and on the side, you mentally thank your past self for going to the gym today. Shit, if you knew Hunter was going to get this worked up over your post work-out body, then you would have put some more effort into it. Maybe invite him along, next time? Your final whimpers are half-muffled, your cheek pressing to Hunter's armoured stomach. At least Hunter is polite enough to tone down his attack as you ride out your orgasm, not wanting to cross the bridge of over-stimulation; that can be saved for a rainy day. Instead, he gently laps at your cunt as you come down from cloud nine. The grip on your wrists loosen, and before you know it, you're shakily pushing yourself upright. Hunter slowly slides his way out from beneath you, and he's grinning as your eyes meet his, not bothering to wipe your release off his chin. Hunter sits beside you as you fall back onto your knees, your chest rising and falling with a steady pace. "Shit," you curse, and Hunter lets out a chuckle. "Yeah, you can say that again," he nods.

You meet his gaze, and your debauched expression turns into a playful scowl as you order, "please wipe my cum off your chin." "Why? Not my style?" Hunter shrugs, and laughs when you lean forward and attempt to wipe your slickness away, only for a firm grip to appear on your wrist as Hunter rejects you. You scoff, and pull your arm away, shaking your head in annoyance at him. "Fine," you grumble, causing Hunter to laugh again.

He caves, and finally wipes his face clean, unfazed by using his forearm armour as a clean-up rag. Silence fills the air, but not the awkward kind, until the beep of Hunter's comm bounces off the Marauder's walls. Hunter answers, and as expected, the others are on their way back. "No time to rile up your senses up again, Sarge?" you bat your lashes. Hunter sends you a smirk, and to your surprise, he responds, "I don't need another round. Or at least, not just yet."

"Another... wait-" you pause, "did you...?" Hunter shrugs as he rises to his feet, offering you his hand the second that his legs are stretched. "You still need that shower, right?" Taking his hand, you let out a sheepish, "yes." Hunter looks back and forth between you, and the refresher, until you take his hint and begin making your way, eager to get cleaned up, but still in need of answers. "Make sure you wash all that sweat off," he orders. "I'll clean up the mess you made." Maker, what started as you having the upper hand, certainly hasn't ended that way. All you can do is give him a simple nod before stepping into the refresher, ready to wash your sins away with whatever water is left in the Marauder's water tank.

And whilst you're doing so, Hunter cleans himself up, along with the light puddle that you've left behind on his ship's floor.

The only thing that remains are your torn panties, now a keepsake in his armour pocket.

#tbbwriting #tbb #the bad batch #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #bad batch #tbb fanfic #fanfiction #smut #f!reader #female reader #reader insert #breakin a sweat

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h0rr0r-1nfern0 · 3 years ago

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Head-Canons: Slashers and How They Met Their Future s/o / how they are with them

Kinda rambled in this one.

Featuring: Micheal Myers (Og), RZ! Micheal Myers, Brahms Heelshire, And Billy Lenz (1974)

Sorry, this took longer! I've been pretty busy lately, but here ya go! Ignore the bad writing, this is my first time writing for other people lol. Helpful criticism is and would be acceptable, don't worry.

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┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

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Micheal Myers (Og)

You were just another victim in his eyes, so naive and defenseless.

However, you weren't as innocent as you seemed. Whatever you did pique his interest, you were interesting. Your reaction to seeing him to how you treated him.

Trust me, that won't be the last you see him. He'll keep breaking into your house, staring down at you. Only revealing himself if he truly wants you to see him, but knowing him... That'd be very often.

Once he's decided to keep you alive (That'll happen faster than you think) he’ll hang around you more often. Killing anyone who dares to even approach you, the audacity some of these people have.

Now, just because he decided to keep you doesn’t mean he won’t pull a knife out on you. Giving him to much attitude? Knife inches away from your cheek.

Once you two start dating (somehow you survived long enough for that), he’ll still be an asshole. But MUCH more protective, no one can touch you but him (Family is an exception but barely. He’ll still have to be held back.), He’ll never admit it but he LOVES you to death. Just give him the word and he’ll kill off anyone you want, want it painful? Gladly. Want it quick? Sure. As long as your happy.

