#the ink in my pen and breath in my lungs

[rippersz]

I will love you like this:

I think, during my last moments, decades from now, when the sun has gotten hotter and the Earth has started melting like ice cream left out for too long, I will close my eyes and dream of you. I think, even then, after robots have grown to mimic the sound of your voice and after acting has gone out of perpetual style, I will plug in a USB of the old episodes I saved - just to watch you again. And I think, after the air becomes uninhabitable and the trees turn purple and the world goes black, I will still remember the way Prometheus put the oceans into your eyes. Surely, one day, you will know of all the ways in which I love you; but right now you’re none the wiser. Let me rectify that, if I am able. Let me tell you, plainly, that I love you. And let me tell you, unplainly, that I will love you no matter what.

No matter the distance. Or the time. Or the circumstances that get in the way. No matter the outcome of all this and no matter whatever anticlimax that may come about. I will love you no matter what the future holds - and if it doesn’t hold anything, and will instead crumble to the ground grasping for a straw or a blade of grass; well I will love you then too.

And I will love you no matter the popularity you gain, and no matter the amount of drama you get pulled into. And I will love you even if the drama finds you - or even if you cause it yourself.

I will love you if the media stays on your side or shifts toward a different opinion. And I will love you even if your career crumbles because of it or if it instead fades into a quiet thing of the past. I will love you if you give up acting. And if you take up painting. Or writing. Or designing your own clothing. And I will love you even if you decide to do none of that and would prefer to spend the rest of your life in a quiet cottage alone. Or with him.

And I will love you if you marry him. I will love you if you have a beautiful big wedding or a beautiful small wedding and I will love you if your dress is the traditional white- or if you step out of the box and wear some other creative color. And I will love you if you don’t wear a dress at all. I will love you if you wear a suit instead and I will love you if the two of you match and I will love you if you do none of that and wear no dress and no suit and decide never to marry him at all. I will love you if you marry someone else instead. I will love you if you have a change of heart. I will love you if you have children with either of whoever. And I will love you if you choose to adopt. And I will love you if you don’t want marriage and if you don’t want children and if you don’t want to adopt and if you’d rather die beside friends, family, and a menagerie of pets. I will love you if you don’t really like cats. And I will love you even if you can’t appreciate the acquired scent of a ferret. 

And I will love you even though we are different. And I will love you because of the differences. And I will love you despite the differences. And despite the rifts said differences may cause between us. I will love you if there never is an ‘us’. I will love you if there never comes to be more than this. I will love you even though I am young. I will love you even though you are older. I will love you even though it is impossible to say so. And I will love you despite the impossibility of it all. And I will love you despite the recklessness of it all. And I will love you despite the pain. And the ache. And the missing. And I will love you even if I must miss you for the rest of my life. And if somehow I know you one day, then I will love you then too. I will love you even if your laugh is not as loud and boisterous as it seems. And I will love you if you’re a quiet person at heart. And I will love you if you can’t stand silence and I will love you if you can’t stand noise. And I will love you if you talk to me forever. And I will love you if we never exchange a single word.

I will love you if I never meet you. And if I never know you. And I will love you if you never meet or know me either. And I will love you if we meet all the time and see each other every Friday. I will love you until Friday isn’t a word anymore, and until the universe itself resets, and until the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies collide. I’ll love you past that, as well. Until we’re all swallowed by a black hole or by the sun’s implosion. I will love you through the heat of sweltering days and through the chill of winter’s deep-freeze. I will love you when the weather is nice, and when everyone is kind to each other, and I will love you if Summer is your favorite season and if you can’t stand the cold that Autumn brings. I will love you if Spring spells out your name. And I will love you if you hate the sound of rain and can’t help but flinch when lightning strikes. 

I will love you through those storms. And through those evenings. And those days. And I will love you during every minute, and every second, and every millisecond that spans between the minutes and every milli-minute that spans between the hours. I will love you until all such hours melt into years and eventually into decades, and past the point of centuries.

And I will love you if you’re in Japan. Or Milan. Or even South Africa. And I will love you if you wear silk. Or velvet. Or satin. Or even some odd combination of cotton and tulle. And I will love you if you never wear designer clothing ever again - and if you never step foot on another runway - and if you decide to dedicate the rest of your life to sweatpants and hoodies.

And if somehow I die before you, before all of that, then I will love you from beyond the grave. I will love you from beyond the rot. And beyond the veil of death. I will love you no matter where I am; behind silver gates or behind fire and eternal damnation. I will love you even if I am set aflame, and if you greet the clouds of the silver city after your own death. I will love you if you go first and if I stay alive and I will love you so hard then that you will consume me entirely.

I will love you even after all of that as well.

And if the cure for death is somehow found, and we all get to live forever, I will love you until Armageddon takes us away. I will love you into my thirties and I will love you into old age. I will love you if I lose it all and I will love you if I gain everything I’ve ever wanted.

I will love you if I never grow out of this phase, and I will love you if I surpass my own expectations- as high as they are. And I will love you if you don’t do the same, and if you shrivel up instead, and become a hollow shell of yourself. I will love you if life turns sour and if the days get gloomy and if the nights get lonely and all you can do is cry. I will love you while you cry. I will love you while you laugh. I will love you while you scream and while you shout and I will love you while you mourn and grieve and explode in joy. I will love you if you never feel joy again. And I will love you if you feel joy every moment of every day. I will love you even if you find that that doesn’t feel fulfilling enough, and if you start yearning for sadness again. And I will love you through that sadness. 

And I will love you through the madness. And the horror. And the terror of the world. And I will love you through the poisoning of the oceans and through the deforestation of Earth. And I will love you despite the fact that it’s all burning. And despite the fact that nothing matters. And if it turns out that that’s wrong, and that everything does matter in the end, then I will love you at the end. And the beginning. And the middle. And the prologue. And the epilogue. And I will love you at the table of contents and the glossary and even at the works cited. 

I will love you no matter what happens. 

I will love you no matter who dies first. 

I will love you even if I think I don’t love you. 

Because that’s not possible.

And we both know I love you despite that, too. 

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- Rip x

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[yiiyiiwrites]

| The Bold and the Brave |

Summary: Azriel looking after your fox whilst you fulfil your diplomatic duties in the dawn court on behalf of winter. Azriel trying his best when he has no clue what he’s doing. [acotar masterlist] 2752words

Azriel x winter court reader

“You want me to what?” Azriel said, peering over his book at you. The hard cover hanging together by a few threads at the spine and by the way your mate had tightened his grip you were convinced it’d finally fall apart.

“It would mean a lot to me, I’m going to the dawn court and I can’t keep on eye on him.” Your gaze flickered to the white furred fox curled on your lap, warm nose nudging your palm as you waited for a response.

-

Azriel’s shadows curled round his ears hissing at him to decline, but he always crumbled as soon as your brows dipped as if you expected to be denied anything you asked. It had been like that for centuries before you met him.

So he found himself not putting up a fight, agreeing to look after the winter fox.

Balto.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, Azriel would do anything for you. Balto however, had never shown him any attention other than lunging at him whenever he opened the closet and biting him when he was taking you away.

Not even a day since you’d left, Balto paced the creaky floorboards, tail dragging along behind him. His canines snapping whenever a stray dark wisp got in his way.

Balto’s pointed ears twitched each time Azriel dipped his pen into the ink jar. The scratching of metal on parchment raising the tuft of fur at the back of the fox’s neck.

“Stop that,” Azriel snapped, not glancing up from his desk. Balto huffed, pesky shadows hovering a breath away from the fox, neither knowing who the shadow singer had spoken to.

A flash white zipped past Azriel, the ever growing reports stacked on the table crashed to the floor. Balto’s wet nose leaving a trail on the letter he’d just finished, blue ink smudging the paper. He sniffed around the desk, swiping a paper weight off the edge. Which Azriel caught before it could topple over.

Shadows tore towards the fox, twisting around its bushy tail as they tried to lessen the damage. The action only making matters worse as Balto tried to snap at the wisps, running in a circle and landing in Azriel’s lap.

They both paused, Azriel’s hands frozen in the air and Balto’s mouth hung open. Lowering his hand gently, his fingers scratched the top of Balto’s head, onyx eyes closing for a moment. A moment, because as the cool shadows traced the raised fur at the back of Balto’s neck, he sunk his sharp canines into Azriel’s hand.

“Bloody menace,” Azriel snarled pushing Balto off of his lap and nudging him away with his boot. His shadows hissing as if they too had been bitten.

He inhaled a deep breath, gazing to the beams of the ceiling. Three days, he had three days to figure out how to manage a winter fox. It was the first time he’d been left alone with Balto, you were always here and when you wasn’t, the fox trailed after Nesta. Another warm lap to fall asleep in the library.

A white bushy tail flicked around the gap of the door, tapping claws against the hallway tiles merging with Cassian’s heavy footsteps. He shouldered Azriel’s office door open and stumbled through, Balto walking in between his steps.

“Well hello Balto,” Cassian chuckled, he leant down and petted the fox’s head, a little too roughly that he pushed back against his palm. “He’s probably hoping I’ll take him to Ness,” he said straightening up and meeting Azriel’s narrowed eyes.

“He likes you,” Azriel said, his brow furrowing at the thought. Why didn’t he like him?

Cassian fell into the chair opposite, tapping his lap in invitation and too Azriel’s surprise the fox leapt into Cassian’s lap and curled up, head tipped back as he tried to lick the hovering hand above him.

“He likes my scent because it’s merged with my mate that he adores,” Cassian said scratching under Balto’s chin. “I know that look brother, only time will help.”

Mate. Azriel couldn’t understand why Balto had never warmed to him, even after the mating ceremony when your scent entwined with his. Balto should be seeking him out for comfort, but it was the opposite.

“Are you going to the mountains? Check up on the training there?” Azriel tapped his fingers on the desk, hand dropping as Cassian’s gaze found the bloody teeth marks there.

“Yes…” Cassian smirked, large hands framing Balto’s face, a tinge of pink on his white fur near his canines telling enough.

“Good,” Azriel nodded, “take him with you.”

A deep laugh shook Cassian’s chest, Balto pawing the spot. “I can’t take him to the mountain, there’s no snow right now. He’d stick out and become dinner for who knows what.” A smirk tugged his lips, he was enjoying this too much.

“At least let him roam around the house with you, I’ve got all this still to do,” Azriel said, straightening the papers beside him which were all out of order thanks to Balto.

“Fine, but just an hour. I’m sure you’ll come find him when it’s up,” Cassian called over his shoulder. Balto chasing him out the door without another glance in Azriel’s direction.

He glanced down to his lap, long white fur stuck to his dark trousers and clumped together as he tried to brush it off.

One hour turned into three as he pushed through the work on his desk. His shadows were oddly calm, no interruptions since Cassian had bid him goodbye.

He wondered how you were doing in the dawn court. Much of your work involved smoothing over alliances between friendly courts, words being more powerful than weapons in your line of work. Not that you couldn’t hold your own, you’d been fighting monsters in the winter mountains your whole life until you’d met Azriel. Then you started to think more smarter, how you could still serve winter and live with him in Velaris. The diplomatic position giving you the best of both worlds.

Your absence seemed to be a sore spot for Balto, the longing sinking into him too as he watched the fox huff and puff all day. It hadn’t even been a day and he was wishing you were here.

Balto, he hadn’t seen since. He pushed out of his chair and blew the flame out from the lantern. He aimlessly walked the house of wind, shadows peeling away from him to squeeze under the doors and check for the fox.

