#that he didn’t do even a fraction of this is a strike against him for me personally

[padfootastic]

But Sirius thought Remus was capable of betraying James without any evidence at all (that we know of), meanwhile Remus believed Sirius betrayed James when literally all evidence pointed towards that. What actually happened was so outlandish no one would have believed it if Peter hadn’t actually been there in the Shack. Can you really blame Remus for trying to make sense of it all and cope somehow? He lost everything and everyone that day :(

friend, u must be new here :p (haha i’m only kidding bc this is something i rant about a lot here 🙈)

when i say remus failed sirius, i’m not even referring to the entire clusterfuck of that situation. in saudade, sirius says ‘i wouldn’t have cared if you thought i was a mass murderer or a death eater’ (paraphrased) and i would extend that to believing he murdered peter as well. it’s entirely believable for remus to be super confused and messed up bc, like u said, he lost everything that night.

but i personally believe james and sirius’ friendship was so, so strong and so fkn intense that it was obvious to everyone around them (and this is highkey backed up by canon as well—rosmerta and mcg) and remus would’ve had front row seats to that. in my mind, marauder dynamics were like this: james at the centre, sirius as his closest and dearest friend, and remus and peter still pretty close but comparatively peripheral.

and that’s really the crux of the matter for me. it’s one thing for everyone else to condemn sirius, not having seen close up how attached he was to james—but for remus to do the same? they might as well not have been marauders then.

(it’s also like. james & sirius accepted remus’ wolfy issues to the point that they literally risked body and magic and jail time to help him. it wasn’t lip service but true acceptance. james called it his ‘furry little problem’ and imagine what that must have felt like to someone like remus who’s only seen werewolves referred to derogatorily, never in such a lighthearted manner. they believed in him despite growing up as purebloods who’d’ve probably heard/seen the worst kind of bias and discrimination. can remus not have found it in himself to do the same?)

(also, if i’m permitted to go into conjecture/headcanon territory—i have two HCs for sirius suspecting remus. one, inspired by daily-chan, is that they never actually did. the only reason they kept distance from remus and didn’t tell him about the switch was because he was infiltrating werewolf packs at the time and to be found w info like that would’ve been very dangerous for him so it’s a way to protect him.

second, they do suspect him but that’s bc remus gives them cause to do it. again, he’s infiltrating werewolf packs. but, i firmly believe knowing remus, he would’ve been very shady about it, not telling them what he’s doing and where he’s going (which, j&s would’ve done themselves and expected, in the middle of war, regardless of orders) and he doesn’t want to question dumbledore’s actions and all of that, while not exactly being the same as a death eater, casts enough doubt that they couldn’t trust him with something like the fidelius bc he refuses to just tell them what he’s doing)

sorry this is so long lol but i’m v passionate about this. i guess it comes down to this: yes, remus’ actions might make sense. he was suffering. but sirius really, really drew the short end of the stick there. and for his own friend, his best friend & brother, to treat him the same way as those who didn’t know him? that’s even worse.

[storiesoflilies]

a touch of salt, a taste of flesh

synopsis: in which toji cannot decide whether or not he wants to eat or love the pretty little human he saved from drowning. w.c: 2k.

pairing: merman!toji fushiguro x f!reader.

warnings: mature themes! mentions of gore and blood, mentions of drowning, open ending. sfw but MDNI!

a/n: if you saw me post this yesterday no you didn’t. please don’t let the fic flop this time lol. heavily inspired by this delicious art!

divider / ao3

the ocean loved to keep her secrets.

she coveted every single one of them, for each was a precious pearl of knowledge about her soul. to know even a single one was to be doomed to a life of fear, to be at the mercy of her passing whims, because you could never tell when she would decide to punish you for it and bash you into pieces.

she didn’t think she knew anything at all about the ocean.

but here she was, coughing up salty secrets trapped deep within her lungs.

again.

while a pair of green eyes watched her.

they were always watching her.

“why do you continue to tempt the sea?” he purred, a slight smirk touching his lips. “little human”

little human.

because that is what she was, and what he most certainly wasn't.

it was in the way he smiled at her – cold and dark and cruel as the smothering sea that had tried snuff her out, curling around her throat like tendrils of seaweed.

a dark, shark-like tail rose from the sea as the creature tilted his head, wet strands of his black hair dripping to the side. he winced every time she coughed some more, as if it were far too loud for his liking, and looked down at her like she was a grain of sand stuck between his scales.

she probably was nothing.

especially not to something like him.

“do you really need to know what it’s like when death creeps up on you?” he continued, dismissively waving a clawed, scaly hand at her. “i could always just tell you how it feels.”

she sucked in a shaky, pathetic heaving breath of sea air into her chest, still gasping and sputtering onto the white-washed sand. the coarse grains scratched her palms painfully, and she tried to calm herself, breathing in and out with the rise and fall of the tide.

his eyes narrowed playfully, thin slits of green in the night. “there, there. you’ll be just fine.”

she didn’t feel like she would be.

there was nothing comforting about him at all.

he was a predator.

his teeth were just that little bit longer than they should be – sharper, pearlescent, and flashing dangerously in the silver moonlight. even though this was the third time he has saved her from succumbing to the depths of the sea, she still didn’t know why he had saved her, or why he still continued to.

but it had to be for something.

or else, he wouldn’t have saved her the first time. he would have let her fingers disappear beneath the waves forever, let her sink to the bottom of the darkest ocean. he wouldn’t keep on watching her from the shoreline, circling round and round the island like a shark drawing ever closer to its prey.

waiting to strike, ready to bite.

“why?” was all she could muster in a hoarse voice, sand tickling her throat.

“why?” he repeated, that saccharine smirk playing on his lips again. “why what, little human?”

“why do you keep on singing?”

the green slits widened a fraction, and he started to laugh. her heart hammered against her chest, and she was afraid she might have said the wrong thing.

“is that what you would call it?” he asked incredulously, a sprinkle of offense creeping into his voice. “singing?”

she gulped.

what else would she call it?

that was what it sounded like to her. she would sit beneath a gnarled tree at the cliffs’ edge, where the earth dipped sharply towards the sea, its rocky face curled over the sea like an old man’s wrinkly hand. there, she would listen, trying to make sense of the strange words wafting from his tongue in the salty breeze.

she would’ve started a war for him.

would have shoved her arms into the bodies of the bent and broken, rummage through all their bones to offer him their still-warm, unbeating hearts.

but there was something in his haunting baritone that made her want to cry, to surrender to the sea, naively believing she could somehow help save him from his own restlessness. to block out the echoing memories that, in that moment, were blurred together and she wasn’t sure if they belonged to him or her.

there had to be some kind of magic involved.

because tonight was the third time she had heard his haunting song.

and the third time she had mindlessly wandered into the arms of the ocean and her false welcome, full of promises she had no intention of keeping.

despite knowing full well that she couldn’t even swim.

his laughter died with the wind, a low, lilting hum lingering at the edge of his words. “maybe you shouldn’t be listening so closely,” he murmured, his eyes heavy with something that looked like hunger. “the sea doesn’t sing for humans.”

he drifted a touch closer to where she was lying, slicing through the shallow water like a blade. she sat up straight, digging her heels into the sand to scramble away from him.

“and yet, here you are,” he said, amusement curling his lips. “again.”

she licked the salt from the cracks in her lips, stuttering, “i-i don’t k-know why.”

maybe it was her obvious helplessness, or perhaps he could smell her hopeless desperation like rotting flesh, but his eyes softened.

“it’s the call for my…” he trailed off, smacking his lips as he searched for the word. “heart.”

he said the it disdainfully, like he didn’t really want to believe he had a heart at all. she couldn’t imagine that he had one either, or that it wanted for anything beyond his most base desires.

flesh and blood.

“your heart?” she repeated in disbelief.

he glowered at her, his tail flicking through the water in annoyance. “yes,” he said, adding much more quietly. “and it seems i’ve found it.”

run away, now.

“w-what?” she sputtered, salt-coated sand flying to the back of her throat.

the creature grinned widely, mischievous fangs glinting, “oh, you know, little human.”

she did know; she just didn’t want to admit it.

“i-i never– i don’t understand.”

“no? then why do you keep trying to swim to me?”

she didn’t know what to say to that.

it was silent for a long time, the sweeping sea moving backwards and forwards like the ebb of time between them. she could see more of him too, even though she knew better than to look.

and he was beautiful.

his tail was longer than she thought, silky smooth and gray like a shark’s was, marred with pink scars and rakes as deep and painful as the ocean. it curled high above his head as he lay belly down in the sand.

oh, but his eyes.

they were a chest of shimmering emeralds, locked onto her every minuscule movement. but his pupils were infinite, a black hole of mysteries and knowledge of ancients city that had come and gone, of seas of blood and red misery.

yet, he was here, on this unremarkable beach at the edge of the world, calling for his heart – for her.

and she’d somehow answered.

“what’s your name?” she blurted out.

there was a strange rumble in his chest before he replied with, “toji.”

toji.

it reminded her of the cold kiss of winter, the inevitable conquest of snow over the trees and blooms, covering everything in its white death. he belonged to the ice-covered seas of the north and south, definitely not from places where the sun and joy pierced through the waves.

there was no doubt that toji was king of those icy seas, reigning supreme over the darkness found within the kelp forests of the deep trenches.

“how old are you?”

toji tilted his head curiously, completely silent as he pondered and searched for an answer.

“how long have humans sailed the seas?”

how very lonely.

she knew she shouldn’t feel anything for toji, least of all feel sorry for him. but here she was, itching for him to take her hand and drag her into the depths he called home. maybe that was what his song meant; perhaps all he wanted was someone to share in ruling over the ice and sea.

how ironic that she couldn’t even swim.

he drummed his sharp fingers against a closed fist, slow and irritatingly suspenseful. “you’re bleeding, you know?”

she frowned and looked down at both sides of her palms, between her pruned fingers, and then further down.

oh.

there was a small stream of blood beneath her left foot, trailing toward the sea before being swept away with the tide.

straight towards toji.

that was when she saw the dangerous twitch dancing on his scarred lip, and she realized just how long he had been holding back for.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered breathlessly, and she truly meant it.

toji’s eyes narrowed again, but there was a spark of anger in them this time. “don’t apologize,” he hissed. “never– not for that.”

for that, for bleeding.

would a shark thank her for covering up a wound?

she didn’t think so.

toji asked for her name, and she offered it freely, willingly. he repeated it loudly, the deep baritone of his voice starting to sing her name in an increasingly agitated-sounding tone.

mine, mine, mine.

her name wasn’t her own anymore.

he was looking at her now, like he wanted to slice open her chest, pull out her heart, and play with the strings that made it beat. to shove his fingers into her aorta to say that he had been really inside her – his – heart.

mine, mine, mine.

and then, his cold hand was gripping her ankle, claws lightly digging into her skin.

she let out a yelp as toji dragged her toward him, the sea rushing over her cheeks and into her ears. he was on top of her, the wetness of the sea bleeding into her, his weight heavy and suffocating, pushing every bit of air out of her fragile lungs. his fingers dug deep into her thighs, just about to pierce through the plush skin.

she beat against the hardness of his chest, “t- cough! toji, please, stop.”

but he wasn’t really there, caught somewhere between the whispering blood ocean and the misty memories haunting his soul.

a pearly tear slipped down his cheek.

“i ca-ah! can’t breath.”

the same deep sound rumbled from his chest, and toji lifted himself up from her ever so slightly. she sucked in great gasping breaths, her eyes teary and blurry as she looked at him through lashes laden with salt.

another milky tear fell from his left eye and dripped down onto the curve of her cheek.

“would you slip away?” toji whispered, his voice rolling over her like the tide, but he sounded far, far away. “into the sea, for me.”

she didn’t want to.

but then he started to hum low and sweet, his wet lips pressed to her neck, and she was ready to.

she could see through the mist and blood now, far above the clouds and the sky and the sun breaking through the horizon. her heart was burning with salt and secrets – secrets she didn’t know she possessed.

until now.

that she was one with the sea, and maybe always had been. so, she didn’t mind all that toji was slowly pulling her towards the depths instead of away from them.

a flash of brilliant green lit up the sky.

was it toji’s eyes or a farewell from the sorrowful sun?

she didn’t know; she didn’t care anymore.

she was his to keep now.

ི♡࿐

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[prettybouquets]

𝓑rushstrokes of 𝓐ffection ᯓᡣ𐭩˚ ༘

fem!reader x viktor

𝓻𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽; none

word count; 1.2k

context; established relationship, reader is a expressionism artist

cw; kissing

The workshop always hummed with the sound of Viktor’s inventions—a faint whirring of gears, the occasional hiss of steam, and the rhythmic scratch of pencil against paper. Tonight, it was no different. You stood at your easel, positioned by the wide window of his lab, where moonlight streamed through and mixed with the flicker of arcane light.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of him hunched over his workbench, golden eyes focused intently on the mechanical pieces in front of him. His cane rested against the table, and his brow was furrowed in that familiar way you’d grown to love.

“Taking a break anytime soon?” you asked, swirling deep red paint on your palette.

“I could ask you the same,” he replied without looking up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’ve been staring at that canvas for over an hour.”

You chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “I’m waiting for inspiration to strike.”

“Perhaps you should start by capturing your muse,” he teased, finally glancing up from his work. His gaze lingered on you, his expression softening. “You always say you need him nearby, no?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but felt warmth bloom in your chest. “If my muse ever sat still long enough, maybe I could.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and turned back to his project. Despite his reply, you noticed how his posture shifted, the lines of his shoulders relaxing just a touch. Viktor wasn’t one to admit it often, but he liked having you here, your presence bringing a quiet balance to the chaos of his inventions.

With a deep breath, you began moving your brush across the canvas. Broad strokes of crimson and violet danced under your hand, meeting sharp streaks of black. Your art was always vivid and emotional, your expressionism capturing feelings in a way words never could. Tonight, your work was inspired by him—the brilliance of his mind, the quiet strength of his presence, and the warmth he showed you in the little moments.

“What are you working on?” Viktor’s voice broke the silence.

You didn’t answer immediately, biting your lip as you added a streak of gold to the chaos of color. “Something complicated,” you finally said.

“Sounds like you’ve taken a page from my book,” he replied, standing with a slight wince before crossing the room to stand beside you.

You looked up at him as he leaned on his cane, his golden eyes studying your work. His proximity was enough to make your pulse quicken, even after months of being together.

“It’s... expressive,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “I see motion, strength—chaos, even. And yet, there’s harmony beneath it.”

You smiled, dipping your brush into a shade of deep blue. “Maybe I’m painting the way you make me feel. You’re a bit chaotic, but there’s always a sense of purpose in what you do.”

His gaze softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist. “And you think I’m the muse here?”

“You’re always the muse,” you replied, your voice quieter now. “You’ve brought so much color into my life, Viktor. I think I’m just trying to capture a fraction of that.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on you. Then, with a rare tenderness, he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “And you bring light to mine, moje slunce.”

Your heart swelled at the endearment, a term he rarely used except in moments like this. You leaned into his touch, your brush forgotten as you reached up to rest your hand over his.

“Stay still for a moment,” you said suddenly, stepping back from his touch.

Viktor frowned slightly, confused, as you grabbed a clean brush and dipped it into the gold paint. Before he could protest, you dabbed the tiniest streak of gold onto his cheek, laughing at his bewildered expression.

“What are you doing?” he asked, though there was no real irritation in his voice.

“Adding a little sparkle,” you teased, grinning as you stepped back to admire your handiwork. “You wear brilliance so well, after all.”

He shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but his eyes were warm, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You reached for a rag to clean his cheek, but he caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm. “Leave it,” he said softly. “If it makes you happy, I’ll wear it.”

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his tone, your chest tightening with affection. Viktor wasn’t one for grand gestures, but his quiet acts of love spoke volumes.

“Come here,” he murmured, tugging you gently toward him.

You obeyed, your hands resting lightly on his chest as he leaned down. His lips met yours, warm and soft, the kiss slow and deliberate. Viktor wasn’t often one for public affection, even in the privacy of his lab, but moments like this were precious—filled with a quiet intensity that left you breathless.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment. “You are the most extraordinary thing in my world,” he whispered.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you smiled, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek. “And you are the reason my world feels full of life.”

For a while, the two of you stood there, the hum of the lab fading into the background. The air between you was warm and steady, a quiet promise of love unspoken but deeply felt.

When you finally returned to your easel, Viktor settled back at his workbench, though he kept glancing your way. The streak of gold still marked his cheek, catching the light whenever he turned his head.

You smiled to yourself, dipping your brush into a fresh pool of paint. Tonight, your masterpiece wasn’t just the canvas in front of you—it was the life you and Viktor had built together, full of quiet moments, stolen kisses, and endless inspiration.

© prettybouquets 2024. all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, or repost any work as your own.

