#really they were so mad the first half of that mission and for what 😭😭

[asexualkiba]

i know the three tails appearance filler is long and tedious but u gotta understand that optimal viewing is achieved when you start with the idea that shino and kiba are in a fight before even setting out on the mission and while they're split up with other teams end up being so much more miserable that they instantly make up the minute they reunite and then it becomes everyone elses problem

[slytherinshua]

YOUR WOUNDS WRAPPED WITH MY LOVE

genre. fluff. tiny bit of angst. mafia au. warnings. descriptions of a stab wound. blood. knives and guns. some profanity. kissing. they kinda argue but very mildly. i researched a little on how to treat wounds but pls don't expect it to be too accurate 😭. pairing. fiancé!jeno x reader. wc. 1.5k. request. no. a/n. so ever since the concept trailers this jeno has been the only thing on my mind I swear 😔 and nursing trope is one of my fav tropes ever so I joined the two together and was very delulu 👍

read part 2 here !

“Again?” You asked, less than happy at the sight of the tall man who stood against the doorframe, one hand clutching his side painfully. Lee Jeno always disappeared without warning on another mission only to return, usually injured, for you to patch him up. You had urged him to hire an actual medic for the job, but he refused, saying he didn’t trust anyone but you to get that close to him. That was a few years back when the occasions for it were still rare. You were alarmed at how often he seemed to be going out, and returning with increasingly worse injuries.

Your knowledge and skill with patching up wounds— dagger wounds, bruises and scrapes from physical altercations, hell, even gunshot wounds— was a lot better than years ago. You were confident in your ability to get your fiancé back to health, but you weren’t pleased with how often you had to. No matter how much you pleaded with him to let his body rest, he would more often than not, be out again just hours after you had tended to his bleeding body.

“I’m sorry.” He grumbled out. You would have been shocked by how hoarse his voice had become if this was the first time, but you were all too used to it. Your heart still clenched painfully seeing him in that state.

He could barely walk, blood dripping a little from where his hand pressed tightly to his left side, his face scrunched in pain as laboured irregular breaths left his mouth. 

“Come here. Sit down. Tell me what happened.” You said quietly, already having gotten out the box of medical supplies. You were ready with the bottle of saline already, but it wasn’t anywhere near the top of Jeno’s worries. From the tone of your voice, he could tell you were mad at him. Or maybe it was mostly disappointment? A touch of worry, perhaps.

He made his way towards you, carefully limping towards the bed until he could gently lower himself onto it with his weight supported by the bedframe. He sat still as you gently took off his shirt, eyes assessing the dark red spot that stained the side of his stomach and up his ribcage. You glanced up to his face, and he met your eyes for half a second with a slow breath out.

“Knife. It’s not that deep, I stopped their hand before they could push it in very far.” He whispered, and then shut his eyes tightly when you dabbed a little at the wound with a soft wet cloth soaked in saline.

“Are you staying for long?” You asked, guarding your heart for what his answer would be. You loved Jeno— you loved him more than anything, and you tried to be as selfless as you could regarding him and his job. You never put up a fuss about having to patch him up, and you only ever gently tried to persuade him to be more careful. But it was hard, really hard. You couldn’t help but be hopeful that he might be able to stay for a bit longer with you. You hated how you only seemed to be seeing him to treat his wounds for the past month.

But it only reminded you of how he was by far the most selfless person you knew. 

Countless threats had always been looking for Jeno’s weakness. And you happened to be the most vital one. You were unspeakably precious to him, and unfortunately, his rivals knew that. Of course, he did everything he could to protect you. You trusted him with your life. There was no one else who you would ever trust as much as him. And he had never lost your trust. You had never even had a scratch delivered to you. But the tradeoff of the protection that Jeno made sure you had was his own life being put at risk almost every day.

Every cut, stab, or bruise that littered his fair skin were marks of how determined he was to keep you safe. The least you could do was treat his body in return with your gentle hands, wiping away the blood, wrapping the wounds carefully, and stitching them up when needed.

Jeno answered your question with only a silent nod yes. Although relief filled your body that he wouldn’t be out again immediately, you still focused on the more important task at hand. You could enjoy his company once he wasn’t bleeding.

“Are they still after you?” You rummaged around in the box for the antibiotic ointment, dabbing a bit on your finger before leaning closer to apply it. “This’ll sting.” You muttered as a warning before dabbing the wound as carefully as you could. Jeno tensed up, his fingers bunching up the sheet of the bed as he did his best to stay still.

“Talk to me. It’ll help distract you.” You told him, pausing your application of the antibiotics to rest a hand on his shoulder, providing a small bit of comfort.

“They’re… They’re after you, not me. You know that.” He whispered out as you continued to treat the wound. “They can’t take me by themselves— they’d be fucking stupid to try. I made sure that they won’t bother us for at least a month. I’ll have to talk to Renjun and Donghyuck about our next course of action.” You hummed in understanding, grabbing the roll of gauze next. 

“You need to rest your body, Jeno.” You said quietly. You could tell he was about to protest, so you interrupted quickly, “Doctor’s orders. Don’t pull anymore dumb shit.”

“It’s not dumb shit. It’s to protect you.” He argued back, clenching his jaw.

You sighed, starting to wrap the white cloth around his waist, “I know. But you said yourself that you have a month. At least for a week of that month, you need to rest and recover.” 

Your fiancé seemed unsettled at the thought of a whole week of rest; a week of letting his guard down. It was almost unheard of for him. He knew from experience that as soon as he let himself relax, something unexpected would happen. But maybe you were right. Maybe a week of rest is what he needed.

You secured the wrap tightly, and mumbled out how you were all done. Jeno just stared at you while you cleaned up, soaking up the face he hadn’t gotten a chance to study for the past month. He felt incredibly guilty for how often he had been gone, and even more so for how often he had let you see him like this. He knew you hated it, but you never complained. He didn’t deserve you.

“I love you.” He spoke suddenly, interrupting the cold silence of the room. You shut the metal drawer slowly, back still turned to him as you let a small smile grow on your face. You hadn’t heard those words from him in a while. You turned back to sit down next to him again, your eyes staring into his.

“Won’t you say it back?” He whispered, reaching for your hand; your left hand, the one that adorned that diamond ring he had given you months prior. You let him pull you closer as his right hand enclosed over your left. His fingers felt a bit rough, but they were warm and comfortable. With his left hand on the back of your neck, he gently guided you forward until his lips closed over yours.

You could just barely taste the metallicness of blood from the slight cut to his bottom lip. But you didn’t focus on it, too absorbed in the gentleness of his kiss and how perfectly his lips felt against yours even after years had passed. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. 

You pecked his lips again, “I love you too. Always.”

He visibly relaxed at your words and dropped his head to your shoulder. You sighed, threading your fingers through the hair at the bottom of his neck, holding him closely. He shuddered quietly, and you frowned.

“Cold?” Your hand ran up and down his back slowly, feeling goosebumps rise from the chill. You traced one of the many scars that marked him, stopping at the dip of his scapula and muscle. You reached behind your back, feeling around along the mattress for a blanket. You caught hold of it and gently draped it around Jeno. 

You smiled fondly at the way he nestled his head a little closer to the crook of your neck. From his breath, you figured he was already almost asleep. You didn’t want to disturb his sleep, but you knew the position would quickly get uncomfortable, so you shifted his head down to your chest and laid back until you hit the mattress. He didn’t protest at all, but shifted into a comfortable spot in his half-asleep state. With his head on your chest, his arm around your waist, and his legs tangled with yours, you found the new position to be much more promising for getting good sleep.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead and made sure the blanket covered his body before you closed your eyes as well.

↳ nct dream taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,,

[restinslices]

hi! i have an idea 😛

what do you think bi-han would be like with a teenager who has witchy magical abilities (kinda like the scarlet witch or raven)??? maybe they had to train under him for a while bc liu kang was away (and needed a babysitter)

i feel like theyd be more quiet and respectful but, maybe a more anxious?? i honestly don't know how he'd react but, i think it would be kinda fun to write about!!! they probably listen to fleetwood mac and mazzy star and im kinda thinking of a 90s whimsigoth aesthetic

hope this makes sense 😭 i came up w the idea when i was cleaning earlier!!

Ya’ll I started a new job and bitch- I need to become a trophy wife

Ngl, I see him being offended at first

He’s supposed to be fighting threats but Liu Kang got him on babysitting duty? Is he serious?

He wouldn’t even really care about the magical abilities at first. He’s just mad that he’s being reduced to a babysitter. He already feels like his clan is being doomed to mediocrity, so now he’s really offended

But alas, he’s gotta do what he gotta do

Now imma be honest, I feel like he also takes offense to training a non Lin Kuei

He tells Tomas how he’ll never be a Lin Kuei and he told Kung Lao that he and Raiden couldn’t come with on that one mission because they don’t know their ways

So Bi-Han is very very grumpy rn

As we know, it’s very obvious when he’s grumpy

So I don’t see them interacting much. At least not in the beginning

He trains them in very basic stuff because he refuses to give everyone the Lin Kuei secrets

If this character has little to no control over their powers, give this man a rage break every half an hour

“I’m a babysitter and they don’t know how to control their powers?!”

Them being quiet and respectful is for the best

If they were an asshole, he’s telling Liu Kang to come get this damn kid back

Bi-Han doesn’t have witchy abilities, so training them when it comes to that can be a bit difficult

I can see him trying to teach them about control, ya know? Keeping your cool (no pun intended), breathing, not letting your power control you

“If your power controls you, then you’re weak and can’t help anyone. I’ll try to help you not be weak” “How lovely :D”

Dare I say it gives the “grumpy reluctant father x young kid” trope? A Joel and Ellie, if you will? I’m not naming other examples because damn, there’s a lot

Keeping your head straight is the main component when it comes to control, so that’s where he focuses

I still think he’s annoyed by the situation, but he’s glad they follow instructions and are genuinely trying. His anger is more towards Liu Kang. You just notice he’s grumpy because… look at that man’s face

“I just want you to know that I never wanted to bother you. I didn’t ask to be dropped off here” “Okay” “So… don’t be upset with me… please” “Okay” “Are you mad at me?” “No” “Can you say a full sentence?” “Yes” “You sure?”

