#tearing out my hair. the brain rot is BACK ladies

[chronalshifts]

like i enjoy solavellan but in a very particular way. like in the way that she’s a killer and so’s he but she doesn’t know that yet and all she sees in him is another elf who maybe (maybe) understands how lonely she feels here. but turns out he’s weirdly detached and disdainful of her culture and she doesn’t understand and wants to be angry (because why can nobody, *nobody* here just be fucking normal about her people) but there’s something about the way he talks about the dalish that makes her pause. like he thinks he knows better.

and he pisses her off to no end but she wants to know, now, she’s burning with curiosity. surely he was a keeper’s apprentice who got exiled, right? maybe he found something in the fade his clan didn’t like. or maybe he’s from the city and tried to join a clan but they rejected him. either way, when he’s not insufferable, he’s thoughtful and measured and gentle in a way she’s not used to seeing. and she protects him and he protects her and eventually the hostility goes away, bit by bit, and leaves this consuming sort of fascination in her gut.

and then she drinks from the well (better her than a shem, right?) and he can’t look her in the eyes anymore. he tells her he loves her but then ruins her, takes her pride and her certainty and any chance her family will recognise her when (if) she returns home, along with the markings on her face. and she’s so angry and so hurt and so ashamed, that she would let someone — this *nobody* — take from her like that. without even putting up a fight. so they don’t speak again, not without acid on her tongue and that same strange removal in his eyes, and she goes back to being alone.

and then it’s three years later and he’s the dread wolf and suddenly everything is far, far worse than she’d ever dared to imagine. (somehow, even though this is all his fault, even though she tells him she’ll stop him through pain-gritted teeth, a part of her she thought she’d buried still aches for his wounds.)

that’s all to say if lavellan doesn’t at least yell at him in veilguard i will be bitterly disappointed lmao

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Agent Peña

Summary: You and Javi are unpacking as you move into your new house, when you come across something unusual in one of the boxes. Surprise, it's Javi's old tac vest, and boy, do you need to show him how good he still looks in it.

Word Count: 5.3K (I'm surprised it's not longer, I could write a thesis about this vest)

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!reader (no used of y/n, reader's nickname is Osita)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) BOY OH BOY- unprotected p in v sex (be better pls), oral (m receiving), face fucking, mastrubation (f), big ole praise kink, creampie, cum play (ig??), soft dom!Javi (still being our consent king as always), Javi lifts reader up on the dresser and holds her hair, Javi's got a FILTHY mouth, THE VEST STAYS ON LADIES AND GENTS (gn)

A/N: ....Well.... Here we are. This idea has been rotting in the back of my brain for SO long, and I am finally ready to serve my time in horny jail 🫡 As y'all know, Javi's tac vest is deeply important to me, and it only feels right to support my namesake as such by sharing my deeply dirty thoughts of getting absolutely obliterated by this man in that stupid fucking vest. If you know me, no you DON'T, please do not make eye contact with me for the next 7-10 business days. 🤪

This can be read as a stand alone, or as a part of the It's Never Too Late Series!!

“Are you sure this is the last box?” 

“Yes, Hermosa, I’m positive.”

“Well, that was your answer 3 boxes ago, Jav.” 

You laughed to yourself, hauling what was supposedly the last cardboard box out of the back of Javi’s truck as you followed behind him into your new house. Your official move in day had finally come, and while you and Javi had been periodically transporting things from your apartment to the new house since it had been finished with construction, today was the last day on your lease, and the first day of your forever in your new home together. While you couldn't have been more excited to finally be in a real home of your own with Javi, you were much less excited about the 47 trips you had made in and out of the house, hauling boxes to and from Javi’s truck, and unpacking your entire existence into your new living space. 

You let out a little grunt as you set down the box into the mountain-like pile that had accumulated in your living room, Javi sneaking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist as he planted a soft kiss on your shoulder. 

“You promise this was the last one?” You giggled, your voice oozing with sarcasm as you gave Javi a playful nudge while he held you in his grasp. 

“Promise.” He laughed, giving you a squeeze, only making you squeal and squirm even more. “Hopefully unpacking shouldn’t take too long, I’ll start moving the heavier shit upstairs and in the garage, and I’ll come help you down here when I’m done.” 

“What, are you saying I'm not strong enough to carry the heavy boxes? Rude.” You teased, spinning around to face him, crossing your arms over your chest, one eyebrow raised. 

“You know that’s not what I’m trying to say, you dork.” Javi sighed, rolling his eyes at your utter lack of seriousness in response to his comment. 

“I don’t know… Sure seems like it to me… I just don’t think that- HEY! PUT ME DOWN! STOP, STOP, YOU MEANIE!” You screeched, flapping your arms in hysterical laughter as Javi slung you over his shoulder, trapping you in the only way he’d figured out how to get you to stop with your never ending sass- tickling you until you were close to tears. “Fine, I- Javi! Stop! You win! You win! Let me go, you butt!” 

“Did you just call me a butt?” He snorted, setting you back down on the ground, smirking at the goofy grin on your face as you tried to recompose yourself, post tickle torture. 

“I would have come up with a better insult if I wasn’t close to almost peeing my pants.” You grumbled, sticking your tongue out at Javi, the two of you trying your best to keep from bursting into laughter again. 

“Will you just go start unpacking, weirdo? The sooner we’re done, the sooner we can go break in the new bed.” He smirked, biting down on his lip, his eyes looking you up and down with a mischievous sparkle. 

“Oooorrrrrr… We could just go break it in now and unpack later?” You shrugged, placing your hands on Javi’s chest, grabbing a fist full of the soft cotton of his worn t-shirt as you pressed up on your tiptoes and placed a kiss on his pouty lip. 

“As much as I want to,” He paused, pressing his lips back into yours, feeling the smile of his smug grin, “If we go now, there’s no way all of this is ever getting unpacked.” 

“Ugh, fine. You win again, Mr. Reasonable.” You frowned, giving him one last quick kiss before pulling away to search through the endless sea of cardboard to sort where each box needed to go. You reached down, hoisting up one labeled “bedroom” and resting it on your hip, pointing to the scratchy scribbles of Javi’s handwriting. “Look! I’m already going to the bedroom, soooooo…” 

“Osita…”   

“Fine, fine. You better move those boxes fast. Rude to keep your wife waiting like this, ya know.” 

“Will you please just go unpack, Hermosa?” He sighed, laughing and shaking his head, hiking up two boxes, heavy enough to make his biceps flex and the veins in his forearms incredibly noticeable. You could almost hear yourself audibly gulp as you watched him walk up the stairs, the muscles of his back flexing and straining deliciously against the gray cotton of his t-shirt. 

“Jesus fucking Christ…” You muttered to yourself, in awe of your husband’s sheer broadness. So in awe, in fact, that you hadn’t even realized you had let your box slip from its place resting against your hip onto the living room floor, making you jump and startle yourself, scrambling to try and pick it back up in hopes that Javi hadn’t noticed. 

“You okay, baby?” Javi shouted from halfway up the stairs, peeking his head over the railing to see what had happened. 

“Yup, yup, totallyyyyy fine, all good, just going to unpack, nothing to see here.” You mumbled, darting down the hallway, eyes peeled in whatever direction was the exact opposite of Javi. 

Oof. You better find a way to become the world’s fastest unpacker. 

Thankfully, you and Javi seemed to make an unspoken pact to unpack in separate parts of the house to avoid distracting each other, Javi now working on organizing things in the garage while you worked on sorting all of the things that belonged in your master bedroom. Clothes and sheets had been easy to put away compared to all of the pots and pans you had unboxed in the kitchen before this, working your best to put things away as fast as you could with keeping the metal clashing and clanging to a minimum.

 As you dragged the last box labeled “Master Bedroom” into your room from the hallway, you were curious what kind of contents could be inside, considering you’d put away all of yours and Javi’s clothes, and whatever bedding belonged in your room. You spun the box around to each side, looking for any more clues, until your last turn, where you found “Javi DEA” printed on the upper corner. 

You paused for a moment, letting your fingers drum across the tattered cardboard, questioning whether or not you should leave it for Javi to deal with, or open it up for yourself. You gently chewed on your bottom lip as you internally debated, trying to rationalize with yourself before quite literally opening up a box into Javi’s past.

You had heard about the good, bad and ugly that had been Javi’s life in Colombia before returning home to Laredo, so you would be shocked to find something in this box that Javi really didn’t want you to see. 

It’s not like there was anything he’d be trying to hide from you in there, right? Probably just a bunch of badges and paperwork, anyways. 

With a little sigh and a shrug, you carefully ripped down the seam of the tape holding the box together, slowly lifting the cardboard flaps to reveal the contents inside. As you peeked into the box, you let out a little huff of relief to find out that your suspicions were correct- nothing but file folders, old badges and ancient coffee mugs with DEA symbols slapped across the front. 

You began making your way through the box, sorting its contents into piles for Javi to go through once he was finished in the garage. Even though majority of the items inside the DEA box were less than thrilling (unless you had a thing for reading 50 page long contracts full of legal jargon), you did get a kick out of Javi’s old badges, giggling at his grumpy frown that seemed to be plastered across his face in every picture he took from the time he started, until he retired. What cracked you up even more was finding the badges from the first few years Javi must have started working for the DEA, still sporting his signature pout, but with a clean shaven baby face you had only had the pleasure of seeing from the photo albums of Javi's youth that his father, Chucho, had so lovingly offered to share with you.

You gave the picture a sweet smile before setting it down with the rest of the badges in the growing pile, mindlessly reaching back into the box to pull out what you assumed would be more file folders full of paperwork. Except this time, you felt your fingertips graze against what felt like tough and worn fabric, dragging your hand further along the cloth until hitting a patch of scratchy velcro, making you cock your head in confusion. You scooted yourself over closer to the box, peering under the few manilla folders left inside to spot an army green strap popping out from in between them. 

Now very much intrigued, you dug your hand between the sea of papers, yanking on the mystery item to reveal a deep olive green vest, followed by a few crinkled pictures that must have been stuck inside it, gently fluttering to the floor in front of you. You set down the much heavier than expected vest to pick up one of the photos face down on the carpet, only to turn it over and feel your jaw practically drop to the floor and eyes bulge out of your skull. Because in that picture, was not just any photo of Javi from his time in Colombia, this was a photo of Javi, in the very vest that you had dug out from the bottom of his box. 

And holy fuck did he look hot. 

Frantically, you picked up another photo that had fallen to the floor, feeling your heart legitimately skip a beat to find it was another shot of him in the vest, his dark curls sticking to his forehead from the sweat soaking his skin and the light blue button down underneath it, hands resting on the hips of his dark gray khaki pants that left very little to the imagination. You flipped over one last picture, only to find the same, breathtaking visual of him in that damn vest, his biceps straining against the sweat-stained cotton of his army green shirt, the veins in his forearms prominently on display as he held the gun he was carrying pointed at the ground. 

While you had never seen these photos, or even known about this mystery vest until today, there was a part of you that was glad you hadn’t- the way Javi looked suited up in that vest had your head reeling in a way you weren’t sure you’d ever recover from, because Jesus Fucking Christ, it was the hottest goddamn thing you’d ever seen. 

Your eyes darted back and forth between the three photos, each picture somehow looking better than the last every time you found a new detail to drink in that made Javi look even more delicious.

Holy fuck.

You couldn��t help but let your mind wander even further than it already was, picturing what Javi would look like with it on now, the broadness of his shoulders filling out the vest even more than he would have the last time he wore it. 

You were so entranced, so lost in ogling at how attractive Javi looked in the vest, that you hadn’t noticed the sound his familiar footsteps trudging down the hallway, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom and watching you as you sat cross legged on the floor, hunched over the now nearly empty box. 

“Hey, Hermosa, I’m almost all done in the garage if you wanna-” Javi’s voice quietly trailed off as his eyes wandered, looking at the items from inside the box spread across the floor, stopping at the long forgotten sight of his old tac vest propped up against the cardboard.

He couldn’t help but quietly laugh to himself, simply out of shock that you had even found the vest in the first place, considering he hadn’t even remembered it had been living inside a box that hadn’t been touched since it was shipped back to Laredo with the rest of his things post DEA.

“Where the hell’d you find this? I haven’t seen this thing in fucking years.” He chuckled, reaching down to pick up the well worn armor, letting his thumb run along the seams of the rough fabric as he held it up in front of him, blocking your blushing and bright red face from his view. 

“It was uh- it was at the bottom of the box.” You gulped, trying not to stumble over your words, biting down on your tongue to try and keep your embarrassingly sheepish smirk at bay, Javi’s eyes now meeting yours as he lowered the vest from his view. He tilted his head in confusion at your clearly flustered state, reaching out his free hand to gently grab your arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth across your skin, his touch only making you more riled up. 

“Hermosa, are you okay?” 

“Yeah I’m- yes, I’m- I’m fine, it’s stupid.” You muttered, making no attempts to cover up your clearly blatant lie, darting your eyes away from Javi and shifting your gaze to the floor to try and hide your hot, flushed face, embarrassed that you were this worked up from 3 old photos and a piece of police gear.

But unfortunately for you, Javi knew you like the back of his hand, and knew all too well when you weren’t telling him something that was on your mind. 

Letting his hand slide up your arm and across your collarbone, he stopped at your chin, forcing your gaze back on him, giving you a smug shrug and raise of his eyebrows, silently waiting for your real response, the one he knew you were hiding behind your bashful facade. 

“What’s going on, baby?” 

With your eyes locked on his, thumb resting under your jaw, you had no choice but to swallow your own pride, the sweet dark brown of his glare coaxing your sheepish secret right out of you. 

“There were- there were pictures of you in the vest in the box. You look- Jesus, Javi, you look really fucking hot.” 

“That’s it?” He laughed, softly swiping his thumb across your cheek, still feeling like he hadn’t quite gotten everything out of you. 

“Well I was thinking... that uh- if- what-” 

“What, baby? Talk to me, it’s okay.” 

Oh, fuck me. 

“Would you, um, would- would you put it on?” 

“Put it on?” He chuckled, lifting up the vest, gesturing towards it. 

“Mhhmmmm.” You nodded, letting your tongue run against your teeth before biting down on your bottom lip, feeling a rush of heat rapidly creeping through your body. 

“Like, right now?” 

“Like, right now.” 

Realizing that you were completely serious about your request, Javi let out a playful scoff, running his hand over the back of his neck, almost as flustered by your ask as you were at the thought alone of seeing him in his vest. 

“Really? I mean, uh- yeah, okay.” Working in a quick and determined silence, Javi began slipping the vest over his head, pulling it over his broad shoulders and unfastening the velcro sides before readjusting them, tugging the flaps tighter against his stomach to hold them in place, quietly grumbling to himself. “Used to be able to pull these a lot tighter…” He groaned, flattening the last strap against the velcro.

As his focused shifted from his vest to you, he couldn’t help but smirk at the dumbfounded look on your face- the image in front of you leaving you so completely stunned, you felt like you needed to wipe the corner of your mouth to make sure that there wasn’t any drool coming out of it. Your brain was so short circuited, at a loss to form any sort of coherent sentence, the best you could muster out was a low, shaky, “Holy fucking shit.” 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for tactical vests.” Javi grinned with a devilish look slowing spreading across his face, seeing the complete and utter mess you were becoming as he slowly stepped towards you, the looming image of his broad body in that fucking vest making your heart race and your palms sweat. 

“Well, I- I didn’t, um, I didn’t-” You stammered, your breath trembling as you tried to respond, your brain going blank as you watched Javi approach you. Before you had a chance to even try to and concoct some sort of answer, Javi’s hand was back under your chin, fingers wrapped around your jaw with a much tighter and demanding presence than just a few moments ago, sensing the undeniable shift of palpable tension in the room. 

“Didn’t what? Use your words, sweet girl.” He rasped, teasing you with his knowingly smug smirk, his words shooting straight to your core, making your stomach flip in anxious arousal. 

You could feel your words bobbing in your throat as you swallowed, your tongue darting out of your parted mouth, desperate to taste Javi’s lips now barely ghosting yours, patiently waiting for your response, relishing in the needy mess he could sense you were quickly becoming. 

“Didn’t realize it until I saw you in it. You look- fuck- you look so hot.” You whispered, feeling his warm breath against your skin as he sucked at your pulse point, his teeth nipping at your neck as a ragged moan escaped your mouth. “Javi…” 

“Not gonna give you what you want 'till you tell me. I wanna hear you say it. Tell me what you want.” You could practically feel his satisfied smirk as his kisses worked their way down your neck towards your chest, each press of his lips taunting you, only making it harder and harder for any part of your brain to function. 

“I wanna- fuck- I wanna suck your dick. Fuck, I need to taste you.” You whimpered, reaching out to run your hand across his vest, letting it trail from his chest, down to his stomach, your fingertips grazing his belt buckle before a firm grasp wrapped around your wrist, holding your hand in place and stopping it from traveling any further. 

“Nuh-uh.” Javi tutted, rasping in your ear. “Be a good girl and ask first. Tell me how badly you need it.”  

“Please, Javi. Fuck, please let me suck your dick, baby. Please.” You moaned, sounding more desperate than you had intended, but fuck, there was nothing you wanted to do more than drop to your knees and worship him in the most sinful way you could.  

“Jesus, you’re so fucking pretty when you beg for it. You need me that bad, Hermosa?” Javi grinned, feeling you nod your head frantically, the hand he was holding in his grasp reaching for below his belt. “Okay, baby, show me how bad you need me, huh?” 

In an instant, you were dragging your hands down his vest, sinking to the ground as you frantically worked to undo his belt buckle, the quiet clang of the metal singing a song of sweet relief as you shuffled his pants down his legs before hooking your fingers around the elastic waistband of his boxers, tugging them down to meet his pants. pooling around his ankles. His cock sprung free as it was released, already painfully hard and weeping with precum as it slapped against his stomach, the sight alone making you lick your lips. You kissed the inside of his thighs, trailing your way up to his shaft in long, languid movements, dragging your tongue back and forth along the underside of his cock before sinking just his tip between your lips, swirling it in your mouth. 

You had barely touched him, but you were already so worked up that what had started as just a wet patch in your underwear had now turned into the fabric becoming completely soaked in your slick, leaving your cunt aching and throbbing. With your mouth still sucking and flicking at his tip, you couldn’t help but let your hand snake down your front, sneaking between your skin and the waistband of your pants as it dipped into your underwear. You let your fingers slide through your folds, before sinking them into your heat, your hips instinctively grinding down on your hand to find any sort of temporary relief as you fucked yourself with your fingers. 

Looking up at him with batted lashes, you sunk your mouth deeper down on his length, hollowing your cheeks as you took him inch by inch, watching his eyes go wide as you took the hand that had just been inside your pants back out to reveal the shiny slick covering your fingers, then wrapping them around his base, covering his shaft in your arousal. 

It was taking everything in him just to say fuck it right then and there, to toss you onto the bed and fuck you until you were begging him to stop, but watching the way you worked around his cock so needily had him so stunned, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but let you work your magic. 

“Jesus, fuck…” Javi muttered to himself, already feeling his balls beginning to tighten as your head bobbed along his dick, sinking down just enough to let the deep, musky scent of the curls at the base of his shaft tickle your nostrils. 

It wasn’t long before his hand was buried deep in your hair, his fingers cradling the back of your head as his hips began to buck towards your face, trying to hold himself back from full-on fucking your throat, until your fingers wrapped around the back of his thighs, bracing yourself as you gave Javi your silent nod of approval to keep going. Letting a low groan rumble in his chest, his second hand met the one already palming the back of your head, guiding you up and down his cock as he thrust deeper into your throat, tears welling in your eyes and saliva spilling out the corners of your mouth. His tip brushed against your gag reflex, making you dig your fingertips further and further into his skin. 

“Oh fuck- this what you wanted, Quierda? To get on your knees and let me- shit, shit, shit- fuck that pretty little mouth of yours like the good girl you are?” Javi hissed through gritted teeth, trying to keep himself together as he watched his length slide in and out of your mouth, tempted to let himself go and spill deep down your throat, watching his spend drip down your lips. But he knew he’d be kicking himself if he wasn’t finishing buried in the depths of your cunt, your warm, wet walls milking him of every last drop, clenching around him as you came. 

That was enough to pull him back to his senses, guiding his dick out of your mouth, the two of you catching your breath as you wiped your hand with the back of your mouth in confusion, wondering what had made him back off so quickly. 

“Javi, are you okay? Did I do something wr-oh!” You gasped, stumbling as Javi forcefully pulled you to your feet, manhandling you towards your dresser, your mouths becoming a mess of tangled tongues and teeth as your back bumped against the wooden edge. Javi’s hands were under your legs, grabbing you and hosting you up to sit on top of it, ripping your pants and underwear down off your hips and tossing them to the floor. 

“I need to be inside you. Fuck, I need to feel you when I fuck you full of me.” He mewled, reaching down to stroke himself as he lined his dick up with your entrance, running his tip through your folds, coating it even more in your slick before sinking himself deep into your pussy, flushing his hips against you as his cock bumped against your cervix. Even though you were already soaking wet, you couldn’t help but whimper at the sweet sting of how full Javi’s stretch made you feel, gripping around the shoulder straps of his tac vest for dear life as he began to thrust in and out of you, already setting a punishing, desperate pace. 

You wrapped your legs around the small of his back just under his vest, whimpering and moaning into his shoulder as your buried your face in the crook of his neck the lewd noises of muted moans and slapping skin filling the room as Javi punched into you, his cock splitting you open in the best way possible. 

