#tangible life. i wonder if i could have gotten over it by now had it stayed dead in the ground where it laid

[mirmidones]

my mum texted me completely out of the blue 'have you heard from [old friend] lately?' and i had a minor breakdown about it and then 3 hours later resurfaced to text back 'no' pointedly not asking 'why' bc i don't wanna know but now she's answered 'ok thanks' and now i'm mad what the fuck

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Theoretically ~ P.P.

A/n: And another request!!

Request: “Male reader x Andrew Pete, After a long day of thinking about it and wondering if he and Peter were ready, reader proposes?” By anon

Word Count: 1800+

MASTERLIST

It had started slowly, but Y/n had realized after it had been going on for a while so it had felt sudden and startling.

First there had been the exact moment kisses between them had become casual. They weren't startling and didn't make him jump, heart racing. Peter would be on his way out the door and would say goodbye, leaving a kiss on Y/n's mouth very quickly before dipping. And that felt right. He'd sink into the feeling, his chest warm, but it wasn't buzzing and burning like it used to be.

Then it was the increased PDA. Peter had always been repressed and reserved, hating attention and confrontation unless he had his mask on. But they'd gotten slowly into the habit of having little to no personal space, and being generally touchy. One day, Peter didn't take Y/n's hand just "to show him something" and then drop it when someone looked over. Another day Y/n stared lovingly as long as he wanted and Peter never made a joke about it. After that, Peter lay his head on Y/n's shoulder on the subway and sighed, relaxed. When they kissed, grinning, on the side walk waiting for the light to change for them Y/n knew it was okay to do that more often.

Those were followed by the casual way Peter referred to Y/n as his boyfriend. Even spoke about "his boyfriend." Before he'd said "partner," brushing it away that he was dating someone of the same gender. He wouldn't use Y/n's name even when people knew who he was talking about. And then one day he introduced Y/n as his boyfriend - something he'd heard later from MJ.

The day it clicked was when Peter got caught up in an especially rough back and forth with Doc Oc, who had kidnapped Y/n in an attempt to hurt Peter. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and the panic afterward had been tangible, but Peter didn't implode like he so often had. He was focused on Y/n, tending to him and reassuring him he was safe. And he didn't blame himself or hate on himself or push Y/n away. It was... startling, honestly, when Peter wrapped around him instead and whispered a simple, "I'm sorry this Spider-Man stuff caught up to you."

Y/n ran his hands through his boyfriend's hair, and realized that he was home to Peter, the same way Peter was home to him. That they couldn't have denied each other even if they wanted to. Even if they'd have tried. They both knew it.

And he smiled, realizing that maybe they hadn't said it yet, but this probably meant they were in love after all. And they'd been in love for a while, so much more than a young romance. They'd be together for a very long time.

"I knew what I was getting into, Peter," he reassured softly. "I know we'll always figure it out. Together." He sighed. "Plus, now you know how I feel every day."

Peter nodded. "That's fair."  And that was it. No argument, no anger, no spiral.

The confession of love had followed soon after.

When Y/n got a succulent and Peter started calling it Jimmy, and referring to them as Jimmy's dad, something settled deeply into Y/n's chest. He wanted to do this forever. He wanted to be with Peter for the rest of his life.

That was a terrifying thought.

Peter had been getting better. A little more grounded, and much more experienced. Every day he was softer with himself. Every day he opened up more, and let Y/n help when he could. Every day he smiled more, laughed more. Every day he showed Y/n off more, being proud they were together and being loud about it too. They moved in together, and after that everything was theirs - not individually Peter's or Y/n's. Like they never had to worry about moving out or going separate ways or breaking up. Like this space was theirs and it always would be, even it it was a different space.

It was the teasing look in May's eyes as she grinned at Y/n over the cup of tea she was drinking that was the last straw. She put her cup down and in a gentle voice, began, "You want to ask me something?"

Y/n blushed. "You saw through me then."

May raised an eyebrow, her smile teasing. "In the years you've been with Peter, your worst fear as been time and again proved to be imposing on me. You only ever come by when I invite you, with Peter, or explicitly to help with something. I've never seen you ask to come over completely unprompted with nothing else in mind but spending time together." She leans back in her chair. "Not that I'm complaining."

Rubbing the back of his neck, he got sheepish. "I'm sorry May. I don't mean to be around so little."

She waves her hand back and forth, and if to scatter the words in the air. "Don't he silly. I don't take it personally. You should come over more often though." She took another sip of her drink. "But that's not what you're here to talk about."

Y/n swallows hard, interlacing his fingers so he can hold onto something as he begins. "You know Peter so well," he began. May nodded; Y/n had come to her asking advice several times now. "I was thinking... maybe..." He cleared his throat, nervous. Once he said this to May it was in stone. Was he ready? Was Peter? "Do you think Peter is the marriage type?"

May froze, eyes wide. Y/n went solid and still as stone, only breathing again when May's shock flipped to glee. "You're thinking of proposing."

Okay. This was a good sign. "I was thinking about it," Y/n said slowly. "But I don't know if Peter would... want to. Or if it's too soon. Or if there's too much going on already with the whole Spider-Man thing." He shrugged, running his hand through his hair.

May nodded again, mulling Y/n's concern over. Every day Y/n thanked god she actually considered things rather than just jumping to "I want to see my boy married" like some aunts had before. It was a relief to know he could trust what she would say next.

"Have you talked to him about it?"

And sometimes Y/n wished she wasn't quite so good at what she did.

"Well-"

May cocked an eyebrow, her expression turning into something akin to 'you know what I'm going to say.' And it was true. Y/n did. He let her say it anyway. "I can't speak for my nephew, Y/n."

"I know," he sighed. "But I don't want to go in blind or jump the gun or scare him away-"

May chuckled. "That boy has seen more than I could even imagine." She paused for a second. "Normal things do scare him more than any villain in a suit could. But he's better about it than he used to be. And if you eased him into it, or took your shot, and we're ready for some possible rejection and not take it personally, it could be fine."

And there it was. The real reason Y/n was stressed. Because sure, Peter might not be ready, but if he wasn't and he ran and Y/n was crushed it could lead to the end of their relationship. They could both react very poorly...

This would mean Y/n would have to do it somewhere privately. It would have to be very low pressure, open minded. Understanding. Gentle. And it was a little heartbreaking that was the case. Y/n wanted to be a little loud, a little dramatic. And he would have to let that go.

May reached over, taking Y/n's hand. "It also doesn't have to be now. It should be when you're ready. The moment will come, and you'll know. You should only do it then." Her gaze was so soft and patient that Y/n could only absorb what she was saying directly into his soul. "Don't try to make a perfect moment. Let one come."

That advice stayed with Y/n until the moment came. He thought it had a few times but then it wouldn't quite pan out, or something would interrupt them or they'd need to stopper what they were doing and table it for later - when they moment was gone. But one day they were laying in bed, out of breath and grinning after Peter had stolen Y/n’s favorite jacket and Y/n had tried to take it back by force. Peter was much stronger than Y/n of course, and had plenty abilities to overwhelm him, but decided to play fair and shenanigans had turned into raucous laughter that had stolen both of their breath away.

Y/n looked at Peter and something warm and sweet touch him. May’s words came back to him full force in that moment and he was stunned to realize-

This was the moment.

“Will you marry me?” Peter turned, eyes wide, and immediately Y/n panicked. “Maybe not know. We don’t have to say now. But maybe one day.” His voice got dry when suddenly Peter took him by the face, kissing him.

The kiss was king and deep and passionate. Y/n felt something wet ion his cheek and realized Peter was crying.

When it ended, Peter pressed their foreheads together. “You’ve been so patient with me. I know you have. I know I’m not… easy. But I’m yours, and that was always enough for you.” He chuckled, seeming near giddy. Y/n felt his throat close with how much hope swelled in his chest. “I would love to maybe you. We can figure exactly when and how. Is that okay? If we don’t know exactly when?”

Y/n melted, raising a hand to run over Peter’s jaw. “I would marry you anywhere, any day, in any way that we could muster. Even if no one was there. Even if no one knew.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You cheese ball.”

“Your cheese ball.” Y/n beamed. “For the rest of our lives?” It was timid, hopeful.

Peter sighed. “For the rest of our lives.”

Neither would ask more than that.

-

Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

[sunnified]

OUR LAST SUMMER.

synopsis. garroth thinks you're beautiful no matter what happens, he just wishes he could tell you that.

pairing. pdh!garroth x gn!reader

content. angst, hurt/no comfort, CHARACTER DEATH, a lot of past/present tense changes, one huge metaphor, it's also cute (!!!!), one use of "my love".

word count. 0.8k

a/n. i don't know what possessed me. anyway, we hit 69 followers (lol), so here's this to celebrate??? :)

he stared down at the freshly blossomed flower in his hand.

garroth thought you looked perfect that evening, radiant under the summer sky and surrounded by a field of florescence. the checkered blanket beneath you only served as a backdrop to the real masterpiece and there was a tangible beauty in the quietness of his family’s back garden, elevating the simplest of pleasures.

it wasn’t anything particularly special, just the pair of you enjoying a peaceful evening together whilst his family wasn’t home, but it was hard to come by free time anymore with finals season knocking on your doors. yet, it had been with you.

your gaze had been set on the singular rose between your forefinger and your thumb, examining the velvet petals with childish curiosity and garroth remembered wondering if you had ever looked at him like that. a petal fluttered and landed near his outstretched leg.

he hummed, a smile playing on his handsome features, “surely, that’s not more interesting than me, my love?” it couldn’t be helped with how he revelled in the way your eyes met his, and how you seemed shyer at the utter of his favourite endearment.

had he ever known what was going on in your mind?

you didn’t immediately answer, body acting first as you shuffled closer to him, “of course not.” your head laid on his shoulder, the rose falling to lay in your lap. a petal drifted from the bud.

you had left home in the early morning, immediately heading straight for your boyfriend’s home to spend the entire day with him — how had he gotten so lucky with you? his world seemed brighter with you in it, and over the course of the relationship you seemed to have wormed your way into every aspect of his life.

every game he played, you were there in his spare jersey, cheering him on the loudest from the stands. each walk home was accompanied by your lame jokes and brazen sense of humour. even his mother got along with you, inviting you to help her tend the flowerbeds whenever you were around.

a surge of sadness pierces his heart, and garroth blinks back the wetness gathering in his lids. he had felt you slipping through his fingers.

“can you believe it?” you asked, tucked under the weight of his arm, knees tucked tight to your chest, “high school. finished. just like that, on a random friday, we’re done.”

that’s right, it had been senior summer, when you were both naïve teenagers with the prospect of your entire future ahead of you. garroth knew your uncertainty about what to do after high school, having listened to you voice it a million times over. he never complained, smitten with the way you scrunched your nose in anger at having to grow up.

he’d chuckled, it was smooth and self-assured with the way he’d brought you impossibly closer, “isn’t that a good thing?” his lips parted, “we get to start the rest of our lives.”

“a new chapter in life.” you’d replied, breaking into a bittersweet smile. you were an angel, he was certain of it, since there could be no explanation for the way his heart momentarily stopped. “what do you think awaits us?”

garroth would of never of guessed this.

each phase of living has forms of arriving and leaving, he knows that. it doesn’t mean he has to accept it right now. his admittance had come in the form of a relaxed exhale, “i don’t know.” a chaste kiss found home on your forehead, “i really don’t.”

you’d retaliate by interlacing your fingers, not noticing another petal separating from your rose, “i hope it’s good things.” even though you’d whispered into the evening air, manifesting to the universe that you would both lead good lives, garroth agreed.

his mother had told him that leaving was a form of loving, it was a way of showing that he was strong enough to do what he needed to do without guidance, and as such your bond would forever be unbroken. every time he thought he was close to knowing, close to understanding why, the odd melancholy feeling returned. a sense of guilt.

“garroth,” his name coming from your lips was the sweetest symphony, “i love you, you know?” you’d sat up, body turning to face him fully and crossing your legs. your hand squeezed his, “forever and always.” the rose lay forgotten near your feet, crushed in by accident amongst the blades of grass.

a tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped his face before it could slip any further. his own hands, aged and lined with memories, held the freshest rose he could find.

that summer had been his favourite, filled with memories of you and him together. not even the dread of the future could dampen his reminiscence.

yes, that summer had been his favourite and it had been your last.

he crouched down, placing the flower on the undisturbed ground, protected from the summer’s breeze by the marble tomb. it was a symbol that you had existed here, at one point.

“i love you, too.”

[jenanigans1207]

Me, who hasn’t even gotten to s15 yet, writing a fix-it fic? More likely than you think!

—

“I made a deal with the empty,” Cas whispers to the space between him and Sam. “I offered it my life in place of Jack’s. And the empty agreed if it got to take me the moment I felt true happiness.” Cas steadies himself to say the words for a second time— the words he never even thought he’d say one time. “I knew that we were out of options and that if I summoned the empty, I would be able to take Billie with me so that Dean would make it out. So I— I told Dean that I love him.”

The sharp breath Sam takes this time is tinged with so much sadness that it’s tangible.

“Fucking hell.” Sam mutters, shaking his head and ignoring the longer pieces of his hair that fall into his eyes. “Now I’m mad at you. Fuck, no wonder Dean took it so much harder this time.”

“I never intended to tell him how I felt, Sam. But it was the only way for him to make it out alive and I— I needed him to survive. That was the only thing that mattered.” Cas doesn’t regret it, even now. He knows that he’d do it a million times over if it was still the only way to save Dean and he’d never regret it. “And I know it’s not something he wants, which is why I had assumed that he would simply try to erase any memory of that night, so he’d never have to deal with a confession such as that.”

When he looks up, Sam is pinching the bridge of his nose and staring down it at Cas. True to what he’d said a moment ago, he does look mad at Cas, but not in the same way that Dean had looked mad at Cas before he’d stormed out earlier.

“For the fact that you know Dean as well as you do, you sure don’t seem to know shit about him when it relates to you.” Sam mumbles, finally dropping his hand with a sigh. “Okay, listen. I won’t speak to Dean’s feelings— not because I don’t know them but because Dean’s already going to kick my ass for telling you all that I’ve already told you and even I know that his feelings are something he should tell you. But I will tell you this: Dean blames himself for everything bad that’s happened to you. He blames himself for you falling, for every ounce of blood that’s on your hands, and every hard time you’ve had in the last twelve goddamn years. That shit keeps him up at night, trust me.”

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Dean, to some extent.” Cas replies. “But that doesn’t make it Dean’s fault. They were all my decisions.”

“I know that. And you know that. But Dean? Trust me, Cas, he’s put everything that happened to you high on the list of reasons he hates himself. And it’s a long ass list.”

“I know it is.” Cas mumbles.

“So you must understand that not only did you tell Dean you love him— something he wouldn’t have reacted poorly to, by the way— but you used it to— to die. Literally you made loving Dean the cause of your death, you realize that, right? And I know, Cas, I know you didn’t mean it like that. But to Dean and his fucked up brain, he got you killed. The one thing he’s never been able to tolerate and he is now the direct cause of it.” Sam explains and it’s so stupid, it’s so stupid—

But it’s exactly how Dean’s brain works and Cas knows that.

And that’s fine, sort of, because he still wouldn’t change the fact that he confessed to save Dean. He didn’t have time in that moment to think about how it would mess Dean up and a messed up but alive Dean was better than the alternative so that was fine. What wasn’t fine, however, was the fact that Cas never thought about it after. Now that he’s back, now that he’s had time to see how Dean reacted and how he handled Cas’s death, he still hasn’t spent any time to think about the role he played in that or the ways he could have made it worse. And that is unacceptable.

Cas sighs and deflates in the seat. He feels like his strings have been cut, like there isn’t an ounce of fight left in him. He feels like he could simply sit here, glued to this chair, for the rest of eternity.

The thing is— Cas isn’t unaccustomed to messing up or hurting Dean. He’s not inexperienced at crossing lines he both does and does not see. It’s not new for him to let Dean down or betray him. But this— this is something else entirely and they all know it. Because Sam is right, Cas is one of very few people who has been gifted Dean’s trust. He knows that and has spent twelve years cherishing that fact on a daily basis, grateful and awestruck that he had been given something so beautiful and precious. He knows that he has been granted insight into Dean that nobody else, not even Sam, gets. That he has been the only one that has been able to get through to him sometimes.

He has been indescribably privileged to be this close to Dean at all, let alone for this long. He knows that, it’s the greatest blessing of his eternal life and he knows with an unbridled sort of certainty that nothing else will ever honor him in the same way, nothing else will ever even come close.

And through one careless remark, one remark made out of an attempt to deflect his own shortcomings, he has shattered twelve years of a bond that has held strong through everything else. He has laughed in the face of the greatest gift he has ever been given and he was too blinded by his own shortcomings to even realize he was doing any of this.

“I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” Cas asks, looking ruefully at Sam.

Sam’s smile and huff of a laugh in response is sad and a little amused. “Yeah,” He says after a minute. “You have. But like I said, Dean’s never been one to deny you second, third, or even fiftieth chances.”

“I’ve never hurt him like this before.” Cas points out.

“Nobody has ever hurt him like this before.” Sam remarks, and it’s clear that he doesn’t mean the statement to hurt, but it does anyways. “But that’s because he’s never cared about anybody like this. The way he is with you, Cas it’s— he never has been and never could be that way with anyone else. Whatever you two have, it’s completely irreplaceable.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s unbreakable,” Cas says dejectedly.

Sam stands up then, walking around the table to clap Cas on the shoulder in the way the Winchesters always do when they’re trying to be heartfelt or encouraging. It’s the closest they come to physical affection when nobody’s life is immediately on the line and it helps Cas feel a little better.

“Cas, if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Dean will never let you go now that you’re back. He could spent the rest of his life spitting mad at you, and he’d still do it from no more than five feet away. When he comes back— and he will— he’ll be mad and he’ll be hurt, but he’ll be right here. You’ll have a chance to fix this.” It’s encouraging and terrifying in the same moment but Cas is grateful for Sam’s vote of confidence nonetheless. “Just don’t ask me how to fix it, because I sure as shit don’t know. You two have never gone about things in a way I can understand.”

Cas looks up at Sam, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for your insight, Sam.”

“Just remember,” Sam’s hand slips off of his shoulder. “There’s a reason that Dean cares as much as he does and takes your death as hard as he does. And the reason sounds a lot like something you said to him.”

“I thought you weren’t going to tell me how Dean feels.”

“I’m not.” Sam answers as he heads towards the door. “I’m just hinting at it. It’s different.”

He swings through the doorway and around the corner before Cas has a chance to say anything else.

[jazzfordshire]

I'm loving all of your extra bits from the 70s AU, i think it might be my favorite fic of yours (but tbh I can't really decide.) i hope you keep writing more in Lena's pov :)

also would you ever consider writing a lil story of them like a year or so after the story takes place?

It took me a while to answer this, but ask and you shall receive!

Developing photos has always been something like meditation for Lena. The hum of the red safelight, the soothing repetitive tasks, and the tangible physical result of her hard work has always driven her to develop them herself even when she could afford to outsource it. She used to hate being disturbed while working, but like so many things, Kara has become the exception – when she hears Kara’s familiar heavy footfalls coming down the stairs over the soft background noise of the new Simon & Garfunkel album, she only feels warmth.

“Permission to enter?” Kara calls from the other side of the black curtain, and Lena makes sure all her photos are set before answering in the affirmative. The peek of light is fast, and soon she feels Kara’s arms wrapping around her middle as the blonde looks over her shoulder at what she’s working on.

Usually she’d be doing paid projects down here, but this time the photos are from her personal film - pictures of Kara, pictures Kara has taken of her, shots of them together. Group photos with their friends. Snapshots of their life together. Usually their everyday photos are Polaroids, and Lena has a box full of them on a shelf upstairs; quick shots of Kara cooking or reading, of her lover gardening or tangled and smiling half-naked in their sheets. These film photos are from Lena’s better quality cameras, and she’s excited to finally see them coming to life.

Kara’s hands are gentle when they land on Lena’s hips, the rough skin of her fingertips catching on Lena’s shirt before slipping underneath to sit naturally above Lena’s waistline - she’s gotten callouses from all the painting she’s been doing lately, and Lena loves the way they feel on her skin. 

“New batch?” Kara asks, pressing a kiss to Lena’s cheek. Lena nods.

“Mhmm. Ours, this time.”

“You finally developed those?”

Lena reaches up to point to a few of the drying photos hanging from pegs above them and slowly coming to life. One of Lena in bed, taken by Kara as an experiment with the camera buttons and turned out to be a wonderful candid. A perfect shot of their kitten curled up and sleeping on Kara’s chest while the blonde dozes on their couch. One of Kara at the march they went to together last month, holding a big painted sign that says gay liberation now! Kara had been so nervous to go, to exist so brazenly in public, but once they got there she’d been so brave. So proud.

