#solo. | broken white lies.

[houseofhyde]

“aemond, i’m out shopping…”

pairing. modern!aegon targaryen x fem!reader synopsis. ...but you’re under aegon and he’s not stopping. ( read part one here ) warnings. modern au, best friend's brother!aegon, drummer!aegon, fuckbuddy!aegon, references to alcohol & drug usage, smut ( aegon is giving switch vibes ngl, f oral, fingering, m masturbation, pussy pronouns bc aegon straight up talks to it like it's a sentient being independent of the reader, exhibitionism, hair pulling, sweat kink?, spit as lubrication, cum tasting, one single slap, mentions of sex toys & tribute pictures, dubcon but only bc the reader protests even though she doesn't mean it ) word count. 5.2k hyde’s input. my modus operandi is making a silly smut fic ( that involves aegon or aemond fucking around with their brother's love interest ) and then ( quite some time later ) writing a part 2 that accidentally trips and falls into a whole load of plot that simply must be further explored, and then oh no! a series is born! the horrors! read on ao3.

Aegon Targaryen is no stranger to waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.

It’s an occurrence that’s marked his formative years, truly. Drinking hard, partying late. Crashing harder, waking later. Last night's clothes strewn across the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen floors, an arm gone numb with the weight of the head that rests upon it. Hair of black, blonde, brown, red, blue tangled on the pillow next to his own. He’s never been picky with who he takes to bed. A warm body is a warm body, and Aegon Targaryen is but a creature of cold blood searching for some reprieve.

This, however, is new to him.

Awakening to unfamiliar walls still dressed in last night’s clothes and laying completely alone. There’s a pounding in his head that beats at his skull, harder than his foot kicks a bass drum. The smell of cheap liquor sticks to his skin — vodka, or tequila, or rum; he can’t pinpoint which he drank more of. The spot next to him is empty, cold to the touch as a hand stretches across the mattress, searching for some sign of life.

Last night is a blur of nicotine in his lungs, glitter in his hair, and far too many broken drum sticks. He needs to stop snapping them over his knee at the end of every solo. The band had been playing at some new bar, that much he does remember. Then, their set finished, and the drinks began to flow, and more than once he was called into the bathroom for a sniff of snow.

When things can’t get worse, they often do.The scream of an alarm clock, somewhere to the left of him and completely out of arm’s reach. With a groan and a grimace, Aegon’s rolling over, tangling himself in floral sheets and, there he finds the damn noise-maker, sitting pretty on a nightstand, living in the space between a pile of well-read books and a scented candle burnt down three quarters of the jar it lives in. An ashtray filled with trinkets, and earrings, and necklaces, and a single cigarette butt, sits right next to a phone, a glass of water, and two unlabelled white pills, one simple note attached. 

Went 4 run. Don’t burn down apartment.

Aegon can’t even get offended by the comment. He once set Helaena’s carpet on fire, with nothing but a bottle of nail polish remover, a box of matches, and a whole lot of morbid curiosity. More than once, he’s left a pot on the stove and come back to find flames engulfing it. In a world of pyromaniacs, Aegon is a pyro-misfortunate, too typically present when things go up in flames — literally or figuratively.

Right now, the only fire is in his head, and the safety of water lies within a glass. His fingers scramble along the bedside table, grasping at straws to pick up the two pills. As one presses into the palm of his hand, the other slips off the edge. He tries to catch it as it falls. It has the opposite effect, the pill he’s captured slipping through the crack between his fingers and crashing against the floor, exploding in a powder of white. The other tablet is in no better state.

He could cry. He almost does, as he throws the upper half of his body off the bed, dangling down to scrape up the salvageable remnants of his pain relief.

“Every time I think you can’t get more pathetic, you prove me wrong.”

The voice of Aegon’s salvation.

You appear to him, an angel in the doorway. Upside down, clad in a sports bra, running shorts, and mismatching socks, your skin glistening with its own sweat, backlit by the unforgiving shine of an afternoon sun. And it’s all a hallucination, no doubt, because Aegon has not so much as heard from — never mind seen — you.

Not since that last Sunday you’d spent kneeling on his van floor.

He thought your words were nothing but a bluff. This can’t happen again. It was a bluff every other time, a silly thing to comfort the part of your conscience that feels it owes Aemond some kind of unwarranted loyalty, only to then forget about it the next time his text buzzes in, a misspelt nmeed you, or lemmesee you 2moro, or ur pxssy my mouth pls? lighting up the screen. Nearly a month since he watched you slip out his van door, it seems the only way to see you is in a come-down, hungover state of delirium.

But you’re moving towards him, and crouching down to grasp the tablets he’s left to perish, and sitting him up right, leaving his limp body to collapse back against the bed — your bed? A hand racks itself through his disjointed hair, a momentarily soothing touch, until it tightens into a fist and tugs at his roots, angling his head till his blues meet your eyes. A moan slips its way past Aegon’s lips, the delicious burn at his scalp waking his easily aroused mind.

“Look at you,” you practically spit your disgust at him, but the pity in your stare lessens the blows of your anger-laced voice. Your voice, oh how he’s missed it. “There’s a little more life in those eyes than last night, but, god, you look like shit.”

“Hmm, love it when you degrade me, baby,” he says, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. “Gets me so hard.”

You recoil within an instant, hands off him like he’s a flaming ball of fire and you’re a barrel of oil, impending doom awaiting when both casualties collide. Aegon chases after you, however, and so you don’t make it far, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you down into the sheets with him.

Twisted limbs, wrinkled sheets. You weakly thrash against his hold, his arms tighten around you. Burrowing itself in the crevice where neck kisses shoulder, Aegon’s face seeks the refuge of darkness and burrows itself in the smell of skin, your skin.

“Ew, Aegon!” A cry from above, his warm tongue slivering out the cavern of his mouth and dragging itself along a patch of sweat stained skin. Salty, sweet, musky. Everything he likes, everything you. “Let me go, I’m all- You’re making me sweat all over my sheets!”

“Well, that’s no fun,” the pout practically drips off his voice, giving away his expression as if you can’t already feel it pressed right up against your neck. Mind of their own, his hips grind against the leg trapped between his, the swell of his waking cock slowly making itself known. “I’d rather make you sweat, without the s.”

“Weat,” the cooling damp of your skin soothes his burning headache, the perfect remedy to last night’s cocktail of bad choices. Undulating hips, setting an unsteady rhythm that nurtures the hardness between his thighs, feeds its growing hunger slowly. Too slowly. Too long since Aegon last felt you, since Aegon last felt anything. “You’re saying you want to make me weat.”

“Wet. Sweat without the s,” seizing the opportunity, he takes it upon himself to grab a hold of control, flipping you onto your back with a lack of elegance that can only be justified by his hungover state. With your earlier protests still echoing in his mind, you seem to have no issue spreading your legs and making a space for him between them, inviting the Targaryen boy to drape himself over you, face in neck, crotch against crotch, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. “Phonetically.”

“Wow, that’s a big word for you, Aegon!” Despite your grinning mouth and facetious words, deft fingers slip into the crack between your bodies and work at the buckle of his belt, worn leather leaving speckles of itself on your fingertips. “Did Aemond teach you it?”

“Ha, ha.” His hands pinch at your side, an unseen eye-roll at the mention of his younger brother. Perfect Aemond, always finding a way to make things about himself, even when he’s not in the room. The cut feels a little deeper when you’re involved, the only thing of Aemond’s that Aegon has ever dared try take for himself, a sick prize in the depths of his perverted mind. “Who needs big words when you have a big coc-”

The doorbell rings and interrupts him.

Both of you freeze, hands burrowed in hair and fingers tracing over flesh. Aegon’s quick to recover, dragging his attention back to the shape you make up beneath him, a sight that brings him physical ache. He lets his gaze wander over the length of your torso, over the slopes and curves and dips of your body, and hooks his thumbs under either side of your nylon shorts. 

“Ignore it,” he says, relishing in how easily the tenseness in you melts away as your eyes find his again, stiff muscles melting as easily as candle wax.

Layers of clothing shed away, his liquor-stained shirt now a pile of cotton by the door, your shorts tossed blindly over his shoulder. He sinks back down, your own limbs following suit, folding beneath his on-coming body. Mouths find one another, like a moth finds a flame, and refuse to part.

Aegon’s missed you. He won’t say it, but he feels it. In every brush of his tongue against your own, and every spine-tingling touch your hands drag over his naked back, and every breath he pulls in stained with the smell of your shampoo. It’s too overwhelming to think of, and so he forces himself to focus on a far more pressing matter: his fingers dipping beneath the waistline of your panties.

As thumb meets navel, a phone screen lights up on the bedside table.

He tries, so desperately, to chase your mouth as your head flees, and one less hand, five less fingers touch his skin, reaching out to grasp your buzzing phone, the name on the screen rousing contempt within him.

“Don’t answer,” he’s pleading, even as he watches your thumb swipe up on the green. “Please, don’t.”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own, you put the phone to your ear.

“Aemond,” a sucker punch to the gut, a name that reminds him of the pounding in his head. Aegon recoils from you, resting back on his haunches, the pathway to your thighs a trail laid out before him. “Hi, sorry.”

He wants to admit defeat. Crawl off your bed, scoop up his shirt, lace up his boots — wherever they are. Spare not even a fleeting glance as he takes his leave, let you stay focused on the brother that clearly owns more of your attention than him. And the worst thing is, Aegon cannot pretend this feeling is rational.

Aemond is your friend, your best friend. The one you call when you need saving, the one who pulls the weight of your textbooks out of your arms and into his own, the one who wins a smile out of you like it’s as easy as breathing air. Whereas Aegon can’t even claim he’s losing the race to his little brother, because he’s not even on the same track. 

Unfortunately, defeat just isn’t in his nature.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m,” his hand on your knee, you don’t even flinch. Still won’t even look at him. The hand smooths up your thigh, a light squeeze of flesh as it reaches halfway. “Not in. Aemond, I’m out shopping.”

He snorts back a laugh and, finally, your eyes are on him. Wide, panicked, and pleading for silence.

Aegon ignores it.

Fingers dance up the expanse of your thigh, a pleasant hum rumbling out his chest at the warmth of your skin. He can hear his brother on the other end of the line, unintelligible words blending with the familiar sound of his voice. He can almost picture Aemond, a wrinkle free shirt and tailored trousers, looking up at your building from the entrance, phone pressed to his ear and frown creasing his forehead. The image stays fresh in his mind as his fingers smooth over the soft skin that melts your thighs into the curve of your hips, and sneak their way under the elastic band of your panties.

He pulls at it and releases, watches the way it snaps back down onto your skin. A foot weakly kicks at his side, that stare of yours growing deadlier.

“Are you okay? What happened?” God, the way you want to comfort Aemond, it makes him sick. Or maybe that’s just his hangover. Yeah, that makes more sense.

All is forgotten, for a moment, as he traces over the slope of your mound, finger flexing to press against your clit, hidden out of sight beneath damp cotton. You try to play it cool, like his touch doesn’t faze you, but Aegon’s too quick to notice the hitch in your breath, the way you seem to take a moment too long to reply to his brother.

“Can’t you try to speak with your professor about it, Aim?”

The nickname you speak has Aegon laughing again, a facetious chuckle he presses into your knee, spine curved as he bends down to kiss it. Another kick, this one hits his ribs. Like a saddled horse, it spurs him on, tells him to move faster, touch you more.

It’s hard to pick which sight gets him harder: the peeling back of your panties to reveal the mouthwatering view of your cunt, shining with slick and inviting him to dive right in, or the way your faux composure crumbles, for an instance, back arching reflexively and teeth pressing down against the pillow of your bottom lip, your eyes glued right on his.

“That’s bullshit,” you seem to remember Aemond’s still there, ranting along his own woes in your ear. Again, Aegon wonders if he’s outside. “You’re literally the top student in your year. Hell, you’re probably one of the top students on our whole campus.”

Aegon can’t even disagree. Resident brainiac, the younger Targaryen has always been the overachieving student, winning every useless award and wearing every golden medal. And maybe, were you not two feet below him, dripping wet in nothing but a sports bra, he’d be interested in hearing where this conversation goes, find out what exactly his do-no-wrong brother has fucked up enough not even his flawless grades can save him. His finger is dipping into you before he can even let the thought repeat itself.

“My poor girl,” he mutters aloud, eyes glued on the pretty sight between your legs, hypnotised with how the digit disappears into your pussy, all the way in till knuckles kiss the pillowy soft lips. “So tight. Has mummy not been taking proper care of you, hm? Not letting someone stretch you out, fuck you real good like you deserve?”

“Would you shut up?” You hiss from the pillows, interrupting his reunion with his best friend. He curls his finger up, gently, pressing into the spongy wall of your cunt, just to delight in how easily the animosity flees your eyes as they roll back. Only to shoot wide open again, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you! There’s- There was just some creep harassing me about the queue. Yes, I’m okay. No, you don’t have to come get me.”

“This is a private conversation,” Aegon’s free hand pinches the skin of your thigh, that devilish grin of his unwithering as he watches the subtle grind your hips give, fucking his finger deeper into the heat of your cunt. Even in anger, you want him. “Think I need to give her a present, something to keep her nice and stuffed,” he draws the word out, slipping a second finger into you.

You squirm away, for a moment, but his hand chases after you and you’re giving right in, at his mercy, one hand clutching the sheets, the other keeping the phone pressed tight against your ear. Two pumps of his fore and middle finger, until he lets them drift apart, a gentle stretch to your clenching walls.

“Or is my baby more of a Rose toy kind of girl, huh?” Whether on purpose or on instinct, words fall louder each time he opens his mouth. The very same mouth that’s leaning down to meet you in a gasp-worthy kiss, lips pressing sweetly against the throb of your clit, tongue coming out to play in a flurry of three kitten licks, all the while he works his wrist into a dull ache, each thrust forcing his fingers deeper than the last. “Something to soothe this little clit and something to fuck this tight pussy, is that what she needs?”

The hand on the mattress finds his hair, a harsh tug that has him parting with a few strands. He doesn’t care. In fact, he hopes the near-white locks get lost in your sheets if only to be found by a curious Aemond next time he can’t be bothered masking his way home and crashes at your place. What he wouldn't give to see the look on his brother’s face, holding up the hair to see it’s not even half the length of his well-groomed, pin-straight hair.

You’re talking again, doing your best to keep your voice neutral and your breathing even, hand still tangled in Aegon. He half expects you to pull again, kick him again. Tell him to focus on getting off of you, instead of getting you off. But you don’t do that. No, actually, you’re pulling him closer, keeping his mouth pressed to your soft skin, making sure his tongue continues to dance along the nerve-buzzing runway of your cunt, lapping up the taste of you till he’s sure it’s going to seep into his DNA, alter his genetic make-up so you’ll always be a part of him, even when you’re apart from him. 

The throb between his own legs is growing, pulsing your name in morse code. As much as he wants the sweet release of flipping you over, arching your back, and feeling your walls clench around the girth of his cock, he’s too attached to the taste of your skin, head burrowing itself deeper, nose smushed against your clit as the tip of his tongue knocks at your slit, soaked fingers spreading your lips open. His own desire will need to find a different method of salvation.

A free hand, switching between gripping at your waist and squeezing the meat of your thigh. It departs from your body with a muted hesitation, a momentary pause before it shrugs away his empty belt buckle and fishes out the lever to his zipper. A swift tug, his pants loosening their snug fit around his hips, leaving his fingers with the freedom to dip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and grasp at his aching cock.

“Mhmm,” you almost moan, disguising it as an agreement to whatever his brother is saying to you now. In turn, Aegon lets himself give into it, moaning loud enough for the two of you, letting the sound vibrate into your soaked cunt. “Sorry, repeat that, I- I can’t hear you.”

Shameless as he’s always been, he lets his cock spring free from the confines of the nylon material, standing to attention and slapping against his lower stomach, the tip already dribbling with pre-cum.

“See how much I’ve missed her, baby?” This time, he’s talking to you, lips in a wicked grin, shining with your own wetness. Brushing dry fingers over the mess he’s made between your thighs, a mix of spit and arousal, he relishes in watching how easily you get his fingers soaked. One curl of three fingers, pressing teasingly at that spot he knows too well, then he’s pulling away, extending his hand out towards you. “Spit. Now.”

Your eyes watch his, wide and impatient. The cool air must be soothing, he thinks, brushing against your now abandoned pussy, yet he doubts you find any solace in it. You’ve always been the kind who wants to melt, not freeze.

Phone angled away from you, Aemond’s voice still pouring out its speaker, you lean forward and let it drip: a string of spit.

Basking in the proper attention you’re finally giving him, Aegon wraps the newly soaked hand around his cock, letting the head of it slap back against his torso before he really puts the mixture of your fluids to use. Tight fisted, lips parted, he finds himself leaning back on his haunches, free hand splayed out behind him and holding the weight of himself as he puts on a show for you, stroking his cock. The bed beneath you both creaks as he lets himself fuck up slowly into his hand, a cacophony of pretty moans and desperate whines filling the space between you. Can Aemond hear? God, he hopes so. 

The sight of your own hand snaking its way down between your legs is enough to remind him of his mission, the whole reason he’s not given into his want, his need to bury his cock inside you.

You barely brush over your clit before he’s slapping your hand away with a tut, a non-verbal protest as his lips reunite with your cunt, the hand between his own legs beginning a new pace, stroking over his hardness in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue and the speed of his fingers pumping into you.

Hang up, he wants to demand, but he’s got a mouthful of you and he intends to savour it until the end.

“Aemond,” your teeth bite down on your lip in sync with how his own drag over your clit, a silent warning against saying his brother’s name again. Next time, I’ll bite harder, he’s promising, only partially wishing you’ll tempt fate. “Shit, sorry, I have to go, I’m- yeah, next in line.”

Not even a goodbye.

Your thumb presses messily at the red button, the caller ID fading off your screen as the phone fades away into obscurity, left to get lost in the sheets as you give him what he’s been missing all alone, the sweet melody of moan, after moan, after moan falling from your lips, fingers pulling once more at the tresses of his hair.

“Hmm, d’ya think he can hear us, baby?” A nano-second, lips parted from your skin, his eyes flickering to the open window. “Think he’s out there waiting on your doorstep like a loyal hound, while you’re letting me get a taste of heaven?”

You’re close. He can see it, feel it, taste it, each stroke of his tongue greeted with a fresh wave of your sweetness. Both of you are a mess of unintelligible noises, hips rising off the mattress, and thrusting into open palms, sullying yourselves in the paint of pleasure. 

He calls your name softly, whiplash against the intense feeling swelling within you.

“Let me see it,” he’s begging, no shame. Glassy eyed, hungover, pussy drunk, wishing you’d give him the one thing he’s been missing all these weeks without you. “Cum. Go on. Cum for me. Please.”

The chord of tension snaps and at last you’re an uncontrollable mess beneath him. Eyes rolling back, back arching up, thighs shaking with a force of nature, the prettiest cries of his name. He’s there with you, the whole time, tongue, and mouth, and hand coaxing you through the maze of lust that consumes you in your orgasm, guiding you safely to the end.

You don’t calm with ease, still trembling as he places one last chaste kiss against you before he lets his face rest on the warmth of your thigh, smearing the stains you’ve left upon him onto your own skin as he continues bucking into his hand, each thrust more desperate, erratic, pathetic than the last, chasing the fast-approaching end.

Until your hand tugs at his hair and he’s frozen beneath your gaze, mouth hanging open, chest heaving in shallow breaths, hips stuttering as he fails to fully control his urges, the tip of his cock blushing red with angry desire, desperate for release. He’s awaiting your dismissal of his own touch, waiting for you to replace it with yours, remind him of just how well you know his body. Your hand does meet his skin, but not how he expects.

You slap him.

A sting in his cheek in the wake of it, and a rush of blood to his groin, eyes rolling back for a split second. “Hmm, next time hit me harder. Promise I won’t break.”

“How could you do that?” You heave out, no doubt intending your voice to hold more power, but it’s weak, and breathy, and turning him on even more. “Aemond was- He could’ve- Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you tried. Haven’t answered my texts in weeks,” he’s aware he sounds desperate. Because he is. Or is that just his hangover again? “Would think you’d died or something, if I didn’t have to hear your name come out of Aemond’s mouth everyday.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s the one in the wrong.”

A blanket of silence engulfs you both, heavy and uncomfortable over your sweaty bodies. His hand still sits tight around the base of his cock, begging for attention, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Not until he knows you’re okay.

“I’m sorry,” the shape of it is foreign on his tongue, scarcely said and never with a speck of honesty. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. I just- I guess I just thought if you remembered how I could treat you… thought if I could just make you feel good, you’d-” He cuts himself off, words hardly making sense in his own head.

You heave a sigh, smooth your hand down the side of his face that still stings. “You don’t just make me feel good. You make me feel better than anyone else, and that’s the problem. First man to touch me, and now all the others can’t compare.”

Aegon is a fiend for praise, so used to words of disappointment and looks of disgust. But then one day, he dove between a woman’s thighs and heard her calls of pleasure, listened as she praised his efforts, revered his good job, delighted in his skills upon the mattress. It’s no wonder he began to find solace in the pleasures of the flesh, the first and only thing he’s done right in his life. 

“You let others touch you?” A silly thing to get hung up on, yet he can’t let it slip away. The hand around his cock skates forward, stroking slowly before smoothing over the sensitive tip with the palm of his hand.

You nod your head.