Honestly as long as they don’t give him any lip, I think they’ll be fine

He only really seems to get upset when he feels someone isn’t minding their place. Just be a hard worker and follow instructions and this can go smoothly

Definitely gets annoyed if shit starts levitating randomly. Put his coffee down

“I don’t care about this kid”

Proceeds to smirk when they’re able to use their magic successfully

Do I see a strong friendship forming? No. I see a mentor x mentee (?) relationship forming, which is still good

Might offer to let them come back to ���refine some of their skills”

Just say you’re invested now, Bi-Han

[lewkwoodnco]

omg hi you said you were opening requests for lockwood in general and not just songfics so i was wondering if you could write one where lockwood gets hurt in a mission trying to protect reader (they’re dating) and when they get back to portland row she gets mad at him and they have a really bad argument that ends up with the reader saying she doesn’t love him anymore (shes lying) and wants to leave lockwood and co !! (if it’s possible for you to end it on a happy note it would be amazing but if it’s hard to write there’s no pressure)

only love can hurt like this - Lockwood x Reader

Psst I now have a taglist! yippee!

A/N: okay SO I know the title is from a song but it’s nottt a song fic and gosh this made me realise what a crutch music has been in my writing 😭 if any of y’all have more non-songfic requests I would rlly appreciate it 🙏the beginning's a lil fluffy hehe, inspired by this post! P.S. condolences for shadow and bone </3, wc 4.7k She was in the kitchen when George and Lockwood returned from their case, dusty and exhausted, and fixed up some tea for them. George took his tea up to his room with a mumbled thanks and Lockwood pressed a distracted kiss to her temple as he pulled out the biscuit tin. She made a calculatedly casual remark about going down to the basement to help Lucy sort out their storage, at which he rolled his eyes and pulled her into the chair next to his.

But that was about an hour ago, and now she could hear the tired flipping of pages and stacking of files from the library, where he was buckling down to fight the growing pile of paperwork on his desk. He's facing away from her when she steps in, and from the looks of it, the paperwork seems to be winning.

"I know you wouldn't want to make a fuss..."

He stiffens, and when he turns there's an incredulous tilt to his eyebrows and the ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. She keeps a hand over the candle's flame as she walks in balancing a card and cupcake on her palm.

"How did you find out?"

"I badgered Barnes for your birth certificate. Took me months."

"That can't be legal."

"Don't think he minded much in the end. Anyway, the card was like a pound and the cupcake is a gift from Arif so you can't refuse either of them."

He smiles despite himself, glancing through the card with a bemused interest, red glitter coating his fingertips.

"Well, I didn't know I was your 'precious sweetheart.'"

"Oh, shut up. It was that or a condolences card."

"Hmm, this card really is the gift that keeps giving. 'To my dearest darling...'"

"Maybe I should have had a look through."

"...blah blah blah 'perfect day for my adorable sweetheart -'"

"What on earth kind of a shop is Arif keeping?"

"'Happy birthday handsome'?"

"I think we're done with the card!" She snatches it from him and stuffs it under the large stack of papers on his desk, face burning, but it still takes him a while to laugh it out of the system. It's an endearing sight to see him so carefree, if exhausted, and even after months of dating she watches him shyly through her eyelashes. His haggard face makes it easy to see him as far more than only a year older, but for now it's enough that he's laughing and alive.

"First and last time I trust Arif's judgement on birthday cards."

That sets him off again, though he has the decency to try and choke it down, but even his suppressed amusement is infectious enough to make her lips twitch. She hadn't realised what a stirring experience it would be to watch him celebrate another year alive. He looks like he wants to say something, but she's not sure she can bear it.

"Y/-"

"Shh, just blow the candle out. Wait! You have to make a wish."

He sighs dramatically, but acquiesces, briefly muttering invisible words under his breath with closed eyes before blowing out the candle. She tries to match the fluttering of his lips to words but nothing quite fits, and she half wonders if he's spouting incomprehensible gibberish just to appease her. It isn't until he pulls out the candle and jabs her with it that she realises she was staring.

"You want to know what I wished for?"

"It's killing me."

"I -"

"No! You can't tell me or it won't come true."

"Y/N, it's a candle in a cupcake."

"I'm not putting up with any of your cynicism on your birthday." She thinks about the overly zealous card, and the crumbling cupcake that would be gone in a few minutes. "Should have gotten you a gift. At least a small one."

"This is perfect. Really."

"Still. Could have scrounged up a keychain, or a mug."

"What, from the kitchen? My kitchen?"

"You know me so well."

"Well," he leans back in his chair, almost superficially nonchalant. "I suppose there is one gift you could give me."

"Anything."

"What's it going to take for you to read the card out loud?"

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

That day had a sluggish quality which made it feel like years had passed by the time they set out for their job at sprawling, if ancient, mansion on the outskirts of London. Looking up at the giant house that nearly completely blocked out the setting sun, relief over knowing where the haunting was centralised washed over her; she wasn't quite in the mood to be running up and down impractically ornate flights of stairs.

The neighbours had reported seeing a ghostly figure drifting aimlessly in one of the open-air courtyards, and occasionally it would appear on the balcony directly above the courtyard, climbing over the railing before vanishing into thin air. Lockwood and George were stationed at the courtyard, Lucy at the stairs, and she on the balcony.

She stepped onto the balcony hesitantly, eyeing a thin, jagged crack running through the stone. The house was too cavernous to be considered flimsy but some of the crumbling walls made her feel as though one good thump would bring the whole place crashing down. She started to unzip her duffel bag when an ear-splitting scream ran through the courtyard.

She jumped, her ear prickling unpleasantly. It was as though the visitor had been standing right next to her, but as her heart rate came down, she realised she wasn't even feeling chilly. She peered down, where George was squinting up at her, Lockwood already with one foot out of their chains. She shook her head, trying to muster a thumbs-up with her fumbling hands, but he was already walking towards the stairs briskly.

She wasn't sure how long it took him to reach her, but it definitely felt longer than it should have. The adrenaline from the scream had made her especially nervy, with a sickly fog of paranoia settling over her mind. Those trees seemed too lush, too dense, dark green leaves quivering under the whims of some invisible wind. She tried to think about the cupcake, and Lockwood's face when he first saw it, and it was enough to stop the balcony from dissolving under her fingertips.

But when he reached her, hair tousled, his grip on her shoulder just a little too strong to be entirely comfortable, she saw a very different version of Lockwood. His lips were moving but there was something rampant in his eyes, something that gave her pause. She glanced at the monstrous night sky, which seemed to threaten to swallow them whole, and then at the inky black heat in Lockwood’s eyes, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by them both.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Wha - hm?"

"Are you hurt?"

“No, I’m fine. You didn't need to come up here."

His hand slipped from her shoulder, sliding down to her hand, which he stared at as if he couldn't quite understand it.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up, the furrow in his brows dissolving, though he didn't seem ready to let go of her hand yet. “Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine. It's just...I...I could have sworn..."

“Breathe, Lockwood. You look like you’re stretched thin.”

"I'm fine," he repeated, but it's somehow more hollow than the last. Part of him turned to leave, but something made him stop. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as if he thought better of whatever he was about to say. The burning in her chest grew.

"You feel it too, don't you?"

He exhaled wearily. "He's playing tricks on us. Maybe Luce should join you here -"

"No, it's best she stay halfway. It'll be fine; we can see each other."

He nodded stiffly, before finally walking away with considerable effort. The balcony somehow felt more alive as Lockwood left, the trees rustling louder than they should as the air around her seemed to contract. It unsettled her.

Eventually the visitor made his appearance, and though her Sight wasn't the best it helped calm her nerves to have something solid to watch out for. He was in the courtyard, dodging Lockwood's salt bombs while trying to fly at George, who was desperately looking for the source. There was only so much help she could give as any flares she threw from her height were only going to hit George or Lockwood rather than the visitor, so she focused on hunting for loose panels or hidden latches in the balcony and the walls of the house from which it protruded.

When she walked back to the railing, she felt a stab of panic at the blanket of grey mist that obscured her vision of the courtyard. She gripped the railing, trying to calm down. She could still hear them, but given what Lockwood had said about the visitor playing tricks, she wasn't sure how much faith she could place in any of her senses. A crash sounded, as if one of the weaker walls had caved in, making her wince. She put her hand on her rapier, steeling herself to make the trip downstairs.

Another crash sounded, but this one seemed to resonate through the mansion's skeleton. There was an awful grinding sound and she felt the floor beneath her feet tilt. She clutched what she could reach of the balcony's doorframe, hanging on by her fingertips, not daring to even breathe as she desperately tried to plant her slippery soles onto the marble floor. Her palms were sweating, and her grip was slipping. She closed her eyes, fed up with the hallucinations, and braced herself for the fall.

Instead of the swooping sensation of falling, she feels strong fingers closing around her wrist. She opened her eyes to the sight of Lockwood pulling her to the safety with a badly scratched cheek, but otherwise unhurt. It makes her want to sob with relief, but she settles for scrabbling for his palm with numb fingers. She leans against the doorframe, reveling in the solid wall pressing against her back, though her relief was short-lived.

The visitor shrieked much closer now, startling her as she turned to watch it hurtling towards them, obsessively staring at the chalice in Lockwood's hand. The growing pit in her stomach swells as she rifles through her belt with increasing agitation, panic stabbing her in the eye with every empty pocket. Lockwood twisted his hand out of her relaxed grip, and in that split second she realised what he was about to do. He took a final step onto what was left of the balcony, and the whole structure came crashing down.

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

Among the roar of the rubble, she picked out what she thought was the sickening crunch of bones, and it took everything in her to fly down the stairs instead of jumping after him. Lucy was already there with George talking on a phone nearby, and their faces paled when they only saw her coming down the stairs. The three of them frantically started shifting through the rubble, yanking at the larger pieces together. She couldn't see the visitor as the dust settled, which saved her the trouble of ripping it to shreds, limb by limb.

She heard a familiar cough coming from under one of the pieces, and with strength she hadn't known that she possessed, she pulls the piece away to reveal a dusty, battered Lockwood. George and Lucy aren't far behind, quickly freeing him from the mountain of debris. This time she does cry out in relief, pressing her fingers into the skull behind his ears insistently, shaking from the blessing that it was to see him alive and breathing. He winces, and her grip on his head tightens reflexively.

"What? What hurts?"

"Your screaming, right now."

As the DEPRAC vans pulled up, George filled out the necessary paperwork on behalf of Lockwood, who was impatiently letting the paramedics check only for broken bones. As the relief of finding him alive faded, all that was left was a smarting irritation. Lockwood would forever and always remain addicted to playing the hero, she knew that, but it didn't piss her off any less, especially when he put his life on the line for it.

Once Lockwood finally managed to shrug off the last exceptionally persistent paramedic, the four of them trudged over to one of the cabs DEPRAC had flagged down for them.

"Hang on - what about the source?"

George turned and she followed his gaze to the team of DEPRAC officers delicately draping an iron net over the rubble.