The faintest of whimpers echoed down the hallway. Dark wisps struck his chest, but he pushed through them till he found Balto curled up on an armchair in the library.

Your chair, he could still smell your scent as if he’d stepped into the winter court. Fresh snow and pine invading his senses.

Nesta leant against the chair, her head resting on the cushion as she stroked Balto’s thick fur. The book in her lap discarded, pink ribbon marking her place. She murmured the softest of words, coaxing the fox’s heavy eyes shut.

“Az.” Nesta clicked her tongue and turned to him still looming in the doorway. “Poor things missing her, what have you been doing with Balto?” She raised a brow, as if she could see through the thick leather of his glove hiding the teeth marks on his hand.

“He bit me,” he blurted out, unsure why he needed to tell her. “I don’t know why he won’t warm to me.” His shoulders drooped, wings tucking behind him. The weight of a whimpering Balto pressing down on him, another reminder that you weren’t here. You always knew what to do.

The many times you’d crawled under the bed and calmed Balto, stayed until he felt safe enough to come out of his hiding space. Or when he’d be snarling and snapping, your silent presence sitting on the floor as you waited for Balto to come to you. As if teaching Balto that he had a choice, no forcing or punishing for feeling an emotion as big as fear.

You’d told him before that Balto had gone missing in the winter mountains when you were a child and it changed him. The only person he fully trusted and didn’t bite was you. There were many similarities to you and Balto.

“I will watch him for a while, go finish your reports,” Nesta said, voice soft and gentle like the hand smoothing Balto’s fur.

Azriel spent the rest of the day compiling reports and tidying his desk. The darkness crept in around him, the small lamp snuffing out beside him as the wick was nothing but ashes.

He flexed his hand, deep teeth marks now a scratch after a few hours of healing. His shadows whispered in his ear, echoing Balto’s name.

At times his shadows were no better than the fox, chasing its tail and whistling in Balto’s ear. He tried his best not to let the dark wisps monitor the foxes movements, but a few strays did what they wanted and watched.

When Azriel finally got back to his bedroom, a furry mound was curled on the bed. Sometimes Balto liked to sleep at the bottom of the bed by your feet, but he’d never slept on it without you.

He changed into his night clothes and slid into bed, trying not to pull the blanket from underneath Balto’s snoring form.

“Just for tonight,” Azriel whispered, smoothing his palm along Balto’s curved spine.

·•✦•·

Azriel’s body felt heavy as he dragged himself along the hallway. Wings skimming the walls as if they were trying to keep him upright. The pounding in his head amplified as he pushed his palm against his bedroom door.

In the middle of the bed, Balto’s teeth locked on a pillow, Azriel’s. He growled, shaking it in his hold.

“Balto!” Azriel didn’t mean to shout, the ache of his muscles whining as he raised his voice.

The day he’d had, checking on his contacts for intel went completely south and he ended up taking things into his own hands. The last scrap of patience falling away as feathers ripped from his pillow.

It was only supposed to be a couple of hours, but it turned into nine. The second day almost over.

Balto dropped the pillow as Azriel went to tug it. Pointed ears pushing back and head dipping, tail tucked between his legs.

Azriel stilled, blood coating his hands and staining the lilac pillow he clutched. “Balto,” he said, low and soft. His knees sinking on the mattress as he reached out slowly.

Dark wisps danced with the feathers floating in the air around Azriel, but his gaze was fixed on Balto.

In moments like this, it reminded Azriel of you. The way you used to snap at everyone who tried to reach out for you. Afraid that if you accepted that hand, you’d get hit by it later. Cold and detached, one letter answers so that no one could ask too much of you.

“It’s okay boy,” Azriel said, stopping as Balto scrambled backwards. He lifted his hands and rose from the bed, walking back to the bathroom. He opened the closet door on his way, knowing Balto would seek refuge in the layers of chunky knitwear that smelled of you.

Space, that’s what he’d give Balto. The blood and grime marring his flesh and leathers wasn’t helping. So he’d clean himself up, hope that the lingering scent of you would help him calm a frightened Balto.

He removed his weapons, setting them on the counter gently trying to make as little sound as possible. Pulling off his fighting leathers, he let them fall to the tiled floor and kicked them out of the way.

The harsh water beating against his back soothed his aching muscles. Azriel watched the red water spin down the drain until it was clear. He scrubbed every inch of his flesh, it was no wonder Balto was scared. He hadn’t realised how terrifying he looked. That and the fox’s heightened scent did not help his case.

Azriel pulled on some clothes and exited the bathroom, out of the corner of his eye he found Balto peeking through the folded jumpers in the closet. He stripped the bed and scooped up the feathers, stuffing them in a new pillow case and tying a knot in the end.

The three days were nearly up, only a few hours left till morning. Azriel put new sheets on the bed and tossed the old ones in the basket. He opened the other closet door and pulled out his winter coat, Balto following his every movement.

Balto nipped Azriel’s hand as his fingers traced the folded jumpers. A smile tugging his lips as he scratched under Balto’s chin. Space seemed to be the best remedy for Balto.

“I know, you miss her. So do I,” Azriel said, leaning against the shelves of the closet. “Let’s go meet her in winter, what do you say boy?”

Balto lunged out of the closet and landed on Azriel’s shoulder, paws trailing along his back as he dropped to the floor. His tail curling around one of Azriel’s legs waiting for him.

Scooping Balto up from the floor, he place the fox in his bag. The one you normally carried in when you winnowed to winter with Balto. He settled into the fur lined bag, huffing as Azriel tried to push his busy tail in the bag too.

He’d never travelled with Balto through the planes of darkness. Too afraid the fox would leap out and he’d never be able to find him. But he needed this as much as Balto, the open space of the winter mountains was somewhere that reminded them of you.

The strap hung from his neck and he clutched it to his chest, shielding Balto’s eyes as he snapped his wings into flight. As soon as he was able to travel, he let the darkness wrap around him and guide him to the winter court. His fingers stroked Balto’s head, a part of him checking he was still there.

The crunch of snow beneath his boots and the howling bitter wind welcomed him in winter. Balto jumped out of the bag and dove into the crisp white snow. Azriel couldn’t help but smile as he watched the fox tunnel underneath, jumping on the untouched snow and disappearing.

Azriel spent all morning walking the mountains, Balto trailing not far behind him. They checked in on your cabin, both napping by the fire and eating lunch. A kind patroller offering him soup, after seeing the smoke from the chimney.

Balto lay in front of the fire, pointed nose resting between his paws. His ears dropped back and pressed down into the tuft of fur. He crept forward on his stomach, pausing as a pesky wisp skimmed over his head.

To anyone else they’d think Azriel was still in a deep slumber, he leaned into the rhythmic deep breaths and let his hand drop to the floor. Balto stopping once again, before he inched closer and closed the distance.

A warmth nudged Azriel’s hand, his shadows telling him of the furry friend out of his eye-line. Balto licked the back of Azriel’s hand, tongue swiping the faint teeth marks he’d given him a couple of days ago.

“Thanks, boy,” Azriel said, his palm tapping the top of Balto’s head. “Why don’t we go find our favourite person.” He rose from the sofa and pulled on his coat.

Balto yapped in agreement, darting to the open door as fast as a lightning bolt. Azriel couldn’t keep up with furry blur, snow too deep as the fox burrowed underneath it.

Every now and then he’d catch a glimpse of Balto leaping up out of the snow and trying to chase a bird. Whenever you finished your duties for winter, Azriel would meet you there if he wasn’t away working. It’s times like this that he savours the cold. Reminds him of you.

He feels the charge of energy between you before he sees you. In your absence the heat is unbearable that he longs for the cool touch against his burning flesh.

You slide your arms around his waist and tucked yourself under his arm. “Did you give him winter berries?” You asked peering up at him as he kissed your forehead.

“No,” he said pulling away from you, “should I have?”

“Gods no, we’d never be able to catch him.”

This has been in my head since I did the winter read headcanons

[staticbleeding]

⛧°。 ⋆Waiting on the Stars ⋆°⛧

+:｡.｡　teen Stanford Pines x gn reader��｡.｡:+

Part 3 is here y'all!! I'm tempted to keep a majority of the story in Ford's POV. Let me know what y'all think! warnings : strong language, suggestive language, the usual teen shit pt.1 pt.2 pt.3

1972 What happens when Ford's chance to ask you out is right in front of him? Will he grab it and run? Or will his time run out?

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Ford's POV

"Hello?"

What do I say? God their voice is so pretty. Do I hang up? No that's creepy.

Thoughts race through my head. Fear and anger crashes over my body like waves. Finally the reality hits, I need to say something.

"H-Hi (Y/N)?" I stutter out finally.

"Ford? Hey! How'd you get my number?" Their voice rings in my ears as a blush raises throughout my face.

"Stan. He saw you left your notebook in class today and let me call to tell you..I promise I didn't look through it at all! Just your..number." I feel myself mentally cringing at how creepy all of this could sound.

"Oh shit. I didn't even notice! Thank you!" They laugh and thank me, I feel my heart begin to beat faster. Not out of fear or anxiety, but of something else.

"Oh it's nothing! Just..buddies looking out for each other...not assuming we are buds or anything! Just a phrase..yeah phrase." I say and look up seeing Stan shaking his head and laughing. A silent glare is directed at him.

"Of course we are! Looking out for each other. Speaking of which, um would you like to meet up sometime this weekend so I can get it back? Not like a date or anything." I hear their voice quiet down at the last part. My heart tightens up and my stomach drops.

"SO like a date?! Oh he would LOVE to honey! I'll make sure he dresses all fancy for ya. Flowers and all! I like you already! He will pick you up tomorrow at 7 alright?" My mother's voice rings out through the line. I turn around towards the living room and see her sitting in her usual chair with the phone in her hands. She looks up at me and blows a kiss before getting up and walking away like she didn't just say the words I have been so scared to say out loud so nonchalantly. Oh God please let the floor open up and just swallow me whole.

"A date!? Oh! Um if Ford wants it to be a date..then yeah." I hear (Y/N) say into the phone.

"Excuse her! I am so sorry! I..is a date alright? Don't feel pressured to say yes at all! It is completely understandable if not." I cover my face with my free hand and quietly say into the speaker.

"I would love a date with you Ford..." I hear them speaking but after those 8 words leave their mouth I can't focus on anything else but my heart beating faster than it ever has. This can't be real. I am going on a date with them. An actual date. With the prettiest person to ever step foot into this town!? Oh stars what if I mess this up? I feel myself start to lose my mind to worries and anxiety. Tuning out everything except my own voice.

"Do I need to tell you the address again Fordsy?" I hear their laughter I have come to love so much, slowly bring me back into reality.

"Shoot! Um sorry yeah. Wait let me get a ink pen," I run around the kitchen finding something to write it down, "Okay continue please."

Writing down every number and word they say, brings this entire thing to reality. I am going on my first date ever. Do they know this is my first date? What do they even like? Where do I acquire flowers for a date?!

"So..tomorrow at 7?" A smile coats their voice so sweetly I can't help but smile back as if they can see it.

"Yes. Tomorrow at 7. I will..see you there!" With that we say our goodbyes and hang up. Finally a steady breath finds my lungs and fills them up.