[littlemisssatanist]

Hitlist

the jackal x fem reader

~ YAH i still post fic

~ reader is written to be black

~ you have a last name 'selassie'.

~ kinda smutty but more sexual tension than actual sex.

~ if you see any typos,,, no you didn't i wrote this on my phone leave me alone

~ i need this man pregnant tbh

~ CHECK OUT MY ART OF THIS MAN

part one | part two

He crouched low on the edge of a tall building, his eyes fixated on his target below. The wind blew against his face, the city sprawled out beneath him in perfect stillness. His finger hovered over the trigger, steady and patient, waiting for the perfect moment. The target was almost within range.

Then, a sound behind him. Footsteps, soft but unmistakable. His body stiffened, muscles tensing. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He didn’t flinch, but every instinct he had screamed at him that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Slowly, he shifted, hand moving to his sidearm, ready to strike. He had to decide: eliminate the threat behind him, or finish the job he was hired for.

He didn’t get a lot of time to make a choice.

“Shh,” You muttered, coming up behind him. You kneeled next to him, dropping a hand to card through his hair. “It’s just me.”

The Jackal’s eyes widened in both surprising and recognition. He let go of his sidearm, slowly, relaxing the slightest fraction.

He whispered, never taking his eyes from the scope, keeping his rifle fixed on the target. “What are you doing here, Selassie?”

“Aw,” you said. “I thought we were closer than that.” You placed a hand on his nap, the gesture both comforting and threatening.

The touch of your hand sent a shiver through him, barely perceptible if you hadn’t been searching for it. He fought the urge to lean into it, but training and caution held him in place. He grunted in response.

“This isn’t a social visit,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’re distracting me.”

“No,” you agreed. “Not a social visit.”

You gazed at him, amused. Your thumb rubbed the skin in slow motions, brushing against his hair. “Think of this as a test.”

He clenched his jaw. “A test for who?”

“You. Me. Us, perhaps,” you said idly. “I’m trying to decide whether or not I should kill you.”

The Jackal bristled at your words but didn’t turn around. He knew you well enough to know that she didn’t often make idle threats. But why would you even consider it? The two of you had worked together before, successfully.

“Why would you need to decide that?” He asked, his voice steady despite the growing tension.

“Someone’s heard about your work in Germany,” you said, continuing to massage his nape. “They’re impressed. Or, rather, threatened. Paid me a pretty sum to get rid of you.”

You knew that the words hit him like a bullet. His muscles tensed, hand clutching the scope tight, knuckles white. Someone was after him— and they had even gone so far as to hire you for the job. It felt like betrayal.

“Did you take the offer?” He asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you said. Your grip on his nape tightened. “I haven’t decided yet. That’s why it’s a test.”

The sense of betrayal was quickly replaced by anger. He clenched his jaw, eyes darkening with barely suppressed anger. He could feel every touch of your hand like a brand on his skin.

“And how am I supposed to pass this test?”

“Focus,” you warned as he started to turn, forcing his head back around. “Go ahead. Take the shot. But don’t get distracted.”

You leaned in for the last part, whispering it into his ear.

The command, given so calmly, sent a wave of both irritation and desire through him. Your breath against his ear sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, he was tempted to throw away everything and turn to face you. But the target was still in sight, and the job had to come first.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Focusing on the target, he placed his finger on the trigger, ready to pull.

You pressed your lips against his temple, raising your hand to grasp his hair tightly.

The unexpected sensation sent a jolt through his body. For a split second, his hand twitched on the trigger, and he almost squeezed prematurely. But he caught himself just in time, biting back a low hiss of frustration. His focus wavered slightly, his body fighting the distraction.

“Damn it,” he snarled, trying to steady himself again. “You said ‘focus!’”

“Mhm,” you said, digging your nose into the crook of his neck. “I also said ‘don’t get distracted.’ This is the distraction.”

You kissed the hollow of his neck, dragging your teeth against his skin lightly.

He shivered, every nerve ending responding to you touch. He had to bite back another hiss, a wave of heat flooding through him. It was as if every cell in his body had become hypersensitive to your presence. “This is not fair,” he grumbled. “It’s a trick.”

“Of course it’s a trick,” you murmured against his neck. “That’s the whole point. Test, remember?” She worked a hickey into his skin, licking her work before leaning away to admire it. “Clock is ticking.”

The mark you left behind on his skin burned, and he felt a sharp pang of both desire and annoyance. It was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate with you touching him, but he had a mission, and he was nothing if not disciplined.

“And what if I ignore the test and take the shot anyway?” He retorted, doing his best to ignore the heat that was spreading throughout his entire body.

“That’s the point, J,” you muttered, slipping your hand beneath his shirt. “Go on.”

He had to strangle a gasp when you touched his bare skin. It was becoming harder and harder to resist; the urge to turn and capture you in his arms was almost overwhelming. He gritted his teeth. “I should kill you for this.”

“Probably,” you agreed. “But aren’t you wondering why I haven’t killed you yet? I’ve had so many chances, with you acting so desperately.”

Your words stung a bit, but he couldn’t deny that you were right. He had let his guard down around you more than he cared to admit. He knew he needed to remain focused, but your touch and whispered words were pulling him in.

He let out a low and frustrated groan. “Don’t toy with me, Selassie. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Of course I do,” you said, bemused. “That’s the test, J. Don’t get distracted, that’s the only thing that needs to happen here. I want to see if you can retain your skills even when you’re so pathetically horny for me.”

Your words were a punch to the gut. Heat coiled within him, and he couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down his spine. Damn you, you knew exactly what buttons to press.

He was fighting a losing battle, his body betraying him despite his best efforts. And you knew.

“You’re cruel,” he managed to whisper through gritted teeth.

“Just take the damn shot!” You snapped, grabbing his hair and pulling at it meanly. “Hurry up. And don’t fuck this up.”

He let out a hiss of pain, but used the brief shock to rein in his focus. The sharp tugging served as a brutal reminder of the task at hand. His body was a mess of contradictions, warring between desire and discipline.

His hand steadied on his rifle, and he refocused his gaze through his scope. Every muscle was taut, a coiled spring ready to snap.

“I won’t mess this up,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just… don’t touch me.”

“Fine,” you let go of him, rolling your eyes. You took a gun out of your pocket and pressed it up against his head. “This better motivation?”

The cold. Barrel of the gun pressed against his skin was a stark contrast to the warmth of your touch. A jolt of adrenaline coursed through him, sharpening his senses and bringing him fully back into focus. his mission was the top priority, and he would not let you distract him further.

He took a steady breath, his voice steady despite the threat looming over him. “Much better.”

You clicked your tongue, taking off the safety. “Go on, then. Take the shot. And you had better hope it’s perfect, else the next one is going straight through your brain.”

“You’re quite the menace,” he murmured tightly.

He took aim, his hand steady and sure. The target was still blissfully ignorant, completely unaware of the drama unfolding above him.

With a single, swift movement, the Jackal pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the crisp night air.

He couldn’t help but hold his breath for a brief moment, the stillness of the night settling after the shot. It had been a perfect shot, and he could feel the tension in your body behind him.

His heard was racing, adrenaline mixing with a sense of triumph. He didn’t look away from the target’s fallen body. “Test passed,” he said, voice laced with a hint of satisfaction.

“Yes,” you said, voice oddly thick with… something. “Very nice shot,” you muttered, stepping away.

The sudden lack of your presence sent a pang of disappointment through him, but he tried to ignore it. You sounded… strange, almost breathless.

He finally turned around, lowering the rifle, and studied your expression carefully. There was something in your eyes, a hint he couldn’t quite place.

You sound almost impressed.” He said in a teasing tone.

You shrugged, not afraid to admit it. “I’m easily impressed when you’re around.” You glanced behind you. “We should go before the police show up. Someone will have heard that shot.”

He couldn’t help the slight smirk that tugged at the order of his lips at your compliment. He was still buzzing from the adrenaline of the kill, as well as your presence.

“Lead the way. And no more tests.”

part one | part two

[legendsgalore]

Eiland finds you asleep

Another day, another find!

At least that’s what Eiland hopes. Ah, he wonders how you do it. It would be bitter, how after so many years of studying and searching, and excavating, he had scarcely turned up even a fraction of what you had found in three seasons, except the pink-haired man was too excited to bother.

You had furthered his research so much that some of his historical correspondences’ letters were feeling tinged with jealousy. But, they could not deny the importance of the finds! 

Mistria’s relevance had fallen with their rank after the earthquake, but after the revelations found as a result of a literal treasure trove of evidence emerging, Eiland was a little smug reading multiple inquiries about excavation trips fellow researchers wanted to make to the town.

Not that he was smug of course, petty feelings like that wouldn’t do anyone any good, especially not him. But, Eiland muses, another thank you gift sent your way might be due soon.

He was on his way to the Western Ruins, the chilly fall air just the right temperature to keep his walk brisk, without hurried from cold. Eiland absent-mindedly plucked a blackberry from a bush as he considered what to get you.

Would you be suspicious if he bought an entire cake again, and *had* to give you a slice or two…? Or maybe he should find another dessert recipe for you, you seem to enjoy making and selling them, not that he was paying attention to when you went on a baking spree. He definitely didn’t make sure he was always able to purchase at least one dessert from Balor before the merchant sold them off.

Hmm, maybe a dessert recipe was too selfish of him. Now what to get you…

The princeling had stepped into the grounds deemed the Western Ruins, and the sound of the sea not-so-gently crashing against the nearby cliff was calming. Turning left, Eiland made his way down to the dig-site, and over to his tools, permanently left there.

He doesn’t waste time and picks up his iron shovel-gifted by you of course-and heads over to do some digging. Just as he makes his way down the slope, he pauses.

It seems like you had beat him here, but you’re curled up in the corner opposite to him. Eiland can’t see your face, and his heart drops at your stillness, and he rushes over to your quiet form.

Eiland calls out your name, and then stiffens as you shift in response. But instead of responding to him, you turned over and he could see your face now.

You…were asleep.

Eiland feels his jaw drop. You were curled up in the corner, hidden from the fall wind, and sound asleep. Were you waiting for him?

No, no, Eiland chides himself, that’s not the point now. He frowns and puts his hand to his chin. What to do? He definitely can’t carry you back to town, not like Balor or March could. But waking you up was out of the question. He couldn’t fathom how tired you were, but if you were asleep here he was not going to be the one to wake you up.

He…couldn’t handle doing that, the pinkette admitted to himself. He would feel bad watching your cute nose scrunch up, and then you look up at him with unguarded and sleepy eyes, and then you would say “...Eiland?” In a sleepy and cute voice and….

Gah, no Eiland. This isn’t the time. 

He shakes his head, and then an idea strikes him. He unclaps and removes his cloak, and gently places it over you, like a blanket.

There, he has done something now. 

Eiland feels himself beam, and then blushes at himself.

Ah, wow, he’s being quite silly about this, isn’t he? He really should wake you up so you can obtain proper sleep in your own bed. But, he looks again at you. You have tucked yourself into his cloak, and looked oh-so cute.

Eiland picks his shovel up, and, with one last glance at you, quietly pads over to the opposite side of the dig-site, and starts digging, albeit very quietly.

And no one would be any the wiser if maybe an hour later, he stopped for the day, and read a book next to your sleeping form, instead of digging.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the diamond

lilac, chapter seventeen

a/n: idk if I should say i'm sorry or you're welcome. i guess it depends on what kind of day you're having as you read this.

summary: “did you really think a little bit of paperwork could stop me? Could stop us from being together?”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, dark, angst, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, kidnapping, crying, violence, cliffhanger

word count: 1717

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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You didn’t recognise the opulent apartment you now found yourself in. Not that it really came as a shock. You properly only knew of a fraction of the properties Preston’s family owned. 

With gilded details and tall windows, you did however recognise the view as the familiar twinkle of the New York City skyline sparkled back at you. 

Scarcely breathing, you didn’t dare to even shift as you sat on the edge of a bed, its red silk sheets burned the nerves across your legs and worsened the nauseating sting at the back of your throat. 

Turning back to face you, Preston stepped up close and said, “Let’s get this off of you, shall we?” before he slowly peeled off the tape covering your lips, but as soon as he had rid you of it, you reeled forward slightly and spat directly in his face. The angry dollop slid down across his forehead and over the still freshly pink scar that split his dark eyebrow. But, to your horror, instead of getting angry, all your action did was conjure a dark chuckle deep within his chest, “I missed you too, doll,” you watched him reach up and wipe the saliva away before his fingers drifted down into his pocket and produced a switchblade that he promptly popped out with a flourish. Sucking in a sharp breath, you braced yourself, expecting for him to strike, only he didn’t. The knife instead sliced the tape constricting your ankles and then through the ones at your wrists, “there,” he shot you a bone-chilling smile, “much better.”

Glaring back at him, almost in disbelief at the measures he’d evidently be willing to take, you shuddered, “I-I have a restraining order against you.” 

“You do,” he nodded matter a factly, “why, did you really think a little bit of paperwork could stop me? Could stop us from being together?” your frame jumped jaggedly as you felt his touch slither up your sides, “we’re soulmates, you and I. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can keep us apart,” he breathed as he leaned in closer and pressed his lips to yours. Staying as still as you possibly could, the sting of tears rolled down your cheeks as he soon leaned back, a sour look now tainting his features, “kiss me back,” he growled through gritted teeth, “we haven’t seen each other in two months, so kiss me the fuck back. Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

Choking down a sob, you willed your lips to meet his again, trembling fretfully as you gave him what he wanted, the forceful feeling of his tongue invading your mouth forced a petrified whimper to escape your lungs, one that he mistook as praise as one of his ring adorned hands came up to clasp your jaw possessively. 

When he finally pulled back, leaving just a sliver of air between you, a question left your quivering lips.

“Preston, where are we?”

“Nowhere important,” his dark eyes trailed one of the tears rolling down your face, “don’t worry, this is just temporary till the morning. Gosh, you look so beautiful when you cry…”

“W-what’s happening in the morning? Where are we going?”

“To this little island my dad’s got in the Caribbean. You’ll like it, trust me. It’s got some of the bluest water you’ve ever seen,” he smirked before briefly turning his head to the rough-looking man posted by the door as a guard, “hey, go fetch me a drink.”

“Right away, sir,” he complied. 

As Preston turned his gaze back to you, his head began to shake as it washed down the length of your body, “what is this dress you’re wearing? You know I hate you in green on you.” 

“I-I’m sorry. I could go change if you–” 

But your sentence crumbled into nothing as you felt the cold tip of his knife trail up your leg, “oh, there’s no need for that, doll,” the blade scraped over your skin, up the slit where your wrap dress had parted like a curtain over your thigh, never hard enough to actually draw blood, but just enough to rip up a layer or two of flesh. He continued after he reached the top of your thigh, dragging it up your velvet dress till he slipped it under the knot that held your garment closed, and cut clean through it. The slash didn’t automatically cause the dark green fabric to fall open completely, but Preston didn’t hesitate to unwrap you like a birthday present, “damn..” he groaned as he pushed the dress open, revealing your lack of undergarments beneath, “would you look at that… you’re not wearing anything underneath this… ” you squeezed your eyes shut as he then grazed the tip of his knife over your skin, from the peak of your breast to low down on your stomach, he trailed it like he would his wicked tongue, in some sick and twisted up way caressing you with the weapon, “tell me, doll, just why aren’t you? I’d love to think this is all for me, but you didn’t know we’d be reunited tonight, so who is it for?” rage gradually began to harshen his tone, “who?” as you found yourself unable to form any words at all, “is it that guy? What did you call him… Frank? Have you been whoring yourself out to Frank? Not wearing anything underneath your dresses and making it easy for him to just slide in and use what belongs to me?” nicking the curve of your waist, he then shook you as he barked, “answer me!” successfully drawing a shrill scream from your lungs as you squeezed your eyes shut even tighter. 

Just as you feared he’d give you more than just a shy scratch, the double doors to the bedroom creaked open and in stepped the guard. Without another word, Preston’s presence disappeared. 

Cautiously fluttering your bloodshot eyes open once more, you saw as the guard settled back into his place and Preston clutched a stout crystal glass, hastily downing the dark amber liquid before slamming it onto a side table. Trying your best to cover yourself back up, you watched as Preston folded up the switchblade and stuffed it back into his pocket. 

Letting out a deep sigh, he then dipped his fingers into his dark suit jacket, and from an inner pocket, fished out a small velvet box.

“I got you a new ring, by the way,” he huffed, opening it up as he stepped back to where you sat, “this one’s bigger, like I promised.” 

Sitting down on the crimson sheets beside you, he seized your trembling hand and slid the extravagant band into place, gripping your palm painfully as you glanced down at the massive diamond hauntingly glimmering back at you.

“You like it?” 

The silver felt as if it burned your finger, like it had been dipped in hot searing acid mere seconds before sliding into place over your knuckles. But still, you just offered him a shaky nod as more tears dripped from your chin. 