"Given that it was the balcony itself, I think it's been taken care of."

As they settle into the cab, Lockwood carefully scans her face which is still as inscrutable as it was ten minutes ago. She relents, but only a little, giving his hand a light squeeze. She closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder, whispering quietly.

"I wish you'd let them look over you properly."

"M'alright. I can deal with a few scrapes myself. Fractures, not so much."

George's tired voice floats from the front seat.

"You better not have a concussion, idiot."

She feels him still next to her, and suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Why couldn't he let the paramedics do their job properly? Why did he have to be so stubborn?

She thinks about a night from long ago, before they were dating and before she learnt how to bully him into taking care of himself. They had just come home from a case, and he was sitting in his room in a curious manner: staring at the wall without even realising his door was ajar, or that he was still fully clothed. The patches of skin peeking out from under his clothes were littered with scratches and cuts, but nothing major enough to warrant first aid, save for the bruise on the side of his face. She paused at his door, watching him, and wondered if he knew she was even there.

“No library?”

“Not tonight.”

She didn’t like the way he was speaking. The response wasn’t immediate, as if it had taken him a while to detangle himself from his absorbing thoughts. The tone of his voice was as cordial as always, but there was some kind of agency missing, as if he were in a trance, and it unnerved her. And yet, something tethered her to him, some desire to protect him from some violence brewing close at hand.

“You should really get some ointment on that.”

“I know.”

But he made no movement to do so, and she felt awkward leaving him alone. That was how she ended up sitting next to Lockwood on his bed as the sun started to peek in. There was a misty tinge to the first strains of light, and Lockwood looked so pale she wondered if he was fully solid. She had watched his fragile and ambivalent spirit restlessly pace in the room for the past few hours, while his corporeal form withered lifelessly, but she didn’t understand him any better.

She slipped her fingers in his own, mildly frowning, as if trying to hold on to an increasingly amorphous Lockwood. His fingers reflexively tightened around hers before relaxing just as quickly, his first movement in hours, though his face remained impasssive. His hand remained relaxed, but when she didn't pull her hand away, he allowed his thumb to rest on hers. She had felt some kind of tension then, between the part of him that wanted to drift away and the part of her holding onto him for dear life. But now, the Lockwood sitting opposite her at the kitchen table was slipping through her fingers like sand.

"Y/N, about those conflicting jobs in Hackney - do you want to split up or should I cancel?"

"I don't know, Luce. Why don't you ask Lockwood? Since he seems to always know best."

Lockwood frowns, briefly looking away from the torch George was shining into his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She ignores him, muttering under her breath.

"God forbid someone ask him to try to stay alive."

"Will you cut it out?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, which one of us has a head injury again?"

"I'm fine."

"How dare you lie to my face?"

George clicks the torch off, hastily moving to another corner of the kitchen, while Lucy's weary drifting slows down. Lockwood still looks peeved, but there's a hint of bewilderment on his face. She sighs irritably, pressing her eyelids.

"What I mean is...you don't look fine."

"It's only a bump. Not even a concussion - George checked."

"At least let me ice it for a bit."

"Don't fuss. I'm fine. Just sit and have your tea."

I’m begging you to let me help you, she wants to say. But she doesn't, because she's tired and angry and still very much scared, so she's in no mood for tea. He glances at her face when she continued to stand, and his jaw set when he sees she's in the mood to pick a fight.

"It's like you don't even think you did anything wrong." Do you know how much that terrifies me?

"I was only doing my job as your...employer, landlord, boyfriend...one of them."

"Why must everything be so complicated with you?”

"Fine. I'm sorry I didn't want to watch you break your neck."

And I didn't want to watch the life leave your eyes. "Oh, but yours is fair game?"

He doesn't respond, and it's almost as though she can see the invisible barriers he's putting up between them. She feels a brief stab of panic that she mistakes for anger.

Don't shut me out. "And now the silent treatment! God, you're such a child."

He stops drinking his tea entirely, and it doesn't give her the satisfaction she thought it would. Between the exhaustion from the case and the frustration over the brick wall that was Lockwood, her tongue gets the better of her and she sees red.

"Sometimes I wonder how I ever loved you."

The activity in the kitchen grinds to a halt for a few, terribly long seconds, before George walks out, Lucy not-so-subtlely following him with their tea. The anger on Lockwood's face evaporates, leaving an irritatingly smooth expression of mild surprise. She Silence suspends on the precariously thin string connecting them. He waits, but she doesn't backtrack. She turns away, unable to bear the look on his face.

"I'm...I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I've been thinking about leaving for a while."

"...leave...Portland Row? And go where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere's better than here." Anywhere I don't have to see you make stupid, reckless decisions because of me. Anywhere I don't have to look at you nursing fractures in barely-healed bones. Anywhere I don't have to watch you dither for peace you can never quite seem to reach.

He doesn't say anything, and she's not sure if there's anything he could say. She leaves the kitchen, dragging her feet up to their shared room. She empties the contents of her drawers and closet into a bag as if on autopilot, as she hid in some dark corner of her mind, waiting, begging for some force of God to tell her to stop. Her bags get packed, she gets undressed, and it is only after she turns out the light that she lets herself grieve the life she's leaving behind.

She's looking out of the window when the door swings open, warm light from the hallway spilling into the dark, illuminating her barren nightstand. He pauses at the threshold but she remains completely still, and after a moment or two he steps in, closing the door behind him. He shuffles about, getting ready for bed in the dark, and doesn't look at her face even when climbing into bed. She wants to tell him to try to get some sleep, but she isn't sure if it's her place, so the words remain unsaid.

He was so close she could just...extend her arm...brush her fingers on his back...clumsily soothe the unfettered demons which came out at night. There's a heady oppressiveness to the dark which weighs her down, not as cool and fluid as it normally is, waxing and waning around their shifting bodies and burning skin. The moonlight reflected on the pale patch of skin above the collar of his t-shirt, skin which looked like liquid glass. Close. She was so close to this delicate, temporal force which wrought a religious kind of faith from her hopelessly melancholic soul.

What a misery it was to love.

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

She wakes up to the sun streaming over the rumpled sheets of the empty bed. She sits up, the house significantly quieter than it usually is at this time of morning. In the kitchen, George is standing by the toaster and Lucy's pulling out the sugar bowl, making tea. Lockwood's sitting stiffly in his chair, and he looks much more whole in the daylight, though oddly fragile with the protection of his suit stripped away. Their eyes instinctively meet when she walks in, after which they avoid each other's gaze until much later.

She gently takes her mug from Lucy, brushing off her protests with a distracted pat on her hand. The emptiness from last night hasn't faded, and she puts together a cup of tea and collects 2 pieces of toast mechanically.

Without thinking, she swaps the mug Lucy's placed in front of Lockwood with her own, only realising what she's done when she feels three pairs of eyes on her, her own eyes fixed on the mug in front of him. She clears her throat awkwardly.

"Lockwood doesn't take sugar with his tea."

Lucy probably mumbles an apology, but she isn't entirely sure given how all she can think about is how close his fingers are to hers. She wills her hand to let go of the mug, and it takes a moment to reluctantly cooperate.

"Thank you."

Lucy takes advantage of her pause to place her mug next to his, so she hesitantly takes her seat next to him. She picks up a piece of toast and starts buttering it while Lockwood talks in an unfamiliar voice.

"So...any plans on where you're going?"

"I've got an aunt in Brixton. Might stay there for a while, until I sort out something more permanent."

He gives a half-nod, as if he hasn't bothered to listen to her words too closely. "Well, you're more than welcome to...stay, at least for a while. If you'd like."

"I...don't think that's a good idea."

"I see."

She can't bear the way his face falls before he attempts an unconvincing smile. It makes her heart ache. Even though they're sitting close enough to have their knees occasionally brush, here in this grimly-lit, transparent kitchen, she's never felt more disconnected from Lockwood. She wants to reach out, slip her fingers in his, btu all of a sudden she's paralysed by doubt and she doesn't know how. She slips the buttered toast into his plate. His lips quirk into a faint cursory smile, but it's gone as soon as he turns back to his plate, a vaguely miserable twist to his pallid lips. They eat in silence, and it's the hardest breakfast she's had to endure at Portland Row.

In another life I’m easier to love. I’m less complicated, less convoluted, less given to bursts of self-destructive/violent tendencies.

Afterwards, she gets dressed, but she cant bring herself to leave just yet, so she sits on the bed vacantly, looking up when he . He pauses at the door, looking at where his fingers delicately rest on the doorframe, the same way they always rested on her shoulder when he wanted to dip his head to whisper something into her ear, as if compelled by some unrecognised desire to hold her close. She steels her face but her eyes desperately drink him in, all of his rough edges and limp shadows, the hazy outline of his body. He holds out an envelope.

"What's this?"

"Your paycheck. The last one." He adds in the later bit almost as an afterthought, and it's almost enough to make her stay. She slips it into her bag, choosing not to point out how he had just given out their most recent paychecks just last week.

"I know I can't change your mind, so...thank you for...everything."

He glances at the birthday card on his nightstand, and any regret she had over buying the card instantly evaporates. At least she managed to somehow get out how she felt once upon a time.

"You'll get another next year."

"Don't think George shares my love for cheesy birthday cards quite like you do."

"Do you think I'm making a horrible mistake?"

"Y/N..."

She wants to feel the comforting weight of his hand in hers, wants to lean against him weakly and have him tell her everything would be alright. But her bags were packed, her dresser as bare as her heart, and she can't help but feel as though she would never be happy again.

"Humour me. Please."

He sighs, but relents.

"Up till yesterday I thought George didn't love me quite like you did, so, frankly...I don't know what to think."

"So...you want me to leave?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you want me to stay?"

"I didn't say that either."

"You make me…so scared, Lockwood. And...sometimes...I don’t think you realise it.”

He moves from where he's leaning against the doorway to sit next to her. She leans her head against his shoulder. He lets her.

"You and I both know I won't be around for long. I just want to keep you safe while I'm still here."

"You don't honestly believe that. Right?"

"It's...hard to say. Some days I feel normal. Mostly. Some days I feel like no amount of candles, eyelashes or wishbones can keep me from an early grave. I don't want you around to see it. I put you through so much, Y/N. I can't say you won't be better off without me."

"What about you?"

He smiles bittersweetly. "You're too...kind to see it now, but one day you'll realise that...it's what I deserve."

A silence fills the room, until she breaks it by violently chucking the envelope at his face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He gasps and splutters incoherently, still in shock from her attemoted assault.

"It's 'what you deserve'? What you deserve is a good knock on the head!"

"Fine, I'm sorry!"