“Javi, oh fuck baby, fuck, you feel so good, oh shit-”  You whined, your brain going blank, babbling between moans, already feeling a tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine while Javi’s hands gripped around your hips, holding you in place as he fucked into you hard and deep. Your cunt was starting to clench around his cock, pounding into that sweet spot inside you that had you seeing stars and screaming his name as you could feel yourself coming undone around him. 

Rutting your hips against him, the hairs at his base rubbed your clit, the friction giving you just enough stimulation to send you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a ferocious intensity, flooding every inch of your body with pleasure. 

“That’s it. Give it to me, Hermosa. Fuck- cum all over me baby girl.” Javi hissed through gritted teeth, his words humming deep in his throat as he fucked you through your high, his hands holding you in place as you melted into him, your body going limp as you came. “You gonna give me another one, Querida? Be a good girl and give me one more before I fuck you so full of me, I’ll be dripping out of you for days.” 

You were so lost in your pleasure, you couldn’t find any words, simply nodding your head as you moaned into his neck, only starting to come to when you suddenly felt an emptiness in your cunt, Javi pulling out to scoot you off the dresser, guiding your feet to the floor as he turned you over, splaying your chest across the wooden surface and pinning your arms behind your back. Gently nudging your feet wider, you could feel his broad body looming over yours, his hot breath dancing across your neck as he nibbled at your ear. 

“You still okay, Osita?” 

“Mhmmmm” You whimpered, your body trembling as Javi’s hands ran across your hips, feeling his hard length pressed against your ass, wiggling your bottom half against him, desperate for him to ease the emptiness between your legs again. 

“Lemme hear you say it, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.” Javi grunted, now dragging his cock through your folds, teasing your dripping entrance, waiting painfully patiently for your response. 

“I need it so bad, Javi, please, please baby.” You moaned, rolling your hips and pushing your ass back on him, doing anything to try and feel him inside you again. 

“My needy girl. Shhhhh, it’s okay baby, I’ve got you.” Javi smirked, flushing his hips against your ass as he bottomed out inside you, the fullness making you cry out in pleasure.

He slowly began thrusting in and out of you, dragging his cock along your heat, each stroke punching against your g-spot, so wet that you could hear each rut of his hips as he buried himself deeper and deeper into your hilt. 

You were so blissed out, barely hanging by a thread as you felt heat beginning to bloom in your belly once again, that you were resting your head against the dresser, closing your eyes as you felt yourself coming undone. That was until Javi’s firm grasp shifted from pinning your hands behind your back to sliding up your neck, resting his hand under your jaw and forcing your gaze into the mirror on top of your dresser. 

Your eyes locked with Javi’s, the reflection of him in his vest towering behind you as he thrusted into you over and over, watching the brown pools of his eyes darken with lust as he watched you slowly begin to come undone under him. 

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see that pretty face when you cum all over me.” 

The image of him was all consuming- His wide shoulders spilling from the sides of the vest, his dark, damp curls sticking to his forehead from the sheen of his sweat that had begun to pool in his brow, the wrecked look painted across his face making you weaker and weaker as you could feel the heat creeping up your legs and through your core. 

Reaching back, you grabbed on to the side of his vest, burying your fingers into the thick fabric for dear life as his pace began to quicken, his thrusts becoming faster and sloppier with each snaps of his hips as he felt your pussy fluttering around his length, watching you turn into a puddle below him. 

“I know you’re close, baby. C’mon Hermosa, oh shit- give it to me.” Javi grunted, letting his hand drop from your jaw to snake down your body, the pads of his fingers circling your clit with just enough force to have you screaming his name, clenching your cunt around his cock as you came. 

“Javi, Javi, oh fuck, fuck, fuck-” You babbled, your eyes practically rolling in the back of your head as Javi began to follow suit, rambling incoherently, chasing his own high. 

“I know, baby, I know. Such a good fucking girl, taking me so well. Fuck, oh shit- I’m close, too. Oh, fuck me- Jesus Christ, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh-” With only a few more thrusts, Javi was spilling inside you, his spend pulsing against your walls as he milked himself of every drop he had, his body slumping over yours as your chests rose and fell in sync, trying to catch your breath. 

Your legs trembled as the warm mix of your spend trailed down your thighs, only to be caught by his fingers, slowly dragging your combined arousal back up your skin before taking it and pushing it back into your entrance, languidly pulsing his digits in and out of your dripping hole, making a ragged moan fall from your lips as he nipped at your neck, softly sucking at your pulse point. 

“Gonna keep you full of me all night, sweet girl, all fucking night.” 

“Holy fuck…” You whined, finally catching your breath enough to speak before pushing yourself back up to stand, turning around to grab Javi’s face, pulling him in for an electric, passionate kiss before letting your hands rest on the worn army green of his vest, quietly laughing to yourself in disbelief. “Jesus fucking Christ, Javi.” 

“You okay, Osita? Sorry if I got carried away, I just- fuck, seeing how worked up you were, I-” 

“Javier Jesús Peña, you better not be apologizing to me for being the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in that goddamn vest. I swear to God, I’m never letting you take that thing off. Well… On second thought, if you don’t take it off I don’t think I will ever be productive ever again because holy shit.” 

The two of you couldn’t help but laugh to yourselves as Javi wrapped his arms around your waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles against the bare skin of your hips, looking out at the scattered sea of pants and underwear on the floor that had been quickly left behind during your horny antics. 

“Well, if you let me take it off,” Javi grinned, pressing a chast kiss on your cheek and then peppering them towards your lips, “then we can go take a shower to clean up,” he paused again, feeling his smile against your mouth, “we can go break in the bed, and I can return your little favor from earlier since someone was too eager to get dicked down to let me.” 

“Oh, shut up, can you blame me? Don’t have to ask me twice.” You giggled, raising a playful eyebrow at Javi. “Just promise me one thing, okay?” 

“Of course, Hermosa. Anything.” 

“Don’t you ever get rid of that fucking vest, Agent Peña.” 

Taglist:

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem

[starry-bi-sky]

This is very inspired by @minnesota-fats post about Danny being Bruce Wayne's clone (which has been rotting in my brain for two days) but an au where danny isn't just Bruce Wayne's clone, but also not fully a ghost.

both ideas can be used separately honestly, the idea just came to me while thinking about the bruce wayne clone idea, and a lot of this idea is just "danny without his ghost powers. i might probably make a part two that delves into him being bruce wayne's clone.

Hear me out.

A Danny Fenton who has the ghost sense and the fangs and the pointed ears and the scary eyes and an increase ecto-essence, but does not have the ability to "go ghost". His accident occurred when he pressed the "on" button on the outside of the portal, and the button electrocuted him due to faulty wiring. He ends up miraculously surviving but not without some new additional abilities (and electricity-based trauma).

Since Danny no longer has a built-in alter ego with the invert wardrobe to match, he doesn't see the point to take ghosts back to the ghost zone. What the hell can he do anyways? All he has is a cosmetic add-in, a lower body-temperature with an impressive ability to hold his breath longer than a human realistically should, and a built-in ghost detector. Not very helpful if you ask him.

That is, up until he goes into the lab after his parents catch a relatively harmless ghost and sees them vivisecting it. He's horrified. He thought his parents were using hyperbole when he said they'd tear them apart molecule by molecule.

(Granted, he also believed that ghosts were unfeeling up until he saw this random ghost being absolutely terrified for its existence on the table.)

After an argument over his parents harming the ghost, Danny goes back up to his room and refuses to leave, not even for dinner. Later that night after his parents went to sleep, Danny steels his resolve and sneaks back down into the lab and releases the ghost back into the ghost zone.

This happens a handful of times, until, finally, frustrated, Danny tells the latest captured ghost to tell anyone inside that if they even think about coming through, he'll capture them and bring them back to the zone himself. It's for their own safety.

The ghost agrees, and goes back inside. Danny steals a "failed" thermos from his parents' stash of weapons. The next time that a ghost shows up, its the lunch lady from episode one. Danny manages to defeat her without being seen, but knows that if there's gonna be consistent daytime ghost attacks then he can't base his luck around fighting without witnesses.

So he fashions himself with a makeshift outfit. This really only consists of an old, nondescript hoodie and a plain black face mask. Its the best thing he can do at short notice, however. Later, for his nighttime ghost fighting, his outfit is only slightly better.

He considered using one of his parents' lab suits. But white sticks out at night and the material doesn't protect you from road burn. His outfit is pretty homemade, with knee and elbow pads under his clothes and multiple layers. A long sleeve shirt over a hoodie over a black denim vest he found on sale. He later on manages to make brass knuckles ghost-proof and manages to stitch them into his gloves. (he gets very good at sewing).

His favorite part of the entire outfit, is a Casey Jones-style full-face mask he found while thrifting. It allows him better breathability than the face mask he was using (calling Rule Of Cool law here), and he can use his scary eyes to make him look more intimidating. His gloves, his mask, and his thermos are the things he carries around with him constantly, and, later on, wears baggier clothing to hide the fact that he's wearing knee and elbow gear under his clothes.

Did I mention he has long hair? Danny has long hair (because GNC danny ftw, it goes past his shoulders) that he braids back. it's a bit sloppy but it keeps his hair out of his face well enough. He takes the fenton creep stick with him.

(He and Bruce have, ultimately, a more lean build than a bulky one. It helped Bruce with his Brucie Wayne persona big time when he had to look like a pretty skinny boy, he uses body language, optical illusion, and body armor to make himself look bulkier as batman)

He still goes by the name Phantom. He still has a bitter rivalry with his parents, who have no idea that its him. They think he's probably some other ghost with beef with the other ghosts (he still triggers their ghost sensors), and still want to capture him.

He doesn't talk around the living. He doesn't have any fancy voice changer and dropping his voice hurts and ultimately, he just uses ASL if he ever has to talk in front of people. The ghosts know his voice at night, but not during the day.

He hardly talks to the living. He avoids them like the plague actually. When he defeats a ghost and there's an audience, he barely sticks around to have a nice friendly chat. He tries to get away as soon as possible. He's paranoid over people finding out who he is. He doesn't have that ghost form to fall back on here.

Oh god this is getting so long, so i'll post another part soon.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

[multifandomhaven]

A/N: Call of Duty brain rot has set in lolol I hope y'all enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Y/N was a simple woman, or so she liked to think. She went to work, back to her apartment, and sometimes she'd hit the gym. She was what most people would call bland, a wet blanket. Boring.

She was single, with no kids, and no man in her life - it was lonely sometimes, sure, but she liked it. It gave her time to focus on the thing that really meant something to her - her practice.

"Doctor Laswell, the next patient is ready for you," the nurse called into her office.

Y/N rose from her chair, glancing over the chart in her hand before she entered the room with a small smile. "Hello, how are you guys today?"

The young couple looked from the young puppy in the woman's lap and then back to the doctor. "We're doing okay, just here to get Bella's shots up to date."

Taking the squirmy little thing from her owner, Y/N cuddled it to her chest, chuckling when it gave her a few sloppy kisses on her cheek. "You're so sweet, aren't you, girl."

Y/N loved her job. She had always had a knack for taking care of animals - for the most part, all they wanted was a warm place to sleep, some good food, and love. They were simple, easy to read, and never meant you harm unless you gave them a reason - they were with you for life, unwavering and full of devotion.

Y/N quickly administered the medication to the puppy, rubbing the sore spot down with her gloved fingers gently. "You're so brave, Bella. Such a good girl," she cooed.

Giving the nurse the puppy's record to update, Y/N turned and handed the dog back to her owners. "Okay, you're good to go for now. Just stop by the ladies at reception to make sure you get the appointment set up for her final round of shots, okay?"

The rest of the day went by in a blur, animal after animal treated, and, as much as Y/N enjoyed her job, she was ready to get home to her warm bubble bath. She washed her hands and bid her staff goodbye as they filed out one by one until she was the only person left in the office. She turned the lights off, making sure everything was as it should be before she locked the door and walked to her car.

She unlocked her car before she got to it, ready to sit down and give her aching feet a rest. She reached out to open the door when she felt something hard hit her across the side of her head. She fell to her knees, her vision blurring as she crashed to the ground. Her palms and knees burned as the asphalt scraped away the skin. She blinked quickly, trying to clear her sight.

"Laswell?" The man asked from above her, his voice almost a growl. When she didn't answer he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her face to look at him. "Are you Y/N Laswell?"

Y/N gasped, pain shooting through her head. "Yes, yes, that's me."

Her sight finally cleared and she struggled to sit up, seeing two large men with masks covering their faces. One had a gun while the other continued to land hit after hit to her, her body, her face, anywhere he could. She was crying now, her arms covering her face as she tried to protect herself as best she could.

"Tell that bitch to make it right," the man sneered at her. "Or you're dead."

She was left in the parking lot by herself, blood coming from the cut on her head and her lip. She dug desperately in her purse, finding her phone and pulling it out with shaking hands. She was still crying, tears mixing with the blood that dripped onto her scrubs.

"Laswell," her aunt's voice came from the other end of the line. "Hello?"

Y/N sobbed into the receiver. "Aunt Kate?"

"What's wrong," Kate asked instantly, her voice tight. "Bunny?"

"There were these men," Y/N explained the situation as best she could through her panic. "Can you call an ambulance to the office? I don't think I can drive."

"They're on the way, Bunny, just stay where you are," Kate told her. "I'm on my way to you. I'll see you in a bit."

A few hours later, Y/N and Kate had finally been reunited in the emergency department of the hospital. Y/N was cleared to go home as soon as the bags of antibiotics and fluid were gone - just as a precaution, they told her. They had given her an injection for pain, but still, she found her head throbbing with every movement.

"Okay," Kate mumbled under her breath, pacing from one end of the room to the other. It seemed like time was in an endless loop - Kate would stop to ask questions, jot them down on a notepad, grumble to herself, and then go back to pacing. At times Y/N could've sworn she could see the older woman looking at her, her eyes filling with tears before she would excuse herself into another room.

Y/N frowned, watching Kate's back disappear into the tiny bathroom once again. She wanted to follow her, to check on her, but the pounding in her head kept her seated. Slowly, she brought the ice pack back up and pressed it against the offending pain, grimacing when the ice pack made contact with the bruise surrounding her eye. The television was on in the background, the volume whisper-low, but she paid it no attention.

It wasn't long before Kate came back out, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She gave her niece a small, tight-lipped smile. "Allergies."

"Aunt Kate, please you need to sit down and stop worrying. You're going to raise your blood pressure." Kate still paced the length of the room, just a little bit slower. Y/N tried to cut the tension with a joke, "Or walk a hole in the floor. They probably wouldn't appreciate that..."

Kate didn't fall for it and, instead, she came over and surveyed the damage to her niece's face with a grimace. Gently, she turned her face from one side to the other, her fingers grasping her chin. "Oh Bunny," she whispered.

"I'm okay," Y/N tried to soothe her. "Kate, I'm okay."

Kate almost glared at her, no true malice for her niece, purely frustration at the circumstance. "You're telling me that you're not in pain right now?"

"It'll heal," she said softly. "Come on, you've been waiting on me hand and foot since you got here. I haven't seen you in almost a year and I've missed you."

"Oh, Bunny, you know I've missed you too," Kate's eyes softened slightly and she nodded, sitting on the bed beside her. "Okay. Do you need anything?"

Y/N took her hand and simply held it - something she'd done as a child that still brought her a semblance of comfort. The older woman rubbed her hand softly, her eyes trained intently on her niece. "This is enough for now."

Kate nodded and sighed. "Okay, okay."

They sat there quietly for the first time since Kate had arrived. Y/N's mind was whirling with thoughts and memories. Most from the attack, but in between the awful there were also some from when she was a child - so she chose to focus on the good ones. She peeked around the icepack and asked, "Do you remember the first time you and Rachel took me ice skating?"

"Oh God. You were a wreck - you looked like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz when he first started walking." Kate laughed. The memory curled the corner of her lips - the younger woman's superpower if she had one - and she shook her head lightly. "You know, if it were up to Rachel she'd be here too - you are her favorite person."

Y/N gave her hand a small squeeze, taking her chance to change the subject. "How is Aunt Rach?"

"She's doing well," Kate admitted. "She's at an art show in New York right now."

Y/N had always been envious of her aunt's artistic ability. Sure, she could draw the basics, but Rachel's work was nothing short of beautiful. She wasn't even ten years old the first time she met Rachel. She was tall, thin, and willowy - she looked like something from another planet to Y/N. She was gorgeous. That day she took the time to show Y/N how to draw a rose - something the younger girl kept close to her heart for years to come.

"She's talented and she knows it," Y/N said fondly. "I miss her."

Kate agreed, a flash of pride in her eyes. "She would love for you to come stay with us - for as long as you'd want to. We both would."

"That's very kind," Y/N felt a surge of appreciation for her words but still disagreed. "But I'll be okay back at my apartment. Plus, I don't want to impose."

"Impose," Kate huffed with a roll of her eyes. "You live alone, you don't have any kind of protection. Your building's security is lacking. And plus, you're my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece," Y/N sighed. She knew Kate was right, but she didn't want to place any more worry or guilt on her aunt's shoulders. She was still frightened, though. "How does Rachel stay safe while you're gone? Does she have a gun?"

Kate nodded seriously. "Yes, she does. She carries it in her purse, with a concealed carry permit, of course. I taught her how to shoot when we first started dating, just in case."

"Of course you did," Y/N smiled as best she could, wincing when her split lip seared with pain. "So do you think I should get one, too?"

Again, Kate nodded. "You know my stance on that. However..."

Y/N raised a brow. "What?"

"I think I may have a solution," Kate admitted. "You aren't going to like it, but remember, this would be temporary. Just until I know I have the people who did this to you."

Y/N was curious, sure, but she also knew she likely wasn't going to like what Kate had to offer. She waited, watching as the wheels in her aunt's brilliant mind spun, slowly clicking the puzzle pieces together. She pulled out her phone, tapped some buttons, and finally looked genuinely relieved since the first time she'd arrived. "It's damn near perfect."

"What are you thinking," Y/N questioned. "You look like you've solved world hunger."

"I have someone coming to keep a watch on you," Kate told her. "He'll be the one with the gun, so you don't have to worry about that. He'll stay with you until we get these bastards. Until you're safe."

"Are you talking about a bodyguard?" Y/N furrowed her brows. "Kate, c'mon. I don't think that's necessary-"

Kate cut her off. "I have just the person in mind. I've worked with him for a long time, completely trust him. He's top of the line, Bunny."

"Do I have a choice," Y/N asked softly, the answer already known.

Kate, again, gave her a small smile. "No."

That evening, after she was released from the hospital, Kate helped her back to her apartment. She was scuttling around from one window to another, checking the locks as Y/N was nestled in her chair, her body still aching. She had a tablet in her hands, reading over some of the charts of her patients. She couldn't be at work until she was fully cleared, but she still accepted the simpler cases so people wouldn't have to go to the next town over to keep their animals healthy.

"You should be resting," Kate chirped from the doorway of the kitchen. "But because I know you aren't going to listen I brought you a cup of coffee and a bagel."

Y/N gave her aunt a small smile and thanked her with a nod, taking the cup from her hands. Kate lay the plate with the bagel on the table beside her. "I wonder where I get that stubborn quality from?" Y/N joked.

"Watch yourself, smart-ass," Kate chuckled, shaking her head lightly. "But seriously, don't overdo it, kiddo. I know you want things to stay relatively normal, but you still need to take it easy, okay?"

The younger woman nodded. "I promise."

A knock at the door shattered the silence and Y/N gasped and looked to her aunt. Kate stood, her hand by her gun on her side, and walked toward the door. She glanced out of the peephole and lowered her shoulders, her hand moving from her gun to the doorknob. She opened the door and stepped outside, her voice met by another deeper one.

Y/N strained her ears to hear the conversation outside, but couldn't make out any distinct words. Kate's comfort with the person on the other side calmed her worry, so she sat back and took a bite of her bagel. When she heard two sets of footsteps enter her apartment she pretended like she didn't notice, too absorbed in her work, but in reality, she was hyper-aware of the large figure shadowing her aunt.

"Bunny," Kate's called, breaking the silence. "This is John, he's a friend of mine and a damn good soldier. He's going to be watching over you until we're sure that you're safe."

Y/N glanced up from her work at Kate before her eyes shifted over to the large man behind her. Y/N gave him a tight grin, rightfully nervous about having him in her home. He was a stranger, after all, even if Kate did vouch for him. And she knew Kate was only able to stay for a few more hours - with her important work and all.

John gave her a quick nod, his hands in his pockets. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."

"Thank you for your help, John," Y/N said quietly.

John gave her a wink and it was then she noticed how absolutely blue his eyes were. "Your aunt's told me a lot about you."

Y/N smiled at him. "I wish I could say I've heard a lot about you, but Kate keeps me in the dark about most things."

John chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"Anyway," Kate cut their conversation. "The arrangement is simple - John stays with you as much as possible. Of course, you're allowed your personal space, but he needs to be within arms reach of you if you're out. And always in the apartment with you."

Y/N opened her mouth as if to say something, but her aunt held up a finger, signaling that she wasn't finished speaking. "I've spoken to the landlord of your office, Bunny. As soon as you're cleared you can go back to work, but John will be there with you."

Y/N raised a brow. "Don't you think a random guy, no offense, John, just standing in the corner of my office is going to weird out some of my patients? Make them uncomfortable?"