“I didn’t realize there were so many,” Kara says, setting her chin on Lena’s shoulder.

“Neither did I until I started. I’m going to make an album.”

“An album, huh?” Kara grins, and Lena can feel the movement of it. “Is it going to be called Kara’s first year as a lesbian?”

“How about Kara’s year of queer?” Lena suggests cheekily, and she’s gratified when Kara bursts into laughter. She tucks her face fully into Lena’s neck, and her embrace tightens comfortably.

“I like that. Oh! Hold on, I have the perfect thing -”

And then Kara is gone in a whirlwind, bounding up the stairs like thunder. Lena has noticed that she’s become so much more at home in her body over the last year, no longer putting all her energy into making herself small and unobtrusive. She’s loud now, limber and free to laugh and a little clumsy. She wears comfortable clothes and sits with her legs spread and talks with her hands, and Lena loves it. 

When Kara comes back down, she’s holding a book. Lena can hardly see it in the low light but when Kara holds it up she recognizes it as a faded Emily Dickinson compilation. The spine is so well-used that it’s almost cracked; it’s one of the few things Kara brought with her when she left Mike, Lena remembers. Kara opens it, and sitting inside it like two bookmarks are a pair of Polaroids. 

“I looked at these every day before that first night we were together,” Kara admits, taking the Polaroids out to show Lena – they’re from the first day Kara ran between their old houses in the blue cords and button-up Lena bought her, which still hang in a place of honour in their shared closet. The day Lena had a mini-photoshoot and felt like she saw the core of Kara for the first time. “I hid them in here and I’d take them out when Mike was sleeping because they felt like the only real thing in that house. Like a window when I’d lived my life in a closed room.”

One of the photos is of just Kara, posed on Lena’s ottoman with her elbows braced on her knees and looking at the camera with probably her first easy and confident smile, and the other is of both of them. It’s bright, almost washed-out by the flash because Lena had taken it from so close, but their faces are still visible – Lena is laughing, and Kara is gazing at her with so much obvious love and confusion that Lena is flabbergasted that she hadn’t seen it earlier than she did.

“Kara…” Lena whispers, leaning into Kara’s side as she looks down on their faces from what feels like a millennia ago. It’s only been a year, but they’re both so far from the people they were in these pictures.

“When you took them, I’d never felt so alive. So seen. Now I feel that way every day.” Kara hands her the photos, smiling. “You should put them on the first page.”

Lena takes them, setting them carefully down next to the stack of finished photographs and pulling Kara into a long kiss. “I will. I’m going to make so many albums, you’ll be sick of them by the end.”

“Never,” Kara grins against her lips. “I want to remember every day I get to spend with you.”

“You always know exactly what to say.”

“I spent 27 years never saying anything,” Kara says with a shrug. “Keeping it all inside. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

It’s an admission that’s both happy and sad, and Lena peppers her face with tiny kisses until they’re both smiling.

“So, did you come down here originally because it’s almost time?” Lena asks, grabbing Kara’s wrist to peek at her watch. “I guess I should come upstairs and help before everyone gets here.”

“It’s past noon.”

“Already?” Lena gasps, frowning at the hands on the clock. “I’m sorry, love I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

“I’ve gotten things started already,” Kara says easily, kissing the top of Lena’s head. “I just need your help with the food. I grabbed burgers at the store – it seemed right for Independence Day, but I’ve never really grilled anything before. So if I muck it up I need you to eat it and pretend it’s amazing, deal?”

Lena rolls her eyes affectionately. Kara has never messed a single thing up in the kitchen, but for some reason – Mike’s discouragement, she’s sure – she remains self-conscious about her own cooking. “You know I’ll love anything you make. And then I’ll do the dishes.”

Kara ushers Lena up the stairs, closing the curtain behind them and giving Lena’s butt an enthusiastic tap as she reaches the top. It makes Lena jump and giggle, and she whirls on Kara to retaliate only to find her standing so close that all she can do is poke her in the belly.

“Kara!”

“What?” Kara feigns innocence, but her smile gives her away. Lena pokes her again, aiming for a ticklish spot, but Kara interrupts her attempts at vengeance with a kiss that turns from playful to heated so quickly that it makes Lena’s head spin. Kara’s hands have moved to her thighs, lifting her up and clearly on a path to press her into the nearest wall, when the doorbell rings.

Kara pulls away, groaning loudly.

“Of course. Duty calls,” Lena says a little breathlessly, taking a few deep calming breaths as Kara sets her feet on the ground again. “Come on, if your sister catches us in the act again she’ll need intensive therapy.”

Lena pulls Kara towards the entryway, Kara grumbling good-naturedly the whole way. Their kitten Streaky jumps off the couch, weaving between their legs and meowing until Kara picks him up; before they can even get to the door Kelly has opened it and behind her Alex has shouted you’d better both have clothes on this time!, and a timer goes off in the kitchen. Through the window Lena can see Sam’s car has pulled in and Jack is exiting the passenger side with an armful of fireworks, and Alex and Kelly’s two dogs rush past their legs to bound into the house and play. 

It’s chaos, but it’s their chaos. Their family. And Lena loves every second. 

The original fic is here, and the Lena POV snippets are here, here, here, and here.

[fbfh]

dad!leo x parent!reader hcs

wc: 1.2k

genre: tooth rotting domestic fluff, parents au, regular family and found family, past hurt/lots of comfort, post canon domestic bliss

pairing: leo x gn!parent reader

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, brief implied fucking like rabbits but otherwise sfw, you and leo have a bigass family, brief mentions of past trauma unmet needs and general rough conditions, building the life you wanted as a kid, found family demisquad and their children, brief mention of Leo's extended estranged family /pos, Leo is a fucking amazing dad, aged up obviously (you have a passel of kids and careers and a house)

a/n: I will carry as many children as he wants. deadass. /srs. I want the white picket fense and the ketchup fights and the minivan. I will become a full blown soccer mom for him oh my fucking god

tags @yesv01 @avashaye @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @thatmultifandomloser @yelenabel0vaswife @almostjollypizza @Fictionalcomforts  @lizziebitch33  @jacksondeeznuts @girlfriendwhoseawitch @urmum-xoxo @Asunnyhunny @dustyinkpages @cowboylikekelsey @legramilis @youkissedareaderinthedark @mrscarolscaramoucheplease @cosmiq-cloud @anything-forourmoony @i-dont-remember-a-lot @chasingpj @1dpjohoohp @mystic-writings   @babiesimagines @dreamerball @demirunner @if-only-i-was-fictional @lubsana @if-only-i-was-fictional

Bark bark bark woof grr ruff ruff

Or should I say loud aggressive cat meowing noises

Both are appropriate responses to seeing dad!leo

First of all

First and foremost

You’re going to have a bigass family with him

Not just because he always wondered if he would have had siblings if his life had been different

Not just because he always craved being from a big family deep in his bones, taking years to mourn silently when it really sunk in that that wouldn’t happen for

Because yes

While those are major factors

But also let’s be real

You cannot fucking keep your hands off this man

How could anyone be expected to look at him and not get fucking pregnant

He stretches and his tummy shows a little where his shirt rides up and you’re suddenly holding a 6 month old with his daddy’s eyes in a fluffy little bear onesie

No idea how it happens

But the odds of anyone being around Leo for any period of time and not ending up with a fucking passel of of little rugrats

Fluffy haired ankle biters with sweet grins and intelligent eyes 

Just like their dad

Is zero

Plus holy fucking shit

He can’t keep his hands off you either

He’s fucking insatiable, always craving your touch, always covering you in kisses and sweet nothings

And you wouldn’t have it any other way

So yeah with your chemistry duh you’re gonna have a big family

Once you start you can’t really stop

Before you know it you wake up one morning to find Leo making pancakes in the kitchen

He’s handing out juice boxes and sippy cups of milk

There’s a kid clinging onto each leg, giggling their heads off when he shuffles around, and one hanging on his back, watching while he cooks

He narrates dramatically to the other kiddos and babies, who are enamored with Leo’s cooking show

You stumble into this scene, walking past little shoes and various toys, legos, and barbie dolls strewn about

There’s a tangible warmth, and it’s not just from the stove and piles of fluffy pancakes

One or two of your kiddos run over and hug you with the sweetest greeting you’ve ever received 

Their little hands grab up at you until you scoop them up, approaching the counter

“Oh thank god, my sous chef has arrived”

He greets you with a kiss and hands you a coffee or tea or whatever else you like to drink in the morning, just the way he knows you like it

“I think we all know I can’t handle this kitchen without you” 

The way he says it, the look he gives you means more than any words or any look you’ve gotten from anyone else

You fix hair and kiss foreheads for a few minutes before you start getting plates of pancakes and bowls of cereal ready

It’s routine, practically automatic by now

But there’s nothing you cherish more than these sunday mornings together

You and the love of your life and your big old passel of rugrats all gathered around the kitchen table, discussing uneventful dreams and schedules for the upcoming week

Between coordinating homework assignments and ballet lessons and soccer practices it hits Leo every single moment 

Of all the things he’s built, his life with you will always be his favorite

His most precious, favorite project

You look so pretty in the morning, you always have

So as your “sunday morning breakfast bops” playlist reverberates through the room around laughter and chatter and singing along

As you sing off key and dance around with him and dance with your kids to Selena and 80s hits and throwbacks to when you were still teenagers, unable to fathom making it to 20

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful

When he kisses you, you taste like coffee and maple syrup

Your hair is a little messy and you’re wearing one of his shirts, tucked into a pair of shorts

Your wedding rings gleam in the sunlight streaming in through the lacy curtains 

Burnin’ up by the jonas brothers comes on shuffle, and one of your older kids asks to hear the story again

They’ve heard it a million times, but they adore hearing you recount the lengthy inside joke related to this

They love hearing about all the times you had with all their aunts and uncles (aka your friends) before they were born

They imagine what it was like to live through the 2010s, a decade they’ve only seen in movies and tv shows and online in little time capsules referenced here and there

They think about how cool you must have been, running around and living an idealized version of your lives

Leo listens, just as enamored as the rest of them as he listens to you recount the events he lived through with you 

A little part of him still can’t believe it’s real

He can’t believe he created the warm, loving, lively household

The big supportive family 

That he always dreamed of having as a kid

And now that he’s older, he reached out to some distant relatives, cousins and aunts and uncles

He’s surprised that he’s been able to somewhat reconnect with his extended family 

And even more surprised that they’d welcomed him with open arms

It hits him again that not only are his kids going to have a safe, stable, loving home life

But they’re going to have relatives to visit at family reunions once in a while

They get to spend holidays with their cousins and aunts and uncles (aka your friends and their kids) 

Any occasion y’all can find to get together and make some food and spend time together is always one you’ll take

You have little parties and get togethers and cookouts for every occasion you can think of

No matter where you go, there’s always vibrancy and life and togetherness 

Sometimes other neighbors and friends will pop by with their kids too

You’ve become the family in the neighborhood that anyone can go to

And that’s something you take pride in

It’s rubbing off on the kids too

Their teachers have told you time and time again that they’re always the first to invite kids who are by themselves to play

To make sure no one gets left out

All your hard work

All the sacrifices are paying off

Because you and your friends are determined to be the first generation of demigods to not only live to adulthood

Not only build lives

But stick together

You’re creating such a tight knit community

A family of other demigods

You’re sticking together

Chiron has been praying for times like this for as long as he can remember 

And he’s reminded that all the hard work and suffering and sacrifice are paying off too

He knows every time he shows up for someone’s birthday party or some minor holiday get together 

Half of you and your friends kids call him grandpa 

He’s waited so long to see the demigods he trains live long enough to have kids

He never could have imagined being a part of their lives too

All around, things really turned out better than any of you could have expected

But you still think nothing can top sunday morning breakfasts 

[bonesofapoet]

Inferno

[ vampire!eddie munson x you ]

author’s note: did someone say 2k of eddie being a vampire but in a heartbreaking crimson peak-esque horror way and not a queen of the damned spicy way? no? well i did so here we are!! this is a darker read with mentions of blood, implied murder, violence, death, feelings of anxiety, intense fear with a side of heartache and angst

word count: 1790

If you were gifted the chance to do everything differently that night, would you?

Yes. A hundred times over, until I got it right. But, of course, there are parts that will stay the same, inevitably, because our hearts are intertwined and the adoration I hold for you will outshine, always, everything else.

—

The moon had risen high and bright against a sky so ominous, a chill slipped down your spine every time your eyes drifted out a window. It was full, the moon, guarding the stars and stories they told under its watchful eye, even as wispy clouds of silver drifted by to obscure its radiant glow.

It was the first week of April, but you could have sworn this specific taste of ‘eerie’ screamed October, instead of an approaching spring storm. You could have sworn that the nocturnal wildlife of Hawkins, Indiana, was jabbering and echoing with the unmistakable breath of life only a moment ago.

Except now, it was silent. Save for the candles crackling where they lent their light to your small apartment on main. The air had shifted - both in spirit and tangibly - you could feel a tension begin to build; the flames flickered just a little bit more than usual because - it was weird, really.

They cast wild shadows that danced on every surface, even though there was no breeze. The windows cracked to welcome in the chilled night air brought no wind, no relief from the stagnant indoor air sponsored by the cold, snowy Ohio weather. Your heart began to race with wonder, and your palms began to clam up all nice and sweet, but there wasn’t-

A thump sounded through the front door.

You froze. Slid wide eyes from the movie, paused on screen, to the door across the room.

A proper knock came next. The knob began to twist almost immediately. It jiggled once, twice, thrice, and you watched with eyes wide and alert now, the tension wrapping snug around your shoulders with a cry for any sort of attention.

“Shit -” your eyes narrowed at the voice, widened at the sound of your name falling through the other side of the door. “It’s just me, sweetheart, no need to get the bat to defend your honor. C’mon, I forgot my key.”

The blanket of tension slipped from your shoulders, no longer strong enough to keep you in its claws. You recognized the voice, relaxed almost immediately into the cozy little nest you had curled into, once you settled in for a movie night. Adrenaline pulled you up out of the safety of pillows and blankets, carrying you on shaking legs across the room. Your name - desperate - fell through his lips once again as a trembling hand reached for the knob while the other wrenched the lock.

“Jesus fucking christ, Eddie,” the words spilled out in a huff. You stepped back to tug the door towards you; the action was jerky and unsure. Lingering fear dripped down your spine along with all the embarrassment you had ever felt in arguably, your entire life. Have you not gotten enough sleep lately? “You scared the shit outta-”

The candles in your apartment guttered out.

No more soft glow to illuminate your silhouette for Eddie’s bloodshot eyes, but he heard candle wax dripping down the pillars as it splattered to the floor from the shock of their quick death.

It was just you, Eddie, and the harsh fluorescent hallway lighting as it shined unkindly over you - a merciless stabbing, this light, as it beat down on his eyes already sensitive and bloody from his earlier mistakes.

And you -

Flinched, almost, when your eyes adjusted to the light, bright enough to cast a little visibility on the shadows eating Eddie alive. You were about to speak again, to ask why the fuck he seemed so out of it, ground control to major Tom -

But then it slammed into you hard enough, quick enough, unexpected enough before you ever had the chance. It knocked you off balance. Forced a harsh breath from your lungs, an open door to welcome that shuddering tension back into your body, your heart, your soul - it pawed at you, latching onto it’s opening with a relentless grip of iron, metal, steel, unbreakable - as you took a step back from Eddie, still lingering in the doorway to your apartment.

It seeped in slowly after that, the fear. A feeling so ancient, a fear so primal, you had never felt anything like it in your life. Not even in the Upside Down. Something wasn’t right.

And Eddie -

A silhouette hunched, leaning heavily on a forearm braced against the doorframe. Dark stains spread generously down the white glow of his beloved Hellfire uniform; similar splashes seeped into the denim of his vest, the white of his patches and crusting on his pins. He was breathing heavily, his head turned away. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Sorry - I just - I think you have to invite me in.”

It snapped you back to the present, his voice. Calm, even, despite the evidence that something terrible had clearly happened, and Eddie was, without a doubt, tangled in the strands of a web woven intricate and impossible to shred through to freedom.

Your grip on the door had tightened.

“I’m -  are you -? What? Did someone try to jump you again?”

His laugh is low and easy, coming just as quick as it usually does. It didn’t draw a smile from you tonight, because it sounded fucking sinister this time, and your skin had begun to crawl. 

Something wasn’t right.

“Nah, it was the other way around this time. Some assholes thought it’d be a good idea to -”

Eddie hisses - he fucking hisses - and doubles over clawing at his stomach. His body slumps against the threshold, knuckles white on the wooden frame. Jagged cracks spiderweb out from where his hand meets the surface. A crunch sounded loud, deafening in the silent hallway.

A small chunk of wood fell to the floor.

“Shit - okay, come on, let’s get you inside.” Despite being wide eyed and unsteady yourself, you reached for Eddie without a second thought. “We’ll get you cleaned up - jesus, Eddie, I need you to walk - you have a key, for fuck sake, you’re obviously welcome here. Always.”

It was a struggle getting inside, with Eddie leaning against you as you half dragged him into your apartment. That blood curdling fear was growing stronger, but Eddie was injured and something was not right. It added up, yeah?

It had to. It had to.

The absence of candlelight had plunged your home into an unsettling darkness. Long shadows were cast on the floor and along the walls from Fright Night, the movie still paused on a dim screen. It did little to help you see Eddie as he groaned when you half dropped, half laid him on the nearest couch with a huff.

There would be stains on the furniture, and maybe even the floor - it was a half thought, unimportant in the grand scheme of this newfound nightmare.

You ignored the stickiness clinging to your hands making your fingers stick together as it congealed and dried on your skin. Clothes, now damp on the side Eddie leaned so heavily into, began to cling to bare flesh beneath the fabric. The pounding of your heart grew louder and louder. You switched on the nearest lamp, fingers slipping off the switch once, twice, thrice, success.

He flinched into the shadows that could still touch him. You hurried for the first aid kit, that feeling of fear still startling stark and unfamiliar, eating away at your nerves one by one by fraying one.

It was odd, you thought, how this unease began just as Eddie arrived home. How the night had been calm, peaceful, normal - then nocturnal life stopped singing. The precursor to a tension building hard and fast never to dispel, not even when Eddie arrived to chase the shadows away.

Eddie Munson, who could chase all your horrors away.

Instead, he brought more with him

“Babe?”

His call startles you so, the supplies almost fly out of your hands. You right your grip, holding on so tightly your fingers are beginning to fucking ache. You waste no more time returning to his side, cautious now. Alert. Curious.

“I’m here,” your tone is soothing despite the tremor you couldn’t quite silence. He’s still curled into the shadows, face buried in the back of the sofa. “Where does it hurt? Eddie, darling, c’mon - I can’t tell this time, there’s so much blood.”

It’s weaker now, his laugh. Shaky. A crimson stained hand rubs down his face. “Yeah, uh. About that.”

A stab of that fear hits your body hard and fast for the third time that night. It rolls down your spine in waves, hands shaking harder, breath coming just a little bit faster with each passing second. Adrenaline was your lover now,  it seemed, and Eddie Munson had no idea he'd just been dethroned.

“You’re not making sense, Eddie.”

It’s hard not to reach for him. Harder to ignore the voice in your head whispering, shouting, pleading for you to back away slowly, run far and fast and never dare to look back, but.

Your hope was your undoing, in the end.

Hands stained with the blood of Eddie’s sins reached for him regardless, body leaning in close to get a better look at what you could. He was putty in your hands, head turning smoothly when you took his chin and gently pulled his face toward yours.

Your eyebrows fell together, heart sinking at the bloody tears falling from his brown eyes tinted black.

“I’m sorry, my Highness,” his voice was all heartache and giddy schoolboy joy, an eternity of dread and the thrill of the hunt. He sounded like your Eddie, but deep under the shadows there was something else. Something new. “Blood is the only thing that helps.”

Still bloody with tears, his eyes softened when you stuttered out questions about not understanding, about wanting to know what he’s done. There was a hand on your back then; a soft touch was tracing up your spine all gentle and soothing, the calm before the storm.

“You’ll learn soon enough,” he says, leaning closer. He guides you towards him with the hand on your back. “Just close your eyes.”

He didn’t wait for you to do so, but it didn’t matter. All you saw was a flash of long, sharp teeth, and all you felt was a tear in your neck as Eddie pulled you closer. The full moon was freed from the clouds smothering its light, and it blanketed two bodies intertwined, illuminating the carnage that was unfolding right before its eyes.

All you could think before this darkness claimed you for its own was. . .was. . .