“Sometimes. Guys can get touchy at frat parties, but I’m sure you know all about that.” He doesn’t bother to negate it, he knows you know him too well. No doubt Aemond shared every anecdote of Aegon during his short-lived frat days. A hiss slips past his lips as he continues the slow caress of his aching length. You clear your throat. “Stop denying yourself. Just cum, it’s okay.”

Sometimes, he can follow orders.

Especially one like this, that leaves him reaching once more for the sweet relief of release, wave after wave of it rolling down his spine as his hand works himself to completion.

“Can I,” he stutters over a moan, cutting himself off and getting swept away in the rapid currents of reignited lust, each touch more frantic than the last.

You finish the thought for him. “Cum on me, Aegon.”

White, thick, hot. Rope after rope of his spoils spill down onto your naked skin, a painting so beautiful he almost wants to picture it and sell it on as modern art. It’s better than anything Aemond’s ever made with his easel and brush.

Time melts away into nothing, fading to obscurity as he floats on cloud nine, body weightless, mind rested. Tingles down his spine, up his thighs, on his face where you still touch him, thumb smoothing over his cheek.

A giggle pulls his mind back into his body.

“I told you this wouldn’t happen again, and now look at me!” Your tone is softer than earlier, even if your voice has regained its usual energy. “God, I just might be the biggest idiot.”

“Don’t say that. You’re smart,” you shoot a sceptical look his way, wanting to negate him, but he doubles down. “You are. Don’t forget I know your best friend, I hear all the shit you’re achieving on that campus. You’ve got me beat, at least. Couldn’t even make it past my first year before I dropped out.”

“I look like I belong at some conceptualist’s art exposition on tribute pictures.”

“I could give you a real tribute picture,” his eyes are glued to yours, even as he swipes a finger over his cum upon your lower belly and brings it up to his mouth, teasing his tongue with the salty taste. “Just need my phone camera, a nice big cheesy grin from you, and a printer.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I will.”

Throwing a leg off the bed, he tests his stability, hand reaching down to tuck his limp dick back into his trousers and zip the fly up halfway. Despite the dizziness that threatens to cloud his mind, he manages to get his second foot on the ground.

“I’ll leave you to your shower, sweaty,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way over to the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” He could almost coo at you, wide-eyed gaze, legs tangled in floral sheets. You’ve sat up, and don’t seem to care about the way his cum drips down you onto the bed. All you care about is him, even if it's just for a moment, and Aegon has to physically stop himself from stumbling back over and engulfing you with his body once more.

Instead, he leaves you with a shrug and a simple explanation, “you fed me, now let me feed you.”

By the time he’s got eggs cooking on the stove and bread warming in the toaster, the sound of running water fills your apartment. A familiar buzz rings out, leading Aegon over to where his phone lays, buried in the cracks between your couch cushions. The screen lights up.

One missed call - Mother. 

Unlocking at the sight of his face, he swipes up on the screen. It opens onto a chat log. Your chat log. His stomach drops as he scans over the messages, dreading what inebriated-Aegon had gone and texted.

Needyou - 04:47 am

Plase - 04:49 am

Thinik Imgonna K Hole in nnnnn bathroOm - 04:52 am

All three messages are in blue.

Beneath them, your reply lives in a muted grey bubble, yet it somehow has his eyes watering. Maybe he just needs to turn the screen brightness down.

Send me your address. I’ll be there ASAP - 04:53 am.

The pop of the toaster scares him out his own skin. He turns his head only to curse under his breath. Flames engulf the small frying pan, the food within charred black. He gives a gentle call of your name.

“I hope you like your eggs well-done.”

+extra hyde.

so, how are we feeling? do we want more of these two weirdos ( affectionate )?

i stopped doing taglists a while back bc i lowkey always forget about them but @481theralicat dmed me a while ago asking to be tagged if i ever wrote a second part to drummer!aegon and that message was partially what gave me the motivation to finish part 2, so i feel like the least i can do it tag them. i hope you enjoyed it & the wait was worth it <3

[zahri-melitor]

Okay because I am setting my expectations as low as possible in the hopes I get to be pleasantly surprised, here is the history of Black Canary as a solo title at DC:

Black Canary 1991: 4 issue miniseries. Probably best described as 'mediocre'. Dinah discovers Ollie's being an unemployed dropkick who has been stealing/borrowing money from the Sherwood Florist till and not accounting for it; out of her frustration at him she goes and beats up a drug cartel and white supremacists with the help of her new friend Gan Ngyuen, who would be a better boyfriend to Dinah than Ollie is being right now. In conversation with her Grell appearances, but seriously underestimates Dinah's actual skillset.

Black Canary 1993: 12 issue ongoing. Dinah's basically broken up with Ollie for the whole of this, which is completely fine by me, as Ollie uses some of his appearances in this book to accuse Dinah of sleeping with Ray Terrill. Who is 18 and was trying to look after the injured superhero who turned up on his doorstep. Time to go die in a firey helicopter crash, Ollie, you are terrible in the early 90s. Anyway, this is an incredibly uneven run that covers topics like Dinah's backstory, why Ray Terrill develops the biggest puppy crush on Dinah, and also the very first Nightwing-Oracle-Huntress-Black Canary team up. Tragically despite the compelling characterisation going on in this title between the four of them, the story they are in is a white slavery plot, rendering it almost impossible to recommend to people who aren't the sort to read every single appearance of a character.

Black Canary 2007: 4 issue miniseries. This would actually have been a compelling story apart from its intent and outcome. Dinah and Ollie, in the lead up to their wedding, grapple with combining their families and Dinah works with integrating Sin into the US educational system. Unfortunately, Sin is abducted and then Ollie fakes her death and doesn't tell Dinah what he's done, as he makes Connor take her off to one of the Himalayan monasteries various Arrows and companions have spent time at. Sin does not get to attend their wedding, and for some reason Dinah does not tell Ollie it's off even though he just faked Sin's death and lied to her about it.

Black Canary and Zatanna: Bloodspell 2014: Graphic novel. Paul Dini's pet project that he spent the best part of a decade trying to get DC to publish. The only decent Dinah solo on this list, it's not actually a Dinah solo because it's co-starring Zee. Dinah and Zatanna met each other as teens trying to live up to the expectations of their families, then reunite in Vegas after some of Dinah's friends tell her that someone's made them swear a magic oath to take part in a heist, and it's killing them. Hijinks ensue! This is the only title of any of them on this list that's actually full of joy. Please read it.

Black Canary 2015: 12 issue ongoing. 'What if Dinah decided to make Black Canary be the stage name of a musician in a band rather than a superhero?' Does this have any connections to previous Dinah characterisation? Not really, no. Does it sound like the premise of an Elseworlds rather than main continuity, even for n52? Yes. Dinah decides being a superhero is just too much work, so she'll be in a band instead, aside from all those times she needs to stop singing to fight crime in the audience. Contains a time travel plot involving Kurt Lance, aka the worst decision DC has ever made in regards to Dinah's love life, and I'm including Ra's al Ghul and marrying Ollie on that list. I think they made Kurt Lance save the universe but I admit I was hatereading at that point. The final issue has Dinah have her life flash before her eyes while retconning out most of the n52 changes to her characterisation and also suggesting she got pregnant with Ollie's baby at age 53 before dying of a mystery disease at age 69.

EDIT: Reminded of the Teen Book

Black Canary: Ignite 2019: DC teen graphic novel. Written by Meg Cabot, this is one of their teen alternate continuity rewrites set around the awkward period when Dinah was a teen and wanting to be a superhero like her mother, but Dinah Drake was firmly refusing to train her. Contains Larry Lance and is actually set in Gotham! (this is a good thing) On the other hand, maintains the 'was in a band' concept from Black Canary 2015, which personally I would rather stuff into a black hole never to be seen again, but angry teens singing in bands is a genre conceit for a reason. It's cute.

So really. Why would I let myself get my hopes up over Black Canary Volume 5?

[impala-dreamer]

All stories written for @jacklesversebingo 2023-2024 Featuring Jensen Ackles and his classic characters (all stories are posted to Patreon weeks before tumblr/a03) TWENTY FIVE AWESOME STORIES - 115,724 Words All FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE!

Slipping Away

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Short Story

~ In his heart he’s lived a hundred lives, been through hell and back, loved a million souls. The heart is strong but the mind is weak, and in the end, only memory remains as his lives begin to fade.~

Jensen Ackles

954 Words

Bittersweet Angst

The Realization of Intimacy

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story 

~ Every now and then, a quick trip through town becomes more than he expected. ~

1,311 Words

Dean x Reader

NSFWish, Fluff!, Tickling!

Sweet Creature

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

~Bad things happen when you take matters into your own hands and try to prove that love conquers all~

Demon!Dean x OFC Stevie Miller 

3138 Words

NSFW, Danger, Angst, Violence, Blood

You Only Want Me When You're High

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Story From The Boys Universe

~ As the newest and most useless recruit to The Boys, Y/N is tasked with keeping an eye on Soldier Boy while Butcher sorts things out. Annoyed to be given such a ridiculous job, she tries to keep the defrosted supe at arm’s length, but there’s something in the drugs and in his eyes that makes him hard to resist…~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader, Hughie Campbell, Billy Butcher

5,426 Words

NSFW, Sexual Acts, Excessive Drug Use, Just NSFW all around…

The Beat of Your Heart

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

~ Friends become lovers who turn into the darkest evil that one can endure... ~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader; Michael!Dean x F!Reader

8,587 Words

NSFW, Fluff, Cute Banter, Friends To Lovers, There Was Only One Bed!?, All the Sex, Passionate Love, Hope, *record scratch*, Extreme Angst, Violence, NnCn, Torture, Blood, Major Character Death

It’s Fucking Unprofessional

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Story from The Boys Universe

~ While working as a PA for Vought, Y/N has made one promise to herself: to stay the fuck away from Soldier Boy. Some promises are too easily broken…~

Soldier Boy x F!Reader

2,434 Words 

 NSFW. Snark. Cursing. Assholery. Fucking. 

Be My Mistake

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Short Story

~ When Rebekah is asked to write with Jensen on his first solo album, the chemistry extends past the page and bleeds into real life. Both happily married, they tried to fight the spark between them, but some things aren’t so easy to ignore… ~

Jensen Ackles x Rebekah Jordan

Romance, Angst, Infidelity, Sex and Love and Heartache

The Fragile Heart

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Stort Story

~ After returning home from filming a movie in Europe, Jensen fights to control himself and Y/N keep safe. Unfortunately, lust is hard to fight and hunger even more so…~ 

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

NSFW, Vampire!AU, Relationship Angst, Mentions of Past Infidelity, Smut, Blood, Dark Romance, Death

When I Think About You

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

Dean Winchester x F!Reader, Sam, Castiel, Jack

2,037 Words

NSFW, Sexy Comedy, Failed Stripper Routine, Excessive Offkey Singing of a Classic Song, Accidental Indecent Exposure, Naked Dean.

I Ain't Ready To Go

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Short Story

~Some boundaries are hard not to cross...~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

3,426 Words

Blind Faith

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story ~What if the cure was never really a cure? What if the curse was too strong and her love was too weak?~ Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam Winchester.  9,760 Words

Legendary & Momentary

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

~Two strangers meet again; two memories collide. Will things be different this time? Will there be more to their story or just a long overdue kiss goodbye?~ Dean x Reader, Sam, OMC   5,356 Words

Worn Out Leather

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

~ It isn't easy, but you know when it's time to go.~

Dean Winchester x Reader

5,267 Words

Sweet Little Lies

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

~ It’s funny how one little white lie can spiral so out of control that the beginning seems eons ago and the end is nowhere in sight.~

Dean Winchester, OFC Eddie, OMC Leslie, Sam Winchester and others

8,517 Words

Lumière

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

~ Dean rises with the sun and takes some time to appreciate the way the light glides over his lover...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

1,657 Words

Danger In The Mist

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story From Moondoor

~ As the fair Princess Y/N races through the woods, running for her life from the evil monster, Margraw the Horrid, she fears that all is lost. Is there anyone who can save her? Will some brave knight come to her aide?! ~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

2,400 Words

Meet Me At The Beach

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

~ Texting and emails can feel so impersonal. There's nothing quite like exchanging tangible, handwritten letters with someone you love...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader, Sam Winchester

4,025 Words

Temptation & Consequences

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Short Story

~Jensen has been busy all weekend at the convention, leaving little time for fun with his girl. Luckily, Y/N knows how to get his attention... and more...~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

2,176 Words

Cherry Wine

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Tale from the 'My Bloody Valentine' Universe

~Tom left town in a hurry, escaping capture by faking his death. On the run and distraught, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.~

Tom Hanniger x Rose (OFC)

2,453 Words

Save Me

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Short Story

~ Sometimes, when life seems the brightest, shadows creep in. After announcing their engagement to the world, Jensen's fiancé is kidnapped and with the help of a friend, she tries to fight her way back home to him.~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader, Dean Winchester

7,160 Words

Let's Dance

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Story from The Boys Universe

~If there's one thing she knows, it's that she fucking hates Soldier Boy. If there's one thing he knows, it's that he can change her mind.~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader

1,650 Words

Tourniquet

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernatural Story

~Y/N has been by Dean's side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment's peace.~

Staring: Y/N Y/L/N(f), Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Sam Winchester, and cameos by many others. 

21,415 Words, 10 Chapters

Pondering Fate While Ignoring The Obvious

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Ten Inch Hero Story

~Priestly has got it so bad for Tish that he can barely see past the end of her... well, her back end, anyway. He's love sick and forever rejected, constantly stuck inside his own head. When a new girl in town starts messing with him, he quickly loses his cool...~

Boaz Priestly x F!Reader

2,511 Words

Captive Audience

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Story from The Boys Universe

~Y/N gets invited to a party but fails to realize that she's the favor...~

Soldier Boy (Ben) x F!Reader

1,700 Words

Try It On

Tumblr ~ AO3

A Supernaturally Adorable Story

~Y/N and Dean like to spend their days off fooling around in the Bunker, and one particularly foolish day, they stumble into a room, and some items, she's never seen before...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

3,850 Words

[thepinkhippoinhungryhungryhippos]

heyo!! can i ask for a little angst for the bp LIs 😌 scenario isss: mc has a very dangerous job (like a spy or smth) but doesn't say anything abt it. one day, they're sent on a mission that goes bad and they're heavily injured to the point where they go into a short coma. when they wake up, they have to tell their lover the truth. how do the LIs react??

ty!! stay hydrated bestie <33

warnings: guns, injuries/broken limbs, blood violence, hostipals/doctor's office notes: idk why this took me so long, i was STRUGGLING but i do like how it turned out. i only did owl and toast, might write quest and xyx's parts later. sorry about that and the wait, and ty for requesting this amazing prompt and being so patient @gabinggabi have a lovely day hope you enjoy <3

despite it all

a single lightbulb flickered inside a concrete basement. the only sounds present were the near-silent noise of your breathing and steps across the floor. sweat dripped down your forehead as you held your pistol close to your chest. the air was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

your goal was to free a hostage from their holder. the building was surrounded, however you were the only one inside the building. it was truly a solo mission, and a stealth one at that. you would be alright, you thought. you were a professional after all.

keys began to turn in the door. your heart nearly jumped out of your chest, diving behind whatever large object you could find.

unfortunately for you, this particular room had a corner mirror. before you knew it you were pinned to the wall by a surprisingly tough, scrawny man, no older than 30.

he kicked you in the chest, before taking your gun from you. he used it to strike you in the face before aiming it at you, backing you into the wall.

your ribs ached and your body was bruised, cheek already turning red and nose bleeding.

you wracked your brain for something, anything you could do to gain the upper hand. anything to get away, preferably with the hostage. they were the priority here, as soon as they escaped your team could rush into the house and apprehend the criminal.

unfortunately, things were not going so well.

you doubled over as the kidnapper shoved his knee into your stomach, before elbowing you directly on the back of your head.

black patches were beginning to cloud the sides of your vision. your ears were ringing. you fell onto your knees, desperately gripping into the criminals leg in an attempt to do some sort of damage.

your efforts were fruitless however. the criminal proceeded to press his foot down on your arm. you could feel it crack. he pulled back, before kicking you in the side, wringing a pained groan from you. you could taste blood and your head screamed at you.

almost mercifully, he put you out of your misery, whacking you in the head with the pistol once again, finally knocking you out.

black consumed your vision, both a pain and a relief as footsteps faded away, followed by the slamming of a door.

you woke with a start, looking this way and that. panic set in. what happened? did you end up catching the criminal? was the hostage okay? where were you?

it smelled of hand sanitizer and disinfectant. the overhead lights were bright enough to cause a headache. everything in your field of vision was a stark white. you were in a hospital.

on second thought, everything was white, except for your partner on the chair next to your bed.

— nakedtoaster

you blinked as it set in. something went wrong. you were in the hospital, your arm broken, your head aching, and bruises all over. and toasty was there.

you had no idea how long you had been out. god, you hoped it hadn't been that much time. but no matter how long it had been, your boyfriend was there, still; and if their state told you anything, it was that they hadn't left your side since you were checked in.

despite all the circumstances, a smile found it's way to your face.

"dear?" you spoke. or, more correctly, tried to speak. your voice sounded croaky and quiet, like it had been through a grater.

he jolted awake, foggy eyes darting around the room before landing on you.

eyes suddenly clear as day, their mouth hung open.

"Y/N?!" they shouted.

he immediately dove for your hand, holding it in his own and checking your pulse with the other, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"oh, fuck! i should call a nurse," they laughed; a delighted, shocked, lovely laugh.

"toast, i—"

BANG! a nurse comes into the room, drowning out anything you were going to tell them.

after hours of tests and waiting and resting you finally got a moment alone with your partner.

it felt like it had been forever. actually, you had been told it was only a few days that you were out. but hell if that had a baring on how you felt.

speaking of how you felt... well. there was a lot on your mind, to say the least.

you had just woken up from a short coma after a failed rescue mission, all types of injured and wounded. there was no logical way that you could have rescued the victim. your medical bills would be through the roof. but most of all, you didn't know how to even begin to explain this to toasty.

as they say, there's no time like the present. because in the present, he was asking you what's on your mind.

"honey? you alright?" they gently asked again after you failed to respond the first time.

"ah, um. well," you started, throat feeling much better than before.

"i haven't been... entirely honest about my career." you admitted shamefully, refusing to meet their eyes. this wasn't how you wanted them to find out.

he raised his eyebrows, silently prompting you to continue.

"i am — was? — a... vigilante of sorts. it was organized, not just some hobby. i was paid, full time obviously." you took a breath in. you were avoiding what you clearly needed to talk about. you exhaled.

"that's why i wound up here. usually i never get injured like this! this was the first time that a hospital was necessary," you realized every word that left your mouth sounded worse and worse.

"i swear i just, i got careless and—" your breath hitched when you look up to your lover's face.

their eyes were filled to the brim with tears, a few spilling down their cheeks as they inched closer and closer to you, so clearly wanting to embrace you but struggling to do it in a way that wouldn't hurt you.

the sight was enough to break your heart.

you couldn't resist stepping in, leaning your head on his shoulder as you felt sobs begin to wrack their body. you wrapped your free arm around them, holding them as tight as you could.

they went to place their hand in several different spots before resting on the back of your head, pulling you closer. they pressed their lips to the crown of your head in a sweet kiss.

you stood like that, holding each other for a long while before having a seat on the bed.

"i should start from the beginning of the mission that caused, you know," you gestured to yourself, "this."

you began to painfully explain what happened to you, each memory like pulling teeth for the both of you.

once you finished your recollection (after going on several tangents), you braced yourself for the worst. you knew he would never yell or fight, but somehow silence seemed worse. you couldn't help but fret.

"i love you, and i was so so so scared. god, i am so glad you're okay." they breathed, each word dripping with emotion.

"...well, as okay as you can be." he added with an entertained glint in his eye and a huff. it was very like him.

all your worry was for naught.

sure, you would need to talk more about this. it would take time. but it was okay. you were okay.

time had passed, you broke down, but nothing had changed.

you still had each other.

— nightowl

your boyfriend was bouncing his leg anxiously, face resting on his hand as he stares off into space. it was clear he hadn't slept well, if at all, for who knows how long.

something had went horribly wrong, and he was fretting over what he didn't know. things you might not even know. you had to do something. you went to reach your hand out towards him, before realizing you had an IV drip.

"babe?" you managed to call before breaking into a coughing fit. it was as if your throat had dried like paint on a wall.

owl watched, eyes open just as wide as his mouth. not word left him, only a long stretch of uncanny silence.

nurses rushed in, but his silence was the loudest thing in the room.

test after test followed check up after check up before you finally could rest.

rest, and finally see your boyfriend.

thin white sheets lay over your body, arm in a cast and bandages wrapped around several separate injuries.

after the quiet of your waking, you could not be sure how he would react. you knew he loved you no matter what, but you couldn't help but imagine the worst. your mind raced, spiraling and spiraling, until—

the door opened with a click, and just like that nightowl was on top of you, squeezing you so tight you could feel all of your injuries and bruises resurfacing.

"Y/N!" he wailed, hot tears seeping into your robe.

"i, i was so worried," he let out between sobs.

you pat his back as well as you could before groaning out a small "my ribs..."

he immediately jumped back, cupping your face and turning it this way and that to make sure no bruises were there before pressing an overeager kiss to your lips. your teeth clashed together, before breaking apart into laughter.

"you're okay," he gasped.

