#random fic scenarios

[empressofthelibrary]

Time for randomly generated MASH fic prompts: 46. Blind date and 62. Love Confessor

Ollie sets Connor up on a blind date with a woman he met through volunteer work. Connor, begrudgingly, agrees -- he's been listening to his dad talk this woman up for ages, and it does sound like they'd get along. And Ollie's trying to help, after all. He knows Connor's been down lately, ever since Kyle went off on some interstellar mission. He's fine, but...

Well, it's Connor's own fault for falling for the guy.

Not that he's felt like there was much point in talking about it, which is why Ollie's set him up on this date.

And they do get along well enough, coffee turning into lunch. But apparently the woman can tell that Connor's mind is elsewhere. She pokes at him, and he ends up telling her everything. The two part amicably, and she promises not to breathe a word of it to Ollie.

[spookievan]

date nights with spence <3

[random-potat]

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ heads up

pairings: ni-ki x reader ft. danielle of new jeans and mentions of jake

synopsis: sometimes getting hit on the head by a baseball can be something to bond over.

word count: 1063

warnings: mild swearing, poor attempts at humour

a/n: as somebody who has always been hit in the face by a sports ball growing up, hopefully this is a meet cute that can actually happen to me but thats probably still unrealistic lol. anyways here's a short little ni-ki oneshot!! i still dont know how i feel about it but its good enough ε-(ｰдｰ) will most likely be posting my jongseob smau soon so that will be my main focus :)) so oneshots may not be posted as often cause this writer cannot multitask :p

Sitting in class, you continuously check your phone, counting down the time until class ends. 

You feel a nudge on your shoulder, waking you up from your daze. Turning to the person beside you, Danielle whispers to you. “Mr. Hong may be smart and nice, but why does his voice have to be so gentle?” She puts her head down on the desk. "Like, it makes me sooo sleepy.”

"Agreed,” you say as you check your phone again for what seems like the 127th time.

“Why do you keep checking your phone? You got a hot date?” Dani teases.

You roll your eyes and respond, “I wish. More like a date to the dentist. Have to leave as soon as class ends, or else I'll have to wait thirty minutes for the next train.”

"Well, that sucks,"  Dani sighs. "Honestly, knowing you, you may not be able to make it considering how slow you run.”

You slapped her arm. “Hey! So not true. I’m just preserving energy.”

“Mmhm. Sure.”

Five minutes before class ends, you start to pack your things, getting ready to dash outside the classroom.

As the bell rings, you quickly run down the stairs, saying a quick goodbye to Dani as well as Mr. Hong. You couldn’t really care as people gave you odd looks for rushing towards the train station; some people may have thought that you just really needed to take a shit.

On the way to the train station, you have to pass by the sports field. Being completely unaware of your surroundings, you fail to hear someone shout toward you.

“Hey! Heads up!”

All of a sudden, a hard object hits you square on the side of your head, making you lose balance and fall to the ground. 

Aware of your position on the ground, a wave of embarrassment took over. You lay there for a bit, not wanting to make eye contact with the people around you. “Not gonna lie, you would think somebody would come and ask me if I’m alright,” you thought.

As you start to get up from the ground, the sound of footsteps can be heard running towards you.

"Hey, are you okay?” A tired yet deep and husky voice says

You look up from your position, seeing a boy around your age with a baseball mitt around his hand. “Why is this man so freaking tall?”

You watch as he mouths words, but no actual sound is coming out of those plumped, nevertheless sort of chapped lips.

He shakes your shoulder lightly. “Excuse me, are you okay?”

You shake your head, getting out of your daze, although that may have been a mistake, seeing that it made you more dizzy.

The boy reaches his hand out, and you grab them as he hoists you back up.

“I’m so sorry, that was quite a hit; it must’ve hurt,” he starts. “Normally Jake has better aim, and when he doesn't, I can normally catch it,” he says as he scratches the nape of his neck.

“It’s completely fine; it totally doesn’t hurt at all.” You respond nonchalantly. 

“Do you want some ice? I can get someone to get you some," he says as he grabs your hand and pulls you towards the practice field. “Here, just come sit on the bench and I’ll grab you some ice,” he says as he ushers a team member to get some ice.

“No, no, it's okay. I'm good. Kind of running late for something anyway, plus it really doesn't hurt.” You attempt to stand up.