"Don't ever let me catch you thinking like that again!"

"I won't!"

"What's it going to take to get it into your thick skull? I love you!"

"Okay!"

"I mean it!"

"I get it."

"And don't you forget it!"

"I won't." He wraps his arms around her, and she squeezes his torso aggressively, muttering increasingly extreme threats darkly under her breath. It's a sobering moment to hold each other as a new day blooms outside their window. "I won't."

They pull apart, but she still leans against him, and in that moment it's a dream to be sitting there, pressed impossibly close together, listening to each other breathe.

"I want to take evening walks with you. I want to watch you iron your ties on sleepy Sunday afternoons. I want to lose to you in chess. I want to manhandle you into celebrating your birthdays. I want to rub away the crease between your eyebrows whenever you’re thinking too hard."

Her hand drops from his waist to his wrist.

"Damn it, Lockwood. I want to hold your hand. I want to love you."

He interlocks his fings into hers, distractedly running his thumb over hers.

“Let me help you. Please.”

”I don’t think I know how.”

She tightens her arms around him again, overwhelmed by the burdens stretching out in front of them. Nothing was easy, not even this. Not even him.

"Just...hold on."

"I'm holding on. I'm holding on...to you. I'm holding on...for you."

TAGLIST: @mitskiswift99 @dangelnleif

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - Ettore

ah...um...i have no excuse for this one, just my mental illness. seriously wanted to name this Dark Matter but I already have a fic named that😭 Happy Valentine's Day💕. Please, please mind the warnings.

Summary: Being forced into deep space as part of some twisted experiment, tensions rise with a fellow inmate.

Warnings: DARK (no really, dead dove: do not eat), minor spoilers for High Life, serial killer!reader (also a bit of a psychopath), nihilism, brief mentions of witnessing CSA, graphic descriptions of murder, mentions of The Box™, Ettore being a creep obvi, mild vore if ya squint? (does it count if said voreist doesn't swallow?), sexual violence, Reader and Ettore takes every chance to beat each other up honestly, SMUT (MINORS DNI), switches between con/noncon, hatefucking (they will try to kill each other), choking (but like, actually almost to death), slapping, punching, degradation, some misogyny, blood kink, pain kink

word count | 5.1k🤙🏻

You were a dangerous killer, but you knew you didn’t belong here.

You never could’ve fathomed how brutally cold and dark being in deep space truly was. Even inside the ship, no one could ever really escape the constant chill. At first, you thought this was the obvious option, joining this experiment. It was either this, or death row. But this was death row, in its own way. No one believed they’d come out of this mission alive. But you supposed dying in a black hole was more interesting than being pumped full of poison. Less boring. Now, you would’ve preferred death row on Earth. At least that would guarantee you a painless death. Welp, too late now.

At least you weren’t completely alone, if you prefer being in the company of other dangerous and evil people rather than isolation. You’d rather have to constantly look over your shoulder than go mad with loneliness. The crew was an eccentric bunch, as you could imagine. All of them are some type of murderer, like you. Some of them had good reasons, but most of them didn’t. What was more distressing was the fact that the doctor, Dibs, frightened you the most out of them all, but it was mostly due to the fact that the witch was on a personal mission to get one of the females pregnant even though the fetus would die from radiation. Even though she was here because she killed her own children. She was the biggest hypocrite of them all, though you had no room to talk, having a bit of a god complex made you one just as much as she was.

You knew you were different from other people, even at an early age. You didn’t see the world like others did, you never could find the beauty in anything. The first blossoms of spring, the sun rising over the horizon, the miracle of life, the kindness of strangers; you didn���t see any of it. All you could focus on was the evils in the world and you found that the world was overrun with it. Children starving, needless wars, homelessness, animals being tortured and killed for entertainment; it was all there was, it was wrong. It was all wrong.

Your parents had taken you to therapy multiple times, but nothing ever seemed to work. You were diagnosed as depressed and they hopped you up on all kinds of medication, but you weren’t depressed, not really. Just because you saw the world for how it really was didn’t automatically mean you were depressed, you just refused to be ignorant of it. You didn’t see the point of being a cooperative member of society when it wouldn’t take care of you. It had nothing to offer you, so you just refused to play along. The first anyone noticed something was truly wrong was the first day of kindergarten. You had beaten a boy near half to death because you saw him pushing another kid around. They weren’t fighting back, so you did it for them. Your parents had to pay the brat’s hospital bills. You didn’t understand why the doctors helped save the life of a kid who’d grow up to be an even bigger bully. A waste of oxygen, you thought. You barely paid attention to the severe scolding your parents gave you about how “violence was never the answer.” Bullshit, you knew that, even your parents knew that, they just wanted to follow the so-called moral rules to be accepted. But that wasn’t you, you didn’t need social acceptance. Not by anyone, not even your own family. But there wasn’t much you could do about it at the time.

You grew into your teenage years without so much of a punch to anyone, not even to defend yourself. You were beaten up by so many of your fellow students, you could’ve gotten a punch card for every time you had to be sent to the nurse’s office. You just bottled up everything.

The first time you ever felt a semblance of love was when your little sister was born. As soon as your mother placed her in your arms at the hospital, you knew you had to protect her. You never wanted her to be like you, you didn’t want her to end up like you, ostracized and bullied. You’d lay down your life and kill for her if need be. You made that promise to yourself. So, when you walked in on your father with his hand down her pants, you had no idea how to react. Fathers weren’t supposed to touch their children that way. He had all but flung her off his lap once he saw you, claiming that they were just playing a game. But you weren’t a naive child anymore, you knew what he was doing.

Before you could think on it any further, you ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, but your father was close behind to stop you. He had wrestled you to the ground, trying to take the knife away, but you blindly thrusted the blade upwards, hearing a sickening squelch before something wet hitting your face. The world seemed to go dark for a brief moment, before coming back into view and seeing your father’s horrified face. You followed your arm to the blade in your hand, your heart leaping out of your chest. You had aimed for your father above you, but your sister must’ve followed you and tried to stop the fight. Tears filled your eyes as you saw your knife stuck in your little sister’s chin, her tiny body going limp and crumbling to the floor, your arm frozen in place allowing the blade to come free as she fell.

Your father screamed and screamed at you as he wailed with his baby girl in his arms, trying to stop the blood copiously flowing from her neck and making a red sticky puddle on the tiles. But it was too late, the life had already drained from her once bright innocent eyes. You didn’t mean to…it was an accident…but you knew your father would spin the story in his favor. So, you did what you only thought you could.

You buried your blood coated knife into your father’s back, hearing him exhale a choked breath in shock. The blade was long, so the one hit wasn’t enough. So you did it again. And again. And Again. And again. Again until he fell to the floor, unable to yell or cry as you kept stabbing. You couldn’t count how many times you dug the blade into his chest, enough until you couldn’t tell what was his shirt or his skin. You were drenched at this point. You knew you had to leave. You threw up, thick tears and painful sobs escaping your throat as you looked upon your mistakes.

You showered, rubbing your skin raw and hastily packing a bag and running from your childhood home. You didn’t want to think about the look on your mother’s face when she ultimately got home from work, calling out for her husband and two precious children whom she loved dearly. She wouldn’t know that he was a predator or that he preyed on his own daughter. She wouldn’t know why she walked onto a bloodbath in the kitchen, you nowhere to be found. She wouldn’t believe the police when they say you should be considered a suspect. You were odd and violent when you were little, yes, but you could never kill your own family. She saw your face of awe when you looked down at your newborn sister in your arms. She’d never believe you to be the culprit, until the DNA came back matching yours. You weren’t her daughter anymore. She wasn’t a wife or a mother anymore. She was nothing, much like you.

You didn’t bother to control yourself anymore. You had nothing to live for. You were nothing. You weren’t a protector, now that you had nobody to protect. But you soon realized that wasn’t necessarily true. There were other kids in similar situations, you could try to protect them. Like a light bulb when off in your head, you suddenly had a purpose once again. Like your father, you’d find and punish those who’d hurt their children. And that’s exactly what you did, until you got caught of course. But you had a good run, ridding the world of some of the filth it had to offer. You were bloodthirst, you craved to see the looks of horror on these men’s faces as they knew they would be punished for their misdeeds. If you had time, you’d torture them. But you rarely had that luxury of taking your time, but you still felt better knowing one less evil person was in the world. It was ironic that you were now on a crew full of evil people.

Monte didn’t seem all that bad, a bit temperamental. He didn’t hesitate to knock your lights out if you pissed him off, you learned that firsthand. Well, most of the inmates did that. Ettore though, was one you had trouble figuring out. He was quiet, observant, not particularly violent though like the other inmates. He was a pervert though, hypersexual. It definitely put off all of you. He used the Box every day, but that wasn’t unusual. You were instructed to never talk about why you were here, but gossip was like breathing, you couldn’t go without it. You learned he killed someone in a particularly violent way when he was a teenager, much like you. He was a minor but was charged as an adult, got the same ultimatum like the rest of you; death row or deep space.

You’d honestly thought he’d try to talk to you, given that you both were around the same age and the “babies” of the crew, but he never did. But maybe that was for the better, attracting the attention of another inmate didn’t seem like the best move. For the most part, you just kept to yourself, trying not to bother anyone. But the witch doctor seemed to have it out for you, she hated you, but you knew that was because you couldn’t participate in her own experiments. You knew you never wanted to have kids, so you gave yourself an injury that made it so that you were barren. You almost died then, but you figured it was worth it since you didn’t have to be seen as just a walking womb to be played with.

Over time, you got yourself into a bit of a messy schedule. Not having a schedule was just something else that would make you go crazy. There wasn’t much to do in this space prison, but there was a rec room with games and books. You had exhausted all those resources pretty quickly. A rubik’s cube you were fond of was what you chose to be part of your schedule. Every day cycle, you’d try to solve that cube before going to sleep. It was one of the only things that helped you relax, besides the Box. But similarly to Monte, you didn’t really indulge all that often. The Box, even when you needed it, almost always left you numb. You weren’t one for human touch, but you weren’t immune to craving that intimacy. So the rubik's cube it was. You hogged it constantly, but that only got you a broken nose from Boyse due to it being one of her favorites too. But it didn’t matter. You claimed it for yourself, and nobody else cared enough to fight you on it.

Months into the mission, you started to notice Ettore around you more often. Most of the time, he’d just…stare at you. Openly. You’d never gotten attention from him before, so this sudden display startled you, but not enough to do something about it. It was only until he started to purposely bump into you in the halls did you start to worry. He was already a creep, but he only got creepier as he started to catch your gaze just to smile at you. Smiling didn’t suit his character, no matter how pretty it was. His lips were one of the first things you noticed when you met him, how soft and plump they looked. But a smile on them just looked out of place for the likes of a murderer. You certainly never smiled, you never had anything to smile about. You knew you’d get some odd looks if you were to suddenly flash your teeth.