"See!? Wasn't that hard Sixer. Just needed a push." Looking up I see my brother and my ma giving each other a high five. Rolling my eyes, I watch as ma goes to look for a suit that will fit me. Stan looks at me and tells me I can use his cologne that "all the ladies love it on me, surely it can help you". I can't help but smile a little. Silently thanking them for the help. I slowly walk to my room and find myself laying in the bed I have spent countless night dreaming. Dreaming of how I can ask them out, maybe the stars heard me? If I ever visit the stars, I will have to thank them. A big smile finds its way to my face. Maybe everything will be okay.

The next few hours are spent with Ford's eyes wide open. Imagining everything that could happen. Many thoughts circle the Young man's head. 'The possibility of this date going completely perfect is slim to none' , 'What do we do?' , 'I have to impress them. make them want to do this date thing again'. Ford slowly drifts off to sleep imagining the chances of this working out. Stan creeps into the room and smiles at the twin asleep cuddling against a pillow. A smile on the older Pines brother, bigger than Stan has ever seen on the usual stoic and serious face.

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Ahh! Chapter 3! Sorry for the shorter chapter! Didn't want to put the date and the phone call all in one. Gotta stretch it out wink wink. I hope you all are as excited as I am for the date.

[red-riding-wood]

Coldfire - Pt. I

Pairing: Jackson Rippner x F! Reader

Fandom: Red Eye (2005)

Summary: As if catching his eye wasn't dangerous enough, you just had to tease him.

Warnings: SMUT. porn with plot but the plot is hush hush, non-con, teasing and a LOT of foreplay, semi-public sex, violence, near somnophilia, rough sex, humiliation, degredation, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, strangers, power imbalance, ("schoolgirl" university theme, but reader is of age)

WC: 6591

You’d smiled at him. That was all.

And now the man beside you was tapping you on your knee, firmly enough to let you know he wanted your attention. Badly.

Flopping your head to one shoulder, you looked up at him, startling blue eyes catching yours again as he smiled around white teeth. “May I help you?” your tone bordered playful and annoyed.

As if to address you more directly, the young man cocked his head slightly to mimic the motion of yours, smile fading as his eyes narrowed, roving across your features.

“I haven’t seen you around.” His voice was low, soft as silk. Were you not focused, you could’ve gotten lost in it. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

You tapped the end of your pen against your chin absently, looking him up and down. “I just enrolled a week ago,” you answered. “I haven’t seen you, either.”

“It’s my first time taking this class.”

Your eyes wandered to the empty desk in front of him, the space that only his shoes occupied on the floor. He’d dressed for the occasion, charcoal suit jacket and slacks pressed to perfection, silver dress shirt undone a button, but he’d brought no bag. Chestnut hair was swept to either side, settling perfectly over his ears, not a strand out of place, but he had no fucking bag.

A black watched poked from the cuff of his suit jacket.

1:07.

“You don’t say,” you murmured, and drew your gaze from his lazily, your pen lowering back to your page as you turned your focus back to the professor. This was important. You didn’t have time for distractions, even if they looked at you with big, blue eyes and smelled like sandalwood and…

Cinnamon, you realised, as your pen laid its haphazard strokes to the page.

Black ink streaked across the line as he tapped you again, this time on the stretch of bare flesh between your stockings and your skirt. Convenient, you thought. Goosebumps rose where his touch had been, and you sighed, clicking your pen as you turned to face him again, those frighteningly blue eyes boring into yours and his bottom lip nearly turning to a pout.

He was going to be a problem.

“Do you have a pen and paper I could borrow?” He asked, almost apologetic by the way his brows pressed together and his soft voice rose. Almost.

Tension eased from your body as you sighed, the breath having built in your lungs without you knowing, and you reached for your bag on the floor. Cold air kissed your skin where your shirt hiked up from your waist, your fingers rifling around for a loose page from your book and your spare pen. When you came back up, your cheeks were flushed and you had to brush a few strands of your hair from your lashes, but you still caught his eyes venturing lower than they should have for a split second.

“Usually, you bring stuff to take notes with,” you told him, an edge to your tone. As he reached for your spare pen, you pulled it back, a coy smile on your mouth. Something dark flashed in the bright of his eyes. “Often people bring a bag, or something. I’m assuming you forgot that…” you reached the pen out to run along the line of his hair, a strand coming undone and flopping over an unblinking lash. “… when you were doing yourself up all pretty.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, ever-so-slightly, but eyes of shattered ice seemed to latch to your soul, sinking hooks of steel into your chest. He blew a puff of air from his lips, the strand of chestnut hair settling messily over his forehead. You smirked as you handed the pen over, trying to ignore how warm his hand felt as it brushed yours. Repaying him in kind, your fingers brushed his thigh as you passed him the sheet of paper.

His gulp was audible, and you couldn’t help but be pleased with yourself. That would shut him up for a while.

You glanced up at the clock.

1:10.

“You’re one to talk, sweetheart.” That silk voice drifted to you again, and your grip tightened round your pen, the tip stilling on the page. “Bit of a short skirt for the schoolgirl look, don’t ya think?”

This time, when you looked, his gaze was shamelessly glued to the patch of skin above your stockings, and when those blue eyes met yours, you could tell you knew exactly what he was doing.

“Got the hots for the professor, or something?” he pried, biting his lip as he side-eyed you. Your brain went fuzzy at the motion, and you found you couldn’t stop staring at the way those lips parted, the bottom chapped slightly from the dry air and flushed pink from his teeth.

You straightened your spine, hiking your skirt up with an intent that surprised you. “It got you to look, didn’t it?” you almost purred, your teeth running along your lip to imagine, for only a moment, they were his.

It was a game now. He had you where he wanted you, and you knew it.

His watch read 1:11.

Attention sweeping back to the guest speaker, you tried to ignore the blue eyes that darted down to your thigh in the corner of your vision.

Focus, you told yourself, the world blurring at its edges as a heat began to build between your legs.

The guest speaker was drawing a diagram of an atom on the chalkboard. He was some hotshot physicist, recently employed by the military, lecturing at one of the top universities in the state. You were certain it was all very interesting, what he was saying. It was a shame you couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the vexing stranger beside you.

Of all the days he could’ve picked to sit beside you.

“You want people to look, don’t you?” His voice wasn’t silk. It was poison. His tongue, a knife so sharp you wouldn’t know you’d cut yourself on it until it was too late.

1:13. Your eyes darted from the clock to the physicist, to the board, to the piece of chalk he gesticulated with. He was one of those well-dressed, prissy types who seemed to look down their nose at you when they talked. But you were sitting close enough to the front row that you noticed the faint lines of purple beneath tired eyes, the shadow of stubble growing in along a sharp jaw…

Fuck. Without realising, your thoughts had wandered back to the stranger, and you shot a look at him as if to blame him for all of this.

“Something wrong?” the stranger asked, brow furrowing in something akin to mockery. The bastard, he wasn’t even using the supplies you gave him, that he had asked you for. He was slouched back in his seat, pen tapping idly against a blank page. Why was he even here?

Your eyes darted to the lines of fatigue beneath his bright eyes, to the shadow of stubble along the jaw he shifted.

“You’re not taking notes,” you pointed out, before turning your attention back to the speaker, and then the clock.

1:17.

“Neither are you.”

Your pen stilled and your blood ran cold. Looking down at your paper, you realised it was utter nonsense; something about isotopes, scribbles, uranium, scribbles…

You decided to go back to tapping the pen against your chin.

1:18.

You watched the physicist’s lips move, but no sound seemed to come out. Your blood was starting to pound in your ears.

But the scoff of the stranger cut through the noise like a knife through butter. “How much did they pay him for this?” he said. “An IED won’t detonate without an oxidizing agent… potassium, chlorine, hydrogen peroxide, fuck’s sake, is this paranoia or laziness?”

It was as if he was talking about mundane, everyday things. His voice was so sweet, his words seemingly so benign that you almost didn’t register what he was saying. It was his frustration that caught you off-guard.

1:20.

“Hey, pal,” someone hissed behind you. “Some of us are trying to listen.” Their voice was so jarring in contrast to the stranger’s that you nearly jumped. You were too antsy. Sweat pricked at the back of your neck, stress creeping in to your joints.

Chewing at your pen, your head swivelled to the side. The chatty stranger was staring down the guy who’d shushed him, a familiar darkness flashing once more through his eyes. The darkness, it met you briefly, as he turned back around, taking notice of your attention. He fluffed his collar and smiled. The shards of ice in his eyes melted, jagged edges blurring.

Had you imagined it?

Probably, you thought, your head weighing heavy on your spine as you turned it to settle your gaze once more on the physicist. Hell, you were practically drooling around your pen; it felt wet against the swell of your lip. Murderous glares were apparently your thing.

1:22.

“You know…” A hot breath raked down your neck, and his silken words seemed to unravel in the space between you like a spool of thread, his lips softer than they looked as they brushed your ear. “ … I think you want to catch someone’s attention.”

You froze up, the strings of his breath sending shivers along your neck. Your jaw turned sore around your pen. You shifted in your seat, practically rubbing your thighs together to sate the itch between them.

1:23. Fuck it. You had work to do, but this man seemed intent on getting under your skin. Why not get under his?

“Oh, and that’s yours, is it?” you purred, not an inch between you as you met his gaze boldly. A freckled nose brushed yours, and bright eyes blackened from dilated pupils. His lip caught in his teeth again, and you had to look away to stop yourself from combusting. You thought you saw him smirk.

1:24.

“You sure are glancing at the clock a lot. Got somewhere to be?” he said, and you tensed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you muttered under your breath, tearing your eyes from the clock and regarding him with a tinge of suspicion, pen rapping lightly against your front teeth.

“Maybe I already know.” He leaned forward again with a sly grin. “You see, you’ve caught my interest.”

“Really,” you purred, biting your pen. He was forward; you would give him that. He thought he was winning this game, this game that only he knew the goal of. Whether you were more excited or infuriated, you couldn’t tell, but your blood burned hot beneath your flesh and your heart raced within your fluttering chest.

Mirroring his grin, you set the pen down, and fixed him with your gaze. “You see, maybe I do want to catch someone’s attention,” you spoke to him in a soft, slow tone. “Not the professor. His bodyguard, in the doorway.” Blue eyes bore into yours so intently, you swore he didn’t blink. “Maybe after the lecture I’m going to drop my notes on the way out. Bend down to pick them up, my skirt hiking up to reveal a pair of lace panties,” your fingers curled around the bottom of your skirt, revealing more of your flesh, his eyes darting down to take in your little show as his tongue caught gently in his teeth. Before he could catch a glimpse of what was underneath, you released the fabric, and it tumbled over your thigh. Blue eyes flashed dangerously as they returned to yours and his smile faded, chest heaving with quickening breath.

“Maybe I stand up too fast,” you said. “I stumble, backing into him. I spin on my heel and apologise and I look him up and down, all-innocent like.” You demonstrated your words, letting your gaze rake across the buttons along his shirt, the simple leather belt above his slacks. When you looked back up to meet his gaze, batting your lashes, it was as if the ice in his eyes had completely melted into pure, white-hot need. This only spurred you on, your heartbeat pounding between your legs as you brought your finger up to a lock of your hair. “Maybe I twirl my hair. We get to talking. We end up in the hallway, on the way to a storage room. Thing is, see…” With your other hand, your finger began to slowly trace up his thigh, making small circles. “… I can’t keep my hands to myself.” Darkness collided with blue fire as you grabbed at his thigh, nails digging in. He looked almost wild, ready to devour you, his perfect hair flopping a little over his eyes. “There are wet floor signs up. No one goes down there. So he grabs me by the hips and lifts me against the wall. Maybe you’ll walk by, catch a glimpse of my heels knocking together behind him. Maybe you’ll hear me whimper, my lips parted and eager.” His eyes darted to your mouth, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he leaned in ever-so-slightly, entranced. As if you were giving him ideas.