"i'm so relieved." he teared up again, taking your (not broken) hand in his.

you brought it to your lips, giving the back of his hand a gentle kiss. his mushy smile grew, before immediately forming a frown.

"and i'm so mad at you! why didn't you tell me something was wrong? that you were in danger?" he half-pleaded, half lectured, voice a perfect combination of sternness and desperation.

now your eyes were teary, squeezing his hand.

"i..." you started, struggling to find the words.

owl gave an encouraging hand squeeze back.

you began an explanation, starting with your real job and going through how you got injured. owl nodded along, intertwining your fingers part way through.

by the end he was crying again.

"why... why didn't you tell me?" he asked. he sounded more tired and understanding than anything else.

"i didn't want you to worry." you mumbled, realizing how silly you sounded. and boy, did he make sure you knew it as he lectured you.

you pulled him down to the bed, a grin on your face. he was still himself. you kissed his cheek, giggling as he stopped talking and turned pink.

"i love you. thank you for worrying about me and... for being here." you smiled, stroking his hand with your thumb.

"of course i was here!" he exclaimed, as if you just thanked him for breathing.

"i love you more." he said, finally relaxing into your touch.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

spent your life bracing for the crash land (everything is alright)

prompt: accidentally hurt by friend

whumpee: napoleon solo, illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi!! this one's for an anon who requested illya accidentally hurting one of his teammates. i hope you like it, it's my first time hurting napoleon lol. it's pre-ship ish and i think that's all you need to know! (title from dreams come true by brandon flowers)

He hadn’t been expecting the tackle. Not that anyone is ever particularly expecting to get tackled. But he’d just been minding his own business, cracking a safe, easy job, really, almost no security to the thing, and then bang. Literally and metaphorically. 

A gunshot and a body slamming into him. The air knocked out of his lungs. Impact with the ground, trying to get his hands under him. His wrist pinned. Snap. Sensation and sound. Hot pain shooting from his fingertips through his elbow. 

Movement on top of him. A second bang. Echoing in the small room. Ears already ringing, the bang only making it worse. 

Silence. The weight of Illya pressing down on him, his wrist trapped between his arm and the ground. Burning. 

Illya moves, rolls off of him. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he lies. He gets to his feet, dimly registers the body on the floor, the blood spreading across the concrete. He needs to move. Get back to work. 

Illya stands guard again, gun trained on the door. Napoleon resumes his job. They have to get these documents. 

His wrist is broken, he reflects as he works. He’d be able to tell just by the way it looks, if for some reason the burning pain wasn’t enough. Every slight movement sends a shockwave through his hand and up to his elbow. And he’s making a lot of slight movements. 

By the time he gets the safe opened, he almost can’t see straight for the pain. He grabs items blindly, gathering everything together in a jumble - they can sort through it later. He shovels the mess into a briefcase, barely stopping himself from crying out when his wrist brushes the handle. 

He snaps the briefcase closed and then they’re off. Napoleon keeps his left hand close to his body, protected. His right hand clutches the briefcase handle so tightly his knuckles are going white. They’re almost out. 

A shout. Illya, in front of him, stops, turns around, and grabs Napoleon by his left wrist, tugging him around a corner. 

The pain that this causes is the worst yet, worse than the initial impact, than all of the micromovements of safecracking put together. He gasps, would make a louder noise, but he can’t. He clamps his mouth shut and tries to breathe through it. 

They stay behind the corner for a moment or two. Footsteps pass. No one appears in front of them. They’re safe.

Illya lets out a soft breath, then steps back out into the hallway. Napoleon takes a deep breath and follows. 

They make it outside, almost to the car. And then there’s a burst of gunfire behind them and Illya - in any other situation Napoleon would find this endearing, the way Illya keeps grabbing hold of him. Now, though. He can’t bite back a cry of pain this time, and he wrenches his wrecked wrist out of Illya’s grasp. 

They’re both running for the car and Napoleon can’t see straight anymore but he sees Illya stumble and Napoleon almost stops in case he falls but then he regains his balance and then they’re at the car and he barely even registers the pain as he wrenches the passenger door open. 

Illya floors it. The gunfire recedes. The car is full of silence, apart from their panting breaths. 

Napoleon cradles his broken wrist to his chest and looks out the window. The adrenaline is fading. The pain isn’t. He thinks to distract himself on the long, quiet drycleaning run. He imagines a nice drink. Several, maybe. Until the pain is dulled. He imagines a cast, a splint, a brace, whatever they decide to give him. Something limiting. 

There’s a certain appeal in that, he has to admit. In not being able to do this job for a little while. Not that he doesn’t like it - actually, he likes working for UNCLE very much. The CIA though? That he can do without. And if his wrist is broken…

Well. He’s not going to complain about a bit of time off. 

They’re almost back to the safehouse. Napoleon shuts his eyes against a particularly harsh pulse of pain. 

And then they go over a bump, and he’d moved his wrist just a bit, and fuck, that hurts. He hisses in pain and for the first time Illya actually looks at him. 

“What is wrong?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Napoleon says breezily, as Illya steers the car into an abandoned lot. They climb out, Napoleon doing everything with his right hand, slowly but not clumsily. The safehouse is just a few blocks away. 

The walk is quiet. Illya seems…distant. Not that he’s usually a chatterbox or anything, but. This feels different. Even through the haze of pain Napoleon can tell that something isn’t quite right. 

He waits, politely, until they’re inside. Until he’s gone to his room and changed. Until he’s wrapped his wrist in bandages to keep it steady. Until he’s taken a couple of painkillers. Until he’s had the first and second of those aforementioned nice drinks. Until the pain dulls into something still unpleasant but very much tolerable. 

He meets Illya in the kitchen. He’s leaning his elbows on the counter and staring at nothing. 

“Hey,” Napoleon says softly, putting his right hand on Illya’s shoulder. 

Illya turns around. He looks upset. And then he looks at Napoleon’s wrist. 

He grabs it again, gentler this time. Napoleon winces anyway. 

“What…?”

He shrugs, carefully extricates his hand. “Broken. Landed on it funny, I suppose.”

Illya stares at him. At his bandaged wrist. Blinks. “I…” he says, and then stops. Napoleon waits for him to say something else. 

Instead, Illya steps past him, strides down the short hallway to his bedroom, and slams the door. 

--

Napoleon, for several seconds, just stares after him. “What the hell?” he mumbles to himself. What was that all about?

His curiosity and his concern are far stronger than his desire to respect his partner’s personal space. And so, after a moment, he walks down the hall to Illya’s room. The door isn’t even locked - Illya therefore must not be opposed to Napoleon’s presence. (Not that locking it would do much good as far as Napoleon’s skill set is concerned - at least, on a normal day where he hasn’t just broken his wrist). 

He opens the door and steps in. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting. 

It isn’t this, though. It isn’t Illya sitting with his back pressed to the corner of the wall with his face to his knees and his fingers tangled into his hair so tightly it looks painful. 

Napoleon is across the room in no time, dropping to his knees beside his partner. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, feeling his heart beating faster than usual. This - this isn’t normal by any stretch of the word. Something must be really wrong. 

Illya doesn’t look up at him. His hands are shaking against his head. 

They’re all Napoleon can focus on. His hands. And so he reaches out his good hand and carefully, slowly, disentangles one of Illya’s hands from his hair. He holds onto it, lightly, letting Illya choose whether to pull away. 

He doesn’t, and so Napoleon very gingerly transfers Illya’s hand from his right to his left, so that he can remove Illya’s other hand from his head. 

The second Illya’s hand makes contact with the bandages on Napoleon’s wrist, though, he pulls away, curls further into himself. 

“Sorry,” Napoleon whispers. “Didn't mean to startle you.” He’s pretty sure there’s something else going on, but he has no idea what. No idea how to help. 

Illya offers no explanation himself. “Are you hurt?” Napoleon asks. He hopes not. He doesn’t know whether he can do stitches with only one hand. 

At this, Illya’s head snaps up. He looks about ready to cry, and something in Napoleon’s chest feels wound up so tightly it’s painful. 

“I hurt you,” he says. His voice is low and angry but not at Napoleon. 

“Well, yeah, but you didn’t mean to. You were just moving me along.”

Illya stares at him. “I hurt you,” he repeats. “I - you said you landed on it. I did this. And I - I should have kept better watch. Should not have needed to tackle you.”

It’s Napoleon’s turn to stare. “Peril,” he starts. “Illya. You tackled me so I wouldn’t get shot. Yes, I landed funny on my wrist, and yes, it wouldn’t be broken if you hadn’t tackled me, but I also might not, you know, be alive.”

Illya shakes his head. “I should have reacted faster. Shot him before he shot at you.”

“That doesn’t matter. You stopped him from shooting me. I don’t care how.”

Illya looks at him like he’s speaking gibberish. “I hurt you. And then I hurt you again. This is my fault and I’m - I'm sorry.”

He buries his face back in his knees and takes a shuddering breath. Napoleon looks at him. Tries to figure out what to say. 

In a manner of speaking, yes, this is Illya’s fault. But only in an extremely technical sense. Because sure, Illya had tackled him to the ground and Napoleon had gotten his wrist trapped and broken. And sure, he’d grabbed Napoleon by that very same wrist a couple of times and yeah, that had hurt like a sonofabitch, but. 

He’d done these things to protect Napoleon. To stop him from getting shot. To pull him out of danger, towards safety. Napoleon will gladly take this broken wrist in exchange for his safety. Hell, in exchange for knowing that Illya cares about him enough to get him out of harm’s way. 

“You were protecting me.”

He waits a beat. Illya looks up, ever so slightly. 

“Yes, you hurt me. But you didn’t mean to, and you stopped me from getting much more badly hurt.”

Illya looks up a little more. There’s a single tear streaking ever so slowly down his cheek. Napoleon is filled with the almost insurmountable urge to reach out and brush it away. 

He resists, somehow. Takes a breath in the silence. 

“I thought -” Illya begins, then stops. “You are not angry?” He looks like he can’t quite believe this. Like he’s been waiting for this - waiting for the moment when he has done something that is going to tear everything apart. 

Napoleon thinks that maybe he understands. He knows a thing or two about anger and about getting left behind. And he also knows that he would never do anything like that to Illya. And so he shakes his head, puts as much feeling, as much trust and affection into the words as he possibly can. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Of course I’m not angry.”

“But…”

“Listen. Yes, it hurts. But it’s manageable. We’ll go back to London and I’ll get a cast or a splint or whatever they decide and I’ll get some nice painkillers and then I’ll enjoy some light duty for a couple weeks. Maybe I’ll study up on my chess.” He offers up a grin, a slight nudge of the shoulder, a signal that nothing at all has changed.

“I’m sorry,” Illya says again, but it’s different this time. A sort of acknowledgement. 

“I accept your apology,” Napoleon replies, keeping his tone light but sincere. Maybe Illya needs this, he thinks. Needs to be forgiven. He can do that. 

With this, Napoleon shoves himself to his feet with his good hand, which he then extends back down towards Illya. 

“Come on,” he offers. “Our dinner awaits, but I’m gonna need an extra hand in the kitchen.”

For half a second, he’s afraid Illya won’t take it. That he’s going to keep sitting here in the corner blaming himself for stopping Napoleon from getting shot. 

And then Illya reaches up and grabs Napoleon’s hand, gently, not actually using him to pull himself up at all, and he gets to his feet.

“Okay,” he says, and he doesn’t quite let go of Napoleon’s hand. “What are we making?”

thank you for reading!!! i hope this was alright, i've never written napoleon quite like this before so i'm hoping he read ok. also sorry i was awol for a hot minute, midterms. now i'm done tho and hopefully will finish out the card this month! love u guys <3

[atoasttotheendoftheworld]

TW: implicit cheating / vague depiction of consensual sex / angst

There's a justification all the time. Or rather, an excuse. At first it was solid enough to never allow a rebuttal without being, inevitably, laughable. For ridiculous it would have seemed, the first time, if he had pointed out that neither of them was sufficiently drunk to not even realize that the clothes were sliding across the floor and the mattress was squeaking beneath their bodies' weight. And it would have seemed even more foolish to admit the following day that he remembered vividly the warmth of skin underneath his fingertips or the flavor of nicotine over his tongue. So he simply kept quiet. Accepted that mild excuse. They were drunk. And that day, perhaps, deep down, they were. That day alone, though. Three months later, there was no alcohol. The nervousness of the work week to drain away, somehow. That was, some days later. And, maybe, then too, it could have really been so. On the third and fourth time, the excuses were already wearing down any scant credibility they might have had. Then, again and again. And, eventually, they became hollow words in between a hello and a bye. Today who knows what will be the meaningless sentence to justify why, for the umpteenth time, the bed is creaking beneath them. By now, then, he no longer knows for whom the vague excuse is even for. For him? For them? Or for someone awaiting, somewhere, in a house where, he knows, a thousand other excuses hover? He cannot recall what the name is, of the woman who waits in the living room or the kitchen, or possibly even in the bedroom already. He knows, though, that each time it's always work's blame if her partner returns late. Late than usual. Or early in the morning. He doesn't know whether she even cares, if she suspects or quarrels about it from time to time. Still, who cares. In the end, he always comes back to her. Never stays. Never.

« Idiot...don't just sti-ah! »

As he never calls him. Never a name. Insults. Even now, through gritted teeth. He bites the pillow and allows no sound to escape his lips. Doesn't even look at him. He bury the face among ruffled sheets, pillow cover, strands of hair like corn spikes into the whiteness of skin and blankets. Peaks of rosy flushed over the tips of his ears, the only hint of arousal to remark that of his arched spine and hips rising higher and higher. Yet it's the ocean in his eyes he'd want to see blurred, shiny, darkening with each gasping breath.

« Turn around »

He tries, each and every time. Never pleading, yet never pushing. He asks, in a broken breath between moans swallowed away. It would annoy him to hear them, he knows. And every time he elicits the same muted answer. A huff that sounds a bitter giggle muffled into the pillow. Hips deciding to move, back and forth, faster and rougher. Not waiting to be joined in a dance that turns a solo. And the hands betray him, gripping that rosy skin. Leaving marks that will fade in a few minutes or hours at most. Any sound stings his throat, wounding the vocal cords like thorns that he swallows in raucous inhales. And they fall silent, both. All the time. No words, no sound too loud. No vocalization of any nature, anymore. Nothing but labored breaths and the moist snap of skin on skin. The only noises left hovering, until the end. Brusque thrusts. Muted moans. No more than that. Merely an outburst for its own sake. Like masturbating. Just worse. And every time, sliding away, they regain their breath. Three seconds and never more. On different sides of the bed. He can stare only at his back, for at least five more minutes before seeing it hoisted up so swiftly that it seems nothing ever happened. He never asks where the clothes are. Never drops them on the side of the bed where he lies, afterward, anyway. All is silent. All the time. From first to last blouse button. Footsteps are all that make noise. The eyes don't glance at him, not even afterwards.

« Oi, cook... »

He dares, more and more recently, before seeing that blond mop vanish beyond the doorframe. Clearing his throat, he indulges in noticing the shoulders stiffening under the wrinkled shirt.

« Today...what bullshit you justify yourself with? »

Sharp words scratch his throat, though they must feel like blades to that stiff back petrifying there, in the doorway, too. The head bows a bit, a single hint of something that's never clear what it is. In the voice no clue, never.

« Work stresses me out, » so apathetic, so flatly hollow, « and I've got no time to hit the gym »

It would be laughable. Were it not that he can't. He merely bears a facade, instinctively covering his face in a sneer that is pointless to display at a back that won't turn around.

« Am I a gym membership now? »

He'd laugh, if he could. Instead it slips only a raucous cough. The cook's shoulders move away, beyond the door. Hands attempting to comb blond hair too disheveled are the last thing he sees. And he doesn't have time for an acidic remark that is left to corrode his tongue, at the echo of the rumble from the abruptly closed front door. So has this become, then, the new excuse? A gymnasium? What a ridiculously feeble excuse, for being the thirty-sixth.

[wthisw]

Plot Holes

I horde too many clothes They fill every chest & drawer Of a home that I don't own Every workday's buttoned down Each end's rests left still pressed Hung in an alter to Sunday dress What if I force both to fit? I'll wear away my loneliness

Swollen wardrobes store dual lives Only one of which steps outside

I sway alone without memories Of who you are or I used to be Waltz with plot holes & fall swiftly Twist my ankle, ice with whiskey Pick up my skirts, tip into the pit Meet me down in Tartarus Maybe if I turn to face this Plot holes cave in

Cold coals & profuse poetry be my lonely company Candles promise me concessions Rafters cackle at my questions I do not eat, I do not keep The garden laid out front In my boudoir I wain of want Lie back a lush covered in dust Condemned to my cabin of consciousness The cracks in my mirror cannot conceal The badged Blackbird's bad luck

I sway alone solo with my score of curio antiquities Pluck the pen from my corpse & compose your histories Pick up my skirts, tip into the pit Meet me down in Tartarus Maybe where query won't exist Plot holes cave in

Eyes mulled over, coughing up cork in haste Swathed in someone else Who won't reach past my waist Truth be known I size thirteen Lables babble trinities Pick at truths til holes are seen I'll lap up proofs til clues leave me be I sway alone! Without memories Of who you are or I used to be Waltz with plot holes & fall swiftly Twist my ankle, ice with whiskey

Apollo's jumped chariot out of sheer embarrassment Constellations tumble like lead My moon's a tumbler turned on it's head She shines on my lips akin to epiphany Choking me slow between twilight's knees

Pick up my skirts, tip into the pit Meet me down down down in Tartarus Where under the weight of temptation! Plot holes cave Like a stack of bricks with mortar omitted I quake at the stakes of my lack of foundations Swallow this house Sink it all down! Into the mouth of Magdalene She knows her own name but not faces I know my own home but not this place

It's

Broken windows Rotten floors! Obstinate hinges Open drawers! Knitted, fraying Entryway mazes the Beauty that babbled away from my memories Keep asking questions Answer me, dammit! Let me understand Maybe my identities only read vertically Trip & fall for continuity Of the woman who became of me I long for you, dawn's truth, to bury she But there's no grief where there lies no peace!

Forget me not! labor's lover left me fraught Such haste ever chase after old wanton loss! Food for thought left stomachs starved Paper tastes ever addled, spat ink spells out dabbles So clear to me like charcoal on chalkboard Who is this woman hung in my wardrobe? With gowns sewn from scorn Her girdled throat swore! Lifelines to nevermore Fallen to her knees to grieve garments never worn Her gilded fingers cling to Devil Palm's Apollo But she's a fools gold widow with no stone to show for I found cold vows between the floorboards Engraved to 'other half's' But who the fuck is that?!

I sway alone without memories Who let moth holes eat our love story? Shot of sorrow, chase with dissonance Disregard heartbreak, dance in ignorance Picked up our skirts, tip into damnation The long way down she's beckoning "Half's whole, jump in..."

Final speck of loyalty Hung on an apostrophe O, don't you turn away from me! Sweet duet of lost miseries You forgot your damn'd Eurydice! Alone I shriek obscenities!! So close at once so out of reach You never did belong to me...

Entwined in lace at false alters Tell me my name you gardener Show me your face in Tartarus Maybe if you turn to face me Forget me knots be unwoven

Waltzed with my woes awoke so cold Alone on old floors of our home I don't own Hidden in a chest Tucked beneath the bed I found twin wedding gowns One silken white, one satin red Which one was worn? And which Did you run away with?

[thewarlocksdream]

A Warlock's First Performance (TOA 2024 Day Two!)

*As the final day of Performances for the Tournament of Ages had finally been upon him, Lord Flarevein waited nervously behind the curtains as the announcer announced Lord Flarevein up to the stage. Flarevein was feeling some nervousness as he quickly stepped up onto the stage, Helmoth and Mekgorath taking their positions on the stage immediately* "Good evening TOA! Are you ready for another great performance?!" *He would shout out to them with a smile* *The audience would cheer and clap before Flarevein nodded to the stagehands and his musicians*

Already Over By Red:

*Would smile at the audience as he nodded to the stagehands. A softer metal-like song would begin to play as Flarevein had his eyes closed as he swayed his head to the music. Mekgorath and Helmoth would play on queue as their master began to sing putting emotion into each word as Flarevein started to dance* "You never go." "You're always here…("suffocating me")" "Under my skin." "I cannot run away." "Fadingggg…" "Slowlyyyyyy…." *Flarevein would take the opportunity to begin dancing as he joyfully started to sing the chorus* "I'd give it all to you!" " Letting go of me!" " Reaching as I fall!" "I know it's already over now!" " Nothing left to lose!" "Loving you again!" "I know it's already over, already over now!" *As the song slowed down, Flarevein would stop dancing for the time being for the next set of verses* "My best defense, (best defense)" " Running from you…cost me everything! (cost me everything) "I can't resist, take all you want from me." "Breakinggg…." "Slowlyyyyyy!" *Flarevein would quickly pick up the pace and started to dance once more to the song as he sang* "I'd give it all to you!" "Letting go of me!" "Reaching as I fall!" "I know it's already over now!" "Nothing left to lose!" "Loving you again!" "I know it's already over…." "Already over now!"

*Flarevein would reach out his arm and hand to the audience as he sang. Smiling at them all.* "You're all I'm reaching for!" "It's already over!" "All I'm reaching for!!" "It's already over now!" *As he paused in his singing, the guitars, bass, and drums would silence briefly. Staring down at the floor before slowly raising his head and his left hand into the air, as soft guitar rifts played as Flarevein sang much more softly this time.* "I'd give it all to you…" "I offer up my soul…." "It's already over…" "Already over now!" *The song picked back up its energy as Flarevein began to dance once more and yelled out to the audience* "Give it all to you!" "Letting go of me!" "Reaching as I fall!" "I know it's already over now!"