Lifting your glare from the colossal rock, you looked over at the guard and attempted to subtly catch his eye. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Preston swiftly noticed as his gaze never strayed far from you, “are you really so stupid that you think one of my guys will help you get away from me? Seriously? No amount of crocodile tears can get them to betray me,” locking his fingers around your jaw, you felt his hot breath graze the shell of your ear, “they’re loyal to me, to the Humphrey name,” casting his glace towards the guard, he snapped his free fingers, “hey, you! Look at my fiancé,” and to your horror, parted your ruined dress, “isn’t she beautiful? Answer me.”

“Yes, sir,” his reply had a military, nearly robotic lack of feelings to it, but nevertheless managed to still scratch Preston’s itch.

With his right, inked hand, Preston groped your breast firmly, “these gorgeous tits,” before sliding his unwanted touch further down your trembling body, “this round ass and this tight fucking cunt, all belongs to me,” he growled, before stretching his palm out towards the guard, “give me your lighter,” to which the harsh man swiftly obeyed, “I want everyone to know so, no matter what happens, no matter if you lose your ring again or what, I want everyone to know,” peeling his extravagant pinkie ring off, the swirly H that was embossed on it indicated it was his family ring that he now held in his grasp, harshly commanded the guard, “hold her still,” before he flicked on the lighter and held the flame under the seal, heating it up till the metal nearly glowed. Tuning out your screams of searing agony, Preston pressed the scorching crest to the very top of your exposed thigh and branded you like you were just a stock animal, “there,” he waved a hand for the guard to let go of you, “that should do the trick.” 

As you shuttered in pain, Preston drew you in so close that you ended up in his lap, your spine pressed up against his chest and a horrifying hardness determined beneath your bottom.

“What do you think, doll? Should I let him stand there and watch us fuck?” he rocked selfishly below you, “maybe tonight will be the night I finally knock you up–” 

His vile words were cut short as a series of gunshots suddenly went off on the other side of the door. 

“You,” Preston waved to the guard, “go see what’s going on.”

Pulling out a gun, the man then slipped out only for the symphony of struggle to fill the apartment further. 

“Shit,” you heard Preston mutter in alarm before he conjured his knife once more. 

But when the scuffle abruptly stopped and silence washed over the luxurious apartment, only a moment passed before the grand double doors slammed open and in the threshold, with a gun firmly trained in Preston’s direction, stood the blood-soaked visage of Frank. 

Moving just as fast, Preston shifted behind you, hauling you up to your feet and holding you to him like a shield as you felt the razor-like edge of his blade press against your throat.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[charliemwrites]

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m too selfish with you.” 

A simple sentence, one filled with a sentiment that many have felt before when balancing a relationship. But they were enough to bring Nikto’s entire universe to a standstill when they escaped your mouth. You? Too selfish?? Especially when it comes to him????? You could demand that he crucify himself for you, and he would walk into the arms of the cross like he is returning home, breathing in the scent of the cedar as it mixes with the iron of the nails that he strikes through his feet and hands and the blood that weeps from the wounds. You could ask him to drown the rest of the world, and he would tear the heavens open to cause waters to rise. He could become a plague upon humanity at the slightest hint of your desires, and you worry that you are being too selfish with him? When you have barely asked a single thing of him? Your commandments, though they are laws onto him and his actions, though craved into the wall of his bunk, were not orders. You never asked for his devotion, never demanded that he follow you, worship you, and, oh doesn’t that make you all the more worthy of it? So why do you now stand in front of him, shying away from his gaze, looking like a guilty sinner as you confess your perceived selfishness of him? Had he failed you so completely that you doubted his fidelity? What else could he possibly do to prove it to you? Every act of devotion the Bible has taught him is either is impossible for him (there is no family to sacrifice, no world-ending flood to build an ark for, nothing) or would go against your happiness (he would throw himself into fire while singing you praises, but he knows that goes against your first commandment and would make you extremely upset instead of happy). He feels trapped in that moment, staring at you, feeling like he failed you as your most devoted servant, when you finally speak again. 

“You never ask anything of me. Every day, you follow behind me like my shadow, you treat me as some sort of deity, yet you ask for nothing from me. After I asked you to help me when I was injured, you asked for nothing in return. Even when I know you are aroused, you don’t even ask for time away from me to take care of it yourself, and I know I shouldn’t force you to do anything with me like that, I know that it’s probably a physical reaction more than you actually being attracted to me, but the fact that you won’t even separate from me to jack off when you need it all because I selfishly told you to always come back to me that one time, or because you feel like you owe me for being your nurse, and it makes me feel so selfish that I haven’t done anything to free you from me, when you deserve it, you deserve happiness, and release and freedom and-“ 

Nikto has been your shadow for a while now, has been on the receiving end of you talking endlessly multiple times before. It was one of the things that first made him comfortable with you: you talking at him instead of to him because you knew he didn’t want to talk. But never before had this habit made him feel quite so desperately hopeless as it currently is. You think he isn’t attracted to you? You are more beautiful than words could possibly describe! He could know every language to ever exist, and still be left desperately searching for a way to properly tell you just how stunning he finds every single piece of you. No picture or drawing, no landscape, no human, no galaxy, no poem or verse, nothing could EVER come close to being even a fraction as beautiful as you are. And if Nikto were someone else, maybe he could will himself into saying this out loud. But he isn’t. Nikto is only himself, could only ever be himself, and these thoughts in his head stay swirling around while his tongue feels like lead within his mouth. Nikto isn’t a man of words, so he does the best he can, and he grabs you gently, and kisses you.

It’s not the best kiss. You were cut off in the middle of talking, and Nikto, so panicked over the idea of you not knowing his worship is so much more than simple Hero Worship for his nurse, didn’t even remove his soft mask that he wears around base. But Nikto is desperate, and so are his lips underneath the soft cotton of the mask. They work against your own, and it’s clumsy at best. Any kisses Nikto has had before were lost to him in the trauma of his rebirth, leaving him unsure of his actions but certain in his intent. Yes, he may not know how to kiss you in this new body you claim he inhabits, but fuck if the feeling of your lips against his, even through the mask, doesn’t feel like the closest thing to heaven he will ever find. And a part of him feels like he has been knocked into the pits of hell with how hot he burns for you, finally able to feel some of the thrumming arousal that had been living within him, just for you. 

If Nikto is left with a growing wet spot in his boxers when he pulls away from your lips, he won’t tell. At least, not if you don’t ask about it. Because he could never deny his Savior anything that you ask. And when you look at him, dazed but with stars in those beautiful eyes, and asks him “please, just ask for what you want. Don’t just secretly covet it. I want to give you as much as you’ve given me”, he agrees, because there is nothing else for him to do. 

A new commandment for his wall, a new law by which he lives. And he already knows the first thing he will ask for from you, since the taste has left him starving. 

Just… no words. Incredible.

[thehypnone]

Another Way Of Breaking You Down

WC: 1,6K

Relationship: Swiss/Mountain

Tags: Butt plugs, anal sex, gill play

Swiss just gets himself gills and Mountain really likes it and they're kind grossly in love and there's a lot of cum

Notes: KING OF GILL FUCKING STRIKES AGAIN HEHEHEHEH WHO CHEERED (not the best but its something hehehe)

Read under the cut or on AO3.

This wasn’t exactly what he planned. How he planned it.

He didn’t plan it at all.

It started with a very boring conversation with Dewdrop, which somehow turned into them talking about gills. Swiss whined about not being able to experience what Dew so vividly described - orgasm triggered by gill stimulation.

Dewdrop also said Mountain was the expert in this field. That he wasn’t only exceptionally good at this, he also loved doing it, could get off on it himself.

When the same evening Swiss’ eyes lingered on Rain’s neck for too long he asked what it was that plagued the multi ghoul’s mind. Swiss could never say no to Rain, so he told him.

And Rain got an idea.

“You know, water ghoul’s have two unglamoured forms, right? We can switch between the features, technically, but there's a normal and… aquatic version. You’re part water. You should be able to shift into the aquatic form.”

It took a week for Swiss, under Rain’s watchful eye, to manage to sprout out gills.

Fully functioning gills.

Swiss made some… preparations before their last session. When they were done Rain offered to help him test them out first, but the multi ghoul was keen on having one specific person shove their fingers into the newly formed slits on his neck and ribs. Not only only, but he needed Mountain to do it first, and he needed it now.

That’s why he thanked Rain with a quick kiss and a promise of a blowjob and stormed out to go look for the earth ghoul. And the water ghoul didn’t take any offence, of course, he’d get his turn soon enough.

Swiss encountered a slight issue, on his way, though.

He threw on a hoodie, partially because he didn’t want to run around shirtless, but mostly so he could surprise Mountain. As the fabric brushed against the sensitive frills adorning the gills on his ribs and on his neck when he bunched up the hood, his knees nearly buckled and he had to hold in a moan, clenching around the plug he’d put in earlier.

There was no way he’d last longer than a minute when Mountain would touch him.

And there was no way he was getting rid of the gills.

The multi ghoul tried to regain at least a fraction of composure to go on a further search for his mate but he was only partially successful. He did find Mountain but by the time he did he was already rock hard and dripping.

“Hey, sweetheart, everything alright?” Mountain asked as Swiss barged into his room, locking the door behind himself. He checked it earlier but the earth ghoul had to move when he was running around the abbey with a boner and a plug up his ass.

“Mountain, my beautiful, kind mate,” he muttered, choking on a groan when he tightened the hood around his neck, “I have a… surprise, for you. Or us…”

“You look and smell like you’re in heat,” he chuckled in response, casting a glance down to Swiss’ tented pants. “What is it?”

The multi ghoul whined, letting go of his hood but not allowing it to fall completely just yet. He grabbed Mountain by his shoulders and pressed their lips together as he pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed. Swiss straddled Mountain’s lap, grinding his clothed cock against the other’s rapidly plumping up one. The earth ghoul’s hands started wandering over Swiss’ own arms and his back, nearing dangerously close to the gift hidden under the hoodie’s black fabric.

They slipped lower, thankfully. Mountain grabbed the multi ghoul’s ass and absentmindedly kneaded it with his big hands in a circular motion when his fingers brushed against-

“Swiss is that a-” he got cut off with a whimper from where Swiss had just hid himself in his mate’s neck, suddenly embarrassed. Mountain sneaked his hand under the elastic of his pants, being met up with a not-at-all-shocking lack of underwear, and trailed his rough yet gentle fingers down to under Swiss’ tail, in between his cheeks and got undeniable confirmation that the ghoul was indeed wearing a plug. He was also deliciously wet, but the scent coming off of him in waves was too spicy for it to be just lube.

Maybe gills weren’t the only water ghoul feature Swiss brought up.

“Is… is that my surprise?” Mountain breathed out, running his fingers through the sticky mess flooding Swiss’ sweats, grabbing the base of the plug and twisting it slightly. Just to hear the multi ghoul whine again.

“Half of it,” he mumbled, leaving wet kisses on his mate’s neck, his collarbone.

“Then show me the rest, my darling.”

Swiss rocked his hips into Mountain’s one more time before pulling away. He gripped the bottom of the hoodie and slowly pulled it up and completely off, throwing it into a corner.

When he looked at the earth ghoul again, his eyes were wide and glassy, mouth agape, nearly drooling, “W- what do you think?”

Mountain swallowed, blinking slowly as he, with great effort, turned his gaze up onto Swiss. His hands came to hover over the fins on his ribs with a silent question. Swiss nodded and long fingers made contact with the pretty frills, “How did you…?”

“Rain helped, we-” a growl cut him off. Swiss got the hint, no space for another ghoul’s name. “Relax, my beast, he didn’t touch me. I’m yours, it's all for you.”

“I need you on my cock, now,” Mountain spoke in a way that left no room for argument. Not that Swiss would have anything to say. He scrambled off of his mate, they both frantically ripped off their clothes and soon enough Swiss was crawling over to where Mountain situated himself against the headboard of his bed.

The multi ghoul knelt, knees bracketing Mountain’s own, and leaned down to push his face into the other’s chest. He reached behind Swiss, the other hand caressing his back, and eased the toy out of his non-stop dripping hole. Mountain’s own cock stood at full attention, tip flushed and shiny, needing to be buried in his mate ten minutes ago.

Swiss kissed Mountain, all but shoving his tongue into the other’s welcoming mouth, as he slowly sunk down on his length. Even despite the plug the stretch was wonderful, the unholy amounts of slick he was drooling creating the filthiest sound. They panted into each other’s mouths as Swiss bottomed out, both of them ridiculously close for how they’ve just started.

“Mountain, my love, p- please,” the multi ghoul whined and clenched down on him, making Mountain’s hips thrust up on their own accord. A wet squelch accompanying the movement.

“Fuck, you- you’re so wet,” he moaned, moving his hands to rest over his mate’s hip.

“No, no, touch ‘em, touch my gills,” Swiss cried out, emphasising his plea with another squeeze of Mountain’s cock inside him.

And who was Mountain to say no?

“Fuck that’s so hot, I love you so much,” his hands trailed upwards, thumbs softly brushing over the soft fins and gently lifting them up to tease the sensitive flesh of the slits, eliciting a high pitched moan from the multi ghoul. His mouth found Swiss’ neck, warm ragged breath ghosting over the gills there.

“M- Mountain, I love you too, fuck.”

“Shhh, my darling, I’ve barely touched you,” he whispered with another buck of his hips, another lewd noise. It made Swiss’ cock throb where it was trapped between them, flushed angry red and so wet.

Swiss let out a pitiful whine, between the feeling of Mountain’s cock filling him and his fingers teasing his gills he had approximately thirty seconds left before he’d burst, “I’m too close, shit, I’ll- I’m-”

“It’s okay, me too, my heart,” Mountain moaned into his neck as he got closer, now his lips were brushing over Swiss’ fins, making the ghoul nearly levitate with sensations. “Right there with you, yeah?”

The earth ghoul waited for anything of a somewhat coherent response, any indication that Swiss was ready to come. All he got was a loud whine and roll of his hips that made Mountain’s cock jump where it was buried in his ass.

He shifted his hands on Swiss’ ribs, replacing his thumbs with index and middle fingers on both sides. Not quite pushing them in, just gently laying over the slits, “Ready, love?”

“Y- yeah, Mountain, please,” he begged and the earth ghoul smiled against his neck, thrusting up again, his balls and thighs completely drenched in his mate’s slick by now. 

Mountain slipped those fingers into the gills on Swiss’ ribs in the same second his tongue wormed its way into those on his neck. He sucked the sensitive fins into his mouth and Swiss was done, eyes rolling back into his head as he screamed.

The way his body clamped down on Mountain as he came and the taste of Swiss’ gills on his tongue forced his own orgasm to rip through him, hot cum filling his mate up as they both shook, holding onto each other tightly.

It took infinitely more time for Swiss to get back on Earth and looking down at the amount of cum his now limp cock drooled out in between their bodies nearly made him come again, right there. He may have already warmed up to water ghoul nature.

“Back with me, my dear?” Mountain asked, wiping away sweat from where it beaded over Swiss’ brows. It took his golden eyes a moment to focus on the earth ghoul’s emerald own but they lit up once he registered the soft, adoring look on his face.

“Mhmmm…” he purred, leaning down to rub his stubble on Mountain’s cheek, a gesture more meaningful than a simple kiss.

“I love you too, but we are extremely messy,” he chuckled, grabbing Swiss’ hips and helping him off of his softened cock. That only added to said mess, when Mountain’s cum started to leak out of the multi ghoul.

“Whoops,” he sighed, not sounding remorseful in the slightest. “Bath?”

“Bath.”

[angled-blade]

Omg Slashers with a super athletic reader? Preferably a runner and fucking outruns them? Perhaps gender neutral??

Slashers with an athletic reader

Slashers; Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer, Ghostface (Billy Loomis + Stu Macher), Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers (OG + RZ), Thomas Hewitt Warning(s): Vulgar language, deliberate mention of violence and murder. Type: Ambiguous | Headcanons

It’s safe to say that each of them had varied reactions.

• Billy Lenz

For the many years that Billy had remained to strike at the victims who live in the sorority home, not one of them did he expect to run from him. He also did not expect to encounter someone who was much more faster than he was. Billy initially thought that it was funny at first, recalling how none of the others did it, but it got him much more angrier after a couple of minutes.

— You had shoved the man with all your might, your dominant hand slapping the weapon out of his hands. A loud shatter ensued the moment it hit the ground, leaving the man in a temporary shock at your defiance against death—you could almost pinpoint when he became enraged.

“You pig bitch!” You could hear the man yell, his voice hoarse from having done so a good feet away.

You didn’t expect to get so far away from a killer who had been so careful with all his kills so far. Maybe he wasn’t right in the head, something that led to this disaster surely couldn’t be the work of a murderer who perfected his craft. You slowed down when his voice became softer the further you ran. You leaned against a tree, gulping down your anxiety as you looked around.