Cold washed over your face as you sprang up in your chair, your hand returning to your own lap as you looked at him triumphantly and said, “Or maybe I just dress like a slut because I really want to get an A.”

Yup, you definitely hadn’t imagined his murderous look. Because right now he was looking at you like he wanted to either rail you against the desk or choke you out cold. Maybe both. And if you weren’t careful, you were going to melt under that coldfire gaze.

A sigh escaped a pouted lip as you set your sights back on the rather disinteresting chalkboard. Above, the clock’s hand inched dangerously closed to half-past. 

This time, the scratch of his stubble brushed your earlobe and you shuddered beneath his panted breath. “Stop pretending like you care about the lecture. I know you just want to be fucked.”

Time, for one moment, seemed to freeze. Everything went still. People around you were packing up books, but no sound travelled past the deaf ring in your ears, punctuated only by the thud of your heart.

And then the clock’s hand reached 1:30. And the world slammed into you, the screech of chairs against flooring and the bustle of rowdy students seeming to split open your head, and streaks of red and blue and grey moved in front of you – binders, cardigans, hoodies, varsity jackets, all spilling through the aisles in one converging mass.

“I have to go,” you told the stranger, who stayed planted in his seat, staring up at you as you slung your bag over your shoulder and pressed your book to your chest. “You can keep the pen and paper.”

A puff of hot breath warmed the backs of your thighs as you purposely turned your back to him, skirt swishing in his face as you shimmied past.

Smoothing out your clothing, you released a shaky sigh, slipping into the mass of students as if swept up by a tide. The flurry of air sent a shiver down your sweat-dampened neck, and you tried not to focus on how the lace seemed to cling, already messy and wet and used, between your thighs.

As you passed the bodyguard in the doorway, your elbow caught in the crook of someone’s arm, and your notebook fell to the floor. Knees bending slightly, your fingers grasped for the metal bindings, your index snagging one of the rings. The world seemed to spin as you straightened, and when you backed up a pace or so, your ass hit something solid. Fingers ghosted over your hips, and your breath hitched in your chest.

“There you are, sweetheart,” a familiar, silken voice met your ears. Confused, you turned, and a hand settled in the groove of your waist, pulling you close.

“This one, she’s a little clumsy when she’s not on her meds,” the stranger told the bodyguard, and indignation passed across your features, but his fingers tightened around your waist, and his side felt sturdy against you. “Excuse us,” he said, and pushed you back into the flow of the crowd.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” you hissed at him, eyeing the bodyguard as you passed. He disappeared among the many bobbing heads.

“I have a special assignment for you.”

“Look, if you wanna give me your number, I – “

“Will do exactly as I say if you want to live,” he finished your words. “See, you’ve created a bit of a problem for me. It wasn’t meant to go like this.”

“Go like how?”

“You’ll see.”

His fingers were wrapped around the curves of your waist almost possessively, the heat of his palms burning through your thin shirt, guiding you through and from the crowd and into a hallway where the click of your heels punctured the silence and yellow, wet floor signs seemed to race past your vision. His stride was long, yet purposeful, with a contagious sense of urgency, as if he were on a mission, and you couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or excitement that seemed to stir in your belly. Gravity tugged you downward for one cruel second, adrenaline seizing you as your heel slipped from under you, but his body was there to catch you, firm against your spine, and his hand scooped beneath your skirt to grab a handful of skin and lace. You were righted with a startled huff, your ass dragging against a rather prominent outline in his slacks before you were shoved through the doorway.

“Sir, this is the women’s bathroom,” you sassed, as he manhandled you into the room that you hoped wasn’t as empty as it sounded. “I don’t think you’re allowed in here.” The last words left your lungs in a spool of thin air; you nearly went stumbling forward as he shoved you again, this time with the intent to put space between the two of you. Whirling on your heel, you saw him draw a lanyard from his pocket and you frowned.

“Oh, I don’t think anyone will mind,” the stranger said, turning the key in the lock of the door. You narrowed your eyes at him in confusion as a smile stretched across white teeth and bright eyes gleamed with equal parts annoyance and mischief.  

“Bit overdressed for a janitor, don’t you think?” You looked him up and down, your heart pounding against your ribs, with nothing but your words to arm you. You glanced at the stalls, all swung half-open.

Darkness flashed through bright eyes, and another lock of chestnut hair flopped over his forehead as he tilted his head down to glare at you, like a wolf would its prey. “Do I look…” He advanced, and you backed up instinctually, ass hitting the edge of the counter. “… like a fucking janitor to you?” His hot, minty breath raked across your face, your painted lashes fluttering, and his fingers snaked through your hair, gathering a handful in his palm and forcing you to look up at him. Fire raced along your scalp, and a sneer pulled over your teeth.

“Hey, the jumpsuits aren’t really my style, either… but if you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be…” The second you pushed yourself off the counter, his weight pinned you against it, the ceramic digging harshly into your spine. Your eyes darted to his watch.

1:35.

Damn him.

“I really think this is more important.” His voice dropped low and husky, caution laced into his growl of a tone, and something about the way you looked at him seemed to make him all the more feral.

You could barely contain your scream as you plunged your neck forward, white-hot pain stinging your scalp as your teeth snapped at his wrist and he pulled; your lips brushed flesh before your head was yanked back in a dizzying wave, and the fluorescent bulbs of the bathroom exploded like fireworks as your skull came crashing against the counter. The sounds of your struggle faded away into a harsh ringing; everything was too bright, too loud, the brilliant white of the fireworks flooding through the thick mass of hair that fell over your eyes. You shuddered, the fight leaving your body, and you were sinking, the world turning on its shaky axis.

A warmth brushed over the bare flesh of your thighs, the curve of your hip, blocking your fall and lifting you almost gently atop a hard, damp surface. Knives of white sliced your retinas as your head rolled back, and you groaned, squinting your eyes shut. It felt as if the knives were cleaving open your skull, smoldering with heat as if drawn from hot coals as your head met another hard, solid object.

A soft tutting filtered through the ringing of your ears, and distantly, a voice spoke to you, edged like the blades that split your skull, “Vicious little thing, aren’t you? Rabid bitch. Gonna have to put you down if you pull something like that again, sweetheart.”

What was he talking about? Why were you in so much pain? Why wasn’t the man reacting to the world rocking back and forth?

“Open your eyes…” The knives began to dull, their edges softening into silk spools. “Look at me, sweetheart… I want you to look at me.” You winced as light flooded your vision, a gentle hand sweeping the hair from your face and ghosting your parted lips before cupping your chin. “Look at me,” he repeated, firmer this time. It must have been important, so you peeled back your eyelids, weary.

The fireworks bled across your blurred vision, and pain tap-danced along your skull, your gut churning but the stranger’s hand steadying you. Navy and grey and white all undulated around the distinct figure of the man, black suit eclipsing the light. Your head was heavy, so heavy that you could’ve toppled, but he still held you firm, and each time you blinked, a new detail came into focus. His hair, dark, messed; his lips, parted, flushed pink.

His eyes, blue. So blue.

“That’s it… good girl.” Were it an object, you could’ve sunk into that voice, let it chase away your pain and soften the fall when gravity finally won you over. A soft whimper came shattered from your lips, suddenly dry. You snaked a tongue between them and felt the sting of your teeth as his hand lowered beneath the weight of your skull. Warmth danced along the flesh of your thighs, stretching your panties taut, a finger brushing the heat between them. Another whimper rose to your tongue, which watered as the spice of cinnamon and the creaminess of sandalwood collided with your senses. The fresh bite of mint, joining the mix as his breath pooled at the base of your neck.

“I think you want to stay awake for this, sweetheart.”

“Wha…” Your lips barely formed a sound as your eyes fluttered, and no sooner did you wonder why he wanted you awake did the thought disappear from your clouded mind, and a jolt travelled from the pool of heat between your legs to the very top of your skull, numbing the pain for a split second of bliss.

Shards of light danced across your vision, black lashes streaking across white, and oxygen raced to your skull as you gasped at the feel of a finger inside you.

“Can’t believe you’ve been wet all this time for me,” the man murmured into your ear, the ringing seeming to soften around his silk voice. “Turns out you were a slut after all.”

“Mm…” The sound came involuntary from your lips as his finger dragged against your velvety walls, curling against just the right bundle of nerves to send a warm tide of relief all the way up your body, your flesh buzzing and your eyes rolling back as the pain gave way to bliss.

“You’re liking this, aren’t you?” the stranger cooed, the cool trace of mint still on the hot breath that flushed your cheeks.

Your hips rolled forward as he wedged another finger inside, needy and pathetically desperate, but you didn’t care. You merely sought the friction of his hand, the release he granted you from the white-hot pain that was beginning to melt like butter into the background. You squirmed around him. His chuckle was warm, and encouraging; your jaw lolled open to uncage your heavy breath, and when he curled both fingers, your world erupted into tremors of euphoria and sweaty flashes of heat. Everything was fuzzy, your mind softening at its edges and your back arching as another jolt came racing through you. Your thighs clenched around him, and, by some cruel twist of fate, before you could tumble over the precipice of rapture, he withdrew his fingers and left you aching, empty, as you slumped over his shoulder, panties snapping back over your flesh.

With your lips parted against his neck, you could taste him, the creamy undertone of his aftershave and the spice of the cinnamon shampoo as his hair tickled your forehead. Even the scrape of the slightest trace of stubble along your nose was strangely comforting. The solidness of his chest, beneath your trembling form, keeping you from sinking to the cold ground.

“Wh-why did you stop?” you finally formed a coherent sentence, though your words came out in more of a whine than anything.

“Because…” The silk threads of his voice frayed as a growl reverberated through his chest, buzzing against your sternum, and sticky fingers, sweet with the scent of your juices, wrapped round your chin and forced your head back so you could look him in those blue, blue eyes. “… I had work to do, until you created a bit of a problem for me.”

Blinking hard, you tried to bring his features into focus, the sharp line of his cheekbones reminding you of the sharp slashes against a chalkboard. With his other hand, he took yours, your nails hooking along the metal buckle of his belt before brought to rest over the outline of his cock through his slacks. Instinctively, your fingers curled, as if seeking warmth, and you felt him twitch in your palm as his jaw clenched and his coldfire gaze devoured you, ice prickling at the back of your neck and molten lava seeping between your legs.

“This is the consequence of your actions…” He pressed your palm harder against the line of his cock, and your thighs shifted, aching for friction. Yearning to feel something more substantial inside you than his fingers. “Your fault… your problem… my slut… ” Now that you were awake enough to hold your own neck up, he released your chin to press his finger to your parted lips. You tasted yourself on him, but it does not repulse you; if anything, the addition to the delectable potion of sandalwood and cinnamon and mint only seems to spur your appetite, moistening your lips as saliva pooled on your tongue.

“Now you have to deal with this problem of yours.” His thumb stroked your cheek, his hips rutting gently into your hand. His lips flushed brighter after he caught them in his teeth, and your eyes traced the bow of them, mesmerised by the lurid colour in your world of black and white and navy.