Kate shrugged her shoulders and frowned. "I don't care about their feelings, Bunny. I care about you staying alive."

"It's my job, Aunt Kate," Y/N sighed.

Kate nodded, coming to sit on the arm of her chair. "I understand that, but your life is more important."

Y/N bit back a retort after seeing the look on her aunt's face - she'd seen that look plenty of times and she knew no one had ever won a battle against it. She sank back against the cushions of the chair, her arms crossed over her chest like a petulant child. "Fine."

Kate squared her shoulders, a grin curling her lips. "I'm glad to see you're taking this well."

"This is well?" John piped up quietly behind her.

Kate turned slightly. "This is her being easy. You've got your work cut out for you with this one, John."

John sighed. "I've taken down entire platoons of highly trained soldiers, Kate. I think I can handle a little woman."

Kate chuckled. "You've only just met Bunny. Don't underestimate her."

"Underestimate a Laswell," John murmured with a smirk. "Never."

[sammy1darling]

ATLEY HEADCANONS

OR IF YOU'RE UNFAMILIAR, ATLANTA x HERRY

I'm bored, it's almost 3 AM, and they're rotting my brain; some of these were brought to you by the COTT discord server.

STARTING US OFF

` Dumb jock who doesn't know his strength x Mean athlete who reminds him

` "I might hurt her, I need to be gentle." "I'm not made of glass jackass, kiss me." relationship

` He kisses her bruises after every fight, she calls him sappy but secretly loves it.

` Extremely gentle due to the vast size difference, always shows her affection so sweet and easy that it can be compared to that of a new owner and a baby kitten

` Their dates consist of going on runs, exercising, training, and fast food.

` Holds Atlanta on his shoulders at any given chance, she rests her arms on his head and her head on both; sometimes naps there and Henry won't move a single muscle

` Herry is the groups medic however will only ever treat Atlanta first if it's not a dire situation, if they all got some scrapes and bruises however he checks on her first. "Did I bump you too hard? I'm sorry babe.." "YOU TOOK A LEFT HOOK TO THE JAW FOR ME, I AM MORE THAN FINE."

` He does everything for her, carries her bags, her books, and her equipment. She tries to do it herself and tells him that she can but he just shakes his head and takes it back from her.

` Buys her 7 balloons for the Valentine's day grams, the limit is 5 but Herry can be pretty threatening if he wants to.

` Atlanta isn't a big pda girl, small kisses, short hand holding, hugs, and that's about it. But at home especially at night she wears one of his old shirts, some sleep shorts, and face plants his chest to go to bed at night. Only Neil knows this, she holds his mirror hostage because of it.

` Atlanta is scared of thunderstorms due to one killing her mother in a freak accident (This will be explained in another post), so whenever a storm rolls around Herry gathers all the blankets and pillows accessible to him, lets her hide in his chest when loud cracks or booms fill the sky, and plays his TV on 50% volume; pretending he doesn't hear her whimpers or feels tear stains on his shirt, just hugs her closer to him and rubs soothing little circles into her back.

` Big gentle boyfriend, small angry girlfriend.

` He plays with her hair on the weekends they get to sleep in.

` Didn't tell the others they were dating until a few months went by and they got caught kissing in Atlanta's room.

` Introduced Atlanta to Granny as his girlfriend and she instantly started referring to Atty as "My girl" or "My Atlanta" and saying things such as "My little Atlanta is the perfect lady for my grandson, keeps him safe.. Yes, I do love them both."

` Watches shitty romcoms and cackles like witches before mimicking them while giggling and choking on popcorn.

` The couple ever

` Carries her around at the wild life saftey protests, screams the loudest during the deforestation prevention rallies.

` Rough houses on days Herry isn't self conscious about hurting her, not afraid to chase each other through the rain and fall in puddles.

` She helps around on the farm, drives places for granny, the only person allowed to drive Herry's truck off mission,

` Atlanta loves when he calls her Atty or His lightning bolt, often refers to him in private as Her warrior

` Herry will drop everything to help Atlanta, especially if she's injured or worse.

` He's like a natural heater, so cuddles early in the morning are mandatory before they start any classes / training.

` Will find ways to sneak away from their mentors to walk through Athena's garden.

` Atlanta jokingly tells him he should do the Atalanta's footrace to win her heart, he takes it serious and actually trains to do it still to this day.

` Although Atlanta is a vegetarian/vegan, Herry still loves taking her out to meat themed restaurants (He never forces her to buy any meat, often pointing out which are vegan safe options on the menu.)

` Messy rooms, both of them, they play MK and the loser has to clean up both rooms. (They end up just helping whoever loses anyways.)

` The type of girlfriend to cover her boyfriend's eyes when she's losing in a video game.

` His lap is like a second seat to her, she casually sits in it whenever without realizing.

` Loves to prank the others together.

` Atlanta was scared of a relationship at first, but over time Herry carefully introduced the aspects of it to her; taking his time to let her adjust which she was grateful for.

` Cuts her hair for her so she doesn't have that spikey fuck ass bob.

` Get a puppy together and name him Zeus so that they can mess with the god.

` Talks to Theresa and Jay for advice but realizes their friends relationships aren't too stable and stop doing it.

THAT'S ALL FOLKS, HAVE A LOVELY NIGHT

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

OMG YOU FOUND HIM IN THE VIDEO?!?

I was afraid they didn’t put him in at all! :O

I guess it makes sense though? He’s not part of this event, but he’s still a prominent character in the game, so I was a bit disappointed that he wasn’t chilling with anyone. :/

BUT THEN I REMEMBERED (no offense, Childe my love) he literally doesn’t have any friends 😭 Like all the harbingers lowkey hate him and he lowkey hates them back. He’s only really interacted with Yoimiya, Xinyan, and Zhongli?

Like Yoimiya and Xinyan definitely aren’t that close to him. They kinda just hung around him because he was in an event with them? Then he’s only friends with Zhongli, but it doesn’t make sense for them to hang out because Zhongli was hanging with the other archons.

But then I tried thinking about who he COULDVE hung out with and???

It’s not like with Albedo and Tighnari, they were clearly hanging out because they’re both intelligent and we’re probably talking. Or like with Itto and Cyno, they both share the common interest of playing Genius Invokation TCG.

Like no one who was there would really wanna talk to him? 😭 Even though he seems so easygoing, he has NO friends :(

Sorry, Childe brain rot. I love this funky ginger man. I’m sad that he has no friends 😭 He needs a hug and maybe a kiss… AND MAYBE A PARTNER WHO WANTS TO CUDDLE HIS FLUFFY LEGACY

Okay sorry again, brainrot over XD

okay place your bets everyone, which Pyro lady will Childe befriend next? my bet's on Yanfei because she's cool

oh oh oh but this is making me remember a brainrot i had a couple days ago- reuniting with Childe during Lantern Rite

hear me out, you're from Liyue and met him when he was stationed to do Harbinger duties, and you ended up spending a lot of time together, eventually falling in love. Childe adores you so much and wants to spend the rest of his life with you, but after the Liyue incident and Osial getting summoned he’s shipped off to Inazuma so he doesn’t cause more unrest- the other Harbingers don’t particularly like him, except maybe Pulcinella, and you can’t exactly go with him since the Harbor is your home

so tearfully you say goodbye to Childe and Foul Legacy, because you love them both and they love you, too

Childe sends you letters as often as he can, but it’s difficult since he’s trying to keep you a secret- people knowing you’re the Eleventh Harbinger’s lover could very well put you in danger. it hurts missing him this much, your heart breaking into pieces whenever you’re alone, but you have to stay strong because you know he’ll return eventually, when work permits him to

he promised to return by Lantern Rite. he promised

Childe’s gaze trails across the Harbor, seemingly admiring the lights and ribbons that decorate every door, but in truth he’s only looking for one person- you. it’s been so long since he’s seen you in person- Archons, how long has it been, exactly? too long, and both he and Foul Legacy know that. his heart thumps erratically in his chest, strangely nervous- would you be angry with him? worried about his time oversees? he couldn’t deny that he didn’t love when you fussed over him, but your fretting and fear broke his heart

or perhaps you’ve just forgotten him by this point- he wouldn’t blame you for it

“Childe!”

and there you are, standing a few feet away and staring in awe, like you didn’t truly expect him to show up. the Harbinger simply smiles, a soft, gentle smile reserved only for you, and opens his arms. in a few moments you’ve dashed over into his embrace, squeezing him tightly and fighting back joyful tears as he chuckles, hand already petting your hair

he’s back- he’s back and he’s with you, and you’re reunited

you drag him away somewhere quieter, out of the crowd in case anyone recognizes him but also because Foul Legacy is chirping insistently in the back of his head, wanting nothing more than to take control and wrap his claws around you for the first time in months- the Abyssal monster is even clingier than Childe, and the moment you’re alone there’s a burst of Electro, Foul Legacy towering over you

to anyone else it’d be terrifying, but you simply beam and press your cheek into his gentle palm, reveling in the happy croons and purrs that slip from his mouth. with a quick sweep Foul Legacy holds you in his arms, head pressed against his chest so you can still admire the fireworks. your hands wind into his lilac fluff, idly petting and combing it with your fingers as you stare up at the sky, happy and content

and Childe and Foul Legacy are finally home

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

In Shining Armor

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia X Reader

Word count: 1.6 K

Summary: A evil man has been hunting you for a long time, and your only hope now is to find the Witcher people are peaking about.

{The Witcher Masterlist}

At this point, you're betting your life on rumors. Gossip.

That's how low you have fallen.

But a thin, faint thread of hope is better than certain doom.

You don't know the tavern you rush in, but you also don't know the land you came to. Doesn't matter. People - mostly men, you quickly notice -, turn their eyes to look at you. A panting mess of a young lady, hair messy, covering half your face.

In the tavern, your eyes start looking, searching... You've heard a witcher is here. He was seen passing through these lands. But who? Who of these men could be-

In a corner, a white-haired man sits, brooding, not minding your sudden appearance. Is that him? He looks strong enough, and the hair... The medallion soon gets your attention, the sunlight coming from the window reflecting on it.

You don't think, you just move, crashing on the bench next to him. “I beg you, pretend you know me.” Ignoring the angry, confused look he gives, you whisper.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Please. He's been-” In the middle of your speech, the tavern door is kicked open. You freeze because you know who it is. He was close, after all.

“(Y/N)?!” He calls, eyes scanning the place much likely you did, seconds ago.

When those evil eyes spot you, it feels like the blood leaves your face. It gets cold, like your hands, fingers feeling like ice. He's here, you have nowhere to run. You're tired. You're hurt, hungry... If he takes you with him... You don't even want to think what he'll do.

“There you are.” He says, a wicked smile taking over his lips. “Been a while since I set eyes on this pretty face. All I see is your back, always on the run.” He walks closer, and closer, and closer... You can smell him from here. Sweat, death, rot... Or is it just your terrified brain playing tricks on you?

Looking down, you blink hard to push tears off. Can he see them? Can he see how scared you are?

“The lady is with me.” The voice next to you says, at the same moment his arm moves around your shoulders.

You almost faint as waves of relief wash over you.

“Don't think me a fool, Witcher.” He says, and you hear when he puts both hands on the table, bending forward. The dagger on his left hand is visible. “I've been chasing my bride-to-be for a month.”

“The lady is with me.” The Witcher repeats in a low, calm voice.

“The lady is mine.”

“Not anymore. Now, if you intend on walking out of here alive, you better do it in the next ten seconds.” His voice sends vibrations through his chest, and you can feel it on your right arm.

There's something in the air, you can feel it, even though your eyes are still set on the table. “If you'll fight, do it outside.” Someone says.

“It won't be a fight.” Another person says, and you see him approaching through the corner of your eyes. “This is Geralt of Rivia. The Butcher of Blaviken. He will kill you in half the time he gave you to leave.”

You don't know who that is, but you're thankful for his words.

Because at the mention of this... Event in Blaviken, Bardun moves, standing up straight. He steps back. Then another step...

Until he silently turns away and leaves.

You didn't want to, but it happens anyway. It's too much to keep inside. Bursting into tears, you lean on the man who saved you, shoulders shaking with sobs. Geralt - now you have the name -, rubs your back slowly, and as much as you're embarrassed by the sudden outburst, you can't stop for long minutes.

But when you do, you meet yellow eyes with your redish, tear-stained face. “T-thank you. I don't-I don't even have coin. I'm sorry. But I have this.” Quickly, you reach for the necklace around your neck. “It's nothing much but–”

“Keep it.” He says, grabbing your forearms and pulling them away from the necklace. “Now, we should get going. That man is still around.”

“Go where?” Your low, weak voice is swallowed by the other guy, the one who spoke for you, a lute in his hands.

Geralt gives him an annoyed look. “We means me and the girl.”

“But adventure follows you... Well, maybe also a bit of death but what matter is–” Geralt starts moving as he speaks, gathering his things and then taking your hand. “What matters is that I'm in need of new tales to sing, as you can see.”

Geralt doesn't answer, and when he pulls you, you don't resist. The gestures make you feel secure like you haven't felt in a long time. And with Geralt's much bigger hand on yours, you'd just follow him to the ends of the Earth.

“C'mon.” The lute guy keeps taking, following both of you. “Where are you going? Imagine this: The brave, mighty Witcher being the knight in shining armor to a young, fair lady and–”

“What is your name?” You ask, giving the man a glance.

“Don't encourage him.” Geralt says, stopping by his horse and looking down at you. “What's your name?”

“(Y/N).” You say with a smile.

“I'm Jaskier.” The lute guy says.

Geralt ignores him. “You know how to ride?” You nod, and he grabs your waist. “Up you go.” And he raises you to his horse, and you quickly fix yourself before Geralt climbs behind you. “This is Roach. She is a nice girl... To most people.” He adds, shooting Jaskier a glance.

“Where are we going?”

“An inn for the night. Then, we'll see.” When you start moving, Jaskier follows, playing his lute and singing something about a monster chasing a princess and a knight rescuing her. It makes you smile.

The inn is some miles down a dusty road, among other small buildings. It's four stories high, a neat place. The old woman behind the counter gives you two rooms, but after seeing your scared face, Geralt asks for a room with two beds. Jaskier also asks for a room.

He'll be tagging along, it doesn't matter if Geralt likes it or not.

In the bedroom, you light up some candles because it'll be dark soon. After, you sit down on the bed on the left, signing.

“Wanna tell me about that Bardun?” Geralt asks, stripping down to a black shirt and kicking his boots off before sitting on the other bed. Elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on you.

Taking a deep breath, you take off your shoes as well, loosening your dress a little. “I'm just a girl with dead parents, like many others where I come from. He saw me and wanted to marry me. I said no... He insisted to the point I had to run or else...” You don't want to think about it, so your voice fades. “He reached me once, hit me...” You touch your cheek. “I've been running ever since.”

“You were really scared.”

You nod. “I was. I am. Back in my hometown, before I decided to run, he said things... Things he'd do to me... If I didn't accept to marry him.” A tear rolls down at the memory. “I know you only hunt monsters... But I'm glad you helped me.”

“Some monsters are human.” Geralt says, and, without thinking, you get up and sit next to him, throwing your arms around his neck.

He seems to hesitate a little, and then his embrace is loose before his grip grows tighter. He soon moves, turning his body towards you so you're hugging him better, pressed against his chest. “Thank you. I know it may seem like it's something so small but it's the whole world to me. You saved me, Geralt of Rivia.”

And then, loosening the embrace, you touch his cheek and decide to give him something else. Connecting your lips to his, you're taken by surprise when he quickly kisses you back, the movement of his lips driving you to part yours, and so you do, letting him take over, deepening the kiss.

But then, too soon, he pulls away, his forehead touching yours. “What was that about?” Geralt asks in a whisper.

“I wanted to give you something. It's not... Useful as a coin... Nothing valuable but–”

“Then give me another.” He says, and you smile before kissing him again, feeling his tongue this time, and it only ends when you're breathless. “Maybe I'll require a couple more.”

That makes you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, your cheeks and neck burning. This is nonsense, feeling so safe and comfortable with a man you just met. But you get this feeling, that he won't ever hurt you. That Geralt can be trusted. And this is something you never felt before, something too strong to understand. “I'm fine with it.”

“What are your plans now?”

“Hm... I can't go back to my hometown... So I Don't know.”

“If it's alright with you, we could go back to get your things. And then you stay with me until... Until you find a place you'd like to live.”

And then, you smile again. “R-really? You'd put on with me? All that for some kisses?”

“For all the kisses you feel like giving me.” Suddenly, Geralt picks you up, placing you on the bed. “Now let's get some sleep. It was a long day. Even longer for you.” You nod. “Tomorrow we start the journey to your house and after... We'll see.”

“We'll see...” You repeat, watching him go back to his bed. “Do you... Want to keep me warm for the night?” You suggest, hoping he can't see how hard you might be blushing.

“If that's what the lady wants.” He says as he moves back, lying down next to you and welcoming you into his arms. “Good night.”

“Good night.” You whisper back.

You quickly fall asleep, knowing that you won't be alone or scared when you wake up in the morning.

[pointed-beetle]

Rotten Apple (Tom Riddle x Hufflepuff! Male Reader) Part 1 of 4

I had a weirdly hard time writing for Tom even though I suffer from brain rot for him so if this reads really weird I'm sorry! This is also going to be part of a series where each part is another House! Ravenclaw Part, Gryffindor Part

Word Count: 1930

Summary: It seems the usual 'aloof and unaware' Hufflepuff is a bruised apple when he's constantly seen in the company of Tom Riddle, fully aware that he's not the kind person that he consistently shows him.

Warnings: Head wound, mild bullying, threats from Tom to other students, Tom cursing another student, use of Y/N and L/N (Your Name and Last Name)

Getting to know Tom Marvolo Riddle was like biting into a crisp, fresh-looking apple only to bite a worm in half.

On the outside, how he wanted every to view him: he was the perfect student, a ladies man and someone far more capable of what his peers could do. When he showed potential in nonverbal spells was when Dumbledore began to worry, when Slughorn seemed the slightest bit more nervous around him. Tom was the student every professor wanted, a bright student with great potential and lacking the boisterous attitude to be loud about it. He was humble and feigned questions to not seem like a know-it-all. It was rare when the Slytherin asked for extra credit. Tom earned additional points with his outstanding Prefect duties anyway; he didn’t need anything more from classes.

On the inside, however, Tom Riddle was a murderer, a teenager who cornered others, threatening them to step behind him or get walked on. Gripping up their collars and tearing them down starting from their very core, hissing in their ear what he would do to them if they crossed him and stepped in his way.

After meeting Tom in your third year, you no longer had to sit on the train with strangers anymore, of course, you had friends, but their excitement had always been too much for you on the first day, Scotland was a lot colder than you were used to. It was always a bummer to go from mild gloominess to near-constant rain outside the Hogwarts castle.

He was a pleasant conversationalist. The long pauses in the discussion were comfortable for you both as you sat in the compartment with him, arms crossed over your chest and staring at the world moving past the window outside. “I’m impressed. We have many shared classes this year.” He hums, comparing your schedules and adjusting in his seat, his eyes flicking up to you, “I’m glad my tutoring didn’t go to waste.” He chides, handing you back the parchment with your classes before sighing and relaxing in the seat, furrowing his brows at you. The weighty look causes you to crack a smile, leaning forward a bit, pressing your crossed arms on top of your knees, and locking eyes with him. “Yes, mister Riddle? Can I help you?” You hum, holding one of your hands up and pressing your cheek into it, looking at his face while he ponders, sighing a bit at the lack of gel in his hair, making it look much softer than usual. “I am just hoping that you get into fewer fights this year. As amusing as it is seeing you catch people off guard, I have found it harder to pull you off of them as I enjoy watching you beat them. I have a reputation to uphold L/N, and having a soft spot for the Hufflepuff troublemaker will indeed cause a mark on what I’ve spent so long building up.” He chuckles a bit, reaching over and grabbing your cheeks between his fingers, squeezing them together and forcing your lips to pucker before shaking your head side to side. “What am I going to do with you, little badger.” He sighs before releasing you, standing up to lock the door and pull the privacy sheet down, leaning back in the cushioned seat and looking out the window, rain starting to lash against the windows.

You rode in a carriage with Tom along with two others across from you two, though you weren’t striking up any conversations, staring out at the rain with your eyebrows furrowed, thinking far too hard about Tom grabbing your face like he did on the train. His voice was soothing to you as you zoned out. He had started talking about his Prefect duties to a Ravenclaw Head Boy, getting him excited to follow in the Syltherin’s steps and have a clean record like he did, excitedly looking over to his friend as if getting the information from Tom was groundbreaking. Though his eyes constantly flicked over to you, wondering what you were thinking about as the carriages tugged them up the path.

The waxed halls passed by quickly as you followed behind Tom, gently touching his back before sitting at your Hufflepuff table, smiling at your friends and talking with them, catching up on the conversations they had on the train. You fix your hair so that it is tucked neatly under your cap as you all wait for the first years to come in from their traditional ride across the lake. You could feel Tom’s eyes on your back the whole ceremony, the heat making you rub at the back of your neck in embarrassment. Sighing lightly, you glance over your shoulder to glare at him, only earning a cheeky smile in return and finally a break from his eye line. Your friends teased you about it, poking fun at how the famous Tom Riddle had such a soft spot for a little aloof Hufflepuff. You didn’t mind it, though, as it was better than what you received from your Ravenclaw friends who were mildly berating and angry with care as they expressed how horrible and dangerous Tom was. Mrytle had died under his watch after all, and from the things he’s threatened to other people, it wouldn’t be surprising if he really went through with one of his threats.