The boy gently pushes you back on the bench. "Look, I'm sure whatever you have to do can wait, cause even if you say it doesn't hurt, the side of your head is definitely saying something else.”

You reach up to where the ball hit you, feeling a swollen bump starting to form. “Fine, you can give me ice, but after that, I'll be on my way to the station.”

He gives you a stern look. “Um, no, we still have to go with the standard precautions. You could have a concussion right now.”

"Look, I'm sure if I had one, I would know.”

“No, you're staying here. Practice ends in fifteen minutes anyway. So stay put.” He hands you a plastic bag of ice that his teammate got.

Being left with no choice, you watch as he runs to the center of the field. Watching as he throws and catches the ball around.

Not really knowing anything about baseball, you plug your earbuds in and slowly close your eyes to rest. “I'm already late at this point; I might as well rest.”

Little did you know, resting your eyes caused a little misunderstanding with the boy that had helped you. As he practiced, he took small glances at you every now and then. Seeing your eyes start to close caused him to immediately think you were about to faint.

Worried that you just became unconscious, the boy was unaware of the baseball that was being thrown towards him.

With history repeating itself, the boy fell face flat to the ground, a swollen bump starting to form on his head.

Waking up from your quick nap, you look beside you to see the same boy holding an ice pack on his head, similar to you.

“What the hell just happened?” You questioned.

“You know it turns out Jake over there really does have bad aim,” he jokes. “Or maybe I was just a teensy bit worried about you.”

“Worried about what?”

He explains, "Well, you closed your eyes; I thought you had fainted.” 

"Well, I didn't.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I can see that now.”

The two of you guys sat there with an awkward silence surrounding you. Feeling a bit better, you decide to grab your things, turning toward the boy beside you.

“You know, I never got your name. It would be nice to know who my hero is.”

“I'm Nishimura Riki, but people just call me Ni-ki. You?”

“I'm YN. Nice to meet you, Ni-ki, and thanks for helping me.”

He smiles, “Anytime.”

As you begin to turn away, a faraway voice can be heard.

“Hey! Heads up!”

You turn around and see Ni-ki in front of you with a baseball in his hand.

He screams towards his teammate, “You know Jake, you really do have shit aim!”

my masterlists

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[bokutizer]

you should not take it to heart. he's frustrated. tired. he doesn't mean it. it's not his heart that's speaking but rather his ego. (a damaged one at that too.)

nonetheless, you are aware that atsumu's current situation, as delicate as it may be, is still not an excuse to lash out on you like that. sure, his ankle injury was uncalled for especially now that the season is at its highest peak but still, it is not an excuse.

atsumu's pleading voice behind you is drowned out by the venomous words which he had spat at you a few moments prior, replaying inside your head like a broken record. it's only when you finally finish putting your shoes on, ripping your jacket off the coat-hook that the sound of a sudden crash gets your attention, forcing you to turn around.

"please don't run away from me when I can't run after you." his voice is hoarse as he speaks. you feel your eyes prick with fresh tears, these ones however evoked by his pain instead of yours. because seeing the loud, boisterous miya atsumu slumped against the doorframe, keeping his weight on his unharmed leg, with that desperate and dark gloom in his eyes- you don't have the heart to simply leave him standing there. not in his current condition. not with the way you both look at each other. not with that tiny piece of silver wrapped around your ring finger.

"what are you doing, you idiot?" and atsumu sighs deeply at that, because those same words are usually uttered before you fix something. and the way that you say them, the warmth that seeps out of your voice as your pouty lips form around the word idiot, and that cute eye-roll of yours-

you'll fix it together. he thinks.

you hastily slip out of your shoes before striding back towards him, picking the little side table up he accidentally knocked over and placing it back beside the couch. "you have to rest your leg."

[snezinnnngggg]

Stoic butch who catches a cold and femme who makes her blush by saying, “good girl” whenever she sneezes or blows her nose

[quibbs126]

Okay maybe this is gonna sound weird, at least from me, but shut up, I need to complain about this somewhere

So I go on Ao3 looking for Transformers One fanfics, since I’ve been reading a few as they come out and I just like seeing what premises people have. Though specifically I’m only interested in megop fanfics. Because I’m incredibly biased. Anyways, so there’s a few that have mechpreg in them, and I swear, every time, it’s Optimus having the kid

Where the heck are the Megatron being the carrier fics? I want to see that side of the premise, give it to me!