“Now, I’d have liked to see you getting on your knees for me, would’ve liked to see these pretty lips around my cock, would’ve liked to see what that sharp tongue of yours could really do, but, I think it’s clear you’re a little too out of it for that, so…” He scrunched his face up in mock sympathy, and the slivers of ice in his eyes glinted like knives. “It looks like I’ll have to fuck you instead.”

I know you just want to be fucked, his voice seemed to echo in the empty chamber of your skull, and your brow furrowed despite your hips grinding feebly against the ceramic of the counter. Your heart thudded against your chest, seeming too quick for how slow everything else moved around you, and as he wedged his thumb past your lip, prodding at your teeth, your head flinched back and the blurry image of a clock materialised on the wall.

“Remember…” he said as your eyes focused on the object on the wall, wondering why it was so important to you. “… it didn’t have to be this way. If only you hadn’t resisted… if only you hadn’t been such a goddamn tease in the first place…”

Alarm shot like electricity up your arms, leaving goosebumps, but you couldn’t tell exactly where the hand of the clock was, or what it meant. Your head was still too fuzzy, your memory of how you even ended up here still just out of reach.

“Open your legs,” he ordered you.

“I have somewhere to be…” you mumbled. “Got something really impor –“

“No, you don’t,” he said, barbed wire weaving itself into the silk of his tone. A hand ran between the parting of your thighs, sending shivers along your flesh, causing your heart to pound faster in your core. His teeth grazed your neck as he growled in your ear, “Open. Your. Legs.”

Despite the soft moan he managed to pull from your diaphragm, you didn’t obey, and a huff of disgruntled breath stirred the wisps of hair from your neck as he forced your legs open with a sudden violence that got your heart hammering and your veins singing with fire. You attempted to slide off the counter, finding yourself unable to lift your own weight, and for one moment, you seemed to fall, with nothing beneath you but the harsh pull of gravity.

And then your face was nestled back in the crook of his neck, and those hands cradled your ass, and the hard line of his cock shifted the lips of your pussy apart ever-so-slightly.

“Shhh, it’s all right.” His tone smoothed into a hushed, gentle whisper, and the shift was so jarring that the clock and the urgency and the fuzzing memories of what had occurred before all faded away. “You don’t need to think about anything right now except me being inside you, about how good you’re gonna make me feel, babygirl.” He placed a kiss so soft to your shoulder that you couldn’t help but ease, his soothing voice lulling you into submission. “I’m gonna take care of everything… just so long as you let me do what I like to you… just so long as you know you’re mine… my good girl.” You could feel his lips pull into a smile against your flesh, a hint of darkness creeping into the melody of his tone. “You’re not going anywhere.”

All that existed now was him, and the distracting feel of his cock begging for entrance past your thin layers of clothing, and the heat that came in waves over your limbs as your heart beat too fast for your body. With your mind drawing blanks on your prior concerns and the scent and taste of him against your tongue so sweet, you found yourself giddy, a giggle chiming from your chest as you began to nip playfully at the soft flesh of his neck. Your hand came up to his throat, as if to have some kind of control over him as he did you in this moment, applying force as if to push him away, and beneath your palm was the rumblings of a warning growl.

“You’re not being a very good girl,” he remarked, and in another violent outburst, your spine was slammed against the corner of the counter, and pain shot from your tailbone all the way up to your skull, reminding you of the injury you’d sustained. Your gut churned again as his fingers dug into your sides, twisting you around until you caught a blurry glimpse of your reddened face in the mirror, mascara smeared across your cheek and your lips parted in a sinful gasp.

Bitter cold washed over your thighs as he pulled your skirt up, the sound of a buckle clanging through the slight ringing still in your ears. You barely had the time to process what was happening before feeling the sharp snap of your panties being torn from your thighs, the burn they left against your skin a welcome distraction from the pounding in your skull, and your thighs tucked together instinctively as cold nipped at the most sensitive part of you and his cock brushed teasingly against the line of your legs.

The stranger tutted in disproval and forced fingers between your thighs again, his other hand weaving itself through your hair and grinding your jaw against the cold ceramic of the counter. “No, no, sweetheart… don’t play those games with me,” he reminded you, and a hint of defiance coursed through you, ready to land on your tongue in the form of some venomous remark, when the words, breath and energy were ripped from your aching body and the desire that simmered beneath your surface was finally met.

Your scalp burned as he pulled you flush to his chest, sliding down on his cock, the thickness of him seeming to split you in two. Your eyes shuttered and you panted in exultation, knuckles chafing against the countertop as he began to fuck you, his own breath hissing against the sensitive groove of your neck as he adjusted to your tightness.

You whimpered from the bursts of euphoria that accompanied each thrust of his hips, some rolling over you like a heavy tide that left you trembling and weak, ready to unravel around him, others striking you quick as lightning and threatening to plunge you over your precipice. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair so tight explored your body as if you were his property, slipping beneath your shirt and groping almost painfully at your breasts. The feel of his thumb brushing across a pert nipple made you arch your back, his cock pushing deeper inside you and causing your whole body to shudder.

“F-fuck – “ you hissed, your hand reaching around to grab at his hair, needing something to pull at, something to sink your nails into as pain blended with pleasure.

“That’s my good girl.” His hot breaths came panted against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin with each thrust. “That’s my good. Fucking. Girl.” Each word came out raspier, growled from the darkest recesses of his chest, and his hips bucked so violently into you, you remembered for a brief moment that he’d had the audacity to call you rabid.  

You could do nothing as he left himself sheathed inside you, warmth spilling along your inner thighs as he came, his teeth biting at your skin as your fingers tugged at his messed hair. Still grinding desperately against his length, you stirred a deep, resonating moan from him, and his breath shattered against your neck.

You hadn’t realised just how firm his weight had held you in place until he pulled away, gradually, his hands slipping from your hair and your stomach and twirling you in a daze back around to glimpse soft freckles and sharp cheekbones undulate in your vision. His cock, slicked with his your nectar, brushed your stomach, leaving residue that was warm at first and cruelly cold as he backed away.

“And now you have a mess to clean up,” he told you once he’d caught his breath, swiping a finger across the slit of your still-throbbing heat, gathering the unique elixir of sex and forcing it past your teeth. Your lips curled around his thick finger and you suckled, a moan catching in your throat at the sordid taste.

Roughing the same hand through your wild hair, he flashed a grin at you, and though your vision still swam, it couldn’t obscure the wicked glint in his eye. He looked you up and down, as your weak legs trembled beneath you and you shivered with the cold rush of your sweat and his cum on your thighs. You were sinking again, gravity slowly claiming you, your consciousness feeling as if it might slip into oblivion.

“Do you need me to take care of you, babygirl?” He almost taunted, though his words were woven soft as silk spools again. A hand grazed your thigh, and you shivered beneath his touch. “You need me to take care of you, don’t you, because you can barely stand after getting fucked so hard.”

You could only whimper in agreement as you sank to the floor, thighs still burning from chafing against the counter and darkness teasing the edges of your vision. He wasn’t there to catch you this time, instead busy buckling up his belt. “Fine, fine… I’ll take care of you, just as soon as I finish your job for you…”

Something heavy settled in your gut, and you blinked away the darkness, panic rising in your throat as you curled against the tile flooring. Looking up at him, you watched as he straightened his shirt, groomed his hair back to its meticulously tailored façade, felt spite tinge your tongue like bile as you watched the hand of the clock tick by a fraction.

“So incompetent…” he muttered, his gaze torn between you and his reflection now, trying desperately to smooth out his hair, to brush out the last wrinkles from his suit jacket. “It’s fine. I think I have a new assignment for you, anyway.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pain exploding behind your temples. “You wha… you… “

Swallowing against a dry throat, keeping yourself upright by the sheer force of your quivering arm and white knuckles against the tile, you watched as he made his way to the farthest stall. The panic wove itself round your lungs, stealing your breath and blackening your mind’s edges again. You flinched as you heard him rifle around in the toilet paper dispenser, the sound familiar to you – you’d done such a thing not even an hour or so prior – until he emerged with the reason why. The black metal of your Ruger was small yet menacing in his hand as he checked the magazine, and pain exploded in your skull as fragments of your mission came screaming back to you, the preparation you’d put into this particular assignment because you knew you were being tested by the higher-ups…

“Seriously, Y/N? You thought you’d be able to hide this up that short skirt?” He shook his head, tutting again as you wondered how he knew your name. Cocking the action caused you to flinch one more time, and asked, voice wavering,

“Who are you?”

“The name’s Rippner. Jackson Rippner.”

Your hand slipped from the tile, and came to your mouth in a silent gasp, the blackness overtaking you as you realised that not only had you failed your mission, but you’d just been fucked by your boss.

The world seemed to narrow and close like the end of an old film, until all you could make out was the silhouette of his cocked head, the flash of white teeth as his lips curled into a smile so dreadful that it would forever etch itself into your memory.

And that was all.

A.N. Please let me know if you would like a Part 2! Now excuse me while I go hide I've stayed up all night and am posting this on half-dead 7 am brain before I can regret it

PART II HERE

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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[akunoniwa]

Doctor's Note

Synopsis: In which you get diagnosed and treated by your local Dr. Demon

Pairing: Gaap (Ars Goetia) x fem!reader

Warnings: MDNI, essentially just... demon fucking...

WC: ~4.5k

He’d already know your body too well, exactly where to touch and how, seeing as he’s a seasoned doctor. It didn’t matter that you’d only visited him just this once, he knew exactly what ailed you. 

An excuse.

You’d read all about him, as you’d heard he takes phenomenal care of his patients, but an unusual sense of pride kept you from submitting to your curiosity. Until now.

“It’s strange…” He began, his voice buoyant despite its density. He’d done all of the typical procedures, asking about your medical history, taking your blood pressure, but he feigned ignorance of your real intent. He wanted to entertain your coyness, as it’s nothing new… But you seemed particularly delectable, as he recognized you’re not one easily swayed.

His wanting to change the subject naturally had you alert, waiting for him to continue with suspended brows.

“You’d made this appointment with an air of reasoning as if I’d find something wrong?” His eyes did not raise, as his gaze was focused on his pen lacing ink into quick, ornate letters on the report. The sound of the dextrous and hasty ballpoint imprinting strings of words onto the page somehow spoke of his personality to you… It was oddly fascinating to watch.

You were skeptical of this remark, as you’d made no obvious note of this being your motive, it’s merely a regular physical, “I just haven’t been keeping up with my health, and you were recommended to me…”

He gently huffed out what almost seemed to be a smug scoff, setting his clipboard on the counter behind him. You still sat propped up on the observation table, feeling almost infantilized by the way your feet barely reached the step-down.

“There’s just one last step, I need to check your lungs and heart…” You noted that he didn’t keep the stethoscope around his neck but rather it was hung on the wall. 

Within your reading up on him, you were quickly put on to why he was so ‘renowned’. Yes, he was genuinely an accomplished scholar, particularly in women’s health, but… Men and women alike would rave about how he’d ‘take care of them’ like no one else… You couldn’t snuff these thoughts out as he neared you from the side.

“If I may pry, who recommended me?” He hesitated to place the diaphragm against you. You felt disgusted by the way you were becoming increasingly aware of his proximity. 

“Just a coworker, we were chatting about how negligent I am when it comes to my doctor visits… I know I need to pay more attention.” You gave an earnest response, trying to dilute any suggestive thoughts, though they were growing unbearably potent.