Even though it felt horrible, slimy even, you couldn’t really find it in you to care if he did kill Mrytle, if the rumours that you never saw with your own eyes of who Tom was turned out to be accurate, that he really did curse kids and send them to the infirmary. You knew Tom wasn’t always the most excellent person, even if that minimises what he’s done to people, you weren’t stupid. You’ve angered Tom before, and you never dared to cross that line again, even if the fear had awakened something in you that you were not aware of before.

You weren’t sure what you were to Tom. He always touched you in intimate ways, pressing his hand to the back of your neck when you felt anxious and grabbing at your face, getting much closer to you than he did anyone else. Yet, he never initiated anything, and it was frustrating. You didn’t want to push what you had with him. What if he was just playing with you for a while like he did everyone else? You were anticipating it, though when it happened, it would still hurt like hell.

You felt like a mouse under his paw. However, it was hard to find it in you to run away, as he treated you so carefully, walking to class with you and tutoring you, making excuses for you when he accidentally talked to you past curfew and even showing you places in the castle that you were sure only the most curious students and Dumbledore were aware of.

You rub your palm against your forehead, agitated with your continuous thoughts as you wait for Tom outside his class, shaking your head and looking up at the ceiling, leaning against a pillar and letting yourself think of something that wasn’t your complicated feelings towards your best friend. Tom chuckles as he walks out of his class and sees you staring at nothing, lost in your thoughts as usual. He watches you for a moment before walking over and gently brushing his fingers against your neck, causing a heavy jolt as you slap his hands against your neck, glaring heavily. “Your fingers are frigid, Riddle.” You hiss, gripping his fingers and peeling them off your neck; even though it was your fault, they were pressed even more against your skin. “I know. I just wanted to snap you out of your overthinking.” He chuckles, running his fingers through your hair before pushing against the back of your head and leading you down the hall, the warm sunlight from the castle windows beaming down on you two as you walked, his hand still in the back of your hair.

You sigh, feeling his fingers eventually find the scar on the back of your head. He constantly felt it up to remind himself of his failure.

He watched the fight that caused it, and he was too infatuated in watching you snarl your teeth in a response back to the derogatory words that were being thrown at you that he hadn’t stepped in fast enough.

You were shoved back, unable to catch yourself on anything; your arms failed uselessly. A look of total terror crossed your features as you realised what was happening before your head cracked against the pillar, yielding a large gash in your head. Unlucky for you, the impact had not knocked you unconscious, your hands pathetically finding the stone bench beside you as you leaned against it, gasping for air and dripping blood down your neck and cheeks, shaking uncontrollably. It took a week for your vision to return, your sobbing painful on Tom as you gripped onto him, terrified as he cradled the back of your head, smearing your blood on his hands. His look was deadly towards the person that had pushed you. He was found with lacerations on his body, shaking and paperwhite, just sitting in the boys’ bathroom for hours.

“It stopped hurting a year ago. I don’t know why you still torture yourself over it. It was my fault anyway, Tom. I shouldn’t have provoked that stupid bloke. I know his reputation.” He shakes his head and gives you a slight smile. You’ve had this conversation many times before, and his opinion was not soon to change. He failed you, and he wouldn’t let it happen again.

“You’re dumb, Tom.” You chuckle, reaching up and touching at the back of his hand, tracing over his knuckles before leaning your whole body weight against him, earning an unpleasant sneer from him. “You are much too heavy to be doing this. Get off, or I’m letting you fall to the floor.” He hisses, holding you back by your shoulders as you lean more heavily into him, laughing and shaking your head, gripping onto his wrists before forcing him to back up against a wall, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips. “You’re a coward.” You mumble against his lips as he barks out a laugh, gripping your face in his hand and squeezing your cheeks like he had on the train. “I think it’s rather bold of you to assume I didn’t have a plan for you during Hogsmeade, but I should’ve known with how impatient you are.” He sighs, dragging his hand to your hair before tugging your head into his chest. “I think you should know what I did to Myrtle.” He whispers into the air around you, rubbing at your head and ear, tracing the rim of it before rubbing circles into the back of it. He refused to look at you as you both stayed like that. “I know you’re not a good person Tom….” You begin, gently gripping onto his robes and closing your eyes, sighing through your nose, “But I don’t think I am either.”

He grunts a bit, gripping your hair in his fist gently before craning your head back, his eyes staring at your closed eyes before he leans in for another kiss, eventually dropping your head back on his chest. “Good, because I expect what you learn about what I’ve done in my free time may change our future together.”

[spicysix]

it's time to go | eddie munson X reader

“You took a few more breaths, feeling your heart calm down and you skin grow colder, but those resting symptoms were easily thrown out the non-existent window the second your eyes were open. Because two feet in front of you crouched down Eddie Munson, a cookie he stole halfway to his mouth as he dumbly looked at you, his own dark brown eyes wide as he seemed paralyzed from getting discovered.”

warnings: fem!reader - use of "princess", "lady", "sweetheart". no use of y/n. post-S3, pre-S4. fluffy fluffy fluffy. also kinda angsty - i'm sorry in advance. sorta ambiguous/open ending word count: 5.1k words a/n: eddie munson brain rot is real. he's got a tight hold on me. english is not my first language! sorry for any mistakes, this is not betaed (we die like chrissy). also my first eddie fic! also! my first fic in english! also! my first fic ever posted on tumblr. go easy on me, please 🥺 rb and comment if you like! this story also has a playlist!

08:23 p.m. You almost got knocked over by a couple randomly crossing from one wall to another to continue their make out session without even separating their mouths. You cringed just a bit, stopped for a second to let them get comfortable and continued marching through the corridor. You knew the house, you’ve been there once or twice for a Science project you’ve been coupled with the house owner - Brenda Chapman. She was on your cheer squad, and you’ve seen her today just once, dancing on top of a table with a drink in hand while her boyfriend massaged her calves and looked at her like she was a goddess descending from the sky. You kind of envied that.

Anyway, the point was that you knew the house, so you knew the pantry was all the way in the back of the corridor, the last door to the left - it was a smaller door, too, and almost the exact same color as the walls. Very discreet, so you knew that no one else would notice it enough to try and enter it, not with that much alcohol going through their veins.

You were sweating a bit, could feel your blood running hot under your skin. Your hair was probably moist and messy but at this point you just didn’t care anymore.

The door squeaked softly as you passed through it with your eyes already halfway closed, and as you closed the door behind you and rested against it with your head low, your lids went down all the way. You could feel your eyes burning a little, the panic in your head wanting to be released through tears, but you took a deep breath to calm yourself. You didn’t want to cry and ruin the little makeup you had on, it was enough that the rest of your look was already - probably - in shambles.

With your eyes still closed you patted the door behind you until you found the lock, thankfully there was a key in place that you turned until you heard the soft click that indicated the door was locked.

You took a few more breaths, feeling your heart calm down and you skin grow colder, but those resting symptoms were easily thrown out the non-existent window the second your eyes were open. Because two feet in front of you crouched down Eddie Munson, a cookie he stole halfway to his mouth as he dumbly looked at you, his own dark brown eyes wide as he seemed paralyzed from getting discovered.

You wanted to scream from the scare, but you didn’t want to be discovered too, so you just gasped quietly. He did the same and slowly rose up to a standing position, like he was trying not to scare you away.

“Uh… I’m sorry?” He half apologized, half asked, confusion so clear in his feature. He tucked the cookie back in its package, placed it back on a shelf and cleaned his hands in his dark jeans pants. You could see some of the flour crumbles flying away.

Apparently he knew who the house owner - Brenda Chapman - was, and knew you weren’t her. Otherwise, you think, he would’ve said sorry for, you know, being inside her pantry and eating her cookies, not for scaring you. You wandered if he knew who you truly were.

You hoped he didn’t.

“It’s okay.” You reassured him, and tried to smile but knew at the same moment it probably looked more like a grimace. “What are you hiding from?”

“A fight. I may or may not have denied this jock guy something he wanted to buy to…” He hesitated. You kept your facial expression as neutral as you could.

“Get high?” You suggested. You knew he sold drugs. Who didn’t?

“Well, to get his girlfriend high. Without her explicit consent, I believe.” His eyes turned away from yours. “Anyway, he was pissed, yelled at me and tried to punch me, I guess? I shoved him back and just came running inside - we, uh, we were outside in the garden. It’s where I usually stay when, you know, selling illicit substances to jocks who hate me but also can’t live without me. Or my products. Or whatever.”

He was rambling. He looked nervous. His eyes didn’t stay put, cruising around the cluttered space you were both caged in. And on you, and on what you figured was your cheerleader uniform - Debrah made you wear it.

So he thought you were one of them, maybe.

Well, you were. But, also, you weren’t.

“Yeah, sounds just about right. They can be very hypocritical.” You tried to calm him again. Yourself was already calm again after the scare, being away from the crowd and loud noises at the party was enough to tame your heartbeat.

It looked like your reassurance worked again, his eyes instantly flew to yours and he took a calm, but deep breath. He was good at disguising it, but you were also a very good people reader and knew the look on his face as a soft, surprised relief.

You thought he would continue the conversation around dumb jocks, but he didn’t. “What are you hiding from?” He retorted, tilting his head a little.

“Everything. Everyone.” You shrugged. Your eyes were no longer meeting his. “Didn’t want to be here, if I’m being honest.”

“Then why are you?”

You didn’t want to tell him the whole truth. It shook you up just thinking about it. So you shrugged again.

“My friend kind of forced me. I figured I owed her a favor for putting up with my grumpy ass, so I just gave in.”

There was a small smile on your lips - a real smile now, not just a grimace - and he smiled back at you, much wider. Debrah was a nice girl. You did owe her, she had never asked much from your friendship, never complained about the fact that you probably were kind of a terrible friend. A party was nothing based on everything she had - or, hadn’t? - been through with you.

He took your response as a good enough one and looked away from you once more. You couldn’t get yourself to do the same, though. So you just stood there, still leaning against the door, analyzing the way his wavy hair looked so soft against his hardened features.

08:48 p.m. Not too long after that initial talk, you took a seat on the floor, on the wall perpendicular to the doors. You tried hard to stare only at the floor or at the shelves filled with food in front of you, but Eddie’s pacing could be - and, indeed, was - very distracting.

“You could just leave, you know?” You caught his attention. He stopped walking instantly, but his hands were still twitching alongside his body. “You could just unlock the door and get back to the party. You don’t have to stay here” with me, you added mentally.

His fists relaxed.

“No, I... I'm actually not ready to go back yet.” He made a frown, mockingly. “Business are business, but I'm not mostly thrilled to sell drugs to those guys.” He shrugged, nodding at the door.

“Well, you could sit down, then. It's just, you walking around is kind of making me nervous.” Your tone was apologetic and your grimace-almost-smile was back. His smile was wide, though.

“Oh, I'm sorry for that, princess.” You grimaced harder and his eyes twinkled. “Not princess? I just figured cause, you know, you're still a cheerleader.”

His sarcasm was funny. You threw him a real smile this time, while you shook your head no.

“Hmm... darling?” He tried, making you giggle. “Also a no. Sweetheart!” You actually liked that, but wasn't allowed to for too long. “No, it can't be that, it's what I call my guitar.”

“You've nicknamed your guitar?” Your smile was getting bigger and his never faded.

“Why, of course, she's the girl of my dreams.”

You fully laughed this time. His eyes were glued to you as your shoulders were shaking and you tried covering your face with your arms.

“You have a band?” You asked after calming down.

He nodded enthusiastically. “It's called Corroded Coffin.”

“I shouldn't even ask based on your clothing style," you looked him up and down. "but I figure you play some hard metal?”

“Hell yes,” he thought for a second, “dear?”

You laughed again, dismissed him with a wave of both hands and could've sworn you heard him murmur what sounded like ‘yikes’ under his breath.

He kept on the subject, “You don't look a fan of some hard metal, yourself.”

“No, definitely not my thing.”

“What do you enjoy musically, then?” He made some grand gestures while talking, and that smile just wouldn't get out of his face. “I could take you for a Madonna girl.”

“Again with the cheerleader stereotypes?” You arched an eyebrow, and he put his arms up in a defensive pose. “No, also not my thing. Nothing against that too, just not the type of music we listen at home.”

He looked actually interested, and even though he did not take your invitation to sit down, he was now leaning into the wall directly in front of you, his attention locked into you as you talked. So you kept on talking.

“My brother is my biggest influence, I could say. He likes rock too, just, nothing so hardcore I guess.” You shrugged as your smile grew. “Punk, or indie. Those are the most common soundtracks in our household.”

“Ramones? Clash? Sex Pistols?” He suggested. You nodded along.

“Joy Division, Talking Heads.” You continued. “Joan Jett!” You winked while pointing at him, and had the impression he leaned a bit further in your direction.

“Your brother may have some good taste. A little basic, but that's just me! I like more noise.”

You giggled again, and he looked happy to be the entertaining. For the few seconds you both were quiet as the subject winded down, he started playing with the rings on his fingers. Only then did you notice just how many he had. You loved rings, your own hands filled with them, and you couldn't help but want to check out his bijous more closely. You stuck to playing with your own, though.

09:02 p.m. There was more silence after that. Your head was racing, trying to come up with conversation topics just to listen to his voice again. You realized being there with him probably calmed you down from your possible panic attack more than being alone could have.

You had no idea he had such a soothing and amicable personality, not with the whole selling drugs things. And of course you didn’t believe them, but the rumors that he was the leader of a satanic cult also didn’t help his reputation at all. You saw him so little in school, always preferring to stay unnoticed, mingling in the crowds on your way to classes, steering away from other teams, clubs or extracurriculars, eating by yourself on the gardens outside instead of the cramped cafeteria. You didn’t remember sharing any classes with him. The few times you saw him he was either quiet as well, in his own headspace; or causing confusion by stepping up to the jocks in defense of his friends, yelling mockeries about the members on top of the social pyramid. That was cool, you thought. But he was always so chaotic that his good-humored temperament was still surprising.

You cleared your throat. “So, uh… Do you have your lunch box in here?” You’ve seen him carrying around that metal square, and you knew it was filled with all sorts of illegal shit - Debrah told you so.

“Oh, does princess likes to get high too? Didn’t see that coming!” He looked up from his hands, a smile already plastered on his face. Did that smile ever go away?

“Not the princess thing again!” You smirked.

“Well, lucky for you, of course I wouldn’t abandon my work briefcase out there with all those stoners. It’s right here,”

He walked back to the shelves, and only then you noticed the lunch box stacked beside what looked like Corn Flakes in a glass jar. Why would it be in a glass jar? It already came in a package!

Anyway.

He looked around uncertain for a second, so you patted the floor next to you. He took the suggestion and basically plopped himself down beside you, his legs stretched open and the lunch box in the middle. While he rummaged through its contents, he asked:

“What do you want? I have all sorts of things, weed, coke, the special K…”

“Just weed, I’m not that much of a stoner.” You snickered. He laughed too. “Do you have a pre rolled joint?”

“Oh, unfortunately your other cheerleader friends already bought all of ‘em. But I’ll roll you one, on the house!” He shoots that million dollar smile at you and you couldn’t help to smile too.

“Thank you. The cheerleaders, though.” You pointed finger guns at him. “Not exactly my friends.”

“I’m honestly not even sure I believe you when you say you are a cheerleader, cause I’ve literally never seen you in my life, lady. And I’ve been at that high school for five years now, ya’know? A little while.”

You laughed so hard you almost hit your head on the wall behind you.

“Well, I’ve only stayed in that high school for four years, cause I’m not a super senior like yourself, mister.” He put one of his hands on his chest and made a face like your words had hurt him.

“But what, do you hate the cheer squad? Do they hate you back?” He was interested.

“No, they don’t hate me. They rely on me so there’s some sort of respect there, I think. Can’t say it’s a hundred percent mutual, though. I don’t like them very much.”

“You’re in this party even though you didn’t want to come, you’re in the cheer squad even though you don’t like your mates. What’s wrong with you, lady? Do you hate yourself?”

You laughed loudly again. “Well, who doesn’t hate themselves sometimes.” He shook his head in agreement. “But, I’m actually in the cheer squad because I like the… cheering.”

“Okay?” It sounded like a question.

“Well, you have a band. I do cheering. It sucks that I have to do it with twenty other preppy girls, but you can’t exactly cheer by yourself. That wouldn’t cheer anyone up. But I really think cheering is one of the best examples of art-meets-sport. It’s like dancing. But we don’t have a dance club in Hawkins High. So I do cheering.”

“Oooh, right, I see it now.” His eyes were focused on the joint he was rolling, but his ears were focused on you. “But how exactly did you manage to stay low profile being in the cheer squad? How are you not one of the preppy girls on the top of the social pyramid?”

You shrugged. “I’m just very good at hiding, I guess. Don’t talk to anyone outside of practice or performances. Don’t go to any parties. Don’t hook up with any of the jocks. Just… stay in your lane. At all times.”

“You’d be a very good spy.” Both of you giggled together, and then he was finished with the rollie. He passed it to you. “Ladies first.”

You thought he would hand you the lighter too, but he waited until you had the joint in your lips and lit it himself, his beautiful eyes focused on the fire. Your eyes were focused on him.

Eyelids closing as soon as the smoke hit your throat, the sound of his breathing right beside you and for a second you even forgot where you were. You were peaceful now. You pulled another drag before handing him the joint, your eyes still closed and your head now resting against the wall.

You stayed in silence for a while, sharing the joint back and forth. You were calm just by being there even before smoking, but after the haze hit you it was almost like you’d be a second away from floating.

“Feeling better?” His voice was lower now, much softer, and you almost thought you had just imagined his question.

“Hm?”

“Are you feeling better? When you walked in I thought you were gonna have a meltdown on me, lady.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m feeling much better. Thank you.”

“It was my deep pleasure to do business with you, my lady.” You liked how he called you lady. You could already hear the smile on his voice, but you opened your eyes and looked at him nonetheless. You wanted to watch him as you reassured him:

“M’not talking ‘bout the weed, Eddie. M’talking ‘bout you being here. Talking to you helped me.”

Your voice was dragged and your eyes were heavy and your mouth was dry, but you were still happy. So you smiled at him. His eyes were now on your lips and he let out a almost inaudible sigh. He cleared his throat before answering you.

“Still a pleasure.” Only then did his voice rose up to his normal tone. “You could thank me by letting me see you perform on that clearly stolen cheer uniform. Just so I can have evidence you’re no cheer at all. Just lying to me.”

You laughed again and decided to rest your head against his shoulder. His breathing was tickling your cheeks.

“Well, you missed your chance, mister. I just graduated, so no more cheer performances for me. And this was my one and only party.”

“Damn it!” He slapped his own thigh and you laughed again. A few moments passed quietly. “Wait, you know my name? You called me Eddie!”

“Yeah, I know your name! You’re more known in that school than I am, hadn’t you noticed?” Apparently you couldn’t stop laughing. Not sure if it was the weed effect or the Eddie Munson effect.

“Yeah, my fame as a freak is loud.”

“Hm, I’m fond of freaks. My whole family’s made of’em."

A quiet beat in silence.

“I’d like to meet them. Maybe recruit ‘em to my freak club.” His voice was low again, like he didn’t want to scare you. With his words, maybe? Was that too forward? Meeting the family and such.

“My brother would be thrilled, actually. Probably lick the floor you walk on.”

“Okay, that’s a bit much.”

You both laughed again.

“I could teach him D&D!” His voice rose up again, excited and kinda squeaky.

“You wouldn’t have to. He’s addicted to it.”

He shifted hard under you, almost knocking you off his shoulder. “You shitting me?!”

“Wish I was. It’s basically all he talks about.”

“Jesus fuck, don’t even know him and already love him.” He went quiet again, thinking about something. “Do you play too?”

“Not really. I mean, he tries to cope me into it from time to time, and sometimes I give in and play just to make him happy. It can be fun, I’ll admit, but I don’t know if you noticed, I’m an introspect kind of gal. Prefer, ya know, reading books and such.”

“What?! You, the cheerleader no one even knows? An introvert? Had no idea!” He mocked you.

You took your face off his shoulder and showed him your tongue in a childish grimace, to which he laughed again.

He continued: “Well, since you’re a graduated cheerleader now and can’t show me one of your performances, I’ll accept that thanks by you coming and playing with my party!”

“I promise I’ll think about it.”

You rested against him again, and this time you felt his head also resting upon your own. Your mind was still fuzzy and tingly from the weed, in a good way. So you closed your eyes again and let out a satisfied sigh.

09:58 p.m. “Do you also have the munchies right now?”

You might have fallen asleep. Otherwise the question made by Eddie wouldn’t have made you jump slightly.

“Oh, sorry. Were you sleeping?” You looked at him while he was getting up and noticed he was smirking.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” You shrugged, he laughed and your stomach rumbled. “Yeah I have the munchies.”

“I literally heard it. You’re starving, lady.” You laughed together again. “Wanna steal some cookies?”

“How many did you eat before I entered?” You raised an eyebrow at him and his cheeks were suddenly pink - that was new.

“Just one or two… of six.” He averted his eyes from you and you couldn’t help but giggle once more. “They won’t miss it! Look at how many cookies are here. No one needs this many cookies!”