You were just so on edge one day, the rubik’s cube wasn’t helping, so you went down to the Box. It was just a quick and easy session, just to relieve some tension. And it worked, until you ran into Ettore as you came out of the machine. You watched his already dark eyes darken even more as he saw the state of you. Sweaty, breathless, disarray. He looked like a wolf ready to pounce on you, but it was only the rules that held him back. No inmate was allowed to have sex with each other, hence the reason for the Box.

Ettore hummed as he placed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, letting his touch linger until you pushed him away roughly, but it only made him smirk and push you up against the cold wall of the Box. You glared as you felt his hard on pressing against your thigh, his hands keeping you firmly in place. “I bet your pussy would feel so good around my cock.” He almost moaned at the thought, biting his bottom lip. “If it weren’t for that cockblocking witch, I’d have you on every surface of this fuckin’ ship.”

You hated how your recently stimulated clit throbbed at his words, your body betraying you for the most primitive urges. Much like how good it felt to take a life, you knew it would feel good to fuck your fellow inmate. You wanted to tell yourself that he was a perverted murderer, you should not want to fuck him. But you were no better than him, no better than anyone here. But you pushed him off anyway, punching him in the gut and casually walking back to the ladder. “Enjoy the Box.” You spoke before climbing up, leaving the young man aching and angry.

You tried avoiding Ettore after that encounter, but of course that’s hard to do when you’re on a small ship with nowhere else to go. He didn’t hide the glares directed at you and he always seemed like he was about to do something, but never did. He was unpredictable, and you hated that. Everything about this mission was unpredictable, but you did have some control over what happened to you, Ettore was just another variable that you couldn’t control. You wanted him dead, but you didn’t know how you could get your way without ending up dead yourself.

Wandering the halls with nothing to do, you found yourself on the bridge looking up at the stars. The view always freaked you out, the sight of stars moving backwards even though the ship was moving forwards. It made you nauseous and a panic attack not too far behind. But you kept looking up through the large windows anyway. At least it made you feel something. Feelings tended to be sparse in deep space. You often wondered what it would be like to be stretched and compressed by a black hole. How badly would it hurt? Would you feel anything at all? Would it last for a second or an eternity? No one knows, and no one who finds out would be able to tell since they’d be reduced to atoms. Black holes are probably where Hell is located, you figured, if the theory that you’d be in unimaginable pain for all eternity is correct. You wanted to stop thinking about it, but you couldn’t. Not until you felt a warm presence come up behind you.

You didn’t have to guess who it was, by the stiff length that was pressing against your ass, you could already tell it was Ettore. The young blonde couldn’t take a hint, could he? You didn’t move away, for some reason that was unknown to you. Even as you felt his hands traveled around your waist, holding onto your hips with a bruising grip, you didn’t push him away. He took deep inhales of the scent of your hair, his hands traveling up to grope at your breasts as you continued watching the stars. You started to think about your sister, how she might react to the stars. You remembered the first time you pointed out a constellation you knew, teaching her about various different ones, knowing she was too young to remember. But it was one of your only fond memories. You held onto it, remembering her toothless grin as she got excited about learning something new.

You gasped as Ettore’s hand brushed against your clothed core, cupping it roughly until you winced. “Why waste time looking at these stars when I can make you see much prettier ones, hm?” He hummed in your ear, licking up the side of your neck, unwanted goosebumps rising all over your body.

“No.” You scoffed, pushing him off you, but he stopped you from walking away by grabbing your wrist.

“You want to.” He smirked smugly.

“No, I really don’t.” You tried pulling away, but his grip only tightened.

“Liar.”

“Fuck off!” You yelled, wringing your arm back and swiftly connecting your balled up fist to his nose. You grinned when he stumbled back, holding his hand to his face but seeing his blood flow through his fingers. He looked back up at you with a glare before leaping at you, tackling you to the floor, one hand around your throat and the other wailing on your face with his fist. Your ears rung as his fist landed right in front on your ear and feeling your nose and mouth fill with blood as he punched you. You spit your blood back in his face when you sensed a pause in his beating, leaning your head down as much as possible to bite his forearm of the hand that was grabbing your throat. You bit hard and didn’t let go until he recoiled with a shout, cradling his arm that now had a bloody teeth indent and a small chunk of flesh missing. You could still see the outline of his cock stressing against his orange jumpsuit. You could’ve laughed, the bastard was still turned on.

“Cunt!” He growled, but all you did was spit out the skin you took from his arm. “You can’t deny me forever.”

You raised your brows unimpressively, standing up while wiping the blood off your face with your sleeve. “Watch me.”

You stormed up with an aching face yet again, but you didn’t bother to visit Dibs, you didn’t feel like being scolded for defending yourself. But you ended up getting yelled at anyway for biting Ettore the way you did, your dose of medicine only being increased as a punishment. Seeing the bloody bandage around his arm almost made it worth it though.

The next few day cycles were a blur, the drugs making you sluggish and tired all the time. You didn’t even try to hide your disdain for Ettore every time you had to be around him and it made everyone feel tense, like they were waiting for a bomb to explode. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, but you sure did try. It was only a week later until that bomb finally exploded.

You had gone to the rec room before bed like you’d always done to try and solve that damned rubik's cube. You were so close, almost having solved all sides. But looking around the room, you couldn’t find it. You felt a panic attack start to bubble up in your chest, frantically searching everywhere around the room until you heard someone clear their throat.

“Lookin’ for something?” You frowned as Ettore came into view, him casually leaning against the doorframe, holding the small colorful box in his hand.

“Give it back.” You growled, your skin flushing with anger.

He only smirked, which made you ball your fists and stomp towards him. “No, I don’t think I will.” He chuckled when you tried to grab it from his hands, but he was taller than you and held it up where you couldn’t reach. You tried to repress a shiver when he ran one of his hands up your side where your shirt had ridden up, but you instantly pushed him away.

“Dick!” You seethed, the urge to punch his stupid face getting stronger and stronger.

He smiled softly. “I know. But if you give me what I want, I’ll give this back.” He juggled the cube back and forth between his hands, giving you an expectant look.

You stood as close as possible to him without touching, getting right in his face, not missing the way his eyes trailed down to your lips. “You can go fuck yourself.”

Ettore surged forward, roughly pressing his lips against yours with a growl, the sound going straight to your core; but you wouldn’t tolerate his behavior. You pulled yourself away and threw your fist against his face, then wound up to hit him again but he caught it this time. He grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled you to his chest, disregarding the rubik’s cube. “I’m getting fuckin’ sick of you hitting me.”

“Then stop acting like someone who deserves to be hit.” He cut you off by slapping you, grabbing onto your neck before kissing you again. You bit his bottom lip, hearing him let out a pained groan as your teeth cut into his sensitive flesh. “Let me go, or I’ll scream.” You demanded.

Ettore grinned evilly. “Go ahead. Scream. It’ll make it better for me.” You struggled as hard as you could against his hold on you, dragging your feet as he pulled you further into the room after shutting the door.

“I’ll fucking gut you, you piece of shit!” You yelled, clawing and kicking until he kneed you in the stomach, knowing the breath out of your lungs until you were wheezing. “Fuck…you…” You coughed, crumpling to the floor.

Ettore kneeled with you, powerless to stop him from removing your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cool air. You winced as he groped them roughly, forcing you on your back with one hand while the other ripped your pants and underwear off. Unwanted tears sprang to your eyes as you fought, just recovered enough from the blow to your stomach to scratch his face, droplets of blood pooling to the surface of his cheek. “Cunt.” He slapped you again, straddling your hips as he removed his own shirt but only unbuttoning his trousers.

“You disgust me.” You spat, glaring up at him.

You let out a yelp as Ettore shoved two of his long fingers inside you with no warning, his smirk making you feel more uncomfortable than the digits stretching your walls. “Really? Why is your pussy so wet then, eh?”

“Knowing that I hurt you gives me more satisfaction than that fuckin’ Box.” You hissed as he pinched your clit with a sadistic chuckle. He forced your legs apart, kneeling in between that as he took his hardened cock out of his pants, lining himself up with your entrance but with a great struggle since you didn’t stop wiggling around. Your head jerked to the side as he punched you a couple times, making you unresisting enough that he could fully sheathe himself inside of you. You let out a cry as he hit the ends of you, your walls clamping down on him, trying to expel the intrusion.

“Fuck!” Ettore groaned. “So much better than that Box. So warm. So tight.” He stuttered, moving his hips back and forth without giving you time to accommodate. The stretch burned and you couldn’t keep in your painful whimpers. Your cries only seemed to spur him on further, thrusting his hips at a faster pace, way too fast so early.

“Stop!” You cried, beating your fists against his chest erratically.

“Nah. You’re gonna take it. You’re gonna take it until I say we’re done.” He laughed, speeding up his thrusts to purposely make it even more painful for you. But instead of it hurting more, it had the opposite effect. His cock started to brush up against that sensitive spot inside you, eliciting a whine from your lips.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ die!” You growled angrily, baring your teeth like a cornered animal.

“Yeah?” He mocked, giving your cheek another slap just for good measure before continuing his brutal pace.

Eventually, your cunt produced so much slick, it was soaking his cock and your inner thighs, his pelvis shimmering in the dull fluorescent lighting of the ship. Lewd noises coming from your intimate union forced heat to spread across your cheeks, the wet suction echoing off the walls with every jolt of Ettore’s hips made an unwanted pang of pleasure shoot through your body, making goosebumps rise along your skin.

You hated that you were feeling pleasure from this. You were so ashamed, but god, it felt so much better than the pain of his cock splitting you open over and over again.

You felt so hot, a thin layer of sweat covering your entire body. Ettore on top of you made it even worse, his sweat coated body pressing up against yours, your breasts being squished under the weight of his chest. You were breathless as his dick kept brushing against your g-spot as he kept moving in and out of you rapidly, feeling your slick dripping off the curve of your ass and pooling onto a puddle on the cold floor. You couldn’t keep your moans in and against your hatred for the man, you allowed your body to relax and indulge in the euphoric sensations. Ettore’s smug smirk made it difficult however.

You looked to your right, seeing the discarded rubik’s cube sitting idly on the floor next to you. You didn’t hesitate to grab onto it tightly, hitting Ettore over the head with it again and again until he was weak enough to push him off of you. But instead of running like you should’ve done, you straddled him, pushing his cock back inside you and riding him, chasing that release that had already begun building in your core.