He hummed in acknowledgment with a considering pout, carrying on with checking your upper back, the cold of the bell piece cutting through your blouse, “Deep breath in…” He guided, almost lifting you with his voice

“And despite having a previous physician, you chose me?” He paused, “Breathe out.” He repositioned the diaphragm slowly against your back. He noticed your breath was tense instantly, trying to stifle any satisfaction in this. Your heart rate undeniably went up as he neared questionable territory with his interrogating.

“I was intrigued, my last doctor was not the most compassionate.” Your reasoning was quick, perhaps justified, but he liked the way your breath hitched as he moved around your back.

“One last breath in…” His voice rose as if he was holding the same breath, “And out.”

He rounded to your front, standing before you, “Just breathe as you normally would here.” He placed the piece in the center of your chest as you tried to avoid looking directly at his face. He was so close, you were in his sphere of scent, a delicately botanic, smoky kind.

“I said to breathe normally.” He asserted again with a small grin, “You just cannot seem to relax…”

“A doctor’s office isn’t particularly comforting.” Your eyes shot as far away from seeing his expression as possible, your cheeks tarnished with faint embarrassment.

“Is that what it is? Your blood pressure was entirely normal earlier… Perhaps there is something amiss with you…” His words dragged and coiled around you, reminiscent of his handwriting, aptly stringing you along.

You’ve been caught, pressing your lips together in a bashful attempt to not say something ridiculous, “And what might that be.” You maintained a level tone as best as you could.

He still held the scope in place, enjoying how you writhed, your breaths smaller, not so much frantic, but unsteady. He was surely staring at your face from his elevated angle, you could feel his gaze on you as if you were an ant under a magnifying glass.

His prior facade of professionalism dropped elegantly like a theater curtain, heavy as he leaned into you, his lips inches from your ear, “You know exactly why you came here, how long would you like to continue rehearsing this scene?”

Your frenzied heart rate was enough to drive him wild, but he knew how to keep tempo.

“... I…,” You were at a loss, not wanting to hear much more of your meek voice. His heat radiated over your whole body, voice seeping into you.

“I’ll show you compassion just this once,” His words were bowed with an audible grin, “Only if you can report to me what exactly brought you here. Truly.” He finally hung the scope to idle around his neck, wanting to hear your every syllable, even if they wavered.

Your words certainly didn’t come easily, “I was curious why you’d received such appraise… And I wanted to find out for myself.”

“You know what I am and what I do, and still sit here as if I have to evaluate you to find out your pitiful deficiencies.” You hadn’t noticed your legs instinctually parted to allow him closer, “You want me to assess your body, in more ways than one.”

“Is this not malpractice, you acting this way, doctor?” Your voice had surely withered under the weight of anticipation.

He was more moved by your calling him ‘doctor’ than he should have been, as it’s something he hears all the time… Your voice, strained and borderline needy, rearranged the word in his mind, “I’ll give you any version of malpractice you prefer, darling.” He finally distanced his face to align with yours, seeing your slipping guise from inches away.

“What would you prescribe to someone with my so-called pitiful deficiencies?” You playfully continued the bit, you both intertwined in the teasing like strands of a rope.

“Hmm… I may need a closer look, after all, just to ensure… May I?” You were caught off guard by his genuine concern about touching you.

“I can’t just go home untreated, can I? Whatever you need to do to cure me of these deficiencies, please…” You realized you’d properly left your decency and pride tied to a light post outside of the clinic.

He took in a breath himself, overwhelmed by your eager presence… No demon should have this much power without checks and balances… He salivated at the thought of ravaging you, tipped by your trailed ‘please’.

His hand, gloved in blue latex, rose to rest against your cheek as he showed you a doting look, “Stand up for me…”

You managed to still have a tinge of reservation, hesitating for barely a second. But, you both knew why you were here, there were no secrets to hang onto. You obliged as his hand fell, he stepped back allowing you some room. You had to admit, you were susceptible to his towering height as he scanned over you, somehow the silence served more to tension than awkwardness.

“To ascertain accurate results… These lovely clothes just won’t do, I regret to say…” He continued his character pretending to be upset by this. He stepped into you once again, an index finger pulling at your belt to undo the buckle, snaking it off of you through the loops. Even the mere sensation of this in tandem with your anticipation was starting to gnaw at you.

Along with the stethoscope, he hung your belt around his neck, “Perhaps this could be useful… Go ahead and strip for me darling, this could serve my research well.”

You committed to this energy, removing everything that clouded your bare form as he watched, head cocked observingly as he leaned back against the counter. Only the sound of clothes slipping against skin flooded the space. His eyes swayed and lingered over every detail, his hands anchored to the counter’s edge at either side of him, looking nonchalantly imposing.

“Any prognosis?” You called to him as he had to tear his eyes from your body.

“Oh, it’s severe, seeing as you just willingly stripped naked for someone of my ilk.” He closed in on you again, unable to resist playing with you.

His rubbery hands reached to entrap you, starting from your ribcage, thumbs briefly brushing over your nipples. He spared no specific attention to any one thing, sliding down over your waist, to your hips. He watched his hands as you watched his faded eyes, even his blinks were languid as he felt you observing him.

“Turn around.” It was an order, but his voice still floated above your head as you obeyed, turning in his grasp.

He hummed, pleased as his touch rose to your shoulders, then dragged torturously to your ass. Although you were not instructed, it felt as if you were once again holding onto a breath, releasing as composed as you could manage as his hands groped your flesh, “These are quite nice… Typically they look better in a red… Or maybe…” His words wandered off to somewhere unknown, a hand rising to push at your upper back, forcing you to bend forward.

“You’re very compliant, darling.” You felt an acidic wave of lust roll through you at his thoughtless praise.

By the silence, you judged he was certainly made aware of your most deficient parts, your cunt probably more obviously intrigued than anything else.

“Hmm… This is most likely where your problem lies…” A latex-clad finger made faint contact with your clit, causing your thighs to twitch at the attention, to which he chuckled through his nose, “Severe indeed.” His hand pushed you down further causing you to be on maximum display as his feather-light touch grazed up to find your glistening hole. You bit your lip, but harder on a groan you attempted to constrict.

“Don’t hold back, I need you to communicate with me so I can know what’s wrong.” You were still caught up by how nice his fanned hand forcing you down onto the observation table made you feel, let alone his meandering touch. You could envision how lewd it looked, the image making you falter.

His index finger still lingered around your hole in no particular manner, as if he was genuinely taking note of your anatomy, “Surely you’re aware… Typically when your cunt is this soaked…” His upper half leaned over your folded form, wringing you out with his heady demeanor, “It means you desire something desperately.”

Your head inadvertently raised to try and close any gap between you, craning up in aroused dejection. You could feel him pressed against you, he was undoubtedly having his fun.

“Does this align with your symptoms?” A hand wound under your left arm, snaking to wrap underneath your jaw, forcing you closer to his voice, “Tell me.”

“Yes, doctor.” You choked out, noticing his eyes bloom when you called him that earlier, you decided to use your own trump card.

He groaned above you, his voice blanketing you, “There’s only one thing I know of to treat cases like yours…” He pushed his hips ever so slightly into your backside causing your eyes to flicker, “But you self-diagnosed before you even came to my clinic… Dirty little thing.”

He lifted himself to straighten, “It’s phenomenal, this human form… But it seems you are more excited by my barbaric, obscene interior…” A pair of fingers played at your hole once again, barely pushing into you, “You can’t be satiated by just a human… You want something more. Something diabolic.” Slowly, his fingers progressed as he continued to whirl on, driving you mad with his words.

He could feel that you were clenching, smiling with amusement, “Is this true? You’d prefer to be fucked by a beast like myself?”

How you’d answer that outright, you were initially unsure, but his fingers curled down, adeptly pushing into a perfect spot, “I-I… Yes, I would.” You loved the idea of him fucking you with his latex gloves, something about how sterilizing and surgical it felt.

“You’d like that?” He pressed, establishing a crawling pace with his hand.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Your cunt is so hot and wet, darling, you may just melt these gloves off…” He mused, basking in your pleasure.

You couldn’t help but let your body sway into his fingers, meeting his pace. Your whole being was throbbing, letting your satisfaction leave you as pants. You were growing more desperate to cum, wanting to coat his fingers with your release, though he pulled his hand away.

“Stand and turn for me, darling,” You did so, though slowly so as to not underestimate your delirium, forced to make eyes with him as he tasted you, “Utterly divine, you taste so sweet…”

You couldn’t help but feel scorn towards him, being made to watch him clean your juices thoroughly from his fingers, “Jesus…” He looked gorgeous, just like that.

“Not quite.” He jested, his fingertips reaching to play at your bottom lip until you allowed access, taking his lithe fingers in your mouth. He watched you intently, beyond himself as it set in that such a pretty little human would stoop so eagerly down to his level.

He gradually pulled his hand away, watching the way your lips wrapped so nicely until the heat of your mouth was but a ghost. He painted a trail of your saliva down your chin, making a mess of you, “Your breasts are lovely too, I must say.” 

He stretched his gloves off, exposing skin with markings that resembled black, veiny cracks. You were not repulsed, quite the contrary, his skin looked like a glass mosaic, his bare hands cupping your breasts. Feeling the rough texture of his skin against yours only amplified his effect.

“Your reactions are too much for me, it’s making it hard for me to keep composure…” He played at your nipples between his thumb and index, making you squirm.

“I didn’t come here for your composure.” You placed your hands on his kintsugi skin, hoping to urge him on.

“I am… well aware, darling.” His hands left you, shouldering off his lab coat, setting your belt to still be within reach, “You’ll need to be fucked back into health.”

As he continued to remove his work attire, he continued to reveal his increasingly onyx skin, the closer to his chest, the more dense the black. It was incredible, you couldn’t help but gawk, to which he smirked almost sheepishly, “Why don’t you sit pretty for me back on the table…”

You were balancing on his every command at this point, loving the feeling that embraced your body in this moment. You hopped back up on the table to face him, spreading your legs to taunt him. He moved routinely to his lower half, adoring how you watched as his trousers fell for him to push aside along with his shoes. You wouldn’t say you were shocked, but his cock was surely not human, three knots that staggered in increasing size from his tip to the base. Immediately, the irresistible thought of him pushing you open, feeling those crevices move your insides… You didn’t think you could grow any wetter.

“I love that expression you’re wearing… The only thing I’ll allow.” His hand wrapped around himself, pumping his bulbous length. You had a paradoxically innocent urge to simply stroke him, of course never having seen this before. You felt sordid for being turned on at the sight of him touching himself right before you.

You took it upon yourself to let a hand find your clit, seeing if this would induce any reaction from him. It most certainly did, an inferno sparked in his chest, let alone his cock, as he watched you play with yourself so deviantly. He was debating… Should he keep dragging you around with his antics… Or are you in such a grave state that you must be cured right this instant? His own heart raved at the possibilities, mind flooded with a mirage of your pretty body doing such horrific things for him.

“What’s on your mind…?” He asked, his hand still cycling in a fluid motion in a stalemate.

“You.” You grinned, “What’s this cure you spoke of?”

Your being direct stoked him, causing him to chuckle deep from his chest, “I think I need to cure you until you’re properly bedridden, darling.”

You pushed your middle and ring finger into your beckoning cunt as you propped a leg up on the table, causing his eyes to immediately shoot to yours, almost in warning, “Please, doctor, I’m at your mercy.”