You got up from the floor, approached him and looked at were he was pointing. There were at least ten other packages of cookies on the shelf, so you had to agree with him that a few of them missing wouldn’t make that much of a difference. He got the one he had opened already and gave you one of the chocolate biscuits. Your mouth instantly watered, so you wasted no more time before tasting the - industrialized - delicacy.

“Oh my god.” Your eyes closed by themselves, and your voice was whiny. “Why is this so good?”

“Because you’re high.” He said with his mouth full. You just hummed in response.

The both of you ate through the rest of the package and a whole other one, not even talking to each other in the meantime, so focused on easing your starving tummies. Suddenly your eyes were trapped on the movements of his hands, getting a cookie from the package and taking it into his mouth… And then his pink lips rounding the cookie, and then the flex of his jaw when he chewed on the cookie, and you promise your only interest was the cookie!

“Sweetheart?” He asked, his voice low. Your eyes went to his. He was so close. When did he get so close?

You weren’t even eating anymore. You’ve been just watching him eat for… how long now?

“I thought your guitar was your sweetheart.” Your eyes couldn’t decide whether to stare at his own, those big, round beautiful chocolate eyes - or to stare at his plush, pink lips that he was… licking right now? Oh god.

“I don’t think she’ll get much jealous.”

You were both whispering. “You’re sure? Don’t wanna get her mad at me.”

“Yeah I’m sure. Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes flew to his. You were sure he was staring right into your soul, and maybe you were shivering a bit. Afraid your voice would fail if you tried to speak up, you just nodded in response to his question, at the same time that you leaned into him.

You heard the cookie package hit the floor.

You felt his hands on your cheeks.

You let out a sigh and you closed your eyes.

And then his lips were on yours.

It’s been a while since you’ve kissed someone. You were afraid you would forget how to do it. But you still knew how to do it. And Eddie’s hands on your face were so soothing that even if you did not know what to do, you probably wouldn’t care.

He was kissing you slowly, softly, savoring it. Driving you crazy.

One of your hands went to the lapel of his denim vest, the other gripping on his wavy hair, just as soft as you’ve imagined. He smelled so good. A mix of fresh citric shampoo, drugstore cologne and weed smoke. That smell fitted him so nicely, your head was buzzing, the texture of the denim under your hand, you couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stay put for a second.

His hands traveled down.

You opened your mouth, his tongue touched yours and you could swear you were soaring.

His touch was burning you even from over your clothes. Your cheerleader top was slightly raised, and he took advantage of that to latch onto your waist, no more barriers between his calloused hand and your skin and if you thought you were burning up before, you probably had a whole fire within you right now.

He was a little taller than you, so you stood on your toes and threw your arms around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer, and he hugged you tightly against him too, his mouth never leaving yours, not for a second, his rhythm getting faster and your head still whirring and your lips going number.

You let out a whine. Or a moan? Couldn’t know for sure.

There was a pressure on your hips, and he pushed you back until you hit the wall behind you, one of his hands going up again to hold you by the side of your neck, vaguely directing you to which side he wanted you to go to.

You had to breathe.

Shit, you had to breathe, but you didn’t want to let go of him, didn’t want so stop kissing him, not for a second, was it really necessary to breathe? You could just die kissing him, you would go happily.

He had to breathe too, so his lips left yours - yes, you let out another whine - but went straight to your neck now, the opposite side of the one he was still holding. His fingers still tracing caresses on your hips, and your own hands now traveling by his arms, wanting to feel him but that stupid jacked was on the way!

Your eyes were still closed, you thought you might combust and explode if you opened them to see him latched onto you, so you kept them closed. The high from the weed was all gone now, leaving you high only from Eddie, Eddie, Eddie effect.

You decided you had breathed enough already, your hands clasping his face and bringing him back to you, his lips on yours again, instantly open, his tongue brushing yours again, that rhythm you’ve created.

Jesus fuck, you were going out of your mind.

That spark between you that grew while he teased you about being a cheerleader, while he made you laugh with his dramatic gestures, while he heard you talking about your family, while his presence calmed the panic installed in you by all those unknown people outside that door, by the loud music banging in your ears. That spark was ignited. He brought you peace in such an atypical way, you never would have imagined this going the way it did.

You never wanted this to end.

You wanted his hands on you forever, his lips on yours forever, to listen to his rapid breathing forever, to moan out for him again forever. You were in the best high of your life. Your heartbeat running a marathon, you could feel it banging on your chest, your limbs shaky while Eddie supported your weight, who could have known?

It felt like hours had passed.

You wouldn’t let go of him, he wouldn’t let go of you, your lips were numb by now but you couldn’t care less.

The door knob quivered.

You let go of him. He let go of you.

Your eyes met for a tiny second before both your attentions turned to the entrance of the pantry. There was banging against the wood. Non-stop.

A sigh escaped you as you turned to him again.

“Maybe we should let other people enjoy the pantry.” You joked.

Eddie was still panting a little from all the kissing. His cheeks were pink and his big, chocolate brown eyes were so soft. Looking deep into yours as a smile curved his pink swollen lips and he asked,

"Can we see each other again sometime soon?"

He didn't know you were leaving. Halfway across the country, running from grey monsters, an inverted version of your hometown, Russian spies and the memories of so much blood and pain and loss that still haunted yours and your families dreams every night.

He had no idea.

Of course, you hadn't told him.

Why would you? Ruin this night that had been all but perfect by telling him of the horrors you saw again and again every time your head hit the pillow. He didn't deserve it. You wished he never, ever knew about any of it.

So he didn't know you were leaving the very next day. You bags were packed. The boxes filled with your belongings were sealed. The U-Haul truck was rented, already packed in on your garden.

This was a goodbye party, Debrah being your only friend from the cheer squad dragged you to it because she was the only one who knew about your departure.

Summer had just ended, and tomorrow you would have to hug your friends goodbye and see Will parted from his childhood memories, and El from her new found family, and Jon from the girl he loved dearly, and your mom from the memories of Hopper - all that was left of him.

You weren't so sad much for yourself, actually feeling worst for them. For everything and everyone they were leaving behind. You didn’t have much to leave behind yourself. Ever since Will went missing, all you ever wanted was to leave this cursed town behind and never, ever look back. This was not your ideal scenario, far from it with all the hurt it was already causing, but at the very least your wish was being granted, for you were finally leaving this cursed town behind and hoping to never, ever look back. It's okay to run sometimes, you told yourself and your mom when she asked what you thought about leaving to California. Sometimes to run is the brave thing. After you almost died so many times you lost count in the last three years, it was a natural response to just flee. So you were doing that. You were fleeing. Running. To a new beginning.

But Eddie didn't know that.

So his words resonated in your head again, "Can we see each other again sometime soon?", and his puppy eyes, and his plump lips, and his soft curls, and his vest all crumpled from your hands, and his beautiful beautiful soul. Will would've loved to meet him.

You smiled.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah, I would very much like that."

You didn't lie.

He didn’t need to know.

[pleasantanathema]

A Little Taste

Pairing: Step-dad Erwin x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Pseudo incest (step-dad/step-daughter), Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Choking (on fingers and hand around throat), Secret Relationship

A/N: This is what Erwin brain rot and a too-long shower leads to. Please heed the warnings.

          Erwin was a commander in every sense, you could feel it in his stride, in the way he held himself, so real and full against the border of his composure. He was golden, muted power, even in the moments of silence you spent together— drinking in his study when you visited home for Christmas break, sitting in the breakfast nook in the early morning light as he read the paper and you perused books without actually reading them.

           Sometimes it made you sick to your stomach that you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop thinking about your step-dad, but other times it brought you a silent thrill, made your chest burn with excitement, especially when you caught him looking back at you. Brilliant blue eyes were always waiting for your first move. That’s how the game worked. The initiating step had to be made by you; you had to show your willingness, your need for him, then he would take over.

          He was always so calm and in control, someone who changed the atmosphere whenever he drew near. But whenever you moved closer, you could see the softness in his eyes, felt the quietness between his fingers as they wrapped around your throat. He was a gentle lion, shy and soundless before the press of your lips would stir and rouse him into something more dangerous.

          You could still remember the first time you fucked him.

          Alone in his study, your mom hundreds of miles away on an impromptu business trip, and you asked him for a sip of the dark, amber colored liquor that sloshed in his glass. You immodestly draped yourself on his knee, short dress pooling around your hips to expose smooth thighs. He was eager to appease you, full lips curving into a smirk at your boldness.

          His long, thick fingers dipped into the drink, coating them in the expensive whiskey.

           “Have a taste.”

          He slipped his digits into your awaiting mouth, eyes watching your every move as you sucked the burning alcohol from his skin. He pressed down against your tongue, groaned as you swallowed around him and your heated lips slid along his knuckles.

          You thought it would be simple, just a little taste of something you weren’t supposed to have.

          But simplicity wasn’t enough for your selfish step-father.

          He placed his spit-slick fingers between your legs, pulling you deeper into his lap as pushed your panties to the side and curled his fingers inside you.

          “You’ve always been such a good girl,” your hands were sinking into his blonde undercut as you whimpered for him, “you always do exactly as you’re told, don’t you? I raised you that way.”

          He wasn’t wrong. He came into your life your first year of college, sweeping your mother off her feet with his handsome features and the promising wallet of a high-rise CEO. You weren’t beyond the age of raising, however, and Erwin took his time teaching you how to behave for formal dinners, took his time teaching you how to be the perfect little lady with etiquette books and trips to lavish department stores.

          “Yes, daddy,” you whispered. He used to hate when you called him that, said it made you sound childish. But as his other hand wrapped around your throat, keeping your chin tilted toward his face so he could watch you come undone, you could feel his cock hardening at the moniker.

          “You look so pretty like this, darling, take my fingers so well,” he knew you liked the praise, could feel your pulse pounding against his palm at the words.

          “I-I want you…” you mewled when his strong thumb began to circle your wet clit.

          “Want me to do what? Use your words like I taught you.”

          You were rocking in his lap, pressing yourself down his hand as you chased your high. Slick was running down your thighs. The noises were lewd, wet, the sound of fingers plunging into a too-willing cunt.

          “Want you to fuck me, wanna feel you inside me.”

          Your hands were trailing down his chest, fingertips stumbling as you pulled at the buttons of his dress shirt.

          “You can have me if you can take me.”

          You realized what he meant when he leaned back in the leather chair, allowing you to unbuckle his belt and pull his cock from his slacks. His cock was fat, long, hot blood thumping beneath silken skin and thick veins. It was pretty, weeping with pre-cum and flushed pink at the flared tip. You couldn’t help but to touch him, moaning as the fingers inside of you suddenly didn’t feel like enough.

          It dawned on you that he was just as needy for you as you were him.

          Erwin pulled his hand from between you drenched thighs as you straddled him, bringing his sticky fingers back to your lips. You took them in, tongue lapping at the bittersweet taste of you on your daddy’s fingers.

          “How’s that taste?”

          You closed your eyes as he greedily pressed his fingers down your throat.

          “ ‘s good,” you murmured with your stuffed mouth, lips closing tighter as his cockhead brushed between your slick folds.

          “Keep them in there and keep quiet. Can’t have the whole neighborhood hearing you scream for me.”

          Heat raced to your cheeks at his words and at the burn of his cock pressing into you. Your walls were tight around him, his pumping veins molding to your insides. One of your hands pressed against his exposed chest for balance as he started to thrust, your panties softly cutting into the fat of your thighs as he spread you. You were still slipping down his cock, body unsure if it could take all of his length. But, of course, you were a good girl for him, eventually taking every inch of him in so he could bottom out inside of you.

          You weren’t sure how long you were moaning around his fingers, lingering notes of slick and whiskey painting your tongue. Time was inconsequential as he took you, other hand secured at your hip so he could bounce and move you how he wanted.

          It felt so good to be used by him, to hear him grunting below you, to feel the sheen of sweat building on his chest.

          “So good,” he groaned, “so fucking good for me.”

          His balls were slapping against your tender ass cheeks, his damp slacks sliding against your thighs, the blonde curls at the base of his cock kissing against your swollen clit.

          You wanted to remember this moment forever, wanted it to burn and sear against your thoughts like a polaroid in a dark room.

          “Daddy,” the name was a muffled sound in your mouth, reverberating down his fingers and forearm.

          “Daddy’s gonna cum inside you, darling,” your lashes fluttered open at his confession, and your chest tightened at the sight of his normally perfect hair falling against his forehead, his cheekbones stained pink with lust. He was as undone as you were, his jaw flexing and eyebrows pressed together as he took what he wanted from your body.

          “Please,” you begged, spit drooling from the sides of your mouth as you moaned uncontrollably with every plunge of his cock spreading your pussy apart, “pleasepleaseplease.”

          He knew what you were pleading for. You wanted to cum with him, didn’t want to be left behind as you both barreled down the path of no return.

          Erwin slowly broke you apart as he swirled his thumb over your clit, a purposeful, brutish pace that matched the cock skimming along your gummy walls. But he was becoming just as unhinged as your cunt sucked him in more and more, your belly clenching as you got pulled closer and closer to ecstasy.

          “Come on, cream on my cock, baby, cum for me, cum for daddy.”

          You almost gagged yourself on his fingers as your head fell forward from the forcefulness of your orgasm. You screamed around his skin, felt his knuckles against your teeth as you held back tears. It all felt too hot, too fast, like he’d stretched you like a rubber band and snapped you back together. Your belly was tensing over and over again, shocks of pleasure racing down to your toes, making your fingers curl against the downy hairs of his chest.

          Erwin came soon after you, holding a growl back in his throat as he buried his seed into your depths. Some part of you hoped that he came just from seeing what he’d done to you. You dreamed that he reached the point of euphoria just from watching you cum, watching you cry and shake for your daddy in his lap, his cock stuffed so deep in your pussy that he could feel your heart beating.

          When he pulled out of you, he quickly pushed your panties back into place, two fingers patting against your abused clit.

          “Don’t lose a drop of my cum, darling. I want to feel it inside you next time I fuck you.”

          That first fuck was just the first move, just the first taste.

          Every time you visited home from college, Erwin found a way to take you. Some nights were quick and hasty, the two of you fighting against time so you wouldn’t be caught. Asking you to help him find something in his car, only to have you back in his lap with his massive hand over your mouth. Following you after you said goodnight, only to press you against the shower wall and have you praying that the heavy sound of water against the tiles covered the sounds of you whimpering for your daddy.

          There was a time he was bold enough to slide his hand up your skirt at a family dinner after you playfully pulled at his pant leg under the table. Your moans bubbled into the wine glass that you nursed, thighs clenching around his wrist.

          Erwin was relentless whenever you released him, whenever you made that first step and teased him, asked him for more cum, touched him when no one was looking.

          Your favorite moments were when you could find him alone, run your hot tongue along the shell of his ear and tell him how good you’ve been for him. How you think of him when you’re away from him, how you imagine that your hands are his when you touch yourself during the witching hours of night. Sometimes he would strip you and lay you naked across his desk so you could show him exactly how you make yourself scream when you’re alone.

          Sometimes he would leave you with things to remember him by. He’d suck a bruise in the shape of his mouth on your breast, leave nail marks along your thighs, smack a scorching handprint into your ass cheek that you’d feel for days on end.

          He once had you filled with shame as he pounded you into the bed he shared with your mother. With his back pressed against yours, his hand back around your throat where it belonged, he whispered promises that couldn’t be kept.

          “I’m yours, darling, just like you’re mine.”

          Your ears burned with the vows as your pussy spread to take him in deeper, harder.

          “I’ll fuck you even after you get married, my little girl will always be mine.”

          Affirmations would tumble out your open mouth, little whines of yes daddy and I’m yours.

          But you knew one day the game would end. Someone would find the pieces, someone would hear you, see you, catch you, but the thrill of it had you cumming even harder whenever daddy decided to play with you.

[derangedrhythms]

any quotes about just like… horror

Ted Hughes, from Gaudete and From Crow's Account of St George

"His wedding gift, clasped round my throat. A choker of rubies, two inches wide, like an extraordinarily precious slit throat."

— Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; from ‘The Bloody Chamber’

"I'll have your heart, if not by gift my knife / Shall carve it out. I'll have your heart, your life."

— Stevie Smith, from ‘Tender Only to One’

"What awaited me / in the land of the living? / His hand creeping starved / between my thighs? / The sweet stench of rot / choking itself in my hair?"

— Emily Palermo, from 'Eurydice'

"The walls of her bedroom are hung with black satin, embroidered with tears of pearl. At the room’s four corners are funerary urns and bowls which emit slumbrous, pungent fumes of incense. In the centre is an elaborate catafalque, in ebony, surrounded by long candles in enormous silver candlesticks. In a white lace négligé stained a little with blood, the Countess climbs up on her catafalque at dawn each morning and lies down in an open coffin."

— Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; from ‘The Lady of the House of Love’

"Now I could raise / Her dead, dark body to my own / And hear the joyous rustle of her bone / And in her eyes see deathly blaze;

Now could I wake / To passion after death, and taste / The rapture of her hating, tear the waste / Of body. Break, her dead, dark body, break."

— Dylan Thomas, The Notebook Poems 1930–34: Poems from the story, ‘The Fight’

"I stood and watched your wretched Dance of Death / And vomited my heart out through my teeth"

— Charles Baudelaire, Flowers of Evil; from 'A Voyage to Cythera'

"Why do the lilies goggle their tongues at me / When I pluck them; / And writhe, and twist, / And strangle themselves against my fingers, / So that I can hardly weave the garland / For your hair / Why do they shriek your name / And spit at me / When I would / cluster them? / Must I kill them / To make them lie still, / And send you a wreath of lolling corpses / To turn putrid and soft / On your forehead / While you dance?"

— Amy Lowell, 'Grotesque'

"At midnight, especially on Walpurgisnacht, the Devil holds picnics in the graveyards and invites the witches; then they dig up fresh corpses, and eat them. Anyone will tell you that."

— Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; from ‘The Werewolf’

"Here’s honest rot / To unpick the heart, pare bone / Free of the fictive vein."

— Sylvia Plath, Collected Poems; from ‘November Graveyard’

"…but from that day on the smell of death became stronger, till it filled the room, tainting the water in her jug, bleeding into the sheets. I brought fresh flowers every morning: all the petals had fallen by the middle of the afternoon."

— John Burnside, from 'The Dumb House'

"There's a drop of blood in my soup / it's the blood of You."

— Alice Notley, Disobedience; 'You'

"And this skull was strung up by a system of unseen cords, so that it appeared to hang, disembodied, in the still, heavy air, and it had been crowned with a wreath of white roses, and a veil of lace, the final image of his bride."

— Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; ‘The Bloody Chamber’

"His promises were the surgeon’s gag / Her promises took the top off his skull / She would get a brooch made of it / His vows pulled out all her sinews / He showed her how to make a love-knot / Her vows put his eyes in formalin / At the back of her secret drawer / Their screams stuck in the wall / Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves / Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop / In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs / In their dreams their brains took each other hostage / In the morning they wore each other’s face"

⁠⁠— Ted Hughes, Crow; from ‘Lovesong’

"A vision came to her of an ancient goddess lying stretched out in the underworld, prey of death. Her flesh was putrid and swarming with maggots, her decaying form covered with all manner of festering sores that smoldered and gave off black sparks. The luridness of the sight sent the goddess’s lover fleeing in horror, and the moment that he turned and ran, she arose and swept after him in fury, all the love she had borne him transformed utterly into blinding hatred."

— Fumiko Enchi from 'Masks', tr. Juliet Winters Carpenter

"In the gloom of the old asylum human ruins decay. / The dead orphans lie by the garden wall. / From grey rooms step angels with shit-spattered wings. / Worms drip from their yellowed lids."

— Georg Trakl, Surrender to Night: Collected Poems of Georg Trakl: Poems; from 'Psalm', tr. Will Stone

"What do they do with kidneys and toes / in hospitals? And where did your old dog go / who peed on the rug and growled? / They are at my house now, and what grinds / in your wife’s teeth while she sleeps / is mine. She is chewing / on embryos, on the eyes of your lover, / on your phone book and the empty glass / you left in the kitchen. And in your body, / the one who died there and rots / secretly in the fingers of your spirit, / she is hauling his genitals out, basket / after basket / and mangling all of it in the crusher."

— C. K. Williams, Lies; from 'Trash'

"Her head lolled to one side. Her skin was pale and ravaged with rot, her mouth open, her blank eyes upturned toward the sky. A centipede, glistening and black in the rain, slipped across her cheek and wormed its way into her nostril."

— Dale Bailey, from 'In the Night Wood'

"Hand in hand they skulked, stumbled, ran from door to door, from trashcan to trashcan, from waste heap to waste heap, later returning to their mother’s corpse, to slap their thighs with laughter, to yowl out dirges, to cry, to dance in a strangely disjointed manner, pausing once in a while to kneel down by the corpse, then staring off into space. [...] The children could see clearly how the corpse had begun bleeding from its eyes, nose, and ears. They pointed at it with their spindly fingers, giggled, and chanted their song more ghoulishly and boisterously than ever. [...] The children were nailed inside the apartment with the corpse in question. As their tomb was quite generously proportioned, with numerous burial chambers, it didn’t occur to the children at first that they’d been buried alive. With time, though, the madness of hunger began to ravage the children’s brains; they began to circle the corpse; the madness of hunger tore their jaws open wide. For long days their hunger encouraged them, before they finally wedged their spindly fingers into their mother’s rotting flesh and gnawed down to her bones."