[eltheabberation]

Day 12: AU

No no no no no it wasn’t supposed to happen like this-

Behold, one of the billion and one self-indulgent aus I have. I spent like 10 hours experiencing severe art block and watching House MD while trying to figure out what the fuck to draw but I managed to get this out and I actually like it :>

[forwhump]

a/n; a radio station in my town took out a massive highway billboard that’s just a huge sign that says LONG LIVE COWGIRLS & I pass it on my way to & from work everyday & GUESS what it makes me think of LOL

anyway I can’t see any of the asks I’ve ever gotten for some reason so I can’t remember if somebody actually asked for more wren pov or if I was just scrolling the folder for fun but regardless here’s some more wren pov <3 a horrible little drabble, as a treat :’)

tw/cw: rape, noncon, transphobia, misgendering, sexual violence, captivity, psychological torture, medical torture, dehumanization

military whump, creepy whumper, mentions of living weapons, sexual servitude

There was a time, not even all that long ago, that Wren’s biggest fear was standing too close to the microwave while it was being used because he had a thing about it blowing up in his face. He would never stand directly under street lamps or traffic lights on the off chance they would fall and crush him. He didn’t like to drive behind logging trucks. He wasn’t a good Texan, and he’d always been a little afraid of horses.

Seems like such a fuckin’ joke now.

It’s pretty pathetic, actually, and Wren’s already crying but he sobs with this, too, muffled by the strip of lacy material they’d gagged him with. It wasn’t even all that long ago, and still, it’s hard to think back on a version of himself that thought the very worst thing that could happen to him was a microwave blowing up in his face.

He doesn’t even think I want to go home anymore. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He thinks, I want to go back to bed. He thinks, I want Silas.

But he’s in bed, where he’s supposed to be safe, and Silas had been shot so many times in the face that even Medic couldn’t help him. He’d been handed over to the biomedical surgeons so they could try and salvage his brain. Nobody was sure if they could.

Point, of course, is delighted. All of his men are. Silas likes them the least, and there’s less of a threat to their lives when he’s dead. They can relax. They can play with Wren, and they don’t have to worry about his guard dog.

This time, they might not have to worry about him again. They’re celebrating. They use Wren’s body to do it, as they always do.

For the first time in a long time, Wren thinks, I want to go home. He sobs again.

As a kid, he’d been really scared of quicksand and of snakes crawling out of the drain to bite him. As an adult, he’s gagged as he’s gang raped in his prison cell by military guards. As a teenager, a teenage beauty queen in Texas, he had started to transition and that had come with a lot of real world fears that never came close to touching on this. It’s hard to imagine anything worse than this.

Silas is dead, and there’s a part of Wren that resents him for leaving him here but there’s a bigger part that’s desperate to join him. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t wanna do this. He’s so dehydrated the tears had stopped hours ago but he hasn’t stopped crying the whole time. Sometimes he wishes he could. He wishes he could get angry and stay angry and not give them the satisfaction. Sometimes, most of the time, Wren is weak and pathetic and scared and it hurts, it always hurts, and he can’t help it. He cries. He gives them the satisfaction. He wants to be where Silas is.

Point watches from the chair he had pulled up from Wren’s desk. Vineyard is behind him, chest against Wren’s back, holding him in his lap with a broad arm curled around his waist. His other hand is curled around Wren’s throat, not hard enough to cut off his air, not completely, but hard enough that it hurts. Hard enough that Wren will bruise around the throat in the shape of his handprint.

Hurt is between the spread of his thighs, pulling chunks of flesh out of his hips with his fingernails, frantic and feral to Vineyard’s calm and dominating. It’s overwhelming and they’re everywhere, they’re on all sides they’re in all of his senses they’re inside him, and they’re both so much bigger than him and Wren has never felt so small and helpless in his life. It makes his chest feel tight, it makes his chest feel the tightest it has ever felt and he can’t take a full breath in but he still finds it in himself to sob, somehow.

It’s a familiar sort of panic, thinking of Silas in times like this, but this time it snags on the cracks of that tightness in his chest and start to break it open, to fill him with something so desperately empty it has him gasping for breath.