I see him being somewhat like a cat with you, giving you little gifts even in the early stages of you two meeting. It’ll start off as a bird, squirrel, or even some food he stole from a victim. Overtime it’ll become necklaces, earrings, rings, and another bird here and there. Loves your reactions.

Physical touch would be a no the first time he meets you, he can’t completely trust you. So if you try to get anywhere closer than 3ft and he’s gone.

Overtime he’ll allow you to come closer, when you hug him for the first time he’ll be stiff. Unsure what to do with himself, so he’ll just stand there until you stop. You’ll have to teach him how to hug.

He hates the idea, but loves it when you hug him or just doing anything that involves touching him. He’s so touch starved Y/n, hug him more he won’t mind! Once he learns how to hug you gently he’ll hug you right back, sometimes sneaking up on you and giving you a surprise hug.

Be ready to receive a LOT of head pats, if you never had hugged him that’ll be the only thing he would do. Pat your head and walk away. Just thinks it’s adorable, that and it’s a reminder of how short you are.

RZ! Michael Myers

Honestly, I believe he'd have to know you were you two were younger. Otherwise, he wouldn't care who or what you did.

Either you were new at his school or you decided to sit next to him one day, he’ll take notice of you quickly. Wary of your intentions or what type of person you were.

When you start to sit next to him he won't think much of it, well- sort of. He’ll be confused as to why you wanted to sit next to him, there were many other seats open so why next to him?

Takes notes of your hobbies, would like you a LOT more if you were an artist as well! If you drew he’d try to sneak quick looks at what you were drawing, if you try showing him he’ll still be wary of you but would be more open.

When you two start to become friends he’ll try to know everything about you, and I mean everything. I see him getting jealous pretty easily, so if you had other friends he’ll be all grumpy and just glare at them.

Makes you homemade masks! Made out of your favorite colors to favorite bands, hobbies, etc, etc! He wants to make you smile and just wants to see your reaction. But also test how much he knows you.

When he gets arrested he tried to keep in touch with you via letters and or the rare phone calls (if they allow him.), he misses his best friend and wishes he could leave. Not like he wasn't planning on doing that already.

Once he breaks out you and his sister are his main targets. His intentions were pure, mostly hopeful that you'll remember him and pick up where the two of you left off!

He’ll break into your house and give you a big hug if you struggle he’ll just hug you even tighter. If you scream he would try his best to muffle your screams while making sure you could breathe.

He’ll carry you out of your house and to his old one, along with his sister. Wanting to spend time with both of you. As soon as the house comes into view all the pieces click, and you understand who was under the mask. But remain unsure what he was doing

Unfortunately, we all know that plan fails. His sister ends up leaving and calling the police, leaving you (her old babysitter) behind with a very angry and frustrated Michael. He won't chase after her though, he still has you and to him, that's still a win.

If you were injured during the fight or even unconscious he’ll try to be as gentle as possible and carry you away. Heading back to your home claiming it as his new hideout.

When you wake you'll find yourself in your bed with your wounds wrapped up and poorly cleaned, sorry Y/n. Unfortunately, you have to clean yourself up. Your wounds are the only thing telling you that what happened last night wasn't a dream, searching for Michael you'll find nothing.

Later that night you'll be startled by Michael walking into your home covered in blood, seeing you awake, and well he’ll try to hug you again. This time being welcomed with open arms, even though you were still unsure if he was going to keep you alive.

Of course, he would! He adores you, you were one of the only people who showed him, love. And his only best friend. Why would he ever kill you? Just the thought of it makes him sick, he’ll try to show you how much he cares by gifts!

Just like Og Michael, he’ll give you dead animals and Jewelry. Maybe some candy here and there, but just expect the candy to already be half empty or nearly all gone. He's got a sweet tooth!

Brahms Heelshire

You start working there as a nanny, taking care of a doll while following some strict rules. You obey them, not wanting to get fired... But also because the pay was rather good. Little did you know of the man hiding in the walls.

He monitored your every step, falling in love with how well you were taking care of doll Brahms. He would be over the moon if you acted as if the doll was listening to you, talking away about things from your past, or just about how lovely the day was.