In front of you was the sight of a few houses, alongside a street you recognised—You’ve ran that far, so much so, that it had led you home. No wonder you couldn’t hear the angered man’s voice anymore.

“Thank god.” was your only response, quickly entering your home and locking it shut. You made quick work to clear your mind in some way, falling asleep despite your best efforts to remain alert. There you were, unaware of the now silent man’s stare.

The man’s gaze trailed onto your sleeping form from the window, before his attention moves onto the upper storey of your home.

It seemed you had an attic, too. —

Expect Billy right on your tail no matter how far you were from him, as he chases you down with bated breath.

• Bubba Sawyer

Bubba was used to the victims running away in an attempt to escape. Having you was, of course, difficult—you narrowly missed his lunges just by fraction. It had him throw a larger tantrum than before. Having you run about as carelessly as you did had him extremely anxious, the visual reminding him of his first runaway victim. 

— Bubba couldn’t handle the idea of you running away, really. It brings him back to those days in ’74, where that girl had escaped him. This was the third time in a row where you booked it to run, and yet another time for him to react on autopilot and cage you in his arms ever so tightly.

You kept screaming, your voice becoming scratchy and weak as you pleaded with Bubba—or anyone, really. He felt some form of remorse about it, letting you go quietly, which was an opportunity you took advantage of quickly as you dashed down the road.

All could have been well, maybe, until Nubbins dragged you back from your legs. Those screams returned and Bubba couldn’t do anything about it this time around.

Seeing how you returned to the Sawyer home, Bubba realised that he could catch you easily. If Nubbins could, he could do so as well. 

He stares at you, having heard the screams stop, his head tilted curiously. You stare back at him knowingly, seeming calm now that Nubbins and Drayton had left. 

Bubba realised now that he never really knew anything about you, even the life that you had before. You came here with nobody, so he had no idea why you didn’t escape as you did.

He doesn’t understand what reason it was that you returned to their territory, he’s curious, but you pose a threat to the Sawyers—that meant he had to keep you.

Oh, you stress him out. —

Expect him to be rougher when he does catch you, just because Bubba’s exhausted doesn’t mean that he would just let you get away.

• Ghostface

  • Billy Loomis

Sure, it was expected that the majority of Ghostface’s victims were to put up a little bit of a fight. He, however, has never anticipated to encounter someone who would have put up a similar fight as you did. You were on the track team, closely tied to Sidney in all sorts of ways. Though, it seemed as though you had other plans.

— ‘It’s expected. This is what you should expect every once in a while.’ Billy reminded himself, flicking his wrist as he took a moment to catch his breath. He has remained silent for this long, there is no way is he going to use his voice on you, seeing how you could easily escape—a benefit for being on track and field, he supposed—and tell the authorities that it was his voice. 

The more he repeated the thought in his mind, the more he felt angered at the little process that he has made getting everything over with you.

He called off on killing you tonight, deciding on planning how he could get rid of you in a lot more gruesome way. Maybe to taunt your team, he could always take polaroids of your dismembered legs and send them as ‘good luck’ gifts. To fuck around even more, maybe even sneak some pieces of you in their home—incriminating them instead.

He thought of many more ways to ruin you, a grin hidden by his mask as he disappeared into the thick of the forest, retracing his steps back home as he snuck back in by the window. He’s gotta greet Stu tonight about the change in plans. 

Billy honestly wanted to be back at your home, your blood on the floor as the life drained from your eyes as you gasped for air. He should try strangling you, just like Stu did with rope last Christmas.

Yeah, some of the victims picked by the two are bound to be better runners than others, but fuck were you annoying. —

Expect a more sadistic Ghostface hunting you down, the dagger in his hand with every swing to match your pace.

  • Stu Macher

Stu finds it exhilarating, really. Someone is actually smart enough to leave—and even better, is able to outrun him! His victims, to an extent, did escape his clutches once or twice. Though, none of those on his hit-list ever made it out alive by the end of the night—not until you, which has you promoted as his favourite chase out of practically every victim he’s gotten.

— Stu stared at your running figure, feeling giddy once more. There you go, his favourite victim! If he felt the need to put in any effort to really kill you, he would have, but how could he resist tasting the fear that your body exuded in waves? 

Those teary eyes you had when you were cornered? The glint of hope that resolved itself in your eyes when you found a route to escape? Oh, all your miniscule expressions has him excited, seeing how you restrict yourself from showing too much to Ghostface, but plenty to him.

The duality interests him a whole lot. He likes seeing the contortions of every muscle that has you tensing up when he reenacts movement that he had done on one of those very nights—just to taunt you, but to also see how you’d react and if you were smart enough to make connections.

He’s lost interest in killing you, really! Maybe he could show you a few parts of your friends as tokens of appreciation for participating in their game and playing it so well.

Stu honestly wanted to see you shatter before him; be it on these nights he visits you as Ghostface, or you breaking down in school and turning to him for comfort.

Oh, he can’t wait. —

Expect a rather playful Ghostface greeting you, the dagger’s blade lightly nicking you a few times each time he caught up to you.

• Jason Voorhees

Jason had run-aways often, the window of opportunity being possible with him being incapacitated beforehand, though it was always temporary. Nothing of the sort happened, and yet he was still unable to get rid of you. You had the ability to escape him and live to tell the tale, why would you return to him?

— Jason’s good eye trained on you as he walked in large, domineering strides, following you from a much closer distance. Despite that, he remained ever so silent, making you almost unsure of how close you were to escape. 

How the hell were you supposed to tell the police department? A masked killer who looked eerily to the infamous Jason Voorhees killed your friend and was after you? How were you going to explain to them why you were in Camp Crystal Lake? Were you supposed to leave out some details? Leave out the fact that you were in there, maybe, and that you were concerned for a friend?

Fuck, thinking while running was not a good idea. You got sidetracked and lost sight of where you were headed along the way. You were already in the thick of the forest, the sight of a road from afar one that you focused on in an instant. 

You gulped down your fear, not wanting to face the wrath of the killer that you and your friend had unknowingly incurred. 

You saw the road become closer, until you were a few meters away. You felt relief reach your aching muscles, only for them to tense up once more.

A large hand, its skin gray and rough, gripped onto your dominant wrist. You could only let out a wail as he drug you back, his nail digging into your skin as a warning. —

Expect an extremely focused Jason for every time that he catches a glimpse of you, a feeling washing over him with each time that he follows you.

• Michael Myers

  • ’78/OG

OG expected you to do so after you (quickly, he noticed) realised that he was no average Halloween participant. He, however, did not expect you to disappear from his sight as quickly as you did. He will (just barely, that he ignored) catch a glimpse of you in the very distance, a rush of energy flowing through him as if he could not wait to catch you.

— You couldn’t see the man anywhere once you had ran from the building, fear still present in your eyes as you kept looking around. Paranoia still stuck with you as you made a few changes in your path, taking multiple shortcuts and longer routes to throw the killer off your path. 

Surely that would confuse the masked male who, without you realising, had been closely following you. His steps matched yours, though a lot more quieter as your shoes crushed the dead leaves beneath you. 

You were different to him, your appearance one that he took to committing to his memory if you happen to break into a sprint as you did when you realised who he was the first time around.

You were passing these houses now, the candles that were in those carved pumpkins still lit. Their presence illuminated the now dead streets of Haddonfield, shedding light onto the killer who acknowledged the fact that you stopped walking. 

After hearing another set of footsteps, you turned to see the man once again—this time around, you did not choose to hesitate. This was a matter of life and death, after all.

And so, the chase was on. —

Expect a curious OG to be unrelenting as he stalks you down, the idea of killing you a thought he now had abandoned out of intrigue.

  • RZ

Maybe it was the fact that RZ had developed a little more than his original counterpart, patience is not a word that can be associated with this killer. The longer the victim lives, the more aggressive RZ becomes in response. The very fact that you remain to graze past the inevitability of death, the more destruction is caused by him in its wake.

— You heard the woman’s scream as the boogeyman struck her, the sheathing sound of a blade intercepting her chest, tearing through her flesh—it even hit bone, the harrowing echo of cracks sounding throughout the entire room—you felt horror intercept your very being, heartbeat at a state of unease as it pounded against your chest.

He killed her as if he was gutting her like a fish. You felt your breath quicken, catching the attention of the killer. You couldn’t hear his footsteps; they were far too quiet to hear over the rush of thoughts that overtook your mind. 

Only when you heard his heavy breathing, you reacted on autopilot. You ran, and ran. Away from that house, away from the street he was at.

You were only a passerby—not even someone he was targeting, so why was it that he felt more rage toward you running away? 

You were nosy, that’s what. You sat through the woman’s death and did nothing. Did you hear of the woman’s words? How long? The thoughts plagued his mind, more rage flowing through as he stared at your smaller figure from a good distance away, following you now.

At home at last, you relaxed, unaware of the man standing on the porch by your backdoor.

He recognised your face now, you won’t get away from him so soon. —

Expect a more aggravated RZ hunting you down in the nth chase that you two have been caught in. He remains unstoppable, curious to see you break.

• Thomas Hewitt

Thomas supposed that with time—there had to be people that will outrun him and book it from Texas, never to return to taunt the folk there. You kept returning, much to the Hewitt family’s chagrin. Thomas felt on edge whenever you were visible in town—even if you couldn’t see him—preparing to catch you once and for all.

— “Oh, shit.” Thomas stood before you, his eyes trained on you as he remained still. You felt your body tense, though you tried to offer a sheepish grin. You knew how to get out of this alive—plus, he didn’t bring his chainsaw along this time around.

“This is a bad time to–shit, why the fuck are you everywhere? I just wanted to—” You were cut off with a snarl. A warning you knew not to mess with. You backed away, unsure of what that was to imply for you. Was he thinking about butchering you? Hanging you on the hook as he skinned you?

You couldn’t tell, nor could you make a coherent thought as he raises his hands slightly to abdomen level, seemingly in preparation to do something. You turned on your heel and ran, even if the hot Texas heat burned against your back, your lungs burning now with the uncomfortable warmth that dried your throat.

You were running on the road now, the gravel brushing against your beaten down shoes as you kept running. The heat, of course, became one that was your enemy. You weren’t thinking ahead, nor were you able to grasp how far out you were in the state. 

Collapsing, a figure neared your limp body. You gasp as hands hoisted you right up to land against their broad shoulders, the wind having been knocked out from your throat. You began to whimper as you two made the long journey back to that damn house.

A thought settled in your mind and had you teary eyed, as you gave into this situation helplessly.

You were never leaving this place, weren’t you? —

Expect a determined Thomas whenever he sees you, though, no matter how long it will take to catch you; he’d always catch you.

Hey! I hope you enjoyed this piece and that it fulfilled your request!! Thank you to all the many requests that have ended up in my inbox alongside the occasional asks! I am ecstatic at the fact that you all enjoy my work!! (: Again, please reblog this post! I really appreciate it. Thank you again for reading this, have a great day/night!! (:

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Birthday I

(Masterlist)

you guys have NO idea how excited i am to get to this section. this is a two-parter. enjoy :D

(Content: discussions of captivity, slavery, imperialism, illness, and colonialism. alcohol. some very slight dubcon.)

===================

He’d come back to Thales. They’d warned him it was tempting fate, but lightning never strikes the same place twice. And it was about time they did something with the castle. In winter, the frost shone delicately against the outer walls. It reflected the starlight out across the lawn, its colors glistening as if made of moonstone. 

It was Paris’s birthday. They would celebrate here. There was enough notice given to the staff for them to restore the castle to a fraction of its former glory, then almost enough time to manage the actual preparations. Nobody could say that he did not understand showmanship. The inside of Castle Thales was ethereal and ancient. All the ghosts were out tonight.

He didn’t get anything out of it, not really. He smoked alone in the garden, the icy remnants of the summer flowers crushed down by his boots. He watched the procession of guests through the doors without much enthusiasm. He had no use for them socially, no interest in business tonight. He was already ready for it to be over.

He tossed the cigarette butt out onto the frozen grass, turning to go back inside.

“Paris!” Her voice carried across the field. She almost knocked him over, arms flying around his neck. He stumbled before he caught her. 

“I’m so sorry, I meant to see you sooner,” Her head was fully in his chest, pressing up against the wound, “I saw the footage. Paris, I couldn’t believe it.”

She laughed a little as she withdrew, “Why would you ever have the party here?”

Paris smiled at her, some of the sullenness melting away. Her hair was done in tight curls, but her dress was modern and hung loosely off her body. It made her look more boyish than usual. The diamonds on her face reflected the light shining off the castle.

“Going for symmetry,” Paris’s eyes glanced out to the treeline, a sliver of fearful expectancy still obvious in his voice. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I came,” Lorelai said softly. He had smelled faintly of antiseptic.

He offered her the last cigarette in the pack. 

“You just got a new lung! Why do you even have that!” She protested, reaching for it anyway. He lit it up for her. Her lipstick stained the filter.

===================

Delta was exhausted. He’d been given too much to heal from lately. Sierra had spent all afternoon with him, getting more and more frustrated as she found more bruises. His shade was so specific, it took hours to cover up properly. She’d been on the verge of tears before she even got around to working on the others. It was too large a festival for one day. Delta felt for her, but the stress didn’t make her particularly nice to be around. He blinked some of the paint out of his eyes, still feeling the sting of the brushes. 

A thick chain connected his collar to the base of the throne. He was very familiar with this specific position. The court had not so long ago belonged to the Emperor. In most ways, it still did. He’d been made to kneel here ever since he had first been acquired. In his memories, the throne had been larger. The space felt too small for him now. 

He straightened up, noticing his own slouching. Little jolts ran through his body, one of the best ways he had to wake himself up. These things tended to run long. He raised his head up slightly to look out at the ballroom. It really did look beautiful tonight, but there was something uncanny about it. Something in how the light played. He’d lost track of Paris a while ago, which would’ve been fine, had he not been so anxious about his return. He found himself subconsciously scanning the room for any signs. This time, he caught one.

Paris was hanging by the southern entrance to the hall. A girl - Lorelai? - was standing close to him. Delta recognized the soft copper of her hair, but couldn’t see her face from her position. She turned around suddenly. He jumped a little, realizing she was looking straight at him. He could read Paris’s body language well enough to know they were arguing. Delta quickly bowed his head back down. He wanted nothing to do with it.

He didn’t look back up again until he heard her footsteps approaching – and even then, he tried to avoid it. She was wearing the same boots she had on the first time they met.

“What about you?” She said, leaning down, “Do you wanna dance?”

The diamonds of her face were so striking. They lit up like a kaleidoscope – almost too hard to see past. Paris was standing a few paces behind her, glaring daggers. Delta froze. 

She whipped her head around, catching Paris’s sour expression. “Knock it off.”

He laughed. It wasn’t kind. She whirled on him entirely, the ends of her dress spinning behind her. Her fists were clenched. He said something low, through grit teeth. Delta couldn’t make it out, nor could he make out her response. It went on like that for a few turns before Paris threw his hands up.

“You know what? Fine,” He marched over to Delta, grabbing the collar harshly. He flinched. Paris released the lock, letting the chain clatter to the floor.

“Fuck both of you.” 

Paris stormed out. Lorelai put her hands to her head, clutching her own hair in frustration. 

“God, he’s such a baby sometimes.” She groaned. 

She turned to look at Delta again. He was visibly grimacing, staring out in the direction Paris had left. He rubbed at his neck absently, a bit sore from where the chain had been yanked. 

Lorelai extended her hand, “You can hang out with me if you want. Forget him.”

Delta eyed her warily. Her expression was warm — not mocking, as he feared she meant to be. It wasn’t a good idea. Yet he knew on some level the damage was already done. He had nothing better to do with his night. He gingerly took her hand. It was much softer than he had expected. 

===================

Delta walked behind her with the quiet resignation of someone who was dragged everywhere, all the time. He didn’t have a problem with shadowing her, but it made him a little nervous to navigate the crowd this way. Seeming to sense this, she pushed out through a side door, into a more deserted corridor. The castle was labyrinthine to the two of them.

“It’s eerie that they decorated every room. Aren’t these supposed to be off-limits?” Lorelai mused, “I can’t tell what the theme is. Time?”

Delta was silent. She released his hand, tilting her head at him. 

“You don’t like parties, I bet.”

“No, miss.” He blushed a little, rolling his shoulder back. She frowned.

“Want to get some air?” 

“Yes, miss.” 

She led him out onto the third floor balcony, which was also supposed to be off-limits. There were chairs up there, but she sat up on the stone railing. Delta lingered in the doorway. The stars were tinted with purple. The twin moons of Thales hung in different quadrants of the sky.

“You know, my folks didn’t want me to come to this,” Lorelai smiled a little, “Not after last time. You were there, weren’t you?”

Delta hesitated, “…For the assassination?”

She nodded. “What was it like?”