He let out an undeniable scoff this time, taking a few steps to near you as he grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away, “I fucking hate how you call me that.” He aligned the tip of his alien-looking cock with your hole, that being enough to send shockwaves through you, “Keep doing it.” 

He decided to channel his teasing into you, only pushing his girthy tip inside at a molasses pace, finally coaxing out the most beautiful sounds from you. You both had unanimous thoughts of how good the other felt, your pussy was impossibly soft and plush, his length surprisingly velvety as he angled himself to hit that same delicious spot. You felt your hole stretch around his first, modest knot as he’d continuously remove himself completely to shove himself back inside you.

“Do you think you need more? How do you feel, darling?” His hand gripped your thigh that still rested on the table, squeezing out your reply.

“It feels so good, doctor, but…”

He was awed by the fact you could still be embarrassed to express your needs, he found it almost endearing, “But…?” He pulled out to admire his tip glistening with your creamy slick, waiting for you.

He was going to make you say it, regardless. Even just the sight of his shaft that curved upward so enticingly made you quiver, “I need more.” God, you sounded so whiny and small.

His strong grip on your thigh was alarming, but not unexpected as his first knot slid in with ease once more, though the second demanded more of you. Paired with the stretch, he was starting to push fairly deep into you, finally starting to reorganize your insides as you imagined. You couldn’t tie down a labored ‘fuck’ as he began to thrust at a steady pace. Every time he pushed back into you, an indescribably foreign feeling of being perfectly spread by each knot exploded inside you. You decided to place your hands on his shoulders to keep balance as he hunched over your starved form.

Your moans were of a heavenly timbre he’d never know otherwise as he experimented with pace and angle to see which would make you sing. Your wetness coated the very beginning of his final, large knot as he thrust into you, but you couldn’t imagine it actually managing to fit. Because of its shape, his cock accentuated the squelches from your cunt, the crude sounds seeming to bounce off the walls.

He found another spot deep inside you, concocting a burn, itch, smolder… Every sensation was being triggered as he sheathed into you repeatedly, knowing he had found your sweetest spot, “You can’t even cry… How adorable…” His hand found your cheek once more as his eyes seemed to reach into you, cradling your gaze.

He wasn’t unfazed, in fact, your broken moans were like shards of glassy pleasure in his lower abdomen, he felt deific as he took you. And you took him so well… He’d almost plead to the gods himself if it meant that you’d clench onto him like this eternally. For a demon, he was quite considerate, as he’d never force you, but he wanted so desperately for you to absorb all he had, his final knot prodding at your cunt.

His hands slid to your knees, urging you to wrap your legs around his torso, lifting you as soon as you followed. Gravity lent itself to the intensity as you were slammed down onto him, his hands spread on either side of your ass. While you found yourself nearly unable to make a sound, finally he seemed to begin to crack, his deep moans touching a whole new kind of place inside you.

“You look so cute, your wasted expression…” He held you with one arm wrapped around your back, his other hand playing with your lips, “I wonder how sweet you look when you cum…?”

You could only give him an imploring look, your body being split open.

“My sick little darling…” You felt his final knot manage to slip in a bit further, causing you to cry out in pleasure, “Cum on my cock…” His voice wavered in time with his thrusts.

If you were to refer to any orgasm as explosive, this could be the only one, having never been spread that wide. Luckily he could easily support your form as you convulsed and shattered around him. You could almost immediately be thrown over again as his last knot slipped entirely inside your cunt.

“F-fuck, darling–” He stammered, his face contorted with frustration as he tried not to cum just yet wanting to prolong this moment. You felt so complete as he held you, your head resting on his void for a chest, warming his knots. You wanted to feel his searing load paint your insides, but he merely held your hips in place as you felt his cock tremble inside you.

He managed to move, setting you back down on the table letting you lay back.

“How do you feel…?” His words sounded as if they were squashed and dragged under a shoe, so incredibly tense as he gave your gleaming body a once… or twice over.

You couldn’t control how your cunt continued to squeeze, “So good…”

He wanted more. More of your voice, more of your touch. He decided to pull out, painstakingly slow, somehow, much to his surprise, managing not to implode. You both shared a groan of delight as the sliding friction tore at each other. A ring of your creamy sweet decorated the base of his cock, he watched as your wetness seemed to pour from you as he vacated your hole.

You wanted him to feel good… You had a fiery urge to ensure he was satisfied, almost to a point of not being able to recognize your own mind’s voice.

“Can you stand up one last time… for me?” He sounded pathetic… No human had ever obliterated his senses like this before, he didn’t think it was possible. He found humans to be amusing little toys… Not that you weren’t, but…

You obliged without question, watching as he turned away briefly to grab your belt. Of course his body was chiseled, something he knew appealed to mortal toys like yourself, you got another chance to study him until he faced you again.

He grabbed your wrists, binding them with your belt, and raised them above your head in one hand. He turned you with his other, walking you to the landscape window in his third-story office, having always wanted to do something like this. A foot or two away, he stopped, pressing your top half forward at your wrists, the side of your face and breasts pressed against the freezing glass. You felt so shameless… And so empty as you waited for him to fill you.

“Do you like being humiliated?” His familiar tip danced at your used hole, “Answer.” His domineering words ignited you.

“By you.” You answered candidly, words slightly distorted from your face being held against the window.

“Such a good, slutty little patient you are.” He plunged the entirety of his cock back into you swiftly, obsessed with how his largest knot was absorbed so easily.

“I want you to cum inside me, doctor…” You whined impatiently, completely lost in him.

“I’m sure you fucking do.” His words were shredded between his teeth, “You’d love that. I wish someone could see how fucking bad you want my cum.”

“Please…” You urged him to move, still in disbelief that he buried himself so far.

He was nearly at his own wit’s end, thrusting himself up into you, his hips colliding forcefully against your ass. His free hand was soldered to your waist, ensuring you remain as a statue in this unpleasant pose, it being uncomfortable somehow adding to the storm surge brewing inside you.

“Are you going to cum again, darling?” Your eyes were squeezed shut, just nodding worthlessly against the glass as he cooed so sinfully. “I love seeing you dance so beautifully on my cock, give me all of you.”

His tactic of plunging his entire length into you repeatedly was something you were particularly susceptible to, his knots rolling effortlessly through you, “Fuck… Yes...” His voice was as smoky as his scent, fogging your mind. He slammed into you one final time, holding you tightly against him as you both reached your highs. His thick seed was so hot, coating your walls so deliciously, his pants raining down against your back. You felt strangely resolved like you had served a divine purpose by receiving his cum so impossibly deep.

He pulled your body close by your bound wrists, his chest flush with your back, potting sweet kisses from your neck to your shoulder. It felt as if you could nearly be bound to his pelvis from how tightly you were wound around his shaft. A hand dragged down, letting your arms finally rest as he delicately caressed your breasts, your head falling back against the top of his chest.

“I think you may need a follow-up evaluation,” He cracked softly near your ear, “Your case is particularly serious.”

[letters-unsending]

No. 47

////

Hero only wakes in times of crisis and will not sleep until the problem is resolved. Hero and Villain teamed up to vanquish Villain and they win, but Hero is still awake.

////

“Goodnight,” Villain murmured.

The statement was perfunctory—they’d spoken it to Hero almost every night throughout war, but it was different now. Back then, he’d said it while pushing aside a fold of their tent with his arm. Hero would nod at him from across a candlelit table, still poring over maps and penning down strategy, and Villain would know, without a doubt, that he would find Hero in the same place the following morning.

However, they occupied Supervillain’s castle now. Hero reviewed charters and laws instead of war plans.

“You can rest,” Villain offered, eyeing the papers in Hero’s hand.

Hero glanced up at Villain. From his lifted pen, a bead of ink dripped, oozing darkly onto the topmost page.

“I need to see the city settled before…I rest.”

“No, I didn’t mean that kind of rest. I just meant,” Villain gestured in the air, leaning his temple into the doorframe, “you can relax now. I don’t know when you have to go, but I thought, maybe, you could enjoy the peace for a while.”

“I am not made for peace, [Villain].” Hero lifted the paper before the stain could seep through and set it aside. “I will have my rest soon. And this work, it is of no consequence to me.”

“You’re exhausted, [Hero].” Ever since they’d vanquished Supervillain, Hero’s power had flagged. His tireless facade waned into shaking hands and short breaths; the only work he could manage anymore was desk work. And so they’d labored side by side, discussing edicts and decrees. “I think—I think you’ve needed to rest for a long time now.”

Hero stared down at his ink-stained fingers. “There are things I need to do.”

“I am quite capable of running this city. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I know you are capable, [Villain].” Hero sighed. “By far, you are the most honorable man I have met in all my waking hours.”

At that, Villain shoved himself off the doorframe. “Then, why? Why do you insist on wasting away in this office?”

“The [magic] let’s me stay as long as there is something required of me.” Hero splayed his hand over the papers. “I have to work to stay awake. This is all I can do.”

“Then tell your [magic] that I need you.” Villain rounded Hero’s desk. “Tell it that I need you to rest, and that I need you with me.”

Hero shrunk back in his chair as Villain loomed over him. “The [magic] does not work so frivolously. You can not simply request it—”

Villain yanked Hero up by his lapel and tugged him out of the room. “I will not have you die reading over grain reports.”

“Where,” Hero winced, his lungs burning with each step, “where are you taking me?”

“To my room. To sleep.”

“[Villain],” Hero hissed, “I am not going to wake up.”

“You will.” Villain insisted, slowing as he heard the cramped hitch in Hero’s breath. He shifted his hand down to his forearm and clasped Hero’s terribly thin wrist. “And if you don’t, I will find a way to wake you.”

“You do not have my permission to start another apocalypse.”

“I wasn’t—,” Villain turned to catch the glimmer in Hero’s eye, “don’t joke with me about this, [Hero.] You shouldn’t have to continue saving the world if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to wake up every other century and fight for every second you’re conscious.”

As Hero opened his mouth to reply, Villain gave him a look and pushed him into his drawing room. He unpinned Hero’s cuff links and pulled off his overcoat before doing the same to himself.

“Even if I were to sleep and find myself in an era eons from now,” Hero proclaimed as Villain unbuttoned his vest, “I would remember you.”

In the wan light, Villain floated like a phantom, a shadowed slip of skin and silk, but Hero could still see his smile in the shadowed wrinkles around his eyes and in the gleam of his teeth.

“And I would recall you for the many years until my death.”

////

“I’ve never fallen asleep on purpose before.” Hero whispered.

Villain shifted closer and pressed his forehead into Hero’s shoulder. He reached over to settle his palm over Hero’s sternum. “Close your eyes.”

“Well, I understand that.” Hero protested.

“Close them, [Hero.]” Villain flattened his fingers and Hero took a deep, shuddering breath. As he relaxed, he set his hand overtop of Villain’s and squeezed his knuckles.

“I want to wake up tomorrow.”

“I will wake you.”

“If I don’t, I want to say—”

“Goodnight, [Hero].”

[kybercrystals94]

I Miss You

By KyberCrystals94

Read on Ao3 here!

Whumptober 2023|Day 5|Alternative Prompt: Playing Cards

Bad Things Happen Bingo|Prompt: Crying Themselves to Sleep

Rating: G

Words: 785

Summary: Echo discovers a message from a brother.

“Those look so old!” Wrecker declares, leaning on the upper bunk to scrutinize the playing cards Echo is sorting through.

Echo smiles. “That’s because they are old. I pilfered them off a graduated trooper when I was a cadet.”

