#listen these will be rough and ready and not polished at all

[sugarpasteltmnt]

Purgatory Paradise: 'Paradise'

[Read it here on AO3]

The first one-shot of “Purgatory Paradise”, the post-‘The Neon Void’ series has been posted!!

This series will be way more relaxed than TNV with no plot or posting schedule, but please enjoy the fluff!

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Ah, kinks—something all humans have, especially those who read fanfics. I mean, who doesn’t love them? Whether it’s the soft, the spicy, or the downright unhinged, there’s always something that hits just right.

Let’s be real: scrolling through AO3, Tumblr, or Wattpad at 3 AM, looking for that one specific trope that scratches the brain itch?

Yeah, we’ve all been there.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet.

Hope you enjoy reading!

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with the man himself—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. Though the details are still unclear, he exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy. 

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences!!

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished. 

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender. 

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after. 

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.  

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.  

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment. 

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.  

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.  

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.  

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment. 

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew. 

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore. 

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer. 

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable. 

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy. 

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down. 

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions. 

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous. 

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.

You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters. 

A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory. 

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him. 

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.  

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you. 

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.   

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor. 

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.  

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability. 

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there. 

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed. 

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching. 

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.  

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares. 

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away. 

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break. 

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior. 

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable. 

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable. 

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.  

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it. 

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.  

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.  

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.  

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.  

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend. 

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you. 

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.  

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you. 

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.  

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.  

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.  

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.  

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.  

God, he was losing it.  

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further. 

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly.

Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it? 

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry! 

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything. 

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special.

So sacred.

There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it. 

[daredevils-stuffed]

What was that sweetheart? -Oneshot

Matt Murdock x Reader

Prompt: Secrets, Lies, and well…Matt Murdock. If you’ve seen Mr & Mrs Smith. It’s kinda like that.

Tags: Closet sex. Very sexy. A little rough.

a/n: Happy Episode 3 day!!!

You smiled as you ended the call, slipping your phone back into your clutch.

"Drinks with a friend." The lie rolled off your tongue as easily as a breath.

It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Matt was always busy, always buried in cases, and he never pushed when you gave vague answers. You hated lying to him—really, you did—but it was easier this way.

If he knew what you really did when you weren’t wrapped in his sheets or tangled in lazy morning kisses, he’d never look at you the same.

Your heels clicked softly against the polished marble as you stepped into the ballroom, the air thick with expensive perfume, hushed conversations, and the quiet hum of a string quartet.

A room full of powerful people, criminals hiding in plain sight, corruption dressed in designer suits. And somewhere among them was the man you needed.

Your eyes swept the crowd as you moved toward the bar, shoulders back, chin high. Confidence was everything in places like this.

And then—

A shift.

A slow, creeping awareness slithered down your spine, sending the faintest prickle across your skin.

It wasn’t obvious. Not enough to make you stop, not enough to make you turn your head. But something in the air felt… off.

Like you were being watched.

You forced yourself to ignore it, fingers tightening around the stem of your champagne glass you acquired.

Focus.

Your target was standing near the dance floor, sipping an overpriced drink, eyes skimming over the room like he owned it.

He was older, wealthy, predictable. The kind of man who liked feeling important. The kind of man who would love being wanted by someone like you.

You took a slow sip of your drink and made your move.

The pulse of the music in the ballroom vibrated through the floor, but all you could focus on was the banker in front of you. His hand was at the small of your back, and his breath was warm against your neck as he leaned in closer, almost too close for comfort, but you needed this.

You felt the familiar tension rise in your chest, the way you could almost taste the danger in the air. The man's cologne mixed with the scent of expensive champagne, but it was the distinct scent of leather and pine that made your heart skip a beat—Matt. You knew that smell better than anyone’s. But you couldn’t let an impossibility get distracted. Your target was talking, moving his lips, but all you could hear now was the rhythmic thumping of your heartbeat in your ears.

The man’s hand slid lower, too low, and you tightened your grip on your glass, using the tension to keep yourself grounded. You weren’t going to let him get away with touching you like that. It was a game of seduction, a necessary evil. You leaned in and whispered softly in his ear, "Meet me in the office at the bottom of the hallway. I’ll be waiting for you."

As the banker nodded and walked off, you gave him a knowing look. It was just a matter of time now.

——

"Don’t wait up for me, sweetheart. I’ll probably be at the office late."

The lie tasted bitter, but it left his lips effortlessly. It had to.

He hated lying to you. Hated how easy it had become. But the alternative—the truth—wasn’t an option.

If you knew what he was really doing at night, if you knew what kind of people he dealt with, what kind of violence he waded through, you wouldn’t just be angry.

You’d leave.

And Matt wasn’t ready for that.

The line clicked dead before he could linger on the guilt gnawing at his ribs. He exhaled sharply, pushing it aside as he tugged his tie loose and turned his focus back to the task at hand.

The banker.

The man he was after had a laundry list of sins, and somewhere in the depths of his corruption lay the key to bringing down a major player in Hell’s Kitchen. The plan had been simple: track him, listen, wait for the right moment to step in.

The rhythmic hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, the soft shuffle of expensive shoes against marble floors—Matt let the sounds wash over him, sorting through them with practiced ease.

But then he heard you.

It was subtle at first, just the faint trace of your perfume threading through the air. A scent he knew like the back of his hand, lingering on his pillows, his clothes, his skin.

It stopped him cold.

No. That’s not possible.

You were supposed to be out with a friend, drinking, laughing—safe. Not here. Not weaving through a crowd of criminals and elites like you belonged among them.

Then he heard your voice. Low, warm, laced with something dangerous. And that’s when he felt the first twinge of something ugly in his chest. Because you weren’t talking to just anyone.

No, you were talking to him. His target.

Matt's grip tightened around his glass. He forced himself to remain seated at the bar, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He had to be wrong. This had to be a coincidence.

But as he listened, as he tracked the steady rhythm of your breathing, the precise cadence of your voice—too smooth, too controlled—it became undeniable.

You were working him.

What the hell are you doing, sweetheart?

He turned his head slightly, pinpointing your location with ease. You were dancing with the target, your bodies pressed too close, the silk of your dress whispering against his suit. He could hear the way your heart maintained its steady rhythm, unbothered by the hands on your waist, by the weight of the moment.

But Matt was bothered, to say the least.

His fingers itched to move. To do something—anything. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t you. The woman he knew didn’t belong in a place like this, whispering in a criminal’s ear, making promises she had no intention of keeping.

But maybe he didn’t know you as well as he thought.

Then he heard it.

"Meet me in the office at the bottom of the hallway. I’ll be waiting for you."

No. Absolutely not.

Matt was on his feet before he could think better of it, discarding his drink as he moved through the crowd with quiet precision. He told himself it was because he needed the banker alive and he wasn’t sure what you were capable of.

But that wasn’t the whole truth.

The truth was that he needed to know what the hell was going on with you.

And he needed to get to you before the banker did.

—

You could feel it coming.

The banker’s breath was warm against your skin, his hand inching higher, his body pressing just a little too close. You forced yourself to stay still, to let the moment build, to make him think he was in control.

But you were seconds away from shoving him off.

You needed him comfortable. You needed him compliant. You needed him talking.

You try not to look at him as he leans in.

His lips barely parted—

And then he collapsed.

A shocked noise left his throat as he slumped forward, the dead weight of his body falling against you before you could move. Your hands shot out, gripping his shoulders just in time to keep him from hitting the floor too hard.

Your heart stuttered. What the—

And then you saw him.

Matt.

Standing there, completely unbothered, like knocking a man unconscious was just another part of his night.

Your mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look at you.

He just exhaled sharply—like this was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight—then reached down and slipped a USB from the banker’s pocket.

That snapped you out of it.

Your body moved on instinct. You still had a job to do.

"I’ll take that, thank you," you said smoothly, reaching for it. Staying professional. If he’s not going to say anything, you’re not either.

But Matt was faster.

His grip tightened, fingers curling around the device before you could snatch it.

You barely had time to react before he moved.

A step. A shift. A precise block as he stopped your attempt to take it.

You inhaled sharply, twisting, countering—only for him to catch your wrist mid-motion, his other hand already anticipating your next move.

"Really?" Matt muttered, voice laced with frustration.

You smirked, twisting out of his hold and stepping back. "Afraid I might win, darling?"

His jaw clenched. "Not afraid. Just annoyed."

Then he struck.

It wasn’t a full-force attack—more like a dance. A game. A controlled exchange of movement as you dodged, deflected, struck, countered.

Your breath came faster, the air between you charged with something sharp and hot, something tangled between frustration and something else entirely.

Your foot hooked around his ankle—he caught himself. His grip slid up your arm, twisting you just enough to get the upper hand—

So you grabbed the nearest thing within reach—a framed photo on the desk—and threw it. At Matt. Your boyfriend.

Matt barely had time to dodge. The frame shattered against the wall behind him.

"Y’know, I needed him awake for the passwords," you snapped. Your head leaning back against his shoulder. It’s definitely Matt, not just a random clone. If it is a random clone, then they have got his smell just right.

"I have the passwords," Matt grunted as you jabbed him in the ribs.

You fought the flicker of irritation. Of course he did.

Then, suddenly—

You were locked.

Your back hit the desk, Matt pinning your wrists, his body flush against yours, his breath warm and too close. “What are you doing here” he whispers against your ear. His forehead bumping against yours with affection.

Neither of you moved.

The fight had stopped, but your pulse hadn’t slowed.

Your eyes flickered to his lips.

For a fraction of a second, you almost forgot where you were. Forgot that you weren’t tangled in his sheets, weren’t waking up to lazy morning kisses, weren’t supposed to do this here.

Your body leaned in instinctively—just like it always did when he left for work, when he whispered see you tonight, sweetheart against your lips before slipping out the door.

Matt inhaled sharply.

Then he stiffened.

"There are guards coming," he muttered, pulling you tight against him.

Shit.

Before you could react, Matt grabbed your hand, yanking you off the desk and pulling you toward the door. You didn’t have time to argue. Didn’t have time to question why your heart was still racing.

Because Matt was leading you straight out of the room—And into a storage closet. Where he promptly shut the door, pressed you back against the shelves, and exhaled like he was already regretting every choice that led him here.

You let out a breathless laugh. The door had barely shut before you twisted in his grip.

Matt was fast—always was—but you had trained for this.

Your elbow shot up, breaking his hold just enough for you to spin him around, slamming his back against the shelves instead.

A sharp exhale left him. Then a smirk curled at the edges of his lips.

"You’re enjoying this," Matt muttered.

You huffed, pressing your forearm against his chest. "Wouldn’t have to if you weren’t being so difficult, Matty."

Matt tilted his head, brow arching. "I’m difficult?"

"Oh, so difficult."

His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh—God forbid. Instead, he moved.

Fast.

One swift motion, and suddenly you were against the shelf again, Matt’s body crowding yours, pinning you just enough to make a point.

"You still haven’t answered my question," he murmured.

Your breath came fast. "Well you lied to me." You say with confidence, knowing full well that you also lied.

He just stares at you, not saying anything. It’s the kind of look he gets when you tell him a really stupid fact that he isn’t sure is true.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. I’m here for a client."

Matt scoffed. "Really? What kind of client sends you to seduce a banker?"

You shrugged, as if you were talking about what’s for dinner.

"A very important one."

Matt’s jaw ticked.

"Try again."

You arched a brow. "Why? Not buying it, counselor?"

"Not for a second," he said flatly.

The tension in the air shifted.

Not anger.

Not hostility.

Something else.

Something warm and electric, something that hummed under your skin like a live wire, something that shouldn’t be there but was. Because no matter how irritated Matt was, no matter how much he hated the idea of you being here, you could feel the way his body responded to yours.

And you weren’t above using that to your advantage.

"Your turn," you murmured, lips brushing his ear. "Why are you here? Thought you had late nights at the office, darling."

Matt’s fingers twitched against your hip.

A hesitation.

A tell. A grin takes over your face. Matt exhaled sharply. "We aren’t the same. What we’re doing isn’t the same"

"Isn’t it?"

You leaned in, just a little.

Matt didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Your lips hovered close to his jaw, his throat. Right where he likes to feel your kisses.

Close enough that you could feel the way his breath hitched. "Seems to me like we’re in the same business, sweetheart."

"We are not in the same business," Matt growled.

"Oh, but we are," you said, fingers trailing up his chest. "Both lying. Both sneaking around. Both playing a game. Question is—"

You leaned up, lips almost brushing his. Pulling at his tie you distract him enough to grab the USB.

"Who’s going to win?"

Matt inhaled sharply.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was hot and sharp and charged, like striking a match in a room full of gasoline. Your lips on his has never felt so good.

Matt made a noise deep in his throat, something between surprise and frustration, but he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t even try.

His hands found your waist, gripping just enough to pull you flush against him. Your fingers tangled around his tie, anchoring yourself to him, using it to drag him impossibly closer, to keep his mouth against yours as long as possible—

Until Matt broke away with a growl.

"Not fair," he muttered against your lips.

You smirked, breathless. "All’s fair in love and espionage."

Matt let out a short, almost pained laugh. "We are going to talk about this later."

"Looking forward to it," you purred. You bring him in for another kiss, this time deeper. You want him to forget why he is there. You know the perfect distraction. And you’re going to let Matt think it’s his idea.

Matt knew exactly what you were doing—trying to distract him. But he was more than willing to play along. To forget, just for a moment, why you were here in the first place.

His fingers bunch up your dress, teasing, deliberate. But he’s not gentle. Not tonight. He wants you to feel his frustration, to know just how much control he still has.

You whimper, loving every second of it as his fingers plunge into you. Desperate for more, you press your lips to his neck, sucking just enough to leave a mark. But Matt’s focus is singular—to make you beg. To have you unraveling beneath him.

Your hands roam, grasping at him, wanting him to feel even a fraction of the pleasure clawing through you. He groans, his voice wrecked, his restraint slipping as you grind down on his fingers, chasing that unbearable, aching need. Gone are the slow, teasing nights—this is something raw, something reckless.

"Come for me, baby. You know you want to."

And you do. Hard. The world blurs, your name, your purpose—everything vanishing in a tidal wave of pleasure.

But you’re not done. Not even close.

You drop to your knees, ravenous, desperate to return the favor. Your fingers make quick work of his belt, but before you can take him in, his hand tightens in your hair, binding you in place. He sets the pace. You let him. You always do.

You do that thing with your tongue, the one that makes his breath stutter. The one that makes him lose himself. You want him to forget everything but you. And he does.

For a moment.

Then Matt exhales sharply, his grip in your hair tightening as he yanks you up.

"Come here," he murmurs, voice dark, dangerous.

Then he’s inside you. And there’s nothing sweet about it.

No slow build-up. No teasing. Just pure, aching need.

You gasp, arching against the shelves as he thrusts into you—hard, deep, possessive.

"Fuck—" Your fingers claw at his shirt, searching for anything to hold onto.

Matt’s hands are everywhere—your hips, your throat, your wrists. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you feel every inch of him, every punishing snap of his hips.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" His voice is a dark growl, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Wanted me to fuck you until you can’t think straight?"

You whimper, nails raking down his back.

"Wanted you to forget why you were mad at me," you admit, smirking even as your body trembles under his.

Matt grunts, his fingers wrapping around your throat—not to cut off your air, just enough to make you feel it. Just enough to remind you that you’re his.

"Oh, I haven’t forgotten," he murmurs, dragging his teeth along your jaw, biting down at your pulse. "But I’ll deal with that later. Right now—"

He slams into you again, harder, sharper, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Right now, you’re mine."

Your thighs shake as you grind against him, pleasure coiling tight, blinding. Matt knows. He can feel it.

"Come on, baby," he rasps, voice wrecked, grip tightening on your hips. "Let go for me. Let me feel it."

And that’s all it takes.

The tension snaps, white-hot pleasure consuming you whole. You shatter around him, gasping his name, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

Matt groans, his rhythm faltering as he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

Just heavy breathing. Sweat-slick skin. The air thick with sex and something else—something dangerous.

Then Matt chuckles—low, dark, smug.

"You still think you’re winning, sweetheart?"

You grin, breathless, lips brushing against his ear.

"I stole the USB five minutes ago."

Matt stills.

Then he laughs.

It’s not amused.

It’s not surprised.

It’s infuriated.

And it sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers teasing exactly where you're still sensitive.

"You really wanna play that game with me, baby?" His voice is a promise. A warning.

You smirk, tilting your head. "Oh, darling, I’m counting on it."

Matt hums, his lips grazing yours, his grip tightening.

"Then let’s see who breaks first."

[gh0stly-mp3]

i missed you

hyoma chigiri x male!reader

synopsis: chigiri comes back tired from a trip just to find his lovey dovey boyfriend making him a lovely dinner

tags: fluff, comfort, cute reader x gentle chigiri, kinda gender affirming, aesthetic?

warnings: fem aligned dni

a/n: made it because of this post, so here it is { @baileythebean }

masterlist.

Stepping inside his apartment, Chigiri dropped his duffel bag with a soft thud, his eyes immediately seeking out the source of his everyday smile and reason to keep going.

There you were.

His boyfriend, the love of his life, stood at the stove, a wooden spoon in hand, humming softly. Your hair was slightly mussed, and you wore Chigiri’s favorite oversized sweater, the sleeves pushed up to your elbows. The sight of you, bathed in the warm glow of the kitchen lights, was enough to melt away all the stress Chigiri was carrying.

"I'm back!" - Chigiri announced, his voice a little rough from the long flight.

You turned to him, your face lighting up with a genuine, heart-stoppingly beautiful smile. - "Babe! Welcome home!" - You abandoned the stove, rushing forward to engulf Chigiri in a hug. The embrace was warm and tight, a reassuring pressure that grounded Chigiri after his whirlwind trip.

“I missed you... So much” - Chigiri mumbled into your shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of your cologne and the faintest hint of whatever you were cooking.

You chuckled, pulling back slightly to cup Chigiri’s face in his hands. - "I missed you too, more than you know. How was the game? Did you win?"

"We did" - Chigiri confirmed, a small smile playing on his lips. - "It was tough, but we pulled through. The whole trip was… exhausting, though. So many interviews, so much travel." - He ran a hand through his long, pink hair, feeling the familiar strands between his fingers. He always took meticulous care of his appearance, but it was hard to maintain his usual level of polish on the road.