"Nothing left to lose!" "Loving you again! "I know it's already over nowwwww!" "It's already over nowwwwww!" "I know it's already over..." "Already over now!!!!" *As the song faded to black a soft piano melody could be heard playing before the song completely ended. Lord Flarevein smiled at the audience and took his bow to the audience.*

White Rabbit by Egypt Central:

*As Flarevein got ready for his second song of the evening, he would smile at the audience and speak out* "I think it's time to sing a song about a little White Rabbit!" *Flarevein quickly nods to the stagehand to play the new song after taking a moment for himself. Smiling at the audience. Mekgorath would start a small guitar solo as Flarevein started to sing, Helmoth joining in after the first part.* "Your magic white rabbit!" "Has left it's writing on the wall!" "We follow like Alice" "And just keep diving down the….HOLLEEEEEEE!" *The song would kick up the beat as the warlock would start dancing and begin the first verse of the song* *Shaking his head no during the first verse* "You can't fix your broken promise!" "Our ties have come undone!" " I will not be used to be battered and abused!" "It's the reason why I choose to cut my losses!" "Your lies fool no one!" "Your magic white rabbit!" "Your white room straight jacket!"

"Your magic white rabbit!" "Has left it's writing on the wall!" "We follow like Alice!" "And just keep diving down the hole!" /s We're falling and we're losing control! "Your pulling us and dragging us down this dead end road!"

" We follow like Alice!" "And just keep diving down the hole!"

"You can't offer your poison to me!" *Would shake his head no again as he continued to sing* " In your kingdom of filth!" "White Rabbit!" "Straight jacket!"

"Your magic white rabbit!" "Has left it's writing on the wall!" "We follow like Alice!" "And just keep diving down the hole!" "We're falling and we're losing control!" "Your pulling us and dragging us down this dead end road!" "We follow like Alice!" "And just keep diving down the hole!"

*Flarevein would walk up to the front of the stage, and crouched as he pointed towards the audience as he sang.* "I won't be pushed aside!" "I will be heard!"

"I will get what I want!" " What I deserve!!!!"

"I won't be pushed aside!" "I will be heard!" " I will get what I want!" "What I deserve!" *Flarevein would quickly stand back up onto his feet and sang as he backed himself up back to the center of the stage. * "We're falling and we're losing control!" "Your pulling us and dragging us down this dead end road!" *He would start dancing once again on the stage, singing his heart out* "Your magic white rabbit!" "Has left it's writing on the wall!" "We follow like Alice!" "And just keep diving down the hole!" "We're falling and we're losing control!" "Your pulling us and dragging us down this dead end road!"

"Your magic white rabbit!" "Has left it's writing on the wall!" "We follow like Alice!" "And just keep diving down the hole!" *Giving one final yell to bring the song to a conclusion* "Diving down the hole!" *The song concluded and Flarevein smiled at the crowd as he jumped into the air and cheered at the audience and took his bow once again*

Last Man Standing By Hammerfall:

*Flarevein smiled and looked to Mekgorath and nodded his head to the stage hand to start the music. Grinning as Mekgorath would start playing his guitar and Helmoth on the drums. Mekgorath this time would join in on vocals.* (Mekgorath and Flarevein):(I!) "IIII…am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(The one) Who lost control! (Mekgorath and Flarevein):(Control) But in the end I'd be the…" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing!"

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(I) I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(The one) Who sold his soul!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(His soul) Forever gone to be the…." (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing…TALLLLL!" *Flarevein would pause in his dancing as the song took on a more slower pace. Smiling at the audience as he began to walk back and forth on the stage as he sang.* "Glorious…." "Noble in my mind." "Everything a fight to win." "Taking all and giving." "Whatever my pride would let me." "Not backing down, not giving innnnn…." *Flarevein would shake his head no as he sang.* "I wouldn't lose, I couldn't!"

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(I) I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(The one) Who lost control!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(Control) But in the end I'd be the…" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing!!"

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (I) I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(The one) Who sold his soul!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (His soul) Forever gone to be the…." (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing……tallllll!"

*Flarevein would pause in his dancing once again as the song took on that slower pace. Smiling and walking back and forth on the stage as he sang.* "I walk alone!" "With my head held high! "Never felt that I belonged!"

"Stand my ground at all costs!" "Running through life with blindfolds!" "Just for the right - right to be wrong!" "Nothing would rule my world but…." /dance

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (I)I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (The one) Who lost control!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (Control) But in the end I'd be the…." (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing!"

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(I)I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(The one) Who sold his soul!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(His soul) Forever gone to be the…" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing…..tallllll!!"

*Mekgorath would immediately kick into a heavy guitar solo riff as Flarevein headbanged. The demon sneered at the crowd as his fingers worked over the strings.*

"Nothing would rule my world but~~"

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (I) I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (The one) Who lost control!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (Control) But in the end I'd be the…." (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing!"

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): " (I)I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(The one) Who sold his soul…" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(His soul) Forever gone to be the…." (Mekgorath and Flarevein): " Last Man Standing…"

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(I)I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(The one) Who lost control!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(Control) But in the end I'd be the…" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing!"

(Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(I)I am the one!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(The one) Who sold his soul!" (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "(His soul) Forever gone to be the…." (Mekgorath and Flarevein): "Last Man Standing….talllllll…."

"Seeing clearer what I've done!" "I'd refuse to let things go!" "I could never once admit I'm wrong!" "And what do I have to show?"

"Seeing clearer what's at stake!" "And the things I have to change!" "I just hope I can, it's not too late!" "To get a chance to end this pain!!" *The song would come to its finale, as Flarevein came to a stop. Smiling at the crowd and blowing a kiss to them. He would take a few moments to set up the final song of the evening*

My Heart Will Go On By Dan Vasc (Cover Song):

*Flarevein would mischievously smirk as he began to play the beginning song of My Heart Would Go on using a small flute for a few minutes letting the audience get a feel for the song.* (Player used Musician for this part with the midi file for 20 seconds) *He would then stop playing suddenly and quickly chucked the flute to the side as carefully as he could before nodding to the stage hand and allowing the song to begin with a guitar solo done by Mekgorath. Flarevein would lightly bob his head before starting to sing and dance, and Helmoth would be seen drumming behind the pair.* "Every night in my dreams!" "I see you, I feel you!" "That is how I know you go on!" "Far across the distance!"

"Near, far, wherever you are!" "I believe that the heart does go on!" "Once more, you open the door!" "And you're here in my heart!" "And my heart will go on and onnnnnnnnn!"

*Mekgorath would do a brief guitar riff before Flarevein would kick up the next part of the song.* "Love can touch us one time!" "And last for a lifetime!" "And never let go 'til we're gone!" "Love was when I loved you!" "One true time I'd hold to!" "In my life, we'll always go onnnnnnnnnnnn!"

"Near, far, wherever you are!" "I believe that the heart does go on!" "Once more, you open the door!" "And you're here in my heart! "And my heart will go on and onnnnnnn!"

*Mekgorath would kick up another longer guitar solo riff, as Helmoth practically bashed his drums along with the other demon. Flarevein continued to dance and headbang until the next part of the song.*

(Flarevein): "Helmoth on the Drums everyone!" *The guitar solo would slow down as Flarevein would be seen raising a hand up into the air slowly as he sang his heart out to the audience.* "Youuuuuu're hereeee, there's nothing I fearrrrr!" "Andddd I know that my heart will go onnnnn! *Flarevein would begin to dance once more as the pace of the drums and guitar riffs would rush towards the final conclusion of the song* "We'll stay forever this way!" "You are safe in my heart!" "And my heart will go on and onnnnnnnnnn!"

*The Loud ruckus of the crowd as the fireworks and displays went off at the end of the song. Lord Flarevein tiredly smiled as he quickly took his first bow and cheered at the crowd. Both of his demons would do the same. Flarevein would quickly shout to the crowd as he took his final bow to them all* "THANK YOU TOA! HAVE A GREAT EVENING!"

[karolsai]

Drake - Take Care ft. Rihanna

Flo Rida - Good Feeling

Katy Perry - Wide Awake

Kelly Clarkson - Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You)

Ellie Goulding - Lights

Kings of Leon - Use Somebody

OneRepublic - Counting Stars

OneRepublic - All The Right Moves

The Killers - Mr. Brightside

Keane - Somewhere Only We Know

David Guetta - She Wolf (Falling to Pieces) ft. Sia

David Guetta - Titanium ft. Sia

Swedish House Mafia ft. John Martin - Don't You Worry Child

Avicii - Levels

Avicii - Wake Me Up

Calvin Harris - Feel So Close

Calvin Harris - I Need Your Love

Jay Sean - Down ft. Lil Wayne

Flo Rida - Club Can't Handle Me ft. David Guetta

Nelly - Just A Dream

Owl City - Fireflies

The Script - Breakeven

Iyaz - Replay

Usher - DJ Got Us Fallin' In Love

Alicia Keys - Empire State Of Mind Solo

B.o.B - Nothin' On You ft. Bruno Mars

B.o.B - Airplanes ft. Hayley Williams

Taio Cruz - Break Your Heart

Eminem - Love The Way You Lie ft. Rihanna

Eminem - Like Toy Soldiers

Rihanna - We Found Love ft. Calvin Harris

Rihanna - Man Down

Beyoncé - Best Thing I Never Had

Beyoncé - Crazy In Love ft. JAY Z

Beyoncé - Sweet Dreams

Adele - Rolling in the Deep

Adele - Set Fire To The Rain (Live at The Royal Albert Hall)

Usher - OMG ft. will.i.am

Nelly Furtado - Say It Right

Lady Antebellum - Need You Now

Leona Lewis - Bleeding Love

Alicia Keys - No One

Alicia Keys - Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart

Keane - Everybody's Changing (Alternate Version)

The Killers - Read My Mind

Radiohead - No Surprises

Green Day - 21 Guns

Razorlight - Wire To Wire

White Lies - Farewell To The Fairground

The XX - Intro (Long Version)

Chase & Status - End Credits

Robyn with Kleerup - With Every Heartbeat

Parra for Cuva ft. Anna Naklab - Wicked Games

Ne-Yo - So Sick

Amelia Lily - You Bring Me Joy

Daniel Merriweather - Red

Warrior - Listen to the Beethoven

Moby - Go

Massive Attack - Unfinished Sympathy

Massive Attack - Teardrop

Lily Allen - Somewhere Only We Know

Marlon Roudette - New Age

Mr. Probz - Waves

K-Maro - Femme Like You

Anna K. - Vecirek za koncem

John Newman - Love Me Again

Mariah Carey - I'll Be There

Ed Sheeran - I See Fire

Capital Cities - Safe And Sound

Tinchy Stryder - Number 1 ft. N-Dubz

Calvin Harris - Summer

Lil Wayne - Mirror ft. Bruno Mars

P!nk - Dear Mr. President

Sharon Van Etten - Our Love

Neil Cowley Trio - Sparkling

Coldplay - Magic

Bat For Lashes - Daniel

Agnes Obel - Dorian

Radio Citizen - El Cielo ft. Bajka

Marlon Roudette - When The Beat Drops Out

Within Temptation - Edge of the World

Blue Foundation - Bonfires

Myslovitz - Sound Of Solitude

The Strokes - Someday

Band of Horses - The Funeral

Beirut - Santa Fe

Bonobo - Kiara

The Naked And Famous - Young Blood

COCO MBASSI - Iwiye

Ballaké Sissoko - Maimouna

Ibeyi - River

Matt Monro - Yesterday

Ambulance LTD - Sugar Pill

Alt-J - Something Good

PUKAEA - 3D meditation

Alphabeat - Fascination

Aygo - Firestone (Gliwil Remix)

Years & Years - King

Calvin Harris - Pray to God

Anna Naklab feat. Alle Farben & YouNotUs - Supergirl

Tove Lo - Habits (Stay High)

Felix Jaehn - Ain't Nobody (Loves Me Better)

Robin Schulz - Headlights [feat. Ilsey]

Birdy - People Help The People

Regina Spektor - Laughing With

[tshofnerwords]

This year has been one of sifting through the pieces of my broken heart.

A promised forever discarded like a candy wrapper not quite hitting the can, but left to blow alone through vacant streets of cold breezes from the past

I erected barriers of wood, a simple white picket fence, to keep most people out of the destruction zone, but welcoming to a few to hold light for me.

But as I have tenderly held each of these pieces, tracing the ragged edges, I see that these breaks are not new

There are traces of earlier breaks that never completely healed, weaker in the storms of an unpredictable and conditional love,

A love used as bait to get needs met, to reel in the trusting inner child only to toss her aside when she got lost in the eddy’s of her anger

The first breaks predate first memory, first words, first light. The child unloved, alone, holding self and rocking gently in rivers of unmet need.

The first broken heart of a mother’s love absent, withheld, with no lap, no smiles, no kisses, no hugs, no pretty little girl with curls.

Those fragile shards were broken further with the betrayal of innocence when the older boy took the younger girl’s body as his own possession

Love to horror, love to pain, love to loss, love - it must not be a good thing to the broken heart’s loosely attached mind

Patterns form, trust has a different meaning, one of vigilance, of seeing, of feeling, of knowing others before they can utter words of false love

Then more betrayal, the father now sexually obsessed with the broken heart’s newly blooming womanhood.

Darkness. Deadness. Holding on for a baby sister, giving her love so that her heart might thrive.

And then a high school hero with a heart big enough to hold the world, or least this small broken one that I lived in

Made true promises, held out for more than sex, wanted depth, and got in

Pieces of my soul started coming home again out of the darkness. But healing brought a new person out of the darkness with it.

With strong legs under me, I needed to try more of this life on, find more of me, leaving my dear hero behind

This last love promised forever, taunted my inner child with words of security that she’d never had, but they were lies

Six years of untrue promises, anxious clinging, opened the gaping jaws of darkness again

So I lit my small candle, and picked up the pieces one at a time

And cried

Mourning for what never was and never would be

Gratitude for pain, for opening wounds, and allowing the air and sun to get in a little deeper.

For dancing with shadows of anger, regret, and resentment as they grew and shrank in my sight.

The heart is mending, this time the glue of my own love welding the pieces together. Self love is the strongest glue there is.

It has been a hard year. It has been a beautiful tear stained year.

The white picket fence is weather beaten now, and falling into disrepair.

The time has come to use the remnants of the barrier to build more loving capacity and a welcome sign

My heart will not be a solo occupancy space again, but a communal garden of delights.

As I welcome you all back in, I think you’ll love what I’ve done with the place. I can meet you here, no matter where you are.

Tears, laughter, despair, and joy are all welcome in my heart. The walls are super absorbent and resonant with every human emotion.

I thank my heart for continuing to care, to love, to heal and to grow bigger no matter what life has delivered to me.

Be grateful for the broken heart, and make space, be selfish, be angry, let is all flow from the sources of original pain.

And then come back again, and again, and again…

[nymphbnny]

shameless

ღ dilf!choso, daddy kink, age gap, best friend’s dad, slight pantie kink, oral m. receiving, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, solo male masturbation, praising kink, creampie, slapping, spanking. MDNI // 18+

ღ go to event

you found shelter from the rain underneath your best friend’s portico, informing her of your arrival through text since her car was no where to be found near the house.

wife <3

im stuck in traffic boo! just knock my dad’s home. the rain isn’t helping either so it might take me a while to get there. anyway, make yourself comfortable, yk your way around the house. love you xx

you huffed, replying with a short love you more and tucked your phone in your bag, cursing at yourself. alone with her dad. the same man you’ve been having erotic thoughts about. you weren’t going to stay outside so you gathered your courage and knocked three times, the door quick to open as her dad was standing in front of you, phone in hand showing his recent calls.

“she just told me you were there,” he eyed you up and down before proceeding “oh damn you’re soaked, come inside.” he reached to grab your shoulder and pull you inside and you let him.

“thanks,” he shut the door behind you, your muscles relaxing at the warm atmosphere in the house. the only thing bothering you was the wet clothing clinging on your skin. choso was silently watching you squirm in discomfort, your white shirt wet from the rain pressing against your chest showing your black bra. he gulped back his thoughts, your voice pulling him out of his perverted imaginary. “what doll?”

“i think i’m gonna go take a shower,” you stated your eyes slightly trailing down his arms, his biceps hugging tightly his shirt. he was handsome. you hated it. you hated the fact that you would only get off to the thought of him pounding into your pussy. you hated the fact that he was your best friend’s father. how could you be this insensitive? at least he was divorced, you’d say to yourself whenever you tried to feel sinless. you smiled at him, completely oblivious to the fact that he was undressing you with his eyes, eager to know how you’d look underneath him, fucked dumb and stupid. this was his chance to lure you into his sinful playground. he’s been with multiple women before and the look you had in your eyes whenever you’d be staying over was far from innocent. the way you’d be waiting for him to come home and greet him with his daughter with a tight ass tank top and short shorts. he wasn’t stupid, just shameless.

unlike you he didn’t care that you were his daughter’s best friend. he’d fuck the shit out of you if given the chance. and there it was. the chance he’s been waiting for. his daughter was going to take a while to come home, might as well make the best out of it. “the shower in the guest bathroom is broken,” he lied, his hand reaching out to wrap around your wrist. “you can use mine.” he deadpanned with a monotone voice, trying his best to seem above suspicion. you caught on his lie, slightly nodding and made your way to his room, making sure to sway your hips as you went upstairs.

you locked his door behind you, a smirk leaving your lips once you got rid of your clothing and hooked your black thong on the door handle, hurrying yourself in the shower to clean yourself as quickly as you could, not wanting to waste your time. you wrapped one his towels around your body, not bothering to wear any clothes before walking out, your body almost bumping into his. “i was just gonna come up to check up on you.” his eyes trailed down to gaze at your cleavage, tonguing his cheek his mouth slightly open. you squeezed your arms together, bringing your hands together to thank him for the shower and squeezing his arm as you moved past him, smiling to yourself. you were sure to have washed the shame away. you dried yourself in your best friend’s room, thinking about your next move for a couple of minutes. you can’t simply jump at him and act all needy.

you needed a plan. hopefully he’d catch on when he’ll see my thong- wait, what was that? you frowned to yourself when you heard a groan coming from his bedroom. you bit your lip when the sound repeating itself, your thighs clenching together. you got up and walked to his bedroom, the sounds growing louder. you swore to have heard your name leave his lips, so you decided to sneak a peak into the half opened door, another of his tricks to lure you into his predatory territory. your eyes widened when you watched him sitting on the edge of his bed, legs spread with your thong in hand as he pumped his cock with it.

“you just gon’ stand there or come in here and help me out?” he grunted his eyes locking with yours. you allowed yourself in leaving the towel that was hugging your naked body outside alone with your dignity and found yourself kneeling in front of him, your mouth drooling at his girth. “c’mon baby we ain’t got all day,” he threw away your panties and gripped your nape, pulling your mouth closer to his tip. your lips parted, his width stretching your mouth open, making it hard for you to take him all in. “i know you’ve been waiting for this moment, don’t be doing that now.” he muttered pushing your head further down, his cock rubbing down your throat. “that’s my good girl, that’s right gag on daddy’s cock.” you sputtered and gagged as you moved your head up and down, your eyes pooling with your tears but it only turned him on even more. watching you doing your best to take him and please him was such a beautiful sight. he could see the shape of your ass as you sat on your heels making you look even better. a true sight for sore eyes.

growing tired of having him fully in, your pulled away and began stroking him to breathe a little then sucked at his tip, your tongue swirling around it as both of your hands jerked him off. “shit- should’ve gotten you on your knees sooner, oh fuck,” the praise went down to your core, enjoying the faces he was making, his hand going to rest on his eyes as he threw his head back. you could tell he was getting closer but he wasn’t going to let you edge his orgasm. instead he grabbed a fistful of your wet hair and pushed your head down, your gags much louder now as he fucked your face, his thrusts hard and brutal. “sorry doll,” choso teased, watching the tears stream down your face, sloppy noises echoing in the room. he kept thrusting until he kept your head down, your nose hitting his trimmed pubic hair as he spilled his cum down your throat, forcing you to swallow every drop of him.

he pulled your face off of him, coughs leaving your lips as you cleaned your mouth and swallowed the residue that was dripping down your chin. “such a good girl,” his hand gripped your throat and applied some pressure. “gonna ride daddy now? yeah?” you nodded, your pussy throbbing to feel him. he squeezed a bit more. “use your words.” letting go of your throat he positioned himself against his head board. “yes daddy,” you crawled over him, your legs on each side. he smirked, spanking your ass and pulled you closer to him, capturing his lips into his, his tongue playing with yours as he toyed with your clit. his tip was teasing your entrance, going over your slit and clit, pushing his head in before pulling out, your whines muffled by his kisses. “is my baby getting impatient?” he pushed his finger inside your cunt, earning a sigh. “want your cock daddy, please,” you attempted to move your hips to push him in making him slightly slap you for being a naughty girl. “so needy and pathetic,” he chuckled capturing your lips again, this time pushing your hips down completely down his cock. you yelped against his lips, the stretch unbelievably good and painful. he spanked the flesh of your ass before grabbing it and moving it up, your cunt gripping tightly onto him. “you’re chocking me baby, relax,” he grunted his hands moving to your hips.