By the time he reveals himself to you he's made sure he knew you well. He knew you'd be startled or shocked at least, so he’ll try his best to seem harmless. Trying to comfort the best he can… that you'll allow.

If you try asking him to get a bath he’ll refuse, he thinks he smells just fine! He’ll run away if you try forcing him. So instead try bribing him. He’ll agree to it that if the trade is good enough, but he secretly just wants get a reward for nothing. (And yes you’ll be the one washing him, not him. He wants to be touched by you. Man is touch starved.)

For relationships you’ll be surprised to know he’ll take it slow, he wants to savor every moment with you. That and he doesn’t want to scare you away, that is definitely NOT on his To Do list.

Once you two begin dating he’ll be even more clingy, share the same bed, shower, cuddles nearly 24/7, kisses each time he sees you, etc, etc. So if you want personal space especially when you go to the bathroom- be sure to set some boundaries with him. He will respect them, sorta.

I believe he’ll be one of the softest partner you’ll ever have, he may not look like it but he knows how to take care of someone. If you’re sick he’ll be extra attentive, making sure you’re alright and comfortable. Once you’re all better he hopes you’ll repay his kindness.

Billy Lenz (1974)

You’re one of the Sorority girls, your parents were hopeful that you’ll graduate, get a job, and settle down with a wealthy man. At least richer than you and your parents were

However, you never expected to get calls. They first started with Jess answering them, only to freak out due to the pervert in the other side. So, instead you answered them.

Little did you know that as soon as you said, “Hello?” Billy decided he wanted you. He was slightly caught off guard on you answering, but he continued to say what he wanted to.

Saying perverted things to you, things that would make anyone blush. Yet again, Billy was caught off guard when you played along. Mostly because you didn’t hang up, the two of you would talk for hours until Jess or one of the other Sorority girls yanked the phone away. Forcing you back to reality.

When everyone else was asleep he’d sneak down and peek into your room. Getting braver with each visit until he was standing above you, watching you sleep. You looked adorable!

At the beginning when you two first met he would be more nervous, running off and hiding in the attic. However, as time continues and you run into him more often he’ll be a little more confident to be around you. Becoming more like he is on calls, saying dirty things to you while pulling you close. Pull away before he gets a little to carried away.

Whenever the two of you start dating, Billy’s calls would become more frequent. The telephone ring nearly every hour just so he could hear your voice message and flirt with you. With his calls becoming more common you’ll have to make up something as to why, or maybe even lie saying it was your family checking up on you.

If you’re ever left alone inside the Sorority house, Billy will climb down from the attic just to give you a big hug. He's just dying to be with you 24/7, please visit him more in the attic. That might just keep him from killing everyone inside- except you obviously.

Want to bathe him? Well, he’ll just give you a funny look. Are you saying he smells bad? He did just show like two weeks ago. He doesn't quite understand that you have to shower daily to not smell bad, so once you explain he’ll take a shower. Especially if that means he gets to cuddle with you longer.

Billy can cook surprisingly well, it’s a pleasant surprise! But you can’t help but wonder how he’s so good at it. “Billy? When did you start cooking? And where did you learn it from?” You’d ask this one day after he made you breakfast, the classic bacon and eggs with some pancakes (even though it was around noon.)

Billy would just stare at you for a moment, trying to remember. Once he has collected his thoughts he’ll answer. “Billy learned from watching! Why~? Does lil’ piggy like Billy’s cooking? Billy will cook more!!” Billy would start seeing cooking as a new way to bond with you, getting to learn what you liked and disliked, what textures or tastes made you smile, and others that made your nose scrunch up. So expect him to be cooking a lot more often... When the other girls are away.

Overall, Billy would adore you more than you think. Everything about you being beautiful, no matter your race, gender, height, weight, or even appearance! Bonus: Cuddles with you every night, doesn't matter if he's the little spoon it big spoon. He wants to be as close as possible. Might get horny though.

Thanks for reading! And I hope you enjoyed it!

#slashers #horror #billy lenz #black christmas #michael myers #rz michael myers #halloween #brahms heelshire #slasher x reader #what am i doin with my life #slasher fandom #slasher movies #the boy 2016

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