Silas is dead. And what does that mean, really, when Silas is Silas, when Silas dies all the time? But Silas hadn’t just died, Silas had been slaughtered, and it wasn’t a matter of trying to bring him back from the dead but of trying to salvage his brain. To salvage it. He had died so completely Point felt comfortable celebrating the loss of him, and Point was never comfortable when Silas was involved.

I want Silas, Wren thinks, and that’s familiar, but Silas doesn’t come to his rescue this time. Wren has to fend for himself, and he’s so fuckin’ tired. He’s so tired. He wants to go where Silas went, and it’s not fuckin’ fair because he also just wants to die and he doesn’t even get that much. He’s wanted to die for longer than Silas can remember and Silas, of all people, beat him to it? Fuckin’ Silas?

He screams and he doesn’t know why, it’s too hard to narrow it down. Maybe a bit of everything. It’s muffled, anyway, by the gag, and it’s answered only with the rumble of Vineyard’s laughter against his back.

Silas had somehow brought out in him again that idiot kid that was afraid of drains because snakes might be hiding in there, waiting for him. Silas had made him stupid. He’d promised Wren he’d get him and he’d die to do it, if that’s what it took. Wren had made him promise right back not to die, that he had to come with him — he’d hardly doubted that Silas would get him out of here, away from all this. He had a resolve that was inhuman and a strength that outweighed it. He never said it like he was gonna try, he said it as a matter of fact, and Wren had believed him. He’d thought about introducing Silas to his mother — what would she say? She’d been a bit of a judgemental bitch when she was Wren’s mother, but how much had she changed?

Would she even want to see him? What would she think of him now? What would she think if she knew?

Point leans in close, too close, and Wren tries to flinch away but he takes a fistful of his hair and keeps him where he wants him. Wren’s wrists have been tied behind his back so long he hasn’t been able to feel anything but static in his fingers for hours. Point mouths along the line of his jaw, the edge of the gag, and murmurs, “that’s my girl.”

Silas loved him. Silas loved him so completely it killed him. He’d lived and died underground and nobody outside of this place will ever know he’d lived at all, but he had and it had been a life that was short and gruesome and miserable. But he loved Wren so much he died for him, and it’s not fuckin’ fair. How is that any fuckin’ fair? Wren spent a lot of his time reading, and he’d read enough that he knows this is not how this is supposed to go. A love like that is supposed to have a happy ending. A love like that was supposed to save them both.

He sobs and it gets stuck in his throat. Point smiles against his skin. “I’m sorry we had to put your dog down,” he murmurs, just as soft, and the warmth of his breath makes Wren’s skin crawl. “We gave you so many opportunities to be good for us. All you had to do was be a good girl.” Wren tries to turn his face away and Point bites his cheek so hard it makes him cry out. He hiccups out a sob, humiliating, and Point coos against his skin. “Look at you,” he says softly. “How could I stay mad at you?” He kisses Wren’s cheek so gently it gives Wren goosebumps and he sobs again. “You’ll forget all about the freak,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna fuck the memory of that thing right out of you, cowgirl.”

Wren tastes blood and he thinks his cracked lips are finally bleeding. His chest is hitching with trapped sobs but there are still no tears. Hurt groans, long and low and it makes Wren gag under Vineyard’s hand.

He wants to go back to sleep. He wants Silas. He doesn’t want to live like this anymore.

What a privilege to be afraid of the microwave. What a stupid little asshole he’d been.

But he’d been a whole person once, a human being. Somebody with feelings and regulated emotions and irrational fears. He doesn’t know what he is now, not really, but he’s less than human, he knows that much. He isn’t worth nearly as much, either. Nobody even knows he’s here, nobody that’s still alive or that’s not down here with him. Nobody’s coming to his rescue. Nobody’s gonna save him this time. When Wren’s finally allowed to die, he’s gonna die down here, cold and pathetic and worth no more than warm flesh.

It isn’t fair. It’s all so fuckin’ unfair.

He wants to go where Silas went.

[empressofthelibrary]

For the fanfic trope mashup, Steph/Spoiler and Kara/Supergirl, 79?

79. Anger Born of Worry

and picking a second number at random to round it out...

9. Dance AU

...Huh. Okay, let's see...