[honeysmokedham]

TIMING: July 10th, 2023 PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Nora @honeysmokedham LOCATION: The Mines SUMMARY: Nora is a fresh made crystal monster who had previously been telling everyone she was dying. Emilio is making sure Nora isn't dead. They talk. CONTENT WARNINGS: Parental Death TW (mention) Sibling Death tw (mention) Child Death tw (mention) (the emilio trauma pack tw list)

Concern ebbed in his gut as he made his way towards the mines. He didn’t know what to do here. It was a bad feeling, the helplessness that had been eating away at him ever since Nora told him she was going to die. It kept dragging him back to that familiar living room, with blood on the floor. How many times, he wondered, could you fail to save the people you cared about before failure became the only thing you were good at? How many graves could you dig before the dirt became a permanent fixture beneath your nails?

Nora was alive, but he hadn’t saved her. Nora was alive, but there was still something wrong. Those pictures she’d sent, with the same purple crystals that had been popping up all over town clawing their way from beneath her skin, they set him on edge in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He felt cold and uncertain and everything was wrong. Dread sat heavy in his chest, paranoia worse than its already impressive default state. 

He stopped in front of the entrance to the mine, leg aching. He sent a quick message telling her he was there, hoping he wouldn’t have to venture into the mines but prepared to do so if it became necessary. Emilio would crawl into the earth if he had to. If crawling into a grave meant he didn’t have to dig another one, he wouldn’t hesitate.

"I don't understand why he's dancing." It was their second watch-through of Morbius. Apparently one hadn't been enough to get into the spirit of the movie. Whatever spirit that was supposed to be, Nora didn't know. She wasn't sure she'd ever find it. A ding from her phone. Nora fumbled it into a reading position. More often than not she found herself dropping her phone thanks to the crystalline talons that tipped her fingers. "Mimi is here," Nora noted to Cass. "I gotta go talk to him. I told him the banshee screamed for me, I don't think he believes I'm alive." Nora extricated herself from the fort the pair had made. The mines were turning into a comfortable home. "I'll be back," Nora told her friend, throwing in one of Matt Smith's atrocious dance moves as a fair well. 

The trip to the entrance of the mines was easy, it was familiar. As familiar as the walk down into her crypt, or the walk into Axis. It was a home. The familiar scent of Irish Spring Soap and cigarettes met her as she neared the entrance. Nora wondered how close he'd gotten, would he enter the mines? That would be nice. Everyone should live in the mines with her. A big family of her favorite people in her favorite place. She was sure that the mines would fix his knee. Just like the mines had saved her life. "'Sup Mimi." Nora made sure her approach was dramatic. Glowing crystals coming out of a darkness that was exaggerated by her illusions. "Welcome to the mines." 

Nora stood there for a second. Two seconds. Three. "Death looks good on me, don't you think?" And like that, she was a kid showing off something she was proud of. Nora did a slow turn, arms held wide, making sure he could see her full monstrosity. "Sick right?" The pictures didn't do it justice. The pictures didn't capture the slight glow or the way they made soft chiming noises when Nora moved. 

Somehow, some part of him hadn’t believed she was alive until now. Logically, he’d known she was. He’d spoken to her, he’d seen the pictures she sent. He knew she was alive, was well enough to talk and look as happy as he’d ever seen her in the photos she sent. Still, there was a flood of relief as she came to the surface — breathing, moving, and tangible. There was no twist in his gut that meant undead, despite her claims that she’d died and risen up down in the mines, and that was a good thing. 

“You’re not dead,” he told her, though he was pretty sure she’d argue. She usually did, when she had her mind set to something. And she seemed to have her mind set pretty firmly to this. Still, saying aloud helped just a little. His heartbeat slowed, his shoulders released some tension. She wasn’t dead.

She also wasn’t normal. He’d half-hoped the pictures she sent him were doctored in some way or another. Emilio might not have known much about photoshop, but he knew that people more talented than him could manage some pretty impressive feats with it. But here Nora stood, in front of him in the flesh, covered in those goddamn crystals. He took a step forward, watching her with a wary eye as she turned. Sick was one word for it, though he figured the way he was thinking meant something a little different than Nora’s use. “What the hell happened to you? Are you —” He choked on his words a little, relief that she was alive and concern that something was wrong fighting it out in his head. “Are you okay, kid?” 

“Anymore.” Nora added the correction to the statement, she wasn’t dead anymore. It was an important distinction. Important to her because it had been a life changing event. It had shifted her world, it had shattered her bones, it had remade her in the image of the mines. Death had wrapped its boney fingers around her heart with the intention of crushing her, but she had been pulled back to the mortal coil with a purpose. The purpose of being an acolyte to the mines. Nora didn’t miss the relief that seemed to seep over Emilio’s features. It came in the subtle way his jaw seemed to unclench, his shoulders relaxed, and a new calmness entered him. “I keep telling you. Death couldn’t keep me. I remain ungovernable.” 

He hadn’t been listening to her. That was typical Emilio. Nora shook her head in the way of the sitcom actors. The way that said, oh there goes Emilio! Being so silly again! “I told you what happened.” She’d spoken it into her phone until her phone got all the words correct and she could send the message explaining her transformation to him. “I’m,” Nora reached out a hand, staring down at the purple talons that made using her phone so difficult now. She flexed the fingers, straightening them and curling them, eyes fixed as if transfixed by her own movements. “I’m perfect. Look at me. I’m perfect.” Nora knew the words she wanted to use to describe how she felt. She knew how to wrap the sentence that explained this is how she should have always looked. How right it felt, but she didn’t need to say them. It was obvious just looking at her. 

“What about you, old man?” Nora allowed a smile to creep over her. “How’ve you been doing? Any new cases? I bet the mines could solve all the cases.” Nora turned and cast a fond gaze at the mines, the mines where all the answers to life remain. She wished Emilio could see that. 

“Me and death go way back. I’m usually pretty good at telling when it’s around.” It was dry, the way his jokes always were. She wasn’t undead; he knew that, and she had to know that he knew that. Emilio might be a shit hunter where action was concerned, but he could still sense the things he was supposed to be after. He still knew when something had been wrapped up in that blanket of death and uncovered as something else with the same certainty as he knew his own name. And Nora hadn’t. There was so much relief in knowing that Nora hadn’t. Emilio was trying, he was trying to be the kind of man who could look at something undead and not feel a sense of disgust wash over him. He could hang out with Metzli, could exist near Zane without wanting to kill him on the spot, could talk to an undead stranger in a bar and not pull a blade. He was getting better. But there was still that deep-seated sense of unease that came with it. There were still years and years of conditioning, of being told that it was bad was wrong was not okay. It’d take a long time to get out from under that. And so, the relief. Nora wasn’t undead.

But Nora was stubborn.

He knew that about as well as he knew his own name, too. Knew that she’d argue with him about it until she was blue in the face — or whatever color her purple gem-face would turn when she ran out of breath. She’d decided that things were a certain way, and she’d fight for that. She always did. In all honesty, it was one of the things Emilio had always admired about her. She was a good kid, strong. And she liked this. The gems, the mines, all of it. She liked it. That much was clear.

He was still going to fix it, of course. He didn’t trust anything like this, and he’d get her back to the way she’d been before if it killed him. If she hated him for that after… he’d learn to live with it. He’d learned to live with worse.

“Yeah,” he said, “okay. Perfect. Are you in pain?” Maybe that was the better question. He wanted the answer to be no, even if the answer being yes might make her more likely to be willing to let him change her back. The idea of her being in constant pain, of it hurting all the time made his stomach clench up. Emilio knew what that felt like. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all Nora. “Me? Kid, I didn’t really come here to talk about me. I’m fine. Cases are what they always are. Don’t think the mines will change that.” Though they might solve a few of the missing person files on his desk. 

“Old drinking buddies, right?” Nora quipped. Emilio shrouded his past in mystery. It had to do with Mexico. It had to do with a family that was gone, dead or missing was never clear. She knew his mom was dead, she thought he alluded to some siblings had gone that route too, but there had always been a line drawn when Nora asked a question that went too deep. A simple, I don’t want to talk about it. Nora reached out a crystalline hand and gently patted it against his arm. An abbreviated version of her cataloged comforting touch. “I know you don’t believe me, but he’s not coming here. He can’t. The mines will protect us.” Nora turned, giving the mines a longing look. 

Even while standing just at the entrance, she felt the pull. It called her back. It asked why she was standing outside its embrace? Why didn’t it want her to be cradled in its being, consumed by its energy, and protected by its walls. The outside world felt wide and empty. Had she always lived in the large open world without caring before? Perhaps it was why she made her home in a crypt, the subconscious realization that the mines were for her. The crypt had also protected her with four walls and a ceiling deep within the ground. What was a crypt of not a mine for human bones? 

“Pain?” Nora ran a talon against her jaw. It had been weird, losing all the flesh of her jaw to make way for the crystal. It had hurt in the moment of her death, but now? “I feel heavier, but it doesn’t hurt.” Nora patted one of the shoulder crystals. “Sometimes I run into the walls.” Spatial awareness was something she was working on still, now that she had to be aware of every crystal jutting out of her flesh. Trying to lean back was the hardest, the sharp crystals back there hadn’t done her the deficiency of being the same size, which might have made it easier to lean back against them. “I’m perfect, Mimi. This is everything I’ve always wanted to be. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t bother me. It’s a blessing.” 

Then Emilio was deflecting back at her. Nora gave him her most deadpan stare, built with extra intensity. “You should talk about yourself sometime, you know. You’re deserving of space. The mine knows that, the mine wants you here.” She knew she probably sounded like an evangelical preacher, trying to convince the sinner to lay down his sin and accept Jesus into the church, but Nora worried about Emilio. Nora wanted him to find the same happiness she had in the mines. “The mines and I, we’re here to help. We want to help you.” 

“Right. Drinking buddies.” The joke wasn’t as funny as it usually was. Not in this moment, not even with Nora standing in front of him in one piece. Death was a familiar thing, but it never seemed to have much interest in Emilio himself. It took the people around him one by one, broke them down bit by bit and ground them into powder. His father died before he could form a solid image of his face in his memory, his oldest brother was gone before he turned thirteen. He was thirty-four years old and an orphan, a widower, a father whose child was already in the ground. Death was an old drinking buddy, sure, but not one who had any interest in taking Emilio home.

So there’d been that fear, when Nora first started telling him that she was dying. There’d been that familiar grip of panic, that old ache that took him back in time to a living room floor and blood on the walls. Emilio and death existed in a quiet cohabitation, but there were so many people he couldn’t stand for it to take. Nora had quickly cemented herself as one of them, as a name right up at the top of the list of people he thought ought to be untouchable. And still, he almost couldn’t let himself believe she was here until her hand found his shoulder, until those rough crystals brushed against his shirt. Nora was here. Nora was alive. And death could fuck off, this time. Death could go right back where it came from.

“Okay,” he said quietly, because there was no arguing with her when she was like this. She said the mines were a death free zone, and he knew they weren’t but he knew his arguments would fall on deaf ears all the same. If he were a little less exhausted, he might try it anyway. He was as stubborn as she was, and he knew he was right about this one. There was no safe place in the world that couldn’t be made unsafe, were no walls death couldn’t walk through. He thought back, as he always did, to that living room in Mexico with the cross on the wall and the iron doorframe. He thought of the nights he’d fallen asleep on the couch with a baby on his chest without fear, without anxiety. 

He thought of how the only difference between a safe place and a casket was whether the hearts that sat within it were still beating.

Nora’s was. He could hear it in her chest, a strange echo through the crystals in her skin. Beating oddly, but beating all the same. It could change in an instant, he knew; it only every took a second for one heartbeat to fail to give in to the next, for one breath to become a person’s last. But Nora was alive for now, and maybe that had to be enough. 

His shoulders slumped in quiet relief as she said there was no pain, and he let himself believe her even though it seemed impossible. She was able to stand upright, at least, and wasn’t that more than he could do himself most days? Even now, his leg ached on the uneven ground, as if protesting its own existence. (And maybe Emilio could relate to that sentiment, just a little.) “Well, try not to run into walls.” It was supposed to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one, didn’t feel like one. Nothing really did when he felt like this, when the world was heavy. (Everything was always so goddamn heavy.)

He didn’t know what to believe here. Nora swore that she was better than fine, that she was perfect, but his heart still felt like a jackhammer beating down on his ribs, breaking them up into pieces. He was still in that goddamn living room floor, still washing the blood out from under his fingernails. Maybe he always would be. And Nora was talking about him, was saying he deserved space, and he didn’t know how to tell her that she was wrong. He didn’t know how to put to words that the things he deserved probably weren’t the things she wanted him to have, didn’t know how to say that the space he took up would be so much better if it were filled by someone else, someone who’d been gone for years now. 

“I’m not the kind of guy you help,” he said, rather than try to find those ever-elusive words. “You can tell the mines that, too.” He was quiet for a moment, unsure how to proceed. “Said you had a friend down there. The two of you managing all right?”

There was concern written all over his face in bold lettering. Its script spiraled around his features with every word he didn't say. Emilio didn't speak much, he never had. But today he didn't need to. Each look he gave to one of her crystals was a sentence she could hear clearly in his soft voice. The voice he only used when he knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to fix it. The voice that told her he was listening, and he heard her, but he couldn't fix it as much as he wanted to. The unspoken sentences were ones of concern and disbelief. But Nora knew the disbelief wasn't for her, per se, but for the crystals. The story. In a town that was full of the strange and unusual, could she blame him for that? Would she think it was hard to believe something good could happen in this town if she was a jaded old man? Who was to say? 

"Wrong. I help you. That's literally my job, dumbass." A pause, before adding. "Assistant? There was a word Nora had always wanted to use. It was apprentice. But it felt too big. Too official. It sounded too much like a, I want to be like you. Even if she did. Even if she looked up to a guy who couldn't accept any help. Neither could she, if she was being honest. "The mines are listening. I don't need to tell them anything." They sang in her bones, they whispered to her crystals. It wasn't a literal voice. As much as a mine shaft looked like an open mouth, the mine shaft vocal chords with the cart the box moving up and down to activate the tone. It wasn't true. No, everything Nora knew from the mines she just... What was the best way to explain it? It was in her. It was her. She was the mines and the mines were her. Their ideas were her own, and if she had her own ideas? What did they matter? The mines wanted what was best. 

At the entrance, standing near the open sky, Nora wondered if she actually felt that way, or if something was wrong. But a glance down at her crystalline body reminded her of the favor the mines had done for her. It reminded her that she loved the mines with everything she was. "If the mines don't want to help you, they won't. But they want to help everyone. Remember that." He was stubborn. He would stay stubborn. Nora would let him have this for now. 

"Cass." Nora supplied the name because Cass deserved to have her name remembered. Nora glanced back into the darkness. "She's down there. We've been watching things together. It's great. we are fine down there." Words that Nora felt like she repeated a thousand times. Every one was so concerned about the people living in the mines when they should be concerned about living outside the mines. They were missing the beauty of the depths within. For someone who had struggled with words her whole life, she felt like she finally might have them. But only the words that would tell people about the mines. If only they would believe her. If only they wouldn't look at her with faces painted in concern. 

"If you change your mind, come. Whenever you want." Nora listed the steps. You start at this tunnel, and you head down. You take the fourth right, there is a winding path but don't leave it. Those multiple little ones will take you to other caverns. Then you take a final right, left, right and straight. Then there was a home. Waiting for anyone who would take it. "Oh. I haven't seen Babadook and Munch in a while. They are refusing to come to the mines. Can you keep an eye out for them? Babs can feed himself, but..." Nora shrugged. "He doesn't look like other dogs. If hunters are after me, they are after him too, right?" Because god forbid anything be different in this town. That wasn't true anymore. The mines welcomed everyone who was different. 

"I'm going to get back to Cass now." Nora didn't want to admit it, but standing in the open made her uncomfortable. The mines were a soft embrace closing in around her. This? This was an open hell. Anything could go wrong out here without the watchful eye of the mines. "I'm serious, Emilio. Come to the mines sometimes. Just think about it. It'll change your life." 

“You get paid for jobs,” he reminded her. Not that he hadn’t offered to pay her a hundred times now, not that he wouldn’t have shoved cash into her bag when she wasn’t looking if he hadn’t known she’d probably respond by hiding it in his fridge or something. Nora deserved a lot more than he could give her, but he still wished she’d let him give her something. He still wished she’d sleep on his couch instead of sleeping in a crypt or in a mine or wherever it was she decided to lay her head that week. But she wanted freedom, and he understood that. She wanted to be able to pick where she slept and what she did, and Emilio would never take that away from her. He’d never dream of it. “Yeah. Assistant. You pick whatever title you want, okay? We’ll get matching business cards.” Another joke, just as flat and empty as all the ones that had come before it. Even on his best days, Emilio’s humor was dry and flat and unfunny to pretty much everyone but him. 

Nora seemed to understand it better than most, at least. Seemed to understand him better than most. She didn’t tend to laugh, because she wasn’t really the laughing type, but… She also didn’t give him odd looks or chastise him for his poor timing. It was part of what he liked about her, part of why she was one of the few people he wanted around even when he was in a slump so deep that the idea of interacting with anyone at all was exhausting. He wasn’t sure when that kid who’d tried so hard to scare him in the cemetery all those months ago had become the exception to so many of his rules. He tried not to think too hard on it. Some things were better when you just let them be.

And maybe, in turn, he could understand the… appeal of this idea she’d built for herself. Of this vague concept that told her the mines were a healing place, this notion that they could help anyone. It was a tempting thing to believe, he thought. It reminded him a little of his relationship with religion, of how he used to cling to the idea that there was a God who loved him, a higher power who’d chosen him for something bigger, a big important thing somewhere in the universe that saw him not as an inferior version of the older siblings who’d surpassed him but as something worth loving all its own. That idea seemed just as ridiculous to him as Nora’s new mine obsession now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still understand why it was a tempting thing to cling to. He wished he could still believe in it. He wished he could look at himself and think that something — God, a mine shaft, his mother — could love him just as he was.

“Cass,” he repeated, because that was easier than accepting everything else that she was saying. The mines were a delusion, and it hurt a little, because the idea that Emilio was fixable, the idea that there were things that weren’t irreparably broken and that he could be one of them was a delusion just as grand. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would think possible without some malicious outside force insisting upon it. “I’m glad you’ve got someone.” And he was glad it was someone better than him.

He nodded, pretending there was any chance that his mind would ever change. Unless he got hit with whatever magic made her this way, he didn’t see himself scrambling to join her in the mines any time soon. But the rest of her request… “I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promised. “Go by the crypt and make sure they’re all right, make sure there’s nobody sniffing around that shouldn’t be.” He was good at steering hunters away from things. It was a skill he figured he’d be using a lot more now that Rhett was in town. 

Sucking his teeth, he nodded. She was going back to the mines, and he wasn’t. Even if he’d wanted to, just the idea of making that trek made his leg ache. It was a bad pain day. There’d been a lot more of those since Nora retreated to the mines; a side effect of Emilio pushing himself harder than usual. Probably a side effect he deserved, if he was being honest with himself. “I’ll think about it,” he lied. “Until then, you stay safe. Okay?”

Matching business cards sounded nice. Because Nora wanted to be a private investigator. As Nora thought about that want, the first passion she’d discovered out of painting since childhood, the thought struck her. If she lived in the mines, how would she be a P.I. Nora glanced over her shoulder, the entrance was a mouth waiting to consume her. It called to her. A Siren song that made her heart dance with joy. She turned back to Emilio. She could be a private investigator in the mines, she decided. He’d come in there and finish training her. Then she’d be the second best P.I. in the mines, until Emilio got old and retired and stayed at his cavern as a consultant while Nora took on the mantle of best private investigator. Because that was surely the life the mines were offering for her, it was the life she wanted. 

“Cass,” Nora agreed. Nora was glad she had someone too. Nora was glad about Cass all the time. The fact that she hadn’t left. The fact that she’d forgiven Nora. The fact that she existed. “It’d be better with two.” Because who was she to give up her last attempt to get someone else in the mines. Later, Emilio would take that seriously and deliver someone else to Nora’s mine, but it wouldn’t be him. It would be another crystal blessed and Nora would be just as pleased, just as thrilled, to have more people in her home to call family. 

“Thank you. Oh. Babadook has recently started terrorizing a retirement home. Oaks Lawn. I did one of those read to the elderly programs,” Nora wasn’t sure that was an actual program, she just showed up and started reading. “And told them a story about how a big dog with tentacles appearing meant a mass death event. Then showed them Babadook. I thought it would be funny.” It was. “But Babadook has really enjoyed hanging out there. He’s a bit of a legend now. You’ll probably find him there if he’s not at the crypt.” Babadook was a good dog. She missed him. She hoped one day he would stop by and visit her, but it was hard to convince a dog without a phone, or the ability to speak a similar language. 

“Okay.” Nora agreed. She nodded, the tips of her mouth moving up into a smile. It wasn’t her usual rare micro smile, but something close to a real smile. Something foreign to her since her modeling days ended. “I just want you to be happy.” Nora told Emilio, blunt as usual. “And I think you could be happy with us in the mines.” She turned away, eyes focused on the darkness within. “But we’ll be safe. The mines will keep us safe.” And she let the mines swallow her whole once more. 

[whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon]

Ay um... here's that fic snippet I was working on for Big E x reader that fulfills a god worship kink lol.

If there's anything you learned over the course of your life, it was this: to love a god is not for the weak of heart. The lines between devotion and pure stubbornness become blurred, to the point where your whole being depends on your love and faith. Your feelings of complete and utter surrender to a power higher than can be conceived mean nothing if it's not backed up with a faith stronger than ceramite. 

Looking back, you'd like to believe that you were strong enough to love your god. You hoped that he understood that the fire that burned in your eyes was not a small flame that could be snuffed out. It was a firestorm that could engulf a planet and wipe out everything that didn't exalt his image. Were your feelings heresy to everything he stood for? Maybe. But love is not rational, and besides, he humored your fire. You suppose he took pleasure in warming his hands on it. And he was your god, when he turned his gaze upon you. It was an even more blasphemous thought to claim that he could be yours, him who held the throat of the universe in his hands, but he was. 

You were older now, much older, and all the wiser for it. Time has allowed you the privilege of retrospection. It also meant time had taken what it was due from you. Gone were the days where you felt as if you could live on nothing but conviction and saint's fire, your body was too weak for you to entertain the thought. The roaring blaze of fidelity to your god had changed as well. It had not cooled, may you be damned if it ever did. Rather, you believed it had tempered itself into something else, a sun to light the last days of your peaceful life.

Your god was the one that gave you this peaceful life, on Bucolia IX. That was his last gift to you, nearly 40 years ago, when he brought you here and showed you the house that would be yours. The house was a far cry from the majestic soaring cathedral spires of Monarchia, the home of your childhood, but it was a wonder. It was cozy, and built in an ancient style of Terra, a picture perfect relic of times past. You wept bitterly when he showed you it, despite the treasure of peace he was bestowing upon you. It wasn't Monarchia, where the worship of him pulsed in the city's veins, and it wasn't by his side, where you almost couldn't bear to leave. This was a banishment of the worst sort. Didn't he know that you lived for him? He had cut you off from him.

But, you adjusted. If he wanted you there, you would stay. And you did, for years. 

You didn't know your wealthy neighbors in this coveted garden world that well. Maybe when you died, you'd rot in the house for days until someone found you. Would your god plan your funeral? Probably not, he had more important things to worry about. You were half-convinced that he'd forgotten all about you.

You thought about death more and more every day. It should have been morbid to do so, but it didn't feel that morbid to you. You were only human, and an old one at that. Death was beginning to seem more tangible than all the memories of your youth. Your god would have never understood that. He would live to see the end of the universe, you thought. Him and his superhuman sons. All else compared to them are as insignificant as the flies on a corpse. 

It was the biggest miracle of your life that you had gotten to know the god whom everyone in the Imperium called the Emperor. There were countless people who would have sacrificed everything for

even a scrap of your life, and the fact that you could call a paradise world normally reserved for the hyper affluent home showed that the miracle was still at work. What made you any different? You used to believe what he told you, that you were special because you were his most devoted worshiper, out of all life in the Imperium. You had time to doubt his reason now. If that was truly the reason, he would have killed you for being the most devoted to him, because your faith was incompatible to the Imperial Truth. The love for a god that preserved you through your whole life was anathema to the very god you worshipped. 

Did your god love you? Was that the reason? It seemed arrogant to think so. Your god loved the big picture. He loved humanity, as a large, collective concept. Lofty ideals were what he was devoted 

to. To love a singular human, a completely average one at that, was unbelievable to assume. Gods did not do that. Especially him.

And yet, you wondered.

Okay, anon, this is faaaarrrr from stupid. I love it!

[red9]

@devilsbaptist continued.

              “I’ve been.. busy, that’s all.”  

              It was all an excuse, hidden behind a casual lie. Something that seemed to come far too easy for him, as if the other were incapable of seeing right through him. Yet it was clear he was avoiding it, if not evident enough in the way his eyes avoided his. The way he was so quick to go for his lighter, a nervous tick he was unaware he even had at all. Fresh cigarette lay loose between his lips, a curtain of loose locks giving him relief from those piercing eyes that burned right through him. To think he’d gotten in too deep, all in an act of cowardice. To think all he could have said was no, taken a bullet like his friends who refused to give in. Instead he stood, willingly helping those that were seen once as the enemy. He himself was never a good man- not in that life, or this new one he was thrust into. At the end of the day he was there to study, observe, the thought always lingering in the back of his mind that one day- when the time would come- he would run away and not look back. Until then he would play their little game, playing with the plants and people was just a bonus along the way. 

              Somehow he got lucky, being spared and thrown in under Faith, showed kindness and in turn helped with the development of Bliss. Now here he was, in a place of his own, testing new strands to feed to the Angels and see how they’d respond. Each trial and error bringing progress, stronger batches meant stronger reactions, in turn making the others bend at the will of the brothers like they wanted all along. It was why he was still working, checking to ensure his batch would be complete in time for his next ceremony. He couldn’t imagine any other reason he’d come around, knowing he had deadlines to meet and shipments to deliver to him. It’s what kept him up at night, working late, making sure everything would go according to plan for his next big performance. He’d heard plenty talk about his work, firsthand experiences and those who went to admire. It was only a matter of time before he’d be called- each passing day bringing that inevitable moment upon him. He was never a religious man, couldn’t bring himself to believe in any god or higher power. It was all smoke and mirrors, nothing tangible or real. Why would this be any different? 

              Fingers danced around the lighter in his grip, the sound of metal clinking open with a graceful flip of its lid. Three beats of silence filled the space as he tried and failed to light it- clink, clink, clink- before a soft glow illuminated his profile, burning away at the end of the cigarette as he took a moment to toss his head back, releasing the smoke from his lungs with a sigh.

              “-Besides, you wouldn’t want me there anyway. Wouldn’t want your holy river to run black the moment I touch it or something.” A joke, but there was a part of him that wondered if it was true. Gaze flickered over to him, finding the confidence to finally meet his gaze as he leaned against his desk. “I’m just the man that delivers, you get what you need, everyone is happy, eh? I’m sure you’ve got a long line of people ahead of me anyway, just waiting to be cleansed and all that. I’m the least of your worries-” At least, that’s what he hoped. If anything, he was simply making excuses just to delay the cleansing that awaited him.

[vidalinav]

Nesta peered up at him with soft blinking eyes, and he couldn’t bare to look at her when his heart was caught in his throat. Cassian looked at her hand instead, where it laid on his arm. His shirt was trapped in her fist, gripped so tightly by her fingers. He wondered if she felt it too. That permanent goodbye, tangible in the midnight air. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brows furrowing in a way that felt too familiar. Cassian wished to memorize that look, but he found that he already had. It had been tucked in his pocket for safe keeping, for so long now that he’d only just begun to realize that he didn’t need to hold onto the memory so tightly anymore. 

Now, he yearned to learn her all over again. Tuck it in his heart instead, where all this precious love was stored. Somewhere where it couldn’t escape him. 

“I have to leave soon,” he spoke. Quietly. So the night might not hear him and his whispered dreams, so the moon wouldn’t call him a fool with its thousand eyes.  

The only sound out of her lips was a soft, “oh.”  

It made him ache. The perfect picture of her that he couldn’t quite capture. He wished he still had the symphonia... to record her voice like it was music. He wished he hadn’t stupidly gotten rid of it. Cassian had thrown it at the wall. 

In those first days, he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t keep looking at it without seeing her face, wishing that her body was next to his. That he could dance with her one more time. 

Now... how would he remember her--hold onto her? 

But Nesta merely wrung her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was filled with nervous movement and Cassian grazed his gaze over her form, checking to make sure every part of her was untouched and unharmed. 

Her perfect pink lips parted, and under the light of the streets, he could see a blush bloom on her face. “I think you should know,” she started, breathless as she spoke, “that I liked you being here. Every minute.” 

All this time and it was slipping right through his fingers. 

Nesta’s voice hushed, her eyes looking away unsure. “I... I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.” 

Cassian closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm. She wasn’t fae and he thanked his lucky stars she couldn’t hear his rampant heart. The truth spilling from his lips would be his downfall. 

But some truth couldn’t be contained. Like stars, they fell across the skies, tip toeing across his skin. “I swear, I wished for you every night.” 

Nesta gasped at the words, something small and soft. “Then why are you leaving?” 

“Because,” Cassian groaned, shaking his head, trying to align his thoughts. “Because I don’t belong here, Nesta. You don’t belong with me. You belong here.” 

He was nearly pulling away, ready to run, to get away, but Nesta’s grip on his arm traveled to his neck. She tilted his head down, peering up at him with big, moon-bright eyes. Call me a fool, he wanted to beg. 

“But your hand fits perfectly in mine,” she whispered across his lips. He breathed in her scent, tried to commit it to memory. That perfect hint of lavender. “And your heart,” she said, moving her hand to his chest. “It beats and I swear I’ve known that song all my life.” 

“You were just suppose to be a dream,” he croaked. His eyes stung and he couldn’t help but pant, trying to expel all that ache from his lungs. 

“Then dream of me, Cassian.” And with those words, Nesta kissed him. A touch so soft and sweet, she might have been bringing him back to life. “But I’ll still be here in the morning.” 

~

@arinbelle @rarephloxes​

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Jesper Fahey x gn! Reader - Terribly Sweet Dreams

A/n: Nobody knooowwwsss

Warnings: mentions of killing, death, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Summary: You could never forget that stupid face, you could recognize it anywhere. It was Jesper Fahey, your partner for life.

Pairings: (Romantic) Jesper x reader

Pronouns used: No pronouns

Pov: 2nd person

The thing about sleep is dreaming isn't inevitable.

Most if the time when you sleep you dream but never remember, so by the time you wake up the dream is slowly fading from your eyelids. You forget. Even as you wrack your brain for the information you knew you had before but the images are dusted away before your eyes.

But you could never forget this.

His face is before you, long eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks as he leans in closer to you. His arms wrap around your waist holding onto you tight, you can feel his touch, rough, but so real and tangible it makes you cry.

His grey eyes seem to sparkle like his musical laughter - a song, no a symphony of beautiful music only written by the best poets. It plays over in your head as you look at them.

He does chuckle and the sound is so wondrous you gasp as the tears leak from your eyes and you grip onto the front of his jacket pulling him impossibly closer. His scent fills you, it's something you haven't smelled for a while. It's something that you've longed for, and now you have it.

Your lips nearly touch, and his hand brushes over your cheek. The feeling too real to be anything but reality.

"You- your alive?"

His trademark smirk plays on his lips and he licks them unconsciously as he look at you. He thumb brushes your bottom lip and he pulls you in a for kiss.

It's sweet like candy, yet simultaneously you can taste the Jurda on his lips, and the whiskey on his tongue. He must have been gambling again, some tiny part of you scowled, yet you didn't have the heart to pull away to scold him. You just wanted him, you wanted to be reminded that he was alive by the taste of his tongue clashing with yours and the feeling of his lips against your own.

Eventually you pull away and he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and looks up to you;

"Did you really think you could kill me that easily darling?"

You shoot up awake, your breath erratic and your hand went blindly for the pistol under your pillow and the other at the unoccupied side of your bed.

You hold your pistol up looking around ready to shoot, but when your other hand meets the cold emptiness of the other side you are only reminded of what can't ever be.

That wake less dream was something you yearned for, the comfort of his arms. Yet you were sure it was there to taunt you, Jesper had said that if you were going to kill him, he was going to haunt you for the rest of your life. He had said it jokingly at the time, but now your paranoia has gotten the best of you and you wonder if it's true.

The only thing you could be sure of though, the only truth that lays in front of you always is that you did indeed kill Jesper Fahey. In cold blood you had raised your hands and dropped his heart beat so low, so it would never beat again. His laughter creased, and his smile remained frozen on his face as his lips were stuck almost finishing forming the words; "I love you."

The dream felt so real, you could still feel arms around your waist, and the smell of his trademark jacket, the whiskey and jurda on his lips, the sound of his giggles, and the sight of his dazzling grey eyes. By the saint, how you missed him.

"Did you really think you could kill me that easily darling?"

No. No thing, living or not could rid Jesper Fahey off the face of this earth. He would remain here, in the little ways, or in the big.

Jesper Fahey, the man you love, miss, and killed.

The thing about sleep is dreaming isn't inevitable unless your dreaming about him.

Words 669

-thedelusionalreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[elysiadjarin]

Day 1: Somnophilia

Day 1 of Kinktober! The first prompt is of course, somnophilia. Here’s my masterlist for my Kinktober challenge.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Consensual somnophilia, cumplay, unprotected sex, nonhuman character, exophilia

Tags: Hat Man x reader, exophilia, kinktober

He Comes at Night

At first, you hadn’t been sure whether it was just another case of sleep paralysis, or actually something… else.

He always came at night, standing in your doorway as you lay on your back, unable to move. Though you were used to sleep paralysis and the oftentimes terrifying figures that came along with it, this one had been different every time it showed up. It just stood in your doorway, never really moving, just watching. You never felt the usual fear that came along with most sleep paralysis demons, just a sense of… calm.

It had gotten to the point where you’d simply learned to ride it out, accepting the calm of its presence until you fell back asleep. If anything, you’d started feeling a sense of comfort from its presence. Even living alone, you felt as though it were there as another presence, just to keep you some company. You’d even thought with a flash of amusement that maybe it was there to protect you.

But that was until a few nights ago. You’d found yourself abruptly awake again, immobile in bed. But it had been different. Your eyes wouldn’t open, and you distinctly felt something heavy on your blankets, pinning you to the bed. It felt far more tangible than anything else you’d ever experienced in a moment of sleep paralysis, and it unnerved you.

Of course, that’s when you heard… that. A whisper, slithering around you, crawling against your sheets as tangibly as the weights.

Sssso delicioussss. A poke at you. He’ssss finally not here. Hey, are you… awake?

Despite the situation, it wasn’t so much fear as annoyance that gripped you in the moment. If this sleep paralysis demon was enacting paralysis on you, why would you be able to respond?

A low cackle raked down your spine. That’sssss right, you can’t move, can you. Well, you won’t need to, sssssoon. Don’t worry, the chilling voice sneered, I’ll make ssssure you can feel it.

You’d just started to feel the panic set in when the weight was ripped off of you. A loud, fearful shriek pierced through the room, followed by a distinct crunching and gurgling.

I didn’t mean to, Hat Man, have merccccccy— The voice choked off in the thick air, just as your eyes snapped open.

Thick, black slime dripped from the mangled, gangly body that hung limply in the air. The figure that had been standing in your doorway every night now stood by your beside, a giant arm outstretched as dark talons clenched around the smaller creature. The black ichor dripped from its claws, and it threw the broken body down on the floor like a rag doll. It turned its head toward you again, but relief had crashed through you at its appearance.

The tall figure, now that it had appeared so close to your bedside, clearly towered at least seven feet tall. But even when it bent its whole body over, face nearing yours, you still didn’t fear it. It had leaned over, close enough that you could imagine that you felt its nonexistent breath on your face. Then it brushed against your forehead, as though it had kissed you gently back to sleep. You’d fallen back asleep as though knocked out.

And now, as you stood at your kitchen counter, holding a mug of tea, your mind had started to wander. Specifically, you’d started to wonder about your mysterious guardian. What had started out as a private sort of joke had turned into a reality, and you weren’t entirely sure what to make of it. The sensations and feelings had been far too concrete to be just a hallucination or just part of another sleep paralysis experience. Even now, you could still feel the sensation of the soft, gentle wisp of shadow brushing across your forehead.

Sighing, you dumped the mug into the sink and headed for bed, pulling at the hem of your large T-shirt. In the room, you slid off your shorts and put them on a chair, only in your underwear and shirt to sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took a moment to glance around the room. Your mind wandered to the weird, creepy spirit from the night before.

Tentatively, you decided to speak into the darkness. “Hey… I don’t know if you’re here right now, or—or listening, but… Hat Man. If you’re there, thank you. For saving me,” you said, tugging at your shirt. “I know I usually can’t move or talk, but… if you want company, you can come sit or lay down.” A little embarrassed at your own offer, you flopped back on the bed and rolled under the covers, burying your face in your pillow.

Even if it — he? — were there listening and you weren’t just talking to thin air, what would he think of your invitation? Was that too forward? Or weird?

You weren’t sure when exactly you fell asleep, but you certainly jerked awake sometime later when the bed next to you dipped. Your eyes opened, this time, and you saw the hulking figure almost meekly slide into bed beside you. His weight made your body slightly tip towards him, and he shifted to face you just in time to catch you against his chest. You noticed, now fully pressed against him, that he did have a slight, dusky sort of warmth, like the faint touch of a sunbeam filtering though curtains.

His giant talon paused, and he seemed to vacillate, as though unsure what to do with himself now that he was there. Tentatively, his fingers brushed against your arm. Your body seemed to gain a little bit more movement, just enough for you to sigh and lean further into his chest. He made you feel safe, and his presence was comforting. He didn’t seem to mind your advances, so you decided not to feel guilty as his giant arm wrapped around your back.

A soft, wispy hum escaped you, and you let yourself relax with the minimal movements the paralysis seemed to be allowing. You half-wished you could talk, just to speak with him. But at the same time, you could feel the drowsiness descend again. He felt too comfortable, and the solid weight of his body against yours made you melt like putty into the bed.

As you fell asleep, you swore you could feel the Hat Man brush another soft kiss to your forehead.

~

“Whoa, wait, you got yourself a Hat Man?” Your Tiefling coworker gave you a surprised look. “They usually only come into your life because they’re drawn in some way to protect you. Have you been doing okay? Staying safe?”

You nodded. “Well, I mean, now I am thanks to him,” you clarified, eyebrows furrowing. “What with my sleep paralysis and that weird… other thing.” You shuddered a little in disgust at the memory. “He’s been protecting me from whatever that thing was, I’m assuming.”

Harlow gave you a long look. “I didn’t want to really bring this up before, but do you know of anything in your heritage that might be… well, attractive to spirits? I’ve noticed before that you seem to draw the attention of non humans.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Well, you’re not wrong,” you admitted, rubbing your arm. “When I was born, my grandmother told my parents that I had ‘the blood of a beacon,’” you said. “I had a talisman she gave me, but… it’s been years, so maybe the potency has worn off.”

He nodded. “Probably. Especially if you have beacon blood; I’m not surprised you drew a Hat Man to protect you. You might as well be the Ultimate Desire for them,” he remarked.

Your eyes widened at his comment. “Ultimate Desire?” you asked, startled. “I mean, I know that my blood is attractive to spirits for its potency in spirit energy. But what does Ultimate Desire mean? And why would Hat Man want that?” You noted that he called it a Hat Man. So it apparently was a type of spirit or entity.

“Hmm.” Harlow pursed his lips. “Well, an easy way to put it would be… the Hat Men are guardians of sources of energy like you. They’re fueled by the energy you have, so… it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that he’s a personal bodyguard manifested by your beacon blood. The more your proximity or attention ‘fuels’ him and the more energy you give him, the stronger he’ll be and the better defense.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Huh. So I’m basically… the ultimate source, I guess. I mean, for Hat Man.”

“Yep!” Then he gave you a sly grin. “So, you gonna get up close and personal with him?” His eyebrows wriggled at you teasingly.

Flushing, you reached over and shoved his shoulder. “Harlow, seriously!” you groaned.

He laughed, rubbing his arm exaggeratedly. “Aww c’mon, I’m just saying. He’s basically the one least likely to betray you. In other words, the safest way to get laid—“

You flounced off, leaving him to laugh and try to wheedle his way back into your good graces. Still, your mind wouldn’t stop wandering to the Hat Man. Wondered how much safer you’d feel if he decided to be just a little more handsy…

Whacking your face with your binder, you shook your head and scolded yourself. Really, Harlow must be influencing you more than you expected.

~

You slumped against the counter, groaning.

Maybe Harlow really had gotten to you, more than you’d really anticipated at first. His words kept ringing through your mind, leading to thought trains that you hadn’t really anticipated.

He’s a personal bodyguard… The more your proximity or attention ‘fuels him’ and the more energy you give him… He’s basically the one least likely to betray you.

With a defeated sigh, you picked yourself up and dragged yourself to your room. You’d wanted to go to bed early, for more reasons than you’d care to admit to yourself. Still, even as you turned the lights off and went to go change, you wondered if he would return tonight. If he’d still join you. If he’d stay.

Tugging at the T-shirt you’d slid on, you hesitated for only a moment before sliding your underwear off. Tossing it aside, you slid into bed, rolling onto your side and staring at the empty space across from you. Reaching out, you smoothed your hand against the sheets.

“I wish you were here, Hat Man,” you whispered into the quiet darkness.

To your surprise, your body almost instantly froze. A dark shape walked into view by the side of the bed, and the now-familiar talons lifted the sheets to slide into bed beside you. You vaguely wondered if the sleep paralysis the whole time had just been the spirits and now your Hat Man having an effect on you thanks to the lure of your blood.