You gently brushed a stray strand of hair from Chigiri’s forehead. - "You look tired. Come on, dinner's almost ready. I made your favorite!"

Chigiri’s eyes widened. - “You remembered? I didn’t even tell you I was craving it.”

"I’m psychic, remember? Now, go wash up and relax. Everything's under control.”

The dinner was a masterpiece, but more than the food, it was the company that made the meal so special. You listened closely as Chigiri recounted the highlights of his trip.

The conversation flowed easily, with soft laughter and gentle touches. Chigiri felt a deep sense of contentment settle over him. Being away from his boyfriend had made him realize just how much he cherished these simple moments, these quiet evenings spent together.

After dinner, you cleared the table while Chigiri stretched out on the couch, feeling the tension slowly drain from his muscles. Soon, you joined him, dimming the lights and pulling a soft, knitted blanket over them both.

"Is my cute boyfriend tired?" - You asked, your voice low and soothing.

Chigiri leaned his head against your shoulder. - "Exhausted, but happy. Being home with you is the best."

Wrapped your arm around Chigiri, pulling him closer. - "I’m glad to have you back. I missed having my cuddle buddy around."

You settled into a comfortable silence, the only sound the gentle rhythm of your breathing. Chigiri closed his eyes, feeling your fingers tracing patterns on his arm. The warmth of your body, the scent of his cologne, the quiet comfort of your presence – it was everything Chigiri could ever ask for.

"Thank you" - Chigiri whispered, his voice barely audible.

"For what?"

"For everything. For the dinner, for the company, for just being you."

"Anytime, babe... Anytime at all."

And as Chigiri drifted off to sleep, enveloped in the warmth of your embrace, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be. Home. With the man he loved. The trip, the victories, the pressures of being a star soccer player – they all faded into insignificance compared to the simple, profound happiness he found in your arms.

[bambirz]

so tantalisingly sweet | Jeno, as your father's closest friend, can't help but lavish his affection on you.

nsfw content. mdni | wc: 605

warnings: age gap (22 – 34), dad's bestfriend, dom jeno, dirty talking, unprotected sex (don't), slut shaming, rough sex, jeno being possessive

As you step into your father's luxurious executive office, Jeno reclines behind the massive, polished mahogany desk, his eyes scorching a trail along your curves with burning intent.

Your presence only fuels the flames of his dominant excitement, his already half-hard cock painfully straining the fabric of his tailored pants.

"Ah, there you are, sweetheart," he drawls, his deep, low, gravelly voice dripping with lust as he takes in your freshly made-up face and the tantalizing outfit he chose for you this morning.

"Are you ready to help daddy with some... office work?" A wicked grin spreads across Jeno's face as he walks around the desk, his confident stride devouring the distance between you.

"I promise it won't be boring," he adds with a lecherous wink, his fingers tracing the expensive fabric of your dress, searching for the perfect spot to tug and tease. Jeno's piercing eyes focus on you with brazen hunger as he takes in your stunning appearance, his gaze lingering on every perfect feature, from your vibrant red-dyed hair to the delicate curve of your plump lips.

"He feels an overwhelming compulsion to devour you on the spot, to claim your beauty and innocence as his own. 'You're absolutely exquisite,' he says in a rough voice, his tone tense with desire. Jeno's eyes never leave yours as he moves closer, 'You look so beautiful, so tantalizingly sweet... I can barely resist the urge to devour you right here.'

He chuckles low in his throat, a dark and seductive sound, as he reaches out to gently caress a strand of hair behind your ear. 'Come on, tell me what you want, baby. I'll make sure you get it."

With urgency, Jeno grabs your hips, forcing you down onto the cool, polished wood of the desk. He hooks a hand under your slender thigh, lifting it to give you the perfect angle of submission as he positions his thick, throbbing cock at the entrance of your wet pussy. A low, deep growl rumbles in his chest at the sight of your exposed flesh, ready to be taken.

"Fuck, you're so damn perfect like this," he groans, his shaft throbbing against your sensitive folds as his free hand rises to palm your bouncing breast. He pinches and twists your nipple harshly, mixing pleasure and pain as he strokes your body with the promise of relentless domination. "Get ready, baby girl," Jeno hisses in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he thrusts into you, burying himself as deep as he can.

"I'm going to fill you over and over again until you're writhing on my cock like the wanton slut I know you are for me."

Jeno's eyes glow with a dark, possessive triumph as he listens to the moans that fall from your trembling lips, your pussy straining to accommodate the impossible girth of his cock pulsing and throbbing within your intimate depths. "Mmm, that's it, baby," he rasps, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as encouragement for you to welcome every glorious inch of him.

"Take it all, baby, milk my cock like you were made for it. You'll know no pleasure compared to being stretched and filled by me." His hips move forward, burying himself even deeper as he watches you writhe under the force of his relentless assault.

The sounds of flesh slapping against wood mingle with your rising moans, prompting Jeno to pound into you with increasing fervor, each thrust a ruthless declaration of ownership.

"You're mine now, honey... all mine. I'm going to use you and please you however I see fit."

[blkgirl-writing]

hi!! i just read your massive headcanon list for gale (loved it btw) and i desperately need one astarion as well!! ❤️

Astarions Massive list of SFW and NSFW headcanons (Part 1?)

Literally of course!! I wasn’t sure the people wanted this so I was waiting for a request. I’m bundling a lot of my astarion requests in this one too so if you see an ask you did it’s probably inspired!

TW: Acended Astarion section, details on physical and mental abuse there. I will put a warning for where it starts and ends. Some headcanons are more illuded to "female" anatomy, not all headcanons will reveal much

Astarion is somehow so soft with his touch yet rough and almost feral when he really desires you

He will trace every inch of your body with such light, soft fingers, but grab onto your hips tight and nearly thrust you into him. Gently kiss you neck before sinking his teeth into your skin

Because honestly his true desires, wants, and needs, are unfiltered and less calculated than his normal affair

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

TW START

I do have to include acended astarion here because I don’t want to write him fully, so here’s that section. I feel like too many people want acended Astarion to be loving and caring. That unfortunately isn't the truth of the cycle of abuse

It doesn’t last, his love for you. It extinguishes fast, like water to a flame. He becomes cold and controlling

The only was I can see a happy future for tav and Astarion ascended is a Durge, where you rule the land together, ignoring the heart you once had together. It’s lots of bickering. If chaos is your turn on, this is it

Lots of hate sex and screaming matches. At least one per month where you both loose your voice before the argument ends and red marks across eachothers bodies

And honestly, I think one of you kills the other, in a fit of rage. But still whoever dies would get a grave stone. Small, unlabeled, a sort of revenge for the people who wanted it all. Forced in a common place with no success flaunted and easily forgotten

TW ENDED

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion holds hand in his sleep, rather than cuddling

A hand is all he needs to feel like he’s in the safest place in the world

Full spooning is just too intimate and personal until much later In your relationship. He wasn’t ready for something so real yet

There's a lot of pushing and pulling til he gets comfortable, but he will always make sure you know that he loves you and wants your touch, there's a lot of learning along the way

He just hasn't experienced the seriousness of true love and compassion for someone he truly feels he can't lose. It's scary, loving so much that your death would lead to his emotional one, if not physically as well

Astarion would never admit it but he would do just about anything for you

he becomes somewhat soft, which, initially annoys him, but he finally accepts it after a few weeks

He realized when you looked at him, with brightness in your eyes, asking him something important, he really wasn't listening

All he could think was to never make those eyes cry again, he'd do anything to stop you from feeling like that again

Your first date isn't very planned

After a fun but quick night on the beach, you get clothed and Astarion stares at you, taking all of your skin in, as it slowly gets hidden by clothing. A bit of a shame, he couldn't see you bare all the time

There was a blanket and you both lay on it for some time, in silence. Slowly, you feel his pinky finger graise yours. You hook them together, and simply watch the moon in the sky, fading in and out of sleep. Astarion doesn't get any closer or further, but he does sigh a few times

And for the first time, when you wake up, he's still there

Your second date was much more of a traditional date, at least for you two

Astarion had the bright idea to sneak as much alcohol as possible from the inn

feet dipped in the cold water of the docks, four bottles of quality whiskey polished off, and working on a fifth, you were positively hammered

Astarions head was leaning on your shoulder, arm slumped around your waist

the laughing and mumbled words only get louder and louder with each sip, and at some point, Astarion looks up at you, a small glint of his sharp teeth peering out of a smirk, and he leans into you further, pressing his lips against yours doe a deep kiss

it was almost aromatic. A charm whispered in your ear that made his lips taste like roses and sugar, with a hint of copper, you feel your own tongue lick his bottom lip, needing more of whatever that taste was

the night was a blur, after that. Too drunk to really remember much the next day, but you both knew there wasn't going back after that. There was a bond, now, with feelings more than just lust and need

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion fucking you feels like getting close to a campfire, warm, hot, even, like getting any closer may kill you, pounding and scraping, biting and bleeding, breath thick and hot

When you fuck Astarion, everything feels light, it flows like water over a riverbed, he lets you ravish him in a gentle, caring sense

His attention is all over you, but your neck clearly has his attention-grabbing the back of your neck, kisses down it, bite marks, hickeys, licks, even cum, sometimes, purposefully dripped on your face, but mostly on your neck and collarbone

It definitely also is just a very obvious placement, it can show that you fuck, he fucks you, and you love it. It gets to the point where there are faded bruises, bite marks, and scratches littering across your whole neck, it almost looks like tattoos, and a few passersby comment on it.

Astarion had a very smug smile on his face that day, and that night he ravished you with more passion than ever before

What else can I say, Astarion fucks, but I do think once you really start your relationship, there's a lot of re-learning of what he really wants

so sex starts off fairly vanilla, adding stuff in, changing it out, uses of safe words and communication being key, a safe, loving space between you and him where he is never used and he never uses you, it's just pleasure and ecstasy

I believe he'd be open to a closed relationship as well, at least for a while, especially if you choose the path of the underdark for your future

Literally not even once do you wear protection either lol

It's messed up so TW, I have a feeling Cazador made sure Astarion could never procreate, giving him an attachment to anyone is dangerous, and something to fight for even more so. Having his own offspring would never be an option for him

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

There would never be normalcy in your relationship, that's kind of the beauty of it

Every single day is different, there is never a moment that passes with Astarion that isn't unique

Especially when Astarion is adjusting to a life where he has to think and care for another, a routine isn't comforting to him, spontaneity is important in your early relationship

Astarion is still very romantic in his own ways, kissing your fingers hugs from behind, small, light touches across your whole body

The first time you nearly die? my god. He's incredibly distant for a few days

and when you ask what's up he would definitely blow up

like what were you thinking? Going in like that, you could have died! You could have left him alone again

He cries softly in your arms, then, repeats how you could have died. It seems like forever, that he stays there, tears dripping down your skin, cold

From then on he always looks back at you, in battle, before striking, to make sure you're ok, accounted for

------

hey! What other HCs would ya'll like me to add in the next part! I haven't romanced Astarion more than twice so I may need a little help there, haha. But thank you for reading!!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic @fapqueen

(Consider supporting me on Ko-fi)

[decayed-cartilage]

The Intern

Masterlist PT 4

Hannibal Lecter x AFAB! Reader

Warnings for chapter: power dynamic? Mentions of erection.. creepy! Hannibal, Morally wrong! Hannibal, Small Smut! Mention of murder

Synopsis: Y/N is on the brink of graduation, with just one requirement left—an internship. Somehow, she finds herself under the esteemed Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a man as brilliant as he is unreadable. Cold, precise, and impossible to rattle, he keeps his thoughts well-guarded. But Y/N can’t help her curiosity—she wants to understand him, to get beneath the surface. And whether he intends to or not, bit by bit, he lets something slip. Something darker. Something she might not be ready to see.

Third person (Hannibal)

Hannibal couldn't rid her of his thoughts, no matter how irrational it was. The girl was hopelessly naive, pitiful in the way she shrank under his slightest disapproval—so easily swayed, so unbearably foolish. And yet, despite her fragility, or perhaps because of it, she had wormed her way into the crevices of his mind, an unshakable fixation.

It was maddening.

She was nothing extraordinary—soft-spoken, nervous, entirely unaware of the danger she courted by lingering too close. And still, he needed her. The thought of her consumed him, nestled deep in the marrow of his being. Even now, in the quiet solitude of the night, she plagued him, slipping seamlessly into his dreams.

“H-Hani-” she moaned pathetically under his crushing weight, small hands scratching his back as her sweet noises almost sounded like pleas’

“Sh sh sh” he tutted, holding her face as the other supported all his weight as he slowly increased the pace which he rocked his hips into hers. “You're doing so good sweetie- g-god- so beautiful” his voice rumbled as he held back groans, instead sinking his teeth into her neck to muffle the noise.

He felt her walls contract around him desperately- almost begging for him to stuff her even though she hadn't said a word, just cried and mewled into his rough skin.

Hannibal jolted upright, his breath uneven, the weight of his dream still pressing against him. The room was dark, except for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows that did little to cool the heat thrumming beneath his skin. He dragged a hand through his hair, slicking it back, but the gesture did nothing to settle him. What was that? He thought.

The tension in his body was undeniable—tight, lingering, pooling low in his abdomen. His boxers felt uncomfortably restrictive, a stark reminder of just how deeply the dream had affected him. He exhaled slowly, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, attempting to compose himself, but the sensation of her—soft, yielding, utterly helpless beneath him—clung to him like she would die without him..

He stood abruptly, forcing himself to shake off the lingering heat as he dressed quickly, His fingers barely hesitated as he reached for his phone, dialing without a second thought. It was 1:05 a.m.—an ungodly hour for anyone else, but she would answer. She had to.

She may not have realized the full extent of what she had agreed to when she signed the contract, but that was of little concern to him now. Whether she was awake or not didn’t matter. What mattered was that when her phone rang, she would pick up.

And she did. Not on the first ring, but soon enough.

At first, there was only the sound of rustling—sheets shifting, a quiet inhale—before her voice finally broke through the speaker, soft and laced with confusion.

“H-hello?”

It was barely more than a whisper, cracking slightly, still thick with sleep. The disoriented innocence of it made something in him tighten. She had no idea. No idea why he was calling.

Hannibal’s grip on the phone tightened, his fingers absently smoothing over the polished surface as he listened to the sleepy hesitation in her voice. It wasn’t enough. Hearing her—fragile, unaware, obedient—only stoked the need simmering in his chest. He needed to see her. Right now.

His mind worked quickly, crafting the perfect excuse, something that wouldn’t raise suspicion but would ensure her immediate compliance. Work. Yes, work was always the best justification. She had signed the contract, after all. Even if she hadn’t realized the full extent of its demands.

Clearing his throat, he let a measured calm seep into his voice. “I apologize for the late hour, but something’s come up that requires your attention. I trust you’ll be able to meet me at my office within the next half hour?”

It wasn’t really a question. It never was.

"S-Sir—that's a thirty-minute walk for me—I-it's the middle of the night—" her voice was hesitant, uncertain, almost pleading.

There was a pause. A heavy, deliberate silence that sent a chill down her spine. Then, his voice came through the speaker, smooth and unshaken, yet carrying an unmistakable weight beneath it.

"I’m aware," Hannibal said, as if my protest was nothing more than an observation. "But I wouldn’t have called if it weren’t important. Surely, you understand that."

The way he spoke—it wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a command. It was an inevitability. Her fingers tightened around the phone as I swallowed hard, already feeling the pull of his words, the unshakable sense that saying no simply wasn’t an option.

She hesitated, gripping the phone tighter as she tried to steady her voice. “I—I do understand, sir, but… it’s really not that simple.” She winced at how uncertain she sounded, but she pressed on, forcing herself to explain.

“It’s the middle of the night. I live far, and my neighborhood… it’s not safe. There aren’t even streetlights, and I—I don’t have a car. Walking that far, alone, in the dark—”

She cut herself off, realizing she was rambling. That she was pleading.

She inhaled sharply and tried again, softer this time, as if appealing to whatever mercy he might have. “I just… I don’t think I can make it there right now.”

For a brief, foolish moment, she thought he might understand. That he’d hear the logic in her words and let her go back to sleep. But then there was silence.

A long, heavy silence that made her stomach twist.

Then, finally, his voice returned—calm, patient, but utterly unmoved.

"You’ve always struck me as a resourceful young woman," Hannibal mused, as if he were merely making an idle observation. "I imagine you’ll find a way."

Her stomach sank.

He wasn’t letting this go.

She glanced toward her window, the street outside swallowed in darkness. The thought of stepping out into it, of walking block after block alone, sent a nervous shiver down her spine. She gritted her teeth, trying to think of an excuse, something firm, something that would make him understand—

But nothing came.

Because deep down, she already knew: there was no argument to be made. No polite refusal he would accept.

If she told him no, would that really be the end of it?

Somehow, she doubted it.

"I…" she started, barely above a whisper. She squeezed her eyes shut, defeated. "Okay. I’ll come."

"Ah, there's my good girl," Hannibal said smoothly, and the line went dead.

She groaned, rolling onto her side as the phone slipped from her hand, landing forgotten on the bed. A muffled scream escaped into her pillow, her body curling inward as a wave of embarrassment and an unfamiliar, tingling heat spread through her.

Begrudgingly, she pulled herself together, slipping into whatever clothes she could find, though the lingering embarrassment still clung to her like a second skin. His simple praise had been enough to override her hesitation, enough to make her consider stepping out into the night just to prove she was capable—just to prove she could obey.

Maybe she could call a cab. Or maybe—just maybe—someone would be lingering in the dorm lobby, someone who could give her a ride. But she was never that lucky.

The clothes she managed to pull together were the same ones she had been wearing—an old camisole, one from years ago, maybe middle school? It fit her more like a crop top now, the hem riding up every time she moved. Her sweatpants, once snug, had long since lost their elastic grip, hanging loosely on her hips from years of wear. She shoved her feet into her Uggs, pulled on her oversized winter coat, and ran a brush haphazardly through her hair before exhaling sharply.

She caught her reflection in the mirror—a mess of tired eyes, messy hair, and exposed skin. This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet, she still found herself grabbing her keys and stepping out into the cold night air.

As she locked the door, the creak of another one opening caught her attention. A boy from down the hall was stepping out of his room, tugging a hoodie over his head. Her eyes widened in recognition—she knew him! He was in her social psychology class.

How perfect.

She forced a smile, pushing away the lingering embarrassment still buzzing under her skin. "Hey!" she called out softly, stepping toward him. "Are you heading out?"