Ettore groaned with a smirk, looking up at you in a pleasured haze (and possible concussion). “I knew you wanted to fuck me.” You replied by punching him square in the jaw, busting his lip open deep enough that a small trail of blood slid down the side of his face. You shocked him by leaning down and licking the red substance, the metallic bitter taste coating your tongue and making you move your hips faster. His furrowed brows from the pleasure and pain spurred you on further, raking your nails down his chest hard enough until little droplets of blood beaded on his pale skin, his groan filling your ears and making your clit throb.

You placed both your hands around Ettore’s neck as you continued to thrust against him, squeezing harder and harder the closer you got to your climax. You smiled with a loud moan as you heard his choked gasps, his face getting red as he attempted and failed to breathe in the recycled oxygen. The sight of him struggling to breathe edged you closer and closer. But eventually, he started to fight against you, grabbing onto your hands to try and pry you off. You tried to dig your fingers tighter against his skin, determined to make him pass out at least, but he knocked you off him with a single strong punch to your cheek. “You can’t kill me that easily.” Ettore coughed out hoarsely, his near death experience not even being enough to take a break from fucking you. He took a deep breath and resumed plowing into you like you didn’t just almost kill him. “God, you’re so pretty beaten and bloody like this.” He moaned, grabbing onto your neck and squeezing like you had down previously, though not enough that’d you pass out. The lack of oxygen made the pleasure all the more intense, your walls clamping down on his cock as your release was right there. “Such a fuckin’ whore, aren’t you? I bet you’ve wanted this all along. You just needed to be put in your place, right? Don’t worry, I’ll never let you forget where you belong, what you’re good for. You’re just a pretty little toy whose only purpose is to be fucked and filled.”

You moaned as his words finally made that wave of ecstasy wash over you like a tsunami, powerful and unforgiving as it destroyed you, making your mind go blank as the only thing you could feel was that throbbing pleasure that knocked the breath out of you. Ettore groaned as your walls seemed to pull him in deeper, pulsing rhythmically as you rode out your high with shuddering high pitched moans and trembling limbs. It didn’t take long at all for him to reach his climax as well, pumping you full of his cum with a load strained groan, sweat dripping down the side of his face and mixing with his blood as he slumped against you to try and catch his breath.

You came out of your daze enough to feel him against you, hearing and feeling his deep breaths fan against your skin, making you panic and quickly push him off you; there was nothing he could do about it since he was so weak from his orgasm. You sat up with a huff, dressing yourself frantically, refusing to look at Ettore.

“I bet you’ve never come that hard before.” He voiced arrogantly, making you roll your eyes.

“I have.”

“Liar.”

You turned back around to glare at him. “If you try this shit again, I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.”

Ettore, still naked, stood up and pulled you to him by your waist with a smirk. “Forgive me if I doubt that. You sure seemed to enjoy yourself, slut. I wouldn't be surprised if you came crawling back for more soon.”

You scowled, unable to voice any retort like you usually did. You blamed your post orgasm haze. Ettore only hummed, dressing himself and walking past you, bumping your shoulder. You bit your lip hard until you tasted blood, hating yourself and him.

“Well, whenever you feel like you wanna be filled with a real cock again, you know where to find me.”

don't know where this came from honestly😬

[inaaontheskyways]

Pittyober, day 13: hide

And here’s my 2nd piece for @stormyykat’s Pittyober, this time with my privateer of the Shatterhands, Titania Xandros, and her experiences in Aquila! Altho, I gotta be honest here, I’m not really sure about this one b/c it got me stressing the whole time I wrote it, pfffft, even to the point where @brewbellwizardry had to help me with the editing, so pls be kind here 😭🙏🏽

(CW under the cut: really gory, it’s just a gore fest up in here ngl-)

There is nothing that Titania prides herself in more than her gift for strategy.

After all, she originally came from a long line of warriors whose specialty was to know every tactic and trick in the book of war from cover to cover, so of course she would end up the same, even if not on the same battlefield as she had expected—wanted—it to be. Though, it isn’t like piracy is much different, really. Raiding an enemy ship and taking its resources for the crew’s own benefit isn’t unlike the ones she had been trained to perform as a soldier, with the only real change being whether a pack of yum would also be included with the gold payment.

As the second-in-command of the Shatterhands, it isn’t far-off to say that Titania’s strategies are what pulls or even saves them from the missions that they go on, nor would they have been half as successful if not for her input. Her captain and the rest of her crewmates know it too. She can think of all sorts of ways to get under the enemy’s skin and figure out what makes them tick, and to do it as efficiently as possible that makes the best use of everyone’s skills and resources; but most impressive yet, that always ensures their survival first. ‘Know thy self, know thy enemy,’ as they would say. And she would usually hold that philosophy close to her chest, a reminder to always stay cool, collected, and calculated with her plans, lest they end up failing—and failing the others by extension.

Although, there have been times where Titania would forgo her tactics because fuck it, I just want this bastard dead and now. Some opponents happened to be real frustrating pieces of shit to go up against, be it due to exceptional strength, speed, or plain stubbornness; so she would have to get a little more messy, more carnal with her moves than she would normally prefer to do. But even then, she wouldn’t let those emotions run too far away, no, those were to be kept on a tight leash. She could never let them consume and keep her from seeing the full picture, because for a member of the Shatterhands, of the Alexandrous, the mission should be her number one priority above all else.

Except, when it comes to revenge, it is a whole different story.

Because the Shatterhands are nothing if not vengeful.

A smile that is blinding and full of madness—ecstasy—is spread wide over Titania’s face, lazily twirling the handle of her xiphos as she follows after the trail of blood left haphazard through the palace hallways. Her pace is leisurely, looking more like someone out on a morning walk rather than a hunt for murder. It drips from her victim’s battered body in the same way spilled wine does at a party, carelessly lost in his rush to get as far away from her as possible, stumbling around like a frightened drunkard and bumping into furniture along his path. She chuckles darkly, finding the situation not only amusing but downright ironic to her. It is almost nostalgic, knowing that she used to be in that same position; desperate, terrified, and stripped of her pride, begging with all of her heart to be given his help, his support… only to be met with nothing more than a sneer most devastating, I don’t have time to deal with vermin.

Oh, how the tables have turned, muses the blonde with another chuckle, hard and low, gaze predatorily sharp when it catches her victim collapsing onto the floor. He lets out a pained groan, trying to get up, but the wear-and-tear of his body only allows him to drag himself across the floor, staining its once-pristine surface with long, messy streaks of blood. A weak position like that allows her to finally catch up, but really, she has only been walking slow to fuck with him, mock the fact that he now has to limp just like she does; yet is too pussy to handle what she always lived her whole life with. Her boots shake the marble, purposely creating loud stomps with her braced leg to startle him bad even if it stings. He’s about to find that there are much worse to deal with than a sickly leg.

“Dear cousin Antinous…” greets Titania with a drawl, though its nonchalance doesn’t match the sadistic gleam in her eyes, reddened like rubies, like anger—like death. Kneeling down, despite its being braced, she digs her knee against the said man’s back, not caring for the painful swell that is building into it; those ugly cries are just too therapeutic for her to let up. “You’re pretty bad at hide-n’-seek, y’know? You’re not supposed to make it obvious where to find you.”

“Fuck you!” her cousin screams out, hoarse yet defiant, wriggling around in a futile attempt to free himself of her tight grasp, “I only did what I had to, any other man worthy as I would’ve done the same! I’m an Alexandrou, I deserved that position, it was always mine to take!”

Titania scoffs, “Oh yeah? Don’t remember our duties involving treason or betraying the Emperor,” and moves the xiphos towards his neck, threatening to slit it if he speaks another wrong word. “Doesn’t seem as profitable now that you’re in this position, though, huh?”

Suddenly, her cousin’s body begins to tremble from underneath. She cocks a brow questioningly, until sounds of grating laughter cawed out of his beak, equally-red eyes staring up at her with a shine of demented glee within them. Clearly, he isn’t considering her warning nor the fact that he is at her mercy right now, as if this is still five years in the past and he can continue to play her for a fool without retaliation, string her along like the puppet he once forced her to be.

But Titania isn’t someone to be used and strung along anymore.

“Oh, dearest cousin,” he spits the term out disdainfully, “Wouldn’t you of all people know that best? You were the one who was caught with that package, with reason for treason. None of that was ever connected to me.” he smirks when he notices that she has grown quiet, grip loosened up on her blade ever so slightly. “You really think that by revealing me, the family will commend you and take you back in? That they’ll finally see you worthy of respect?”

He cackles further, “You can delude yourself all you want, but you’ll never amount to anything, Cousin, you’ll never belong. There’s no point in trying, not for you. You coming back here was a fruitless endeavor, and you and I both know it because even after all this time, you’ll always be worthless—”

Then, he ends up cutting himself off with an abrupt, loud screech of agony, accentuated by the sickening crack of his shoulder, Titania’s hand firm on his wing and twisting it all the way backwards in calculated silence. She digs her nails into his skin, watching it draw another wave of blood against his pale feathers, mulling over the curiosity that if she were to apply more pressure, will it completely snap off? Hang and lay useless like a noose by his side?

Well, wouldn’t that be quite a sight to see.

“How- how dare you! What’re you, some type of brute!?” screams her victim still, thrashing and slamming his other wind against the floor, “Wait until I get out of here, I will ruin you, I will be the death of you, do you hear me!? You’re nothing but a little bitch, you are dirt beneath my feet, you’re a defect who should’ve never been born—!”

“Hoh? You really mean that, my dear cousin?” the pirate pulls him up by his shoulder, straining it even more forcefully, causing him to choke and gurgle from the pain.

And finally, there is fear in her victim’s eyes, widening at the full realization that not only will he not make it out of here alive, but not even his death would be quick and painless either. Not when he sees her face and the vibrant furor that has fully consumed her, grin wide and teeth bared like the fangs of a predator, seeming just about ready to eat him all up and pick his bones clean from a silver platter of her own making.

“Perhaps I should show you what it really means to fear.”