Before you could think too much about it, though, the burly figure slid closer. Still, he didn’t hold you like he had before, and a pang of disappointment rushed through you. His arm lifted, then he seemed to hesitate.

Your body loosened a little, giving you that smidgen of movement you’d been granted last time. Without even a moment of thought, you rolled forward and snuggled into his chest again, the dusky warmth of his body soaking into you again. You sighed, gazing at the lines of his chest and the slashed scars that crossed the dark planes. Almost thoughtlessly, you traced your fingers against the edges of the scars.

You wondered how he’d gotten them. Were you the reason? Because he protected you? A pang of guilt ran through you for a moment.

He shifted, finally putting his arm around you again, as though he’d been waiting for the permission. His head bent a little, and he carefully seemed to nuzzle your hair, as though checking on you.

A little sleepy, you glanced up at him, noting the curve of his jaw. “Hi,” you breathed, your murmur quiet and wispy. Still, he pulled back and seemed to observe you curiously. His eyes, you finally noticed, had a faint sort of pale blue glow, dim in the darkness and only obvious from how close you were.

“Thank you,” you whispered, every word an effort. “For— this—“ Your fingers slipped across the lurid scars on his chest, your eyes starting to slide closed. But you fought it for a moment, determined to just… thank him. Properly. Mustering as much energy as you could, you sluggishly forced yourself up a little, just enough to brush your lips against his chin, the closest part of his face you could reach.

The talons tightened briefly against your waist, as though they’d convulsed in surprise. He seemed to freeze in front of you, processing what you’d just done.

You let out a sleepy hum, the drowsiness descending on you far faster than you would have liked. You wanted to talk with him. You wondered if he had a voice.

~

Harlow took one look at you. “Ohhh, someone’s sexually frustrated.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t— Harlow,” you whined, feeling your entire face heat up.

He leaned against your desk with a sympathetic grin. “Look, if I call you out it’s only because I’m in the same boat or I’m about to help you. In this case both applies. Anyway, so, spill the tea.” He tilted his head, his polished horns gleaming under the office lights.

You sighed, then confessed everything to him. From the way you’d started feeling about your Hat Man to the way you’d started to… fantasize. Frustrated, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“I just… I don’t know if it’s because I’m lonely and he’s there, or if I— I don’t even know,” you sighed, closing your eyes in defeat. “I just don’t know.”

He chuckled, reaching over to pat your arm. “Look, like I said, Hat Men are there for protection. And by the sounds of it, yours is actually attracted to you. Spirits and entities like him don’t actively search for contact like that if they’re not interested in it.” He pursed his lips. “Not to mention, if you do actually get some— how big is he?”

You gave him a half-hearted glare. “Harlow—“

He snickered. “How tall is he. Seriously, you’re the one with the dirty mind here.” He flashed you that infuriating smirk as he teased you.

You rolled your eyes, giving up. “I don’t know, probably around seven feet? It felt like it, anyway, when he was standing beside the bed.”

“Oh so he’s stacked.” Harlow cackled. “But really, as I was saying, if you do bag that one, it’s quite the mutual benefit. It’ll be a direct method of energy transfer, not to mention that he’s absolutely probably going to be loyal to you if he gets those kinds of privileges.” He shrugged flippantly. “But that’s besides the point. Here’s what I’m going to suggest, so take this as you will.”

You left work that evening with your face burning but a solid plan from Harlow. You’d figure out later if you wanted to smack him or thank him.

~

That night, as you crawled into bed, you let out a breath and sat there, clutching the blankets. Biting your lip, you glanced toward the door.

“I hope you’ll join me again, tonight,” you ventured, calling out into the darkness of your room. Swallowing, you twisted the sheets in your fingers. “And… of course, you don’t have to, but… I’d love to be able to… to talk to you. Or— or hear more about you. If you can or want to communicate. I just…” You sighed.

“I don’t know if I have to not move when you’re around. I’m not sure how that works, but either way, I— I like having you around,” you admitted. “So… thank you. For protecting me. I hope you stay. You’re welcome to make yourself at home, here.” Taking one last glance at the door, you turned over and lay down. You self-consciously rubbed your legs together, almost embarrassed by your lack of clothing besides the T-shirt.

Would it be too obvious? Was it too much? Or maybe would that be enough-?

The bed behind you dipped just as you felt yourself seized by the paralysis again. But this time, it already felt minimal, as though the tight hold had been laxed even more than before. You rolled back, feeling your back hit the warmth of his chest. Every night, it seemed that he gained a little more solidity and form, and even more of a distinct body heat. The large arm wrapped around you again, sliding across your side and down your belly, talons slipping under your waist.

You hummed, the calm and contentment washing over you again with his presence. “Hi,” you murmured, your fingers managing to curl around one of his talons.

This time, to your mingled surprise and delight, you felt the soft huff of air against your neck like breath. It wasn’t really a sound, but it was something a little more. His face nudged against your neck and shoulder, while his lower body curled up as though to surround you as much as possible. Your heart pounded, almost giddy with the happiness that rushed through you.

“Missed you,” you breathed, your words less slurred than before. You weren’t fighting the sleepiness as hard tonight, and you wondered if it really was an effect that your Hat Man had on you or if it was something else. Still, you relished it.

His movements behind you paused, and you panicked for a split second, wondering if you’d scared him away. But then he nuzzled against you again, another huff washing over your neck. In the next moment, you heard a soft, rumbling growl, so deep that you almost wondered if you’d imagined it. The moment you heard it, your breath hitched. Your stomach clenched at the sound, heat pooling between your legs.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip helplessly, your entire body both aching and on fire where he touched you, held you. Chest heaving with a burning breath, you tried to control your reaction, suppressing your shiver. You didn’t want him to leave. Wanted him to stay.

Like a whisper, words bloomed in your mind, so softly that it took you a moment to realize you didn’t hear them aloud. So pretty. So soft, so kind. The deep voice, laced with a soft Brooklyn accent, took you off guard as it slithered through your mind.

Your back arched slightly, heat splashing across your cheeks. Before you could quite stop yourself, the way you arched made your ass press back against him. A soft gasp wrenched from your lips as you felt something distinctly hard and thick press back against you. It twitched slightly, and you could feel something damp soak into your T-shirt, smearing against your skin.

A low grunt sounded behind you, just as his hips jerked away. Abruptly, his body started to slide away from you, as though he were going to leave.

The desperation flashed through you, and you found yourself suddenly free to move. You rolled over, hand reaching out.

The both of you completely froze. Your eyes, wide open, riveted on his, your fingers splayed across the scars on his chest. His blue eyes, dim but clearly focused on your face as his chest heaved under your hand.

“Please,” it spilled from your lips, quiet and desperate in the silence. “Don’t leave.”

After a moment, he gingerly lifted his hand and reached for your face, talons barely brushing across your cheek. The whisper floated through your mind again. Sorry… The embarrassment was clear in his voice, and a pale blue flush spread over the area of his cheeks. For some reason, it made him even more endearing.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered back, sure that your own cheeks were flushed with arousal and embarrassment.

He drew closer again, as though he couldn’t help himself. His face neared yours. So pretty. So warm. Sweet. The murmur was followed by the revealing of his mouth. A maw that split open the dark silhouette, black tongue sliding over sharp fangs. Wouldn’t want ta take advantage, sweetheart. Your acceptance of his advances seemed to embolden him. Don’t wanna be too greedy.

You swallowed. “I… I want you to.” Your breath quickened a little, glancing down at his maw. “You can… I— I want you to have my energy,” you offered shyly.

The eyes flared, trailing down your body. Want you. Soft. Sweet. Pretty. He seemed fixated on the description, repeating them again. Still, you couldn’t help but find yourself liking his attention.

“You can have me. Whenever.” You bit your lip briefly. “Even if I’m asleep, if you need energy… if you— if you want.”

His breath washed over your cheek as he bent closer than ever before. Kind. His telepathic voice washed over you, saturated with adoration. Kind to Varen. His tongue gently swiped over your cheek.

You half-whimpered. “Kiss?” you pleaded, desperate for more contact.

His mouth slid across yours, gentle and without a hint of teeth. His tongue flickered over your lips, and you welcomed it. His tongue slid across yours, lithe and gentle. His talons wrapped around your waist again, pulling you into his chest. His name slipped from your lips, soft and needy, and he responded instantly in the way his body shifted closer, half-pinning you under him. His lips slid across yours, trailing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat.

To your frustration, you could feel yourself getting almost unbearably sleepy, the drowsiness tugging at you again. You suddenly wondered if it had to do with him drawing on your energy, feeding off of it, but in the next moment you were completely distracted by the way he gently rutted against your thigh.

Despite your best efforts, you fell asleep.

You dreamed.

Dreamed of Varen, mostly, your mind fantasizing about his claws wrapping around you, pushing you further into the bed, hands wandering further. Of him sliding your T-shirt up, tangling his talons around it, using it as leverage to keep your body still as he slid his cock between your thighs. You swore you could feel it, could feel his talons pricking faintly against your skin as he rutted between your thighs, his tongue dragging over your shoulder and up the arch of your neck.

You could even feel the way his precum started dribbling down your skin, smearing across your thighs, mingling with your own wetness, coating his cock as he slid it against you. And then his cock angling up, just as his talons tightened around your hips and pulled you down against him. His tip slid into you, just as his breath washed over your shoulder.

You woke up as Varen’s maw closed over your shoulder and he pulled you all the way down onto him. Still groggy and half-disoriented from waking up, you could only let out a strangled whine and arch your back, unwittingly pressing yourself further against him. The insistent throb of him inside you and the way your body clenchedaround him was proof that it wasn’t just a dream.

You were still groggy, whimpers spilling from your lips as you lay there pliantly, not resisting anything he was doing. You stayed half-asleep, already blissed out just by the sensation of him filling you.

So good. His soft accent curled through your frazzled mind, satisfied and soothing. So pretty. Doing so good, sweetheart. It’s okay, you don’t have to do anything. Gonna take care of you, pretty.

The knot in your core kept tightening, coiling with every gentle thrust he made, his hips fairly rolling against you. He shifted behind you, his claws gentle but decisive as he rolled you onto your stomach. His body followed, pinning you under him as his legs tangled with yours and his talons around your hips held you in place. He mouthed your shoulder, just barely pricking you with his fangs as his tongue soothed over the soft bites.

Your eyelashes barely fluttered, your body bathed in the dusky heat of pleasure. Despite being half-asleep, the way he steadily pumped in and out of you was so careful, so gentle. You already felt entirely wrecked, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whined. The angle and the way he curled up inside you kept hitting that one spot that sent stars flashing behind your eyelids every time he thrust. Your fingers clenched in the pillow, body trembling. You were so close.

Pretty little thing. Varen cooed, infatuation saturating every word, every thrust into you. Being so good. So… close… The soft, deep growl rumbled through his chest and down into you as well.

The tight coil inside you burst, like a coiled spring. The dusky heat washed through your body in a wave of pleasure, your orgasm roiling through you with a steady but undeniable strength. Varen fucked you through it, extending your orgasm as you trembled and sobbed out his name. He never let go of you, whispering your name as he kissed your throat and praised you softly.

It wasn’t until you’d come down that he came, jerking against you and letting out a low moan. His hips pressed flush against yours, his seed spilling into you with a rush of warmth that settled in you, soaking into the rest of your body. You basked in it, utterly spent and satisfied in a way you couldn’t remember ever being before.

Vaguely, you felt Varen roll back onto his side, pulling you along with him. Though he didn’t pull out of you, he still nuzzled against your neck and curled around you, pulling you flush against him.

You fell back asleep to the sensation of warmth and comfort.

When you woke up the next morning, Varen was gone. The only proof you had of last night was a small smear of faint blue on your inner thigh and the feeling of warmth still pooling in your belly, like a kernel of heat. With a smile, you looked up at the doorway again.

“Thank you, Varen,” you said softly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The only answer you received was a small flash of blue that flickered in the doorway.

~ Bonus! ~

Harlow took one look at you as you walked into work before letting out a whoop. “Heck yeah, bestie got laid!” He laughed, hugging you.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be annoyed at him, though you shook your head with a sigh. “Thanks for your advice, Harl,” you said, smiling.

He grinned, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Course, what are best friends for? Best wingman award who?” he cackled. “Anyway, tell me the dirty details. Oh, should we go celebrate?”

You shook your head. “Never change, Harl. Never change.”

[13uswntimagines]

Cutie Pie (Christen x Reader)

Request: christen x reader one? Maybe where the reader has a child (1-2 years old) and the Team doesn't know. Reader and her child are at a game right behind the bench and the kid accidentally drops his paci down to the bench and the teammates there interact with them without knowing that it's christens girl? Reader also is really tall and fit and a tomboy!

“Alright half-pint, you ready for this?” You asked the little girl in your arms, bouncing her just a touch as you stepped through the stadium gates. 

“Yeah, Mama!!!” She cheered around her pacifier, staring around the stadium in awe and wiggling excitedly. 

You were happy that she loved coming to games so much, as they were kinda a big part of your life. You weren’t quite sure what you would do if she didn’t. She was your soul and a certain soccer player had your heart, and you were glad that you didn’t have to choose between the two. 

You smiled indulgently down at her and kissed her slightly chubby cheeks. “I’m glad baby,” 

She wiggled again, her little bounces getting more and more wild with every step you took in the stadium. You hadn’t really planned on having Riley, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without her and her wonder at everything around the two of you.

“Chris?” She asked as you passed a giant poster of the national team, pointing towards where your favorite forward’s blinding smile was blown up 100 times its normal size. 

You would be forever grateful for how amazing your girlfriend was with your daughter. 

She came into your life nearly a year and a half ago, and you had been extremely reluctant to introduce her to your 6 month old (You didn’t want either of them to get attached before you knew it would work out), but Christen took the role of parent very seriously. She treated your little girl like she was her own, and the two had an unbearable bond. You knew that even if things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to, Riley would always have a friend in the forward. 

“You bet. I’m sure she’s super excited to see you!” You said, glancing down at your ticket to and looking for the right section, navigating through the crowd without issue (something you were used to considering how private you and Chris were about your relationship, the only person on the team who knew about you was Tobin). 

“She score?” Riley questioned, her pacifier bobbing adorably in her mouth and her little eyebrows furrowing. 

“I’m sure she will, just for you kiddo,” You smiled, blowing a raspberry into the little girl's neck, and earning a giggle. “Now, do you think you can help me count the rows so we can get to our seats?” You asked as you passed under the sign with your section number and the pitch came into view. 

Riley nodded, puffing her little chest up. She may only be 2, but you and Christen had been working hard on her colors and numbers. She still needed help, but she was super smart for her age. 

“Alrighty then baby, let’s go,” 

*****

The team wasn’t usually this distracted. They were a group of highly competitive women who were at the top of their game, which meant that they could usually block out all of the noise from the stadium, even if it was just warmup. However, the cutest kid they had ever seen was sitting just behind the bench, being held by a very attractive lady. 

“Oh my gosh, have you seen the little girl?” Kelley asked, slinging an arm around Christen and Tobin’s shoulders, nodding towards the toddler in the stands. 

A gooey smile (something that didn’t go unnoticed by Tobin) broke across Christen’s face the second she saw her two favorite people. She noted how you had dressed the little one in the jersey she had gotten her for Christmas, a bold 23 visible every time she flashed her back towards the field. There was just something about having a part of herself visible (something tangible) on the girl she thought of as a daughter. “Yes, she’s absolutely adorable in that jersey,” 

She wiggled her fingers at the little girl who squealed excitedly and waved back. Her mom wrapped a protective arm around her belly to prevent her from accidentally wiggling under the guardrail. 

“Too bad it’s got Press’ number on it” Megan laughed, wrapping her arm around Christen’s other side, nudging the woman’s ribs. Christen rolled her eyes and shot the little girl another little wave, giggling when she bounced wildly in her mother’s arms (Christen might have also greatly appreciated the way the girl's reaction forced you to flex to prevent her from falling). 

“And her mom doesn’t look too bad either,” Ashlyn added, wiggling her eyebrows. 

The woman behind the little girl was tall, and the black ink that swirled up her arms only served to make her muscles more visible (Christen would call her drool-worthy after she finally told the team she was dating her). 

“You’re married, remember?” Ali grumbled, slapping her wife in the stomach. 

“Yeah, but If I wasn’t…” Ashlyn shrugged, cackling when Ali hit her harder. Christen frowned, suppressing a sneer. You were hers, even if the team didn’t know yet. 

Tobin smirked, gently grabbing her training outfit to prevent her from moving forward. “Come on, you can go flirt later. We have to get changed for the game,” She laughed towards Ashlyn, subtly pulling Christen towards the tunnel. 

The rest of the group laughed and followed after them. There would be plenty of time to say hi to the small child later after they had won. 

The forwards still sent another small wave towards the toddler clearly frowning now that her favorite person was walking away (she also may have winked your way just for kicks). 

*****

You could tell that Riley was having a blast. Her little hands wrapped around the bars of the railing so she could be as close to the action as possible. She waved to every player as they passed her (no matter how many times they did) and giggled exuberantly every time they waved back. 

It seemed that the team on the bench was far more interested in making your little girl laugh than watching the game (and you could only imagine how it would be when they finally realized that one of their teammates was basically her second mom). 

“Babe, you gotta stay a little away from the edge alright?” You said softly, tapping her shoulder when her little head went just a little too far through the bars. 

She definitely had your tendency to get in over her head. She ignored you, too enamored by Christen darting down the field, and shooting the ball. It sailed right past the goalie’s hands and before you could grab your little one she was leaping up and down, head still through the bars screaming “Goal!!” as loud as she could around the pacifier. But her enthusiasm caused the small object to fall out of her mouth.

“Uh oh,” Riley said, turning to you, her bottom lip trembling. 

You scooped her up, and she immediately nuzzled into your neck. “It’s ok babydoll,” you murmured into her hair, bouncing her and looking over the railing.

You leaned over the side, only to see one Kelley O’Hara holding your daughter's pacifier and rubbing her head. “Lose something?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow up at you. 

“Sorry, she got a little excited,” You said blushing a little bit. A little smirk graced Kelley’s lips you looked absolutely adorable with some red in your cheeks and paired with the backward cap it made you practically irresistible. 

“Don’t we all when Pressy scores a goal?” Megan winked up at you, wiggling her fingers at your little girl when she peeked up from your shoulder. 

“That’s fair, but she’s a very big fan,” You smiled, bouncing the little girl in your arms and blowing a raspberry just under her chin. 

“Well in that case, why don’t you two come down on the field? You know, so we can return this?” Ashlyn asked, grabbing the pacifier out of Kelley’s hand and jingling it a little. 

“What do you think babydoll?” You whispered into your daughter’s ear, as she was suddenly too shy to look at the soccer players who she had been interacting with not even minutes ago. 

“Wanna go,” she mumbled into your neck, just loud enough for the girls on the ground to hear. Kelley smiled wildly. “Well, little miss speaks after all!”

“Come to the stairs and we’ll get security to let you down. The games about to be over anyway,” Megan said, pointing towards where a little stairway was located. 

You nodded and headed in that direction, unaware of Christen’s furrowed eyebrows on the field. 

*****

“Oh my gosh, that kid is freaking adorable,” Alex said, trotting up beside Christen just as the final whistle blew. Christen turned towards where Alex was looking, awing at the sight before her. 

Riley was shyly standing behind you, clutching the back of your tank top so tightly that it was pulling down the collar (simultaneously showing off some of the swirling lines she knew spread across the skin of your shoulders). 

She would peek out to get a glance at one of the soccer players vying for her attention, and then tuck back into you the second she realized they were looking at her. 

“Isn’t she?” Christen smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. She might not be biologically related to your daughter, but she was 100% her other mom. She loved that little girl so much it hurt  (even when her pigtails were crooked- you were great at a lot of things but hair certainly wasn’t one). 

“Your gooey is showing,” Tobin said, nudging the forward. Christen opened her mouth to respond but was cut of by a very excited squeal. 

“Chris!!!” It yelled, just before a little body collided with the forward’s legs. She quickly bent down to lift the little girl up, throwing her in the air before allowing her to settle on her hip. “Missed you,”

“I missed you too babydoll,” Christen said into your daughter’s hair, holding her tight. She absolutely loved her job, but one major downside was that she couldn’t take you and Riley with her all of the time. At least she had Tobin to keep her up to date most of the time since you lived in Portland, but there was absolutely nothing like holding her two favorite people in person. 

“You better at hair and clothes,” Riley mumbled into her neck, pulling back just a bit to wave her hand around her head. You tried. You really did, but there was a reason you always kept your hair short. You weren’t into bows and frilly things, but your little girl absolutely loved them. So you did your best and were very grateful that Christen was so good with that kind of stuff. 

Christen threw her head back and laughed “I know baby,”. She rubbed Riley’s belly “Did you enjoy the game?” 