He blinked at her sudden enthusiasm, clearly caught off guard. She knew she had never been this forward, this desperate—but she needed that ride.

"Uh, yeah," he said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Just heading to grab something to eat. Why?"

She hesitated only for a moment before forcing another smile. "Would you mind giving me a ride? Just… downtown. I, um, have something important to take care of."

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at her thrown-together outfit—the tiny camisole peeking out from under her oversized jacket, the loose sweatpants barely clinging to her hips. She probably looked insane, asking for a ride in the middle of the night, but she didn’t care.

"Downtown? Now?" He let out a short laugh but didn’t say no. "You in trouble or something?"

She shook her head quickly. "No! No, I just… need to be somewhere. Please."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, yeah, sure. But you owe me."

Relief flooded her chest as she nodded. "Yes! totally! Thank you so much- you don't know how badly I needed this.

She climbed into the passenger seat minutes later, staring out at the dark streets, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted with nerves. She was really doing this.

She slides into the passenger seat, pulling her jacket tighter around herself as the cold still clings to her skin. The boy glances at her outfit—a fleeting look, but she catches it. His brows lift slightly at the camisole barely visible beneath her coat.

"Late-night plans?" he asks, his tone light, teasing.

She forces a small laugh, shifting uncomfortably. "Something like that. Just... work stuff."

He hums in acknowledgment, not pressing further. The car rumbles to life, and as he pulls onto the empty streets, the glow of streetlights flickers across her face. She keeps checking her phone, her fingers tightening around it each time the minutes tick by. She’s already late. She shouldn't be, but she is.

"You good?" he asks after a stretch of silence.

She exhales, only now realizing how tense her shoulders have become. "Yeah. Just tired."

Silence again. The heater hums softly, filling the space between them. Her mind is elsewhere—already at the office, already facing him. She wonders if he’s waiting impatiently, if he regrets calling her at all.

"Where am I dropping you off again?" he asks, glancing at her.

She hesitates. Saying Dr. Lecter’s office feels too personal, too exposing. "Just downtown. Near the courthouse."

He gives her a look—curious, maybe, but not enough to pry. As they near the courthouse, Y/n’s breath catches when she spots a lone figure standing just outside. Hannibal. Waiting. The dim glow of the streetlamp casts long shadows over him, but she can still make out the sharpness of his posture, the stillness of his presence—like an impatient child trying desperately to appear composed.

The driver notices him too. His hands tighten slightly around the wheel, his gaze flickering between her and the man outside. "That him?" he asks, voice low with something unreadable.

Y/n swallows hard, gripping the door handle. "Yeah."

The car slows to a stop, but for a brief moment, she hesitates to move. Hannibal hasn’t taken his eyes off her since she entered his line of sight.

"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible, as she unbuckled and reached for the door handle.

-

As she stepped out, the cold air bit at her exposed skin, sending a shiver down her spine. The car door shut softly behind her, and she hesitated for just a second before turning toward Hannibal.

He stood motionless, watching her with an unreadable expression—waiting. The weight of his gaze made her pulse quicken, but she forced herself to move, forcing one foot in front of the other as she approached him.

Hannibal’s jaw tightened the moment his eyes took in her appearance. The thin camisole barely clung to her frame, exposing far too much skin to the biting cold. The sweatpants, loose and hanging low on her hips, did little to add to her modesty. And then there was the boy—the nameless, irrelevant boy who had driven her here.

His fingers curled slightly at his sides, the only outward indication of his displeasure. He had called for her, and yet she had arrived in another man's car, wearing something so improper. His gaze flickered past her to the boy still sitting in the driver’s seat, his presence an irritation, a speck of dust on an otherwise carefully controlled moment.

Slowly, he exhaled, schooling his features into their usual unreadable calm. "I see you've found a way here after all," he murmured, his voice smooth but laced with something else—something she couldn’t quite place.

A beat of silence filled the air between them for the moment before Y/n spoke “so-”

“You are not to get rides from strange men,” he interupted, his voice clipped, controlled, but unmistakably sharp. “If you truly needed a ride, you should have asked me.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between them, leaving no room for argument. The streetlight cast long shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his expression. He wasn’t just upset—he was disappointed.

The car’s engine hummed behind her, the driver hesitating for just a second before pulling away. She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling small beneath Hannibal’s gaze, alone.

Hannibal’s gaze sharpened, his expression unreadable as he studied her. The way she stood before him, arms tucked into her oversized coat, eyes wary yet defiant—it only stoked the slow-burning irritation beneath his composed exterior.

“You didn’t seem like you were going to help me, sir,” she murmured, her voice quiet but firm, laced with exhaustion.

His lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "If you had simply asked, I would have ensured your safe arrival. Instead, you put yourself in the hands of a stranger."

There was something unsettling about the way he said it—not anger, not outright scolding, but an edge of something possessive, something final. As if the decision had never been hers to make in the first place.

First person (Y/n)

"You know—you’re not my dad. You can't tell me who I don’t get rides from," I snapped, finally pushing back against him. "What if that was my boyfriend?"

Hannibal's expression didn’t shift much, but there was something in his eyes—something dark, something warning. His jaw tightened ever so slightly as he regarded me, his gaze sharp enough to cut.

"If that were the case," he said coolly, stepping closer, "I would be having a very different conversation right now."

His words sent a strange chill down my spine, though whether it was from fear or something else, I couldn't tell. He exhaled slowly, as if reigning himself in, before continuing, "You will not accept rides from men again. If you require transportation, you will ask me. Do you understand?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You can't be serious."

His gaze hardened. "I assure you, I am."

There was no use arguing—not when he looked at me like that, as if my defiance was merely a temporary inconvenience, one he could erase with time.

Hannibal’s gaze swept over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle with unease. His jaw was still tight, his displeasure evident, but his voice remained calm—too calm.

"Also, I don’t appreciate your tone," he murmured, stepping even closer, his presence nearly overwhelming. My breath caught in my throat as his hand lifted—just barely grazing the edge of my sleeve, a ghost of a touch. Then, he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to my ear, his voice no louder than a whisper.

"If you insist on behaving like this, little one… I will fix that attitude myself."

A slow exhale left his nose, warm against my skin. "And I promise you, you won’t like my methods."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering as I forced myself to stay still, to not react—to not let him see how his words tangled in my head, how they made it impossible to think, how I felt my core squeeze and my brain melt like I would sink to my knees right there before him..

Before I could even think of a response, Hannibal’s hand moved—firm and unyielding—as he wrapped his arm around my lower back. The grip was possessive, authoritative, as if I had no say in the matter. A small gasp escaped me, but he ignored it, effortlessly pulling me toward the entrance like I was nothing more than a disobedient child in need of correction.

"You will not question me again," he stated, his voice low and edged with warning.

The warmth of his hand against my spine sent a shiver through me, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else entirely. His pace was steady, unrelenting, forcing me to match his stride whether I wanted to or not.

"You should be grateful I tolerate your defiance at all," he murmured, his grip tightening just slightly—a silent reminder of his control. "But I do not have limitless patience, little one. I expect obedience."

The door loomed ahead, and my stomach twisted as he led me inside, his presence swallowing me whole.

Hannibal guided me inside with a grip that was both firm and effortless, his hand pressing against the small of my back, dictating every step I took. The way he handled me—it was humiliating, like I was some wayward child too naive to make her own decisions.

The door shut behind us with a heavy finality, sealing me in with him. I swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the silence between us, of the heat radiating from his body so close to mine. I dared a glance up at him, but his expression was unreadable—cold, calculating.

"You will not put yourself in a situation like that again," he said, voice smooth but edged with unmistakable authority. "If you require a ride, you will call me. Do you understand?"

I hesitated, my pride flaring for just a second. "I—"

His fingers brushed under my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. My breath hitched. His touch was deceptively gentle, but the warning in his eyes made my pulse quicken.

"You will learn, little one," he murmured. "One way or another."

The weight of his words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, and I had no idea how to respond. All I knew was that, despite the cold that still clung to my skin, I suddenly felt much too warm.

I tried to ignore everything that had just happened, even as my body betrayed me—impossibly warm under his gaze, under the weight of his presence. I forced myself to straighten up, to steady my breath, to act as if my mind wasn’t spinning.

"Why did you need me here, sir?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

Hannibal studied me for a moment, as if deciding whether to entertain my question or continue reveling in my unease. Then, with a slow, measured inhale, he released his grip on me, but the absence of his touch did nothing to ease the tension wrapping itself around my chest.

"There are matters to discuss," he said smoothly, turning away as if he hadn’t just imposed himself into every inch of my thoughts. "Work that requires your attention. I assumed you would be eager to prove your dedication."

There was something about the way he said it—how his voice lingered on the word assumed—that made me feel small. As if I had already disappointed him somehow. I bit the inside of my cheek, nodding quickly.

"Of course," I murmured. "I’m here now."

"Yes," he said, glancing back at me with something unreadable in his expression. "You are."

The fear of disappointing him weighed heavier than any instinct to push back. My throat tightened, my hands curled into fists in my lap, but I said nothing. What was the point? He had already decided how this would go.

Hannibal led me to his office without another word, his grip firm around my lower back, guiding me as if I were something fragile—or something that needed control. The warmth of his hand burned through my thin camisole, and I hated how my body reacted, heat rising to my face despite everything.

The office was dimly lit, the scent of leather and something richer—something undeniably him—filling the space. The door clicked shut behind us, and suddenly, the night felt even quieter.

"Sit," he said, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument.

I did as he asked, sinking into the chair across from his desk. My heart was still racing, my skin prickling with leftover adrenaline. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to meet his eyes, to push past the way he looked at me like he was dissecting every inch of my being.

Then, after a long silence, he finally spoke.

"Tell me," his voice was smooth, deliberate, "was it the inconvenience that made you hesitate… or do you need reminding of who you answer to?"

His words settled over me like a heavy weight, pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe. Did I need reminding? The question twisted in my mind, shame curling in my stomach.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. My fingers curled around the hem of my jacket, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. I hated how easily he could unravel me, how a single sentence from him could make me question myself.

"I—" My voice wavered, barely above a whisper. I looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. "No, sir…"

The words felt foreign on my tongue, like I was giving something away, something I wasn’t even sure I had. But the way he stared at me—like he already knew the answer, like he was simply waiting for me to accept it too—made it impossible to say anything else.

"Are you sure?" His voice was deceptively calm, but there was something dangerous beneath it, something that made my pulse stutter. "Because sometimes it feels like, with the way you talk to me, you need me to drill it through that thick skull of yours."

His words made me feel small and pathetic—did I really need reminding? The weight of his gaze pinned me in place, and I gripped the edges of my jacket, trying to steady myself. My breath felt uneven, my body impossibly warm despite the chill still clinging to my skin.

"I…" My voice barely made it past my lips, weak and uncertain. I knew better than to talk back, knew better than to challenge him, but somehow, I always seemed to push too far.

Hannibal watched me, his patience unnerving. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, one of his large hands grabbed the top of my head, leaning it back so I'd have to stare up at him

I swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in my throat as I looked up at him, my pride slipping through my fingers like sand. There was no point in trying to argue—he saw right through me, always did. Nothing I could say would ever shake him, so why even try?

"I’m sorry, sir," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. My attitude was uncalled for, and I should have controlled myself better." I paused, forcing myself to take a steady breath, but it only made me feel smaller under his gaze. "It was just… it just so early, and I can't think clearly—but that’s not an excuse. I know that. I should do better."

I lowered my head, ashamed at how weak I sounded, how desperate I was to make things right. "I just… I want to help with whatever work you have now. Please, let me prove that I can be useful. I really appreciate this opportunity, sir. I mean it."

My hands fidgeted in my lap as I bit my lip, waiting—praying—that he would accept my apology. That he wouldn’t look at me with that same knowing disappointment that made my stomach twist.

Third person POV

Hannibal watched her carefully, taking in every trembling breath, every nervous flick of her fingers. She was just a sweet, misguided little thing—too naive to understand the weight of her own actions. Her outburst had been nothing more than exhaustion taking its toll, a momentary lapse in judgment. Nothing he couldn’t correct.

Her apology, however, was something else entirely. It was gratifying, almost endearing in its sincerity. She wasn’t just saying the words—she believed them. She truly thought she had overstepped, that she had something to make up for. And that was good. That was necessary. Because guidance, after all, was what she needed most. And he was more than willing to provide it.

"You recognize your mistake," he said, his voice smooth, measured. "That’s good. I expect you to learn from it."

He leaned forward slightly, watching how she shrank under his gaze, how easily she yielded. It was almost too easy.

His hand lifted, fingers grazing her cheek with a deliberate softness as he cupped her face, tilting it just enough to keep her eyes on him. “You’re a good girl,” he murmured, his tone smooth yet firm. “I know you can do better. Let’s not dwell on this any longer—let’s get to work.”

Y/N didn’t know why she felt the way she did—why the moment he looked at her like that, all her frustration, all her resistance just melted away. She had been upset, hadn’t she? She should still be upset. But instead, she found herself apologizing, her voice softer than she meant it to be, her resolve slipping through her fingers like sand.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, the quiet authority in his voice that made arguing feel pointless. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like he already knew what she was going to say before she said it. It made her feel small—but not in a way that made her want to fight back. It was something else, something heavier.

She wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point, listening to him had started to feel natural. Right. Like she was to. Even if a part of her questioned it, even if she knew she hadn’t really done anything wrong, the need to please him overpowered everything else.

Hannibal had given her stacks of papers to sort through—documents that, in hindsight, didn’t seem to require her immediate attention. But she didn’t question it. She buried herself in the task, her tired eyes scanning page after page, filing, organizing, highlighting whatever he had instructed. The monotonous work kept her grounded, kept her from thinking too hard about why she was even here at this hour.

The clock ticked on, the world outside slowly shifting from deep night to the earliest whispers of dawn. By the time the hands neared seven, her body ached with exhaustion, her fingers stiff from hours of tedious work. She had started nodding off, her head dipping slightly before she forced herself awake again.

Then, the sharp ring of Hannibal’s phone cut through the silence. He answered it immediately, his posture straightening as his expression turned unreadable. Whatever was being said on the other end had his full attention. And just like that, the stillness in the room was gone, replaced by an unspoken tension.

She paused for just a moment at the sudden disturbance, glancing up to see Hannibal’s gaze shift toward the clock. Nearly 7:30… Had she really been working for five hours straight? A flicker of disbelief crossed her mind—what was she even doing? But before she could dwell on it, she forced herself to keep going, her hands moving on autopilot as she quietly tuned in, secretly listening to the low, measured tone of his voice on the phone.

As she pretended to focus on the papers in front of her, Hannibal’s voice remained steady, carrying a weight of concern that anyone would find appropriate given the situation.

"Where?" he asked, his tone grave. "Has the scene been secured?"

There was a pause as the person on the other end relayed more details—something about the body being found just outside the city, mutilated beyond recognition. Y/N swallowed, a chill running down her spine at the words, but something else made her pause.

Hannibal… smiled.

It was brief, barely there, but she saw it—the faintest curl of his lips before he smoothed his expression into something more appropriate.

Her stomach twisted.

Why… why would he smile at that?

[fizziepopangel]

A Surprise For You, My Dear

* Author’s note: In this story, I’m going to interpret Alastor’s asexuality and aromanticism as more fluid than it seems to be canonically. Also, this is my first fanfic so please keep that in mind if it's shit... That being said, I hope you enjoy!

P.s. If you enjoy this fic, you can always request more with the Fic Request Form

Alastor. The radio demon. Everyone knew the radio demon, and though he had been gone for quite a while, most still feared him upon his return, but not me. Because he was different from me. Softer, kinder, more genuine. It wasn’t a relationship, at least I didn’t think it was, but I still enjoyed my time with Alastor; the dancing, the laughter we both shared, every moment left me in awe of the man that had come to be feared by so many.

“You gonna answer me or not?” Husk snapped, pulling me from my thoughts. 

I tried to cover my embarrassment that struck me when I realized that I hadn’t been listening to the old bartender at all despite having been the one that came and started conversing with the man. I sat up a little straighter and looked over at the bar cat. “Sorry, I… my mind was somewhere else. What did you say?”

Husk rolled his eyes. “I’m goin’ out with Angel tonight but that damn pig of his is sick. I think the little shit got into my whiskey when Angel brought him down here last night. Angel wants to know if you’ll watch him.” He takes a long sip of whiskey in his glass. “So you up for it?”

Although I loved Fat Nuggets and would usually jump at the chance to spend time with the sweet little pig, I shook my head. “Sorry, I have plans with Alastor.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Al said he has a surprise for me tonight…”

“Right.” Husk gives me an unimpressed look that seems to say something along the lines of fuck you without outright saying fuck you. “Your boyfriend and your date night.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say awkwardly. “I mean.. I don’t think so…I mean, I… I just… I like him but its, it’s…” I sigh deeply, a heat rising in my cheeks. “Shut up, Husk.”

 “Whatever.” Husk says in his usual empty sarcastic tone. “Guess Angel and me’ll just stay in with the pig tonight…” I watch as he turns, grabbing a glass and beginning to polish it with a rag that ironically  didn’t all that clean.

“Oh… sorry, Husk…” I mumble awkwardly, suddenly feeling a bit like a dick for essentially denying the couple a night out. I knew they both deserved it but I just couldn’t bring myself to say that I would cancel on Alastor when he made the night out seem so special. “I…” I trail off for a moment, feeling the other demon’s judging eyes despite his back still being turned to me as he continues to polish glasses on the shelf behind the bar. “I’m gonna go get ready to meet Alastor. I’ll see you later, and maybe I can take Fat Nuggets another time?”

I receive a grunt in reply, but as I get off my barstool, I hear the old demon grumble under his breath…. A simple warning. “Just… Be careful around Alastor, kid…. You been having a rough enough time without his bullshit” He says, not even sparing me a glance as the words left his lips. I promise him I will, knowing that he’s only looking out for me… Husk always told me that, or at least something along those lines…. But this time felt different; this time it sent a spear of anxiety through my chest and made my mind wander to what everyone in hell knew about Alastor versus the Alastor that I knew. The Alastor that I loved despite knowing he probably didn’t and would never feel the same about me… when I really thought about it, I did wonder why the man had taken such a liking to me. I wasn't indebted to him, I had no real power in hell or the hotel, and even I knew that no matter what version of Alastor was on display, he didn't keep people around without a reason. 