“t-too big…” you squirmed, grinding your hips to relieve yourself from the pain. “wanna use me to fuck yourself? them boys at college not doing their job right?” he breathed, his fingers pinching at your nipples and watched you twist your face. you shook your head and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. “you feel better,” you moaned, raising your hips up and sliding back down, a sigh of bliss leaving choso. his lips latched on your perky chest, toying with your buds. you began bouncing faster and quicker, your walls accommodating to his size. he slapped your breasts and gipped your neck, his hips moving to fuck you faster, the sensation of his curved dick like pure bliss against your spot. “daddy… r-right there…” you moaned out, your tongue lolling out. “yeah? right there?” he taunted, smirking at you. your head was clouded by your approaching orgasm, his fingers quick to move to your clit, rubbing your swollen bud in circles, driving you closer to your orgasm. your thighs shook above him, your moans turning into whimpers as you came all over him, your juices soaking his abdomen.

choso groaned, harshly gripping your side as his thrusts became sloppier and slower, your orgasm squeezing him so tightly making him almost come right here and there. “want me to come inside?” you nodded, head dumb and mind blurred. he stroked himself against your gummy walls a little longer before painting them white with his seed. your head fell on his toned chest, catching your breath until you both heard the front door open followed by the sound of your best friend yelling your name.

“shit.”

[sovtwords]

the ghostface - matsukawa issei

pairing: matsukawa issei x reader, slight hanamaki x reader

warnings: 18+, dubcon, doggystyle, mask kink, size kink, sex while trapped, vaginal fingering, dom/sub dynamics, knives, implied threesome, edging, unprotected sex, breeding, slight dacryphila, slight yandere, mentions of alcohol and drugs, mentions of nudes, porn making/videos

w/c: 13k

a/n: welcome to chapter 7 of thirteen nights of whorror! please read the tags before proceeding - if you think i am missing anything let me know and i’ll fix it. this chapter is inspired by billy and stu, aka ghostface, from the scream series! THIS IS A LONG ASS CHAPTER I AM SORRY ASJFHDA scream is my fave horror movie and i just had a lot of fun making this, it's one of my fave chaps so far. i hope you appreciate big dick mattsun and makki as much as i did. enjoy! feedback is appreciated!

- ao3 link -

Thirteen Nights of Whorror MASTERLIST

Everything in the room right now is loud as hell, and it’s beginning to give you a headache.

Oikawa’s fancy house is much too big for your liking; a three-storey, pristinely white suburban house with the prettiest pink hydrangea bushes that would make your granny green with envy, rooms bigger than your entire apartment and filled with more tacky and socially deaf art pieces than a museum, and spaces this big obviously need to be filled with as many shit-faced jocks, kegs of beer and smuggled pills according to Mr Pretty Boy himself.

You feel deep concern for the antique China vase that Tanaka and Noya keep tossing back and forth between them from opposite sides of the room, Lev has suggested making a god damned blowtorch with deodorant and a lighter, and you’ve seen Bokuto ingest enough drugs to knock out a fucking horse. It’s hectic, it’s overwhelming, and it’s filling up a well of anxiety inside of you, just waiting to reach its peak and spill over as you finish your second drink of the night. Too many faces, nobody to watch your back. Oikawa seems to be having the time of his life, though – too busy shoving his tongue down the throat of every living being in this house right now to care about all the stuff that could be broken. Mommy and Daddy would probably just pay for a new one anyways.

And to top it all off, Yachi hasn’t shut up all night from her spot beside you on Oikawa’s cushioned couch about the masked killer who’s been on the loose and targeting college students. Specifically, your college, of all places.

As if you need more stress piling on top of the shitfest that is your life.

“I’m just, like, super scared, you know?” Yachi’s voice is shrill and rising in pitch with each syllable that leaves her lips. She’s apparently forgotten all about Hinata who lays slouched against her opposite side, passed out and drooling on her shoulder without care. The wet patch on her sweater makes you grimace.

“So am I,” you droll, eyeing the amber liquid in your red solo cup with disinterest and mentally counting down the hours until it reaches a socially acceptable time to leave and avoid Sugawara yelling at you for doing so. Yachi continues as though you had not spoken.

“It’s just- I’m a small woman, right? I’m an easy target! It’s dangerous for a woman like me out there!”

“I would argue it’s dangerous out there for all women no matter your height.”

Yachi blanches, shakes her head frantically.

“No, that’s- well yes, I agree completely! I just- I meant-!”

You snort and pat her leg sympathetically. “I know Yachi, I’m just teasing. No need to get worked up.” The blonde frowns.

“That’s not funny! I’m really scared about this killer! I mean it’s a serial killer. And on our campus, too! I’m afraid to leave my dorm!”

“Then why did you come to the party instead of staying in your room?”

At the blatant call out, Yachi turns a little sheepish, blushing red and pulling at the ends of her golden locks. “Well, someone I li- uhh, admire, convinced me to come.”

You raise a brow. “Who?”

“…Kiyoko.”

“Ah, of course.”

“I can’t help it, she’s just so pretty,” her voice is syrupy sweet as she thinks about the raven-haired beauty, and you can’t help but smile at her innocence. Ahh, young love. “B-But it can still be dangerous in your home, too! One guy was found sliced up in his apartment near the campus just a month ago! People said the killer wore some kind of mask, like a ghost! Did you know that? Do you think it’s actually a ghost instead?”

The alcohol in your stomach churns viciously at the reminder.

Of course, you knew about it – he lived just two doors down from you.

You never had any classes with him, and conversation between you both was saved for random encounters in hallways, but Ojiro Aran was a well-loved guy. He was always quick to help carry your grocery bags up the stairs, water the old ladies’ plants on her balcony, was the owner of several spare keys for people on the floor because he was just so trustworthy. He had a nice family, friends who loved him, and admirers from all walks of life.

So, to hear a commotion so early outside of your front door, to see violently bright police tape surrounding the edges of his door frame as men in white suits walked in and out of his apartment like the intruders they were while detectives took notes and wore grim expressions, was a shock, to say the least. But that’s an understatement. Nothing can quite compare to the dread that sank in your stomach that day, that still sits there like a dead weight in your gut, how your blood turned to ice when you saw a white tarp covering what used to be your neighbours’ body being carried out while his mother roared and screamed and bawled her eyes out when she arrived at the scene to see her baby boy’s lifeless body.

You ran back into your apartment, puked your guts up, puked some more, and sat through hours of gruelling questioning from police, wanting nothing more than to crawl underneath your covers for the remainder of your days.

You had given condolences to his classmate and friend Atsumu when you passed him in the cafeteria later that week, but his usual loudmouthed self was so dull and lifeless you had to do a double take to see if it was actually him. He barely said a word in response, just flickered his red rimmed eyes over to you in acknowledgement and went back to picking at his food.

While you understand Yachi’s fear about the masked killer all too well, you’d rather not have to sit here and listen to her talk for hours about it and have it send you spiralling into an episode of despair and anxiety. Panic attacks at parties were not ideal.

“Yeah. I know,” is your dull response as you swirl the contents of your cup, watching the liquid slosh and foam as you shift uncomfortably on the couch, pulling your skirt back down from where it’s started to curl upwards. The delicate gasp she emits informs you that she’s realised her error.

“Oh, I’m…I’m so sorry, I forgot you lived near him. That must have been so scary for you.”

Not as scary as it probably was for him.

You sigh. “Can we stop talking about this now? Please?” You place your cup onto the dark coffee table in front of you, too sober for this kind of night, but not being able to stomach another drop after such a dark conversation. The blonde nods weakly, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Yeah, no problem. I’m so sorry-“

“It’s ok,” you give her a small smile, and her shoulders sag with relief. “Tell me about the new job you’re starting.”

“Oh!” her eyes light up, and you’re glad for such an easy topic change, something you can use to tune out and just nod dumbly along with whatever she says. “Well it’s only an apprenticeship for now, but in ti-“

There’s a crash and a chorus of laughter from somewhere down the room, and your attention is brought to the source of mayhem and amusement in the form of Matsukawa Issei.

The crowd around him laugh and cheer with flushed, drunken faces and sluggish limbs, hollering like a pack of wild animals (which, to be fair, is an accurate description for frat boys at college parties) as he tells another joke with poor freshman Kindaichi trapped in a chokehold, battering his fists into Matsukawa’s side to little effect. Everyone has gravitated towards him, pulled in by his lazy smile and witty drawls, like a God adored by his worshippers. Dark tousled hair, equally dark hooded eyes, and arms that bulge and flex where they’re wrapped around Kindaichi’s throat – it’s completely unfair how good looking this man was, and gazing at him is enough to make you forget all about the tragic fate of your neighbour.

Matsukawa Issei is the cause for all your smiles and laughter in the classes when you should be listening to the professor and not looking at some stupid meme, the butterflies in your stomach that run rampant every time he tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ear with a wink, and many, many sleepless nights with your fingers deep in your pussy and praying that it was his instead as you look back over nudes that had been passed between their pair of you, listened to his breathless voice on the phone as he whispered all the dirty things he wanted to do to you.

It’s been a painful back and forth game for a year now of flirting, easy dates and one or two shared kisses at frat parties like this one that left you wanting so much more, but life always looked for ways to fuck the both of you over before you could get to the good bit – aka the part where he confessed is undying love for you and fucked your brains out with his massive dick. You’ve seen the pictures – he is hung like a horse.

It was the same old sad excuses – work, college, exams, etc. Life just didn’t want you to be with Matsukawa, apparently. And you were pissed. Yet with everything that has been happening lately, any sort of romantic notion has been put on the backburner and laid to rest. But tonight, you were free. You didn’t have any plans tomorrow except for nursing a possible hangover and laying in bed. Should you take your chances and make the first move? Or should you-

Matsukawa’s eyes meet yours from across the room, and all thoughts are washed clear from your mind when his lips pull into an easy smile. Fuck.

You try to fix this damned skirt that’s determined to make you flash the entire student body as Matsukawa lets Kindaichi go with a snort and a shove in Kyoutani’s direction, not bothering to look behind him at the ensuing fight about to break out as he beelines straight towards you with an easy stride, comfort and confidence lacing his steps and having your heart pulse in another place than just your chest.

A head of pink hair materialises beside him, and you laugh a little. His partner in crime is never far from his side, is he?

“What’s a couple of pretty girls like you doing just sitting on the couch? Shouldn’t you be up dancing? Fighting off boys when they get a lil handsy?”

Hanamaki meanders over with waggling brows and a lopsided grin, reaching the couch before his friend and plopping down beside you with a huff. He throws an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side while you giggle. Hanamaki feels nice and warm against you, and you sink further into his side with a smile. Matsukawa stares at the two of you for a moment as he comes to stand in front of where you sit, eying Hanamaki’s hand where it plays with the straps of your top on your shoulder, dipping beneath your bra strap cheekily while you try not to let heat crawl up your neck. God, were you that horny?

“Just enjoying the party,” is your reply, smiling up at Hanamaki. His grin is infectious, and he pulls at your ear gently.

“Liar. You look bored out of your mind.”

“Because I am, but it’s rude to say that to the friends of the guy hosting the party, isn’t it?”

Matsukawa shrugs with a smirk. “Depends on the people. But I think you’d have a better time if you stuck with me and Makki here. No offence,” he tacks on, shooting a grimace towards Yachi who had gone silent next to you.

“O-Oh! No, it’s fine – I agree! All I’m doing is babysitting Hinata. You should go have fun with them!” she urges you with a nod, one that Hanamaki copies with an overexaggerated pout that you can’t help but laugh at.

“No, you’re great company, Yachi! I’d feel too bad if I left you, and besides, I…I dunno…”

Movement in front of your face has you lifting your eyes, but not quick enough to do anything about Matsukawa bending over and moving his face so close to yours that you can feel little puffs of his breath hit your face. He’s so big that it subsequently makes you feel so small, like he’s hulking over your form as he invades your personal bubble with a fucking smirk that causes your heart to shut down and restart.

And to top it all off, where his broad hands dig into the sofa beside your legs, his thumb brushes teasingly against the skin of your bare thigh, your traitorous skirt showing more skin than you’re usually comfortable with. Mattsun’s thumb moves up and down just the slightest, so gently, caressing your leg as he maintains direct eye contact with you where his face looms in front of yours. You feel hot all over, and it’s all a bit overwhelming – Hanamaki’s fingers still play with the straps of your top, Matsukawa’s thumb rises and dips behind your knee, and all the sound in the room gets muffled, sounding so far away like pure white noise as the man before you speaks deeply.

“What’s wrong, babe?” the brunette asks with a glint in his eye. The pet name nearly makes you melt into the couch. It takes you a second to respond.

“M-My head just isn’t in it tonight, you know?”

Matsukawa hums as a sympathetic look washes over his face. He leans a little closer, until you’re forced to look over his shoulder at some random couple sucking their faces off while his lips just barely skim your ear. The touch sends shivers down your spine, makes your breath hitch in your lungs.

“Want me to help put it in, babe?” he whispers, and if you were any way coherent and not completely losing your mind at the proximity and intimate position he’s placed you in you’d feel those lips of his tug up into a mischievous smile, you’d see the way Hanamaki bites his lip to keep from laughing.

“What?”

“Your head. Want me to help get you in the party mood?”

“O-Oh. Right. Yeah of course that’s what you meant,” you fake a laugh. Hanamaki finally lets out a snort as he rests his head on your shoulder. Matsukawa pulls back a bit, but you still feel like you can’t catch a breath.

“What did you think he meant?” Hanamaki asks ‘innocently’.

“Nothing. I- I just didn’t understand at first. I must have misheard him-“

“Hmm, you sound like you’re lying. Doesn’t she, Mattsun?”

“She kinda does, Makki,” Matsukawa plays along with a playful smile. He gives a quick, exaggerated gasp. “You didn’t think I meant anything naughty, did you?”

Hanamaki looks scandalised. You want to bury your head in sand. The light buzz you feel isn’t enough for you to tolerate this kind of teasing. You’re getting flustered beneath the gazes of these two men.

“I think she did,” Hanamaki drawls.

“We’re not the kind of guys to take advantage of vulnerable girls like that,” Matsukawa says, and suddenly his eyes turn a bit more intense, nearly nose to nose with you as his whispered breaths fall against your lips.

“Is that what you think? You think I’d prey on a pretty girl like you? I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. I would never. You trust me, right?”

It’s like you’re trapped in a trance, hanging onto every single word that drips from his lips as though they were droplets of water and you were a woman dying of thirst. With each second that passes, the longer you remain under his attention you feel your panties grow wetter and wetter, and you curse yourself for being so affected by them, by him.

“I- I know you wouldn’t. I trust you. You’re my…friend.”

Matsukawa’s eyes light up with something you can’t discern, and his lips curl a little more at the edges. It isn’t until he stands up straight once more that you feel able to take a gulp of some much-needed air, feeling a cool breeze fall on your skin once the heat of his body is gone.

He shares a secretive smile with his best friend.

“’Friends’, huh? That’s nice. Do you send all your friend’s pictures of your pussy, or am I special?”

He says it so bluntly, so suddenly, that all you can do is gawp in shock, jaw dropped and struggling for something to say. Yachi squeaks in humiliation beside you, Hanamaki laughs, because of course he does, and Matsukawa stays looking at you with that damned lazy smile while your heart runs rampant.

A call of his name from somewhere behind you halts you from being able to bark out a retort, and his attention is brought somewhere else.

“Makki, Mattsun – get over here! We’re starting up a game of beer pong.”

Matsukawa’s smile dims a bit. He sighs through his nose. “I better go or else they won’t shut up. Talk later?”

You nod dumbly, still highly embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“Duty calls. See ya, sweet cheeks,” Hanamaki sighs and presses a quick kiss to your temple before he gets up. He moves around the couch to follow Matsukawa, until he stops in his tracks. The brunette stops too, and stares in question. “Oh wait – we’re kinda running out of good drink in here. It’s down to shitty warm beer and some spritzers that Tooru’s mom drinks. Mind going out back to get some more for us? You can join our beer pong team when you get back.”

From where you’re sitting, you can’t see Hanamaki’s face as he turns back around to face Mattsun. The brunette looks at his friend for a long moment, and while his face remains pretty blank, there’s a certain brightness that comes to his eyes, like he’s just realised a great plan, the answer to a problem he’s had for a while. Was he that happy about getting more alcohol?

“Oh! Uh…”

“It’s just at the back of the house,” Matsukawa supplies as he shifts his gaze from his friend back to you. That lazy smile creeps back onto his face. “In a big shed. It’s a bit of a walk to get to it and it’s nearly covered by the trees in the woods behind Tooru’s house, but just keep heading straight – you won’t miss it. There’s a key hidden in the light box.”

“Oh…” you cast a look outside the bay window. The sky was pitch black. “I mean it’s... it’s pretty dark out. Can’t you ask someone else?”

“You won’t be long. We only want a couple of good beers to keep us going, better than the ones they have left here. You know our drinks, don’t you?” Makki smiled.

“Yeah I do.”

“Good, you’ll be back here in no time,” Matsukawa replies. “Then you can sit with me all night, hmm? I’ll even let you sit on my lap.”

You blush when he gives a good-hearted snicker. Somebody calls for the boys again, and they give you one last pleading look that has you sighing in resignation.

“Alright, fine. I’ll get your stupid drinks. Yachi, you coming?”

Hanamaki cuts in before she gets the chance to answer. “She has to look after Hinata, doesn’t she? Plus, I heard Kiyoko was looking to sit and talk with her.”

The little blonde looks starry eyed at the mention of her crush, and you know it’s a lost cause to even try and recruit her into coming with you. Not that she’d be any good the second she steps foot outside the door. She scares easily.

“I think I’ll stay here,” she mumbles.

You stand up, stretch, and make your way towards the back door that’s being blocked by a group of girls laughing to themselves.

Matsukawa whispers in your ear as you pass, stopping you on the spot with a hand wrapping around your arm.

“Can’t wait to have your cute little ass on my lap. Be careful out there, don’t let anything get you~. See you in a few minutes.”

And with that said, he lets you go, and wanders over to the other side of the room with his pink haired buddy. Not without glancing at your ass before he leaves, though.

With heated cheeks you pat down your clothes and pull down your skirt. Your phone barely fits in the tiny pocket of your skirt and a split-second mental debate has you deciding to take it out in case you lose it on the way to the shed. You won’t be there for long; you don’t see a need to take it with you.

“Yachi can you keep my phone with you? I don’t want to drop it in the dark.”

“Sure – but won’t the torch on your phone be useful?” She grabs your phone and places it securely in her purse. Hinata gives a snore beside her.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure the light from the house is bright enough to light my way.”

“If you say so. Be careful out there! Don’t fall over anything- oh my god she’s coming over here.”

You snort, mumble a quick ‘good luck’ and pass by Kiyoko with a smile who takes your previous spot and brushes a lock of Yachi’s hair out of her face, much to the blonde’s delight. Smooth.

You push your way through groups of drunken college students, avoid being dragged into one of Kuroo’s endlessly long and stupid stories about the time he and Bokuto did something vaguely illegal when they were teens, and reach the door with minimum damage only to slow down your steps when the sensation of eyes on your back overtakes you.

Like a moth to a flame your eyes find Matsukawa near immediately, those hooded eyes locked on your body easily through crowds of noisy and overbearing people. His hand is covered in something bright cherry red, and it takes you a second of panic to realise that it wasn’t blood you were seeing, but instead a drink had been spilled on him by someone else.

With slow movements, his arm dripping with red juices and alcohol that runs down his forearm in thin streaks, lifts upwards, higher and higher up to his face, where he pops a finger into his mouth. It’s absurd how nobody except you notices how he licks his finger clean, how he sends a wink for you, and you specifically, as his tongue darts out to lick up droplets of the drink.

Some person stumbling into your side knocks you out of the moment, and the spell is moment for when you look up at Matsukawa again, his back is turned as he gets into the game. It’s almost like it didn’t even happen, but the tissue he’s using to dry his hand lets you know that it very much happened.

The throbbing in your cunt also lets you know that tonight hasn’t been more than just your imagination.

You are going to ride his dick tonight. You’re sick of getting blue balled by life. Whether it’s in a spare room or someone’s car or – fuck, you’ll even do it in front of everyone in the living room at this point.

You were going to fuck Matsukawa Issei tonight, one way or another.

You run out of the house, determined to get this drinks situation over with so you can sit on his lap and have his hands on your hips.

-

The house was definitely not bright enough to light your path to the shed, but you figured you’re already halfway there – might as well keep going instead of wasting time by going back to the house for a torch.

The sound of music and laughter is gradually replaced by the quieter, more calming sounds of nature the further you stumble your way through the dark. The hoot of owls, the chirping of bugs, the crunching of leaves beneath your feet, random snaps of twigs nearby from what you assume to be the little critters Oikawa once told you about. A frown tugs at your lips as you walk further and further still until you can barely hear or see Oikawa’s house at all in the distance, just a small blip of light in the distance despite how big the house is.

Who the fuck has a shed that far away from their house? Fucking rich people.

But just as the distance between you and the house starts to really itch at your skin, the shed finally comes into view, and you have to do a double take and ask yourself if you’ve wandered into another neighbourhood because what you’re seeing here is more like a small house than a shed.

Again – fucking rich people.

It looks almost bigger than your apartment when you finally reach the door, eying the big wooden frame with a raised brow. It even had a doggy door, for Christ’s sake. What was Oikawa’s dog's name again? Foo-foo? Fifi? Whatever.