Again, he paused. He wasn’t used to open-ended questions. They made him a bit suspicious. He tried to feel out if a trap had been laid. 

“Abrupt,” he said finally, “It only took a second. Miss.” 

She felt her own chest, her manicured hands making small circles in her sternum.

“I can’t imagine. I really can’t.” She shook her head. “I could never go military, I’m too scared of pain. I used to cry like a baby whenever I had to get a shot.”

Delta’s bruises were invisible beneath the makeup. No question had been posed to him. He didn’t speak. 

===================

He couldn’t deal with whiskey again. The smell alone made him nauseous, spurred the migraine forth for as long as he was around it. Lorelai accepted this condition gracefully. She had disappeared at the bar for a little while, re-emerging with two pink glasses.

“Try it, it tastes like juice,” She looked at him with huge eyes, pushing it into his hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered. She looped her arm in his, slipping back out from the crowded hall. The cold night wind bit into them as soon as the side door opened. 

Delta could feel it coming on, but he couldn’t stop it. He loosened up too much when he was drunk. He forgot everything he was trying to safeguard. But Lorelai was so nice. He didn’t feel afraid to talk, the way he had been all the time recently. She giggled when she noticed she was getting real answers out of him. It wasn’t mean. 

“My mom said if I take a year off, I’ll never go back. They keep threatening to cut me off and I don’t have the heart to tell them I really don’t care. I never wanted their money. I mean, I was glad to have it when I did, but I’m an adult now. I have dreams! I don’t wanna be their baby anymore.” She bumped into him, spilling a bit of her drink, “So what do you do?”

“Murders and executions, mostly.”

“Oh. Right.” She seemed embarrassed to have asked. “Come look at this.”

She trotted over to the steel fence surrounding the castle grounds. Delta strolled along a few steps behind her. 

“You’ve been here before?” His voice was so soft, the wind almost carried it away.

“Few times. Not recently. I hope they’re still here,” She jogged the last steps to the flowerbed, then did a running slide onto her knees into the dirt.

“Ah! Cold!” She cried out, “Don’t do that!”

He hadn’t planned to. He bent down beside her to examine the bed. It was a little frosted over, but there were still white flowers visible this late in the season. Lorelai cupped one between her hands like she wanted to pick it, then stopped herself.

“Noella-nas. It’s a good story. You heard it?”

“No, miss.”

“During the settling of Swanni in the late medieval period, all of King Cataline’s court came down with this mysterious pox. It came for his wife and children first, then spread throughout the court. Eventually all of the pilgrims had contracted it. They called it Whicap. It would start inside their bones and eat its way out. It took off their arms and legs one at a time. King Cataline was sure they all would be killed if the plague carried on. So he went out into the wilderness to speak with the native people. They had seen Whicap before. They showed him the place where Noella-nas grows. He cut it out of the ground and brought it back to his court alchemist. The petals of Noella-nas were the cure for their illness. That’s how the pilgrims at Swanni survived their first decade. That’s why their children still live there today.”

She plucked a single petal off and rolled it between her fingers. 

“They’re extinct in the wild. The forests they grew in were leveled and turned into farmland. Thales keeps growing them as a heritage project. Nobody really gets Whicap anymore, anyway.”

Her dress was dirty. Her knees had been scraped up and the soil of the courtyard was sticking in the wound. She popped the petal into her mouth, letting it melt there. It tasted like marshmallow root.

“Is it alright if I ask where you’re from?” She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were bleary.

“I was born in captivity. I’m not from anywhere,” He answered. Despite the cold weather, he was strangely warm. Lorelai put her hand to her mouth, tracing her own lips as if to self-soothe.

“Oh. I thought you might be from one of the outer colonies. I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve met who were born outside Empire. It’s so scary. It’s too big. Did you just say you were born in captivity?”

He was starting to understand Paris better. He now knew what it was like to be physically incapable of shutting up.

“Yeah. Or I was surrendered to the Institute while I was still really young. I don’t have any memories of ever living outside of it.” He paused. “It’s probably easier that way. We would sometimes get kids who’d been surrendered at age seven or so. They never lasted long. They just couldn’t adjust to it.”

Lorelai fully covered her face now. “I don’t know how you can forgive us. I don’t know how anyone ever could.”

The air around them sparked. Delta, embarrassed, tried desperately to ground himself. Little arcs of electricity were coming off of him in a way he couldn’t control. Lorelai kept her face buried in her hands and would not get up until Delta asked her to come back where it was warm.

===================

They went into the basement. Delta had asked nicely. He got the strange sense he might never have another chance to see it. The door was locked, but the lock was not strong. It wasn’t the same one they’d had when Delta was kept there. Lorelai kicked like a mule. It burst open. 

Delta got a little woozy at the sight of the stairs. They were ivory and covered by a finely woven rug. Its wine red shade had faded mostly to brown. The two of them descended.

The floor came into view first. It was warm marble tiling, inlaid with gold. It spread out in their vision as they neared the bottom. It spread — and there was very little else.

“Oh,” Delta realized, “They got rid of it.”

The expensive and well-insulated material that had made up the walls of his room were torn down. All that was left were the support structures. Thin beams of rebar descended from the ceiling and down into the tile. They marked out the perimeter where the room had once ended. Standing alone, they looked a lot like the bars of a cage.

Lorelai slipped in between them. The light sound of her boots clicking on the tile suddenly changed as it came into contact with the old floor. It was well insulated, meant for grounding. Her steps sounded heavier. They made a dull echo throughout the room.

She spun around, running her fingers along the bars.

“It’s so small,” she said. 

“I was younger when they built it,” Delta said weakly. He didn’t know why he was defending them. He didn’t even want to get close. He glanced around again. The outer walls of the basement were decorated with simple paintings and tapestries. Besides that, there was nothing else down there.

“I think they took the rest of my stuff,” he concluded, a small note of bitterness creeping into his voice. When he’d first gotten aboard the Thorn, Simon had packed him two suitcases. One was all clothes. The other was mostly books. Everything else he’d owned had been lost for a long time. Some small part of him hoped he might find it here.

Maybe it was for the best though. Had the room still been intact, he doubted he could’ve brought himself to enter it. Just the idea of it made him nauseous.

Lorelai slipped out from between the bars. She leaned her hip against the one of them and hooked her arm around another as if to steady herself. The rust of the rebar stained her skin. She didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s…really scary,” she says slowly, “I’m sorry.”

Delta brushes a strand of hair from his face.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Lorelai continued, “Do you want to go back up?”

He nods.

===================

“I mean, I guess I’m sorry it’s still happening,” she said.

“What?” Delta asked. They were on the balcony again. She’d gotten them more drinks. It was starting to be an unwise amount. She sipped at her mojito pensively. The silly straw did nothing to alleviate her grief.

“With you. I’m sorry you have to live like this.” Lorelai braced herself against the stone railing, looking straight down into the garden.

Delta didn’t answer. 

“I like Paris, you know. He’s my friend. But he’s a lot sometimes. I don’t know.” She paused:

“...Is he good to you?”

She turned her head slightly to see if his expression changed. He was gazing out into the surrounding woods. The top of the ship was just barely visible over the treetops. The question hung in the air. Delta rubbed at his neck.

“I don’t think he wants to be this way.” He said finally. “He just…gets himself so worked up.”

She nodded like she understood. The sky was clouding up; her cup was empty again. When she moved to stand, her gait was wobbly. The glass toppled over. Delta caught her before she could fall too.

“Are you okay, miss?” Delta asked, a muted note of concern in his voice. He was used to the drunken two-step by now. At least with her, it didn’t hold the threat of sudden violence.

“I’m tired,” she murmured, “I’m…really tired.”

Delta led her back down the stairs to the ballroom. He flagged down her friends, who seemed to recognize the danger. They gathered to come collect her. Before he could pass her off, she leaned over and quickly pecked him on the cheek. 

Delta blushed as her friends led her away. The party was over, anyway. She cast a last glance over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable.

He traced the skin where she had kissed him. It had been right on top of the bruise.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire @micechomper

[parkerpeter24]

bloody love . part 3

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader

warnings ➳ hanahaki!au, unrequited love, slightly happy ending, mentions of blood, read at your own discretion.

w.c. ➳ 2.4k

summary ➳ who said love couldn’t kill?

i mean who saw this coming. but i hope you enjoy because writing hanahaki!au has been my oldest wish and here we are 🥰

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

you were there everyday.

peter saw you every day, sitting on your fire escape, your face in the palms of your hands, looking up at the starts. even though you could barely see any with the amount of pollution in the city during winters.

two months had passed since peter talked to you. really talked to you. he saw you every day in the hallways of the hell everyone called school and every night on your fire escape.

you were so close to him, yet so far as he watched you, sure to stay out of your line of sight. the superhero assured himself that it wasn’t stalking if he was on his patrol and happened to stop by a building that happened to be near your apartment building.

peter remembered the day he landed on the same place your elbows rested now, and looked for you in the dark room and he wished, every night, that he could undo whatever it was that led to this situation. or maybe he’d convince you to talk to him about your feelings as soon as he found out about the disease. or he could express his own feeling which he’d kept dismissing as a ‘silly schoolboy crush’ everytime.

he would just about do anything to get you back.

but he couldn’t think of a way. not for the past two months. not since the day you walked out on him. and as he watched you recede to your room at 09:45, just the same time as every day, he thought maybe he deserved this after all and a feeling of familiar pain took over the brunette’s lungs as he took off.

it was a good thing that ned was talking to him. because gwen wasn’t. he didn’t really expect her to after he’d ghosted her for about as long as he’d known you had feelings for him.

but ned was there. he kept trying to stay in touch even after five weeks of his friend ignoring him like the plague. peter was just grieving and forever grateful that ned understood that.

“the empire strikes back? or return of the jedi? i’m in a star wars mood today.” ned stated as he picked up the two tapes in each of his hands. saturday night was a movie night. ned had invited peter and another girl from his art class, michelle, over. peter didn’t really know her well and she didn’t seem too interested in conversation.

“when are you not in a star wars mood?” mj rolled her eyes, however a little smile played over her lips, as she skimmed through the pages of her book.

“maybe you should decide then.” ned suggested.

“fractured.” mj said within a second, shrugging her shoulders, “it’s a good one. quite underrated.”

ned seemed to think for a moment before he looked at peter, “what do you say, man?”

“i don’t mind.” peter said, giving his friend a pursed smile.

ned nodded and started the movie. as the opening credits rolled in, mj looked at ned and mouthed, “what’s his deal?”

“it’s complicated.” ned mouthed back.

peter rolled his eyes, hearing the two of them whisper around behind his back. however, he couldn’t fight what ned had said. it was complicated. and he didn’t want it to be.

and so peter decided that it was enough.

that night, on his daily patrol, he stopped by the same old building facing your apartment but this time instead of waiting for you to walk out of your window, he swung over and before he knew his fist was against your window, knocking at the glass gently until he saw a figure behind the curtains.

your figure.

you pulled the curtains apart, revealing your face and for a moment peter felt all air knocked out of his lungs. he hasn’t seen you this close since… *that* day.

“peter?” hearing your voice pulled him out of the trance he’d suddenly entered, “um, what are you doing here?”

peter remained silent as the mechanical eyes on his suit grew wider by a fraction. he had decided that he needed to fix this mess. but how; he didn’t bother to think about that. peter didn’t usually feel this nervous when he was covered top to bottom in his spandex suit but now he could feel his ragged breath against his mask.

“okay…” you stood there awkwardly, knowing peter was struggling to say something. you didn’t know why he was here but you weren’t gonna help him right now, “i don’t know what to say if you’re not gonna talk.” you gave him a pursed smile.

“i- uh. i-i want to talk.” peter laid out.

“oh, about what?”

“how’s school?” peter asked as if the past two months didn’t exist at all.

“it’s fine…” you trailed off, “boring.”

“right. i-i didn’t see you in ages.”

“i’m right here.” you nodded at him.

“nice.” peter was trying to stall the conversation but he’d run out of things to say, “listen, can we talk about…” he racked his brain to find something. *anything*

“about?”

“about you? i miss you.” peter sighed, watching your eyebrows furrow at his claim. did you not want him to miss me? did he just make a mess of the earlier mess that he was trying to solve?

he watched your fingers grip the curtains tighter, just about ready to shut it on his face, “pete, i think you should-”

“n-no, no, no. no. please. i didn’t mean that!” peter said, instantly realizing how it might have sounded, “wait, i do mean that. um, do you want me to? mean that?”

you found his nervousness adorable. it was probably easy for peter to think that it meant nothing to you but he didn’t know how easy it would be for him to crawl right back into your heart.

and that’s why you needed to stop this.

“don’t come to my balcony.” peter’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach hearing you say those words next. you weren’t even meeting his eyes as you added, “please.”

may could tell her nephew was going through a hard time. she saw him sulk around the apartment every weekend and this time around wasn’t any different. she watched him swirl around the last bits of his cereal, deep in thought, “got any plans for the weekend?”

“not really.” her nephew replied.

“what about gwen, maybe you can invite her over for dinner!” may smiled, hoping to lighten the mood.

“that was months ago.” peter stated simply, “i don’t think she’d be interested.”

“then how about we go out for dinner?”

“i appreciate you doing this for me, may, i really do but i-” he sighed, not knowing how to refuse the offer, “i’m sorry, i can’t.”

may hated to see her nephew like this. she’d always tried for him to be comfortable around her. enough to share something that was bothering him this much “just tell me what’s wrong, son.”

“well, i-it’s a long story.”

she gave him an assuring smile, “i’ve got nowhere to be.”

so he told her. he told her everything from the day he found you in your room, to the day you ran away to hide in the bathroom, to the day you left him ‘for the better’.

he just left out the detail where he was going through the same problem now.

however, he did feel lighter after sharing everything with his aunt. she tried to help by suggesting him ideas to sort the situation out between the two of you. the situation was a little too complicated. peter hated that word

the next day, as you were pulling out your physics book from your locker, you saw him approaching you again, “hey.” peter said, waving at you.

you raised your eyebrows at him, “hi?”

“walk to class with me?” he asked, hoping you’d say yes. the two of you shared ap physics so what could be the loss in walking together.

you nodded and started walking so suddenly that peter had to take a quick run to catch up to you, “look, i know we left some things unfigured and-”

“i don’t think this is the right time to talk about that.” you stated, looking straight ahead of you.

“okay. then tell me when will be the right time?” he persisted.

you sighed, finally looking at him, “peter, i told you to-”

“you told me to not come to your balcony. i’m not on your balcony.” your eyes met for a second and peter held them with so much intensity you had to look away.

you hesitated for a moment, “the fire escape. same time as yesterday.”

peter blinked, not believing you were actually ready to talk to him, “are you sure?”

“do not push it.” you shook your head at him and he knew better. so he stood there, watching you leave for a class you two shared.

he hoped tonight would make things better between the two of you.

it had become a habit for peter to land on the building in front of yours instead of directly swinging to your fire escape. he made a mental note to stop doing that.

he knocked at your window, second night in a row. you were pulling apart the curtains again and this time, you got out to the fire escape. peter jumped down from the railing and beside you.

“so?” you initiated, “what is it that you wanna talk about?”

“about you. how have you been?”

“better.” you stated, giving him a little smile, “you?”

“i’m okay.”

“for the record, i missed you too.”

“o-oh.” peter felt his cheeks warm against the material of his mask. the air was gradually turning chilly. the city was on the brink of december but it was somehow still warm. or maybe that was just peter because the next moment he found you shivering as a gust of wind passed by, rubbing your hands together, “you okay?”

you nodded, “a little cold.”

you watched as he shifted a little closer to you, your faces inches apart. you could see all the intricate designs that held his suit together, resisting yourself to reach up and trace along the web-like design, “i-it’s got an in-built heater.”

the two of you stayed in silence, you staring up at the sky like you did every day and peter couldn’t resist but say because he finally had the chance to, “you can’t even see anything up there.”

“you can actually! you just need to focus more.” you turned to face him, catching him already looking at you. you averted your gaze back to the stars quickly.

“look, there’s ursa major.” he pointed out.

“yeah! cool, right?”

“it’s actually pretty hot.” peter said, realizing you didn’t get his joke when you gave him a confused look, “well, because it’s a star and stars are… hot.” he chuckled awkwardly.

“that was a terrible joke.” you deadpanned before letting out a laugh.

“come on, you know you liked it.” peter grinned.

“absolutely not!” you laughed, further proving his point, “however it did remind me, do you want some hot chocolate?”

the two of you made your way inside through the window. peter pulled off his mask finally and you took in his appearance. his cheeks were slightly red, probably due to the cold, hair ruffled as he shook his head to let a few strands out of his face. he’d really let his hair grow out. you avoided eye contact once he caught you staring, “i’ll go get it.”

peter looked around the room. you had done some redecorating. a few of your pictures with him were missing– in fact only one picture of you two together remained on your wall and it wasn’t even the two of you it was a group photo from back when your class went on a field trip– which was a little unsettling to peter but right now, talking to you was a big enough step so he pushed all the other worries to the back of his head.

the sound of two voices arguing pulled peter out of his thoughts. the voices belonged to you and your mother, he figured, and found you two talking about him?

he heard your mom’s voice loud and clear, “then why the two mugs?”