My thoughts continued to wander from one shitty thought to the next as I went up to my room to change for our little hang out. I was so lost in the whirlwind of thoughts when a knock at the door jolted me from where I sat in my room.

“Darling,” Alastor’s cheery, sing song voice. “Are you ready to go?”

Despite the fact that I had just been questioning my entire purpose in his life and why my companionship was so valued by him, I practically tripped over my own two feet trying to get to the door. “Al!” I beam the second I see him. “I thought we were supposed to meet up? What are you doing here?”

Sporting his signature smile, the usually detached demon waltzed into my room, grabbing me and spinning me around. “I thought we could make our way to our outing together, hmm?” He says as I giggle. “What do you say, my dear? May I escort you to the roof for your surprise?” Alastor’s smile faded into a warmer grin as he held out his hand in invitation, waiting for me to take it.

When I took his hand and let him lead me through the halls of the hotel toward the roof, it felt as if all at once the anxieties that had been gnawing away at my gut just melted away ... it was like butterflies just swarmed my insides.

“What is this big surprise, Al?" I giggle as he whisks me up to the roof, stopping just outside the door. 

“Now, I know that you've had a rough week, and that you've been absolutely dying to see that new horror film…” He said giddily. “And I've set something up that I think you'll enjoy very much.”

A frown crossed my face for a moment. I had mentioned wanting to see the horror movie that came out last weekend, and I had been pretty having a shitty week, but I wasn’t sure where Alastor was going with this surprise since he wouldn’t dare touch a tv that would stream the movie. “Yeah…?” I laugh lightly as we stand in front of the door. “What, did you find someone to go to the movies with or something?”

“Not quite.” I can actually heat the excitement in his voice as he opens the door and pulls me through it. “What do you think?”

“Alastor…” I breathe, looking around at the rooftop. There’s twinkle lights strung up all over and blankets and pillows and wine sitting and a basket of my favorite snacks all sitting beside a projector pointed at the wall beside the door. “This is…”

“Oh, but wait, there’s more!” Alastor said, his shadow hitting play on the projector. The beginning sequence of the movie I had been dying to see popping up.

My eyes lit up and despite myself, I launched myself into the radio demon’s arms, eliciting a small ‘oof’ from the man before I felt his arms snake around me. “Alastor, this is amazing! I love it!” I looked up at the man who everyone around me seemed so terrified of, the man my friends warned me to be careful around. “Did you really do this for me?”

“Why of course!” The man smiled down at me, pulling me a bit closer than he usually did before his head dipped just a bit lower and I felt him place a soft kiss on my forehead. “I would do anything to make you happy, my sweet little radio wave.” 

My heart stopped for just a moment before it began racing, hammering against my ribcage as the butterflies in my stomach went wild. “Al…” Before I could stop myself, I found my lips connecting with his and despite his usual aversion to touch and romance and anything that could even possibly lead to sex, he pulled me a bit closer. 

When he didn't pull away, it felt like electricity crackling in my veins. I felt like every star in the sky aligned perfectly as he held me. It felt perfect, it felt right. 

Radio static cracked in the air around us and Alastor’s face was just a light shade of red, no doubt mirroring my own embarrassment at what I had just done.

“Well then, “ Alastor cleared his throat, the static seeming to fade a bit as he straightened his jacket and held his hand out to me. "Shall we sit down and watch the movie?” I take his hand and nod wordlessly, afraid that I would ruin what was certainly a perfect moment if I uttered even a word or asked him to define our relationship.

Alastor showed me to my seat on the blanketed area he had set up, I immediately sank into the soft pillows and blankets, and smiled as he sat down beside me. The movie began to play and as the opening credits began to roll, I knew I should at least thank him for all of this since I knew it was a show of care he reserved for only those he loved on some level, but before I could form a coherent sentence, I felt it… His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer to his own body.

“I don’t think I could’ve made this anymore perfect if I tried, Al.” I sigh softly, resting my head against his chest and listening to the quiet, steady crackle of radio static that always seemed to emit from the demon. Although he set this movie night up for me, I’m not even watching the movie, but rather, just trying to soak up this moment before it slips away. “Thank you.”

Alastor chuckles, his hand gently coming to rest on my chin. My breath caught in my throat as he leaned in, our lips hovering just apart from one anothers. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, my dear.” The static completely stops and his whisper tickles my lips as he catches them in another soft kiss.

The week had been shitty, but this… This was perfect.

Alastor Tag list : @writersonicfan91

[diamondheartyux]

Jason

Part two of Killer Climaxes

Read Pennywise here

Check out the playlist on Spotify

Mingyu x xreader

Genre: Horror, Smut 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 8.1K

Warnings: Horror themes, aggression, dubcon\noncon, drowning, sharp objects, blood\possible bloodplay, Non HEA, death, dead dove.

You swung the car door open, stretching your legs as you shifted to scoot your body out of the car to stand on hard ground. You had been driving for hours with your friends. One of your closest friends got it in their head that it would be a fun idea to drive to the old Camp Crystal Lake for the weekend. Crystal Lake had been permanently closed for a few years after the mass murders that occurred over one night. No one survived and now the area was forgotten, the cabins and grounds overgrown with weeds and draped delicately with abandoned spider webs. Even better, there was no cell service or anyone around for miles plus it was Friday the 13th. Rumors swirled that the man responsible for all those deaths came back to the campground every Friday the 13th like clockwork, ready to slay anyone around. Of course, your horror obsessed best friend was all about coming out here to just see.. You lift your arms over your head, reaching up as far as you can to stretch the stiffness in your lower back out and sigh heavily. 

You turn at the sound of a car door closing and watch three of your friends pile out of the car you were in as well as another car loaded with friends pull up, the headlights causing you to squint lightly in the dim, setting sun. You walk to the trunk and pop it open before grabbing bags to cart who knows how far to a cabin. With now fully loaded arms, you turn around to face the car behind you as you listen to the sound of light chatter. Your eyes immediately find Mingyu and a smile ghosts your lips before you quickly straighten them out. He was out of your league. Ever the heartthrob. His skin glowed in the dusk with its golden hue. His wavy, onyx hair was messy, as if he had either just rolled out of bed or ran his hands through it numerous times on the drive here. His pale yellow shirt clung to his chest like a second skin ,the definition of his abs visible through the thin fabric and the entire look was polished off with a pair of jeans and pearls. Fucking pearls. The man was bold and beautiful and he knew it. Your body hums softly at the sight of him and you try to shake it off. Everyone was attracted to Mingyu but not everyone was lucky enough to be with him. You knew your place and it definitely wasn’t underneath him no matter how much your body craved to be. 

His laughter echoed around everyone. His smile is infectious, sparking a grin to splay across your lips again and this time you allow it. You watch him put another friend in a headlock, rubbing the knuckles of his closed fist rapidly against the boy’s head before he gets shoved to the side. You roll your eyes at the display of rough housing and turn to find your best friend, the organizer of this expedition. Her arms were loaded down with equipment: camera, voiceboxes, notebooks, candles, and various herbs. In true nerd fashion, she had a theory that the camp was actually haunted and she wanted to see if she could capture the spirit of Jason on camera. You shake your head as you watch her juggle everything in her hand before she nods in the direction to her right and stomps off.

You follow suit, your arms straining under the weight of the numerous bags you crammed in your hands. You refused to make this trip more than once and between the four of you in one car, there were a lot of bags to carry especially with Ghost Hunter McGee ahead of you. The sun sets deeper into the horizon, the shadows it cast dancing across the worn dirt path you followed. In the distance, the cabins began to appear. Their outlines grew solid the closer you got to them, the wear and tear evident on each one even from the distance you were from them. Your face wrinkles in displeasure at the sight of them. It was already unseasonably warm and just from the sight of these things, it was going to be even warmer inside.

Your arms throb in protest to the weight hanging from them as you approach the first cabin and you note the considerable distance between the five cabins. You drop the load of stuff in your arms at your feet and swing your arms to shake out the ache in them before you make your way around the side of the first cabin to take in the rest of the camp. In the swelling darkness, you can vaguely make out the one furthest away, its outline almost a speck against the horizon. You make your way towards the second cabin and it takes a few minutes before you grace its front door. You twist the knob on the door as it catches causing you to have to lean your body weight against it to force it open. You sigh at the entire ordeal before making your way inside. 

The stale air hits your nose immediately and you cough as you breathe in the dust you disturbed when you had to pry the door open. You pull your shirt over your nose as you wander further inside. There wasn’t much to the cabin. It was an open space scattered with old, rusty beds. The majority were laying on their sides with a few mattresses ripped open, exposing the springs so they were shooting from the tears. A chest of drawers lies on its side as well, with small end tables littered in the pile of forgotten memories. You shuffle around for a moment, picking up the threadbare blankets that lie scattered around the room before you make your way out into the near pitch blackness outside. You head back in the direction of the first cabin, following the thin beams of light now emanating from the front and side of it. 

You hold your hand up to block the light as it swings and lands directly on your face, the brightness making you squint your eyes. The light lowers and you can make out Mingyu’s outline in the reflection of it. He waves his hand toward you, gesturing for you to come gather with everyone else. Lights bounce all around as everyone comes back from their small exploration of the campground. You find your best friend again, always naturally gravitating towards her and stand to her left as you wait for whoever to start making sleeping decisions. You expected to be paired with your friend and another girl you knew pretty well and were comfortable with and that’s exactly who you ended up with. You groan in protest as they both suggest taking the cabin farthest away, the one closest to the lake. Something about needing to be close to the water to catch Jason's spirit since his body is supposed to be anchored to the bottom of the lake. 

You groan in protest and also make sure to verbally express how much you did not want to walk all that way in the dark. Your friend shakes her head and laughs as she treks ahead of you and after what feels like an eternity, you three make it to your cabin. Your best friend sets her stuff down and fights the door for a moment before swinging it out. She takes out her phone and turns the flashlight on, sweeping it across the dark room. This cabin was set up the same as the one you explored. Old beds and nightstands were clustered around the room, some tipped over and some torn. You groan again as you set everything down and walk to the mess of old, decaying furniture. You start to push everything into one corner, opening up the middle of the room. A chest of drawers sits against the far way, its drawers hanging out and some completely missing. You make your way to it, running your hand across the top and cringing as it comes back dirty.   

You run your hand across it to clear a spot to set a few things before going back to the luggage, rummaging to find your sleeping bag. Your other two friends flit around the room,  your bestie directing the other on where to set things up. You roll your eyes as you dig into your luggage again to find an oversized shirt to sleep in. Once you grab one, you quickly shimmy out of your day clothes, flinging your shirt off and stepping out of your pants as fast as you can. You unhook your bra and stuff your dirty clothes back into your belongings before grabbing a flashlight to have near you while you slept. A wave of relief sweeps over you at the freedom your shirt gives, the hem hanging a few inches above your knees. You want to take your socks off but the thought of  your bare feet touching the old, dirty floor beneath you makes you cringe so you slip inside your sleeping bag making sure to tuck your hair underneath you to keep it off the floor as well. You close your eyes and listen to the shuffling around you. You were no help to the paranormal tech master your friend was and you were tired, the hours in the car here having drained your energy. 

You place the flash light by your head just in reach in case you need it. You doubted you would but there was something about being in the open wilderness in the middle of nowhere that made you feel slightly uneasy. Your eyelids droop, growing heavier with each second as you settle against the cool floor. You drift into dreams quickly despite them being plagued with images of the golden skinned god snoozing in a nearby cabin. In your haste to get somewhere to sleep, you missed all the sidelong glances he shot your way, all the wandering eyes and the quickened pace of his heartbeat when he watched you, wishing to cling to you the way your jeans clung to your hips.   

In what feels like merely minutes, something startles you and your eyes fly open to find a darkness equal to the one behind your lids. You listen closely in hopes to figure out what roused you from your much needed slumber when you hear something. A creaking sound, like the wood of the cabin floors groaning in protest at the weight of an intrusion. You shift your eyes to the side, a sliver of moonlight seeping in through the crack in the front door. You freeze when you see an outline pass by it, your imagination immediately jumping to conclusions versus logically remembering there were five other people scattered across the area on this little trip. You work to keep your breathing even as you watch through your peripheral. A beam of soft light suddenly breaks the darkness and you squeeze your eyes shut at it before reopening them. 

You watch as the beam slides across the room, it stopping to illuminate your friend sleeping above you against the back wall. It sweeps across the room again and you shut your eyes as it looms closer before stopping on your face. You work hard to make it look like you’re sleeping as footsteps approach you, a figure now crouching next to you. 

“Hey.” A voice whispers softly. A voice you recognize. 

“Mingyu?” You answer in an equally hushed whisper. A grunt greets your ears in response and you open your eyes, bringing your hand to shield them from his flashlight. He switches it off, the darkness engulfing the room once more. 

“What the hell are you doing, Mingyu?” You ask curiously. You have no idea what time it was or how long you had been asleep just as you had no idea why this hunk was crouched next to you in the middle of the night.

“Hopefully you.” He says, the smirk on his face dancing across the words spewing from his lips. You cock your head to the side before you push yourself up on your elbows. 

“Wha-....” is all you get out before his lips find yours in the darkness. You don't fight it but instead melt under the touch. His mouth is gentle against yours as his body hovers next to you. He pulls back before crawling over you, his body straddling yours momentarily before he catches the zipper to your sleeping bag and tugs it down. It tucks himself inside the snug space before zipping himself up inside it and turns on his side to face you. His hands reach out, one landing on your right side as he tugs you towards him and the other coming to caress your face in the dark. The moonlight outside shines down on the high windows just enough to give you a glimpse of his outline. Your confusion is still present but with every touch of his skin to yours, it melts slowly. Did it matter why THE Kim Mingyu was zipped into your sleeping bag? No, all that mattered was somehow you got a chance you didn't think you had and you weren’t going to squander it. 

You allow him to pull you closer to him, turning your body to face him. His hand drapes across your waist as he brings his lips to yours again. His touch is gentle and tender, enough to ignite a flight of fluttering in your stomach as his mouth brushes your delicately. You pulled yourself against him more as you let your lips dance with his, your hands curled up between the two of you. You uncurl a fist and place it against his chest as his hand across your waist slides down to your hip. His fingers dance against your skin and you melt against his mouth. His movements were soft and gentle, your heart swelling before pounding harder and harder against your ribs. Your eyes flutter close and soon you lose yourself inside his kiss. The sounds of the dark night around you fade and the only thing that remains is him, the sound of his breathing, the feeling of his lips against yours, the way his tongue explores your mouth, the electric feeling his fingers leave behind every time they caress your skin. 

His hands begin to roam more, sliding down your hips dangerously close to the side of your ass before running up to stop at the end of your ribs. Your body begins to ache as the touch wakes as well as feeds a desire inside you. He pulls his mouth from your slowly and the sound of his soft panting dances between the two of you to collide with your own. His silhouette meets your eyes when you open them, the moonlight beaming behind him. His features were muted in the darkness but you could faintly see the corners of his mouth turning up and you could picture the twinkle in his eyes as the smile appeared.  

 “Hi.” he whispers softly with a small laugh and you mimic the sound with a small laugh of your own.

“Hi.” you whisper in return as you watch his shadowy features. Lust bloomed within you in the disguise of affection and you could feel the softness in your features as you watched what bit of his face you could see. Despite the luck of him being cuddled up next to you, you were curious as to why exactly he was here, in your sleeping bag and kissing you like he was your lover.   

“What was that about?” you ask quietly, your voice hushed not to disturb your friends, one of which was a very light sleeper. His fingers find your hips again and begin to caress them tenderly.

“Just something I wanted to do before there wasn’t a chance to anymore. Tomorrow isn’t promised you know.” he answers you and your stomach flips. Something he wanted to do? You had no idea he paid attention to you, much less wanted you in any way. You two were in the same friend circle but your paths rarely crossed outside of that. He was always included in anything you and your friends did and you always found yourself gravitating towards him before eventually, you had to admit you were crushing on him pretty hard.While you spent days and weeks in denial about how you felt, the small things you noticed about Mingyu and brushed away as your delusions were actually real interest. Stolen glances. His eyes naturally gravitating to you in a crowded room. The way he would try to be as close to you as he could be when possible. He was drawn to you from the moment he saw you and you never knew that he spent just as much time fighting what he was feeling as you did. 

 You blush, never having been so thankful for the lack of light as you were right then. Luckily, there was no need for you to think of a response because Mingyu’s face moved closer to yours again before his lips claimed them in another kiss, this one laced with need. You press yourself against his body as you return the near desperation with that of your own. Your lips clash with his over and over before his tongue slips through them to explore. Breathing turns ragged and his hands begin to wander your body, tracing paths along your sides to your thighs and back up to tickle right under your breasts. 

You moan softly, the sound dying between the melee of lips colliding against each other. His hands run down your side again before slipping underneath your oversized shirt. You gasp softly as his touch, his hands warm against your bare skin. His palm sits flat against your stomach as it glides slowly up, little by little, before he brings it to cup your breast. Mingyu paws it gently as he pushes himself against you more, the bulge straining the front of his pants pressing into your stomach. Your stomach flutters and a warmth blooms in your core, heating between your thighs. His mouth never leaves yours and his touch is tender, moving as if you were fragile and quite the contrast to the haste in his kiss. His fingers dance down your stomach, moving gracefully down to slip underneath the thin fabric of your underwear. You moan softly in anticipation of his touch, your core aching as you part your legs slightly. 

His fingers slip down between your folds, rubbing up and down softly before they come to rest on your clit. You sigh softly into his mouth as his fingers begin to draw slow circles, pleasure emanating with every stroke he makes. You push your hips up ever so slightly into his fingers in search of more friction before you grip his shirt in your hands.He dips his fingers down again, slipping them along the wetness of your folds before carefully pushing you inside you. You groan softly, your hips moving to meet his finger as he begins to push it in and out of you slowly. Every inward stroke is driven in as far as he can before curling his finger to swipe your sweet spot. After a moment, he adds a second finger, his strategy still the same. His fingers work in and out of you in soft, subtle movements before they coil and graze your walls. Your body buzzes as each motion strokes the warmth kinking dangerously in your stomach. The sounds he coaxes from you are muffled by his lips, each one jumping from your mouth to his before dying in his throat.