Kara, in my mind, is roughly of an age with Dick and Bette, and Steph is between Tim and Jason in age. So...

Kara was a star ballerina for years, but she had to retire in her early thirties due to the strain it put on her body. Now she's a coach, helping young dancers reach their full potential. One of her students, Stephanie Brown, is determined to reach the top. Steph's already in her mid-twenties, and she's at further disadvantage because she didn't start ballet until she was in her teens. Frankly, Kara's impressed by the young woman's drive, and how skilled she is already. But that drive can backfire.

Steph pushes herself too hard, and injures herself. Kara is furious, worried about Steph's safety and career. Steph is angry with herself, but when Kara gets mad, Steph takes it out on her coach and friend instead. The fight gets big and loud. Kara storms off, leaving Steph to her physical therapy.

They work it out eventually, both apologizing and meeting in the middle. I'm not sure if you meant this as a romantic or platonic ship, but I could see it going either way.

[azzys-secret-kink-blog]

Would your write unbirth slime preg?

Oh 100% I will put that in the notes for a long form later, but for now what kind?

Maybe the everyday work of a slime breeder? He carries all his slimes himself before taking them to the market for sale.

Maybe someone gets caught by a wild slime? It seeds itself into his womb to use him as a neverending slime factory.

Maybe just weird consensual sex with a slime of humanoid intelligence? Slimes are into some kinky stuff apparently.

Any other suggestions? I'm always open!

[fanfic-inator795]

So people are apparently shipping Max Goof and Bradley Uppercrust III from Extremely Goofy Movie.

While idk what prompted this, the ship itself doesn’t surprise me as it’s your typical rivals to lovers that, I’ll admit, can be pretty fun to indulge in on occasion.

But while I don’t mind the ship itself, shippers gonna ship and all that (especially when it’s two pretty bois with tension) I have to wonder what exactly Goofy would think in this scenario.

Obviously Goofy, being the Best Dad Ever, is gonna support Max regardless of whether he’s straight, gay, bi, etc. but like… Bradley straight up tried to seriously injure Max at the X Games for the sake of winning.

Even if Max is able to forgive and forget that little cheating incident, I feel like Goofy would have a VERY hard time doing the same. He’d be civil for Maxie’s sake, sure, but you can bet he’d be keeping an eye on Bradley and would likely have a “you sure he’s the one, son?” talk with Max, just to make sure he isn’t being manipulated by Bradley like Goofy himself was.

Honestly, even if I’m not into the ship itself (imo that Max/Yakko Warner ship people were indulging in a couple years ago was way more interesting/amusing), I wouldn’t mind reading a comic or fic where Goofy and Bradley have to have That Talk - that “you’d better not do anything to hurt my son” serious Goofy voice talk.

[99guz]

Best Friend Wooyoung who is so excited for you to go on a date but also wants to make sure you’re safe. He makes sure to remind you to put your location on and knows exactly where you are going on the date. So here you sit at the small little hole in the wall restaurant your date across from you having a conversation while waiting for your food to arrive.

And here he sits just a few seats away in disguise. Dark sunglasses and your damn sun hat which in his defense he had bought you so he has every right to wear it. Yeosang told him this was a dumb idea. He should just wait for you to get back home and tell him about the date but what if you needed to send an SOS!

Yes there is an SOS system. SOS Yellow, the date isn’t going well, definitely not gonna see them again. SOS Orange, definitely a creep, come get me. SOS Red Get Me Out Of Here Now! Wooyoung had used SOS Red once and you called him in hysterics saying your grandpa was missing and you needed his help to search. Grandpa wasn’t actually missing; he was at the senior center playing cards.

The date is going well. He is funny, nice and so far nothing short of a gentleman. You had decided to eat first before heading off to watch a movie at the theater. Through laughter you have been going back and forth on what to watch. You say horror, he says action. So here the both of you sit trying to prove which one is better and why.

“Sitting there and imagining yourself in the action, come on. Ca-pow!” he punches the air. “That’s the best thing about action movies.” he places his hands on the table in front of him.

You nod at his words. He has a point about the amount of times you have pictured yourself as a superhero many times. “Okay you have a point but, admit it you get chills down your back while watching a good horror movie. It’s the best feeling! Plus when it's over there is still a thrill left over.”