“because i was craving two hot chocolates.” you reasoned.

“y/n. come on! the past month has been so much progress. there were no flowers, not even once!”

before peter could register whatever was happening, you rushed inside the room, slamming the door with the help of your foot as you placed the aforementioned mugs on your study table.

“you need to hide in the closet.” you hurried, pushing peter a bit towards the closet door.

“what? y/n, i’m not in the closet anymore, you know i’m bi-”

“this is not the time to make jokes, please! just hide!” you whisper yelled.

peter placed his palms on either side of your face, sensing your heart palpitating. he caressed your cheeks, way too calm as your mom knocked at your door, “hey, hey, calm down.” he took a deep breath, compelling you to do the same, “i’ll leave now, don’t worry. see you tomorrow.”

he gave you a smile, quickly making his way over to your window and stepped outside before closing the curtains just the way you kept it, while you opened the door to your room, letting your very frustrated mom inside, “where is he?”

“where is what?” you tried to act casually, “i told you i just can’t have enough of hot chocolate.”

“y/n y/l/n. where is he?” she demanded yet again.

you sighed in defeat, finding a sudden interest in the wooden floor, “he left.”

it was her turn to let out a sigh. you could tell she was disappointed because any time she wanted to express that, she addressed you by your whole name, “miss y/n y/l/n, do you know why i’d let you opt out of surgery?”

“because i wanted to?” you offered, giving her a meek smile.

“no. because you were starting to get better. you were maintaining your distance from him and you were healing.” your mother said.

if peter was anything akin to confused before, he was perplexed now. unbeknownst to the two of you, he’d listened to everything that was going on inside. the dots were connecting themselves but peter seemed to be refusing the possibility that it was all true.

you never got a surgery?

peter felt something in his chest but this feeling was different than what he’d experienced for the past two months. he felt an unprecedented warmth spread throughout his lungs.

like hope. like everything would eventually be okay.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist | masterlist ✨

taglist : @the-girl-in-the-chair @annathesillyfriend @uwiuwi @spideyspeaches @prancerrparkerr @usergarfields @theglitterymess @quaksonhehe @lowkey-holland @starlight-starks @piscesparker @incorrectsourwolf @wildxwidow @annab-nana @blankspaceblankday @kelieah @arvinsvintage @faultlinegracie @icarusafety @raajali3 @tommyfroggie @saturnpeter @ellabellabus07 @comfort-reads @holland-styles @1-800-starkindustrie @feariteriu @wittlewowa @20forty9 @skepticalleo

[eris-snow]

𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭

Tags: Revelation (Deku's birthday series 2024), izuku x fem!reader, angst, plot, class a shenanigans, filler, I'd die for Izuku, birthday, fluff

Masterlist

July 13th. Crack and break.

---

There were 3 things you knew had happened yesterday.

Number 1: Your days with him had ticked from 4 to 3. This version of Izuku would go poof in a matter of days, and you were going to miss it. Somehow, Izuku had compacted a year's worth of memories in the span of two weeks, and now, you didn’t want him to let go. This was the closest he’d ever got to remembering you, thrashing against binds and battering against an unbreakable wall. You’ll miss it, of course you would.

You’ve never seen him try this hard for you.

Don’t leave me, Izuku. I’m scared of the look in your eyes when you don’t recognise me. Even if you don’t need me, even if I don’t need you, I want to stand by your side. Please don’t go. Please remember me.

Number 2: Izuku had found something 

Ever since Izuku had come back from the clearing, he’d been distant. He’d found something, of course he did.

The Saviour of the world can pride himself on his unreasonable number of Quirks and excellent portfolio, but he couldn’t lie to save his life. If there was one thing in heroing he’d be bad at, it’d be undercover missions.

You drink coffee from the cup, shiver at the bitterness, and take another sip. You need to stop psyching yourself out, otherwise, you’re going to combust from the inside out. Splattered organs would not look good beside a fucked up kitchen.

And the 3rd thing…

There was a student found on campus in a pool of blood.

There was no indication of an intruder, so when she was admitted into the infirmary and patched up, everyone thought she was fine until she woke up and started bawling uncontrollably.

Depressed, Recovery Girl had said, right before admitting her into the hospital. Can’t even remember how to smile.

Chisuke had been on campus.

If Izuku hadn’t left with you yesterday, that could have been him.

You highly doubt that the villain could so much as graze Izuku, but what if he’d came in at night? Lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right time to strike…you shake your head, instead pushing your thoughts to homework.

Aizawa had reassured you that everything was under control, so why couldn’t you shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong?

—

Maybe you were being paranoid, but being paranoid saved lives okay, and if you had to look at another question involving differentiating a product rule in a fraction, you’d personally find a person with a time travelling Quirk, go back in time, and strangle whoever decided they were smart enough to jam math with letters instead of numbers.

Aizawa dms you the files within an hour, and you open and devour the multi-paged document like it was the latest chapter of a manga.

Chisuke Suzuki, the younger brother of Isamu Suzuki, has a Quirk that can shut down one emotion of his choice permanently. You sit back and read through the file, eying his details carefully before you scribble some of it down.

Analysis was good, because it also was a handy distraction. From Izuku’s dazed responses, he had his own things to work through that he didn’t want to tell you. The conversation mainly went like so:

“Hello.”

“Mm, bananas.”

“Midoriya, I was going to ask if you were doing alright? You seem pretty out of it.”

“Apples are great fruits too. I think Tokoyami can help you.”

“Midoriya, if you don’t give me a proper answer, I’m gonna take Kacchan and wham you over your head.”

“Sounds fun.”

Nothing’s more frustrating than Izuku being deep in thought.

And maybe part of you, a tiny part of you, was hurt by the fact that Izuku didn’t even think of telling you.

Shaking your head, you sigh. It doesn’t matter, it’s alright.

It’s okay, because in 3 days, Izuku won’t remember any of this at all.

—

Izuku shuffles and rereads the words in his mind once more.

Tit for tat, this for that. A brother for a brother, and pain for bits and scraps.

You want to find your memories? I understand. My Quirk is simple, very simple. Pain is not worth the weight of knowledge. Your trade is insufficient.

Try again.

“A fair trade.” He whispers, hand over his mouth as he works his way through the thoughts. “Your memories…for mine?”

Izuku shuts the thought down immediately because there’s no way that was fair. You’d kept them, held them dear to your heart and stayed by his side this entire time. You are not losing your memories to his hands.

What can I do? What can I exchange? What do I have to lose.

“Oi, idiot, you’re muttering out loud again.” Katsuki says, flopping down on a nearby beanbag. Izuku promptly ignores him.

Your trade is insufficient. Try again.

Try again.

Izuku glares down at his hands with a look that could kill, trying, but failing to find the right instrument to strike the right chord.

Other memories, perhaps?

(”Dude, is he okay? Seriously, I feel sorry for his cup, man, He could boil tea with that gaze—")

Try again.

An arm? A leg?

Try again.

His Quirk? Izuku pauses in contemplation, jerking his head up.

“Oh, he’s alive,” Shoto says tonelessly, from somewhere in the background

There’s a faint hum in his mind, an answer bubbling up to the surface, until—

Try again.

Izuku slams his head against the table.

“Bro, come on,” Kirishima whines, swiping his pancakes off the table. “My breakfast!”

“Sorry,” Izuku mutters, forcing a sheepish smile, before he dives head first back into the table.

“I think he’s lost it,” Kaminari whispers all too loudly from the safety of the couches.

Izuku chucks the pillow on his lap at Kaminari as the blond ducks.

“Haha, missed me—DUDE WHAT THE FUCK, THAT WAS A WHOLE ASS CHAIR.”

“Please get your sorry ass up to Y/n’s room and date her already.” Ochaco murmurs.

Izuku’s head shoots up from the midst of his table toppling. “What?”

“Wait no, don’t do that.” Ochaco hums seamlessly, yanking her already split coffee from the table. “Okay, you can have the table now.”

“Thanks.”

“Noo, Midoriya, man! I thought Kacchan was the mean one! Please don’t stab me with a table leg! I swear, it was just a—AHHHHH BAKUGOU FUCKING HELP. HEELLLPPPP, MIDORIYA’S GONE STIR CRAZY, HE’S MAD WITH POWER, HEL—”

—

When you walk downstairs and find your first love chasing a certain idiot blond around the living room with a whole ass table in tow, you stop and stare, before making eye contact with Ochaco. She shrugs.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow, as if to say “Why the fuck would you expect me to know?”

Izuku’s muscles are taunt and firm as he hauls the table. You watch his biceps flex, tune out Kaminari’s screaming, and lick your lips.

There’s a camera flash, and you pocket your phone.

Picture-perfect, really.

—

It’s only when Izuku returns to the dorms does his headaches come back in full force. Truthfully, he should have been expecting it. Staggering, he barely has enough time to lock his door before he falls to his knees on the ground. Everything is ice-blue, and the ringing in his ears add to the disequilibrium he’s experiencing. He’s on the floor, but he feels like the world has tilted sideways.

Pain is not worth the weight of knowledge.

He groans, and in his agony blossoms another image that tastes like blood and tears.

It’s his birthday, and the sun is out and bright. It’s his birthday, but tears are running down your cheeks, and you’re holding him like he’s dying on the battlefield and ashamed like you murdered someone with your two hands.

“Zuku, please.” You sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m so sorry—”

He wants to say it’s okay, wants to tell you he’s fine, but he’s frozen still.

Stop meddling.

The voice whispers, disgruntled and annoyed.

Hox wax coats his brain as he screams, easing himself down from hell. Cotten candy melting in his mouth, iridescent rainbows, fluffy clouds, beautiful skies—

There’s another loud crack, and the wall fragments even more.

He yanks himself out of his own mind, and gasps at the return.

His birthday at 10 was laid bare in front of him. His Quirk Accident.

The day he forgot you, wrapped up in a neat bow and presented to him like a birthday gift.

[valdomarx]

Follow my lead

Istredd's eyes comb over the ballroom. Among the great and powerful mages of the continent, there is one figure who draws his attention more than the others.

Even in the ridiculous doublet which he clearly despises, Geralt cuts a striking figure. In the midst of the wealthy and powerful who are coiffed and primped and decked out in the finest fabrics and enchantments, his simplicity somehow catches the eye.

There’s a stillness to him, Istredd thinks. A surety and solidity that pulls people in, like the forces which set the stars above in their rotations. 

The sharp staccato of the Melange dance begins, and Istredd takes his place opposite Geralt and Yennefer, acknowledging them with a nod. The opening bars of the dance are simple: a step, and then another, a turn, and a step. Geralt raises one arm, and Istredd mirrors the movement. They step toward and past each other, the back of their hands barely brushing, the brief contact leaving a thrill like an enchantment crawling up his arm. 

Geralt turns. Istredd turns. They pace apart and the music crescendos, syncopated beats building. They swing to face each other once more, and Istredd is drawn toward him, eyes glued to Geralt’s gleam of silver and black, stepping first to one side, and then to the other.

They come closer, and closer, face to face now, and then the music stops. They pause for a moment’s silence, like a gulp of air, and the tiniest hint of a smile plays at Geralt’s mouth. Istredd looks down at his lips, and then back up, and there’s a heaviness in the air like rain about to break.

And then the music comes crashing back, and Istredd is swept away back into the throng of dancers, his heart hammering in his chest for no good reason. The musicians beat out the final bars of the Melange and Istredd ends up back where he started, staring across the crowd at Geralt. 

Then there are speeches and the usual pandering, but Istredd’s mind is elsewhere. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a presence behind him and a gravelly voice says, “Do something for me, Istredd.”

Geralt’s voice is rich and deep in his ear, and he wants to say, “Anything.” Instead, he turns to face him and gives a sharp, professional nod.

That hint of a smile is back as Geralt says, “Follow my lead.”

And then Geralt’s hand is cupping his jaw, and his other hand loops around Istredd’s waist to pull him in, and Geralt kisses him like there’s not a single other person in the room. 

Istredd melts into him, and it’s really not a hardship to follow, with the way Geralt’s tongue is grazing at his lips and he’s nipping playfully at his mouth. Istredd puts his arms around Geralt’s hips, bringing their bodies into line, and he’s aware of the shocked murmurs of the crowd around them.

Let them fucking murmur. He feels Geralt smile against his mouth, and then Istredd finds himself dropped into a low dip, almost parallel with the floor. Geralt’s arms are strong and firm around him, and he doesn’t fight it. He lets himself be swooped into a scandalous horizontal line, Geralt’s mouth hot on his own, and the gasps from the crowd intensify. 

Follow his lead, Geralt had said, so Istredd throws one leg around the back of Geralt’s thigh to really sell it, grinding their bodies together from face to foot. Geralt moans into his mouth, and the sound of Tissaia hissing about appropriate behavior for the occasion carries through the buzzing gossip of the crowd.

Geralt pulls back by just a fraction so that their eyes meet. The amber irises are sparkling with amusement as he says, “Do you think we have their attention?”

-

Yen stretches out on the silk sheets, decadent and sated. She runs a hand through the silver tangle of Geralt’s hair where it spreads over the pillows.

“You know, when I asked for a distraction earlier, you kissing Istredd wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Geralt smiles one of the rare, slow, genuine smiles. She really likes those ones. “It worked out pretty well in the end, didn’t it?”

Yen looks down to where Istredd is fast asleep between the two of them. She lays a fond hand on his shoulder and lets out a laugh. “I guess it did.” 

[teddymoon06]

Close to the edge

Chapter Four: The Weight of Loss

The silence in the storeroom was suffocating. Y/N sat on the cold floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. The image of Ji-su—twisted, broken, and lost—was burned into her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake it. She had faced loss before—her family, her friends, her world—but this felt different. More personal. More devastating.

Ji-su had been her strength, her hope in the darkest moments. Now, that light was snuffed out, and in its place was only the gnawing emptiness that threatened to pull her under.

“You should rest,” Yeonghu said softly from his place near the door. His bat rested against the wall, ready to strike at any moment. He never let his guard down, not even now. His face, as always, was unreadable, but Y/N could sense the weight he was carrying too. She wasn’t the only one who had lost someone.

“I can’t,” Y/N whispered, her voice hoarse. “Every time I close my eyes, I see her.”

Yeonghu glanced at her, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before he looked away. “You can’t keep going like this. If you don’t rest, it’ll only get worse. You’ll make mistakes.”

“I know,” Y/N murmured, though the thought of sleeping—of letting her mind drift back to Ji-su’s final moments—made her stomach twist with dread. She didn’t want to see her friend’s lifeless body. She didn’t want to relive that horror.

But Yeonghu was right. If she didn’t rest, she’d be a liability. She’d slow him down. And in a place like Green Home, a single mistake could mean death.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N shifted her position, resting her head against the wall. Her body ached with exhaustion, the pain in her leg throbbing beneath the bandage. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of her breathing instead of the chaos swirling in her mind.

But sleep didn’t come.

Instead, her thoughts wandered back to the group. They had lost Ji-su, but what about the others? Hyun-su, Jae-heon, and the rest of them—were they still alive, fighting somewhere in this hell? Or had the monsters taken them too? The uncertainty gnawed at her insides, filling her with a restless desperation. She wanted to go back out there, to search for them, to make sure they were safe.

But she wasn’t strong enough right now. She wasn’t ready.

“We’ll find them,” Yeonghu said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. His voice was low, but there was a certainty in it that Y/N clung to.

“You don’t know that,” Y/N replied, her voice shaking slightly. She hated how weak she sounded, how hopeless. “We don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

Yeonghu turned to her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “I know they’re fighters. Just like us. And as long as they’re out there, they’ll keep fighting.”

His words didn’t erase the fear, but they did provide a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to help her breathe a little easier.

“They need us to stay alive too,” he added, his voice softer now. “We’re not doing them any favors if we get ourselves killed.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. He was right. They couldn’t give up. Not yet. Not while there was still a chance that someone else was out there, waiting for them.

After a few more minutes of silence, Yeonghu stood and crossed the room. He knelt beside her, his presence calm but steady. “Here,” he said, offering her a small canteen of water. “Drink something. It’ll help.”

Y/N took the canteen gratefully, her hands shaking slightly as she unscrewed the cap and took a small sip. The cool water soothed her parched throat, offering a momentary distraction from the turmoil inside her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, handing the canteen back.

Yeonghu nodded, standing up and returning to his spot near the door. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he scanned the small room, his gaze never resting in one place for too long. It was clear that he never truly let his guard down, even in moments like this.

“How do you do it?” Y/N asked suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. “How do you… keep going? After everything?”