“Yeah, you score goal for me and mama,” Riley cheered and kicked her leg as if recreating the goal. Christen laughed again and began walking in your direction. “That’s right. I scored just for my favorite girls,” 

“Hey I scored too you know, and I want some baby bear hugs,” Tobin said, appearing over Christen’s shoulder. 

Riley wiggled wildly in Christen’s arms, practically throwing herself at her favorite aunt. “Aunt Toby!!” She yelled as Tobin dramatically spun her in circles. 

Christen watched the two with a wide smile, only looking away when she felt a presence beside her. 

“Hey superstar, you looked amazing out there,” your smile was evident in your voice as you wrapped your arms around Christen’s waist from behind, kissing her ear and resting your head on her shoulder. 

She signed happily and leaned back into you for a second, before spinning in your arms. “Hey darling,” she said, leaning up and placing a kiss on your lips. 

“Wait, you know Christen?” A voice appeared very close to you, and you reluctantly pulled away from your girlfriend to look at one Kelley o’hara’s wide eyes. 

“Well she’s my girlfriend, so yeah,” Christen shrugged, leaning up to kiss you again. 

You hear Kelley and several other team members sputter, but you were far too preoccupied to actually care. That was until a little voice joined the mix. 

You pulled away when you heard little feet approaching you, squatting down to catch your very excited little girl. You stood with her in your arms, unable to stop you smile when Christen wrapped her arms around the two of you. 

“Yes baby?” Christen asked, running a hand down your daughters back to try and settle her excited wiggiling just a little. 

“Mama, mommy, we go eat with aunt Toby?” Riley asked. And Christen’s sent her an indulgent smile blinking back tears (you were happy that Tobin was so accepting and great with your babygirl). Sure Christen might not have been biologically related to her, but Riley was 100% hers.

[jaehyunfirstlove]

Can you write a smut in which Jaehyun is one of the members boss and y/n is their girlfriend but jaehyun took a liking on her and he became a little too obsessed with her. So he sabotaged the members into making y/n sleeping with him (maybe because she loves her boyfriend too much that she would do anything for him)

Pairing: boss!jaehyun x f.reader

Genre: smut (18+ only)

Warnings: infidelity, fingering, protected sex, spanking, slight degradation?

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: i dialed down the intensity of this request, i'm so sorry, but i'm not too comfortable writing jaehyun like that (sorry!), having said that, obvs 'immoral' things happen (pls remember this is only fiction!)

“I can’t leave anytime soon, sorry Y/N.”

You heaved a deep sigh on the phone with your boyfriend, Mark. It was the fourth day in a row that he had canceled plans with you, citing a busy workload that needed his attention. It was his first ‘real’ job outside of college, and you knew he was trying to make a good impression, but he’d been working there a month now and stayed late almost every day. His boss sounded really demanding, and you couldn’t help but think he was taking advantage of Mark’s eagerness as a recent college graduate.

“Tell Mr. Jeong he’s an ass and that he needs to let you have a life outside of work,” you grumbled, but Mark just laughed humorlessly.

“You tell him that, no one here puts a foot wrong because they’re scared of him.”

You rolled your eyes, hating the idea of a man with that much power, taking advantage of people below him. “Ridiculous,” you scoffed, “he can’t be that scary.”

“You’ve never met Jeong Jaehyun,” Mark replied ominously.

---

The next day you decided to see for yourself, showing up at Mark’s office unannounced. He was flustered at seeing you there, and when you told him you wanted to meet his boss he got even more panicky, his eyes going comically wide and his mouth opening in shock.

“No!” he protested, putting his hands up in front of you, “no, you can’t do that! It’s not gonna happen!”

“What’s not gonna happen?” A deep voice said from behind him. Mark turned his head slowly, a look of pure terror on his face.

“Oh Mr. Jeong!” he bowed deeply, and you finally got a good look at Mark’s boss. He was tall and slim, his bespoke three piece suit fitting him perfectly. His hair was beautifully coiffed, pulled back with just a strand falling onto his forehead. His face was stern, but when he caught sight of you something flashed across his face, before he settled into a practiced smile.

“Oh, I believe we haven’t met,” he brushed past Mark’s bent figure and extended his hand to you, “I’m Jeong Jaehyun, and you are?”

“Mark’s girlfriend,” you responded drily, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Behind Mr. Jeong, you could see Mark’s panicked face as he waved his arms at you, signaling you to stop. You ignored him.

Mr. Jeong smiled widely, clearly appreciating your boldness. His smile brought out the most delightful dimples, you couldn’t help but notice, and you shook your head trying to fight the attraction to your boyfriend’s boss.

“What brings you here today, Mark’s girlfriend?” he asked cheekily, eyes dancing with amusement.

Mark was now begging, putting his hands together in a pleading gesture, but still you ignored him. “Just wondering what kind of sweatshop you’re running here, Mr. Jeong. You know, everyone working late with no overtime pay…”

He smirked, while behind him Mark slapped a hand onto his forehead. You were aware you were playing with fire, very well risking Mark getting fired, but you couldn’t help it. You’d always been a shit-disturber.

“I’ll tell you what, Mark’s girlfriend, how about we step into my office and discuss this in private?” he was smiling, but there was an edge to his voice and a dark look in his eyes. You shrugged, following behind him to his office while everyone, including Mark, stared at you in fear.

---

“Close the door,” he commanded with a wave of his hand, and despite your aversion to people telling you what to do, you obeyed him. Something in his tone of voice made you comply without question.

“So you have a problem with how I run things here?” he didn’t turn to you, didn’t look at you, just moved slowly to his desk and took a seat. You swallowed drily, the effect he was having on you both baffling and intense. You were exhilarated by his commanding presence, by the deep baritone of his voice, by the way he was staring at you now, eyes deep and dark and boring into your very soul.

“Perhaps…” you said, somewhat unsure of yourself now.

The corners of his lips turned up into a smirk, probably fully aware of his effect on people. He knew he had you, and he was going to use that to his full advantage.

“Well I should probably fire Mark for that little outburst you had just now, in front of my entire staff,” he tapped his pen on the table, eyebrows furrowing as he regarded you.

“Please don’t,” you whispered, internally shocked and angry with yourself that you were caving to this man. But he had gotten up from his chair, walking towards where you were standing near the door, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he got closer. It was a simple act, just walking, just unbuttoning, but the way he did it sent a thrill down your spine. He stopped maybe a foot away, close enough that the heady scent of his cologne invaded your senses.

“I can’t look like a weak boss,” he said, his voice gruff as he put his hands on his hips and towered over you, clearly trying to be intimidating. “So tell me what you’ll do for me so I won’t fire your boyfriend.”

You didn’t realize it but your chest was heaving, his effect on you so maddening. Despite yourself, your eyes roamed over his body, stopping at the obvious bulge in his pants. You looked away quickly and he smiled devilishly.

“I think I can work with that,” he said seductively, leaning his face close to yours. “I have a proposition for you then, Mark’s girlfriend.”

Your head snapped back to him, eyes going wide as you knew exactly what he was going to propose. “What is it?” you had to ask, hoping he wasn’t going to ask what you think he was going to ask, but worse, hoping that he would.

He leaned close to whisper in your ear. “You let me fuck you right here in my office, and I’ll let your boyfriend keep his job.”

Your entire body shuddered, from the heat of his breath against your ear, from the close proximity of his body, from the proposition that you had hoped, beyond your better judgment, he would offer. He stepped back after he said it, the absence of him leaving a tangible hole, and walked back to his desk, taking a seat. He was calm, cool, completely collected, as if he didn’t just proposition you to have sex with him so your boyfriend wouldn’t get fired.

“What do you say?” he asked breezily, “Do we have a deal?”

You could say no, and Mark would lose his job, but that wouldn’t be the worst of it. You knew Mark wanted to do well at this job, and you knew he would blame you if he lost it since you had made a scene accusing his boss of bad practices. You had put yourself in this situation and there was only one way out.

“Deal,” you nodded, your heart beating faster at what you had just agreed to. Mr. Jeong raised his eyebrows at you, and then broke into a dazzling smile.

“Smart girl,” he hummed, then motioned for you to come to him. You walked towards him, legs moving of their own accord, and when you were close enough he patted his knees. “Sit on my lap.”

You did as you were told, perching lightly on his knees, but he grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him. You inhaled sharply when you felt his hard bulge rub against your ass.

“Thank you for wearing a skirt today,” he whispered slyly, his hands on your thighs, pushing your skirt up to your hips. You were breathing even more heavily now, your heart beating so fast you thought it would explode out of your chest. When his hands reached your core you held your breath. “Mm,” he hummed, fingers rubbing your slit over your panties, “you’re wet already, baby. Were you thinking of me, or Mark? Be honest, please.”

You started to pant, his fingers applying just enough pressure that it was making you crazy. “You, just you,” was all you could say, your body aching for more.

He tsked, shaking his head at you. “That’s naughty, baby, thinking of another man instead of your boyfriend.”

He was scolding you, but the sound of his voice and the way he made you feel so dirty just made you more aroused, your panties getting wetter by the second. He felt it, and he chuckled.

“You like that, I see? You like being naughty?”

You just nodded, moaning as he applied even more pressure. At the sound of your moan he suddenly shoved your panties aside, fingering your pussy bare.

“Damn, so wet,” he murmured, sliding his fingers up and down your slit, teasing you so deliciously your eyes brimmed with tears.

“Mr. Jeong,” you panted, “please…”

“What do you want, naughty girl? Hm?”

“More,” you whined, and he finally complied, plunging his fingers into your wet hole.

You arched your back, your head falling onto his shoulder as he pumped his fingers inside of you. His fingers were longer than Mark’s, hitting you in that spot that made your toes curl so fast and so easily that you already felt the knot in your stomach forming.

“You gonna come for me, dirty girl, come on another man’s fingers?” His voice was so deep and so husky in your ear that it made you come, your body shaking and thighs coming together to trap his hand. When you were done he pushed you off of him slightly so he could pull his cock out, and since you had your back to him you couldn’t see what he was doing. You heard a plastic packet rip, realizing he was putting a condom on, then he was pulling you back onto him.

“Turn around,” he commanded, “I want to watch your face as I fuck you.”

Your brain was hazy with your orgasm but you would’ve complied either way, and you turned around so you could straddle him, your legs on either side of his hips.

“That’s a good girl,” he hummed, “so naughty, yet so good for me.”

His praise made heat flood your body, and then he was positioning his cock for you to sink down onto it. You took him in, sinking down on him slowly, feeling him stretch you unlike anyone had ever done before. Your breath caught in your throat, your hands gripping his shoulders as you finally took him all the way in.

“Oh fuck,” you cried, biting your lip to keep from screaming as the pleasure from his cock filling you spread throughout your entire body. You started to move your hips, and the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of you made you throw your head back. “Oh fuck,” you repeated it like a mantra, unable to form anything more coherent than that.

“Mm, you’re so good, baby,” he cooed, holding onto your hips as you rode him, “your pussy feels so good. Mark’s a lucky guy.”

You were aware you probably should have felt shame, but the way his cock felt inside you was too good, igniting every pleasure center in your brain. The only thing you could concentrate on was how it felt as his cock spread you apart.

“Your cock feels so good,” you moaned, thighs burning as you chased your high. You gripped harder onto his shoulders as your orgasm started to build, and he watched your face with a look of smug satisfaction.

“You’re gonna come again, baby?” he asked, his hand coming around to smack your ass. You cried out but it also made your pussy clench, and he was clearly delighted with the discovery. “I should’ve known you liked getting spanked, since you’re a naughty girl,” he smirked, smacking your ass even harder. You whimpered, pussy clenching again, and that flipped something inside him. He grabbed a hold of your hips, eyes hooded as he started to rut up into you.

You wanted to scream, his cock hitting so deep and so hard into you it was making you delirious. You put your hand to your mouth, stifling the whimpers that came out instead, your entire body bouncing at the force of his hips thrusting up into you.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged, his voice rough, “take my cock like the naughty girl you are.”

You came with a soundless scream, your mouth falling open as your fingers dug into his shoulders. Your legs shook as your pussy clenched hard around him, and he groaned but continued to fuck into you.

“Naughty girl, you’re gonna make me come,” he growled, squeezing your hips hard with his hands as he came, with one last thrust that hit you so deep you lost all breath at the feeling. When he was done, he patted your thigh while looking up at you appreciatively.

“That was good, baby. I’m satisfied,” he said with a smile, “I’ll let your boyfriend keep his job.”

You sighed with relief, but the severity of what you’d just done suddenly hit you. Hastily you got off of him, fixing yourself up to look presentable before you stepped out of his office. Taking a deep breath you opened the door, only to catch sight of Mark looking at you expectantly. You smiled at him, trying not to give away what just happened in Mr. Jeong’s office, and gave a thumbs up. Mark broke into a relieved smile, just as Mr. Jeong stepped out of his office, coming to stand beside you.

“Mark, your girlfriend can be very persuasive,” he said casually, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, “because of her, there will be no more unpaid overtime.”

He winked at you before walking back into his office, as all the employees who heard cheered you, Mark coming up to you to give you a big hug.

“You’re awesome, Y/N, thank you so much,” he said, squeezing you in his arms.

Swallowing your guilt, you just smiled back. “I did my best.”

---

Thanks for 1.4k :)

[yanderart]

   Once you found Shouto on the Anti-Purge forums, it felt so wonderful to be understood. So comforting to finally have someone you could rely on...

So, when you got a letter notifying you of your selection for the Annual Purge later on, of course you went to seek his help.

Should’ve known better than to trust strangers online, though.

My fic/portrait convo for the Yandere Purge Collab, from the Lovesick Discord. And please check the rest of the m. list for other amazing works set in the same AU!

Under the cut is the actual fic (Todoroki x Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 10k), as well as the respective TWs. Hope y'all enjoy 🥀

-------

Tws: Usual yandere ones (stalking, manipulation, delusion). Dub-con/Non-con. Non-consensual Drug Use, aka Aphrodisiacs. Death threats and sexism (from randoms on the forum, not Todo). 

-------

   You couldn’t think straight —hadn’t been able to since waking up again. All you could recognize amidst the fog currently obscuring your thoughts was the longing, prolonged, and tangible in its hold over your being.

You felt hot all over, the flames licking at your skin burning brightly as you squirmed from your place, eagerly attempting to get closer to the cold reprieve emanating from the man that held you. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, Y/N." One of his hands was steering you on his lap, the other one gently massaging your shoulders in a comforting motion. “I can only help you if you do."

If your judgment had not been overcast by the desire pushing away your self-awareness, then perhaps you could’ve heard the faint hint of amusement in his voice. Perhaps you would’ve thought to look up and finally encounter the content shine of his heterochromatic eyes.

“I feel…" speaking was laborious, your tongue impossibly weighty and your mind swirling with thoughts that escaped any semblance of coherence. “I feel hot all over. It hurts.”

The hand positioned around your waist went to search for one of your clenched ones, easily engulfing it in his grip as he nudged the side of your face with his chin rather tenderly. A gentle encouragement for you to stay attentive, anchoring you to the moment despite your dazed mindset. 

“Show me then,” his low timbre tickled your skin, sending another wave of excruciating heat to wreak havoc inside your body, “Let me know where it hurts.”

With a stuttering sigh, you proceeded to press both of your hands to your lower stomach, gulping audibly before bringing them further down. Dancing just short of your underwear while your eyelids fluttered shut. 

You knew your actions were out of character deep down. Even recognized the shadow of wrongness that distorted the current scene. You weren't supposed to do such things, weren't supposed to feel like that…

But the reality was that you were so excruciatingly warm by that point, and his palm felt so deliciously cold. 

When you heard the dreadful siren going off in the distance, the instantly recognizable sound of the Purge starting at last, you were already too far gone to think of anything else but the fingers brushing against the thin cotton of your panties, so close to the evidence of your need soaking through them. 

Your parents had told you not to trust strangers online once upon a time. You should’ve really taken their advice more to heart.

。。。。。

   But first, perhaps a little tracing of your steps is in order —some necessary context to fully understand the extension of your plight. 

You see, earlier that day you had woken up full of a peculiar mix of drive and determination. It was indeed Purge Day, the single day of the year you had grown to fear the most  ever since childhood, and yet for once you found yourself oddly relaxed, filled to the brim with resolve instead of your usual nerves. 

Which was already an unexpected turn of events, considering you had just gotten a letter notifying you of your selection as one of the accursed Darlings of the Night. 

A gentle reminder that, if caught, your life would stop belonging to yourself for an entire dreadful year. 

Because a Yandere had their sight on you now, or so the notice had informed you in impeccable typography. Anxious fingertips memorized the slight raise of inked words, inspecting every single detail the letter carried.

You had imagined a monster ready to pounce just outside your door then, fitting enough to be the carrier of your bad news. A preternaturally grotesque being, built from all the Yandere themed horror stories you had heard throughout the years.  

And yet there you were, feeling safer in that instant than you had in years; Because this time you had a plan. He made sure to give you one you could easily follow.

Just like he later made sure to welcome you in with a kind smile and awfully persistent hospitality. 

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

You should've known better than to accept.

。。。。。

   In the present, fingers were now dipping under the elastic of your panties, ghosting across feverish skin and encouraging your whimpers to grow louder. 

"Is this what you want, then?" The man's breath tickled one of your ears, rough digits gathering your slickness with practiced ease. And he sounded genuinely concerned too, as if your discomfort was not a consequence of his own machinations. "Because I wanna ease your pain, baby. Give you what you truly need."

He barely even touched you yet you were already struggling not to crumble, the desire governing your mind mixing with the new sensations to create a new delirious kind of torment. 

Continuing to tease you, the man was relentless in his torture, barely even brushing over your neediest spots. A gentle press of his palm to stimulate you for a moment before pulling back, much to your shameful frustration; Better than nothing, but not close enough. 

In his own way, though, he was urging you to speak up. Expecting you to demand what you truly wanted. 

Yet as a retort, all you could come up with was gasping out his name, dripping from your lips like honeyed prayers as your hips fought to buck up against his hand. 

 A sound you afterward repeated a hundred times over. Chanted until its melody became engraved on your tongue and the man was finally caving in, sliding his fingers inside with a smirk. 

He had known you'd end up caving, had planned for it for months now, and yet nothing had prepared him for the actual view.

。。。。。

   Shou, actually, had been his username when you first met him. Once upon a time recited with a genuine smile and an eagerness to please, such a far cry from the anguished whines it would later lead up to.

You started frequenting the forum he inhabited a few months back. A place which happened to be a hidden corner of the internet for people who did not just stumble upon it, but actually sought it out. A part of the web where its occupants challenged societal norms and, against what society had tried to condition you all into thinking,  chose to voice their taboo Anti-Purge sentiments instead. 

Sentiments perhaps born either due to the inherent discriminatory nature of the holiday (why was it that Yanderes were accommodated for, while Darlings barely got a warning before they were made prey?), a need for contrarianism (when opposing open kidnappings, assault and other debauchery became an act of rebellion), or just a tenuous moral high ground which made it unbearable to stomach. Whatever the reason, it was your first time encountering such a density of like-minded peers.

Despite attempting to commit yourself to being a lurker, deciding to never post or reply to others, your days had still quickly become consumed by the need to read each and every topic. You were simply fascinated with this new dark corner of the web. 

That was, of course, until the aforementioned Shou became the main focus of your attention, a dash of intriguing brightness to break the monotony of your existence.

And like moths rushing to the flame, your curiosity would be your undoing.  

There was something about him that pulled you in (along with many others from the community, which tended to flock on his posts whenever he grazed the forums). His username was clearly just a nickname instead of a carefully crafted pseudonym; profile picture just an image of the back of what you all assumed to be his hair, dual-toned strands catching the light in a hypnotic way.

Truly, his disregard for anonymity within those parts was a bigger statement than you were expecting, almost as commendable as it was dumbfounding. There was the nature of his postings too, never subtle about his inclinations or ideas. 

   How to disarm and reutilize Purge Traps. 

   Most effective ways to incapacitate a violent assailant.  

   Government lies and why they matter. 

   Faking a BOPC (breach of purge code) and getting away with it.

There was little method to the madness that was his forum activity, besides the hint that he was evidently more knowledgeable about the subject than most. Plus the fact that he was proactive about his advice, actually seeking to teach others to fight back instead of just hide away and hope for the best. For another self-proclaimed Darling, Shou was ruthless with his methods —it was hard not to admire him.

And admire you did, keeping tabs of his sporadic bursts of activity and speeding to try and interact with him whenever you caught him online. You were, to voice it simply, simply star-truck by him (and perhaps becoming a bit of a fangirl). 

Because whoever Shou was, it felt like he understood you. And so, against every ounce of your common sense or natural paranoia, you had finally decided to break your golden rule and reach out for the first time since you joined the niche forum. 