Just as you thought he was going to continue building the raging tsunami lying in wait inside of you, he pulls his fingers from you. His lips leave yours and you bite your lips to stifle the moan of protest dying to escape. He trails soft ,fluttery kisses down the side of your face and to your neck where he spends some time nibbling the spot below your ear. You shudder before leaning your head against his as he begins to continue his journey down your body. He peppers kisses from your neck to your collarbone before kissing a line down between your breasts. He lifts his head before reaching a hand up to unzip your sleeping bag. He tugs the zipper down and tosses the top off of the two of you, the cool air sending a chill across your exposed skin. His head dips back to your skin, picking up where he left off. He moves from between your breasts slowly down your stomach, bringing a hand to rest on your stomach after he pushes your shirt up.

He continues to make his way down, shifting to settle between your legs as he kisses to the top of your mound before he slips his fingers under the sides of your underwear and pulls them down. He tugs them off completely, helping your legs as he removes them before tossing them aside. His hands run up your legs before stopping at your thighs. His fingers gently spread your folds to expose your sensitive nub. He leans down and places a kiss on it before sliding his tongue across it. You shiver and gasp softly before bringing your legs up around his face. He holds you in place with a hand resting gently on your stomach before he dives between your legs and laps at you like he was parched. His tongue flicks across your clit greedily as he buries his face into you. You arch your back before bringing your hands into his hair, fisting tuffs of it in your grasp. You take a breath and hold it as his tongue dances across your clit teasingly. The touch was light but enough to drive you closer to the impending pleasure. Sounds accumulate in your throat, sounds you dare not even whimper in the room with your friends and you swallow them despite how fast they’re produced. Mingyu licks and swirls at your cunt before he brings a slender finger between you and him, sliding it slowly inside you. You gasp and whine softly as he pushes it in and out of you in rhythm with his tongue, playing a tune that brought you closer to the release you craved. Warmth began to boil at your core with every lick of his tongue and curl of his finger. Your hands grip his hair tighter as you buck your hips against his face.

 Your head falls back and your back arches as the pairing of his mouth and fingers stroke you closer and closer as you approach your edge. He moans softly against your pussy and the sound vibrates through you. You squeeze your legs around his head as he slips another finger inside you. He pumps and curls his fingers faster, his tongue picking up pace to match. You bring a hand to your mouth when a cry threatens to slip through your lips as the embers burning in your core erupt into flames, exploding inside you. You  clench his fingers as your body shakes with the waves of pleasure that course through you. His fingers continue as he watches you come apart under his touch. Your body shakes as the last tide washes over you, your orgasm finally subsiding. He pulls his fingers from inside you and brings them to his mouth. He sucks the taste of you from them before he groans softly. He reaches over to grab the sleeping back, folding it back over as he lies down next to you. He pulls your body towards him and you scoot closer. His lips meet yours and you sigh softly at the taste of yourself on his lips. When he pulls away, you snake a hand between you, traveling down to brush the front of his pants. His hand comes to yours, stopping you mid stroke. 

“It’s your turn.” you whisper softly. He kisses the side of your head before whispering in return.

“I don’t need a turn. That was more than enough for tonight for me. Now sleep, it’s been a long day, okay princess.” 

Your stomach flutters at the sound of his voice, the pet name, and you can feel your cheeks heat up. You nod your head in response despite wanting to protest before rolling over on your side to press your back against his chest. As soon as his warmth wraps around you, sleep begins to wash over you. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until after your release, the pleasure relaxing your body entirely. Mingyu’s presence envelops you, creating a safe and cozy atmosphere and within moments, you are deep asleep in his arms, your dreams filled with him and what your future could hold.   

For the second time that night, you wake up to a sound. There was something shrill in the distance and it takes a moment for your mind to register the noise as a scream. But as quickly as you heard it, it fades away. You sit up straight up and survey the room in the moonlight but with the low light, all you can see are outlines of everything. You unzip your sleeping bag and toss it to the side before bringing yourself to stand. You sock feet pad softly to the window across the room, using the moon to light your way to it. You peer out, checking every angle as you swing your head from left to right.The lake shimmers under the moon, its reflection glittering in the movements of the water. The wind kisses the trees causing them to shiver under the touch, their leaves rustling softly. When you don’t see anything, you turn around to return to your sleeping bag, passing it off as your imagination when your sock suddenly meets something damp. And warm.  

You curse under your breath and pad towards your luggage to grab a fresh pair because no way were you about to walk around here barefoot. You stop by your sleeping bag to snag your light and flick it on quickly, covering the end with half of your hand to help control the brightness of it so you won’t disturb your friends. You angle it downward while you walk and when your right foot comes into the beam one step in, you freeze at the sight of red. Your head tilts to the right as you stare at the spot on the toes of your sock and you bring your foot up to move it closer to you. That’s when you notice that everywhere your sock feels warm and wet is red. You bring the light to your other foot and find it red as well. You swing around quickly, dropping your hand from over the end of it and aim it to where you were standing at the window. Your friends' sleeping figures are lit up as the light washes over them on its journey. 

You walk slowly back to the window, your light trained on the dark spot pooled beneath it as a twinge of fear begins to bud in your chest the closer you get. Your first thought was blood but there’s no way, right? You try not to think the worst. You try to reason. An animal got in and left something behind but with your light sleeper friends, surely someone would have woken up to the sounds. You follow the pool with your light, tracing it back to your best friend’s sleeping body and you freeze when you see it surrounding her upper half. You rush to her side, kneeling next to her as you shake her body roughly. Fear buzzes under your skin as her body rocks under your hands. You call her name but she doesn’t answer and when you roll her over on her back, you see it. The wounds in her chest. The lifelessness in her blank stare.

A scream bubbles up in your throat and dies spilling from you in the form of tears on your face. Panic slams into you and your breathing comes in rapid pants. You scramble backwards, dropping your light in the process. Your brain races trying to make sense of what you were seeing. Your tears have turned into full on sobs as you sit frozen staring at the body of your best friend. You finally move after long, drawn out moments pass. You reach out to grab your light and shine it towards your other friend. A gasp leaves your lips when it illuminates her face equally as lifeless as she lays in a puddle of blood. You quickly push yourself to your feet, light in hand, and on shaky legs, you run to the door and pull it open before dashing outside. 

You close the distance between your cabin and the one closest to it quicker than you imagined you would. You swing the door to it open and shine your light around to find the same scene. Amidst the old, rotting furniture are the bodies of your friends, all lying in their own blood, slaughtered in their sleep. You check the other cabins as well, your vision now clouded by the tears pouring from your eyes. You’re met with the same scene in each one and panic surges beneath your skin. You turn and clear the side of the first cabin, unsure of where to go when you realize one person wasn’t among your dead friends. But where was he? Was that the noise you heard earlier? Was it too late? You push yourself back towards your cabin hastily, your legs burning at the exertion. The shimmering surface of the water dances in the breeze as you get closer and in the middle of it, you can make out a figure. A profile you would know anywhere. Mingyu. 

The wind bites your skin as you dash on your wet, socked feet. Your bare legs prickle in the coolness of the night as you run as fast as you can towards him. You don’t stop as the edge of the lake appears but rather than stop, you continue to run into the water until your feet no longer reach the bottom. Mingyu meets you at that moment and you throw your arms and legs around him before burying your face in his shoulder. He wraps his muscular arms around you and carries the two of you back towards the shore as he tries to pry what’s wrong from you between your heaving sobs. 

“Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” he asks softly, his voice laced with concern as he rubs a hand up and down your back to try and soothe you. 

“They’re-” you force out between sobs. “They’re dead. All of them, Mingyu. They’re all gone.”

He places a kiss to the side of your head gently and squeezes you tightly against him. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

You relax a little, despite the anxiety and terror that was still raging as your mind spit out too many questions for you to even keep up with. His arms relax around you as he peppers your head and the side of your face with kisses. You finally lean up to look at him with your tear stained face and something flashes in his eyes. Something you can’t read before he pecks your lips reassuringly. It was so comforting to you given the cocktail of emotions swirling within you and your eyes hold his before he leans in to kiss you again, this time his lips linger. His mouth dances against yours gently before it progresses into something more needy. 

Your lips dance with his as you melt into his body, his arms around you a comforting presence in the midst of chaos. Your hands slide up his chest before slipping around his back. You flex your fingers as if trying to grasp the skin of his back into them. He pulls you closer to him despite the fact that your bodies are flush, his hands roaming your curves. Your lips clash and your tongues intertwine faster with each breath. Your stomach warms with every flit of his fingertips across your skin as your desire buds in your core before pooling between your legs. You moan softly into his mouth and he laps up the sound greedily. Your hands slip from his back, journeying down slowly as you allow your fingers to trace the definition of his muscles that peek through the fabric clinging to his skin. You run them around his hips before gliding them over the round muscles of his ass. As you begin to bring them back up, you feel him tense up before your hand runs over something tucked into his waistband. Your kiss goes from desperate to slow as your fingers trace the object. The end was wide, wooden, and wet and the kiss of small, round metal bites in two small spaces. It curved on the inside before it made way to more metal. That’s when you froze. The realization of what you were feeling and what it meant to be feeling it. There were no knives left at the camp. It had been looted years before after the first set of murders by kids who thought it was cool to own memorabilia tied to tragedy. Your eyes widen as you pull back, your hands coming from around Mingyu’s waist but before you could pull away completely, his hand snaps out and his fingers wrap around your wrist. You stare up at him silently as you put everything together slowly and you begin to tremble.

His eyes flare, a hint of sadness buried within them as he stares down at you. His grip tightens around your wrist painfully and you wince. What you didn’t know was that he didn’t want to do this. No, he wanted to savor you, to have you for a little while to himself but watching you explore the cabins out here in his old campground and seeing you in the one he spent the most time in sent something through him. He thought he could have a taste of you without it awakening the blood thirsty driven lust that he fought to keep buried inside him. It’s why he denied you a chance to give him release because he knew he would topple over and the sadistic drive that bloomed permanently within him would awaken. He didn’t want that so he waited until you were asleep before he crept out silently back to the old kitchen to find the knife he hid in the floorboards the year before.

He snuck into each cabin one by one, shoving his knife into your friends while they slept, the arousal it gave him coursing like electricity in his veins. It would have been simple enough had one of them not woken up to the noise. He chased her past the window where you slept and into the trees surrounding the lake when he finally was able to grab her, her small, soft body rubbing against the aching bulge that strained almost painfully against his pants as she flailed in attempts to escape. Her shrill scream rang out through the night and Mingyu was absolutely certain it would wake you. You, the sole survivor. You, his prize. When it didn’t, he let his anger out on her, puncturing her chest over and over until well after she had stopped breathing. He dragged her body out to the middle of the lake after tying a cinder block around her ankles and he left her there, watching as she floated slowly out of sight under the ink black surface of the water. And that’s when he heard it, the cabin door flying open and so he swam as fast as he could back to shore to be there to swoop you up.

When your body crashed into him, Mingyu almost lost all control then and there. Everything was going so wrong and he was.... sad. But he couldn’t let you go now. He couldn’t let you spill his secret and jeopardize the cover he built for himself. Seeing you wet, your shirt clinging to you like a second skin and the knowledge that when he left, you were completely bare underneath surged his arousal. He pulled you close to him as quickly as he could, his hand still holding your wrist tightly. He leans in and presses his lips against yours forcefully, holding you flush against him as he grinds his hips against your body. You thrash in protest but his grip on you is too strong. When you don’t return his kiss, he spins you around to pin your arm behind your back as he brings his other arm to wrap around your waist to pull you against him. 

You continue your attempts to flee, his arm almost crushing you to keep you against him. He releases your hand to undo his pants and you flail your arms in another attempt. Before you can register what’s happening, a sting blooms in your cheek and you pause in confusion. Your face burns and you press your hand to it to feel warmth as it registers that his hand connected with your cheek. In the time it took for the slap to register, he had shrugged his wet pants and underwear down and his erection stands tall between the two of you. He forces you back against him again, his arm across your waist once again holding you as he uses his free hand to line himself up with your entrance. He uses his body weight to lean you forward as he presses himself into you slowly. A hiss leaves his lips as he slips deeper into you, your warm wet walls clenching him tightly. He groans loudly into the night air before he pulls back, his other hand coming to wrap around your waist. He drives back into you, not wasting any time as he begins to pump wildly.

You lean forward, your body moving under him as you try to fight him. Anger, fear, and hints of arousal swell inside you as they slowly rise in the form of water crowding your vision. You try to elbow him, try to pull away from him but his strong arms hold you in place. Every time you protest, you can hear the flair of his breathing in annoyance so you continue to struggle. His irritation builds and he tries to reel you in by adding more force to his strokes. When you don’t relent, a hand disappears from around your waist momentarily before it swings back around towards your neck. Something cold and sharp bites at your throat and the tears billowing in your eyes slowly begin to crash together as they make their way down your cheek. The action introduces conflict to the battle between your mind and your body. Mingyu rams into you, his knife digging into your throat a little more. His hand slips one time, the blade gliding across your neck a few centimeters and you hiss at the burning it leaves behind before you begin to cry more. He growls low at the sound of your cries and, in one swift motion, flings you around once more before pushing you down into the shallow water. 

You scramble backwards but not fast enough. He drops to his knees, straddling your body as his hand comes to grip your hair painfully. You cry out, more tears flying from your eyes as you watch his head loll back at the sight. His eyes roll and flutter before he rights himself and hovers over you. A hand comes around your throat and shoves you backwards, the water deep enough for your face to submerge if you laid down so you strain against his strength to keep yourself out of it. It laps at your ears, filling inside them instantly as he rams himself back into you. You cry out once more as he moans loudly. His free hand finds your hips and his fingers dig into your skin as he thrusts in and out of you. His hand around your throat squeezes tighter and you gasp as he slowly begins to cut off your oxygen. You look up at him and see the glazed over, dark stare in his eyes reflecting in the moonlight. The bloodlust he worked so hard to bury was winning with every drive he made deep inside of you.

His hand pushes against your throat, shoving your head deeper into the water around you and no matter how hard you strain, you can’t fight. You take a breath as the water pools over your face before you go under completely. His hand tightens, threatening to steal what little oxygen you have as he holds you under. Your arms thrash in protest, coming to claw at his hand when your lungs start to ache and right as you think you can’t hold your breath any longer, he pulls your head up. You gasp, trying to grab as much air as you can before he pushes you under again. Air flows forcefully from your nose as you try to scream despite your better judgment. He pulls you up again and you gasp before a sob escapes your lips. He pounds into you more, faster with each stroke. You claw at his hand and your nails dig into his flesh. He groans when they rip places, leaving white marks that swell instantly with red. Anger flashes across his moonlit eyes and before you can register anything else, he shoves your face back under the water. 

You whip your arms around, still determined to fight when his hand leaves your waist before a sharp, hot pain floods your senses. You scream instinctively, water flooding in your nose and mouth and you choke before he pulls you back up. Your body heaves with your coughs as you work to spew the water infiltrating your lungs while your stomach burns. You sob, the action uncontrollable as you peer down to see the knife you felt sticking out of you. His hand is still wrapped around the handle as he slides in and out of you faster. The sounds of him fill the air, his moans echoing against the slapping of the water against your skin. Your cries ring out in the otherwise quiet night, lost in the breeze that carries them away from the two of you. With each stroke, your will to fight dwindles until he shoves your head under the water again. Instinctively you try anyway despite the exhaustion creeping into your bones. He twists the knife in your stomach slowly, amplifying the burning that was calmed down to a dull ache.

You cry out again, water flooding your mouth again and you gag. Fear slams into you even harder as each breath you take becomes harder. His hand around your throat is so tight that if he doesn’t suffocate you soon then he would no doubt crush your hyoid bone. He rips the knife from your stomach and drops it in the water next to him as he lets up on your throat, pulling you from underwater while he groans loudly. His breathing comes in rapid, shallow pants as you choke and heave at the water flooding your system. Tears cascade down your face as you try to cover your stomach to staunch the crimson river flowing from the wound. Your fingers soon are coated with the warm sticky liquid when he rips them from the gash. He quickly shoves two fingers into the laceration roughly, twisting them around as he pounds against you. You scream as loud as you can, the white hot pain traveling through your system at lightning speed. Your head spins and before you can register it, you’re shoved back under water. 

You keep trying to fight but your system is overwhelmed. The pain, lack of oxygen, and the fatigue pile against you as more water seeps into your nose, crashing through your windpipe to settle in your lungs. His hand at your throat tightens and your vision begins to blur. His fingers come from the cut on your stomach and you can hear the muffled sounds of his breathing. His pants turn into quick moans as he pushes himself in and out of you faster, his strokes growing sloppy as he reaches his edge. The darkness around you grows heavier as Mingyu slowly begins to disappear, the darkness dancing around the edge of your vision creeping closer and closer. Water clogs your ears, further muffling your hearing and the sounds of his climax are muted but you can feel as he slams into you one final time. His head lolls back before it falls forward to stare down on you as his orgasm washes over him. His cock twitches inside you before shooting warm, sticky ropes of his release to coat your walls. His free hand comes to meet the one around his neck, joining its partner as he squeezes your neck as tight as he can before shoving your face under water one last time. The last thing you see is obsidian black around you. The last thing you hear is the muffled sounds of the last bits of your oxygen creeping from the part in your lips. The last thing you feel is the cool kiss of the water as the life left in you flees from your body. 

Mingyu grips your neck maniacally, a frenzied impulse overtaking him. He shudders from the tail end of his release mixed with the sight of your body growing limp. Your blood seeps into the lake around the two of you and he watches as your chest finally stops lifting and falling. Only then does he snap out of the trance he was in. He pulls his hands back quickly, conflict washing over him at the sight of what he did. Disappointment and anguish flood his system as he pulls himself out of your limp body. He works his pants back up painstakingly with one hand as the other holds you in place. Once his clothing is back in place, he reaches down and feels around for the knife. His fingers brush the handle and he snatches it up before pocketing it again. He drags your body back to the shore, leaving you to lie with your feet dangling in the waters edge. He wraps the knife in your limp fingers before he shoves the blade into his side, not deep enough to be fatal but enough to look like there was a struggle. He lifts it in your hand and runs the blade down his face, putting enough pressure on it for it to slice the skin slightly. He winces as it leaves a cut on his cheek but he makes sure it's not enough to scar his handsome face before he runs it against his chest. He frowns as it cuts through the fabric of his favorite shirt before he drops your hand, the knife cluttering to the ground next to you. 