A quick search of the light box does in fact reveal a key, and you unlock the door quickly and pop it back in the box as the night starts to feel like it’s creeping up on your back, like you’re not entirely alone right now. The faster you get the drinks, the better.

After a minute of fumbling around for a light source, you eventually find the sole switch that illuminates the entire room and casts it in a dull, yellow glow. The area is as big as you expected, and half cluttered with a bunch of things that scream ‘I holiday in Italy with my family every summer and enjoy fresh fruit by the sea.’ Bikes, umbrellas, designer suitcases, old gym equipment – but you’re not here to work on your abs right now.

You walk towards the giant freezer at the back of the room, struggle with opening the chest for a bit before finally unlocking it and lifting it to find a whole lot of…nothing.

There are frozen bags of food, some ice cubes, and a few bottles of beer, but not the ones Matsukawa or Hanamaki were looking for, and not enough to bring back to last them for the night.

Well. What a waste of time.

You slam the freezer shut with irritation buzzing in your limbs. First, you spent all that time trying to find the place to get here, and now you won’t have anything to show for it when you get back to Issei. Great. Seeing a disappointed look on his face was not on your agenda for tonight. Maybe you can find some if you look around.

A few minutes of searching proved to be worth it, however, as you spot a small box of the alcohol perched on a shelf high above some old music stuff. Balanced precariously on some boxes you reach out, edging the box closer and closer to the edge of the shelf with your fingers.

So focused were you on your task, you completely missed the click of a lock behind you.

“Yes!” you exclaim in triumph, latching onto the beers and carefully slipping back down to the ground. Patting yourself down to get rid of any dust, you turn around to leave and feel your heart leap out of your chest with the sight standing in front of you.

You almost screamed bloody murder, but your body decided to gasp suddenly as all air in your chest becomes trapped, struggling to breathe as you stare down the stranger who snuck into the shed with you.

Dressed in all black from head to toe, the mask they bore is what really steals the show right now – like a warped version of a ghost mask stuck in an eternal scream, it’s bright white and stands out when paired with the dark clothing. A quick and panicked evaluation of their body tells you that they’re tall, broad, strong, and intimidating.

You swallow, but your throat has run dry. Still, you try to play it off with a weak chuckle, assuming they’re just some college asshole in a dumb costume sent here to freak you out. You think they could be a man, but in the weak lighting you can’t be too sure just yet.

“What’s with the costume? I didn’t realise it was Halloween already.”

You’re met with silence, and a small shrug.

You shuffle nervously on your feet, and try again.

“A-Are you looking for some beer, too? There’s not much here – I think most of it is back up at the house. So… you should go back and look for some.”

The stranger still says nothing but nods sagely, as though agreeing, yet makes no move to leave, and you feel dread start to knot at your stomach.

“Who are you?” Silence. “No, seriously – who are you? Were you sent here to scare me?” Nothing. “Look, this isn’t funny. Like at all. You need to be more mindful of stupid jokes and trying to scare people, especially with all the killings lately.”

The only response you get is a tilt of their head, as if they’re amused. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you start wondering if you could make it to the door fast enough and get away from this loser.

“And s-seriously? A mask? You’re sick, making jokes like this. Y’know, people said they saw the killer wearing a mask too, some lame ghost-“

You stop mid-sentence as realisation hits you like an oncoming truck.

‘People said the killer wore some kind of mask, like a ghost!’

You can feel the blood drain from your face, and it seems as if the psycho in front of you has sensed that you’ve finally put 2 and 2 together.

Fuck fuck fuck, you think you’re going to be fucking sick.

The stranger- killer, straightens, and puts one foot forward as you take four steps back.

Step.

“I-It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the k-killer. You’re the one who…w-who killed Aran.”

That ghostly mask nods happily.

Step.

“Holy shit, no. No no no,” your legs are shaking, your arms are shaking, every part of you is shaking with unbridled fear, feeling like a little mouse caught in a trap and awaiting the vicious jaws of the hunter. The beer bottles jingle and clank together with every tremor coursing through you, feeling like dead weight in your arms but you stupidly don’t have the mind to let go of them. “P-Please, please don’t kill me!”

Step.

They’re getting much closer now, but you have nowhere to back up anymore. You’ve run all out of holes to bury yourself in as a fucking keyboard digs into your lower back and obstructs you from gaining any deceitful safety from distance.

Your nerve begins to break, and the tears that have been stinging your eyes fall and drop onto the floor beneath you. You beg, pathetically, but with the mask it’s hard to see if you’re getting through to your potential killer to search for even an ounce of empathy. You inhale a shaky breath.

“Please don’t do t-this. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do a-anything you want; I swear – I won’t tell the police about you just- let me go, I’m begging you!”

The killer stops a few feet away. Not close enough to touch you, but still too close, too close.

They begin to spread their arms wide like a ring leader at a circus, and a sob escapes you as you see a knife held in their hand, shiny and bright and making you feel like you’re about to pass out. They make a comical motion with their hands, as if signalling you to ‘go on’ talking, but to be fair in your very frightened and emotional state you hadn’t thought that far on what ‘I’ll do anything you want’ meant.

It shows on your face, a fearful confusion, a furrow of your brow. You can hear an exasperated sigh come from behind the mask, a droop of their shoulders and a shake of their head, and they begin to move forward once again, knife gripped tightly in their hand and pointed in your direction.

But quick thinking has you hurling the case of beer right at their head before they can get too close.

Clearly not expecting it they stumble backwards in shock, emitting muttered swears and nursing the impact but you’re not about to sit around and play doctor. You lunge for the door and twist the doorknob to find it locked, letting out an anguished yell as you try to bash it open with your shoulder to no avail. The killer groans in pain, in annoyance, standing up and staggering in your direction with the knife, determined to kill you for good.

With nothing to lose you fall to your knees and lunge for the doggy door, scrambling to squeeze your head and torso out of the small frame. Just as the doggy door reaches your hips, just as freedom is within your grasp so you can run back to the safety of the party and warn everyone, the worst thing that could possibly happen in that moment does happen.

You get stuck. You can’t get your fucking ass out the door. It’s too small to fit through.

You’re hyperventilating, openly sobbing into the night air, screaming for help, knowing that no one will hear you this far away from the party. Your fingers dig into the grass below you, struggling to drag yourself out of this doggy door, legs kicking behind you in search of a boost that’s futile anyway – you’re never going to fit.

And you screech when a big pair of hands grab your legs.

You flail and kick, you squirm and you fight, clawing your hands into the dirt with all your might to try and escape but you can’t fool yourself any more – the only hope you have of escaping is by going back into the house and through the door.

You know it’s useless. This is undoubtedly the end for you. The killer’s grip on your ankles is deathly tight. They don’t intend on letting you go.

And with that in mind, your limbs turn weak with exhaustion, with misery, and you let your tears fall onto the blades of grass like dew drops in the morning mist. Your head thuds on the ground pathetically, and the owls mimic your sobs of fear, almost mockingly.

You’re expecting to be dragged back inside at any moment, to have that knife plunged deep into your heart and left to die here – alone and afraid. You can only hope that Matsukawa doesn’t come looking for you; you wouldn’t want anyone else to suffer the same fate, or to have him see your body mutilated and destroyed.

But minutes pass by at an agonisingly slow pace, and you’re left untouched from where you lay halfway out the doggy door. You’d almost wish the killer would get it over with instead of torturing you like this.

The grip on your legs disappears, and you’re left stewing in a pool of confusion and terror, until the touch of long fingers ghosting over the skin of your thighs brings you back to reality and makes you jolt. It tickles as it runs over your flesh, dipping inwards and outwards like a slithering snake, and it only occurs to you just now how your skirt may have risen during the altercation.

And that’s just great, isn’t it? You’re going to die with your ass on show. Typical.

You try to clench your thighs shut to escape those awful touches, but the killer is only encouraged to grip your legs and pull them apart roughly. The concrete scrapes the skin of your knees but you hardly register it as those fingers play with the ends of your skirt, gently running their fingers under the fabric, moving back and forth across your rear. You try to jerk away from their touch, but the door stops your hips from budging. All you can do is endure it as they flip the material up and a cool breeze sweeps over your ass and thong.

You’re utterly humiliated now, burying your face in the dirt as the killer gets an eyeful of your panty clad privates. You’re imagining all sorts of terrible things as you’re left waiting in terrible anticipation once again, but the slash of a knife never comes. What comes is the delicate press of fingers on your sex over the thin material of your thong.

They run up and down your slit steadily, daring to press more firmly every time it nears your clit and getting lighter, more teasing, as it moves all the up to your ass, toying with your back hole before starting the process again. It makes you gasp and writhe, feeling disgusted, violated, but even more disgusted with your body that you know is responding to their touch, soaking your thong in a way that must obviously show on the fabric. You cry out, hoping against hope that someone will hear you, but you’re met with silence. Such dreadful silence.

In a surprise display of strength, the hand not toying with your sex suddenly grips the straps of your underwear and rips it off fast and clean, and now you’re completely bare for the stranger behind you, wet and puffy slit on show and practically asking to be touched despite the way your mind screams that this is so wrong, wrong, wrong.

The killers’ gloves feel strange when they touch your pussy again, this time going straight for your throbbing clit and rubbing slow circles, alternating between rough strokes and teasing swipes. You stifle a moan into the earth, refusing to let out a single sound, to let the killer know you are, in some way, enjoying the petting. Your body is equal parts hot and cold, at war with itself as a familiar coil of pleasure starts to tighten in your gut the longer they toy with your nub.

Your thighs attempt to clench together once again, but it seems as though the killer has placed your legs on either side of theirs to stop you. All you can feel when you try to close your legs is the rough material of cargo pants and thick muscled thighs that are as hard as steel. Before you can stop it your mind floods with intrusive thoughts of sitting on those thighs, and you bury your face in shame as your clit starts to throb even harder, beating in time with the erratic thudding of your heart.

A separate set of leather covered digits circle your hole, and before you have time to jerk away, a single finger slips into your walls with complete ease given how reluctantly wet you’ve become. You try to stop the sigh from escaping your chest by biting your lip, but it still comes out anyway, strangled and surprised and lined with relief.

It sits there for a second, feeling the way you involuntarily clench around it, your walls squeezing and desperate for friction along with the fingers that haven’t ceased rubbing at your clitoris, until it moves; it wiggles around, curls, and pumps into you with a relaxed pace. When a second digit joins the first and you get the stretch of your walls that you’d been secretly craving you can’t stop the moans tumbling out of your lips, the tightening of the coil of pleasure inside of you, your face flushed in spite of the colder night air around you.

They thrust deeper and deeper until their knuckle is flush with your soaked cunt, and they go through a myriad of movements - they crook in a come hither motion, the move apart and scissor, they twist and fuck into you at different speeds. Each one serves to make you come undone that bit faster, the heat in your tummy growing more intense with each touch of your nub.

You bite into your forearm as you feel your orgasm coming, mewling and groaning and twitching as the killer fucks you with their fingers. But just as you feel like you’re about to tip over the edge, their fingers leave your core and withdraw from your clit, and the burning in your abdomen begins to sizzle out rather disappointingly. You voice your frustrations through whimpers and whines, the lower half of your legs lifting only to flop back down on the floor like a child throwing a tantrum.

If you live to remember this night (which you highly doubt is likely to happen), you’re going to laugh hysterically until you cry about the fact that you’re acting like a little brat because some psycho killer edged you.

A hand taps your calf in an almost soothing, comforting way, and you’re about to scream with hysteria at how much of a fucking joke this entire situation was.

The fear hasn’t quite been shrouded behind a layer of lust, and it rears its head as the killer refrains from touching you while you wait in tense silence.

But then you hear it.

“Such a cute pussy. Can’t wait to put my cock in it.”

The voice startles you. Your eyes widen, and your head lifts from the ground as you strain to hear more. The voice sounds deep, a lazy, almost cocky drawl that confirms your suspicions that the killer is a man. His voice, those muffled behind the door, is clear enough for you to make out what he’s saying.

“Been waiting too damn long for this cunt. You’re dripping all over my fingers like a whore. Do you get off on this? Is that what you want? Never took you as the kind of girl who’s into snuff.”

Been waiting for your cunt? Who the fuck is this guy?

“Well,” the killer says just as something large and thick starts to move through your folds. “I guess I’ll make your dreams come true.”

Your eyeballs nearly pop out of your skull as what you can only assume is his dick begins to push through your tight walls, bit by bit, as you cry out – in pain or pleasure, you aren’t sure anymore.

“Let’s make a movie, babe.”

That voice…it sounds so familiar, like one you know so well. But it couldn’t be, could it?

It sounds like-

One powerful thrust has your voice growing hoarse from the scream you let out. Tears dot your lashes as your walls fight to accommodate the stretch of the killer’s cock, and boy is it a stretch. You’ve never felt so full in your life, like his dick could reach your throat if he keeps pushing in.

It’s as amazing as it is painful; it makes you grit your teeth and breathe heavily, but damn was it the sort of stretch your body had been craving. God, you were so fucked up for wanting this, for even entertaining this for so long instead of trying to fight for your life like you should have been.

But you’re too far gone to think about that anymore – might as well cum before you die.

The killer doesn’t wait to start pumping his cock into you, each smack of his hips against your ass causes yours to slam into the doggy door. Maybe if he keeps fucking you hard enough you’ll eventually pop out of the little door and break free. What makes your stomach churn with shame is at this point you aren’t sure if you’ll willingly take off running to safety because his cock feels too damn good.

“Oh, f-fuck-“

He shows no mercy on your poor pussy, and his hands grab handfuls of your ass, squeezing them roughly like he was kneading dough before spanking them hard. You yelp at the impact, and at the next one, and the one after that, until your cries of pain turn into moans of ecstasy as you are used and abused by the one thing standing between you and life or death.

His cock is so long it kisses your cervix with each thrust, is so thick it massages that sweet spot you could never find with your own fingers before, and your chest constricts tightly as your breathing becomes laboured the longer his cock stays buried inside of your heat.

Your orgasm is fast approaching once again without the need for his fingers on your swollen bud. Through the door you can faintly hear filthy words of praise leave the killer's lips, calling you his good little slut, commenting on how wet you are all for him, about how sick and twisted you were in the head for liking this.

Maybe he was right about that one.

But even with the war of morality waging in your mind right now you still bring a hand up to your chest to slip beneath your shirt and your bra to play with your already hardened nipples, your toes still curl in bliss as a delightful heat spreads to every corner of your body. The killers’ balls slap against your clit with every pump of his hips, and you can feel it again, you’re going to cum, nearly there, just a little more-

He stops.

He stops mid thrust, as if frozen in time, and your high is ripped away from you once more. You give a shout of anguish, disappointment burning through your body like a bitter drink swallowed, a sense of overwhelming frustration making your limbs feel restless as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Leather gloves skim the globe of your ass cheeks, over the dip of your hips, moving slowly up to your waist that hangs halfway out of the doggy door. Without warning he grips your body tight and begins to pull you back into the shed with him. The ground scraps at the skin your top can’t cover, blades of grass tickling your stomach as your shirt bunches up under your chest. You’re starting to panic again, because being pulled in means you’re back inside a locked space with a killer, it means the delusion of being able to eventually fit your body through that tiny flap is gone, it means being forced to look into that white mask as he raises the tip of the knife to your throat and slashes right through the skin.

“N-No, please,” you groan as you try to crawl out again but the hands on your waist are strong like steel. You wince when you feel the edges of the doggy door scratch the skin of your arms until suddenly a dull yellow fluorescent glow shining on grey concrete floors is all you see as you’re successfully pulled back inside.

A leather hand plants itself on the ground beside your head, and a solid chest leans over your back.

You stop breathing for a moment as fear seizes your limbs once more, shaking fingertips grasping at the concrete with little else to do. His chest moves up and down behind you as he huffs lightly for air behind the mask. It touches your shoulder, trailing a path on your skin teasingly and raising goosebumps on your flesh. The killer hums beneath the plastic.

“Mmm, you look even better in the light. Your ass is so pretty, kitten.”

A whimper escapes your mouth, and the chuckle he lets out vibrates against your back.

“What d-do you want w-with me?” you stutter. The hand that was on your waist suddenly smacks your rear hard. You gasp loudly but fail to stop the broken moan that escapes you at the end. You cover your face in shame as the killer massages the sting on your cheek with a mocking laugh that grates on your nerves.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the killer says with clear amusement in his voice, as if you had just asked him a silly question like if wizards were actually real. If they were, you’re hoping one will magically appear and bippity, boppity boo you out of this god forsaken shed and away from this fucker.

Cock still hard inside of you, he pushes your hips flush to the floor with ease, lying nearly completely on top of you and throbbing in your cunt. It’s like his whole body covers you, swallowing you up like a monster, encasing you in black. The heat emanating from his dark clothes feels so different to the bitter air outside.

“I want to fuck your little hole raw, sweetie. It’s all mine now. I’ve done my waiting,” he growls, and the sound makes you shiver.

That voice! You definitely know that voice-

He starts grinding into your heat, body moving sensually on top of yours, grunting at the way your walls suck him in, the way they try to hold onto his massive cock for dear life. You’re ashamed to admit his groans of pleasure flowing into your ear spark excitement straight through you, and with how your clit brushes the floor with each languid thrust of his hips you’re well on your way to finally reaching your orgasm again.

“God, you feel so f-fucking tight, shit. So goddamn good, been dreaming about your sweet cunt for months now.”

You’re panting like a bitch in heat – face flushed, mewling like a little kitten for this psychopath, and it feels as though with each second that passes, holding onto your sanity becomes an impossible task as you let yourself be split open by his cock.

“Please…”

“’Please’ what?” The hand groping your ass moves to cup the back of your neck. “Please…stop? You want me to stop?”

His hips begin to slow. Without thinking, you reach behind you to grasp at his side. “N-No! Don’t stop, no no-“

What the fuck am I saying?!

You know he’s smirking behind the mask. The thumb on your neck rubs circles in faux comfort.

“I would never have thought such a good girl like you had a thing for this sort of shit. You freak,” his hips quicken, and you let out an airy sigh of relief. “If I had known how wet you would be I would’ve come to see you a lot earlier.”

You can’t say anything in response with your cheek pressed to the floor. Instead you close your eyes in disgrace as your walls squeeze his member hard. He falters and curses in surprise.

“Holy shit, you’re the tightest I’ve ever fucked. Be honest babe, have you been saving yourself for me?” His laugh is raspy. He laughs and laughs, like it’s an inside joke you’ll never be privy to.

And you just can’t shake the familiarity of his voice. You know you’ve heard it before, and it makes you all the sicker to realise that the killer might be someone you know, have been near, have talked to.

He grunts, resting his mask-covered face on your shoulder. “God I could get used to this. Maybe I’ll keep you around, yeah? Lock you up in my house like a lil’ sex dolly, just for me. You like that?” You shake your head ‘no’ rapidly, but the clenching of your walls says otherwise.

“Can’t fool me babe. I can feel how much you want me.”

The hand lifts from your neck, and you strain to raise it off the floor. The shed is a symphony of sounds from where you’re joined with the killer, wet squelching that betrays how turned on you are. You’re gushing around his cock, coating his pelvis in your sweet juices, and it’s impossible to deny how much this is getting to you when the evidence is leaking out of you.

“I bet you’re into all kinds of stuff,” he says distractedly. You bite your lip as you keep your eyes trained on that traitorous doggy door. “Like anal stuff! You wanna try something right now?”

Your eyes widen.

Something solid presses against the rim of your ass and you jolt in shock, whipping your heading around frantically only to nearly die on the spot as you see what’s touching you.

The handle of the killer’s knife circles your opening, daring to press in just the slightest and breach your hole. Your heart thuds in your chest like a hammer as you try to squirm out of his hold, while he just playfully tilts his head at you in amusement.

“No, not that, please not that! I don’t want it, stop it, stop-“

He lifts the knife away from your ass but the relief is short lived as he places the tip of the blade on your back. It feels sharp, with a bite as cold as winter, and you try to hold as still as possible despite his continued thrusting as he pretends to draw shapes into your skin.

“Don’t worry,” he soothes. “I won’t do it. Not now, at least. If you play your cards right, we’ll get to do it next time.”

If you play your cards right, huh? You don’t like how that sounds. Sure, you avoid death, but you live to experience another hellish day. It’s a double-edged sword, but it’s your only hope.

The killer pierces your skin suddenly as you’re lost in your thoughts, and the pain frightens you so much you jump away from him and feel his cock slip out of you. It’s ridiculous how empty you feel now that he’s not inside of you, and it makes the killer groan to see your walls flutter and squeeze around thin air.

“Whoops!” He snorts. He takes hold of his shaft and aims it at your slit once more. “Want me to help put it in again, babe?”

And just like that, with a few simple words, it clicks.

Like two puzzle pieces joining together to finally complete and reveal the bigger picture, it dawns on you just where exactly you’ve heard that voice before, why everything about the killer just seems so oddly familiar.

You’ve sat next to the killer in class. You’ve laughed with him, sat close to him, opened your heart to him while he listened with an attentive ear and a patient, lazy smile. You’ve sent him pictures of your body and he’s responded in kind. You’ve played with yourself on so many nights to the thought of him, and hoped he’d done the same with yours.

You’ve shared barely there kisses, words full of sin and excitement.

You’ve had a crush on him.

Your blood runs colder than ice.