And not to just leave a vague comment agreeing on public discourse, but to actually send him a private message. In your defense, how were you supposed to know the chains of events your actions would start?

   Do you actually believe what you post?, had been your lame conversation starter. 

Luckily for you, he did not leave you hanging. You made sure to send the message while he was still active, one of the few days a week you knew he devoted to his presence on the site (and wasn't it slightly creepy, how you had taken the time to learn his schedule by that point?)

   I wouldn't be here if I didn't, dry, to the point and leaving you embarrassed to have even sent the first question. 

Yet for some reason, something about Shou reverted you back into a middle school kid seeking to impress a way cooler senior. 

Perhaps it was what he symbolized (a change for the better), what he appeared to be (everything you wish you were) —whatever it was, your fingers were frantically typing a reply as soon as his appeared on your screen. 

   I just think it's amazingThe things you know

   How you share them with everyone

   The way you see through the lies

   I just think you're— , your digits hovered over the keyboard as you were about to type out the last sentence before quickly deleting it. Even in your excitement, you knew how obsessed you'd sound if you started complimenting him personally in your very first conversation. 

So instead you sent your thoughts on his posts and awaited his answer with bated breath. A few minutes ticked by this time, your anxiety making you count down the seconds in mortified silence, slowly weighted down by your doubts until your notifications for the forum were going off again with a distinct ping. 

   I've seen your replies around. I think you're great too. 

Whatever your hang ups for praising him directly had been, he clearly did not harbor any. As the prongs of nervousness alleviated their hold over your body, you struggled to see any problems with it either…this was a person you had come to idolize, and they thought you were great?

Your smile, while still anxious, was considerable while you quickly responded. 

   I'm just a n00b. Learning from the pros. 

A moment of thought, biting your bottom lip as you decided whether to add a second message or not. Fuck it, you told yourself. 

   I wasn't even supposed to be posting anything, but you made me wanna reach out. 

Was that too forward? Oh god, it was, wasn't it? You must've sounded creepy, must've sounded desperate and…

   That's cute. Did my ramblings teach you anything? 

An actual squeal left you then, sounding like it came from an altogether different person. You were an adult, with a career and responsibilities… Yet somehow, this stranger online indirectly calling you cute made you more excited than you were comfortable admitting.

   Ofc. I didn't even know what a BOPC was before. Didn't know most of the purge traps you mentioned, either. 

The spaces between replies were getting smaller, the conversation turning fluent as you both seemed to be staring straight into the screen, waiting for the other to finish typing. 

   So you really are a n00b then. 

Shit, did you fail some sort of forum etiquette by admitting that? Somehow, the need to impress Shou was more palpable than ever. 

   And you clearly know your stuff. Makes me wanna up my game. 

Be more like you, you left unsaid. 

   So am I your senpai then? 

Your fingers froze just above the keyboards, eyes scanning over Shou's last message and reverted back to staring at his profile pic for a solid minute. You would've squealed again, if you weren't so taken aback. 

   You make it sound like I am, his second message lit up your screen, coming in quickly after your rare pause in replies.

   I don't think that's bad, though. Third message from him, and you were close to fainting now. 

   Then in that case I suppose you are. You wondered whether Shou wouldn't think you were pathetic admitting that, or whether he had been honest by saying he didn't mind... 

   I've also noticed you agreeing with some of my more polarizing views. 

A welcomed change in topics. 

You thought to ask him which ones (most of his posts tended to have a polarizing effect, with people finding him either too radicalized or not radicalized enough), but before you could formulate the question you saw the twinkling circles symbolizing he was typing up another sentence.

   Do you actually believe them? And now it was his turn to spit your words back at you. 

   Well, yah. You make compelling arguments. 

   Color me impressed then, the start of his new retort left your mind spinning. Never met a n00b like you before. 

After his declaration, you found yourself writing and rewriting your answer, hesitating on your word choice, and yet pure elation coursed through your veins. 

He said he's impressed with me, your brain kept supplying on loop. You had no way of knowing just how much of a lasting impression you were leaving. 

   I don't wanna stay one tho. I'd like to jump a few levels. Improve.

Barely a moment's notice before his last message provoked a noticeable hitch in your breath. 

   I can help you with that. 

Which, as short of a reply as it was, left you giddier than would’ve been healthier to admit. 

Perhaps it could be chalked up to your work shifts growing more monotonous and tiresome, your social life becoming a faint echo of what it used to be, or just the regular wear and tear from a too-plain existence —a routine where you didn’t tend to engage with life, but just passively watched it go by.

Whatever the true reason was, that night you went to sleep with such a wide grin that the apples of your cheeks had started to hurt from the exertion, infinitely excited after getting to talk firsthand with someone you had already come to admire by that point. 

It almost made you self-conscious, knowing just how much it all meant to you, how such a small gesture on his part happened to mean the world to you. 

But there was really no reason to feel ashamed or overzealous over your own reaction. If you could’ve seen Shou, you would’ve known you weren’t the only one smiling.

。。。。。

   Almost as open of a smile as the one adorning his features right now, currently hidden from your view as his fingers set a maddening pace. Tortuously slow at first until his knuckles started brushing against your opening with each thrust. 

All you could hear now were the wet sounds of your arousal facilitating his movements, motions whose only purpose seemed to be to drive you more rambling and disoriented by the second. 

"Is this what you want? What you need, perhaps?" His usually calm voice was uncharacteristically affected as he gasped against your ear, the torture he was making you endure clearly getting to him as well. 

You were much too preoccupied with the waves of pleasure and warmth overflowing your body to give a proper response, but your lack of one did not deter him. 

If anything, your needy gasps and whines were the only encouragement he required. 

"Don't worry, Y/N. I'll take care of you, make you feel good."

By that point, the hand that had been petting your hair had found its way to your sopping heat too, calloused pads circling around your pearl while the man continued feeding you his eager promises. 

"I get you, baby. Just like you get me." So close, your entire body taut and ready to snap. "And you want me to take care of you too, right?"

You weren't conscious enough to understand the implications, your impaired judgment prohibiting you from reading further into the meaning of his words. He sounded so encouraging, so deceivingly tender despite stuffing you full of his fingers as you squirmed on his lap. 

All you could do was nod furiously.

And later on, when your senses sadly returned, dedicated yourself to lamenting over which of your actions brought you down this unfortunate path. 

。。。。。

    Perhaps, your consciousness supplied, it had been the fact that you opened up so readily. That you had dared to share with a supposed new friend, things that should’ve better stayed hidden in the first place.   

But goddamn it, you felt downright honored that he even considered you worthy enough to entertain in the first place. From the very first second, Shouto already had the upper hand. 

During the first few conversations, the topics you two discussed were all closely related to the purge and your mutual hang ups with it. Concise and carefully typed out messages were exchanged, discussing opinions you had never expected anyone to be interested in hearing—not from you, at least. 

But then, as the weeks slowly progressed, the subjects of conversation began shifting to both of your lives, to your occupations, hobbies, and, directly against the forum's policy for privacy, the people you two were outside the confines of your online corner. 

Even without actually exchanging any real data or supplying him with your name or age, you found yourself starting to open up more and more with each day.

You told him about your grueling office job, the friends you hadn’t seen or texted in weeks, and the reality of an apartment which more closely resembled a containment cell than a home…

Revelations that you had kept hidden for so long, which now came pouring out without regard for how mortified they made you feel. You were conscious of the limits blurring between you two the further you kept going, of how you were telling him things best left unsaid, cramped and buried in a hard to reach place. 

And yet, for some obscure reason, everything Shou represented made it impossible for you to resist the temptation to speak up, to demand to be heard for the first time in an eternity of quietness. 

You’re pathetic, is what you expected him to say in return. Pathetic, weak, meager, and worthless. Anticipating him, somehow, to echo all the doubts and deeply held fears you carried inside. 

   Most of my friends don’t understand either, was instead the response you  received. But most people don’t see what's wrong, what needs to be changed. You feel lonely because you do.

It wasn’t clear what you would’ve wanted to hear beforehand, the things you had fantasized someone would reply if you ever gathered the courage to share your anxieties. Whatever those expectations had been an eternity ago, they now vastly paled when compared to what your new friend was dangling in front of you. 

It felt like he was giving an excuse for things you had always perceived as personal failings. If what he said was true, it would mean it wasn’t your social ineptitude that kept people away, your uselessness, or uninteresting personality.

It would mean the shadows around you could still be dispelled somehow, exorcising the silhouettes of a suffering that had become a regular companion in your day to day life.

Brandishing a courage that only anonymity could give you, your fingers were a blur on your keyboard as you tried to ignore the rapid heartbeat in your chest, the fear, and exhilaration from opening up for the first time in forever. 

Something you would later regret a thousand times over.

   And you do too, and it wasn’t a question, a nervous comment or a stuttered retort. With the aid of the text format, you could look as confident as you knew you weren’t. You understand as well. 

You understand me, was the tacit meaning behind it. The prickling of unshed tears made it so you were furiously blinking, fighting against the downpour despite your eyes refusing to leave the screen for longer than an instant. 

   I do. More than you realize.

For all intents and purposes, your first mistake was indeed opening up. 

And your second one was being naive enough to let him in. Seriously, why hadn’t you heeded your parent’s advice about stranger danger?

。。。。。

   ...If they could only see you now, coming apart at the seams and with the name of your tormentor being the only word you were able to string together. 

"Such a beauty, and all for me," his praises accompanied you through the rough orgasm ripping through your body, lips kissing your forehead in stark contrast to the digits still pumping inside your heat. "Let me hear your voice, baby. Let me hear how beautiful my name sounds on your lips."

And you obeyed, because what other choice did you have. Mindless, broken, and oh, so needy. 

You continued to audibly moan as your climax unwound, crying out his name in absolute reverence while Shouto's smile deepened against your skin. The chill of his touch was still as soothing as ever, calming down the embers of a lust that refused to completely die down.

When he finally pulled his hands from your core, you felt excruciatingly empty. But you were not given enough time to wallow in your despair, because who you once considered your friend was then grasping your face gently between his hands, leading your gaze to meet his—forcing you to witness the intensity and adoration present there. 

"My Y/N."

Even in your deeply intoxicated state, the last few dredges of your senses supplied just how utterly abhorrent the situation was. 

The sirens signaling the start of the Purge had died down a while ago, drowned out by your own cries of pleasure, but you could still see the remnants of the government logo still plastered all over the TV, its bright glow bathing you both in an eerily scarlet ambiance. 

From the same weak place of coherence, a shiver of fear managed to break through your stupor. 

"You're going to continue to be a good girl for me, aren't you?" 

When he kissed you then, slow and almost ironically hesitant despite what had just transpired moments before, you couldn't begin to tell your body to refuse. Much to your own horror, you were soon eagerly kissing your tormentor back. 

。。。。。                                                      

   The second mistake leading up to your downfall, on the other hand, took a little longer to occur. It was after a few more weeks of conversation. You vented and talked way too much, while Shou listened intently and even rewarded you with a few crumbs of advice of his own.  

So wrapped up in your new seemingly innocuous friendship you were in, you failed to recognize the magnitude of an event that should've sent you scrambling to shut off your monitor. A warning so loud it would've put the Purge sirens themselves to shame. 

You see, with Shou's help, you were slowly becoming more of an active user around those parts. You didn't just stick to replying to his posts or lurking until he shot you a private message anymore; no, you were now officially a contributor, deciding to step out of your anonymity to share what you thought was a fairly interesting article. It was a rather long-winded thinkpiece on the morality of Darlings’ treatment after the Purge had ended—the reality of that year spent in captivity that most people tended to just brush under the carpet, all in the name of making the entire ordeal more palatable to digest. 

In all your eagerness, however, you had failed to realize a very crucial detail, which was that the article was a whole two days old. Already an ancient text by forum's standards, apparently. 

So with that in mind, of course you should've expected the hate, an outpouring of bitterness fit for a community of loners and acidic underdogs. You were on an anonymous forum on one of the darkest parts of the internet, somewhere most sane people actively stayed away from—Clearly, a rookie unwittingly reposting something was the perfect target for a lot of your bitter comrades. An excuse to finally take out all of their pent up frustration.  

   Fuck1ng pleb, thanks for copy-pasting the same post for the 55th time. 

   This is why we shouldn't let newbies post. Look at this mess @mods.

   Time to hang it up, n00b. And by “it”, I mean your f****** neck.  

   i bet ur a girl, [Username]. u type like a b1tch. 

And the icing on the cake for internet interactions, a myriad of wall spamming "KYS" being plastered all across the comment section, bold and daunting as they filled your notification box with the repetitions of hate. If you weren't so sure of your safety behind your screen, perhaps you would've felt intimidated. 

As it stood, you were just embarrassed, mortified at the fact that you had seemingly botched your only attempt at leaving a positive first impression. If anything, it only seemed you had given everyone a common enemy to pick on for once...

Or that was, at least, until Shou happened to log in at exactly that precise moment. You knew he was usually busy around that day and time (he never actually told you whether he had a job, but you had surmised as much from your past chats), so his instantly recognizable profile picture and username popping up had you genuinely gasping at first. It was one hell of a coincidence, but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief at what looked to be your savior.

   Everyone, stop getting your panties in a twist. This is why no new users end up staying, the environment is abhorrent. 

It was vague enough not to betray the fact that you two weren’t just strangers anymore, as well as keeping Shou’s reputation as a lone wolf from completely shattering.

And a comment which, surprisingly, instantly dulled most of the incoming messages your post was being flooded with. 

People respected him there, his status as a renowned user giving him a genuine sort of power and hold over the rest of the community. One of the first things you had recognized on the forums was the distinct hierarchical structures amongst its users, and there Shou might’ve as well be granted the title of mayor for all the weight his every sentence carried.

Or at least they did with the majority of the community. As in every place where large numbers of people gathered, there were always a few rotten apples just begging to be tossed. 

   and ofc ur whiteknighting for her, Shou The Great. shes sucking ur dick under evry single post u make

You cringed, studying the bitter user that had decided to be a contrarian and easily recognizing him from unsavory past encounters you witnessed. Although, if you were completely honest, this time you couldn't exactly say his words didn't carry a certain degree of validity.

Shou had told you he was glad that was the case with you, that his post resonating with anyone was one of the main reasons why he hadn't just disappeared from the site completely. But in reality, saying you weren't subtle about your agreement with his ideas would be an understatement. 

You were like a puppy skipping behind him, trailing his interactions and always ready to write an eager comment backing him up. Yet you had never thought others actually paid attention to your mostly one-sided interactions, the occasional meager downvote or emote being the only thing that made you aware your comments weren’t just lost in the sea of spam Shou’s posts were usually showered in. 

For the longest time, your support had just felt like leaving letters for the man to find. Letters you hadn’t even been sure had reached their target until a few weeks back...

Suddenly, the sharp sound of Shou's incoming reply drove you from your tribulations.  

   Well, maybe if you weren't such a crude man you wouldn't be permabanned from starting topics yourself. Although I doubt anyone would be sucking your dick either way, shitty ideology considered. [Image attached]

A grimace was quick to grow on your face as you aptly studied the picture Shou decided to close his reply with.

It was a screenshot of what looked to be someone's post history, a rather extensive list with alarmingly offensive titles such as "Why male darlings should be spared", "The purge is a form of cuckoldry" and “Feminist agenda: female yanderes and their biological advantage [Repost]". Almost all of them exhibited a tragic downvote ratio right as well, besides the red symbol signaling the posts had been archived by senior users or mods.

For someone who also loathed the terrible holiday, it was almost admirable how the man managed to be almost as detestable as the criminals you all rallied against. 

But even so, what disturbed you the most wasn't the clear bigotry of the user, but the fact that that screenshot couldn't have been taken from public records. A user's post history was hidden, just another measure on the site’s part to keep people from recognizing too many details about each other and possibly endangering themselves. 

No, it could only have been taken from inside the account. And judging from the other guy's quick reaction, you weren't the only one who came to that realization.

   how the fck did u get that

   I knew u were friends with the mods. fcking rats 

By that point, everyone else had stopped clogging the comments and, you assumed, instead opted to settle down and attentively observe the events transpiring. Apart from the emote reactions and the rapidly rising number of upvotes on Shou’s comments, you had all become a passive audience to the public ridicule.

Although you couldn’t help feeling slightly disjointed by Shou’s behavior. Below your wicked sense of pride at having him defend you, there was still the whispers of your gut telling you the man was going a little too far, his actions spelling a more sinister meaning than just “having a friend’s back”.

   You've been here for years, Minoru. Surprised you haven't yet noticed how much of a pest everyone sees you as. 

Minoru? You did a double-take, going back to read the username of the guy Shou was arguing with. But he just had a randomly generated number as a pseudonym, same as you and most others, and with just a picture of some anime sneezing girl to distinguish his profile from the rest. No trails or signs of what could Shouto be referencing to.

Nothing but an option you preferred not to consider. But it couldn't be, could it? your friend wouldn’t...

   fucking delete that right now, man.

   this isn't a joke, DELETE THAT. 

Only that the abrasive and desperate reaction told you everything you needed to know. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, shock mixing with equal parts horror and amazement you couldn’t even begin to try and disentangle. Because right that second, you were witnessing your friend breaking the forum’s number one rule with a front-row seat to the spectacle. 

And he was doing it all in your name.

   Then maybe think twice before you go out of your way to harass newbies. Or have you had too much time on your hands after being fired, is that it?

It was vague enough not to represent any kind of threat... if not for the context of the site. And yet you all knew the hidden message behind it, the warning for whoever Minoru was to understand Shou knew much more than what he was letting on. That he could expose much more than he was currently alluding to. 

   y are u even doing this, shou? y do u care wtf happens to this noobslut anyways?

Shou's reply took barely a moment to appear, lighting up your screen and, despite the slightly morbid nature of his protection, coaxing out a smile to adorn your lips. It was like a balm being applied to your worries, quieting down most of your incipient concerns in favor of rejoicing. 

   They're a friend. 

For fuck’s sake, you even screenshotted that for posterity. Somehow, him acknowledging the new bond you two had openly felt like a milestone. 

When a mod came in to archive the post and give everyone involved a stern warning later on, you were already way past your previous doubtful sentiments. 

Instead, the last thing you did before going to sleep that day was to open up your private conversation with Shou and send a quick yet heartfelt message of gratitude his way. 

Months prior, you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d be thanking anyone for semi doxxing another human being. How rapidly things were changing, though, and all while you got lost in the thrill of mattering.

   Thanks for sticking up for me. It meant a lot, you typed feeling slightly lightheaded, drunk on the idea that anyone would think you worthy of having your back.

You thought Shou went offline after dishing out his not so thinly veiled threats, but somehow he was back again in an instant, the sound of notifications going off shaking any remnants of your exhaustion.  

   Anything for you, [Y/N]. 

You were so tired, it didn't occur to you that you hadn't yet shared your real name with your friend either.

That night, for once, you fell asleep with a twinkle in your eye and the image of Shou's multicolored locks dancing against your eyelids. Imagining, ever so briefly, your fingers trailing down the back of a neck you now had memorized from analyzing his profile picture. 

And, while you slept with your phone clutched to your side, you also failed to notice the peculiar sound of your own camera going off, the soft glow from the red light beside your lense bathing your features in its subtle illumination, flickering against your eyelashes and the lingering grin on your curved lips. 

You truly looked angelic like that. 

Suffice it to say, Minoru never bothered you again after that day. In fact, his name disappeared from the site not too soon after. 

。。。。。                                                   

    But now, to continue the grueling task of giving a context for your inevitable end, it is necessary to jump a month further into the future, barely a week from the excruciating present. 

Because it was then that the last strike finished nailing the coffin of your proverbial undoing, burying you under the weight of your own ignorance.

You got your notice in the mail on the Day of Announcements, an inconspicuous letter lacking any further distinction beyond a scarlet government seal emblazoned across its front. But even before you opened and read the message, you already knew of its contents—easily recognizing the image before you from several of the varied posts you had seen floating around on the forums lately.

   Purge Notice!!! Help needed Urgently. 

   Just got my letter. Do I stay hidden or fight back? [Open poll]

   Third time getting mine. AMA about my methods. 

The range of how you had seen other users reacting to their own selections was diverse, with some of them being more experienced while others, such as you, had just gotten their first letter ever. If things played out differently for you, then you were sure you would've been another one of the numerous panicked voices, awkwardly trying to maneuver their way out of their new situation.

And maybe, then, your odds wouldn't have been so completely fucked from the start. 

As it stood, as soon as you laid eyes on the notice, the first thing you thought of was how quickly you could boot up your computer and open the forum’s private messages. Because, for the first time in forever, you were overwhelmed by the feeling of someone else being there for you. 

Shou was your friend, had earned that spot fair and square after months of listening to you venting and sharing deep discussions; faster than you could even realize it, and so it was only natural for you to seek his help once the news of your selection for the new yearly Purge reached you. 