He shakes his head leaning back into his chair. “No, I stick by my decision. Action is better.” He takes hold of his fork and next thing you know he is taking a forkful from my plate. You gasp and he chuckles. “Ooh good choice.”

That’s when it catches your eye. Looking behind your date's head a few tables away there is a person wearing sunglasses and a sun hat. A sun hat which seems very familiar, since you have worn it multiple times. Your eyes fall lower to the hoodie they are wearing, limited edition Hunter x Hunter hoodie starting price $400.00 you barely wear it.

They angle their head down to block their face and turn their head to the right before getting up and walking away towards the bathrooms. You excuse yourself from the table claiming to need the bathroom. Wooyoung is racing to the bathroom to escape from your wrath he knows you’ve spotted him. He saw the face that you made when you recognised the sweater but you had left it in his car so he can totally wear it. Probably shouldn't have thought to be fair.

He almost made it to a sweet escape but you had caught him by the arm. Wooyoung turns an innocent smile on his face. “Oh my god what are you doing here?” His voice is high as he fakes innocence.

Your eyes narrow shooting arrows at him. “Wooyoung I told you I was coming here! What are you doing here? And in my limited edition Hunter x Hunter shirt! That’s $400.00! Have you lost your damn mind?” you whisper yell.

“I’m sorry I was worried. This is your first date since gorilla shit and if you think I was gonna send you in without backup. What if he’s a creep?” he leans in closer, peaking around the corner at the table then back to you. “Is he a creep?”

“No, he is actually really nice.” A smile creeps onto your face. “He is giving me a Viking vibe.”

Wooyoung nods “Tattoos, full beard, tall, and muscular total Viking.” he smirks.

You smirk. “Super nice voice too. Great tone.”

“Okay I will go home but text me as soon as you get home. You know I’m just worried right?” he clarifies.

You smile because you know he means well, and it makes you feel really safe knowing he has your back the way he does. “I know Woo and I really appreciate it and I love you for having my back. I’ll text you as soon as I get home, okay?” assured him.

He sighs and nods his head. Taking hold of your hands he intertwines your fingers and looks into your eyes with a loving look. “I hope he rearranges your guts. You deserve only the best.”

“I can’t fucking stand you!” you bark out throwing his hands off yours and turn to go back to your date. “Take my goddam fucking sweater off too! And my hat!” you finish. With that you leave Wooyoung behind and get back to the table where your date awaits. Just behind him you can see Wooyoung making his way out of the restaurant, both of you sharing one last secret smile before he sets out.

[madameadelina]

The Taste of A Lie

CupcakexWarren

After some long contemplation, and several requests, I've decided to write something for when Warren and Anastasia share their moment in the brothel! Hope you enjoy ~

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The brothel was stifling, draped in velvet and smoke, the air thick with perfume and promises that weren’t meant to be kept. You were already regretting your choices as Lady Payne talked your ear off, her wineglass dangling precariously in her hand.

“…and I'm going to thoroughly enjoy this evening. So, shall we get started?—”

“Cupcake, I got what we need, let's go?”

Warren’s voice cut through Lady Payne’s monologue like a blade. You glanced up to see him standing there, all sharp edges and dark eyes, his jacket open and sleeves rolled up in that casual way he did when he wanted to look unbothered.

Lady Payne turned, scandalized. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t even blink. “We’re leaving.”

“Leaving? I paid for two hours,” she snapped, setting down her glass with enough force to slosh wine over the rim. Utter confusion was evident in the glistening of her eyes.

Warren didn’t spare her a second glance. “You’ll get a refund.”

Your jaw dropped as Lady Payne sputtered, but Warren had already wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

“Warren—”

“Move,” he muttered, low enough for only you to hear.

You followed, stumbling after him as he led you through dimly lit hallways, toward the exit. Your heart still hammered in your chest from his abrupt arrival. “You didn’t have to interrupt like that. She probably thinks I—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You scowled. “Easy for you to say.”

Warren didn’t answer, his pace quickening as you neared the main door. Just as your hand reached for the handle, a voice echoed down the corridor, freezing you both in place.

“Check every room. The councilman wants to know who’s been seen here tonight.”

Your blood turned to ice. That voice—the head guard. Warren’s grip on your wrist tightened, just for a second, before he swore softly under his breath and pulled you toward the nearest door.