He takes one more look at you, a pang of sadness blossoming before it disappears beneath his emotionless demeanor. He makes his way back to the cabin, rooting through bags and belongings before he finds a set of keys. He tousles his hair as he makes his way to the car, sliding into the front seat slowly. He checks the rearview, noting the cut on his face and smirking with approval as he turns the engine over. He throws the car in reverse, pulling out quickly before barely stopping as he moves the car into drive. He presses the accelerator to the floor, the tires digging into the dirt as he peels off. He flicks the high beams on while he flies down the road to the camp, tires squealing as he makes a sharp turn onto the highway. He heads towards town bypassing every gas station in sight as he makes his way right to the police office where he’ll throw himself from the car and inside with fake tears pouring down his face as he makes up a recount of what happened yet again at Camp Crystal Lake. They’ll wrap him in a cheap, scratchy blanket as he tells them how you killed all your friends on the anniversary of Friday the 13th massacre and he’ll live to repeat the tradition again next year.  

[lyracarvahall]

HeartBeat Sync Part 29

One Track Down

While the trio were finishing up eating the meal Wooyoung ordered, after a good half hour of laughing and playing around, a knock came to the studio door. Wooyoung got up and let Hongjoong and Jongho into the room. Hongjoong had a stern look upon his face as he entered. Wooyoung seemed oblivious to this and began peppering him with questions.

"Joong! Where have you guys been? You guys were supposed to be here half an hour ago! Car gone? No note! You could have died!"

Hongjoong simply shook his head and said, "Not now Woo."

The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed. Y/N sunk further into the couch and realized what it was about.

"The company was mad about Yuyu and me, weren't they?"

Hongjoong shook his head. "No baby. I mean it came up but it was a minor issue. They just held me in a meeting too long and threw off our schedule." He visibly shook himself off. "Don't worry firebird. Come here I missed you." He extended his arms and she eagerly ran into them. Y.N had a feeling he was hiding something but didn't want to bug him about it now. After the show maybe she would bring it up.

"Hey Joongie. I missed you too." She kissed his cheek and grabbed his hand, dragging him over to her work-in-progress. "We are almost done with the rough cut. Just need yours and Jongho's vocals and I can show you the pre-polish results."

Hongjoong seemed adequately distracted with producing mode turned on. "I'm sure it's awesome baby. I can't wait to hear it."

"I will let you go first if that is okay. I gave to a part in the harmony in the beginning. I am sure you can handle it Mr. 'good at all positions'." She giggled and wiggled her eyebrows at him, trying to lighten his mood. He smirked at her. "You know it baby."

Making his way into the booth, he immediately shook himself off and put the headphones on. Wooyoung and Mingi both kissed her cheeks and told her they had to get to the venue. As they headed out, the room got a lot quieter. Hongjoong was listening to the reference track and Jongho looked...well he looked pissed.

"Hey honey....can you come here please? Talk to me?" Y/N extended both arms inviting him in for a hug. Jongho hesitantly walked up and she could feel him trying to cloak his emotions. He wasn't one to get upset so she knew something had happened. Jongho's hugs were strong and sturdy. His embrace felt like no matter what, he could hold you up.

"It's alright jagiya. I just hate management and their bullshit sometimes." Jongho squeezed her tighter and massaged her back. She had to admit his strong hands felt really good.

"I will let it go for now but tomorrow we need to discuss it."

Jongho nodded in agreement and kissed her soundly. His hands slid to her ass and lifted her a little off the ground, making her gasp.

"Baby omg!" Her arms had wrapped around his neck to save herself but he held her up sercurely. "Saranghae, jagiya." Placing her back on the ground, he eyed Hongjoong in the booth and nodded.

"Saranghae." She looked up and saw Hongjoong watching the scene with a soft smile. Y/N was sure he wasn't used to seeing Jongho so affectionate.

"Sorry Joongie! What did you think of the track? Did you like it?"

Hongjoong beamed then, pride radiating from him. "Firebird this is incredible! I see the vision you are going for! This is the track before Panic, right? Also your rapping is adorable but your cadence and flow was on point! I think I am ready to record it."

Y/N couldn't help but shine at his compliments. His productions were incredible and if he approved, that opinion meant a lot to her. She looped the track to record and watched him work. His vocals were soft and gentle but his raps were pointed and rhythmic. He really could do it all.

Hongjoong gave her a questioning thumbs up in the booth to ask if he did a good job.

"You've got it honey. Great job!" Hongjoong rushed out and kneeled down to kiss Y/N in her chair. "Your creative mind is so sexy baby. We will need some solo studio sessions soon." He shot her a wink as he plopped on the couch.

"Eww hyung." Jongho sneered but she could tell there wasn't any real ire to his words. He was currently eating the leftovers from the meal. Slurping a final noodle, he brushed off his clothing and rose from the sofa. "Are you ready for me sweetheart?"

"Always, bear." He smirked a little at the nickname attempt and made his way into the booth.

"I may need a couple of times hearing it before I am ready."

Y/N set the reference track on loop, gave Jongho a thumbs up and headed to sit next to Joong.

"Hey honey. Please eat. I know you were kept late and you may not get the chance later."

Hongjoong looked hesitantly at the food in front of him, preparing a small plate and taking slow bites. Not knowing what else to say, she was content sitting silently next to him as she made sure he ate at least a little bit.

Jongho knocked on the glass of the recording booth and gave her a nod letting her know that he was ready to record. Making her way back to the chair, Hongjoong pulled out his phone and seemed to be rapid-firing messages.

Once Jongho started recording, Y/N became entranced. His voice was a siren song. It carried her away and made her forget anything else. She could feel his heart in his technique and she was utterly captivated. His passion was palpable. It was honestly sexy watching him give his all. He jolted and looked at her, mouthing Really? She nodded and blushed. He seemed to give even more to the second half of his performance, belting the high notes while looking right at her the whole time. It was like the notes were reaching out and touching her. She got goosebumps at his final high note.

Smirking as he exited the booth, he grabbed her face and kissed her passionately. "You are incredible baby. Can I hear how it all sounds together?" With hearing that, Hongjoong made his way over from the couch and began rubbing her back encouragingly.

"I can play it for you guys I guess. It is still a little rough but I hope you like it." She pulled up all the audio tracks and played them. The eight part harmony was better than she could have hoped for. Hongjoong grabbed her shoulders and leaned forward in excitement. Everyone stayed silent until the track was done. Once it was though, Hongjoong shouted "YEAH!" startling everyone else in the room.

Spinning her office chair around, Hongjoong leaned down until he was eye level with her. "Baby...you are a genius! You inspire me and you should be so proud. Your brain is incredibly sexy. I love you." He looked energized enough to crawl out of his own skin and his excitement through the bond was contagious.

"You really like it?" Y/N asked tenatively.

"Like it? I LOVE it. This is the rough version and I am already swept away. Baby...you knocked it out of the park. I cannot wait for the guys to hear it. We have to get to the show. I have so much energy now I could go all night! You want to come with us jagiya?"

Y/N Smiled so wide her face hurt as she saved the progress and packed up everything. She was so happy he approved of it, but looked at Jongho to make sure he approved to. Kissing the shell of her ear, he whispered into it, "You are phenomenal. I am so blessed to be bonded to you." Y/N teared up and wrapped her arms around Jongho's neck, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. Hongjoong wrapped an arm around her waist and gently stroked.

Hongjoong ran to the door, looking back at the pair eagerly like he was amped to go. "Let's go give them a killer show tonight, hm?"

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

Next up, the final show of their US tour and....potential scandal?

Taglist: @vtyb23 @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @anni-3 @yeosangsluthousewife @mygsis

[dirtytransmasc]

Knight!Spider anyone?

Spider who was born within the borders of a great kingdom, to the man that sought its end, who sought to crush an empire, and nearly succeeded. Spider who was taken as a ward upon his father's death, his mother killed in one of the many great battles. the punishment for his father's sins, the consequence that should keep the boy from following in his footsteps; becoming the sworn knight and armed protector to the children of the kingdom — the Sully children.

he was raised with the intended purpose of protecting the Sully's, of being loyal till his last breath, so he could never question the opposite, never take the path his father did. the order was given out of fear and resentment, misplaced anger, and that slowly faded as the boy grew, as he took the role with ease and pleasure.

and he takes in stride.

after years of being raised next to the Sully children, with the intent on breeding good nature between the boy and them during childhood, he was honored and giddy with excitement when his seventh birthday came around, and he was made a page to some knight or another— perhaps it was Tarsem, a knight close to the royal family, the should-be heir to the throne, had his brother not died in battle. he had the loyalty and the position to keep Spider close and be a good influence —even if it meant chores and busy work.

he runs messages around the castles and mends clothes and carries meals. but he also sits close and listens to stories from his knight and feels pride when his efforts against training dummies with his wooden sword are praised. he enjoys the time he spends around the other knights, learning from them, partaking in the rough housing and the training and the stories and all the things of that nature. even his classes, as a knight must be educated.

all the years as a squire, the grueling training, the long hours, the early mornings, the scrapes and bruises, the aching muscles, the hazing of older knights and warriors. he keeps his chin high. he tends the horses (and maybe the dragons too? if we go for fantasy route) with care, polishes the armor, trains against the dummies, gets thrown around by the knights, follows their beck and call... but he always gets up. every morning. every hard fall. every tumble. every collapse of frustration and exhaustion. he gets up. he keeps his smile one his face. he loves it despite the hardships.

he earns his armor, mends his old leather gear, his golden curls in braids, carries his sword. he proves himself. he rises the ranks and above the rumors and through the fears. he proves himself to be loyal and good. he earns respect and reverence. by the time he is reaching the end of his tenure as a squire, he is beloved, or at the very least, respected, by his kingdom. not even Neytiri hold ill-will towards him.

he partakes and tourneys and hunts, through all stages of his journey to knighthood, in different capacities. sometimes he stays with his knight and helps him prepare. sometimes he is meant to watch over his siblings and keep them from too much trouble (Neytiri and Jake are desperate parents at the end of the day), and when he's old enough, he partakes in the games themselves, earning some valor in the public eye, impressing other houses and lords and ladies.

and every moment he is allowed, he spends by the Sully Children's sides. they're his siblings. he took his duty to heart before he was even knighted, when he was just a page or a squire.

he'd stand over them, higher on the hill of the creek bed, alert, hand on his dagger or short sword, depending on his age, ready to take down any foe, even if there was no threat of one.

He is even worse in crowds, or during events, kept close to the family's side, always ready. nothing can soothe him, truly, he just waits, even as his siblings rope him into fun and mischief, part of him is still waiting.

at ten or so, he has an infant, a baby girl, Tuktirey, a fragile little thing, pressed into his arms, arms strong enough to lift a sword and take a life if need be, he has to be careful she isn't hurt by his arm guards, shifting her around softly, before petting his calloused fingers, fingers trained to hold a weapon, over her soft face.

"you will be sworn to protect her, do you understand?"

and he does. he wants to. he would never need to be sworn. she's precious and perfect. even as she pulls at his golden hair and tugs at his armor. that's his baby sister. his responsibility. he'd die for her.

he trains beside his brother's. Neteyam is only a few years behind him, and being a royal, he manages to skip most of the page and squire hazing. He goes through the motions, but it's not as thorough as Spider's training was. he serves his own mother and father. and so does Lo'ak, a few years after him.

and Spider is the boy they train with. had he been a bit older, they probably would have been his pages, and because of the fact that Jake and Neytiri aren't as active as fighters anymore, he definitely takes up the slack in their mentorship (outside of his own knight and the other knights and teachers assigned to him)

he teaches them and duels with them. they spend hours in the training yard. Spider learns their habits and techniques so he can always be a step ahead of them, so if worst comes to worst, he can get between them and their would be target. so he can protect them.

they spend so many afternoons sparring, hour after hour. when they're thoroughly bruised and sore and exhausted, they'll sit in the dust of the training yard and laugh. Spider will critique his brother's, and they'll pout about it. he'll praise them too, and smile when their face's light up.

Lo'ak will ask if they'll be knights together, and he promises they will, they'll be the best knights anyone has ever seen in any kingdom. Neteyam asks him if he'll always be his King's Guard, he promises that he will, and that he'll always keep him safe.

and Kiri is the princess, as odd and quirky as she is, to Spider's knighthood. Spider watches over his little sister and her antics, watching over her in the forest when she wants to go on strolls or rides on horseback. he carries her things for her, she puts flowers in his armor, and flower crowns in his hair. he places his cloak over her when she space's out in the grass. he'd fight if someone so much as looked at her wrong.

and Spider always stands close to the King and Queen when they're holding little Tuk during events, even if their own personal guard, already knighted, stands by as well. he just wants to ensure she's safe. Neytiri and Jake struggle to not look at the small golden boy fondly when he does so. it's nearly impossible. after years of fear of whether or not the boy would be like his father, he had proved them so wrong.

he is knighted young, having more then proven himself, by sixteen, it is made official. Neytiri knights him, as she had been the one to agree to let the infant live within her walls on the condition of knighthood, so she is the one of officiate it. Spider feels no fear when the sword touches his shoulder. or crosses over his head. he just feels bliss.

his siblings, a good majority of his kingdom, his knight, other honored knights, the King and Queen and Queen Mother, even some close Lords and Ladies. they're all in attendance. they all watch him be honored with this title. given his armor. given the cloak that marks his status as a Kings Guard.

when returned enemies return to their gates, he will be his siblings shield, even if the fates demand another life...

[krysalla]

vermilion

jonathan crane x f!reader

word count: 2.5k

read on ao3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, stalking, kidnapping, blood, murder, somno, drugging, noncon, masturbation, unfortunately crane is a fucking freak with no sense of boundaries, mentioned child abuse, crane and grandma keeny having a norma and norman bates type relationship, in no way romantic but crane thinks it is because he thinks reader is his twin flame, inspired by a slipknot song

You’re a creature of habit. You leave work at five in the evening, you take the same way home every day except for Mondays—that is when you do your grocery shopping for the week. You go to the library every other Tuesday, to the movies on Wednesdays, go out to dinner by yourself on Thursdays, go to the used bookstore and antique store and occasionally the zoo on Saturdays, and you spend all day on Sundays cleaning and getting ready for the start of your work week. Today is Friday and Fridays are meant for decompression from your week. Since he started watching you all those months ago, you have never once deviated from your Friday routine—you polish off a bottle of Chardonnay, sit curled up in the corner of your couch with a book and a stack of CDs next to you to listen to while you read. You call it quits around ten o’clock, run through the motions of your bedtime routine and slip into bed. 

It is now two in the morning and there has been no trace of you. 

His blood curdles in his veins into a thick sludge of anger and hatred. How dare you? Jonathan has been standing, waiting in this small closet for hours just for you. Have you no consideration for him? To just leave him here with no sign of where you will be going, no note on your calendar where you keep all your appointments, no egregiously long phone calls with your fickle mother or your simpleton friends. He will punish you for this. Remind you that, while his presence in your life may not be fully known to you, you are still his little mouse. 

Your bedroom door bursts open. He cannot see you through the darkness, but he can hear your breathing. You flick on the light and flood the room. Your blouse is hanging on by the hem that’s still tucked into your pencil skirt. He’s missed the touch of your skin, the softness of it, it’s the only thing holding him together now that the ire rising in his throat has been ramped down by the feeling of want. His blood still burns hot and thick. Yes, he can easily forgive you with just the flash of your skin. You’re giving him everything he wants, being a good little mouse. 

Your shower and nighttime routine is cut short by your tired and stilted steps. He can smell the faint traces of alcohol on your mouth when you pass by the slotted door he hides behind. You’re so close. He stills his hand before he can reach for the doorknob. He has been waiting this long, what is another fifteen minutes to the nine hours he has already spent here?

The lights go out and he continues to wait. 

Only when he can hear your even breathing does he spill out from your closet and into your room, slithering to your bed and inviting himself in. Jonathan sits beside you, carefully moving your arm into his lap to have open access to your lovely veins. He takes care not to blow your vein, a mistake he learned not to make again. It left your arm sore and tender and you had no explanation for it and made you suspicious. He is well versed in your body now; he knows how hard and rough he can play with you before he starts leaving marks. 

He breaks your skin with the pierce of a needle and floods your veins with the newest adjustment to his serum. You whine and squirm beneath the covers. It takes you a moment to settle. He pulls the needle out, thumb coming down to close over the injection site, the smallest trickle of blood circles the imprint of his thumb. 

Fatigue washes at the corners of his mind. He hadn’t planned on spending near this amount of time here. You’re lucky that he feels this need for you, this abhorrent need to possess. It disgusts and confuses and delights him. He’s never felt this way before. He’s looked past all other women, knowing they could never satisfy any need in him, too vapid to keep up with him and his desires and research. But with your sweet, little face and pliant body and mind, he can make room for you in his busy life. You and his projects. That hole that Granny left in his heart, that rotted and festered until his insides were all infected and black, can be filled with you. 

If you were anyone else, he would be done with you. Pump you full of fear toxin until you’re blue in the face and frothing at the mouth. Watch that light drain from your eyes and wait for the death rattle. 

Your breathing rapidly now, short and shallow like you can’t suck in a full breath. An unintended consequence. Your brow draws down and your lips go tight in a grimace. His hand wraps around your throat not to cut off your airflow but to feel the jump in your pulse. 

He wonders what you dream of now, what apparitions your mind has conjured for you in your nightmare. He hopes it’s him or at least the outline of him, something eclipsed in shadow, just a figure stalking you through the dark who watches and waits for the perfect moment to grab you up in his claws. He kisses you on your forehead, the bridge of your nose, and finally lands on your lips. He doesn’t mind the lack of movement. His tongue snakes out to push at the seam of your lips and uses his free hand to push against the sides of your mouth to open up your jaw. He licks into your mouth with caution—he never knows when you’ll bite back. And underneath the taste of toothpaste, he can trace the alcohol and cigarette smoke on your tongue. It’s disgusting. He’s never taken you for a smoker. In all his time with you, he’s never seen as much as a pack of cigarettes hidden in your purse. That’s something he’ll have to remedy. 

He pulls away from you, smug at the sight of his saliva coating you in shine on your face. His hands fall to cup your breasts. Jonathan is a greedy man. He can’t stop with just the look of terror on your face. 

Dirty, filthy, disgusting little boy! Granny used to call him. She would drag him out of bed by the hair of his head and put him over her knee, hitting him with a leather belt on the rear to drive the filthy sin out of him, the same sin his momma had. Should have beaten her like this. Wouldn’t have this awful excuse of a boy wandering around my house. She would beat him until his rear turned red and bled. Always have to clean up your messes, soiling your sheets with your filth. 