He had even threatened another user for your sake, for fuck’s sake. So, really, what harm could come out of relying on someone you were sure was trustworthy?

Maybe it was too late by that point for you to snap out of it, but it was almost amusing seeing you being so easily deceived. 

Just another reason why you needed him, certainly.

 。。。。。

    Already told you I'd have your back, had been his immediate reply barely an instant after you attached a candid photo of your hand holding up the envelope. Whatever you need, I’m here.

His lack of hesitation was palpable through your screen, heart hammering in your chest as you were faced with a kindness you had thought yourself undeserving of not long ago. 

As soon as you closed your mailbox, you had immediately raced to send him the message, completely foregoing telling any of your other friends or family members when you doubted they would even understand you in the first place. Shou had been right when he told you people just didn’t want to see the truth, even if it slapped them right in the face, leaving dark imprints in the shape of their narrow mindedness.

But he was there, he was letting you know as much, in his own words. And for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few months, you felt incredibly lucky to have stumbled upon the Forums in the first place, to have traced whatever fortunate path had led you to find him—the one person able to distinguish you in a world you always thought you blended straight into. 

   Thank you, Shou, for everything. And at that moment, you really had been truthful, so much so that there were tears prickling at your eyes, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude drowning you with its intensity.

Indeed, your final mistake had been your desperate need for acceptance. A need that had, in the end, cost you everything.

   You can call me Shouto now. No use for nicknames anymore.

Amidst the chaos of your life possibly crashing down all around you, somehow his revelation put a trembling smile back in your face. 

   Then allow me to repeat: thank you, Shouto. 

   Np, Newbie. Told you I'd help you level up, didn't I? 

His teasing managed to garner a small stuttering laugh out of you despite the dreadfulness of your situation. 

But you couldn’t help it. Somehow, every reply Shouto sent you only served to wrap the illusion of safety tighter around you. So tight in fact, that you should’ve started worrying about suffocating. 

。。。。。

   On the other side of the screen, the man with the multicolored hair couldn’t help but keep staring at the picture you had sent him earlier. 

He was transfixed, eyes almost unblinking as they refused to separate from the image. The way your fingers tentatively held the letter up for the picture was simply adorable to him. Beautifully naive. 

It wasn't like he hadn't seen your face before, like he hadn't already memorized the texture of your skin and the everlasting trace of a frown always threatening to dampen your mood. He read your expressions like poetry, every mole and scar furthering the securing of his interest. 

But this was the first picture you had actually chosen to send him out of your own volition, the final symbol of a trust he had worked so tirelessly to earn. Used to catching prey as he was, the man wasn’t entirely sure when you had turned from a game into a priority, from a priority into the only thing he could even make himself care for.

And it didn’t help that it was his letter you were holding, too. His formal declaration of pursuit. 

With time, Shouto was sure you would find it in yourself to appreciate the beauty of such irony. 

But, for now, what he really needed to do was buy some tea. Couldn’t have your own stubbornness ruining your first encounter, could he?

。。。。。

   In the coming weeks, your friend aided you and even coached you as you jointly planned for the horrific holiday, not only suggesting ideas but tracing the safety measures needed for them to succeed. You really had no reason to doubt him by that point.

That evening, after you finished letting Shouto know you were back from work, you made sure to pack all of your supplies into an inconspicuous bag you had acquired for the occasion. Whoever your Yandere was, it was best to not give any hints of your new acquisitions, just in case they were already stalking your movements. 

Shouto had helped you devise the list, mentoring you in your selection of weapons as well as self-defense arsenal—what brands of pepper spray to get, which ammunitions were most efficient and reliable, even what kind of clothing was the least troublesome if the need to escape ever arose. If you had been sure he knew his craft before, now you were surprised at just how vast his wisdom genuinely was. 

After the last few finishing touches of preparations, you were already on your way to the direction you had both agreed on (supplied by him, approved by you). There were several hours until the start of the Purge still, but the adrenaline swimming through your bloodstream was already considerable. 

Shouto had suggested you visited him for the Holiday, quoting how the measures in place for his home made it nothing short of a fortified vault, impossible for any outsiders to break into (and for anyone to break out of, but let's not get ahead of ourselves). 

With that in mind, how could you have refused his offer? Your place was barely an excuse for an apartment, windows that didn't entirely close, and feeble doors that could be easily broken into. Even if you weren't partly driven by the curiosity of meeting your new internet idol turned friend, it would've been foolish to decline. 

So in a few hours, you were sporting a nervous smile on your face as you parked your car in front of the largest apartment complex you had ever encountered. It was luxurious in a way you had only seen staring back at you from a television screen, marble, and gold accents giving you the impression you were about to step into a drama set instead of visiting an online friend. 

Before the surrealism of the entire situation could begin to set in, however, you noticed the young man sitting on the ample stairs of the building. He had an air of effortless elegance, tall and lithe, yet sporting a black turtleneck which hugged his frame and made it clear just how much sheer strength hid behind his movements. 

And he also sported the same peculiarly colored locks you had already memorized from the last few months, the light softly reflecting on them proving to be an even more impressive show when admired live. 

You were dazzled for an instant, wondering if, somehow, this entire thing was a prank and the Shou from the forums had just schemed his way into making a fool out of you in front of a handsome stranger. Way too convoluted, yet entirely too plausible to your bewildered self. 

Until the man lifted his eyes—as beautifully dual-toned as his hair, and catching sight of you standing just beside your recently parked vehicle. 

"Y/N," he was sharply climbing to his feet as he called out your name, the shy hint of a smile in his lip contradicting the monotone cadence of his tone. "Good to finally meet you."

You had first been under the impression that the Shou you knew was cold, the way he interacted with others on the site reminding you of an emotionless robot at times, but the man addressing you seemed like he was ripped straight out of a stereotypical rom-com. 

Maybe he'd be the aloof, tormented heir? Which, in your fantasy drama land, would make you the nearly illiterate and poor love interest. Your feelings of inadequacy only grew at the comparison.

Almost cute, how that had been one of your greatest worries once upon a time. How foolishly eager you were to be liked back then.

"Shouto." The name still felt somewhat strange on your lips, even after he had insisted you started calling him that. "It's good to meet you, too."

He was by your side in an instant, taking your bags from you swiftly and shutting the door to your ride. From this up close, it became considerably harder to disguise your staring. 

Even the scar which covered his left eye, a splash of reddish textured skin, somehow came across like yet another enhancer of his appeal. An underlying harshness which you couldn't help but be intrigued by. 

"Your hair looks even better in person."

And leave it to you to once again find a way to screw first impressions. You were chastising yourself a mere second after the words left your mouth. 

But Shouto only sent you that same hint of a smirk your way, his eyes appearing genuinely pleased at your praise. If he thought you were a weirdo and was regretting ever inviting you to his house, then he was a good enough actor for you to be fooled.

And fooled you he did, but with completely different intentions. 

"You look just like in your pictures," came his serene retort not long after.

Which you assumed was a joke, keeping in mind that the only photo you had ever sent his way had been of the Purge letter you received a few days ago.

Laughing lightly, you tried to ignore the nerves tugging at your chest before catching up with him on the steps of the building. 

As you giddily barged straight into the open jaws of the beast, it once again struck Shouto how utterly unsuspecting you were. How you trusted him so wholeheartedly.

He couldn't wait to see it all come crashing down.

。。。。。

   Inside his honest to god penthouse, your previous feeling of insufficiency only became more severe. 

The interiors were decorated sparingly, albeit fashionably. Filled with different muted shades and being unexpectedly traditional in the way they were designed. It was a stunning abode, even if you couldn't help but mentally point out how utterly unlived in it appeared.

There was not a single cup, shoe, or book out of place, everything perfectly polished and organized to the point that you felt hesitance as your sock-covered feet continued making their way through the place.

"Make yourself at home," Shouto told you most matter-of-factly. If you weren't so sure of his intentions by now, perhaps you would've thought he was being sarcastic. 

Without any of your belongings to distract yourself with, you instead gravitated towards what you could see of the kitchen through one of the sliding doors. 

It was very modern despite the rest of the aesthetic the penthouse sported, shiny stainless steel and spotless dark countertops. It should've looked out of place when paired with the carpeted floors, wooden furniture, and sparse pieces of classical Japanese art…

Yet somehow, it strangely fits. Just like his owner, you supposed, thinking back to the oddities that amounted to his unique brand of appeal.

And you really needed to stop thinking of your friend like that. 

When you heard the door to the apartment being audibly locked with a resounding click, you instantly stopped your fingers grazing the smooth countertops. Your instincts flared up with worry for a moment, right before you forcefully willed yourself to calm down.  

After reminding yourself of the true reason why you were there, the exhale you released next was one of clear relief. 

"Want something to drink?" Shouto appeared in your line of sight again, hands buried in the pockets of his pants and looking like the picture of composure. 

You felt embarrassed once again, knowing he had given you a free pass to roam but still somewhat self-conscious about intruding on his space. 

"You don't need to make me anything. I'm fine." Your timbre was apologetic, not used to slipping into the role of a guest just yet. 

He seemed strangely dissatisfied with your answer, closing some of the distance between you with a presence that had you almost flinching back for a second. 

There was an intensity in his gaze, something which you could not quite yet place. 

"But I want to be a good host. So let me." He appeared very serious about it, too, with his face growing stern as his peculiar eyes bore into yours. 

Not wanting to cause further distress, you imagined relenting would be the best course of action. 

It was like you were molded to be the perfect Darling, so wonderfully meek and gullible.

"Okay then. Water is fine."

Yet Shouto shook his head, still somewhat dissatisfied with your answer. 

"Tea it is." His phrasing allowed little space for argument. "I know you mentioned liking a few brands before, so I took the liberty of stocking up on them."

A surprising burst of laughter broke through your anxious feelings then, drawing Shouto's eyes again from the particular cabinet they had drifted to as he mentioned the beverages. 

He looked at you puzzled, an unasked question written all over his otherwise blank expression, and so you decided to reply from the surge of unexpected amusement you were experiencing. 

"It's only a night, Shou," you didn't even realize you had slipped back into his nickname, too entertained by how much he had apparently overdone his hospitality. "There really wasn't any need for you to go buy my favorite teas."

His eyes blinked quite slowly your way, his expression back to his vacant mask before a smile reappeared.

"I wanted you to feel welcomed," he supplied as he approached the cabinet he was eyeing before, dedicating himself to searching for whatever kind of flavor of tea he had in mind. 

In response, you just shrugged your shoulders with another chuckle. 

"And I didn't get you anything. You're making me feel even more out of place."

"Nonsense," he cut you off in that deadpan way of his, hands rummaging through the most ridiculously vast tea collection you had ever seen. And then he added, decidedly quieter, "today is supposed to be about you, after all."

Too bad you didn't pick up on it. 

When he ushered you back to the salon with barely a wave next, pointing at one of the cushions arranged around the short-legged table, you decided to follow his suggestion and wait there while he finished brewing the drinks. By now, you understood the futility of offering any kind of help when he was still so intent on properly welcoming you. 

So, curious as you were, your eyes continued to inspect each and every inch of the apartment, drinking up all the pieces of info you could observe, that you didn't even think of the potential dangers of letting a stranger fix you a cup while you weren't looking.

Unbeknownst to the other, you were both actively counting down the seconds until the Purge started, minds lost to your own inner turmoils from opposite sides of the suite. 

And for entirely different reasons, you were both filled with anticipation.    

。。。。。

   Meanwhile, finally back in the present after retracing the steps that guided you there, it was becoming increasingly hard to compartmentalize the chaos brewing inside you.

Shouto’s lips were the personification of hunger against yours, an inescapable gluttony to mark and consume every single inch of you he could encompass. 

After a hint of understanding returned to your body post-orgasm, your vision and the sensations you endured were becoming disturbingly vivid. It was impossible to conceive anything beyond his hands ridding you of your flimsy camisole, palms cold in comparison to the heat you felt, splaying against your sides and slowly making their way up the sensitive mounds of your chest.

“All mine, baby.” You barely registered his teeth nipping at your bottom lip until a shock of pain snapped you out of your trance.

He bit you, and quite harshly too, but when you tried to instinctually pull back his response was to hold you even tighter. Before you could attempt to voice your complaints, his tongue was darting out to clean up the droplets of blood he spilled. 

“Out of all the Darlings I’ve played with, you’re the only one I’ve ever even considered keeping, you know?”

And now that had you freezing, even amidst the cloud of desire still muddling your cognizance. His arms pressed you closer still, forcing you to bury your face against his chest, completely unphased by the bloody mess your mouth had morphed into.  

Had he tricked others before then? Was that the reason why he was even on the Forums in the first place? 

You wanted to ask him what he meant, wanted to demand explanations for a phrase that had dread closing around your neck like a noose. But whatever he slipped into your drink to keep you so awfully responsive and pliable, also appeared to make forming any complex sentences incredibly hard…

Shou, ever the receptive one, caught onto your change in demeanor rather aptly. His face nuzzled your hair softly, humming a calming melody as if you were a scared child who could be so easily reassured. Meanwhile, his hands hadn’t abandoned your breasts, still tenderly kneading them with a touch bordering on worship.

“But I’m glad you weren’t my first, baby. Means I could be all ready for when we met.” He rocked you both as he rested his back further on the sofa, opening his legs wider below you and forcing you to settle closer to his clothed groin with a whimper. 

Your arms reached out to grasp his shoulders while you tried to stabilize yourself, the strain of his erection resting snuggly against your still sensitive slit. 

"Helped me to know when to pull back," he kept confessing, purposefully thrusting into you while he kept lovingly massaging your chest, fingers twisting your hardened peaks to coax a new kind of mewl to be uttered against his skin. "Wouldn't want you to break now that I've finally found you."

The fact that your bodies seemed to fit so perfectly, even in your impaired state, was not an irony lost on you. 

Abruptly, Shouto stopped fondling your breasts in order to maneuver your face again, both of your stares meeting in a vehement standoff before he continued. 

“I’ll make this as close to perfection as I can, I promise you.” And you got a direct view of the vulnerability in his uniquely colored eyes, the nature of his words clearly heartfelt despite the atrocities they alluded to. 

As you heard him drag his zipper down, the hand clutching your jaw trembling in anticipation, you couldn’t help the new wave of warmth spreading through your body, negating all the fear and anxiousness warring inside you in order to shamefully expose your baser desires.

Now that whatever had been clouding your  judgment was pulling back slightly, your thought process had begun to snap back into place, overflowing you with a terrible sense of shame at your own reactions.

He gave you something earlier with your drink, you were sure of it, and yet you couldn’t help but still be horrified at just how much you were enjoying it. Once you felt the flushed head of his cock placidly rubbing against your thigh, the sounds leaving your mouth weren’t ones of complaint, peril or dissent.

Quite the contrary, actually, and it only made Shouto grow bolder.

As the hand clutching your face grew tenser, gripping you with force before tugging harshly, you got the hint. Now painfully following his lead, it wasn't long before the previous pressure against your legs was now resting directly against your cunt. 

The pre-cum already gathered on him mixed in with your still oozing arousal, smearing the span of your outer lips as he lightly teased you one last time. 

You were so mortified by that point, that if he had offered to end your embarrassment right then and there with one of the several weapons you knew he kept, you would’ve been very inclined to accept. 

“... I didn’t even think there was such a thing as 'The One' before, actually.” You hadn’t even realized the man was still talking, ardent whispers getting lost on the intensity of the situation. 

His eyes were searching your face, a satisfied twinkle lighting them up as soon as you returned his stare of your very own volition. Perturbed, you wondered if his delusion made him see anything beyond a twisted mix of lust and fear reflected back at him. 

“But I now know just how wrong I was, Y/N.” So sure of himself, tone back to the stern cadence you previously associated with him for a moment, gripped by a gravity befitting of his obsession. “Indeed, I think you were always meant to be my darling… don't you agree?”

To your credit, you did struggle to speak up, to gain back the control over a body which had stopped listening long ago. Too bad you only managed a single pitiful word out.

“Shouto…”

But before you could even fathom attempting a better response, he was breaching into you, sheathing himself with an ease you wished you could overlook, turning your voice from an anguished plea into outrageously labored moans. 

You had once thought Shou had been interested in you because he somehow perceived you as anything but pathetic, but you were beginning to think it had been your weakness which drew him in all along. 

So deliciously frail, that even a predator like him had been driven with an urgent need to protect you. To break you down, just so he could be the one to build you back together.

As he started fucking you with shallow thrusts, hips bucking up from the sofa while he tenderly guided you until your body was mimicked his motion on its own, you couldn’t help but be the most disturbed at his oddly affectionate ways. 

As awful as it sounded, now that your mind had awakened from its stupor all you wanted was for him to bend you over and abuse you, manhandle you and mistreat you in a way which unequivocally screamed assault. You wanted bruises painting your skin, proof that you hadn’t just willingly given up and facilitated your own ruin. 

He was humiliating you despite the pretty words he decided to disguise it as—showing you how easily he could own you and even make you enjoy it, drug-addled drink or not. 

But as his mouth latched around one of your hardened nipples, sucking generously until his name was once again fast on your tongue, you also couldn’t deny the crystal clear responses you were giving.

You could attempt to lie to yourself later, could swear it was all a delusion born out of the deranged man's mind, but the particular brand of your screams was unmistakable.

When your own hand reached down to facilitate your release, you knew you were already acting beyond what you could've previously attributed to the drugs. Toying with your bundle of nerves, you rested your forehead against Shouto's shoulders, tears from the pleasure mixing in with the subjacent agony of your guilt. 

Why did it have to feel so good? And how far did the drugs truly affect you? Or had they just peeled back your inhibitions perhaps, baring you until all you had were dark desires and no self-control to contain them. 

You still tasted blood inside your mouth when your walls started clenching around his cock, the coppery flavor entirely too vivid on your tongue. Hearing his own choked groans gasping against your chest, you felt his mouth abandoning your bud with a pop before his kisses were trailing a path back up—eager in their search of your face, your lips. 

You were still cumming by the time a lascivious kiss connected you two again, unwinding in his grasp until his hands were the only thing keeping you whole. 

“Even if I wasn't taught how,” he began promising while his rhythm grew frantic, barely resisting the allure of your core fluttering around him. “I promise I’ll love you, Y/N. Love you so good, you won’t ever want to leave when the next Purge comes.” He was getting increasingly excited by his own words, imagining a future where you did not need the aid of a little cup of tea to eagerly kiss back. “I’ll fuck you every day, fill you up and show you just how much I care. How much you matter.”

Faced with his degenerate promises, all you could do was gasp out his name one last time, perhaps seeking to express your reticence, perhaps oddly excited by the image he was painting. 

You indulged him in the pitiful sound of your whimpers molding around its syllables, and it wasn’t long before you were coaxing him to join you with an orgasm of his own.

He actually came inside, you recognized inwardly after the aftershocks of enjoyment now quieted down to a lull, a new type of dread quickly following the realization. His cum was still shooting in hot ropes, stuffing you to the brim with the intent and purpose of a man bent on marking you, owning you.

But Shouto was so loving as he kissed you time and time again, painfully reminding you of just how nice he could be for you, how gentle and attentive. It made the lines between your tormentor and a traditional lover blur even further, the confusion clouding your sense not merely born out of narcotics any longer. 

You had been so preoccupied with a monster outside your house once. A creature ripped from the kind of movies that were ripe with cheap scares and considerably cheaper thrills. 

But monsters never were like that in real life, were they? As the man continued to cradle you in his arms like the most vulnerable of creatures, you were suddenly struck by how glaringly obvious things should’ve been from the beginning. 

Because your Yandere’s obsession had not come with claws and a row of sharp teeth. No, it came instead with a suit of deception to hug its frame, the bait of acceptance, and the promise of a reliable ear to comfortably listen. It arrived with whispers that assured you that you were not alone, that it was not you who was flawed, but the world for not welcoming you. 

It dangled everything your little heart desired, so by the time you were reaching out, you were simply too distracted to notice the dangers of the abyss you were throwing yourself at.

Luckily for you, Shouto had made such a void his home. And for however long it took you to consider the darkness as your own, his was a kind of hospitality that no amount of your struggles could ever hope to wear down. 

And if the worst came to pass, if you kept stubbornly refusing and fighting despite your odds? Well…

   He could always brew you another cup of tea.

-------

Well, I can finally rest now 💀

This monster of a one-shot took me a lot longer than expected, so I ended up being a lil later to the collab that I would’ve liked. Either way, I’d really appreciate hearing any feedback or opinions on either the fic or art (or both?)... I swear that’s what keeps me motivated ;___; 

So fr, thanks to everyone who takes the time to let me know your takes! y’all are the bests of the best 🖤 And speaking of bests of best, special thanks and gratitude to the actual angels who helped and gave me feedback for both the art and/or fic @reinawritesbnha , @drxwsyni​, @wootato, @snappysnapo and @coyambition. Don’t catch me seeing y’all drop your crowns bc it’s on sight  😠 👑