“Matsukawa Issei,” you say as firmly as you can, but the words wobble on the edges, telling of how unstable your grip on reality is at this moment.

He grows very still. Deathly still. The shed turns quiet. All you can hear is the buzzing of the light overhead and the beating of your heart in your ribcage, the rushing of blood in your ears as a terrifying pressure weighs you down.

After a long moment, one that feels like forever, he speaks, and his voice isn’t as playful as it was before. It sounds darker, like he’s disappointed you’ve caught him before the game was over, like you’ve spotted his winning hand before he could place them on the table.

“Well, aren’t you a clever girl.”

Words that would have made you melt into a puddle just an hour ago now fill you with complete dread.

You can barely move as your fears were confirmed, can barely see past the tears that are falling faster now. It feels like everything you’ve ever known is burning and crashing to the ground, and you’ve lit the match while Matsukawa poured the gasoline.

You don’t fight it as the killer - no, as Matsukawa turns your body around to face him, limp like a ragdoll, legs still lamely spread for the man in the ghost mask before you.

With a tilt of his head, there’s a pregnant pause in which you’re trying not to hyperventilate and pass out beneath him as you await his next move. There’s a million thoughts screaming in your head but you can focus on none of them as Matsukawa raises a gloved hand to his mask, gripping onto the end of it, and ever so slowly lifting it up inch by inch, revealing tanned skin, a feral grin that forces you to bring your hand to your mouth to suppress a whimper because of how evil it looked, and hooded eyes that follow your every move with a bright intensity that only someone as like Matsukawa Issei could possess.

The face of the killer is revealed to you, in all his wicked glory, and the tears that have shed non stop fall faster down the sides of your face in mute terror.

You had wanted to have sex with Matsukawa tonight.

Well, you got your fucking wish, didn’t you?

Matsukawa grins lopsidedly, with a boyish charm that makes you feel sick.

“Surprise!”

“Oh, God…” you whimper, and close your eyes shut in misery.

“Hey now, where’s that spirit from a few minutes ago, huh? Is it the mask? Want me to put it back on again? I can do that - whatever will get the juices flowing.”

He laughs at his own stupid joke. Because this is just all one big comedy to him, isn’t it? You’re nothing but the punchline to a bad, fucked up gag. You’re amazed at how your body still manages to feel a deep sense of mortification over all of this.

“It’s not the fucking mask,” you whisper. Matsukawa hums.

“Seems like it kinda is about the mask. Was I really any different with the mask on-”

“Yes! You were!” you blurt out, bubbling in anger and betrayal.

He regarded you with a cool, blank look. “How?”

“It’s because you’re...you! Because you...you-”

“Because I’m just ‘a normal guy’ without the mask?” He raises his brow as his face gets closer to yours, like looking at a bug through a lens. “Because I’m the nice guy who made you laugh and listened to all your problems and gave you a shoulder to cry on?”

His nose brushed the tip of yours, and you held your breath as you stared into his dark eyes in a twisted sort of entrancement.

“Because I’m the guy you have a crush on? The one who kissed you at parties, who you sent nudes to?” He laughs lightly at that. A smirk creeps onto his plump lips. “Because I’m the guy who jerked it to every single picture and video you sent, wishing it was my fingers making you cream instead of your pretty little ones? I got my wish there, didn’t I?”

Seems like tonight is the night for wish fulfilment.

Matsukawa plants a gentle kiss on your trembling lips. You hate yourself for loving it.

His next words are whispered against your lips. “News flash babe - there are killers all around you. Always have been. Whether it’s me, or the neighbor you see watering the flowers, or the guy who’s been working at the corner shop for too long. They’re just waiting to come to their senses. Waiting to understand the thrill of the kill.”

That makes whatever resolve you had built up crumble like sand in the wind.

“No, no no no- w-why? Why are you doing this? Why me?!”

Matsukawa wipes away your tears with a tsk tsk tsk, one that reminds you of a parent soothing you after you’ve scraped your knee. “It’s because I like you, silly.”

All you feel is confusion, a mess of mixed emotions clouding your thinking abilities. “You l-like me? But then-,” you start to become a sobbing mess, and Mattsun comforts you all the way through your crying fit, peppering sweet little kisses all over your tear stained cheeks in ways you would have adored in other circumstances. It messes with your heart and mind too much, at war with being terrified of who he has become, at ease with such a familiar face.

“Why do you want to k-kill me? What did I do?” you manage to say. Matsukawa wears a serious expression as he contemplates your words.

“It’s not that I wanna kill you, per se. I just think there’s a certain...art to it, you know? It’s symbolic. Killing the girl you like, a final leap into villainy. That sort of thing. Like in the movies!”

He grins.

“I wanted to go out with a bang. Literally. Finally get to sink my cock into you, fuck you nice and deep. Get a taste of you before I let you go. I’m not into that necro shit. That’s psychotic,” he comments. You have half a mind to tell him that no matter what his fucked up sense of morals are, everything he’s doing right now makes him no better than a corpse fucker, but you hold your tongue.

“But now that I actually have you...I might keep you around. You just feel too good to go to waste.”

His words are accentuated with a grind of his hips, his member slipping through your warm and puffy folds with a grunt of pleasure. It’s one thing to get fucked by someone you can’t see, it’s another to see the way his long dark lashes flutter as the sensation of your wet heat overcomes him, to see vivid expressions of pleasure flash across his face like a movie reel.

“What do you think? Want me to fuck you this good every day, every hour? Make you cum over and over and over again on my dick?”

No. Yes.

You want to crawl into a ball and die.

But through the black murky tar that is your mind right now, one thought stands out above the rest.

Say yes and you’ll live another day.

You don’t plan on dying here.

You beg your trembling hands to cooperate as you move to cup his face. There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes, so quick you’d almost miss it, but it gives you an inkling of hope you so desperately needed for your plan of escape. You need him to trust you.

Your eyes plead, beg for mercy, as you start the greatest test of your strength.

“Y-Yes, I do. Please.”

It’s all you can muster. But it’s enough.

Matsukawa Issei grins in delight. In fact, he looks even more excited than before. Hook, line, and sinker.

You can only hope this isn’t a cruel trick you’ve accidentally fallen into.

The kiss he gives you is a lot rougher than the ones before - this is animalistic, hungry, as his mouth and tongue invade every one of your senses, trying to drown you in his entire being. Your hands wander into his thick hair and tug, receiving a guttural moan into your mouth as he ruts against your sex like a wild dog.

“So you are a freak,” he grunts into your neck as he bites and nips at your skin. He laps at your collarbone, licking up the sweat clinging to your skin. “We’re gonna be the most fucked up couple ever, babe. Our own little version of Bonnie and Clyde. Killing together and drilling into your ass every night. Sounds like fucking heaven.”

It makes you want to gag as much as his words make your body burn with desire, a messed up want for his undivided attention, just as you always dreamed. Your mind says ‘get the fuck away from him’ while your eight month long dry spell says ‘yes, please ruin me and fill me with cum!’

Matsukawa grips his cock, slaps the head against your sensitive bud a few times before slipping back in. The burn of your walls from the sheer size of his dick is still there, but not nearly as painful as earlier. You emit a sound of slight discomfort but nothing more, too distracted by the tongue licking at whatever cleavage your shirt is showing. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you delirious, the delicate brush of his pelvis to your clit helping to build your orgasm for what you desperately hope is the final build up tonight.

Your fingers stay locked in his hair as he paints your chest in bruises and marks with his teeth, curling around silky soft locks that make you whimper for what could have been if Matsukawa hadn’t gone down such a dark path. You wonder if anyone else knows, if his family have any inkling as to how terrifying their baby boy is.

You blush when his eyes make contact with yours. He makes a show of pulling your shirt down as far as he can, and one side of your bra subsequently follows. Pink lips wrap around your pebbled nipple, and you inhale sharply.

“S-Shit, feels...so…”

“Does that feel good, baby? I can make you feel like this every day,” his voice is muffled as he takes your nipple into his mouth and sucks, grazing his teeth over the flesh to make you jump.

“It’s so good,” you sigh, eyelids fluttering as he shows the same devotion to your other breast after moving the clothes blocking his way. “I w-want…”

“Hmm?” Matsukawa hums around your breast. He releases it from his mouth with a loud pop. The smirk on his face is lackadaisical in nature, but the shine in his eyes betrays how much he is enjoying this. “What do you want?”

He gives a harsh thrust, so abruptly, and you keen as you try to hold him as close as possible, wrapping your legs around his waist. It makes him hit a new angle that has your eyes rolling into the back of your skull with blinding pleasure, but Matsukawa brings you back to reality with his gloved fingers gripping your face and giving it a shake.

“C’mon, beautiful. Use your words. I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me.”

Your voice is needy and whiny, like you were the poster girl for all things horny and pornographic, but if it makes him fall deeply in love with you long enough for you to tuck tail and run when the opportunity arises, you’ll push aside your pride and play the role.

“Please, I want you to fuck me and give me all your cum, Issei.”

The brunette gives a subtle shiver - his eyes clenched shut, like he’s fighting to regain composure, but a grin breaks out on his face regardless.

“Damn, that sounded so fucking good. Want me to fill you up? Breed this slutty hole, make it all mine?”

“Y-yes, it’s yours, it’s all yours-!”

“Fuck.”

He growls, and the lazy pace he had before vanishes as he starts pounding into your cunt with abandon, lifting your hips onto his thighs to reach even deeper inside of you.

The musty, old air of the shed from before is overpowered by the strong scent of sex in the air - a heady musk of your juices, of sweat and tears and overwhelming pleasure. The sounds of skin slapping on skin is loud and crude but nothing compared to the words Mattsun groans into your ears, calling you his filthy girl, his princess, his sweet little fucked up wife. They are as disgusting as they are hot, and your whole body thrums with your impending orgasm you feel burning in your gut.

“I’m- I’m so close,” you whimper. Matsukawa captures your lips in a bruising kiss, and you’re left gasping for air when he pulls back. You feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest, are sure that he can feel how hard it beats through the layers of his clothes.

“Ah, good girl,” your walls squeeze him in a tight grip, and his hips falter as he swears, before picking up at a speed even faster than before. You can’t catch your breath as he starts jackhammering into your cunt, every gasp for air feels unsatisfactory as he fucks you at a brutal pace. All you can do is be a victim to his sweet words and his thick cock. “You’re sucking me in so well - want you to cum all over my dick babe, fucking take all my cum and keep it there-”

“F-Fuck, you’re so big-,” he steals the words from your chest when his leather clad thumb rubs quick and unmerciful strokes to your clit.

“R-Right there! There...I’m gon- I’m coming!”

A strangled, drawn out moan echoes in the room as your orgasm crashes into you hard. You see white, feel an intense heat grow from the top of your head to the tips of your curling toes as you writhe in ecstasy beneath Matsukawa, nails biting into his neck and scalp as you grip on without meaning to.

It’s lost on Matsukawa, however, as his thrusts turn erratic and wild until he too cums with a shout of your name, spilling his cum into your clenching hole in warm spurts, giving a few final lazy thrusts before pushing all the way in, pelvis to pelvis, and plugging you up. He collapses on your body with a grunt and a sigh, holding your wrists by your head, moving upwards to link fingers in a gesture almost akin to affection.

You’re a babbling mess underneath his heavy body, unable to say anything coherent other than ‘Issei’ and a few scattered moans as your body comes down from the world shifting orgasm you were finally granted.

The fog from your orgasm eventually clears, and that dead weight of dread returns to your chest as you await the judgement of Matsukawa - on whether you live tonight, or if he had a change of heart with post-nut clarity and you die by his hand.

He speaks as you’re eying his knife that lays idly on the floor from over his broad shoulder, mentally calculating how fast you could move to grab it if he decides to finish you off after all.

“Been waiting to do that for a long time.” Matsukawa lifts his head, presses a small kiss to your lips.

“...me too,” you say eventually, not knowing what was safe territory anymore now that the barrier of sex was taken down. You reciprocate every kiss he gives you, wince with every shift of his hips as his flaccid member in your core becomes more apparent and more uncomfortable. He raises his body slightly when he lets go of your hands to plant them on the ground and look around the room.

You grow cold when he stares at the knife.

The door to the shed clicks open before either of you can do anything, and your heart leaps to your throat as your salvation walks through the door.

A head of dull, pink coloured hair walks into the shed, pocketing the key before freezing, eyes wide and staring at the lewd position the two of you are tangled in. Matsukawa looks like he couldn’t care less at the intrusion, in fact he snorts and smiles lopsidedly at his best friend.

Yet just as you’re about to call out to Hanamaki, to scream for help once more tonight, to risk your chances and find safety in Makki because two can take on one much better than you alone could ever hope to with Matsukawa’s strength, Hanamaki speaks up.

“I thought you would have killed her already.”

And just like that, that spark of hope is doused in pisswater.

You feel like you might burst into tears again.

“Nah. Plan’s changed.”

Hanamaki looks perplexed, but laughs with manic glee eventually. “Should have known you were going to drag it out.”

Matsukawa slips out of your walls, and it makes you whimper to feel so empty, so sensitive. He sits you down on his lap and looks at his friend over your shoulder. With this new position, you realise belatedly that your legs are spread and everything is on show for Hanamaki. You burn in embarrassment and move to cover yourself, but two strong gloved hands on your knees stop you from doing so.

Hanamaki takes one look at your raw, cum soaked pussy, and feels his cock twitch in his pants. “Is there some extra time to play with her before you get rid of her?” he asks with a sly smirk. His words make your stomach twist - either in terror or anticipation, you aren’t sure anymore.

“I’m not getting rid of her,” Mattsun says, nuzzling your hair. “She’s joining us. Aren’t you babe?”

You swallow roughly.

“She’s going to be our little fuck toy, whenever we want,” he continues. “You’d do that for me and Makki, right?”

You stare wide eyed at Hanamaki, whose eyes are trained on the globs of cum dripping out of your hole. “You...y-you’re the killer, too.”

His eyes meet yours. “Bingo.”

“Two heads are better than one, right?” Matsukawa laughs.

“Which heads are we talking about here?” Jokes Hanamaki. You don’t have energy to fake a laugh. Just how many more people you knew were in on this? Oikawa? Iwaizumi?

“But now with three heads, maybe things will get a little more interesting.” Matsukawa holds you painfully tight as Hanamaki stalks over to kneel in front of you. You feel too exposed with both sets of eyes watching you like a hawk, like they’re trying to find your flaws. “You wouldn’t dare tell anyone about this. Would you?”

You understand the weight of that question; with a pleading look you don’t have to fake, your head shakes rapidly side to side. “N-No! I wouldn’t tell a soul! I’m serious.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa stare at each other, like they’re having a silent conversation in their heads. A psychotic connection, a pair of sick minds that are so in sync with mania that they don’t even need words.

Eventually, Makki’s eyes swivel back to yours, and his dry smile shifts to a heated smirk.

“Well then,” his voice is dark as he unbuckles his pants, and his cocks slaps against his lower abdomen. It’s already leaking with precum when he rubs the head, and you bite your lip when he shudders at the feeling. “I guess you’ll just have to prove your loyalty to us.”

.

.

.

The slurping sounds from between your legs are loud and obnoxious, but the man behind them certainly knows how to use his tongue as he eats you out with fervour, groaning into the wet mess of your pussy with eyes rolling back into his skull as you grip onto his pink head of hair.

Matsukuwa keeps you on his lap as he rolls your nipples around with his thumbs, squeezing your mounds every so often to elicit sighs from your lips.

You almost forget about the crew filming you, the lights and cameras that stay trained on your writhing body as you get lost in the euphoria of being between Hanamaki and Matsukawa, letting pleasure take over you completely, falling into your own blissful world.

Until you hear Matsukawa snort out a laugh into your ear behind you, and says, in a quiet voice that rings too loudly on the set, “wazzup?”

Oh.

Oh no.

Here we go.

Hanamaki stops sucking at your clit suddenly, and the sensation of him laughing into the folds of your sex makes your eyes pop open.

“Wazzuuuup.”

“Uhm, please don’t-” you try to stop them as the cameras are still rolling, but like an avalanche, it keeps getting progressively worse. Your crew sends you helpless looks - you’re the director, you have to get this under control.

“Wazzuuuuuuuuup!” Matsukawa bursts out laughing while Hanamaki follows as they continue to throw that stupid fucking word back and forth, as if one doesn’t have his hands on your tits and the other doesn’t have half of his face shoved into your pussy right now.

“You know what?” you say loudly, breaking out of character and making both of them stop with their dumb reference. “This scene isn’t going to work. I’m taking it out. Let’s stop filming.”

Both men whine in disappointment, but you shrug indifferently and pout at a nearby forgotten painting of dogs playing poker. You’ll have to ask Oikawa if you can keep that after all of this is done. You’d hate to let that sit here, gathering dust. It’s pretty cool.

Hanamaki puts his chin on your abdomen and juts his glistening lower lip outwards. “Aww, what? You’re ending the scene? But I really liked this scene!”

Matsukawa laughs. “Yeah, because you get to be in it and eat her out.”

“Well, it is my favourite meal.”

Both of them grin cheesily at each other. You want to bury your face in your hands. Men.

“...can we still fuck right now, though?”

Hanamaki looks pleading as he says it. There’s no mistaking the glint of arousal in his eyes, or the way his hips grind onto the floor for some sort of friction. You bite your lip in contemplation.

“Please?” Matsukawa asks. He kisses his way up your neck, to suck on the space below your ear. How they were so bold with your little crew watching, you’ll never know. “We’ll show you an even better time now that all the cameras are off.”

You shiver, and the raised brow coupled with the smirk from Hanamaki seals the deal for you. You look up at your meagre crew.

“Go get something to eat and come back in a few hours to go over footage and reshoots. Maybe we can do some pick up shots.”

They say nothing, but flash you knowing looks as they gather their bags and close the door behind them until the shed is silent once more.

Hanamaki smiles in sweet delight.

“Aww, hell yeah,” he cheers, and goes right back to where he left off with a drag of his tongue along your folds.

[abbalwt]

if there’s one thing the one direction boys did right within both the group and in their solo music so far is their bridges I mean there’s the bridge in Defenceless?? And in Slow hands?? And Don’t forget where you belong?? And History?? Plus Dear patience?? Everything about you?? End of the day?? Hey angel?? This town?? Illusion?? Stockholm syndrome?? More than this?? From the dining table?? Walking in the wind?? Black and white?? Another world?? Tell your friends?? Better than words?? Keep driving?? What a feeling?? Stole my heart?? Diana?? Treat people with kindness?? Change your ticket?? Everywhere??? Summer love?? Flicker?? Love you goodbye?? If I could fly?? Slow?? Where do broken hearts go?? Home?? Little white lies?? Over again?? Falling?? Weekend?? Alive?? Paper houses?? Wolves?? Satellite?? Truly madly deeply?? Just like you?? Strong?? Through the dark?? Heartbreak weather?? Steal my girl?? No control?? Midnight memories?? Olivia?? Back for you?? On the loose?? Sign of the times?? Taken?? Stand up?? Temporary fix?? As it was?? Why don’t we go there?? Act my age?? Finally free?? Seriously they never missed an opportunity to give us a good bridge and I’m beyond grateful!!

[daltoneering]

Reflections and mirrors in episode 9

(I've decided to start doing these as individual posts for readability, but they will all be copied into my master doc where you can find all my thoughts on the episodes leading up to this one as well!)

The first reflection shot we get in this episode is in the window where Tankhun, Kinn and Korn are decided what to do with Tawan. There’s been some great discussion already on the framing and clothing choices (Tankhun in white, Korn in black, and Kinn in both), but what I’m looking at here is that reflection—and the fact that Tankhun is the only one we can see reflected clearly (thanks @helcinda for spotting this!). Tankhun is correct and right not to trust Tawan!

Now, this may be reading too far into things and getting away with ourselves, but like I’ve said before, if the theory holds up, then why not—@julietsbb pointed out a really neat little thing to me that Arm is the only one who has spotted that there’s something going on between Kinn and Porsche. Arm… and his glasses! Something about seeing clearly through glass = being able to see the truth? (Though he can also see it even without his glasses from 100m away, so maybe it’s just that he is in custody of the collective single braincell today!)

I have to mention all the nice shiny reflection surfaces present in the Porsche and Tawan late night warm milk scene, particularly the glass windows(??) behind them, because!! They are both standing with their backs to them. The opportunity is right there, but the camera doesn’t take it (other than very briefly when Porsche walks in, which I think is coincidental). They are both choosing to speak in metaphors, obfuscating their hidden feelings—also nice parallel to how equally framed they are here, as opposed to when Porsche is in the cell at the end of the episode.

Updating this to add some of luckydragon10’s observations from her lines of power series!! Perhaps the reflection of Porsche on the way in is not so coincidental after all… he’s reflected alone, but it’s broken up by the lines of the wall tiles, and slightly muddied—to quote Nemi, he’s building his persona, starting to create a mafia version of himself that he can use to enact power, like he does with Tawan in this scene. But it’s still a work in progress, and isn’t strong enough to be impactful in the long run.