— Marianne Fritz, from 'The Weight of Things', tr. Adrian Nathan West

"The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood⁠— and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror."

— Edgar Allan Poe, The Penguin Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe; from ‘The Masque of the Red Death’

[lazuli-bloom]

Roses and Styx

Chapter 3 – Kids' Games To Pass The Time

Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 5,399

New day, new problems. Sure things aren't the worst they could be, but that new hire isn't making things all that easy at work.

Last Chapter | Archive | Next Chapter

--=--=--

An annoying, rhythmic buzz cut through silence. Light seeped its way in, chasing away the shadows of sleep. You groaned and rolled. It was too early to face the new day.

Compounding your groggy state was the fact you didn't sleep for shit last night. The chilly October night sucked the warmth from your room, and you had only a few blankets to shield yourself from it. And the chill didn't stop your mind racing most of the night. When sleep came to you, it brought restless dreams.

The first wasn't terrible, just strange. A weird bug followed you home wanting to be friends. The other dream, however... A vile pit formed in your stomach.

Your thoughts drifted to the dream. You couldn't move. Arms, legs, head, nothing. You couldn't budge an inch no matter how hard you fought. Something wanted you to stay still. And it wasn't as if your surroundings gave you any clues either. Darkness blanketed the room. No details, just a barren inky void. The only thing you found with you was a set of pinprick lights.

A voice spoke. It whispered beautiful words coated in honey. Your guts twisted. A warm touch held your face, and the voice asked you a question. Your words caught in your throat. The entity glared at you with icy eyes, and the sweet words soured to a nasty venom.

You clutched your chest as the memory of searing heat replayed. It sank blazing claws into your waist and arm, blistering and cooking the flesh.

You drew in shaky breaths and wiped away the leftover tears. It was just a dream. It was just a bad dream. You're safe.

You took in one more breath before getting up to start your day.

Normally you would go straight to the bathroom, but you wanted to check something. You stepped out into the main living space and found it empty. A DVD case sat on the coffee table, but the TV screen was dark. The couch laid devoid of any unexpected house guests. No sign anyone else was ever there. Your heart sank as you realized the encounter you remembered was just another dream cooked up by your tired brain. A frown pulled at your lips and you sighed. No time to mope. You needed to get ready for work.

You opened the bathroom door and peered inside. Rigel napped on the top of the toilet's water tank, surrounded by shredded toilet paper. At least it was less of a mess than yesterday. You clean up the ribbons and tossed them in the garbage under the sink. After you topped off his food and water, you hopped in the shower.

The water in your apartment only ever got up to lukewarm on a good day. And that was not a good day. Frigged rain pelted you, giving you goosebumps. Not wanting to linger, you got out and dressed a few minutes later.

You combed your fingers through your hair as you looted the kitchen. Damn cat, why'd it have to throw up on your hairbrush? You grumbled to yourself and pulled out the off-brand cereal to fix breakfast.

"What 'cha doing, babes?" A voice from nowhere spoke in your ear.

Your knees buckle and you collapse, taking the bag of cereal with you. You gripped at your chest to still your heart, and rolled to sit with your back to the cabinets. A man in a rotting striped suit floated in your kitchen, clutching his rounder stomach as he cackled.

"Oh sweets, that's great! I wasn't even trying!"

As the shock fades, your features scrunched up. You got to your feet and tossed the bag on the counter. With crossed arms you pivot to glare at the ghost, still laughing his ass off.

"Giving me a heart attack first thing in the morning," you said with a huff, "I came out here and you were gone. I thought I had dreamed the whole thing, you jerk."

"So you're saying you missed me?" He batted his eyes at you, setting your cheeks on fire. You would not dignify that with a response. Instead, you turned back to the counter and fixed your breakfast.

"Where did you go then?" you asked and riffled through the silverware drawer for a spoon.

"I was checking on your neighbors. Did you know the guys a few doors down have a shit-ton of electronics?"

"Yeah, and old lady Smith has a garden in her closet."

"Really? Which one is she in? I didn't find that."

"She's on the third floor, but don't bug her too much. She's nice. Plus she bakes amazing cookies for me whenever I help her."

You scarfed your breakfast, and double checked you had everything done. Rigel was in the bathroom with his things. You had your wallet and phone. After you finished the last bite, you set the bowl in the sink along with the one from last night.

You rinsed out the bowl and hummed to yourself before you glanced over your shoulder to the ghost. He grinned at you with a tilt of his head. You gave him a small smile, only to frown.

"I have to head to work."

That simple sentence wiped the grin from his face. His shoulders sank, and the color of his hair shifted. A dull purple seeped in and overtook the green. That couldn't be a good sign. "You're leaving me here?"

"Well, you could stay here, or..."

"Or?"

"If you can be out of the way and let me focus on my work when I need to, then you could tag along with me. It’d be nice having someone other than my boss to talk to during the downtime."

His grin stretched across his face again, and he spun up to you, batting his eyes. "Oh babes, you do care! Of course I'll go with you! Not my idea for a first date, but I'll take it."

You pressed your lips tight. Was this a mistake? Not like you can take back the offer, though. That would crush him. You let out a long sigh and rubbed at your temple.

"Not a date, dude."

"If you say so," he purred.

You shook your head and grabbed the keys before heading to the car. The ghost trailed you, with an ever present chill at your side. On the way to the car, he pointed out each of the apartments and spilled whatever secrets he found out. You had an inkling of some of your neighbors' crimes, but you weren't one to go tattling. It was best to let them deal with their lives and you deal with yours. So you ended up nodding along to what the ghost told you.

When you got to your car, you sat behind the wheel for a moment. Once your ghostly friend floated into the passenger seat, you took in a breath.

"Okay. A few things before we get there," You said as you fought to start the car, "If either my boss or a customer comes up and needs to talk to me, I would appreciate it if you hang back for a minute and let me handle them. Otherwise, I mostly just front-face merchandise and I can talk with you so long as I'm quiet. Also, I take my lunches in the cemetery, so I can talk a bit more freely there."

"Sounds good to me, toots."

You rolled your eyes and got the hunk of junk started. The car protested with clangs, but you drove off with a little more of a fight. On the scenic drive to work he asked you to turn on the radio, which got a dry laugh from you.

"What's so funny?"

"Radio's broke. Most things in this car are broken. Radio, heater, a/c. All of them are broken."

"Can't you get a new one? There's cars all over the place, just take one."

"Th-this isn't Grand Theft Auto,"

"It will be once you take a car!"

"Okay, technically true. I meant this isn't the game GTA, this is real life. And I would get arrested."

"Not if you had help from the ghost with the most!"

You rolled your eyes and turned onto the main road, heading for work. The rest of the drive, the "ghost with the most" filled the air with his own voice, singing a medley of songs. Some of them you recognized, others you suspected he made up on the spot.

You pulled into the employee parking and parked your car alongside the two much nicer ones there. As you collected your things, Beetlejuice pointed to the sleek mustang.

"That car looks fun! We should steal a car like that!"

"I'm pretty sure that's Brandon's car. I'm not stealing my coworker's car to take for a joyride."

"But it would be so cool!"

"Maybe later," you said, stepping out of your junker.

The bell chimed as you entered the store and caught your boss's attention. He came over to greet you and made sure you were doing better. You gave a small laugh and rubbed at the back of your neck.

"Yeah, I'm doing better." You glanced sidelong to the ghost wandering over to the front counter.

"Good. Now hopefully I can focus on training Brandon without as many interruptions. He keeps breaking away to chat with every customer that comes into the store. So I need you to handle the customers so he doesn't have an excuse."

"Got it. And if you need help with him, I can always smack some sense into him. The new order of mallets is in the back, right?"

Mr. Turner laughed and turned to go back to teaching Brandon. You smiled to yourself and meandered over to the counter. Your ghost pal sat on the countertop next to the computer.

"You never mentioned you get to hit people at your job, any openings?"

"Sorry, spot's filled. For now, anyway. But who knows, maybe we'll need a replacement soon."

"Save it for me. I would kill to get to hang around a pretty little breather like you all day and get paid for it. But doing that for free is nice too."

"You're a shameless flirt."

"How can a sexy beast like me not be with you around and able to see me?"

You shook your head and glanced at the computer. There was something you wanted to look up, you were sure of it. But what was it? You stepped closer and opened a new tab for the search. It sat blank for a moment as you retraced what the topic could have been.

"What are ya doing, babes?"

"I can't remember what I wanted to search for."

"One hundred great ways to skin a cat?"

You raised a brow and frowned at him. "I'm not hurting Rigel." A light flicked on in your head.

You typed in the cat's name and clicked on the page for the star. A picture of the Orion constellation to the side of the page showed off the stars. Most of them had fancy looking letters next to them, with a few having numbers attached. Rigel marked the lower right star, while the upper left was the only other star with a word.

"Beh-tell? Goose? Wait..." You jerked your head over to the ghost, who wore a Cheshire grin. "That's how you spell your name?"

"Yep. That's me. Behtellgoose."

You read the name once more. Betelgeuse. Such a strange spelling to sound like beetle-juice. Kind of cool though. You smiled and closed out of the tab when an unfamiliar voice called out to you.

"Good morning, Art. Great to see you doing better!"

"Heh, yeah. Feeling better." You forced a tight-lipped smile to prevent yourself from frowning. Brandon stayed still with his own fake smile plastered on his face. After a beat of him not saying anything, you asked, "Do you need something?"

"You forgot to go grab your apron. What if a customer came in? That would look very unprofessional. Here, I'll watch the counter and you can go grab your apron."

The corner of your mouth twitched, and you took in a deep breath. You stepped away and grabbed your stupid apron. As you threw it on, the bell chimed. You rushed back out, hoping to catch the customer before Brandon.

The counter stood unattended and you found Brandon down one aisle with a woman discussing products. You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Isn't that what your boss wanted you to stop him from doing?"

"Yes, Beetle, it is."

You hissed out a sigh and shook your head. As you walked over to them, you prepared yourself to speak in your chipper customer service voice. Brandon insisted he could take care of the customer, only for Mr. Turner to order him to get back to training. Brandon grimaced and stepped away to let you take over.

Your smile was easier to keep on your face after that. You helped the customer find what she needed and rang up her items. She left with a wave and you went back to the computer.

"What the hell is that guy's deal?" Betelgeuse asked, gesturing with a thumb to Brandon.

"I don't know. I don't know if I really care." You leaned back onto your heels and let your mind wander. Whenever you were alone, stuck at the counter, you always pulled up simple web games on the computer to pass the time. But with Betelgeuse there, you couldn't ignore him to play games.

"What are ya thinking about, sweets? How hot it would be to make out right now?"

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "No, you flirt. I'm thinking of what we can do to pass the time. All I'm coming up with are twenty questions and I spy."

"I'm fine with that," he said as he flashed you a sharp grin. "Okay, I'll start. I spy with my rotten eye, something... metal."

"Well, that narrows it down."

The two of you spent the rest of the morning going, taking turns playing those silly kids' games. Betelgeuse huffed and whined whenever a customer, or worse, Brandon, pulled you away to help them. Any time you called him out on his grumbling, he denied it as the color in his hair shifted.

He caught you staring at his hair once or twice, which exacerbated the shifting colors. Each time that happened, Betelgeuse quickly picked up whichever game you two had been playing. You left the topic alone for the moment, but stashed it away to ask about later.

Halfway into a difficult game of twenty questions, Mr. Turner came up to the counter. You ignored Betelgeuse's smug punchable face and greeted your boss, hoping your frustration didn't bleed into your tone.

"Cass, I'm stepping out for a bit to pick up something. I should be back for you to take your lunch break. Keep an eye on the store and Brandon for me, while I'm gone, okay?"

"Got it. Burn down the place and leave no evidence. Can do."

He shook his head with a laugh. Mr. Turner said, "you turd," before he waved goodbye and left the shop.

"Ooh baby, I love you talking about crimes like that! Tell me how you'd light up the place."

You turned back to the ghost. He floated with his stomach parallel to the ground as he held his scruffy chin in his hands and swung his legs pointed upward. You laughed at the dork and smiled.

"Well, the kerosene is over there, and the rolls of rags are an aisle over. There's a blow torch with some of the other tools."

"Artemis!" You whipped your attention to the stick in the mud, frowning at you. You didn't even get the chance to speak. "That kind of talk is highly unprofessional! Going over ways to burn down the store, shame on you."

"I was joking dude, it's not—"

"Well, I don't find that funny. And you shouldn't address your elders as 'dude', it is very disrespectful."

"Alright, I'm sorry."

"Good. Now I need your help."

You gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. Brandon motioned for you to follow him, and once he turned back, you brought two fingers to your temple and jerked your head away.

In the middle of a tedious and painful walkthrough of creating an order of paint, the bell rang. Brandon broke away the second it chimed and went straight to helping the customer. That was irritating enough, but after the regular said they didn't need any help, Brandon insisted on assisting them.

You took in a deep breath and let the man dig his own grave. If he doesn't value your help, then he's not getting it. You marched back to the counter and found Betelgeuse picking his teeth.

He licked a striped tongue over his sharp teeth then said, "What a douchebag."

"Tell me about it."

The customer came up to the counter a minute later, followed by Brandon. You greeted the regular and switched the computer over to its register display. Your new coworker nudged you aside and insisted on being the one to ring up the customer.

"Artemis, you should have stayed at the paint desk. I'll meet you back there in a minute, after I help this gentleman."

You wanted nothing more than to slap that man. Who the hell does he think he is? Calling you unprofessional and pulling stunts like that? You grit your teeth and forced a smile before excusing yourself to head back to the paint desk.

Betelgeuse floated after you and lounged on top of the desk. You spared him a glance, but stuck to pacing the small paint pit, waiting for that douche-canoe to get back there. The customer didn't even have a lot of things to buy, so it shouldn't take Brandon that long.

"That freaking jerk," you said under your breath, "I can't believe Mr. Turner hired a guy like that."

"Want me to kill him?"

"Tempting, but no. I'm just going to talk to my boss when he gets back." You checked your phone for the time. A quarter after one, which means only fifteen more minutes until your lunch break. "God, I hope he's here soon."

You tapped your nails against the metal top of the tint machine, the speed of which accelerated the longer you waited. What the hell was taking him so long? Did another customer show up? This was getting infuriating.

"You sure you don't want me to kill the guy?"

"No, Beetle, I don't want you to do that."

"Art, who are you talking to?"

You turned around to the voice. Brandon stood at the threshold of the paint pit with his hand on his hips and raised a brow at you. Your face burned as you laughed, attempting to cover up your embarrassment.

"Oh, just this annoying little beetle. It was crawling under the tint dispenser."

"Do you regularly talk to disgusting bugs?" he asked. You opened your mouth to speak, only for Brandon to keep talking. "It doesn't matter. You shouldn't act so childish. How old are you? Late teens?"

"No, Brandon, I'm closer to my thirties than my teens."

"And you're talking to bugs, where any customer can come up and see that behavior. You ought to grow up and act your age, Artemis."

The bell chimed again, and you shuffled to the side to get an unobstructed view of the front. Mr. Turner stepped in with a smile and a wave. You waved back and checked the clock on the computer. One twenty-seven, perfect. You pulled your apron's strings and took it off in a swift motion.

"Where do you think you're going, Artemis?"

"Lunch."

Brandon frowned, and you folded up your apron with a smile. He probably wanted to stop you from leaving, but that shit would not fly with the boss back. Betelgeuse hopped down from his spot on the counter and followed. You tossed your apron behind the front counter and greeted Mr. Turner. After a quick rundown of what had happened, you left for your break, with a quick stop to your car to grab your food.

On the walk to the cemetery, Betelgeuse mocked the stupid things Brandon said. He was dead on with his impression, too.

"Artemis, do you think I give a shit? I'm a giant douche with a stick up my ass! There's no fun allowed in the store."

You did your best to hold back your laughter, but that only caused you to snort. A laugh roared out next to you in Betelgeuse's voice. You covered your mouth with your free hand, but that couldn't stop your shoulders from bouncing. As the two of you crossed into the graveyard, you glanced sidelong at the ghost, who shot you a grin.

In the cemetery, devoid of any other visitors, you veered towards your usual spot, off in the corner and near the front gate. You sat on the stone bench, setting your lunch beside you. Betelgeuse, however, sat on a gravestone, with his feet propped up on the one next to it.

You opened up your small bag of chips and started snacking on them. Betelgeuse looked over from picking at his nails and raised a brow at you.

"That's all you're going to eat, babes?"

"I have a granola bar too."

You grabbed the other half of your lunch and showed him. He tilted his head with a frown, but said nothing. It grew quiet, save for your munching on the chips. Your mind wandered, and you zoned out, staring unfocused in a random direction. Betelgeuse moved, catching your eye, and you studied him.

He gnawed at his black nails with jagged yellow teeth. Stubble covered his round chin, matching the same green mixed in his hair. Has his stubble changed color like his hair has? And why did his hair change color to begin with?

You hummed to yourself after finishing the last of your chips.

"What's up, sweets?"

"I... was hoping to ask you something."

Betelgeuse tilted his head to the other side and raised a brow and pursed his lips. You gave a half smile and laughed. He looked like a curious puppy. How could this ghost-demon look so cute?

"What is it?"

"I've noticed that your hair isn't always green." 

As soon as the sentence left your mouth, the color of his hair shifted to a deep purple. You shrank back as your stomach twisted into knots. Even without knowing what the colors meant, the frown on his face and sudden dodging of eye contact weren't good signs. On no. You messed up, didn't you? Why couldn't you have just kept your mouth shut?

"I'm sorry. You don't have to say anything. Forget I ever mentioned it."

You dug your nails into your palms and turned your gaze to your knees. Betelgeuse produced a mix of a growl and a groan, and you peered up at him through your hair. His lips pulled into an almost smile as he kept sharp eyes pointed at his hands, where he raked his nails through the hair of one.

"I might as well tell you, you'd figure it out eventually. My hair changes color with my mood."

You dared to lift your head more. Your lips parted as your brain processed the new information.

"Like a chameleon?"

"Like what?"

He tilted his head and raised a brow as his nose wrinkled. You forced out a small laugh and smile as you wrung your wrists. "A chameleon, the little lizards that change color. It's to communicate their mood. Darker colors like black are when it's stressed, neutral tones are when it's calm, and vibrant greens, or reds can be excitement or aggression."

Betelgeuse lurched forward with a growl and ran his hands through his hair, shielding the deepening purple from view. Your stomach twisted into knots. This wasn't getting better. You parted your lips only to press them shut a second later. Why did you have to screw up and bring up his hair in the first place?

Your nails dug deeper into your palms. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"If you're going to strip a guy naked like that, babes, you could at least buy me dinner first."

Your face wrinkled as you tilted your head at him. Betelgeuse still held himself curled and closed off, but he wore a weak crooked smile. Your lips twitched, and you huffed out a dry laugh.

"Alright, we can go through the drive thru to get a few things off the dollar menu."

"Ooh! I wanna try one of those green sludgy shake things from that Old MacDonald place."

"Sorry to break this to you, but they only sell those in March."

"What? That's lame!"

"Everything is pumpkin spice right now."

He pouted and crossed his arms with a huff. Despite the childish act, the purple in his hair faded back to a muted green. You chuckled to yourself as relief washed over you. With a soft smile, you grabbed the other half of your lunch and hummed before you opened it.

"Hey Beetle."

"Hmm?"

"I won't bring it up again if you don't want me to, but I wanted to say I think your chameleon hair is pretty cool. Like, is it magic? Or is it a demon thing? Or—sorry. I'm sorry. I'll shut up about it now. Sorry."

Your eyes darted to focus on your granola bar. You fumbled with tearing open the packaging for a second, only for the wrapper to give. The force sent your food tumbling to the ground. You stared at the broken bar and heaved out a sigh. Just wonderful.

Your pocket buzzed, veering your attention to it. You pulled out your phone and checked the caller id. Unknown number. Chills cascaded down as you stared at the phone.

"Something wrong, babes?"

"Nope. Everything's fine. Just some spam call."

You shoved it back into your pocket and let it ring. If the caller wanted anything, they can leave a voicemail. Besides, you needed to get back to work.

You picked up your trash and nodded your head to the gate. Betelgeuse hopped up and floated alongside you. After a few steps out of the cemetery, your phone rang again. Every fiber in you tensed up, but you left your phone in your pocket. The third time your phone rang, Betelgeuse spoke up again.

"Who the hell keeps calling you?"

You shrugged and laughed despite your dry throat. "Who knows? I have to get back to work though."

With a hurried pace, you made it back to the store in a few minutes. The bell swung, chiming away as you beeline for your apron behind the counter. Brandon stood at the register with a phone up to his ear.

"There you are, Art! I've been calling you and you never once answered!" Brandon frowned at you and slipped his phone into his pants pocket. "You're obligated to pick up if I or Mr. Turner ever need to call you."

"O-oh, that was you calling." A small breath escapes passed your lips and you relax, only to register what he said. "Wait, how did you even get my number? I've only ever given this number to Sam and Mr. Turner."

"Why does it matter how I got your number? The issue is; if work calls you, especially if you have a shift that day, you need to answer."

"Fine, okay. I'll save your number so I don't panic again when I'm called three times in a row."

"Oh please, three phone calls make you panic? Artemis, you're an adult. You should know better than to be worried about something as simple as a phone call."