Yeonghu glanced at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t answer, as if he were weighing his words carefully.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said finally, his voice steady. “In a world like this, if you stop, you die. I’m not ready to die yet.”

The simplicity of his words struck her. It wasn’t about hope or heroism—it was about survival. In this twisted, broken world, there was no room for anything else.

“I’m not either,” Y/N whispered, though part of her felt like she had already died a little inside. Losing Ji-su had taken a piece of her she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.

Yeonghu’s gaze softened for a brief moment. “We’ve all lost people, Y/N. It doesn’t get easier. But we keep going because that’s the only way to honor them. By surviving.”

Y/N nodded, letting his words sink in. Maybe he was right. Maybe surviving was all they had left. And maybe, if they could make it through this nightmare, there would be something worth living for on the other side.

But for now, all they could do was survive.

The hours passed slowly. Y/N eventually drifted into a light sleep, though her dreams were plagued with images of Ji-su and the other monsters that haunted Green Home. Every creak of the building, every distant growl, jerked her back to wakefulness, her heart racing.

Yeonghu hadn’t slept at all. He remained a silent sentinel at the door, his eyes scanning the hallway beyond for any sign of movement. His face was drawn, the lines of exhaustion evident, but he never wavered. His focus was unrelenting, his determination as solid as the bat he held in his hand.

When Y/N finally sat up, her body stiff and sore, she found Yeonghu watching her with a quiet intensity.

“We need to move soon,” he said, his voice low. “The monsters will be more active at night. We have a better chance of getting out now.”

Y/N rubbed the sleep from her eyes, nodding in agreement. “Where do we go?”

“There’s another stairwell on the west side of the building,” Yeonghu explained. “It should lead us down to the ground floor. From there, we can try to find the others.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the thought of going back out into the darkness, but she knew they couldn’t stay here. Not forever. They had to keep moving.

“We’ll be careful,” Yeonghu added, as if sensing her hesitation. “But we have to try.”

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Alright. Let’s go.”

They gathered their limited supplies—mostly makeshift weapons and the few remaining bottles of water they had found along the way—and headed for the door. Y/N’s leg still throbbed, but the rest had helped ease some of the pain. She could manage for now.

As they stepped into the hallway, the cold air hit her like a wave, chilling her to the bone. The building was eerily quiet, the oppressive silence only broken by the occasional distant scream or the low groans of the structure settling. Every shadow seemed to hold a hidden danger, every corner a potential deathtrap.

Yeonghu took the lead, his bat held tightly in his hand, his footsteps silent as he moved with practiced precision. Y/N followed closely, her heart pounding in her chest, her senses on high alert.

The stairwell wasn’t far, but every step felt like a lifetime. Y/N’s breath came in shallow gasps, her mind racing as she tried to focus on the task at hand. They had to make it to the others. They had to survive.

When they finally reached the stairwell, Yeonghu paused, listening intently for any signs of movement below. The darkness stretched down into the abyss, and Y/N could barely make out the faint outlines of the steps.

“It’s clear,” Yeonghu whispered, motioning for her to follow.

They descended the stairs slowly, their movements cautious and deliberate. The air grew colder the further they went, the musty stench of decay growing stronger.

As they reached the next landing, a sudden noise stopped them in their tracks.

A low growl echoed from the shadows below, followed by the unmistakable sound of shuffling footsteps.

Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat as she gripped her weapon tighter, her pulse racing. They weren’t alone.

Yeonghu’s eyes flicked to her, his expression grim.

“Get ready,” he whispered.

The fight for survival was far from over.

The silence in the storeroom was suffocating. Y/N sat on the cold floor, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring blankly at the wall in front of her. The image of Ji-su—twisted, broken, and lost—was burned into her mind. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake it. She had faced loss before—her family, her friends, her world—but this felt different. More personal. More devastating.

Ji-su had been her strength, her hope in the darkest moments. Now, that light was snuffed out, and in its place was only the gnawing emptiness that threatened to pull her under.

“You should rest,” Yeonghu said softly from his place near the door. His bat rested against the wall, ready to strike at any moment. He never let his guard down, not even now. His face, as always, was unreadable, but Y/N could sense the weight he was carrying too. She wasn’t the only one who had lost someone.

“I can’t,” Y/N whispered, her voice hoarse. “Every time I close my eyes, I see her.”

Yeonghu glanced at her, his expression softening for a fraction of a second before he looked away. “You can’t keep going like this. If you don’t rest, it’ll only get worse. You’ll make mistakes.”

“I know,” Y/N murmured, though the thought of sleeping—of letting her mind drift back to Ji-su’s final moments—made her stomach twist with dread. She didn’t want to see her friend’s lifeless body. She didn’t want to relive that horror.

But Yeonghu was right. If she didn’t rest, she’d be a liability. She’d slow him down. And in a place like Green Home, a single mistake could mean death.

With a heavy sigh, Y/N shifted her position, resting her head against the wall. Her body ached with exhaustion, the pain in her leg throbbing beneath the bandage. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of her breathing instead of the chaos swirling in her mind.

But sleep didn’t come.

Instead, her thoughts wandered back to the group. They had lost Ji-su, but what about the others? Hyun-su, Jae-heon, and the rest of them—were they still alive, fighting somewhere in this hell? Or had the monsters taken them too? The uncertainty gnawed at her insides, filling her with a restless desperation. She wanted to go back out there, to search for them, to make sure they were safe.

But she wasn’t strong enough right now. She wasn’t ready.

“We’ll find them,” Yeonghu said quietly, as if reading her thoughts. His voice was low, but there was a certainty in it that Y/N clung to.

“You don’t know that,” Y/N replied, her voice shaking slightly. She hated how weak she sounded, how hopeless. “We don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

Yeonghu turned to her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “I know they’re fighters. Just like us. And as long as they’re out there, they’ll keep fighting.”

His words didn’t erase the fear, but they did provide a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to help her breathe a little easier.

“They need us to stay alive too,” he added, his voice softer now. “We’re not doing them any favors if we get ourselves killed.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. He was right. They couldn’t give up. Not yet. Not while there was still a chance that someone else was out there, waiting for them.

After a few more minutes of silence, Yeonghu stood and crossed the room. He knelt beside her, his presence calm but steady. “Here,” he said, offering her a small canteen of water. “Drink something. It’ll help.”

Y/N took the canteen gratefully, her hands shaking slightly as she unscrewed the cap and took a small sip. The cool water soothed her parched throat, offering a momentary distraction from the turmoil inside her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, handing the canteen back.

Yeonghu nodded, standing up and returning to his spot near the door. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he scanned the small room, his gaze never resting in one place for too long. It was clear that he never truly let his guard down, even in moments like this.

“How do you do it?” Y/N asked suddenly, her voice breaking the silence. “How do you… keep going? After everything?”

Yeonghu glanced at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t answer, as if he were weighing his words carefully.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said finally, his voice steady. “In a world like this, if you stop, you die. I’m not ready to die yet.”

The simplicity of his words struck her. It wasn’t about hope or heroism—it was about survival. In this twisted, broken world, there was no room for anything else.

“I’m not either,” Y/N whispered, though part of her felt like she had already died a little inside. Losing Ji-su had taken a piece of her she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.

Yeonghu’s gaze softened for a brief moment. “We’ve all lost people, Y/N. It doesn’t get easier. But we keep going because that’s the only way to honor them. By surviving.”

Y/N nodded, letting his words sink in. Maybe he was right. Maybe surviving was all they had left. And maybe, if they could make it through this nightmare, there would be something worth living for on the other side.

But for now, all they could do was survive.

The hours passed slowly. Y/N eventually drifted into a light sleep, though her dreams were plagued with images of Ji-su and the other monsters that haunted Green Home. Every creak of the building, every distant growl, jerked her back to wakefulness, her heart racing.

Yeonghu hadn’t slept at all. He remained a silent sentinel at the door, his eyes scanning the hallway beyond for any sign of movement. His face was drawn, the lines of exhaustion evident, but he never wavered. His focus was unrelenting, his determination as solid as the bat he held in his hand.

When Y/N finally sat up, her body stiff and sore, she found Yeonghu watching her with a quiet intensity.

“We need to move soon,” he said, his voice low. “The monsters will be more active at night. We have a better chance of getting out now.”

Y/N rubbed the sleep from her eyes, nodding in agreement. “Where do we go?”

“There’s another stairwell on the west side of the building,” Yeonghu explained. “It should lead us down to the ground floor. From there, we can try to find the others.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the thought of going back out into the darkness, but she knew they couldn’t stay here. Not forever. They had to keep moving.

“We’ll be careful,” Yeonghu added, as if sensing her hesitation. “But we have to try.”

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Alright. Let’s go.”

They gathered their limited supplies—mostly makeshift weapons and the few remaining bottles of water they had found along the way—and headed for the door. Y/N’s leg still throbbed, but the rest had helped ease some of the pain. She could manage for now.

As they stepped into the hallway, the cold air hit her like a wave, chilling her to the bone. The building was eerily quiet, the oppressive silence only broken by the occasional distant scream or the low groans of the structure settling. Every shadow seemed to hold a hidden danger, every corner a potential deathtrap.

Yeonghu took the lead, his bat held tightly in his hand, his footsteps silent as he moved with practiced precision. Y/N followed closely, her heart pounding in her chest, her senses on high alert.

The stairwell wasn’t far, but every step felt like a lifetime. Y/N’s breath came in shallow gasps, her mind racing as she tried to focus on the task at hand. They had to make it to the others. They had to survive.

When they finally reached the stairwell, Yeonghu paused, listening intently for any signs of movement below. The darkness stretched down into the abyss, and Y/N could barely make out the faint outlines of the steps.

“It’s clear,” Yeonghu whispered, motioning for her to follow.

They descended the stairs slowly, their movements cautious and deliberate. The air grew colder the further they went, the musty stench of decay growing stronger.

As they reached the next landing, a sudden noise stopped them in their tracks.

A low growl echoed from the shadows below, followed by the unmistakable sound of shuffling footsteps.

Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat as she gripped her weapon tighter, her pulse racing. They weren’t alone.

Yeonghu’s eyes flicked to her, his expression grim.

“Get ready,” he whispered.

The fight for survival was far from over.

The sound of shuffling footsteps grew louder, echoing off the cracked walls of the stairwell. Y/N’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as she tightened her grip on the weapon in her hand, her pulse quickening with every step they took. The darkness ahead seemed alive, shifting and breathing with unseen danger, and for a moment, she felt the overwhelming urge to run.

But there was nowhere to go. They were trapped in this building, just as much prey as anyone else who had ever wandered inside.

Yeonghu motioned for Y/N to stop, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows ahead. He moved like a predator himself, silent and calculated, his focus razor-sharp. Y/N held her breath, trusting his instincts.

The growling grew closer.

Without warning, a figure lurched out from the stairwell below them, its pale, distorted face illuminated in the dim light. The creature, once human but now twisted and monstrous, snarled as it charged toward them, its eyes wild with hunger.

Yeonghu reacted instantly, swinging his bat with lethal precision. The blunt force connected with the monster’s head, the sickening sound of bone cracking reverberating through the air. The creature collapsed in a heap at his feet, twitching for a moment before going still.

But the noise had attracted more.

From the darkness below, a chorus of growls and guttural shrieks echoed back, growing louder by the second. Y/N felt her stomach twist as the unmistakable sound of footsteps—many footsteps—grew closer. She glanced at Yeonghu, panic flashing in her eyes.

“There’s more of them,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I know,” Yeonghu muttered, his jaw clenched. “We have to move. Now.”

They turned and sprinted down the stairwell, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they descended as fast as they could. Y/N’s leg burned with pain, but she forced herself to push through it. She couldn’t afford to slow down. Not now.

As they reached the next floor, Yeonghu pushed open the door and they stumbled into another dimly lit hallway. The walls here were damp, mold creeping up from the floor, and the air was thick with the stench of decay. But it was quiet—too quiet. The only sounds were the distant growls of the monsters they had left behind and the rapid thudding of Y/N’s own heartbeat.

For a moment, they stood in the middle of the hallway, trying to catch their breath. Y/N leaned against the wall, wincing as she gingerly touched her injured leg. The pain was getting worse, and she knew she couldn’t keep up this pace for much longer.

“How much farther?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Yeonghu glanced around, his eyes darting between the rooms and doorways. “We’re close,” he said, though his tone held little reassurance. “If we can make it through this wing, we should reach the west exit. After that, we can find the others.”

Y/N nodded, though doubt gnawed at her insides. The building felt like a maze, each floor a mirror image of the last, and every turn seemed to lead them deeper into the heart of this nightmare. But what choice did they have? The monsters were closing in, and the longer they stayed here, the more dangerous it would become.

Yeonghu moved forward, his bat held at the ready, his eyes scanning the darkened corridors for any sign of movement. Y/N followed closely, her weapon gripped tightly in her hands. She forced herself to focus on the task at hand—on surviving. But the weight of Ji-su’s loss still clung to her like a shroud, making every step feel heavier than the last.

As they turned a corner, a sudden crash echoed from behind them.

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as she spun around, her eyes widening in fear. From the far end of the hallway, a group of monsters—at least four or five—came barreling toward them, their grotesque faces twisted in rage. Their bodies were disfigured, bloated and warped beyond recognition, and their eyes gleamed with a hunger that sent chills down Y/N’s spine.

“Run!” Yeonghu barked, his voice urgent.

Without hesitation, they bolted down the corridor, their feet pounding against the floor as the creatures chased after them. Y/N’s lungs burned, her injured leg protesting with every step, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t slow down.

Yeonghu led the way, his movements swift and agile despite the danger closing in on them. He glanced back at her, his face set with grim determination. “There’s a stairwell up ahead,” he shouted. “We can lose them there!”

Y/N nodded, though her breath came in ragged gasps. The monsters were getting closer, their guttural growls filling the hallway, and she could feel the cold grip of fear tightening around her heart. But she kept running, pushing herself harder, ignoring the pain that threatened to drag her down.

Finally, they reached the stairwell. Yeonghu threw open the door, and they stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind them. The creatures crashed against the door a moment later, their furious snarls echoing through the narrow space.

Yeonghu leaned against the door, bracing it with his weight as the monsters clawed at the other side, their growls growing more frantic.

“They won’t hold for long,” he muttered, his voice strained.

Y/N nodded, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her mind raced, searching for a way out, but the stairwell was narrow, the walls lined with rusted pipes and debris. There was no other exit.

“What do we do?” she asked, panic creeping into her voice.

Yeonghu looked at her, his eyes dark and focused. “We make a stand.”

Before she could protest, the door buckled under the force of the monsters’ assault, and with a deafening crash, it gave way. The creatures spilled into the stairwell, their snarls filling the air as they charged toward them.

Yeonghu moved first, swinging his bat with deadly precision. The first monster fell, its skull caving in under the blow, but there were too many. They kept coming, their numbers overwhelming.

Y/N raised her weapon, her heart pounding as she prepared to fight.

This was it. There was no escape.

The fight for survival had begun.

Y/N’s heart raced as the monsters burst through the broken door, their snarls reverberating in the narrow stairwell. Her grip tightened around the makeshift weapon in her hand—an old metal pipe she had picked up earlier. The overwhelming fear clawed at her insides, but she forced herself to focus on the immediate threat in front of her.

Yeonghu had already taken down two of the creatures, his bat swinging with brutal efficiency, but more kept coming. Their twisted forms lunged toward them with animalistic hunger, teeth bared and eyes wide with rage.

“Stay behind me!” Yeonghu shouted over the chaos, his voice sharp and commanding. He moved like a force of nature, blocking the stairwell with his body as he swung at anything that got too close. His movements were quick and calculated, but even he couldn’t fight forever.

Y/N steeled herself, forcing her legs to move despite the searing pain shooting through her injured one. She wasn’t about to let him fight alone—not after everything they had been through.

One of the monsters lunged toward her, its grotesque face twisted with rage. Y/N swung the pipe as hard as she could, the impact jarring her arms as it connected with the creature’s head. It stumbled back, dazed, but before she could react, another monster closed in from her right.

She barely had time to dodge, stumbling back against the wall as it swiped at her with clawed hands. A sharp pain shot through her side as its nails grazed her skin, tearing through her shirt.

“Damn it!” Y/N gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. She swung again, this time aiming for its legs, hoping to knock it off balance. The creature let out a guttural snarl as it collapsed to the floor, but more were coming.

“Y/N!” Yeonghu’s voice cut through the noise as he slammed his bat into another monster’s chest, sending it sprawling down the stairs. His eyes locked on hers, filled with urgency. “We can’t hold them off here. We need to move!”

Y/N nodded, her breathing ragged as she wiped the blood from her face. There was no way they could keep fighting in such a confined space. They were trapped in the stairwell, and the longer they stayed, the worse their chances of survival became.

Yeonghu scanned the area quickly, his mind racing. “There’s a fire escape on the other side of the building,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “If we can get there, we might have a chance.”