[seoafin]

omg a fellow bachira stan!! <333 !!!! also i cant help but think that bachira and violinist!mc could be besties if they met before blue lock happen,, sth sth abt the mutual understanding of the loneliness when chasing after the hobby/ passion that u may be the only one to understand the full extent of your love for it bc when telling other ppl they'll go was it that serious? unless u meet someone who gets it, like bachisagi

will we get more info on the person who won 1st place in the future chapters tho? if the person and violinist!mc are in the same prefecture until the end of their highschool years, wont they run into each other during competition season?

nagi and gojo...190 cm men with white hair and a lil deranged...if one more guy with this criteria exist and u happen to dislike him well hfgfbkfhbvkf

also i saw that you're catching up to sakamoto days?!?!?! i'm so!!!!! the sakamoto, nagumo, rion + uzuki group makes me so aughhh wdyt even happen for uzuki to just flipped and why rion is [redacted] - 🐱

no bc bachira and violinmc would actually get along so well change my mind!!!! bachira would definitely help her loosen up lmfao she's way too wound up tightly (pun intended). i actually think barou and violin!mc would get along wayyy too well for nagi's liking (barou appreciates classical music. i know this. he listens to classical music while he works out and he understands #the grind)

as for the person who won first place i actually envisioned that he actually got bored of playing and quit LMAO but who's to say he won't make an appearance later <333

HELP I DON'T HATE NAGI!!!! 😭😭😭 but...the similarities....are there (bad breakup included help).....also nagi being over 190cm is actually sending me though like why is he so tall he's like a tree 😭 he doesn't even look it bc he's slouching half the time too LMAO

spoilers for sakamoto days below!

i definitely think uzuki had something to do with rion's death like they were paired up together for a reason during their mission and i think it was more than just to show their conflicting ideologies revolving around taking a life!!!! i just think it's surprising how sakamoto didn't recognize uzuki!!! but then again idt hs sakamoto was rlly in the business of really caring since it's shown that he's much more apathetic than the current sakamoto we know (character development we love to see it) but also im so fucking mad rion is the one the mangaka chose to kill off. she's such a bad bitch the narrative couldn't handle her. but also misogyny. like what the hell 😭

[kats-kradle]

okay here’s the best bits from my early writing days I have not altered and spelling or punctuation 💀 all of these are hilarious to me

(don’t even remember what this was for but adhakshaksnkjdj girl why. why so dramatic😭😭why no punctuation 😭😭)

He doesn't understand why. 

Why him

Why they forgave him

When all he did was hurt them

—

(this was for a mission impossible 4 fic. I’m not exaggerating when I say I absolutely CACKLED when I read this again. I WISH I was trying to be funny on purpose. girl what’s up with the formatting. yes, the numbers were that big)

Right now Brandt was tied to a chair with a timer in front of him that said 10:00.He guessed it was probably for a bomb. Best not find out. He tried to get lose but he was exhausted from sleep loss and no food. Not to mention a least 4 ribs where broken. He worked his ropes until he was bleeding, but he was as stuck as ever. He frantically looked at the timer. 3:23. "S**t" he tried to say but it came out "fmf" he tried moving the chair. Stuck down. He tried the ropes again. Nope. 0:7. Sorry guys, see you later 4

3

2

1

0

—

(this was for a Harry Potter fic about Sirus having nightmares during the events of the fifth book. This is legit how I ended a scene💀💀)

“Some nights he doesn’t wake up right away. He has to be reminded that he isn’t rotting in a cell.” They all stood around for a few minutes.

“Well, you lot should head off to bed,” Remus suggested. Molly quickly agreed and they all whent there separate ways

—

(Stargate atlantis fic when I first started watching the show. GIRL THE FORMATTING WHATS UP WITH THAT)

Rodney spun around. 

“Look, I’m mad that you got hurt and you didn’t tell anyone,” he snapped. Ronon was stunned. Why was it a problem?he shrugged, trying not to show his confusion.

—

(Another Stargate atlantis one I KID YOU NOT IM WHEEZING THERE ARE TEARS IN MY EYES)

He sat down with a very determined look of “its learning time everyone pull up a seat”.

—

(from some spiderman fic this is just funny to me)

Happy was almost 99.8% sure that his heart had just been ripped in half and hit by a bus.

—

(Twilight fic from when I was 15. the writing itself isn’t bad but the idea of carlisie aggressively reciting the constitution is still funny to me)

“No, you know what I mean. You’re hiding your thoughts.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Carlisle replied, repeating to entire constitution in his head with far more concentration than was necessary. 

unfortunately I got better at writing. honestly it was really sweet to take the trip down memory lane now that I’m old enough to be so removed from it. I can vividly remember working on some of them like it was yesterday which is bizarre.

guys who wants some snippets from unposted fanfics I wrote when I was 14💀💀💀

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Crush Henchperson again! (Because I love this trope)

They have to pretend to be together for a mission but someone caught on to it being not true. So Y/N goes "If we were pretending would I do this?" and just straight up kisses him. The person believes them. 

Riddler, Scarecrow, MD, T-F, BM

Ugh I LOVE this😍😭

The Riddler: Frozen at first, he seems almost unresponsive until you feel a hand weave through your hair and tug you forward. Edward kissed you feverishly. His other had pulling you closer. He kissed and held you like you could disappear at any moment. Even if he couldn't close anymore space between the two of you, that didn't mean he wouldn't try. You pulled back and whilst this was a time he loved having a photographic memory, remembering the feel of your lips against his like it was still happening, he longed for you to come back to him. His arms still opened slightly, eyes longing before he snapped out of his daze. Good thing the display and Edward's reaction was convincing enough.

Scarecrow: Oh hell there you go. Now you've done it. What do humans do again? Oh right. Jonathan wrapped his arms around you and whilst he returned your kisses, it was clear he was holding back. He did just enough to convince the person you two were actually together but not enough to imply he was comfortable with PDA. You called it luck that you were believed and for a long time after that day, every now and then Jonathan would remember the moment, a finger brushing against his bottom lip.

Mad Hatter: If Jervis were a cartoon, he'd have hearts in his eyes everytime he saw you. However the two of you really needed to bring it home. You grabbed his hands, interlocking your fingers as you leaned up to kiss him. You squeezed his hands tightly to your hips. Your boss, when surprised, had a tendency to flail his arms and a lot of hand flapping. This would 100% give you away if he did that's your grip on his hands were almost bruising. He let out a squeak of surprise. Eyebrows almost to his hair line. That's when he became a giggling mess against your lips but still maintained the ability to kiss you back. Surprisingly, he wasn't terrible at it. You didn't think Jervis would knew how to kiss yet here he was, an abundance of surprises.

Two-Face: Immediately internally freaking out because of his scarred and burned side of his face. Somehow you didn't seem to mind but that didn't seem possible. How could you not mind? How could you be willing to be this close? Your hands slide from his shoulders to his neck, silently coaxing him. It was then he remembered just what the aim was here. Harv' did the rest for Harvey, cupping your cheek and returning the kiss. The other arm wrapping around your waist. You hummed a content sigh, trying to lean closer to him. That was where there was an awkward clearing of a throat. Message received and believed.

Black Mask: It didn't take him very long to pull you against him and kiss you back hungrily. Did he appreciate how you snatched his mask off? No but you certainly made up for it half a second later when you captured his lips in a kiss. You're forced to relinquish control pretty quickly because control is his thing! When you pull away and are completely believed, Roman had pressed his lips in a tight line, already missing the feel of your lips. As though that action would seal the sensation to his lips and be committed to memory. You were a very good kisser and you might him looking twice. As if you needed to be anymore embedded in his mind.

[elvhenfaer]

@tessa1972 First off, thank you SO much 😭😅☺️

Second, yeah, I guess you guys see Amheotil a lot but I haven’t talked about him much, I guess I just didn’t think anyone would be interested.

He’s a complicated man. He overthinks everything and takes things a little too seriously. Definitely affected by the ideas of toxic masculinity instilled in him as a ‘Warrior’ so he’s not exactly comfortable talking about how he feels but he cares way too much about way too many things. This often comes out in moments of overwhelming anxiety when he just can’t keep it in anymore and then he ends up ranting.

That’s why Dorian is really good for him. At first the constant sarcasm drives him nuts but eventually it loosens him up and he grows to appreciate it.

He volunteered for the mission to the Conclave because both of his parents are gone, he has no siblings, and no lover in Clan Lavellan, so he sorta figured that if he died it wouldn’t affect much. His little family unit back home is his two very best friends, one of whom has a daughter he considers his niece, her husband and her sister in law (mostly he loves them because he’s so loyal to her, but he does actually like them). He got picked on as a kid for being friends with the only girl in warrior training and the elf-blooded child in the clan, who everyone else called a Half Breed, but Amheotil’s got a very strong sense of fairness and justice so he just didn’t see a problem with those two because they were still perfectly good people even if they were a bit different.

It’s part of the reason he’s got anger issues, because he’s just mad at the world for it’s inequality. He hates knowing about slavery and alienages existing outside of Clan Lavellan and is very touchy about how the Dalish live in what really amounts to banishment, even if he does think it’s better than living in poverty in human cities.

Because of that, he’s really got a thing for topping Human men. There’s just something about a human on their knees for him that gives him a petty sense of satisfaction. He knows it’s petty, but he still loves it.

That was the initial reason he was infatuated with Dorian. He despises Tevinter but Dorian is just so pretty and the attraction couldn’t be helped. And topping a Tevinter? Yeah, yeah he could be really into that. But Dorian made him wait, which he was not used to, and he developed a soft spot for the mage.

He’s not afraid of magic because the Dalish don’t restrict it like the Chantry does, but he can’t do magic and so he never took an interest in learning about it. He doesn’t understand how it all works, he’s more the type to shrug and just be like ‘eh, magic’ and that’s an entirely acceptable explanation for him. He’s not like Dorian who wants to know everything or be the smartest, which allows Dorian to nerd out and explain everything and he’ll just be like “huh, interesting, never knew that” while Dorian goes on and on. He WILL ask questions or insert things he DOES know when he has something to add. Dorian enjoys the simplicity of that compared to other mages in Tevinter who will turn things into an argument trying to sound smarter than they are. Amheotil is more humble than that, he never tries to make himself out to be something he’s not.

The ‘Herald of Andraste’ thing really bothered him for that reason. He’s no holy savior. He doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, but he’s pretty sure it’s not that.

I’m gonna stop typing now, before I talk your ear off. I’ve been writing about this character for about a year now, so there’s a lot I could say. Hope this was all worth reading lol

[minaofmayhem]

IMAGINE #39 - Meet the Devil

Here’s the last Randall’s request, asked by anon ! 😍 I absolutely loved writing it and it is really sad that a plot like this will never been seen on screen 😭 I hope this is like you imagined it! Have fun beloved readers! ❤️

Summary : Before the Apocalypse, you were a simple professional pickpocket who tried to survive in NYC. You are send to Las Vegas as a Boulder spy. But what’s going to happen when you suddenly catch the eye of the devil himself ?

Pairing : Randall Flagg x Reader

Warnings : none.