Kinn/Tawan bathroom scene the first—so much of this scene involves the mirror!!! And the foggy glass of the shower at the start. And—kinda off-topic for this series, but it adds to the overall understanding—lots of lighting strips coming from the shutter slats (which we have seen previously in relation to Vegas/secrets/hidden agendas). Tawan has his back to the mirror for most of their conversation, hiding the truth about why he’s there and what he wants from Kinn; right at the end he turns and watches Kinn leave in the mirror. (We get a very brief, mostly out-of-focus reflection of Kinn, right after Tawan tells him to choose wisely, but he doesn’t linger to look at or make eye contact with it—he’s not doing his choosing or any self-reflecting here while Tawan is threatening him). We then get this solo reflection shot of Tawan, mirroring Kinn’s in episode 4 and Porsche’s in episode 5—only he’s not having to examine any true feelings. He knows exactly what he’s up to behind his mask and lies, and the look on his face when he confronts that real version of himself tells us that he knows he’s succeeding.

There are some other thoughts on Porsche + Vegas + the pool in my water doc, but I want to pick up on this excellent post by @7nessasaryevils about the significance of Vegas coming to sit next to the pool with him. The pool is a reflective surface—but as we’ve seen in other water reflection shots, it’s not as clear as a mirror, certainly not with the lighting the way it is here. Instead, we get basically no reflections in the pool, and loads of reflected watery lights on the ceiling and on their faces. The rippled surface of the water makes everything distorted. Unlike the apology scene between Kinn and Porsche in ep 7, there is no clarity and no showing of the true self from Vegas when he comes to apologise here: Vegas is lying and simply here to further his plan. (I mention the watery lights in episode 5 as well, and I think they are a pretty strong indicator that someone is not letting on everything they’re thinking.) I think it’s really interesting that Vegas comes and sits in the pool with him (with his trousers still on, as 7nessasaryevils said, refusing to bare anything)—to the viewer, we know that he’s putting himself into that place of murky reflections where things are hidden and nothing is as it seems, but to Porsche, he’s putting himself on his level, getting into the water with him—tempting Porsche to trust him.

Another really nice parallel between this scene and the ep 7 apology/mirror scene is that a lot of it is shot from behind—while the ep 7 scene was clear and intentional in showing us their faces and all the communicating of feelings that went along with that, here we see them almost entirely in profile.

Goodness ME, this shot of Tawan. It is through a window, through slats, and with a mirror in the background. P’Joy really said “let the cinematography do the storytelling with this one”—there’s so much going on with glass being broken up and reflective surfaces not showing anything that this is simply screaming at us not to trust him. Thankfully, we’re a smart viewing audience, and we don’t.

Okay, whew. The mirror in Tawan’s old room. This one has taken some serious thought brewing but I think we might be there—and this is one of the most intentional mirror shots since the ep 7 apology, so it’s definitely one that needs dissecting.

Firstly—the mirror is creating a strong dividing line between Kinn and Tawan (looking forward to seeing luckydragon10’s lines of power series on this one!). Kinn is reflected and Tawan isn’t—I think it’s not a stretch to say that narratively, Tawan is avoiding being reflected in the same mirror as Kinn. (Yes, I am aware he is shortly when he’s groping around under the bed, but for now—!) He’s fully masked and lying, and he’s pretending that he can’t find the USB to toy with Kinn and to reinforce his power in this scene—he’s the only one who knows where it is, and that is a strong point of power over Kinn. The seated/standing difference also contributes to this. 

Kinn is facing the mirror, and briefly glances at himself in it at one point. I think the mirror here represents the fact that Kinn is not being his full self with Tawan, but that he has to play along in order to get the evidence he needs. Tawan’s return has pushed him back towards the mafia self that he was before episodes 6 and 8 and all of the lack of mirrors there—his trust issues and the way that Tawan is such a big part of them are what push him away from his true, genuine self that we see in the woods and when he’s alone with Porsche. He knows not to trust Tawan, and he knows he wants to trust Porsche, but with everything that’s at stake (and his issues also being reinforced by seeing Vegas at the pool) he’s starting to slip up again, and starting to doubt. When the doubts creep in, so do the mirrors. And this one’s huge.

And now Tawan joins him in the mirror. Notice that he keeps his back to it the whole time—he still can’t let Kinn see the glimpses of his real plan. Not only is he reflected in it once, but his reflection is tripled in the border of the mirror: there’s more to his plan than what’s happening here; he’s part of something much bigger. (Like working with Vegas to bring down the main family, probably.) It’s interesting that after coming and putting himself in the mirror with Kinn, he gets down on his level—but he still has all the power in this scene, and that’s reinforced by the fact that he’s able to get away with fully shoving his face into Kinn’s crotch while pretending to fumble around under the bed. Tawan knows Kinn doesn’t trust him, so what does he do? Plays into that, threatens/teases him about it, uses it to his power—and then “proves” that he can trust him by finding the USB. It’s all part of the act, and the fact that it happens in the mirror just serves to reinforce that.

(Thoughts on water imagery in this ep here!)

[plush-rabbit]

Purgatory is Sweet Punishment

Request: Pls let Solomon and Simeon use mc like a fleshlight 😳😩👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻✨ I want to see her covered in their mess and overstimmed and begging for them

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: a short thing!! I hope you like it:)

-

Simeon watches from the doorway, his mouth pulled into a thin line as he watches you whine under Solomon, your mouth open and eyes rolled back to your head with tears shining. He hates the feeling of heat that bubbles in his stomach, golden blood that rushes through his body and settles below him.

He hadn’t meant to walk in on the both of you during your more intimate time- not that he knew what was going on. He simply thought that the two of you were studying but perhaps he should have known that the two of you were in the process of something else.

Solomon pulls out of you, his cock dripping with your sweetened nectar, as you lay under him, your hands reaching for his forward, your voice broken as you call for him to come closer. “Solo,” you whine, thrusting your hips upwards. “Don’t go, please, Solo, don’t go.” You roll your hips and clench your thighs together and Simeon finds himself enchanted by the way your cunt flutters.

“For someone who chastised us, you seem to be pretty interested,” Solomon teases, turning around and Simeon quickly averts his eyes away from you. His own cock bobs and drips with cream- either from you or him, the angel isn’t sure. “You can always join us, you know.” Solomon’s hands slip away from your grip, and he gently slides his hands down your thighs, curving against the fat and sinking his fingers into you. “They won’t mind.”

“They’re hypnotized,” Simeon hisses out, his leg jerking and causing a ripple effect where he can finally move. “It isn’t right. What if it weren’t me who walked through the door? How would you have explained yourself then? I can barely contain my rage as it is.” He finds himself at the edge of the bed, your body hot enough for him to feel without even touching you.

Solomon’s smile doesn’t falter, it only twitches upwards, his hands now gripping your thighs leaving you whining at the mere contact of it. “They consented. We’re both into this. Want to see?” Solomon taps the center of your forehead, and you take a deep breath, slowly blinking away as if a light is being shone in your face. “Are you back with us?” You nod, licking at your lips, your mouth slightly parted as you turn to face where Simeon stands.

“Oh no,” you whisper under your breath, quickly turning your gaze back to Solomon. “Why did you bring me back now?” You hissed, your hands going to cover your burning face. “Solo, please tell me this is some weird hologram that you made,” you whine beneath your palms.

“It’s the real deal,” he answers, grabbing your wrists and pulling them away from your face. His hand lets go of your wrist, letting it fall to your chest where you desperately try to cover your chest. His hand cups your cheek and forces you to turn where Simeon stands. “Come on, don’t cry.”

“You’re the absolute worst,” you mutter, your eyes closing tightly, creases appearing between your brows.

“Look at that, Simeon, they're crying. Won’t you comfort them?” Solomon asks, kissing at your knuckles. “Could you really stand to see them cry?” He doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s pleased, the glee in his voice so thick that it makes Simeon’s face burn.

He stands still, his muscles stiff as he decides what to do. He may be an angel, but he knows what will happen if he decides to comfort you. You are his temptation, the sin that burns under his skin and haunts his every waking moment and he knows he isn’t strong enough to refuse you- especially when you’re in such an exposed and vulnerable state.

But he can’t stay. He can’t risk losing himself just because he felt that he had to wipe away your tears. Simeon can’t risk falling- he isn’t sure he’d be able to handle the heartbreak that would come from it. Yet, how can he say no to you, how can he deny you when you’re staring up at him with wide and glassy eyes and puffed lips from too many kisses.

“Simmy,” you sniffle, “please.” He isn’t sure what you’re asking of him and he doesn’t think you are either. Your hands go to clasp to the little excess of his pants, clutching it feebly in your hand and his resolve is gone.

He lowers himself to his knees, his hand replacing where Solomon held you, and he smiles gently at you. “It’s okay, my little lamb, there’s no need to cry.” The words only seem to have the opposite effect, thick tears grazing past his fingertips. “I’m not your judge, it’s okay. Please, don’t worry yourself.” He keeps his eyes on you, watching as your face scrunches when Solomon massages his cock against your clit, his hands held tightly at your hips. Simeon’s fingers brush away strands of hair that stick to your temple. “Just look at me, okay?” His mouth snaps closed when yours opens up to release a sultry moan, that is breathed against his lips. He is left staring at your face as Solomon pushes into you, curses falling past your lips as your hand goes to hold Simeon’s hand, gripping it tightly with your nails.

Your name is called by the man who is deflowering you and you turn to him, your eyes heavy with lust as your chest bounces. “Do you want Simeon to join us? Hm? Do you want Simeon to fuck that pretty, pink cunt of yours?” You nod, wrapping your legs around Solomon’s torso, keeping him trapped there as he pumps inside of you. “Don’t say it to me, say it to him. He won’t fuck you if you’re hypnotized so he’ll have to have you ask him.”

Your face is flushed, and he can hear your heart beat erratically in your chest. Your chest rises and dips as you turn to the angel, your mouth parted and already asking him to join before you can look him in the eyes. His hand burns against your skin, touching such an innocent place but to him it’s as if he’s touching something intimate, looking into your eyes as you’re fucked by a close friend of his.

“Simeon,” you gasp between the moans, your hand moving slowly as if muddled by amber, “please, just touch me.” Solomon’s moans interrupt your words as you’re pushed deeper into the bed. Your hand grasps onto the collar of his shorts and you pull him into a messy kiss. It’s teeth and tongue, saliva slipping past the corners of each other’s mouth while your hands go to cover every inch of his body that is exposed. “Simmy, just touch me,” you croak, pulling away with a thin strong of saliva connecting the both of you.

His hand is soft as it curves over your breast, his fingers brushing along a pebbled nipple. The bud is pinched, and it’s foreign in his hands, stiff and malleable at the same time, leaving you grasping at his shirt, pleading under your breath as his name is the only thing that you can say without falling apart. Your moans echo into his mouth, leaving his chest vibrating and he’s left breathless, dying at your lips as he hand kneads into your soft breast.

A puddle of white cloth is pooled around Simeon’s ankles, his body bare and radiant as he’s led onto the mattress. Hands touch at his body, tainting his holy being with sin that covers his brown skin, trails of lips that are pressed to the nape of his neck and against his own breast. Your lips are tender, pressed against his own; honeysuckle that sticks to his tongue and leaves him with aching teeth. Eyes are on him, and for once, they aren’t judgmental, they are free and full of love and he’s left hiding at the crook of your neck and holding onto Solomon’s hands, with poison that threatens to rip apart his soul and spill onto the two that are left on the bed.

“You’re allowed to touch them, you know,” Solomon says in a smile, his hand pulling away from the angels. “They want it too.” His eyes shift from Simeon to you who’s watching him with wicked eyes. “They’re dripping just at the feeling of kissing you. Show him how much you want him.”

He watches as your hand disappears between your legs, your fingers rubbing softly against your clit, your face heated and even though flushed, you still look at him. He watches how your fingers tease around your entrance, how they’re sucked inside and the soft melody of clicking sounds as you finger yourself in front of him, because of him. He watches and waits with bated breath and when you pull your hands away, translucent gossamer strings stick between your fingers. Your wrist is held in the angel’s hands and your nectar that is oh-so-sweet is placed on his tongue, his lips wrapping around your fingers, and the two humans before him watch as their angel suckles in something so sweet as if it were his final meal.

“Simeon,” you call to him, your hand outstretched, face burning as you entice him. You want nothing more than to just hold his hand, to touch him and let him feel you. “Simeon, please,” you cry, so desperate to hold his hand.

The angel turns to Solomon who pulls you to his chest, and so desperate to have your cunt filled, you align yourself to his cock, letting it nestle around your walls. “I- Is it really okay?” Simeon asks, watching as you squirm above Solomon.

“No one is here to judge you, Simeon. You’re allowed to do whatever you want to them.” Solomon holds his hand out to Simeon, his smile tempting as he curls his fingers, beckoning for Simeon to join him. “How would you like them?” Simeon furrows his brows in confusion and Solomon chuckles lightly. “You can have them vaginally-”

“It’s wrong to have premarital sex,” Simeon quickly interjects.

“So then anally?” The angel goes stiff. “Don’t worry, they’re already prepped,” Solomon mumbles. He lowers you to the bed, his cock sliding out of you, strings of arousal connecting and making his length glisten under the light of the room. “You can slip into them with ease-'' there's eagerness in his voice that the sorcerer does not try to hide- promise.” Solomon lies on his back, having you sit above him, slowly leaning over as his mouth pulls in one of your supple breasts, nursing on you as your hands reach around and grab at your bum, stretching the fat to have your taint exposed. “Just go ahead and use them. They like it when you’re rough,” he winks, capturing your lips in a kiss.

Simeon lets his cockhead kiss your hole, and it flutters around him, and the slapping of skin is enough to let him suck in a sharp breath and push himself inside of you. You moan and it’s intertwined with a sob and a call of his name and just as quick, you tighten yourself around him. Your walls are tight, gummy and clinging to the shape of his cock that curves and rises with soft bulges.

“Oh god, Simeon,” you wail, pulling away from the kiss and tilting your head backward. “Simeon, fuck- you’re so big.” There are tears in your voice and Simeon has to bite the inside of his cheeks to ignore the forming smile.

Inside of you, semen has begun to leak, iridescent and holy, filling your hole with such that makes the angel ignore the motions that are happening. He’s sinned under no one’s eyes and yet, he’s sinned to the two people who he cares for. He can feel something evil latch onto him, his need to have you call his name, to replace the name of Father with his, your voice the only thing that he can hear, along with Solomon’s grunts and breathless laughs. He’s pulled away from you and you and him whine at the loss of contact, your hands searching for him and body missing as semen leaks out of your abused holes. His shaft is cleansed of yours and his arousal and your legs are bent to your chest, your hands scratching and marring his back and he’s drowning in you, suffocating as he breeds you, burying his face into the crook of his neck and letting his teeth rip your skin.

His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing the sides and your breath is restricted. Your heartbeat rises, pulses and vibrates under his skin, your cunt tightening into something that makes it so easy for him to spill. Everything has bordered along fear and pleasure. “Sim- Simeon, Oh fuck-” your sentence is ruined by a moan, your body shaking as you mouth remains open, a thick trail of drool sliding past your bottom lip. “Simeon, Simeon,” you chant, raising your hips, your walls clinging to him and Solomon captures your lips.

He pulls away with a drunken expression, looking at Simeon who is sloppily thrusting inside of you. “Well, would you look at that- Ha,” Solomon says playfully, a hand of his squeezing at your breast. “You fucked them silly, Simeon.”

Your cunt leaks and Solomon nurses on your breast, your hand running through his hair as your sex burns, too sensitive, so close and so far. You leak in heavy strands, your body shaking as you call for both of them, whining and twisting under Simeon. Your legs ache, and you can feel him hit against your cervix, pushing so deep and so widely that you’re sure you’ll be unable to walk tomorrow.

Above you, Simeon moans, his face scrunched up as he can feel his release at the edge of him. Your cunt closes around him, clinging to his cock, and your lips capture his, tongue and teeth meet and he sobs into you, tears slipping onto your face and he spills. Your name leaves in a whimper past his lips, his hand curling above Solomon’s neck and holding it firmly, but loosely. You shake and cry, and when he pulls out of you, your body is on pins and needles as semen leaks out of you. The three of you lie in a bed and with sweat slicked bodies, you all stare up at the ceiling.

[slythersnaketounge67]

Death is inevitable

Summery:

You get hurt on a solo hunt.

Warnings:

Character Death, angst

You shiver looking up at the rotting, cracking wooden beams of the old abandoned building. Your hands shake as you press firmly against the quickly oozing wound, the pressure drawing a quiet, low pained moan from your throat. You slowly shift your weight, your left hand still trying its best to keep the blood inside your body, your other attempting to slip its way into the front pocket of your jeans, and after a couple of tries, your fingers slowly dig their way inside. You move your fingers around trying to find the cold smooth surface of your Android, you touch the cold sharp tip of your car keys before you find it and with an effort you draw it out, trying to keep the pain on the left side of your ribs to a minimum.

You slide your fingers across the screen to open it, silently thankful you hadn’t put a lock on it. You smile as you see the wallpaper you had picked a few months back and remember complaining about the original background it had been programmed with and how your best friend and his brother had helped you take the perfect one. You took picture after picture before finally settling on one. You stood in front, the phone's front camera facing you as you looked at your best friend Dean behind you as he made the most ridiculous face imaginable, while his brother, Sam, stood behind him laughing at his absurd expression.

A tear slides down your cheek as you realize you might not see them again, you press the contacts button at the bottom of the screen and scroll through the small number of acquaintances you had acquired over the years before you find the person you were looking for.

You swallow as you press the phone to your ear, the dialing tone almost deafening, but after two rings, he picks up.

“Hey sweetheart, on your way back?” You smile, trying to suppress the sob that threatens to tear its way through your chest.

“Um, not exactly,” you lift your hand from the stab wound and take a shallow breath at the sight of so much blood.

“I-,” you swallow once again, the tears coming faster. “I thought there were only a couple of Demons, turns out they were having a family reunion.”

“Family reunions,” you could hear the distaste in his voice as he responded, “I always hated those.” You hear rustling on his end of the phone and voices. You shift once more, gritting your teeth as a wave of pain passes through your body.

“Dean I think, I think this is it.” You stutter and you hear his breath catch before he replies in a hard voice.

“Y/N, what happened?” Your lower lip trembles and a sob breaks free.

“Dean, there's so much blood.” You finally choke out and you hear Sam's curious tone, not hearing exactly what he asked, and Dean faintly but hurriedly telling him to get the Impala ready quickly.

“Y/N, stay on the phone, we're leaving now, you hear me, keep your eyes open.”

“Dean you're not gonna make it,” you pause and take a shuddering breath as your eyesight blurs. “I’m not gonna make it.” you hear him choke.

“Don’t say that, you hear me, don’t you dare say that!” He shouts into the phone sounding desperate, “just keep talking to me, alright sweetheart?” He says this quieter, almost in a whisper.

“Yeah,” you mumble, trying your hardest to keep your body from shutting down.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” The dam almost breaks when you hear his broken reply.

“Two months ago, on that vampire case, do you remember what you asked me?” His breath catches slightly at your question.

“I asked if you could have a simple life, what it would be like.”

“And do you remember what I told you?” You could feel your heartbeat slowing.

“You said you couldn’t picture yourself settling down, you said you could never have a simple life,” you sniffled.

“Well, I lied.” You state with a scoff,

“I can only picture it one way, I picture it all the time Dean.” The tears fall freely now, you let them all go.

“I picture us, Dean, you and me, I picture all of it, the white picket fence, kids,” you sob through my confession, “The whole shebang.”

“Me too.” Is all he says and you break down, each tear that falls is each memory you will never share with him, every kiss, every argument, they just fall from your eyes, down your cheeks and chin, to the dirt floor, where they will remain, never to grow into something beautiful.

“I love you, Dean,” you say as your breathing starts to become harsher and uneven.

“Y/N, stay with us!” You hear but it doesn’t come from the phone's speaker and it doesn’t come from Dean.

“Sam?” You gurgle, blood slips from your lips and you suppress a cough.

“I’m right here,” He whispers, tears forming in his eyes, “Dean, she’s lost too much blood, we gotta get her to a hospital!” A sharp pain surges through your body and you scream, your sight turning white with searing hot pain.

“Sammy, get the door!” You feel almost light as you're placed on a leather surface, the Impala.

Your body jerks as you feel the motor start, and the driver hits the gas, the pain intensifies as somebody puts more pressure on your ribs.

“Dean?” You call out in a whisper, and his face appears in your vision.

You smile and lift your hand to his cheek, your thumb running over his stubbled cheekbone and he leans into your hand, his hand grabbing yours and he turns his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm, the tears that had temporarily stopped now fall once more.

“Hey.” You're able to choke out in a whisper and his bottom lip trembles before a tear falls and you catch it with your thumb as you stare into his eyes.

“Don’t cry,” you say and you bring his face close to yours, placing a kiss on his forehead. You knew your clock was running out of time.

“Sam, how far!?” He yells over his shoulder but your ears don’t pick up Sam’s reply and when Dean’s attention turns to you, you smile a pained smile.

“I love you, Dean, don’t forget me.” He presses his forehead to yours as he sobs out a response.

“I won’t ever forget you cuz you're not dying on me, Y/N.” You shake your head and push his face an inch from yours, your hands trembling on his cheeks.

“Death is inevitable, Dean.” Your eyelids grow heavy, but you keep them open a little longer for one last request.

“Dean, can you kiss me?” And he places his trembling lips on yours and you capture them in a soft caress, letting your eyes shut in bliss, letting the bliss spread throughout your entire body, letting the numbness consume you.

Dean pulls away and opens his eyes, but you don’t open yours, they remain closed, your mouth remains slightly open, and you're at peace.

“Y/N?” That is all he says in a choked sob.

“Dean?” Sam asks brokenly from the driver's seat.

“She’s gone.” Is all he says.