You grit your teeth and smiled. This conversation wasn't going anywhere you wanted, and you didn't plan on sticking around. You threw on your apron and marched to a far corner of the store to get away from everyone. Well, save for the ghost haunting you.

"Wow, babes, that guy is a major piece of work."

"Piece of shit is more like it."

You grabbed at products on the shelf and pulled them forward, turning the labels when needed. If you looked busy, maybe Brandon would mind his own fucking business. You clenched your jaw and growled as you brought more things forward.

"I shouldn't be worried about phone calls? What the fuck does he know? He's never had to put up with the shit I have!"

"And what shit would that be, babes?"

You glanced up to the ghost laying on his stomach across the top of the aisle shelving. Betelgeuse tilted his head. Soft and earnest curiosity graced his features. The corner of your mouth twitched before you closed your eyes and let out a hiss.

"I don't want to get into it," you said, keeping your voice quiet, "but I've had someone call me over and over before. It wasn't fun."

You pulled the rest of the items forward within arm's reach before sidestepping to get more. Betelgeuse floated after you as you inched down the aisle. He picked the games back up, and you welcomed the distraction.

There were one or two rounds of I spy, several goes at twenty questions—which you're positive Betelgeuse cheated and switched his topic multiple times. Towards the end of your shift, well after Brandon left for the day, you two asked a few "would you rather" questions. While he asked a few risque questions at the start—bite or be bitten, top or bottom—his questions took a tamer turn, similar to the ones you asked.

"Okay babe, would you rather find a rat in the kitchen or a roach in your bed?"

"I mean... I guess I'd prefer seeing another rat in the kitchen over finding more roaches?"

"M-more?"

"Donna hires her incompetent nephew to do the pest control for the apartments." You swept the line of dirt into the pan and tossed it into the trash. "Actually, speaking of, I should double check the traps and make sure something isn't rotting somewhere in the apartment."

Betelgeuse watched you finish the last of the closing routine. You clicked the pan back around the neck of the broom and stuffed it into a corner behind the counter. The only thing left was Mr. Turner to finish locking up the cash and heading out. You leaned against the counter and rolled your head back to look at the ceiling.

A quiet stillness overtook the store. It lasted a few seconds before Betelgeuse spoke up again.

"Would you rather have a nicer place but the same landlady, or the same apartment with a nicer landlady—"

"Alright Cass, you ready to leave?"

You turned your attention from the unseen ghost to your boss. He smiled and gestured to the door. You returned a half smile before exiting. Mr. Turner locked up, and you waved goodbye. A minute later you sank into the car seat and rested your hands on the wheel.

"Well babes, this certainly seems familiar."

You glanced his way and rolled your eyes before getting the car started.

"Yep, it's been an entire day since a demon followed my home, like a lost puppy."

"I'm way cuter than any puppy. Plus, you can keep me in your apartment all you want and your shitty landlady can't do anything about it!"

"Nicer landlady, by the way," you said as the car sputtered to life.

"What?"

"I'd rather have a nicer landlady than a nicer place. Donna would just let a nicer place fall to ruin."

You pulled out of the parking lot and drove home. At the first red light, you tapped your finger on the wheel and hummed.

"Hey Beetle, would you rather stay in a comfortable and familiar place with people that don't believe half of what you say, or cut all contact with them and be alone if it meant freedom?"

Betelgeuse tilted his head from one side to the other, closing his eyes as he mulled over your question. As he thought, the light changed, and you continued on your way home. A sharp grin stretched across his face a moment later.

"Easy. I'd take my freedom."

Your lips twitched up. "Yeah... me too."

[deadmegumi]

literally going insane thinking about the twow jon + nightfort theory in my brain... coming back from the dead and just absolutely unhinged, waking up in a castle finding that the men who conspired against him, murdered him, fled to escape justice but cant escape his wrath. white haired and red eyed and half rotting and alive again but not fully human. still half a wolf and half a wildling but at this point more wolf than man, a beastling and a warg and another dead boy king. part lady stoneheart (bent on revenge) and part lightning lord of corpses (dwelling on what he scarcely remembers). chasing the betrayers to the nightfort and continuing its gory legacy fulfilling the promise of the wall wrought in blood. when he tears out bowen marsh's throat with his teeth then u will SEE. i am manifesting please be quiet

[wondernimbus]

broken people — george weasley

pairing: george weasley x female!reader

prompt: Hi! First of all I love your work, you hit me right in the feels every time. If your requests aren’t open that’s fine, but I can’t get the idea of reader somehow getting her memory wiped by Voldemort and George tries so hard to get it back. Lots of angst and you can decide the ending! Again sorry to bother you if it’s to much. Sending love xx

a/n: i didn't want this to get too long so the ending is kind of unresolved n sad :0  might write a pt 2

requests are open. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

The fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

George has it memorized by now.

The long-term spell damage ward.

When the metal doors clang open and he finds himself standing at the end of the long hallway, he pauses, for a moment, inside of the lift. Takes a few brief seconds to take all of it in as he has done every day for the past six months: the bare white walls on either side of the hall, the benches outside of each door that are usually left unoccupied save for the occasional visitor every two weeks or so—because this is the ward for long-term patients; people who live here, have lived here ever since whatever horrible thing happened to them, waiting for life to somehow go back to normal despite the sheer hopelessness of it all. And these benches are left unoccupied for a reason: that being life moves on, and families and friends have to let go eventually. And these patients are left to rot here waiting for a cure that won’t come.

But of course no one puts it that way, and they call it the long-term ward instead of the "forever damned" ward, because that doesn't sound all too optimistic, does it? Long-term instead of practically dead.

Today, George brings two sandwiches if only for the sake of positivity. His mum had insisted. It’s a feeble attempt to convince him that today is somehow special, that it’s the day he’s been waiting for for so long. That she will wake up today and they’ll eat these bloody sandwiches together.

But what are the chances?

George makes the familiar trek down the hallway. He takes a left turn, then a right, greeting the Healers who know him by name. He’s been coming here everyday for six months without fail, even if it’s only to catch a brief glimpse of her, even if the larger part of him knows she isn’t likely to wake up any time soon. So of course the Healers know him, and he them. George says his hellos to the other patients, too, as he passes by the recreation room.

A seven-year-old girl hops out of an open doorway just as he passes by. It only takes him a brief moment of surprise before he grins and says, “Hello, Aimee,” he crouches down so that he’s eye-level with her. “You look very pretty today.”

Aimee smiles widely back at him, twirling around in her little hospital gown. George lets out a quiet laugh and meets the eyes of a frazzled-looking healer who appears at the end of the hallway and immediately seems to calm down upon seeing Aimee.

“Did you wander away again, Aimee?” scolds George playfully.

She smiles bashfully, nodding, and George's heart aches a little as he wonders, not for the first time since he'd come across her, what her voice sounds like. Something like Ginny’s, back when she was this small, probably.

Aimee was cursed to feel pain every time she uttered a word—George had learned this a few months ago from one of the Healers—so he has never heard her voice. And given the circumstances, he’d rather not.

He remembers the paper bag in his hands. "She might wake up today," his mother had told him. The sad look in her eyes didn't go amiss.

George hadn't had the heart to tell her that it wasn't likely, but he took the damn sandwiches anyway.

Now, he takes one of the sandwiches out of his paper bag and holds it out to her. Beaming, she takes it, hugging him as thanks, and disappears down the hall with the healer trailing after her.

What are the chances, after all?

He continues on his way to her room. George has these walls memorized by now, could find his way to her with his eyes closed.

But something is different today.

George pauses just as he rounds the corner and spots them: the group of Healers huddled around the door, peering in or speaking amongst themselves, and when they notice George heading toward them, they all pause—and the sight would have been funny if George wasn't so stunned.

And at that moment he feels something he hadn't felt in much too long—feels something like hope flood him for the first time in six months.

What are the chances?

—

[Y/N]'s life begins again in a hospital ward.

The fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the middle-aged lady with the blond hair tells her. The long-term spell damage ward.

She is a Healer. And she is here to help.

But why?

How are you feeling? Fine.

Do you know why you're here? No. I'm sorry.

Six months ago, there was a war. You were taken captive and tortured for information. The strain of it.. took a toll on your brain. You have been unconscious ever since. I don't understand.

That's fine. Can you tell me if you remember anything? I.. I don't know. no. I don't know my name—why don't I know my own name?

It's alright, honey. It's alright. Calm down.

"They told me she was awake." Another voice. [Y/N]'s head snaps up; in the doorway there is a man—no, a boy, with red hair and eyes that are wet and wide with shock and something—something else that she can't quite place.

[Y/N] stares at him and feels an inexplicable pang go through her chest—hears a far-off echo inside of her head, a whisper of a name, something. But it slips farther and farther away the more she tries to grab at it, that tiny, tiny semblance of recognition, and for some reason this makes her anxious—it makes her panic. She edges farther along her bed until her back hits the wall, putting as much space as possible between her and the Healer and this boy in the doorway as she buries her head in her hands, fingers clawing at her ears as though to block everything out—

"I don't know my name,” she whispers. “I don't know any of you—"

Another Healer appears in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Healer Paige, he was insisting—"

"That's quite alright. Please leave the room, Mr. Weasley."

"I'm not leaving until I—"

"Mr. Weasley." The blond Healer—no, Healer Paige's voice is stern, but there's an undeniable sense of sympathy. "Please exit the room quietly."

The boy with the red hair steps forward, striding towards her, but the other Healer holds him back by the arm. "Let go of me, I need to—"

"Mr. Weasley—"

"What’s wrong? Why can't I talk to her?"

[Y/N] curls in further into herself, head bowed as she hunches over into a ball, whimpering something that sounds like get out of my head.

"We're facing.. some unexpected symptoms. We will explain as soon as we can, but for now you need to leave."

"What the bloody hell does that even mean?"

"Please escort him out of the room. It would be best for you to come back tomorrow."

Get out get out get out.

"[Y/N]?"

[Y/N]. She stills. Feels something inside her head, like a lightbulb flickering to life. Dim and weak and barely enough to shed light on the dark, empty recesses of her brain, but it's still there. And she hangs onto it.

She looks up, straight at the boy with the red hair. His eyes are frustrated, but they soften the second they meet hers.

"[Y/N]," she repeats, heart pounding erratically inside of her chest like it knows she’s edging closer and closer to something important. "Is that my name?”

—

My name is [Y/N]. Six months ago I was tortured and lost all of my memories. I am twenty years old but I have no recollection of what happened in all of those twenty years.

All I know is that my name is [Y/N], and for now I will start from there.

The next morning consists of a flurry of Healers coming through the door running tests and figuring out what the bloody hell went wrong with her. [Y/N] sits on the edge of her bed, feeling oddly numb, only speaking when she is spoken to.

She has her own questions: who is her family? Where is she from? Why was she tortured, and for what kind of information? Will she ever get her memories back? Should she want to get her memories back?

But hours pass by and none of her questions ever make it past her lips. When all of the Healers filter out of the room and Healer Paige is the only one left, [Y/N] clutches her pillow to her chest, fingers digging into it the same way they have been for the past few hours.

And only then does she look up, eyes filling up with tears, and goes—"Am I going to be okay?"

The sympathy in Healer Paige's eyes shines clear as day. After a moment's hesitation, she nods. "It's highly unlikely that you'll ever get your memories back, but I encourage you to be.. open-minded.

"Your family is outside. They've been waiting to see you. I know it will be strange, but—they are still your family. And they still love you, even though you don't quite know them, or at least not yet. I ask you to be brave."

Her family. [Y/N] inhales sharply, a crease forming in between her brows. How odd would it be for her parents to see her and to realize that the girl before them is a mere shell of their daughter?

Moments later, a man, a woman, and a little boy appear in the doorway.

Her family.

Hesitant greetings are made. [Y/N] may have lost her memories but she isn't blind to the way all of these people are looking at her—so terribly sad, and each time they meet her eyes it's like they're trying to gauge a memory out of her. Pleading with her to remember.

And [Y/N] wants to—she really does. But all she can offer them is a small smile and a quiet "how are you". When the woman—her mother—excuses herself and leaves the room, obviously in tears, [Y/N] sits there feeling so utterly out of place, wondering if she should comfort her.

But she can't even meet their eyes without feeling awkward—without feeling like she's doing something wrong—so when they all leave, [Y/N] slides back under her covers, brows furrowed, trying so hard to remember, to find their faces in the massive hole of her memory.

But she doesn't. She can't. She feels like she should be crying, but what is there to cry about?

Everything that she lost.. she can't mourn them, can't cry for them, because she just doesn't remember. And so she is left to lay there, staring up at the ceiling, searching the dark void inside her head for even the smallest glimmer of light.

Needless to say, her efforts are to no avail.

—

Visitors aren't allowed.

George stands in the lobby of St. Mungo's, staring at the man behind the counter. Ben—they know each other by now.

"But they told me to come back today," he says, throat feeling oddly tight, but he forces out a small laugh to mask it. "I'm supposed to see her today."

"I'm sorry, George. It's what her Healers said—but if you want, Healer Paige is on duty. You can go up there and talk to her yourself, if you have any questions."

So that's what George does: he takes the familiar journey to the lift, and to the fourth floor, and then to Healer Paige's office.

She tells him [Y/N] has already seen her family today, and it wouldn't be wise to overwhelm her with other people. George sits in front of the desk, brows furrowed.

"But it's better to get started as soon as possible, isn't it?" he asks, voice still constricted the same way it has been this entire morning, like there's a lump stuck in his throat. "So that she can remember faster."

The resigned look in Healer Paige's eyes fills George with dread. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley."

When George walks through the doors of the still closed joke shop, it's only then that everything he has been trying to hold inside bursts out of him and he finds himself sinking to his knees at the threshold, much to the shock of his twin brother, who rushes at him asking questions that he doesn't want to answer. All he does is sob out barely coherent words—she doesn't remember anything, she doesn't even know who I am, I was supposed to ask her to marry me.

How cruel is it, and how ironic, that after six whole excruciating months of waiting and waiting and waiting, she wakes up, finally, just as George had hoped for, but this is what the universe gives him?

It's not fair that he remembers everything. It's not fair that George remembers how they met, how they first kissed, how much they loved. It's not fair that he knows all of her little quirks, has memorized the sound of her laugh and the planes of her face and the tiny moles all over her body that he always used to compare to constellations, and [Y/N] doesn't even know his name.

She is suffering from severe memory loss, Healer Paige had told him. Mr. Weasley, this kind of damage is irreversible. I'm truly sorry, but it's highly unlikely that she will ever get her memories back.

They were strangers, once. And then friends, and then lovers, and at this point in time they're supposed to be bloody engaged, like George had planned, but it appears they are nothing more than strangers again.

And it's not fair. None of it is.

But George isn't going to give up. He's loved her for far too long—is letting go really an option?

He can start all over again. He's going to find love with her again, and sure, he'd be starting off with a clean slate—he'd be scrapping all the nine years they'd spent with each other—but he doesn't have a choice, does he?

So George wipes the tears off of his face and picks himself up off the floor. He's still so frustrated and he wants to scream until his throat his hoarse, wants to run until his entire body is on fire so he can feel something that could drown out the suffocating pain in his chest.

But back in St. Mungo's, [Y/N] is alone and sitting on her hospital bed, undoubtedly feeling lost and confused and perhaps even worse than George—what would it feel like to wake up knowing absolutely nothing, after all?—and it's the mental image of that that gives George the motivation to move, and he shrugs off Fred and walks up to his and [Y/N]'s shared flat above the shop. There he slams open drawers and rifles through photo albums until he finds what he's looking for—photographs of her, of her friends and family and everything she has forgotten.

And of her and George. He pauses at these ones, feels a dull, aching pang go through his chest.

He's waited for six months. Maybe he can wait a little longer.

—

My name is [Y/N]. I am twenty years old and six months ago I was tortured and lost all of my memories. My parents are Lisa and Patrick. I have a six-year-old brother named Leo.

[Y/N] writes all of this down on the journal that Healer Paige gave her. A way to keep track of everything, apparently.

Baby steps, she'd told [Y/N]. We'll take it nice and slow, build everything back up again from scratch.

[Y/N] walks around the hospital early the next morning, when the only source of light is the one that comes from the bulbs overhead and the sky is dark beyond the windows. Here she walks around the hallways, thinking of nothing in particular, just—walking.

And it’s nice, letting herself bask in the silence around her. Healer Paige is patient and understanding, but [Y/N] doesn’t quite fancy being reminded of her condition every few minutes or so. Here [Y/N] can stop trying to remember. Here she can listen to the sound of her feet against the ground as she treads the cold floor, safe to just walk and worry about nothing more.

That same morning, her family doesn’t come to visit her again. Healer Paige says they have strict visiting hours, and [Y/N] hopes that relief didn't show too much on her face.

The Healers run a few more tests. Ask a few more questions. Halfway through the day, they allow her to go to the recreation room, where the other patients are.

Broken people, she thinks to herself. Just like me.

She meets a man cursed to lose his memory every five minutes. A little boy with legs that are permanently tap-dancing. A seven-year-old girl named Aimee who, according to one of the healers, feels severe pain whenever she speaks.

And it’s a little sad, to see all of these perfectly normal people save for whatever kind of long-term ailment it is that they’re suffering from, confined inside the hospital walls because they just aren’t normal enough.

[Y/N] fits in right along with them.

She can’t sleep at all that night, so at one point, when the hospital is completely silent, she leaves her room again.

But the hallway isn’t empty. There is someone laying down on the bench outside of her room. Someone with red hair.

[Y/N] pauses in the doorframe. He’s asleep, curled up into a little ball, which is a funny sight considering he’s so tall.

She remembers him from two days ago. Mr. Weasley, they’d called him. And she remembers the look in his eyes when she first spoke to him—when she asked him if [Y/N] was her name: that look of disbelief, of pain, like something inside him had broken.

She steps closer towards his sleeping figure. He shifts just slightly in his sleep, presumably to try to be more comfortable, but [Y/N] imagines that the plastic digging into his back doesn’t exactly feel extremely cozy.

[Y/N] swallows. Feels that same dull ache in her heart all over again—the same one she got when she first laid eyes on him. She finds herself crouching down to look at him properly; the red hair that falls over his eyes, the freckles across his nose, the swell of his lips.

”Who are you?” she whispers quietly, more to herself than to anyone.

Without her even realizing, she has reached out with one hand to touch the side of his cheek. Her fingertips graze his skin, a mere ghostly touch, and her breath catches in her throat when his eyelids flutter open and all of a sudden they are staring at each other, [Y/E/C] meeting brown, and [Y/N] makes to pull back, feeling like she’s been caught in the act, but he just reaches up with one hand and grabs her wrist, holding her in place.

She stares, frozen.

—

When George opens his eyes again, for a moment, he thinks he is dreaming.

[Y/N] is in front of him, eyes wide, hair framing her face. He feels like reaching up and cupping her cheek—he feels like pulling her in close and pressing his lips to hers, as he has yearned to do for so bloody long, but he can’t. He can’t.

But this—he can have this, for now, this tiny moment of pretend. For these few brief seconds, George holds her gaze in his and allows himself to believe that everything is as it has always been.

For now, when the two of them are alone and the entire hospital is quiet and the sun hasn’t yet risen, George pretends that [Y/N] still loves him.

But then she is tugging her wrist out of his grasp, cheeks a blazing shade of red, and hurriedly apologizes before disappearing inside of her room again.

George sits up slowly, and there’s a sad little smile on his face—and then his lips are twisting and he’s crying again, burying his head in his hands and sobbing at bloody two in the morning.

It’s like she’s being dangled in front of him, and she is close but at the same time so far away from reach.

He clamps his hands over his mouth, not wanting [Y/N] to hear. He doesn’t want to burden her with something that isn’t her fault. He doesn’t want her to feel any more pain.

Even if it’s at the cost of his.

taglist:  @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt

[ac3id]

pairings: shigaraki tomura x female reader

warnings: nsfw, dubcon, captivity, yandere shiggs, mention of death, shiggs is a meanie, dumbification if ya squit.

a/n: im so glad someone requested this!! i will litereally never shut up about man also!! shigaraki is beefed up in this cus that man finna get permanent residency in my head

word count. 1557

Imagine: Shigaraki taking the small, cute little pathetic nurse of the hospital he hijacked as his darling. 

It takes some time for him to find you tolerable. At first, he absolutely loathes you; you’re always crying over the littlest things, always painting him to be the bad guy and you even refuse to give treatment to his men. And honestly, that pisses him off the most. You’re completely brainwashed by society. What do you mean you won’t help men like ‘him’? Are you that superior? You get to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? Are his men not humans? He hates you. If it weren’t for the situation he had faced himself in, he would have decayed you in the blink of an eye. But now after a failed mission and a lot of casualties on his side, he needed your quirk.  

When he kidnaps you, finally, it’s not because he loves you and wants to take care of you. No. It’s because he wants to torture you- literally. He’s so sick of your hot-headedness, so sick of your ideals- how you still think heroes will come to save you from those nefarious villains. Shigaraki wants to break you, show you how pathetic you really are. And so he does. 