Tag list : @katerka88​ ; @bonnieelizabethparker​ ; @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ ; @anangelwhodidntfall​ ; @fawnbrrry​ ; @flowers-in-your-hayr​ ; @grandpa-sweaters​ ; @bailaycantaconmingo​

The mission seemed simple and was well organized. It consisted of several steps and in theory, everything should go well. First, you had to leave Colorado and walk alone to Vegas, posing as a wandering soul, seeking asylum in the community built by the great Randall Flagg. Then, gather as much interesting information as possible to return to Boulder, safe and sound, with enough to destroy the one who rules like the Devil over hell. But even with a plan, nothing ever goes according to plan right ?

The beginning worked quite well. Passing yourself off as a criminal wasn't too difficult given your background...Before the pandemic, you were a high-ranking pickpocket who became a professional thief over time. A sort of modern day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. You were even wanted in several states. You never understood why an honest woman, like Mother Abigail, asked you to join the good guys in Boulder? "God has plans for you (X/Y)" she said, but it was still a mystery to you.

Your inglorious past served you to cross the administrative service. At first, they hired you in the cleaning department. And then one evening, by the greatest of coincidences, Floyd recognized you and immediately ordered your release under the pretext that a "criminal of your rank deserved to live among the gods". So you found yourself upstairs, in the devil's den. You were also about to start the most risky part of the plan.

But blending in wasn't as easy as you'd imagined. You soon realized that everyone was crazier than the others. They partied all hours, drank, danced, took drugs, and fucked freely. But despite this, you had to hold on.

Your optimism waned the night you saw Flagg for the first time. Until then, you had not paid attention to the various posters, statues and billboards that decorated the city and the hotel. You were focused on your goal and trying to stay alive. A large spotlight was shining on one of the balconies, illuminating the big red curtain. Rumor said that the great Randall Flagg was going to make an appearance. Intrigued, you waited for the show to begin, sipping your cocktail and opening your eyes and ears.

You were only half interested in the show. Leaning against one of the columns, near the railing of one of the balconies, you pretended to enjoy the party while your mind was focused on something else. You were trying to spot the right-hand men of the grandmaster because only they had important information. Around 12:00 a.m., Floyd's voice came over the speakers, finally announcing the arrival of the great king. All around you, you could see people jostling each other, shouting, stamping their feet in anticipation. As Floyd screamed Flagg's name into his microphone, the red curtain parted and the artist took the stage. His face appeared on two large screens on either side of the balcony. 

Suddenly, time stopped around you. A strange sensation invaded you in the depths of your being. You could no longer hear the shouts of the madding crowd, you could no longer see the men and women gesticulating to be seen. You could only see Randall. You found him extremely charming, irresistible. With his full denim outfit, he looked and acted like a real rock star, waving to the cheering crowd. You watched him move gracefully, letting the crowd drink in his words, and you felt completely entranced. But when you saw him from his balcony suddenly looking in your direction, you felt a fire start inside you. When you felt his two green eyes pierce deep into your being, your heart began to beat faster, pounding your rib cage. How could he have spotted you at that distance? He smiled at you - a corner cocky smile - and you realized, at that moment, that your mission would be far more difficult than expected...

*

Like every night since then, after admiring Randall's show, you go back to your room to spend the rest of the evening thinking of a plan. You had been doing this for quite some time and nothing concrete had come out of it until now. To be honest, it was complex. You wanted to accomplish your mission but you felt so weak, so powerless. Or maybe you were just looking for excuses not to do anything and to stay for him. Your reason was telling you the opposite of your heart which was only beating for him.

Once into your room, you lock the door - which is preferable considering the crazies outside. A chill run down your spine as you realize something is wrong. You still have your hand on the door handle, your palm on the door, your back to the room, ready to leave. 

"Good evening sweetheart", says a male voice that you would recognize out of a hundred. Slowly you turn around, sticking your body to the door. Your body stiffen, you swallow as your heart misses a beat. Randall Flagg is leisurely sitting in the small chair in the corner of the room like if it is a normal thing. Despite the darkness in the room, you could make out the seductive smile on his face. His right leg is resting on top of his left one, his hands together on his chest. 

"Come here...", he adds when he sees no reactions from you. Of course, you are like petrified. You don’t know what to do. Why was he in your room? Is it a dream, is it reality? Had he found out what you were really doing in Vegas? That last thought is enough to make you shake with fear. No need to be a psychic to know what he would do if he discovers that you are a spy. 

“C’mon (X/Y), don’t be so shy...I don’t bite”. He lets escape a small sarcastic laugh before making you sign with the index to approach. How did he know your name ? This is then end then. He knows everything. Your heartbeat is out of control and your mouth has never been so dry before. Tears appear on the corner of your eyes. This isn’t exactly how you imagined your death. 

As if bewitched, your body resigned itself to obey him and you come closer until you reach his feet. Randall then stands up and plants himself in front of you, looking into your eyes. 

“You weren’t so shy in our dreams...”, he whispers with a teasing tone, as if this conversation was private. His left hand caresses your red hot cheek with the tips of his fingers. Even though the situation is strange, you can't help but blush when you think of those famous dreams. Ever since you first laid eyes on Randall, not a night went by without you dreaming about him. Very different dreams, where he talked to you, took you to different places, made you discover new things...not to mention those dreams where you were very close...

He suddenly raises his right hand, snaps his fingers once to make a few candles appear in different parts of the room, lighting it lightly and romantically. Surprised, you blink a couple of times to bring you back to reality. What was that ? Was he preparing some sort of ritual to kill you ? 

“Stay with me baby...”, he whispers as placing his palm on your cheek again,  forcing you to look at him and not to look around you. You can feel his breath on your lips, causing a multitude of shivers to run through your body. You are totally and completely lost. You don’t know what to do or to think anymore, only that you want to taste this delicious lips...But it isn’t for now.

“I know who you are...”, he keeps whispering as turning slowly around you, covering your body with his hands. You close your eyes, imaging his hands on your body’s curves and try to find a normal breath but this is tough. “I know why you come here...”. He stops behind you and sticks his body against your back, his right hand pushes your hair to the side to have an access to your neck. Your body can’t stop warming and you don’t feel anymore fear ; fear is replaced by an intense desire, burning inside of you core. This is a pure torture. No one has ever had such power on you and made you feel like this. But Randall isn’t like the others...

“I’m sorry Mister Flagg...It is true but...”, the words escape from your mouth without you being able to do anything. You just signed your death warrant.

“But...”, he whispers as he leans on your bare skin to cover your neck and collarbone with soft kisses, planting here and there. A moan escape your lips but it was like someone else was pushing you to do it. You don't control anything anymore. 

“I won’t do anything...I promise...I won’t do anything”, you repeat like a chant, closing your eyes and letting go. Randall plants a last kiss and puts your hair on the right this time to speak quietly into your left ear. His hands takes place on your shoulders, one at each side. 

“I know baby...I can feel it in your soul. I can feel it in your heart. I can feel the feelings you have for me”. His voice is mesmerizing and you know that you won’t last any longer. “I know what they want from you...but what do you want ?”.

“I want you”. In a near-secondary state, your head tilts back, resting against Randall's chest. You don’t see it but a proud and devilish smile appears on his face. He gets the answer he expected. As soon as he saw you in the crowd, he knew you were the one he was looking for. With his hands on your hips, he makes you turn around to face him. You open your eyes and looks intensively into his. He places his palms on your cheeks, caressing your skin with his thumbs. This delicate and romantic man could not be the devil. Impossible. This is the last thing you though about before hearing Randall’s sexy voice, feeling his soft lips on yours as you abandon yourself completely to him...

“Then let’s make it happen sweetheart...”.

[this-is-a-love-story-isnt-it]

I finished watching the Mad About You revival from 2019. I almost stopped watching it like 3 times, but I ended up finishing. The whole premise is that their daughter starts college so they're dealing with an empty nest- a parallel to the og show- how it started out with just them trying to figure out how to be married, and then 20 years later, their daughter leaving for college (the math doesn't quite work out with the original series, though, because in 2019 she should have been 22, not 18), and they have to figure out how to be just the two of them again.

Except their daughter goes to NYU, 5 blocks away, so she's home like half the time anyway. So Paul and Jamie are in a weird transition, and it bugged me because I know the whole premise is that "ok, who are we now that our daughter moved out?", but it seemed like they didn't even really like each other and were bickering like all the time. It wasn't that fun to watch, tbh. But I stuck with it, and the last 3 episodes were a lot better (there were 12 episodes in total).

They ended up going back to their old therapist, which was annoying because she sucked as a therapist, and I don't know why they ever kept going to her in the OS. But anyway, their therapist is basically like, "your marriage is over good try, though." and they're like, "......" but then she was like, "or you can try this marriage bootcamp." and they're like, "....okay...." and of course there was a zany misunderstanding where they accidentally ended up in a team building seminar for real estate agents? but like it ended up helping them a lot (and they still thought it was the "marriage bootcamp" thing lmao), and they ended up having this really nice conversation.

Jamie says they made a good point when she was told she has trust issues and that consciously she knows he'll never leave her, and he says “Never.” but underneath that, she has that fear. And he says, "That's alright. I know." and she's like, "you know what?" and he says, "I know that's always been a thing for you, ever since we met. But it's part of the package, and I like the package. So I work around it. I just make sure you know I'm not going anywhere." and she says, "Like how?" and he says "like all of the times I say, 'hey, I'm not going anywhere.' or even if I run down to the store or something, I always make a point of saying 'I'll be right back.' because I know you. I don't want you to worry." I honestly TEARED UP.

This is the kind of stuff from like seasons 1-5 that I thought were missing in seasons 6 and 7... and most of 8. One partner KNOWING the other one so well that they do things to help them without the other realizing it. So for over 20 years he's been saying "hey, I'll be right back" every time he has to go out for a bit because he knows she has a fear of him leaving her 😭💗

This actually was the root of their issues at the end of season 4, though, because she was so sure he was going to leave her if they couldn't have kids that she had this thought that if he was going to leave her she'd find someone else and leave him first. And he got really offended like, "how could you doubt my love for you; that you think I would ever leave you?" and she says, "I just do." So like, after they worked things out, her fear of him leaving her was still there but wasn't this thing festering under the surface that he was always upset about. He realized this is a thing she's always going to have, so he's just going to continue to allay her fear and not be upset over it.

Anyway, the revival ended with their daughter going off on some one-year mission of living on a boat and cleaning up the oceans, without any way to contact the outside world. So Paul and Jamie's mothers are both like, "this is good. Let her go- it will be good for her and good for you guys to be just the two of you again." So that's kind of how the last episode ended. Mabel left and they planned their trip to Tahiti.