Yes, you are the same as him. Greedy, disgusting, filthy. You want this just as bad as he does. He sees your hips writhing and hears your pitchy moans. This is what drew him to you, your sickening mix of confused and fearful arousal. 

He slips his hands under your shirt and plays with your nipples. He tugs and tweaks at them until they are hard and you’re unable to stop pushing yourself into his hands. How beautiful, how sweet. His filthy girl. You are cut from the same cloth. Yes, he knows what you want but he won’t give it to you, that will be your punishment for making him wait. 

Your skin is soft to the touch, tempting him to venture further. He’s bolder now than when he first started this relationship with you. Jonathan moves easier, comfortable in his skin as he touches you. He had been nervous once, could still hear Granny in his head telling him how disgusting he was. The idea of touching your skin with his bare hand sent him reeling and after he’d finally squashed that voice in his head and touched you without the barrier of his gloves in his way, he couldn’t see you for a week.

You filthy boy! Filling your head with such dark wickedness, such perversion. I know what you wanted. You’re just like your mother–a whore!

He pushes a hand beneath the waistband of your underwear, fingers brushing over the thick thatch of hair before pushing them through your folds. Already so wet. You know he’s here and think he will reward you. You thrash in terror, fingers curling in your sheets, and sweat breaks out across your skin. You whimper in his grasp. He circles your clit with a steady rhythm until he has your hips bucking into his hand and wrenches his hand back when you start to seek out pleasure. 

He pulls his hand from your underwear and undoes the button and zipper of his pants. He takes himself in hand. It’s easy and quick, a few strokes and your pinched expression is enough for him. He spills himself over your thigh and smears the mess around. You’ll wake up hungover and won’t ask any questions, chalk it up to being too drunk and too clumsy for your own good. You’ll shower and move on with your day. You’ll go to the zoo and watch the bears lumber around in their enclosures and come home and make lunch to avoid spending more money than you have to. The first is right around the corner, your fridge and pantry will be a little barer for it.

One day, you won’t have to worry about that. He’ll take you away from this dingy apartment, away from everyone that could hurt you–something that should be reserved for him–and keep you. All you would have to do is let him fill you up with fear toxin and love him. Your life would be so much easier that way.

-

You’re a creature of habit. So why are you leaving earlier and earlier in the mornings and coming home later and later? He tries to map out this new routine you seem hellbent on making but he can’t pin you down. You no longer go to the store on Mondays, you don’t go to the movies or out to eat at your usual haunts. On the weekends, you’re never home. He waits and waits, feeling that hole in his heart begin to fester and ooze again. He cuts holes in your clothes and stretches out elastic, he shreds your books to ribbons, breaks your CDs in half. He burns your collection of ticket stubs from the movies and the zoo. He looks upon his destruction with glee and vindication. Jonathan hides back in your closet when he hears the door unlatch. He sits in giddy silence as you take in the mess of your apartment. 

You pick up the pieces with tears in your eyes and wretched, hiccuping breaths. 

It serves you right. 

-

It’s Friday again. You’ve been following your schedule again. You go back to your old habits but you’re more jumpy, skittish if you come home a few minutes later. You look over your shoulder for him, as if you would ever see him coming. 

It’s Friday night and you’re not home. 

It’s two in the morning on Saturday and you’re not home. 

He seethes and riles himself up in the closet. This is it. You’re no longer worth the hassle. There will always be another. (That’s not true and he knows it. You're one of a kind, he’ll never feel the same about anyone else again.)

The door unlocks. You’re giggling and trying to whisper, but he can still hear your drunk slurring. A man laughs. Which way to the bedroom?

Betrayal colors him. He hasn’t been as obvious with his ownership, his presence alone should be enough for you to understand that you belong to him and no other. Hasn’t he done enough? Given you enough? It would have been so easy to take you away from your job, your life, and tucked you away with him in his laboratory, safe and sound in your captivity. He wants you dead, he wants you all to himself. He’s given you too much freedom and he will have to clip your wings, remind you just who you belong to. 

You’re on your back intertwined with him, giggles breaking off into high pitched moans. It should be him making you writhe and moan like that. You belong to him. In the throes of pleasure, you drag the man to lay over your chest and reach up to kiss him. It’s sloppy and he can catch the shine of saliva on yours and his mouth. The petulant thought bullies its way to the front of his mind—that’s his toy, his little mouse, his his his.

Your head lolls to the side, peering straight through the slats of your closet doors at him. Oh and how he forgives you! You don’t know what you’re doing, too confused by your own need that you don’t realize that that’s what he’s here for. Poor, impatient little mouse. You feel the invisible chain linking you to him. He will help you. His girl with starry eyes and a pretty smile. 

He slips from the closet, no longer content to watch and stew in his jealousy. He grabs the fabric shears sitting on your side table and opens the blade. With a tight yank of the man’s shorn hair, Jonathan tugs him up from your chest and slices through the man’s throat ear to ear. He cuts himself on the palm of his hand as he guides the blade. You scream as blood washes over you, holding your hands out to protect yourself from the spray of it. The man weakly bats behind him, trying to get him but as soon as he starts, his hands are back down, hanging limply against his sides. The strong spray begins to slow as he empties himself all over your and your bed. The man gurgles. He throws him off the side of the bed and peers down at you through his burlap mask. 

“You…” you gasp. “You’re real.” You look up at him. Your mouth and chest shine with blood, your eyes wide and frightened. 

“Yes.” He straddles your hips and doses you up with a sedative. It will be dangerous given your alcohol consumption, but he will take good care of you. He always does.

“I thought you were a dream,” you whisper. You cling to his arm as you fade out of consciousness.

“I am. Sleep and continue to dream, little mouse.” He kisses your forehead. “You’re going home.”

-

You come to work with bags under your eyes and lethargy in your steps. You wave off the concerns of your coworkers and assure them that you had some trouble sleeping. They nod, knowing all too well of your sleeping problem. It's been going on for months now, but it’s starting to take a toll on you.

“Maybe Doctor Crane can prescribe you something?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to bother him.” You laugh it off, fingers crawling over your forearm to your inner elbow. You smile. “I’ll just get some melatonin and a white noise machine. I’m sure it’s just me taking on too much. Arkham needs another social worker, can’t keep doing this all by myself.”

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 33

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to save the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Word count: 3.6k

TW: 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well), she/her pronouns

As your eyes flutter open and you stretch your muscles with a sigh, you notice that the spot next to you is empty. Arthur is standing by a crate, polishing some of his guns. By the looks of it, it seems like he's going to ride out soon.

"Where are you going?", you ask, your voice still heavy with sleep.

His rough features soften, as his eyes land on your tired form. "This Caprain Monroe needs my help. The army, they...they're doin' some nasty things over there."

"And you're going to run in all Dutch style and shoot up the place or why are you bringing a whole arsenal with you?", you ask and climb out of bed to watch his work more closely.

"I ain't shootin' nobody. The chief insists, that I don't use violence.", he explains with a huff and a shake of his head. "I'm preparin' just in case."

"Sounds like you need someone with some finesse." Your eyes scan the camp. "You could ask for Trelawny's help."

"Trelawny left." Arthur's answer comes out short and curtly and you lower your gaze.

It's understandable that he'd leave, but it's a shame. You were quite fond of him. That's when you start to get ready, putting on a pair of clean clothes and throwing on your weapon belt. As you change, Arthur gives you a puzzled look.

"I'm coming with you.", you answer his silent question and he immediately shakes his head.

"I don't want you gettin' caught up with the army."

"I don't care what you want." The words come out harsher than you have intended and you avoid the outlaw's gaze.

The conversation between him and Sadie is laying heavy on your chest and you can't stop your mind from wandering to it at every wake moment. After a while, you finally face Arthur, who looks like you just spat in his face with your small outburst.

"You okay?", he asks, worry lacing his voice. There's a hint of something else beneath it all. Something close to fear.

"I'm fine.", you bring out with a rather strained tone and pinch the bridge of your nose. You quickly come up with a lie. "I don't want to stay here without you. What if Micah sends me on another one of his stupid jobs?"

Understanding spreads in his eyes and he nods. It's insane how easily he believes you and you feel your chest tighten with guilt, but it quickly fades away.

"Alright. Fine." Then he points his finger at you. "But you follow my lead on this, ya hear me? Don't want you runnin' into shit head first."

"I always listen to you, Arthur.", you protest and he raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

"I can count on one hand the times you've listened to me."

"And when you don't listen, huh? Then it's one of 'em things.", you drawl, dropping your voice low to imitate him and he scoffs in both amusement and offense.

After your little 'argument' you make your way to the hitching posts and mount your horses. Arthur leads the way since you have never been to the reservation. It's a nice day with the sky being clear and a comfortable, warm breeze flowing through the air.

"I paid Mrs. Downes a visit.", Arthur starts, breaking the silence and you speed up to ride alongside him.

"How did it go?"

"They're out now. Gave 'em some money."

A sigh of relief slips past your lips and you smile softly at him.

"Thank you. It was the right thing."

He grumbles something under his breath and nods along with your words.

"I saw Mary-Beth pack her bag last night.", you then add, as you replay the memory in your head. "Do you think she will run away with Kieran? They seem sweet on one another."

Arthur hums curtly in agreement. "If they know what's good for 'em."

You turn your head to look at him, but it seems as if he's trying to avoid you. Then you move to watch the road infront of you, falling back a little again. The rest of the ride goes by in silence with your mind racing with all sort of thoughts.

None of them are being voiced and you soon arrive at the reservation. In the distance you see a man, wearing a blue army uniform, rush from person to person and tending to them. That must be this Captain Monroe, that Arthur has mentioned. Together you walk up to him and the outlaw clears his throat to get the man's attention.

His eyes light up in recognition when they land on him, but he pulls his eyebrows together in confusion once he meets your gaze. Though there's still a polite and friendly smile on his lips, as he firmly shakes your hand and introduces himself.

"She's here to help.", Arthur explains and Monroe only nods without a comment.

"Chief's gone out to try and find medication. It's quite a business.", he says, handing a bowl to one of the women.

Arthur spins slowly to take in the sight, a frown on his rough features. "I thought we were through with this?"

"Colonel Favors seems to think, that the natives have broken a promise they never made and apparently he's punishing them by withholding vaccines sent down by the Federal Government."

"Really?", you gasp in utter disbelief and disgust.

"I was supposed to oversee the administration of vaccines. Now I hear the wagon's been diverted.", Monroe explains and Arthur shakes his head. His face is a mirror of you emotions.

"Why would he do such a thing?", he asks outraged.

"To be honest, I truly don't know." Monroe pauses and scratches the back of his neck. "They say he didn't have a very good war, so maybe he's trying to start another one?"

Arthur and you exchange worried glances with each other.

"Is that what you think?"

"I'm trying to find out and he knows, that I'm trying to find out." The Captain let's out a bitter scoff. "He'd love to provoke me almost as much as he'd love to provoke these poor bastards."

Arthur and him talk some more, but you're not even listening with one ear anymore. You're standing next to the fireplace and take in everything. Then an idea pops into your head and you step between the two men.

"Where is this wagon? Where can we find it?", you ask in a rather demanding tone and Monroe's eyes widen in surprise.

The look Arthur shoots you tell you enough to know, that he's aware of what your plan is now. He gives you a faint nod, signaling that you have his full support.

"It's supposed to be headin' to Wapiti after passin' through Valentine.", Monroe starts. "But it's been diverted south instead."

"Come on, Captain." As you speak these words, you catch a glimpse of adoration on Arthur's face, but there is no time to react to it.

You rush to the horses, the two men following closely behind you.

"We must act with due caution!", the Captain calls out after you and you mount your horse.

"And we shall. We surely shall.", Arthur chimes in.

Captain Monroe tells you, that he might know of a place where you can intercept the wagon and you let him take the lead. Your trio rides fast, hurrying to catch up to the wagon. The two men continue talking to each other while you hold onto the reigns so tightly, that the whites of your knuckles are showing.

'She became a worse woman for you.'

Now it's finally time to put all these nasty skills you have learned during your time here to some good. Enough robbing, killing and exploiting good folks. It's slowly coming to an end and you sense, that you have to choose between blind loyalty and what's right. Only, that your decision is slightly different from the others in the gang.

They will have to choose between Dutch or their soul. You on the other hand will have to decide if you're going to follow Arthur down this dark path or be smart and run. Someone calls your name, ultimately ripping you out of your thoughts.

"Please be discreet! If anything happens to the soldiers on that wagon, then Colonel Favors will find a way to blame the natives for this.", Monroe yells over his shoulder, loud enough for you to hear over the sound of hooves.

He leads you up a hill and you all dismount. You crouch down at the edge of the cliff and Arthur takes out his binoculars.

"Why don't you go up to Washington and tell 'em what kind of a fool Colonel Favors is?", the outlaw suggests.

"The government doesn't quite work like that.", the Captain responds with a not so surprising answer. "Are you sure about this though? I fear this is a fool's errand."

"You can trust us, Captain.", you speak up and meet his gaze with strong resolve. "They won't even know we robbed them."

"Just make sure, that it stays clean.", he repeats in a pleading tone. "I will wait for you in the reservation."

As Monroe rides off, Arthur hands the binoculars over to you and you observe the wagon that's slowly approaching in the distance. There are only two people sitting at the front and there are no guards hiding further ahead or in the trees. Of course not. Who would be dumb enough to take on the army?

"So how'd you wanna do this?", Arthur asks and you stare at him in bewilderment.

"You're asking me?"

"Course. You just robbed a heavily guarded coach with an idiot like Bill Williamson on your side." He scoffs in amusement. "I trust your judgement."

Speechless, you nod to yourself and give back the binoculars. It doesn't take long to come up with a plan. It's nothing special, but so far it has worked everytime for you.

"I go play the damsel in distress and you sneak onto the back and steal the vaccines.", you explain plainly and stand up.

"I could also be the one to distract 'em.", he offers, but you immediately wave it off.

"No, they'll be less suspicious of me."

With that you jump onto horseback and you two make it separately off the hills towards the road. As you approach the wagon, you make sure to hide your pistol under your coat and force a wide smile onto your lips.

"Howdy, boys!", you call out and match their speed. They both throw you looks, that hold a mix of confusion and slight interest. "Oh! I see, you two are soldiers! I reckon my luck has finally turned 'round."

The facade you put on lights up in delight, as you closely examine their uniforms. One of the men clears his throat, his eyes flickering all over the place.

"Can we help ya, ma'am?", he asks and you immediately search around in your satchel to fish out a small map.

"I'm afraid I've gotten quite lost. You see, I'm not from around these parts and was wonderin' if you could point out where Valentine is?" You speak with a sweet voice and a thick accent, holding up the map for them to see. "You boys have kind faces. Surely, you could help out a lady in need?"

In the corner of your eyes, you see Arthur in the distance, but avoid looking in that direction. For a moment you fear, that they won't bite the bait, but then the driver stops the wagon. The man closest to you, scooches to the side to make room for you and you quickly jump onto the seat.

"I'm from far down south and it's my first time travelin' alone.", you explain to them, unfolding the paper in your hands. "You see, my mamma always said, that I can't make it all by myself and I left to prove her wrong. Maybe she was right though, but I ain't givin' up so fast."

Even after they point out where the town is on the map, you don't seize your yapping and keep going. The sound of your voice is supposed to drown out whatever noises Arthur might be creating in the back. Everytime one of the soldier's eyes begin to wander around, you call directly out to him to grab his attention again.

Once the coast is clear you begin to climb off the wagon and mount Penthesilea.

"You were mighty helpful! I can't thank you enough!"

The soldiers exchange weird looks between each other, as if there's something they want to say to you.

"It's dangerous out here, Miss. We could escort you to Valentine.", one offers.

"Precisely!", the other chimes in. "We'd feel bad to leave a lady like you alone out here."

"Aw, you is too kind, boys!" You let out a soft giggle and pretend to be all bashful. "But I wouldn't wanna distract you from your duty. It looks mighty important to me."

With that, you blow them a kiss and ride off, making sure that you're going into the direction Valentine is located. Once you're out of sight, you cut into the woods and meet up with Arthur.

"You got the vaccines?", you ask and he raises a wooden box for you to see.

"Sure do." His lips curl up into a teasing smirk and he leans forward in his saddle. "That was some fantastic actin' out there. Really loved the accent. Suits ya."

"Oh, stop it." You ride past him in hopes, that he wouldn't tease you any further. "We should bring this to Captain Monroe."

"You lead the way, ma'am."

The horses carry you at top speed and you make it back to the reservation faster than when you had left it. There, Arthur hands over a few boxes to the Captain, who looks like a great weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

"And it didn't go too bad.", the outlaw assures him, as he gives him the last box.

"They didn't notice a thing.", you chime in with a smile.

"I hope Colonel Favors will think that it was bandits who robbed him and not..." Monroe trails off and his eyes flicker between you and Arthur. It looks like he's unsure about what to call you.

"We're still bandits.", Arthur protests. "There's no doubt 'bout that."

"Well, bandits or not. This was a good thing you did. Maybe it'll get us all killed, but it had to be done."

You nod and hum in agreement. After that, Monroe goes back to work, putting the vaccines to good use and you leave the reservation with Arthur by your side. Arriving back at camp, your mood drops as it usually has been doing lately.

The two men, that Micah has brought in, linger around the campfire and you hear the soft tunes of Javier's guitar. There was a time where you loved to sit with him and listen to his songs, but not anymore. Whenever you get to close, the music dies down and he glares daggers at you.

You didn't expect for the robbery to take this long, but it was mostly the way there and back, that took up most of the time. The sun is beginning to set and you run a hand over your face. That is when you spot two figures approaching Arthur and you. It's Charles and Rains Fall.

"Found a friend looking for you.", Charles calls out.

"Mr. Morgan. How are you?", Rains Fall asks and for a brief second his eyes flicker to you. But you might have just imagined it.

"A little better."

It seems like they're referencing a conversation they had before, but it's not your place to ask about details. Shortly after, the chief gets straight to the point and tells you about Colonel Favors wanting to meet Rains Fall to discuss some matters. It sounds suspicious to you, but the older man believes, that he might come to a peaceful solution this time.

"Since my men aren't allowed to carry weapons, I was wondering if you could come with me to this meeting."

"You want us to keep the peace?", Arthur asks and you rest your hand on your belt, as you continue to quietly listen.

"There will be a lot of dull talking and ceremony, but I feel with some non-tribe members present their chances of lying or worse will be reduced."

Arthur runs a hand over his beard, letting out some grumbling sounds. He seems reluctant to agree to help and you quickly clear your throat.