The monsters were closing in, their snarls growing louder, and Y/N knew they didn’t have time to hesitate. With one last swing, she took down the creature closest to her and made a break for the door at the bottom of the stairwell.

Yeonghu followed, his bat raised as he fended off the remaining monsters. They pushed through the doorway, slamming it shut behind them, but they both knew it wouldn’t hold for long. The creatures on the other side were relentless, their heavy bodies crashing against the door as they tried to break through.

“This way,” Yeonghu said, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward.

They stumbled into another hallway, the air thick with the stench of decay and mildew. The dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows on the cracked walls, and the floor was littered with debris—broken furniture, shattered glass, and old bloodstains.

The fire escape was at the far end of the hallway, but it felt impossibly far away. Y/N’s leg throbbed with every step, the pain almost unbearable, but she kept moving. She had to.

“Keep going,” Yeonghu urged, glancing over his shoulder. The pounding on the stairwell door was growing louder, more frantic. It wouldn’t hold much longer.

They reached the end of the hallway, and Yeonghu pushed open the door to the fire escape. The cold night air rushed in, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat inside the building. Y/N gasped for breath, relief flooding through her as she stepped onto the metal platform. They had made it—at least for now.

The fire escape was narrow and rickety, its metal rails rusted from years of neglect. Below them, the darkened streets of Seoul stretched out like a desolate wasteland, the city once bustling with life now eerily silent and empty.

Yeonghu peered over the edge, scanning the area below for any sign of movement. “Looks clear,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing. “But we need to move fast. There could be more of them.”

Y/N nodded, her heart still racing from the adrenaline. She followed Yeonghu down the fire escape, the metal creaking under their weight as they descended. Every step felt treacherous, but the further they got from the building, the more she allowed herself to hope. Maybe they could make it out of this after all.

When they finally reached the ground, the quiet felt unnerving. The oppressive atmosphere of Green Home had become so familiar that the open space, even tainted by darkness, felt disorienting.

“We can rest here for a moment,” Yeonghu said, scanning their surroundings. “But not for long. We’re too exposed.”

Y/N leaned against the cold brick wall, her entire body aching from the fight. She winced as she touched the wound on her side, feeling the warm stickiness of blood. “I’m fine,” she muttered, more to herself than to Yeonghu.

He turned to her, his dark eyes narrowing. “Let me see.”

Y/N reluctantly pulled up her shirt, revealing the jagged wound on her side. The scratches weren’t deep, but they were painful, and blood had already soaked through the torn fabric.

“Damn it,” Yeonghu cursed under his breath, pulling a small medical kit from his bag. “This’ll sting.”

Y/N nodded, biting her lip as he cleaned the wound. The sting was sharp, but she kept her focus on the horizon, trying to block out the pain. It was nothing compared to the terror they had just escaped from.

Once he was finished, Yeonghu bandaged the wound as best he could. “You’ll be okay for now,” he said, his voice steady. “But we need to find somewhere safe soon. You won’t last long if you keep pushing yourself like this.”

Y/N glanced up at him, a mixture of gratitude and frustration bubbling up inside her. She hated feeling like a burden, but she knew he was right. Her body was reaching its limit.

“We’ll find them,” Yeonghu said quietly, as if sensing her thoughts. “The others. We’ll get through this.”

Y/N looked into his eyes and saw something she hadn’t expected—hope. Despite everything they had lost, despite the hell they were living in, Yeonghu still believed they had a chance. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N allowed herself to believe it too.

She nodded, determination hardening inside her. “Let’s go.”

They pushed off from the wall and disappeared into the darkened streets, the weight of loss heavy on their shoulders but not enough to break them. There was still more to fight for.

And the fight was far from over.

End of chapter four

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[aquietwritingcorner]

You Better Pray I Don’t Get Up This Time Around

Title: You Better Pray I Don’t Get Up This Time Around Day: Whumptober 2023, Day 5 Prompt: “You better pray I don’t get up this time around,” Debris/Pinned Down/”It’s Broken”  Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 2,002  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T  Characters:  Donatello, Karai, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo Warning: Just a step above canon-typical violence. Summary: A haughty look settled on Karai’s face. “Because, Donatello, I have figured out that you are the key to their success, and without you, your family will fail.” Karai has figured out the turtles’ weakness and has decided to take care of it. But Donatello will not let himself be taken down so easily. Notes: Anyone who says that Donatello is the weakest of them has not paid attention to how many heavy things Don has moved on his own.      AO3 || ff.net

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You Better Pray I Don’t Get Up This Time Around

Don panted, staring at the Foot Ninja that surrounded him. There had to be at least fifteen, and that wasn’t counting Karai, who was standing back, watching the fight.

He was backed into a corner, on the rooftop of an abandoned building. A run-down and broken shed was to his back, and the Foot Ninjas surrounded him on all other sides. So far, he had avoided any major wounds, but he had enough minor ones that he knew it was only a matter of time before they wore him down like they had worn down Leo before.

The Foot Ninja also knew that. For the moment, they had pulled back, but they would strike sooner or later. It was clear that they were regrouping, but the fact that they took that time meant that they were confident that they had him pinned down, which was bad news for Don.

It didn’t matter. Don wasn’t going to make it that easy for them.

Don watched, alert to any movement. The second he caught the smallest of tells, Don lashed out. He struck out with his bo, fast and precise, breaking the collar bone of the Foot in question. But the others took advantage of his momentary focus and moved in. Don stood his ground, expertly lashing out with his bo. He couldn’t let them drive him further into the corner. He had the advantage in open areas, but not in restrictive ones.

A block, a hit, a thrust. Duck, leap, spin. Kick, hit, strike! Don’s bo was as quick as his mind, and he used it to his advantage. Block the katana, use the momentum to force it to the ground. Duck while doing it, and kick at the tonfa user coming from behind. Go to the ground, and thrust up with the bo while doing it, knocking the pinned katana-user in the jaw. Use that momentum and become upright again. Slide the bo back and use it to leap and avoid the incoming chains. Land with a kick to take out one Foot and sweep the bo to the side, breaking the ribs of another. No second to rest, no moment to form a plan. Act, react, anticipate and move. Instinct and muscle memory were driving him forward, even while his brain tried to find a way out of this.

But even with all of his skill, Don couldn’t last forever, especially when the environment was turned against him. The Foot he had injured, the ones that couldn’t fight but could still move, they weren’t idle, and Don belatedly realized that he should have been paying more attention to them as well. They were setting something up, but he didn’t have time to work through what it was.

The Foot broke through his defenses, and he cried out in pain when he took a solid hit to his shoulder and felt something in it break. He hit the wall of the shack behind him, and heard it groan. The rooftop groaned, too, and the Foot Ninja leapt away. In a fraction of a second, Don realized that this ambush was more well-thought out than he had assumed, but he had no time to do anything about it. The shack, the wall behind it, and the rooftop under him had been weakened, and with his bodyweight hitting it, it all collapsed, sending him plunging to the floor below, taking wood, brick, mortar, and metal with him. The debris landed on him, with him, and pinned him down to the floor.

Don coughed, trying to get his bearings as he struggled to free himself, but he couldn’t get his right arm to move well. As the dust cleared, Don looked up and glared at Karai.

“Your shoulder is broken, Donatello,” she said, leaping down to the floor he was on. “You will not free yourself.”

“Then answer me this one thing, Karai,” Don demanded as he continued to struggle to get free. “Why ambush me? It’s clear you were waiting for me and not my brothers. Why?”

A haughty look settled on Karai’s face. “Because, Donatello, I have figured out that you are the key to their success. Leonardo is a brilliant strategist, but his plans are pulled off successfully because of you.” She pointed her sword at him. “You build the machines. You improve the weaponry. You prepare for unanticipated circumstances. You hack computer systems. You find the weakness in technology. You put to use knowledge that the others do not have and could not use. You are the key to their success, and without you, your family will fail.”

Karai’s words made Don’s blood run cold, but they also ignited a fire in him. No. No, he wouldn’t be the downfall of his brothers. He wouldn’t be the downfall of his family. He would not be the reason that his family died! He’d worked too hard to prevent it. He wouldn’t let it happen now!

Don bared his teeth, and dug deep, pushing up against the debris pinning him down, heedless of his injuries or the weight of it. It began to shift and rock around him. Karai, alarmed, took a step back, as did the ninja who had followed her down.

“You better pray I don’t get up this time around,” Don spat out, “because if I do, you’re a dead woman, Karai!”

His words were snarled out, and for a moment it took everyone aback. The Foot Ninja paused, uncertain for a moment, and Karai stared at Don wide-eyed. Then she shook her head. “Quickly! Slay him before he rises!”

It was too late, though. Don was freeing himself from the pile of debris that had him pinned, pushing up on the impossible weight, heedless of his broken shoulder. One hapless Foot took a swing at him, and Don moved just enough that it missed him, and he, instead, grabbed the sword, pulling the soldier forward towards him. He stole the sword from the startled soldier and killed him on the spot.

“Kill him!” Karai called out. “Kill him, quickly!”

Don was already using the sword like a lever, using it to pry a large piece of debris off of him. He almost had himself free when the first ninja got to him. Don didn’t hesitated, but instead picked up a brick, and used it to block a blow, before hurling it at another Foot, striking him in the head. The debris shifted with all of the movement, and Don yanked first, himself, and then, his stolen sword free and used it to take care of the other Foot that had dared to approach him.

The Foot Ninja backed off as Don stood up, clearly afraid. Don had an arm hanging limp, blood from cuts and strikes dripping down him, and a ferocious look on his face that almost looked animalistic in nature. Karai’s breath caught in her throat, and she began to realize that she might have miscalculated. Don brought his stolen sword to bear, clearly confident in his ability to handle it.

The remaining Foot charged him, and Don didn’t hold back, cutting through Karai’s ninja as quickly as he could. The katana was not his preferred weapon, but he knew how to use it better than any of the quickly trained ninja Karai had brought with her tonight.

But he only had eyes for Karai at the moment.

“I will not let you turn me into a liability for my family!” He snarled at her. “Try it—and see the consequences!”

Karai took a step back, looking at the carnage happening around her, and the unforgiving and hard look on Donatello’s face. For all of her faults, Karai wasn’t a stupid woman. There would likely be heavy losses at best if this kept on. Not to mention, Don’s brothers likely wouldn’t be far away at this point.

“Foot ninja! Retreat!” She called.

They obeyed without hesitation, and Don let out a roar as he made one last grab at Karai. She barely managed to dodge it before she vanished into the shadows.

“Karai!” Don called, trying to follow, but only making it a couple of steps before he started to collapse.

“Don!”

He knew that voice, and within a fraction of a second, there were arms around him, catching him, lowering him to the floor instead of him hitting it hard.

“Don! Don!” Leo’s voice called out above him, and Don tried to focus on what he could see of his brother—mostly his legs and feet—as Leo knelt beside him. “Raph! Bring those medical supplies!”

Don groaned, and Leo’s attention returned to him. Leo ran a gentle hand across his forehead. “Don? Don, can you hear me?”

“Y-yeah,” Don said, forcing himself to look up at his brother.

Raph and Mikey suddenly appeared next to Leo, both of them sucking in a breath at his condition.

“Shell…” Raph said.

“Donnie…” Mikey breathed out.

“Start assessing him. Bandage the worst ones first,” Leo said. “Mike, call April and tell her we need the Moving Van here now.” Leo paused. “Your shoulder. Don, I think it’s broken again.”

“I do, too,” Don breathed out.

“What happened, Don?” Leo said. “We got your emergency signal, but by the time we got here—”

“We thought we were too late, the way the Foot were runnin’,” Raph said.

“And that scream from you…” Mikey added.

“What happened, Donnie?” Leo asked.

“They ambushed me,” Don said, his breath hitching a little as the adrenaline started to fade and the pain of his injuries hit him more and more. “I fought back. Ended up falling in here. Was trapped under that pile.”

“Was that how you broke your shoulder?” Raph asked.

Don shook his head, and immediately decided that was a terrible idea. “No, that was before.”

“So, you pulled yourself out of there with a broken shoulder?” Mikey said. “Dude…”

Don blinked at them as it became harder to stay focused. “She said… said she was going to kill me. Because I was the key. Without me you’d all fall.” Don looked at his brothers, imploring them to understand with his eyes alone. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

His brothers exchanged a look. They knew of the horrible future that Don had told them about. Of how he had disappeared, and the family had eventually fallen apart, and that Mike had blamed Don for it. Of how it had, in Don’s mind at least, lead to the death of his brothers, at his hands. They understood the chord that Karai’s words must have struck in Don, and why he had fought so hard, falling into a ferocity that wasn’t normally seen from him.

And looking at the damage and what Don had told them, it must have been a rare ferocity indeed. Don didn’t normally kill, and when he did, it was usually very calculated so that his victim felt little pain. These Foot had been killed without regard to that. It had been kill or be killed, and Don had been the one doing the killing this time.

“You did well, little brother,” Leo said, smiling down at Don.

“Yeah! Betcha Karai’s gonna think twice before messing with you again!” Mikey said with a grin.

“Nobody’s gonna wanna mess with you after word of this gets out,” Raph said with a grin.

Don gave his brothers a weak smile.

Mikey’s phone chirped, and he looked down at it. “April says she’s down there.”

Leo nodded. “Alright. Let’s move Donnie down—carefully.”

Don, predictably, felt his head spin and hissed at the movement, it becoming harder and harder for him to hold onto consciousness. But even as he felt himself start to fade out, he knew one thing.

Karai had better watch her back. Don now had reason to have a personal grudge against her—and he was not as altruistic as Leo about things. She had just made a powerful enemy, and Don would make sure she knew it.

[hippolotamus]

10 please and D and P or H and T!!

Hi, friend!!!! I have completely given up on trying to contain my word count for these 😅 While the majority of the song is very David Rose, my brain latched onto the final verse for Tim. Putting it under the cut because 595 words 🫠

send me 1-100 and i'll write you a drabble based on the corresponding song

“I missed you, Skippy.” 

The words are a balm as much as they are a cut. A stabbing reminder of everything Tim can’t have. Could never have, really. Hawk was never his to keep. And as impossible as their love was before, it’s even more so now. Because Hawk belongs to Lucy. He’s a family man, a paragon of virtue within his world. Even if it’s all a lie. 

Tim can’t help but hate himself for the fraction of a second where he gives in to the fantasy that is loving and being loved by Hawkins Z. Fuller. He pretends that this moment is real and yearns to live in it forever, briefly considering bargaining with God if only he could be granted this one thing. This speck of time when Hawk is holding him, cherishing him. When he feels the warm brush of lips against his neck and jaw, the light scrape of stubble against his cheek, the fingers tangling in his hair and the hand at his back, as if Hawk truly wants to keep him. He smells the musky scent of cologne, mixed with Tide and a unique aroma that could only belong to Hawk. 

It takes him back to a rented room in 1952 and a crackling radio playing swoony love songs to cover the sound of their immorality. To stolen moments when they raised their middle fingers to God and loved with abandon. Because that’s what it was – love. Not sin. Not a mistake. Love. At least for Tim. 

And that thought strikes him like lightning, grounding him to the present. To the reality that is. The one where Hawk says he misses Tim, while the family Hawk left him for waits a quarter mile up the road in the main house. Presumably none the wiser. 

He wants to ask Hawk what exactly it is he misses. Is it the sex? The relative safety of someone he didn’t have to hide his secrets from (even though Tim is certain there were many between them)? But he doesn’t do that, because it will accomplish nothing. Instead he talks about Father Lawrence, and the possibility of holding two truths. 

He lets the pain of his words sink in and reflect in Hawk’s eyes, and he hopes they do hurt. Even if it will never be the same, Tim needs some validation in the form of knowing Hawk is in a fraction of the amount of anguish Tim has been carrying in his heart, like a slow-acting poison, for the last fifteen years. 

When Hawk’s inner turmoil – whether it be real or imagined – retreats behind a familiar mask of indifference, Tim accepts the tainted gift for what it is. Possibly the closest he will ever come to hurting the bulletproof Mr. Fuller. 

“Please leave.” Tim doesn’t have to ask twice before Hawk is out the door again, leaving him to the heavy silence of his makeshift sanctuary. 

He kneels in front of the stone fireplace, clasping his hands together, unsure what to think or say. What could he confess or ask forgiveness for? Because how, as he had once disclosed to the Army priest, could love be a sin? This love that blooms eternal in Timothy Laughlin’s heart for one Hawkins Fuller, no matter how he tries to trample it like a pesky weed. This love that he’s certain will taunt him for eternity, perhaps into the afterlife, and never let him go. 

Tim closes his eyes and begins to speak, praying the rest will come of its own accord. “Dear Heavenly Father…”

tagging some other beloveds who might be interested @stereopticons @statueinthestone @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @watchyourbuck @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @legalgal421