“Warren—!”

He didn’t answer. The door creaked open, and he shoved you inside, slamming it behind you. The room was dark except for a faint glow from the curtains, enough light to see the tension in Warren’s shoulders as he listened. Footsteps moved closer. The heavy creak of doors opening and closing was all too loud.

“Here.”

Warren turned, holding out something small and black—a mask.

“What is that—”

“Put it on,” he said, voice low but urgent.

You stared at him. “You’re joking.”

He shot you a sharp look, one that brooked no argument. “Just shut up and play along.”

“Warren, I—”

But you didn’t get to finish. He stepped forward, closing the space between you in one stride, his hands already on your waist. Before you could process what was happening, his mouth crashed against yours.

The world spun.

His kiss was hot, deep, overwhelming, as though he’d poured every ounce of tension into this one reckless moment. Your back hit the mattress with a soft thump, and you gasped into his mouth, every nerve in your body on fire as he pressed you down.

Warren barely knew what he was doing. That was the terrifying part. He told himself this was to sell the performance—to keep you safe. But as soon as his lips touched yours, the excuse shattered like glass. You were soft, warm beneath him, and he could feel your fingers curling into his shirt, holding him there.

The guards were outside, but Warren couldn’t focus on anything beyond the taste of you and the way your body arched into his. It was instinct that made him deepen the kiss, his hand coming up to cup your face as his thumb brushed the edge of your jaw. He was losing himself, and he knew it.

You pulled him closer, your movements more desperate, as if the heat between you might burn out of control if you didn’t stoke it. His weight pressed into you—solid, heavy, and completely there. You could feel the lines of him, the broadness of his frame caging you in, making it impossible to think of anything else.

A voice interrupted the haze.

“Sorry for the interruption, sir.”

Warren stilled, his lips lingering just above yours. His chest rose and fell against you, every breath harsh, unsteady. He didn’t look toward the guard, just kept his face close to yours, as if you were still the center of his focus.

The door clicked shut again, and silence fell.

For a moment, everything stood still. Warren’s thumb traced over your cheek, slower now, like he wasn’t ready to let go. Then his lips brushed yours again, much softer this time.

You kissed him back, because how could you not? He was everywhere, the scent of smoke and leather wrapping around you like a second skin. He kissed like he was unraveling, like he’d let a door open he couldn’t close.

Finally, you pulled back, your breaths shallow.

“Warren,” you whispered.

His eyes flickered over your face for a moment. Then he exhaled sharply, straightening and pulling himself away.

“That was a close one,” he muttered, his voice rough as he ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s go.”

You sat up, your heart still pounding as you tried to collect yourself. You could barely look at him, the memory of his mouth on yours still burning through your skin. He turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at you, as though waiting to see if you’d follow.

Your legs felt shaky as you stood, and you swore you caught the faintest smirk on his lips as you passed him.

“Don’t say a word,” you muttered, not trusting yourself to meet his gaze.

He let out a low chuckle, his voice back to its infuriating calm. “I wasn’t planning to.”

The two of you slipped out into the hallway, leaving the brothel behind. But the kiss stayed with you—lingering, electric, impossible to forget.

Warren walked ahead, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

He told himself it meant nothing.

It was a lie.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

[venusbyline]

[certified-sloth]

Belphegor: Everyone loves you. If it came to it, my brothers would choose you over me.

MC: How are you so sure?

Belphegor: I'm not stupid, MC. If you'd managed to make them agree to forge pacts with you so easily, what do you think the reason is?

MC:...

Belphegor: They're putting their attention on you, blissfully unaware that their own brother has been locked up for so long.

Belphegor: That doesn't sound fair, does it?

Belphegor: Everyone's going on about their lives... and just like you told me, they act as if I never existed.

Belphegor: It's unfair.

[aphel1on]

it's all well and good to want to see your blorbo writhing and suffering and talk about running your fucked up little psychological experiments on them and putting them in saw traps to see how they react and so forth like yeah yeah i'm a depraved whump lover that's old news it's literally normal. just it gets a little awkward depending on who your blorbo currently is you know. bc when it's scaramouche sometimes i have to pause and step back for a moment like. i sound genuinely so dottore coded rn. & then i have to cope w that