"I'll join you.", you declare and the outlaw shakes his head.

"No, you ain't. You've already messed enough with the army."

Your gaze goes to Charles in seek for his support, but he sighs. "Arthur's right. Besides, and I mean no offense, the Colonel doesn't seem like the type of man who would be easily intimidated by a woman."

Frustrated, you bite down on the inside of your cheek. He's right of course, but you want to help wherever you can. Then you turn to Arthur, your eyes holding a plea.

"Then you must go.", you say and he opens his mouth to most likely protest, but nothing comes out.

It's easier for him to say no to the other two men, but he doesn't have the same resistance when it comes to you. Defeated, he agrees to help and you give his hand a soft squeeze before he rides out of camp.

Now you're left standing on the edge, alone. As you observe your surroundings in an attempt to find something to keep yourself busy while you wait for them to return, you spot Kieran sitting further away by himself. It looks like something is troubling him and you make your way to where he's sitting.

"Hey.", you softly make your presence known, but he flinches anyways.

Ever since the abduction he's been more jumpy. Whenever you approach him, you try to keep in mind to do it on the side where his good eye is, so that he sees you in the corner of his vision.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to startle you.", you quickly apologize, but he smiles.

"It's okay."

You sit down across of him and lean forward, so that no one can overhear your words too easily. "Is everything alright?"

Kieran lowers his gaze and fidgets with his hands. For the longest time he doesn't utter a single word and you begin to think, that he won't open up to you.

"I just...", he then starts. "Do you think I should stay?"

The question catches you off-guard and you blink a couple times in silence. Then your gaze wanders over his shoulder to Mary-Beth. Her packed bag is hidden under a thick blanket close to her and she's reading.

"I think you should go with her, yes.", you answer and he nods to himself.

"I'm afraid, that Dutch might get mad. Everyone is so on edge and I feel like everything I do is being watched."

"I know that feeling." You pause to think. "I can get you on a train in Annesburg."

His eye goes wide and he stares at you dumbfounded. "What? You'd help?"

"Of course." With your chin, you motion behind him to Mary-Beth. "Talk to her and then come to me. I'll get you out of here tonight."

Before he stands up, your hand shoots forward and you hold his wrist in an iron grip. The look on your face is dead serious. "Make sure to be discreet."

Kieran mumbles a 'yes of course' and then rushes away. You stay seated and take out your pistol, taking your time to polish it. Maybe if you have your weapon out, then the others will leave you alone.

---

It's late, most of the gang members having gone to bed. Arthur and Charles still haven't returned and you're waiting next to Penthesilea. The sound of quiet footsteps can be heard coming from behind you and you turn around to meet Kieran and Mary-Beth.

Each of them has a bag over their shoulder and you nod. Before taking off, you look around to make sure, that no one is watching what you're doing. If the wrong person catches you, then you might meet a fate similar to Molly's.

No one talks, as you ride down the mountain and into the mining town. You leave the horses on the side of the road and enter the train station. Kieran moves to buy tickets, but you're faster than him and rush to the counter.

"You didn't have to pay. You're already doin' so much for us.", Mary-Beth complaints and you hand over the tickets.

"You need the money for your new start.", you insist and she watches you with wide eyes.

"And what about you?"

That is a question you can't answer so easily. Yes, and what about you exactly? Arthur and Sadie already made plans for you to start over, but you have other things in mind. Things, that might very well result in your end and then you won't need the money anymore.

"I'll be fine. Go now. You got a train to catch.", you say, your voice sounding awfully hollow in your ears.

Tears well up in your friend's eyes and she pulls you into a bone crushing hug. You didn't mean to make this such an emotional goodbye, but you feel a sudden wave of sadness wash over you.

"Please stay safe.", she whispers into your ear and you pull away, keeping your hands on her shoulders.

"You too."

Kieran places a hand on Mary-Beth's back and throws you one last look before they disappear behind the door. A strangled sob escapes your lips and you bring your fingers up to your wet cheeks.

You hadn't realized, that you started crying too.

Taglist: @shackspossum @abducted-cowz @heloixe @onyxlune

[sweet-honey-tears]

Shouldn’t you Sleep?

Shinso x GN!Reader

OverView: Shinso starts feeling guilty at how much you stay up with him.

Back again! This was a request and I hope you enjoy it! I did go a bit off script but I hope that’s all good! I haven’t done a actual story in awhile- so it’s a bit rough but also works as head cannons. 🤍

How long can a person stare at the ceiling before their eyes shift the colors and shadows? Till they form shapes? ‘Maybe it's my quirk’ a younger you once thought. Oh how naive you where. But now, staring at your ceiling still, you kinda wish it where true. At least the ceiling would be slightly more entertaining. But instead, you sort through memories at 2am. Recalling a time in middle school where you turned to your stuffed animals, asking why you could never sleep.

Oddly, maybe due to your actual quirk, your dark circles never really showed. Sure they were there but you looked like every other teenager; dark circles from lack of sleep or bad allergies. Which maybe is a good things, you’re pretty sure people would start thinking your Azawias kid if they really showed.

Your work/patrol schedule didn’t help, always randomly studying, and taking any opportunity to work with your mentor- who only worked at night or early morning. You were all fucked up. Sometimes powering through days with energy drinks and random naps when Azawia would let you - somehow he knew. Maybe he could just sense insomnia in people…. Speaking of which

Denki was the one who introduced you to Shinso, a flirty introduction but also mentioning how the two of you always seemed to yawn at the same time….. and you hit it off. At some point, Shinso mentioned his trouble sleeping and you offered the option of talking whenever he couldn't sleep. And he took you up on the offer unintentionally.

Shinso called you, confused about something evolving he recent English homework, but it ended up with a long conversation. And then suddenly, it just stopped. Just froze. And when Shinso looked back down at his phone, he realized it was 11 pm. You school tomorrow morning and then patrol tomorrow night till early morning- you probably fell asleep on the phone or ended the call.

But then there was a knock at his door- which He didn’t respond to the first time , or the second, but pulled himself up on the third. His feet dragged on the carpet as he answered it. Peering down at you, his mouth opened slightly at your appearance. You were in Pajamas, a large shirt with Pink Floyd on it(some American band he's heard you listen to), and black checkered sleep pants. Around your shoulders rested a fluffy gray blanket and a dead phone rested in your palms.

“Sorry about that.” You had sheepishly said.

It started with you at his desk chair. Swiveling around as he leaned against his headboard. Both of you talking mindlessly. An occasional yawn slips past either of your lips. Around 3 am is when you fall asleep, passed out on his chair in the most uncomfortable position possible. How you managed to even stay asleep was a mystery.

This continued for a while till Shinso’s own guilt started to creep into his mind. You stood up one night, stretched, and wished him well. You had a patrol with your mentor in one hour and needed to get ready. You were gone for 6 hours… Then you came back that night to talk to him.

It didn’t help when he found you passed out in the common room or slouched against your desk asleep. Was he being selfish keeping you up to talk to him?

You were on Shinso’s bed, laying down as the both of you talked. Your hands were up in the air as you examined the nail polish Shinso used for you. A nice navy blue color, he muttered that it matched your hero costume kinda well. Shinso sat on the ground near the bed, picking at the dark purple polish painted on his fingers. His guilt picking away at him as you audibly yawned again.

“Y/N”

“Yeah.”

“You know you don’t have to stay up with me, right?”

“Hm?” You russel around, turning on your side to look at the tall purpled hair man.

“I mean you don’t need to have to stay up. You have patrol in the nights to early mornings, and I’ve seen you chugging those drinks( referencing energy drinks) too.” Shinso sighs, his head rolling back on the bed to look up at you.

“Oh… Shin, I…I got insomnia” you whisper out as if a loud voice would break the air. Shinso just stares at you, his eyes scanning your face for any hint of a joke. But nothing- absolutely nothing.

“I guess we share more in common than we thought.” Shinso sighs, a small smile tugging his lips. The weight on his shoulders seeming to evaporate at your confession.

Your hand sneaks down, combing through his purple hair before messing it up. A small laugh escaping your lips at the odd angle the hair sticks out at the end of it.

“I guess so”

@afterhourswjay

[yunessa]

Owlcattober Day 7: Lamplight

In my fanfic, Roan is the Necromancer cultist who resurrected the dead in the cemetery in act 2. Given a second chance he's working for the crusade. Some mild gore-y description below and pre-Leper's Smile spoilers as a warning.

“It is… day four into my imprisonment.” Roan’s rough voice spoke softly  as he worked. “No, not imprisonment- since I started working for the crusade. Day four since I started working for the crusade.” His acidic green eyes moved over the severed head that lay on the table. “And I am now working on severed head number two.” The lamplight in the tent was weak, but his eyes were accustomed to far dimmer circumstances to work by so he kept the lamplight dim.

A row of silver tools lay next to the head. All of them were cleaned, sharpened, and polished. Ready for his use much like the pad of paper and writing utensil on the other side of the head. When he pretended to be a tailor’s apprentice, Roan used his minions to perform basic tasks for him. But now, he was alone, forbidden from using his magic without supervision. The young crusader that had been watching him had grown nauseous when Roan had dissected the first head.

“The first head held no traces of abnormalities.” It hurt for him to speak. But there was a comfort to hearing his voice and performing tasks he was suited for in this camp. “It belonged to a middle aged man, cause of death not apparent.” His voice held no emotion as the silver tool flashed in the candle light. 

“Without the rest of the body, a certain cause of death cannot be certain. No blood remains within it, despite the head seeming freshly decapitated.” Without using a minion to write his words for him, he was slowed down in his investigation. But if it bothered the man, then it didn’t show. Nothing he did was alarming- he didn’t even try to slip the chains on his limbs, heavy and loud though they were.

He simply stopped using his tools long enough to write any findings he had in his spidery scrawl. In that he was professional, even when denied use of his magic. “There is no rot to be found on the second head, even when it is not preserved by any magic.” He paused. “Not any I know or would have used, though it is possible the fluid…” He trailed off. “I have no way to identify whatever fluid has replaced the blood. Samples will be taken and preserved under supervision when the crusader watching me has given permission.”

He set down one tool, picked up another with a wickedly sharp edge and silver pliers. “Now we shall-” He raised his head as he listened to footsteps crunch in the snow outside of his tent, placing a rag to cover the head in time for a blond halfling to poke her head in the tent.

“Heya! Oh- am I interrupting?” The halfling’s nose wrinkled and she held a hand to her nose. “I could leave if you were busy.” Her voice was aggressively cheerful. It grated at him.

Roan, standing behind the table, with his dirty mortuary tools and his hand over the severed head didn’t know quite what to say to that. “Am I being summoned by the Knight Commander?” He asked instead, not sure what to do with the brightly coloured halfling.

“Summoned? No! I don’t think so. I came to say hello! The name’s Nurah, Nurah Dendiwhar- I’m the crusade’s historian!”  She put her hand over her chest and beamed. “I know some of the crusaders aren’t being too nice to you- so I baked a loaf of bread for you! You’re looking kind of dirty. Did you need any soap or-”

“State what you want or leave.”  She was just a halfling, smaller than the human necromancer with pink and blue clothes and bright blond hair. But something about her entering his tent alone, with no fanfare or orders, set Roan on edge, full of suspicion. 

“That’s rude, you know. I was just trying to be friendly!” Nurah protested.

“And I’m dating the queen” He retorted. “State your business.” As Nurah pouted at him he rested one hand behind the covered head, using it to hide the way he gripped his mortuary knife. 

“Okay. I heard the crusaders talking about you. They sounded like they haven’t been treating you alright.” She admitted. “The guy that was watching you is trying to flirt with the Eagle Watch marksman so I thought I’d slip inside.” 

Roan remained silent and when it was obvious he would remain silent Nurah sighed at him.  She walked up to the table and set down a thick loaf of bread wrapped in waxed paper. It smelled strongly of spices, fresh.

“I thought you might like some warm bread. You don’t have to talk to me- but maybe I could put in a good word with the Commander if you help me out!” She beamed at Roan. “I’ve never talked to a real necromancer before.”

“Anyway,” Nurah continued. “Maybe next time we can talk.” Her expression twisted into sympathy. “I heard some of what they’ve been doing to you. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.” Her expression brightened and she waved. “Have a nice day!”

And just like that, Nurah turned, walking out of his tent as easily as she left it.

Roan exhaled slowly and waited several minutes before he turned his attention to the load of bread. Leaving the head for now, he moved to examine it. “Plain wax paper.” He whispered as he cut through the wax with paranoid care.

Inside was a nice roll of bread, smelling of cinnamon. The bread was still warm to the touch of his cold fingers, soft when he pressed his finger against the loaf. His eyes narrowed and with the same surgical precision he used dissecting the head, he now applied to dissecting the loaf. His suspicions were rewarded when the knife found something in the soft bread and he used his other hand to  peel the bread away.

A metal key came free of the bread and he studied the rough metal, turning it so it caught the lamplight. Breadcrumbs were still stuck to the metal from when it was baked into the loaf. “Simple steel key.” He whispered before looking at his chained hands. “But is it the key for me?” He slid the key into one of the locks and it fit like it was made for them.

His fingers began to tremble as he started to twist it. He could feel it as the mechanism inside the lock started to move and his heart began to race as he stopped. Pulling the key out, tucking it away inside his clothes in time for loud laughter coming from outside his tent.

He quickly scooped up the bread, tossing it away. “Nurah.” He repeated the name, committing it to memory, as his heart beat madly. “What is this for?” There was no answer to his whispered question in the tent. His hands trembled  but he pulled away from the tent entryway. 

Nurah’s gift of a key to his chains wasn’t a gift out of kindness- was it?  “No.” He whispered. “No kindness there. Not for no reason.” He moved to stand at the entrance to his tent, listening to the crusaders outside. He could unlock these chains…

Then, with effort he forced himself to return to the table, pulling the rag off the head. “No.” He said firmly to the severed head. “No.” He rasped as his voice threatened to break. “If I put my son in danger for this… no. Where was I? I remember. Samples. We will take samples once I have examined the teeth. From there we will progress to the eyes. I need to hurry to finish this examination before the commander comes to find me or- I don’t know.” His voice fell quiet and he grabbed more oil to fill the lamp with. 

“I must hurry. Pharasma look kindly upon my work.”

[astranite]

WIP Late-Wednesday

Scott needed help. Scott asks for help even if its just a little thing.

This is a part of a scene I've had in my mind for a while that follows my fic Close Call. Ao3. Probably is still comprehensible if you havent read it but like also look more earth and sky!! So here a rough partial version though its got a fair amount to it and words for a wip Wed so here!! Enjoy the earth and sky moment.

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Scott let out a growl of frustration, flapping his hand about in an attempt to dislodge the tape. A foolish attempt, he found, as it flipped around and stuck to the other side of his hand. So now it was sticking! It hadn't before to the point and clearly the adhesive wasn’t the problem, it was very effective except at going where he wanted it!

He wadded up another ball of the athletic tape to join the other attempts. At this rate he was going to run out before he managed to get any to stick where he wanted it. He was trying to take care of his shoulder and do all the right things. He’d done his physio exercises each morning with Gordon after their respective swim and run so he wouldn’t forget and Gordon would tell him if he thought he was pushing himself too hard. He’d worn the sling, even though he hated having an arm immobilised. 

He really was for once trying to take care of himself  because he’d actually listened to Virgil even when it took both of them having a sobbing breakdown for it to stick, but the entire universe seemed dead set against it. The ugly, beige tape and bits of paper backing stared up at him from where they were strewn across his bathroom counter. A couple had even landed in the sink. Scott averted his eyes, same as he’d done from the mirror, staring instead at his bare feet. There was yet another failed attempt fallen down there.  The blue polish from when he’d let Gordon paint his nails was still stuck to them. He wriggled his toes into the fluffy bathmat in an attempt to distract himself.

As he rolled his right shoulder backwards, the joint popped and clicked. It had healed up alright after he’d dislocated it weeks back so Virgil and Grandma were finally letting him back on active rescue duty. Not just light duty protocols where he wasn’t even allowed out of One no matter how much he ached to help properly. Virgil’s firm commands and the memory of his terrified anger, along with the way John’s eyes had widened, expression crumpling the one time he’d almost moved had kept him in his seat.

Scott pulled his shirt back on. At least now he wasn’t gasping in pain every time he had to manoeuvre his arm into the sleeve. His shoulder was pretty much back to its usual level of dull hurt if he overworked it and sharp stabs if he did something really weird. Virgil had also informed him when he accidentally said this that it wasn't normal for it to hurt all the time at all without a current injury. So that was something too.

His feet took him to the lounge room where he knew Virgil would be painting right now, what was left of the roll of tape in hand. He let himself walk up to Virgil’s easel, like this was totally normal, like he wasn’t doing anything new, or unprecedented. There was nothing to be nervous about. He bit at the inside of his cheek.

A deep breath in, let it out. Then: “Hey Virge.”

Virgil immediately looked up from his stunning landscape of the island, brows nearly meeting in the middle.

Yup very normal, Scott. Virgil the musician totally wouldn't notice how his voice was a pitch higher than usual.

“What’s up?” Virgil began cautiously.

Scott balled his hands into fists before consciously relaxing them. 

QOUTE 

QUOTE

The memories played back in his mind. He could just ask.

“Virgil, I need your help?”

It came out as more of a question than Scott had meant. He was ready to stuff the words back down his throat in the second of silence that followed.

His brother stiffened minutely, grip tightening around his paintbrush. But then he smiled up at Scott, putting the brush into cloudy turquoise water in the jar.

“Sure, what with?”

Oh. 

Like that Virgil was ready to help him.

Scott head spun, he’d been holding his breath and he let it out shakily. Why the hell was this harder than jumping out of One? He was just asking Virgil for help with what was objectively a small task and it wasn’t like they didn’t ever help patch each other up and check over gear on missions. But this time it was him approaching and doing the asking.

“My shoulder, I’ve been trying to strap it up for today, like you said.” He waved the tape around vaguely.

Virgil settled a hand on his uninjured shoulder, grounding him with the weight. 

Scott let himself lean into it. Impulsively, he tipped forward so he could hug his brother press their foreheads together. 

Virgil’s deep brown eyes widened in surprise before softening at the edges.

He rested a warm hand at the back of Scott neck, smiling at him.

“I’m happy to help.”

Scott closed his eyes, letting the relief sink in and hope to fix this moment in his mind so next time it was something big he’d remember this.