One day he just gets so tired of your antics, you’re ignoring him- something you find yourself doing very often these days. You isolate yourself from him and everyone. You run to a storage room and hide, your knees pressed to your chest and head held down. You sniffle into your knees, you never wanted this happen. What did I do to this deserve this? When would the heroes come? You chanted to yourself. Deep down, you knew Shigaraki was right but you didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe that the world was so hollow and even if it was, you’d choose to ignore it. You’d live your life the way you want to and believe in that devil’s words. You’d- 

The door slams open, a big angry looking Shigaraki stands in the there, his eyes fuming with murderous intent. He rushes towards and wastes no time in clasping his big, sturdy hands around your petite neck and you pulling you up. He squeezes around it and choking noises fills the room, your hands automatically wrap around his trying to push him off but it’s all in vain. He’s too strong and you’re too dumb. You let out choked pleads, begging him to let you go and that you’ll help him. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you cause he needed you, you believed that he’d-

“If you’re thinking that I won’t kill you right this instant. You are wrong. I will take away your quirk for myself and leave you here to bite the dust. Don’t test me.”

He drops you to the floor, you rub your neck and try to collect yourself. He looks down at you, the way your tremble reminds him of a puppy who’s been kicked. He smiles to himself, he crouches down and grabs the collar of your shirt, pulling you closer to him. “I don’t like being mean to a pretty little thing like you,” he confesses and your eyebrows knit together. Why is he talking to you like this? 

“Use your dumb little head, okay? Listen to me.” His hold from your collar disappears and he stands back to his full height hovering over, you looked like an ant under and he looked like monster. You look up at him with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes- he’s the predator and you’re the prey. There’s no denying it. You were stupid for choosing not to submit to him before but now, you know he’s not the one to show mercy. He’s going to give you one chance you better not disappoint him. 

You started to obey him after he had threatened you, knowing full well he’d take your quirk and kill you the very next second. You did not want to challenge or anger him. It’s for my own survival, you tell yourself. You help his men, you sit, biting back your urge to hit Dabi as you tend to his wounds while he throws obscene remarks of what he’d do to a girl like you or how you have to stop your self from throwing up as you listen to Toga explain in detail about what she wants to this boy she’s crushing on. It’s hard work. Spinner and Mr. Compress were a little better but considering the fact that they come back to you after murdering innocents. It surely manages to you up at night.

It doesn’t take long for Shigaraki to develop a soft spot for you, he likes this new you. You are submissive, you listen to him. He finally managed to put you in your place. 

You did not think about those heroes anymore, did you? 

Ridiculously, he finds a friend in you, both of you start talking. You talk about your day with him he tells you about his, you drink together and as much as you shouldn’t; you find yourself enjoying your time with the league. 

You come to understand them and you forget that you’re being held, hostage. Call it Stockholm syndrome but you didn’t care. The newfound joy lasts but all things must end.

The calm before the storm: Shigaraki suddenly finds himself falling for you, your shy habits- how you’d twirl your hair when you got nervous or chewed on your lip while concentrating. How your cheeks stained pink in your intoxicated state. He noticed everything, he didn’t want to believe he was falling for but the way butterflies that danced around in his stomach when your finger grazed over his, how his mood turned better when you entered the room. The signs were obvious. He was in love 

He thought he’d tell you about his feelings for you before they left the hospital, all his men had recovered wonderfully courtesy to you. You’d flee with him and the both of you would be happy together forever a perfect ending for a new beginning. He confesses his love to you two days before his departure, he tells you how he wants to spend his life with you, how he thinks you’re the one but to his dismay. You don’t feel the same.

It breaks his heart into pieces, he can’t believe what he just heard. You’re kidding, right? You love him the way he loves you. Right? 

No? No. 

He’s pissed. Needless to say, even though you rejected his proposal, he still takes you along. He locks you in one of the many rooms of the PLF mansion. The only person you can see is him, he spends hours trying to make you understand why you needed him but you don’t budge. It’s like starting all over again. He is kind at the beginning but as days go by and his frustrations increase he just ends up using you like his fuckhole, bending you over whenever he wants and fucking your brains out. Shoving his cock down your throat, leaving you a quivering mess.

If you refuse or hesitate, he’d threaten you. He’ll take away your quirk and chop your legs and arms clean and leave you to rot. He’s done it before (you recall the incident with Overhaul). It leaves you no choice but to listen to him.  He wins all the time.

“Faster,” Shigaraki grunts. He has your wrists tied behind your back, his fingers tugging on your nipples, hard grinning at how your face confronts in pain. “Come on, whore. I know you can do better than this” he says staring at how your tiny cunt takes his huge cock. He was mesmerized, the way your walls wrapped around his girth. It was obviously too much for you, you could barely keep. The way your tongue lolled out of your mouth and eyes crosses, it was given. 

Unable to form responses you only whined in protest, hoping Shigaraki would take it easy on you but he just laughed. “What are you saying, my dumb little baby?” he asked in a condescending voice. It made you feel pathetic, he treated you like a pet who couldn’t for look after herself. It drove you mad that you couldn’t do anything about it, his hand snakes around your neck holding it firmly you stop moving on his dick. Keeping it settled warmly in your hole he pulls you down, his lips level with your ear. “Do it properly, my love,” you cringe internally at the nickname- a second ago he was calling you a whore. “If you don’t, I’ll take quirk,” your face pales, you couldn’t lose your quirk. It was all you had. “Please...Don’t do that. It’s all I have.” your voice cracks and tears roll to your cheeks, “It’s okay, baby. Just do it again. Be better this time,” he coos his hand patting your back as he restrains himself from thrusting into you, he lets you go and you start rocking your hips again trying to satisfy him, he grips your waist tightly; it would leave marks later. 

Shigaraki stares at you sleeping next to him, after a tiring session you were finally getting well deserved rest. You had obeyed him beautifully today, he wondered how long would it take before you realized that; it wasn’t your quirk which was all you had left. It was him.  

feedback is greatly appreciated!! 

<taglist!!dm us if ya wanna get added or removed !!!>

@mylovelyreblogs @amahzing004 @thoughtfulpandazine2 @the-one-who-ate-god @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love   @annimalq @reader-stash @rcjackie @leeladebris @expn @vocaloidinlove @edgycactus @neon-tries-writing @shiggydiggydicked @yandereguysgalsandmonsterpals @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @chxrryvibes @yanderesmemory @purple-rabanito @amajikistan99 @the-grimm-writer @n4dhii @imkumichan  @akura-ous-lady @dabicakes @leeknowstoomuch @nereida19 @sahrafinee @uwubba @anime-girl-nikki @rekoii @badtimechara @peachyashell @weirdr-artiest @prince-zukohere @deliciousstar @murderfesto  @mltcp  @alunafort  @mrsllawliet  @supernaturaldreamergirl1130  @hawkgirl27845  @fannegirl @expn​ @the-official-yeehaw​

[ssson-of-sparda]

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - PART 2 (DANTE X FEM!READER)

Summary: When Dante shows up, Patty finally learns how things ended between Y/N and him but that's not the kind of ending she likes. (Part 5 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Tags: Dante is Tony Redgrave / Love / Angst / Blood and Gore / Minor Character Death / Violence

Author’s note: This is the end! I hope you enjoyed this fan fiction as much as I enjoyed writing it. I can't wait to read your thoughts about it. Is it the end you expected? How did you imagine it? Tell me everything. I'm all ears

Patty dared peeping from above the headrest of the couch when the woman opened the door, definitely curious to see the two adults’ reactions when they would finally see each other – though she still feared Dante’s wrath a little.                 But when she finally saw them face-to-face, this couple she had been imagining – and rooting for - for weeks, she didn’t care about her friend’s anger or disappointment - He would definitely thank her later - . They looked so perfect, like coming from an episode of one of those telenovelas she loved so much. Dante was towering Y/N perfectly and she was so pretty. And the lighting.  Gosh “Like a scene from a movie.” She sighed. If only she could read their minds right now.      “There you are, young lady!” Dante declared with a menacing finger as he entered the house            “Hi Dante! What are you doing here?” Patty tried to play innocent but there was something in her voice that couldn’t fool Dante. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never thought this annoying little brat would dare come here … or steal my stuff.”  “That’s alright, Dante. We were having fun actually. And at least, that girl dared visit me … unlike someone else.” Dante definitely felt that sting and he knew he deserved it. “How long has it been?” “A while.” He said, pretending to be casual even though he had the right amount of years and months in mind. “And this day never happened. Come on, Patty. Let’s go.”             No, no, no. This couldn’t end like that. Patty thought. Not after all this time. “Can I at least finish my tea please?”                  “ I’ll buy you a tea on the way back to Red Grave. Let’s go!” Dante insisted as he came closer to the girl to grab her by the arm and drag her away from Y/N’s place as fast as possible. “Right. Like I’m going to believe you. You never buy me anything, even when you owe me.” Y/N smiled while Dante sighed deeply. “Damn it.”                  “ Plus, you still owe me a trip to the beach.”   “ Alright. I’ll take you to the beach. You happy? Now let’s go.” He tried to pull her from the sofa but the girl resisted.             “ Or … you can let Y/N finish her story.” Patty suggested. Dante glanced at Y/N whom he hadn’t seen go to the kitchen to prepare him a strawberry sundae. “Actually I’d prefer that. Y/N can you continue your story, please?”   “ Well, maybe Dante can tell you so that you can finally erase his tab while I’m making this devil a strawberry sundae. Topped with a cherry and two pink wafers, is that it?”           “I don’t know. You’re the pro.” He had a faint smile at her that Patty noticed and beamed at. About time. “Where did you stop you damn story?”

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - Part 2

Dante was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, a magazine covering his face while he was listening to some good old school metal on the jukebox he had just acquired when the damn machine starting to sizzle and shake. “You gotta be kidding me.” Dante complained and, with a deep sigh, got up from his chair to kick the jukebox like Y/N had once taught him. “Funny how those machines always need a good kick to work.”          When he thought of his beloved girlfriend and realised how late it was, he wondered how the hell she had not arrived yet. It was very dark outside and the clock was striking one. The restaurant should be closed by now and Y/N should have been in his arms at least an hour ago, naked preferably.

Not sure Patty needs to know that.

Worry tied Dante’s stomach in a knot in spite of his sleepy brain screaming at him not to be paranoid. “Relax, Dante. She’s probably helping clean the kitchen or something”, he told himself     And yet, tired of repeating this sentence over and over again in his head, he decided to grab his coat and head to the diner. Better be paranoid and look like fool rather than wait here and worry one more second. Plus, he had waited long enough already and he had made a fool of himself in front of Y/N more than once. So what was one more time, huh?

But when Dante arrived at the restaurant and found it empty and dark, he wished he looked like a paranoid fool. But he was not paranoid and he was not a fool. He was terrified and alert in ways he hadn’t been for years. “Please be okay.” He whispered as he entered the place, feeling once again like a little boy hidden in a cupboard, crying for mommy and his brother. A ghastly feeling for someone who had spent years burying his past deep in his armoured heart as a promise … a dying wish.

Dante climbed the stairs quickly, very quickly and yet not quickly enough to his taste, only to stop and freeze at the sight and smell of warm blood on the wooden floor. But there was not just iron and salt flowing to his nostrils, there was this stench, rotting and disgusting, a stench only his demon sense could pick but that would soon be unbearable for humans too, he was sure of it. The stench of decaying corpses.

The son of Sparda never really liked Y/N’s parents. He actually lost almost all sort of respect for them the second they insulted him and made him understand they would never approve of him or of his relationship with their precious daughter. But when he saw them both, drenched in blood and completely ripped apart, their broken bodies lying on the floor of in their bedroom, he couldn’t help but feel sadness and compassion especially for the woman who was standing in the corner of the room, petrified and in tears, her small feminine frame strongly hold in a demonic grip. A nightmarish vision that had been scaring Dante for too long.               “Took you long enough… Son of Sparda.” The demon said with a calm and yet menacing cavernous voice that would make anyone tremble in fear. But that wasn’t the sound of his voice that made Dante afraid – because yes he was afraid –

You? Afraid? Rrr, shut up!

It was the sight of the woman he loved so close to that monster’s sharp claws.           The half-demon squinted at the devil before him, at his cloaked silhouette hidden in the darkness, trying to hide his fear, turning it into a nonchalant and over-confident mask he knew how to wear better than anything else (except his red leather jacket) but that somehow didn’t look as convincing as usual. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy, pal. Sparda may have a son. But that's not me.”          “Tony, what’s going on?” Y/N’s voice was shaking just like the rest of her body.            “It’s alright, baby. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.” He had too.        “You can try and pretend to be someone else. But I know who you are. Dante, Son of Sparda. And soon, your blood will flow for what your father did to my master.” Usually, that same old routine would have made Dante scoff and slice that creature in two for he was used to demons coming at him with pathetic threats and silly villain monologues. But today, what was at stake was simply way too important for impulsiveness.           “And who would that master be?”         “The one true king of the underworld. Mundus.”

Dante had heard that name before, long ago, in something that was now a long-time memory. Mundus was the villain of his favourite bedtime story, the one his father would always tell him and Vergil before going to sleep, when they were nothing but kids tucked in their beds.            Mundus. He remembered how that name would make him fidget and jump in anticipation and how his big brother in the bed under his would always kick him through the mattress to make him stop wriggling like a hyperactive goldfish out of water.            Mundus, the so-called Prince of Darkness Sparda had cast away and locked in the underworld a long long time ago to free the human world from his diabolical tyranny. Never thought he would have ever heard about him in another context though.

“Oh. That dude. Thought he would be dead by now… like you soon will be”    “Cocky, just like that filthy betrayer Sparda.” The demon smiled, showing short pointy black fangs that yet shone in the dim moonlight. “And in love with a human, just like he was. It would be a shame …” He grabbed a strand of Y/N’s (colour) hair to toy with it with a vicious smirk, making the young woman shiver even more. “… if something were to happen to her the same way something happened to your slut mother” Dante felt his jaw clench tight and his nails pierce the flesh of his palms. The rage, it was slowly yet surely eating at him.               “Don’t you dare talk about my mother! And don’t you dare lay even just a finger on Y/N!” Dante growled, not realising he had just given his identity up. But the black demon did and with a satisfied smile, he cupped Y/N’s face in between his vile sharp claws to burry his long nose in Dante lover’s soft hair and smell her human perfume that was oh so exquisite to him. An intended provocation and an effective one.      “How chivalrous! How noble! I’m sure your father would have said the same thing…” Dante frowned and clenched his fists even tighter, trying to stay put and in control, trying desperately to resist the powerful will to pounce on that demon and impale him on his sword and spill his guts on the floor. He knew he had too because he knew that the reaction he thought so much about was exactly what that monster wanted.           He was trying to infuriate him, to make him reckless and stop thinking rationally so that he would have him at a possible advantage when he let his rage have the best of him. Provocation at its finest. A strategy Dante knew all about. “… had he been here when I and my fellow demons tore her apart.” Yes, he knew all about it and yet... “Mundus says farewell, hybrid filth.” He suddenly stopped caring about what he knew.

Dante jumped and with a scream, unsheathed his sword to slash the arm that was holding Y/N. An impulsive move, a mistake he realised only too late, when the demon pierced the soft neck of the one he loved the most with his sharp claws in an attempt to protect himself from the demonic blade.       Everything went so quick to Y/N and yet so slow to Dante. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even have time to realise what was going on or to process the sudden pain. She only understood something was wrong when her body hit the floor and she saw Dante’s icy blue eyes widen and stare at her in horror. Then she felt the blood, her blood she was quite certain of it, running along her pale skin covering it in shades of dark red.                   Dante screamed like never before, like no human could, so loud the walls trembled and the demon slightly bowed down in fear. He screamed with an anger, a rage he didn’t know he was capable of, something so deep and passionate he never thought was in him. Something fiery … something … demonic. It felt like his skin was burning, like there was a ravaging fire spreading, growing in his body, menacing to burst, to combust him. And it almost did. It almost did but it stopped just when Rebellion sliced the head of the demon open, spilling his brains and his blood on the walls behind him.   Then, there was a relief that all this was over. The fight. The fire. The fear…  No not the fear!

“Y/N” Dante ran to her and quickly pressed her body against his. His hand found her neck to apply pressure on her bloody wound. She was barely conscious but she was still with him. “I’m so sorry, baby. Hold on, I got you.” He kissed her forehead. It was so cold against his lips. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Dante stayed by her side for what seemed hours to him, holding her tight against him, trying to keep the weakening life in her safe, when finally blue and red lights began to flicker in the bedroom. What happened next was so blurry. All he could make out were a group of men dragging Y/N from his embrace, saying they would take care of her and that he had to let her go. He didn’t know how he did it but he eventually obeyed those men, in spite of his arms trying to reach for her.         He followed them- followed Y/N- to the crowded street where the nearby residents were crammed into, whispering and trying to take a peep at what was going on in this usual very quiet neighbourhood. But he didn’t care about them or their judgmental looks. All he cared about was Y/N being taken away in an ambulance.   The paramedics didn’t let him in. And in spite of how much he wanted to fight their decision, Dante chose not to. He couldn’t delay them. Y/N’s life depended on time and too much had been wasted already.

But he found her again, like he would always find her, and he spent days waiting for her to wake up, waiting for her beautiful (colour) eyes to open again, for her sweet voice to say she was alright, his hand holding hers in an eternal grip that only her awakening could break, days in which he had to think about what happened, about what could have happened and what will happen. So many hypothesis, each one worse than the last.       And when Y/N finally awoke and, with a soft smile that bear no grudges or hatred, said. “Hey handsome.” He did what he thought he should have done days ago. “We need to end this.”

***

Patty’s eyes were glowing with tears as she was staring at Dante without blinking. This was certainly the saddest love story she had ever heard in her entire life. Even Bolero in Spring had never made her feel so much. “You can’t do that!” She declared as if in denial, as if she could change the past. “The story can’t end like this!”    “But it is not a story, Patty. This is not some television show made to satisfy a bunch of hopeless romantic little girls. It’s real life. And real life is tough and …” Dante looked at Y/N, at her sad eyes and at the scar she was trying to conceal under a red silk scarf. “What’s done cannot be undone.” “But you loved each other!” The girl was almost furious, shaking her head nervously.              “Patty.” Dante said calmly.       “And you still love each other, I’m sure of it. I can tell by the way you both tell your story.”   “Patty.” Dante repeated with insistence this time.     “I won’t have this ending! No way!” She shouted with a deep frown.                  “It has already ended!” Dante screamed and Patty froze. He had never screamed at her, never in his entire life, even in times when she was incredibly annoying. He had never screamed at her. “It has ended. And neither you nor anyone can change it, okay? If it doesn’t please you, you can leave, wait in the car and go back to your mushy love series.”

There was a pregnant silence in which Patty stared at Dante with a disappointment he had never witnessed. “Y/N was right. You know how to fight demons. But you don’t know how to fight YOUR demons.” And she got up and left the house to do exactly what her beloved friend had told her, meaning wait in the car to go back to mushy love stories, leaving Dante and Y/N alone in the living room with nothing else but a heavy discomfort.

“I’m sorry for making a scene.”                “ Well, you always had a flair for the dramatic.” They both had a conspiratorial smile similar to the ones they used to share when they were younger except it was fainter, sadder. “ She read the letter, the one you wrote me” Dante said staring at his hands in discomfort. He couldn’t look at Y/N, not with all the memories rushing in his head.                  “ I figured.” But she looked at him, excepting deep down he would say something, anything about what happened.”Never thought you would have kept it though.”               “ Why not?”       “ You never replied.” And there it was, that disappointment Dante well deserved.   “I did reply. I just never sent the letter.” Y/N's eyes slightly widened at this unexpected confession. What did he mean by that?              “Huh, words of advice. After writing a letter to someone, you need to mail it.” She declared sarcastically, not really knowing how she managed to crack such a joke. Was it a joke? Maybe, because Dante laughed a bit.       “ I had no money to buy a stamp.” The girl scoffed. She knew the man before her all to well to know that this was “Bullshit.” But she had missed it, missed him.  “What did it say?”          “ Same crap I told you at the hospital. How much I was sorry and … You know what? … There.” He opened his red coat to take a crumpled letter from his inside pocket. It was unsealed, stamped –obviously- and her name and address were written on it.                “ I hope Devil May Cry will never provide delivery service cause this has clearly arrived way too late.” However she took it in her hands, gathering all her inner strength not to tremble as she could feel all those emotions shaking inside of her.  “ Years too late. You can say it.” Dante smiled as he watched the letter he had kept to himself for so many years finally reaching its long-awaited recipient.  “I don’t expect you to read it … or open it. You can actually turn it into a paper plane or shove it down my throat if you want. I won’t fight you.” Of course he had to joke, to play it cool but she didn’t mind. She knew it was just one of his defence mechanism and she couldn’t blame him for it.      “ So why giving it to me?” Dante shrugged, refusing to admit he did want her to read what his young 19 years old self had to say, what he still had to say. “You can’t stop with the devil-may-care for a second and admit what you truly want, what you truly feel, can you?”     “ Fight my demons, huh?” He quoted her and she nodded. “Yes. Would that be so complicated for a ‘menacing devil hunter’ like yourself?” It was her turn to quote him but that quote made him melancholically happy.                   “ I guess that’s a challenge I still can not face.”              “ Or don’t want to” There was a new pause and as they finally looked at each other’s eyes, they knew they would not fix what had been broken years ago today. He was not ready. Not yet anyway. And that was okay. Y/N was patient. She could wait. She could keep waiting.     “Goodbye Y/N” Especially when this time a kiss on her forehead and a hand on her cheek felt more hopeful than ever. “Goodbye, Dante.”

And she watched him leave, again, but certain that someday, one day he would come back to her as he always would. After all, he promised.