“You stole them?” Wrecker sounds as impressed as he is surprised. “I thought you never broke a rule in your life.”

“With the right motivation, I’ve been persuaded to bend a few.” Echo chuckles. “Technically, they were contraband for the guy I stole them from. So, really, I was doing him a favor.”

Wrecker grins. “That’s neat you still have them even after they thought you were blown up.”

Echo’s smile falls slightly as he continues to set the cards out, dividing them into suits. “Yeah, when they thought I died, they went to my old batch mate, Fives. After Fives, they went to Rex, and then Rex gave them back to me when I-"

"Came back to life?” Wrecker offers.

“Sure,” Echo says. “When that happened.”

“I don’t think you could even shuffle them if you tried.” Wrecker laughs.

“They’ve definitely seen better days.”

The cards are dogeared, and every one of them has been folded into quarters because of the time Cutup tried to cheat at Sabaac. He folded a few of them so he could identify them in someone’s hand. When the other Dominos found out, they had painstakingly copied the folds on every single card so they all matched. Echo had been so angry at his squad mate, but he desperately wishes he could take back the harsh words that came out of his mouth. After all, they were just cards. A toy. Nowhere near as important as the individuals that played with them.

Echo finds the card he is looking for, the one that had made this deck obsolete. He had accidentally dropped the card in his cup of caf, discoloring it. Fives had suggested they stain all the cards in caf to match; however, Echo decided to retire the deck and get a new one. The old deck was tucked away in his storage bin in the barracks on Kamino, carrying too many memories in its deteriorated fibers to throw away.

Echo holds up the stained card for Wrecker's inspection. “I dropped it in my caf. It’s the reason we didn’t play with this deck anymore,” he explains.

“What does it say?” Wrecker asks.

“What does what say?”

Wrecker points to the back of the card. “On the back. There’s writing.”

Echo flips the card around, squinting to make out the ink of a pen on the intricately designed backing.

I miss you.

Echo feels like the air has been stolen from his lungs.

Fives wrote those words. There is no doubt in Echo’s mind. Not before the Citadel mission. After. After Echo died. After Fives went back to Kamino. Echo can see him. Sitting in their barracks, sorting through Echo’s meager collection of personal effects. He’s searching for a playing card stained in caf. He writes the three words, handwriting ragged by a trembling hand. A note for the brother he lost. That he'd never get back. I miss you.

“Echo!”

Echo blinks and finds that Wrecker has half climbed into the bunk with him, a hand on each of his shoulders. “You with me, buddy?” Wrecker asks.

“Yeah,” Echo croaks. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Wrecker’s good eye searches Echo’s face, trying to understand. “You scared me there for a second. You sorta zoned out, and then your breathing got weird.”

“Sorry,” Echo says again. Emotions bubble up, threaten to burst out of him, card still gripped in his flesh hand. Dark, inky, familiar script carving into his mind. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

“Did I do something?” Wrecker asks, climbing down from his precarious perch.

Echo shakes his head and tries to reassure the man with a thin smile. “No, you didn’t do anything. It’s just…” Echo holds up the card. “The writing. It’s a note from my batch mate, Fives.”

He leaves it at that, and Wrecker doesn’t ask for more. Instead, he offers Echo a kind smile. “I'm gonna go start my watch but let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Wreck, I will,” Echo says, and he means it.

Wrecker leaves the bunk room, and Echo gathers up the cards, tucking them in their tin. He keeps the caf stained card out. He lies down, back to the room, facing the wall, and holds the note in front of him. The last words his oldest brother ever gave him blurs in his watery vision.

“I miss you too,” Echo whispers, and silently cries until sleep claims him.

END

Read the prequel, You Promised, here!

[liillyliilly]

It Doesn't Have To Be Goodbye

sawamura daichi x reader words; 1416 synopsis; it's not how the words sound, it's what the words mean.

“I’ve known you since we were like seven.” Daichi reads aloud the words written on the paper you had given to him. You told him to read it when he was all alone. So, he was reading it now. Reading the lyrics to your love song. It wasn’t exactly a love song, it was a letter, but it pulled at his heartstrings like a love song.

“You’ve seen me at my worst, my best, and my numb. And you stayed with me.” Daichi voice is cracking now, the words strained and struggling to leave his lips. It was as if when he spoke them, then they would float away and he wouldn’t be able to hold onto them.

The collar of his shirt is too tight, the starchiness of his clothing now itches at him. He has no idea how this letter is going to go, if it’ll be some fairy tale ending or if it’ll be like the moral at the end of a Grimm’s story.

What are you saying? He knows what the words mean, but he doesn’t know what you are trying to tell him.

You handed him the crumpled envelope right after volleyball practice. Your uniform prim and proper as usual. But you kept tugging at your tie, like it was trying to choke you. Daichi wanted to take the tie off of your neck to help you breath better. To allow you to be comforted in the way air flowed through your lungs and blossomed into life.

“It might sound silly, but Daichi, I miss you the most. I miss you the most when you’re gone. Of anyone in the world- my heart chooses to be hurt over your absence.” In an instant Daichi was stuck in a maze, lost and left confused. Do you love him back? Is that why you said something about your heart? Or is it just because you are his closest confidant? Why did you miss him? He's right there. Standing tall and with open arms just for you.

Your hands were clammy when you shoved the letter into his hands, he dropped his volleyball at the sudden jerk of your hands. Your hands were never clammy, only when you were sick or when you were nervous about something. Daichi chose to ignore it. He chose to disregard the signs you had been displaying. He should have asked you why you had written the letter and then immediately rushed away to get back home. But you can’t ‘I should’ve’ on yourself, that’s what his mom always told him anyway.

“And I will always wonder if my absence causes you the same pain it causes me.” It does. He feels so alone when you’re gone. When you smile at him and give him a small wave before going away for a trip, going away for your separate classes, just going away from him in general. He never wanted to lose you. Are you pushing him away? Is that what this letter is for?

A letter to say goodbye to your decade of friendship? A letter to tell him to leave you alone for forever? Words piled onto each other, crawling on top of the mountain of memories to declare themselves the king. Daichi slammed the letter down on his desk, loudly. His little sister that stood by his door flinched at his action.

“Sorry.” Daichi softened his fists, opening his hands and moving away from the desk. His little sister forced the corners of her mouth to shape upwards, before walking into his room and tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Did she tell you yet? Or is that what that paper is doing?” She pointed at the crème colored sheet, the bright blue color of your school pen standing out and making the presence of inked meanings known.

“Tell me what?”

“Oh, so you don’t know yet.” Then she left, Daichi called out for her to explain. But she shut his door gently. The lock clicking into place once the door met the frame.

He wanted to finish reading the letter, he really did. But with a clenched jaw and glassy eyes he made his way down the familiar backway path to your house. The colored stones that you and him had painted during childhood seemed faded, the paint streaky and less vibrant then it normally had.

He wished he hadn’t made his way over to your house.

The ‘For Sale’ sign screamed at him. The way the cloudy grey sky mimicked him in an antagonizing manner. The worst part was that you were sitting on the porch covering your face as your whole body moved in a shivering manner. It heaved with every silent shaky inhale and exhale. The normally pastel pink of your sweater sleeves was turned a dark shade from the dampness.

He must have made an audible sound because you shot your head up and sniffled before wiping your face and standing up. You tried to walk back into the safety of your house, but Daichi wanted you to be in the safety of his hands. He wanted to hold his entire world in his hands, so he cupped your face with both of his warm hands.

“I love you.” It came out fast and rushed, Daichi had let the words bubble up too much. He let the words stay hidden on his tongue for too long. It was just like boiling water, at first it seemed manageable, but then it continued to heat up until the bubbling flowed over the pot and burnt the stovetop with a vengeance.

“It’s not really the time for that, don’t you think Daichi? Hell, I can’t have you confessing to me when I’m supposed to be moving across the world next week.” You harshly but lovingly removed his hands from your face, but he gripped your hands in his, keeping you close to him. Keeping your presence with him.

“It’s always the right time to be honest.”

You just shook your head, slowly at first then it became a rapid shake of ‘no’ as you moved your head from side to side. You stopped after a moment, then letting out a cynical chuckle. “Honesty is overrated.”

“No, it isn’t. Stop. What are you doing? You’re being cruel, I just told you that I love you and you’re being mean to me.” His bottom lip quivered before he bit down on it. You felt guilty, you were being mean. You should have told him about your family’s plans to move as soon as you got the news. But there was something in keeping it to yourself that appealed to you.

Daichi swallowed thickly, letting go of your hands and then shoving his own into his pockets. The pair of you stood there for a while. Just standing and staring at the ground while Daichi bit on his lip and you fidgeted with your fingers. Wrapping your hands around each other and brushing your fingers over your knuckles.

“Well, do you love me back-”

“Daichi, I love you too-”

The collision of your sentences caused Daichi to smile. You tried to push the grin on your face down, but it over took your features and you gave him a blinding expression. His favorite type of smile to receive from you.

It was silent, except for the rushing wind that swirled around and made miniature tornadoes composed of crunchy red, orange, and yellow leaves. It was silent, except for the squeaking of the chains from the swing set Daichi was pushing you on. The sun dimmed down, letting a golden time where the sky was painted in brilliant purples and fading tangerine shades make itself known and observed.

If you were going to leave soon, then at the very least Daichi could do was spend time with you, pushing you on the childhood swing set that had caused multiple broken arms and plenty of knee scrapes. Leaving didn’t have to be goodbye after all, leaving could simply be a ‘see you again’.

Even if the ‘see you again’ meant multiple years. Even if the ‘see you again’ meant that you would grow and change without each other. Even if the ‘see you again’ means that Daichi would have to be in pain for a while, be hurt and filled with sorrow from just thinking about amount of time you would be gone. Even if it was a ‘see you again’, it doesn’t have to be a goodbye.

[mittysins]

Newt at Home

Includes: Trans mpreg, graphic labor and orgasmic birth

I'm so glad I was able to get this finished! First Mayternity, in the bag. Of course I needed to use Newt for this. I'm so proud that I've actually managed to complete a seasonal art piece. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

[FIND THE UNCENSORED ART ON TWITTER]

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Okay, I'm not going to lie and say I'm not kind of freaked out. I'm standing in the kitchen wearing a loose shirt and a pair of sweatpants, quickly scribbling down the time in my notebook.

10:56 PM. I've been in labor for 10 hours, at least. I couldn't really tell at first, thinking the twinge in my lower abdomen was just Braxton Hicks. I ate my lunch and had a nap without a second thought.

Eventually I realized the pain wasn't going away, in fact it was introducing a new pressure in my hips that I was frankly not a fan of. Okay. So that’s how it is.

I started by emailing my professor. Just a vague mention of a family emergency, and that I was going to need an extension on an upcoming essay.

Continuing on, I sent a quick “baby’s on her way!” to the group chat where my friends were dicking around as they usually did. I laughed at their excited responses as I tapped my pen on the paper. Newest contraction started 43 seconds ago. I was doing just fine.

Then to get down to business. I blessed my past self for having half a mind to have everything ready a month beforehand. Everything I needed was in the bottom drawer of the baby’s dresser. A few old towels, a package of training pads, and settled neatly on top was a pair of sterile clamps and scissors within blue plastic packaging. I felt my heart skip a beat when I opened the drawer to set everything up. This was actually happening.

It was a waiting game from then on. Which is how I ended up here. My contractions are now 4 minutes apart and it's really starting to set in. My chest burns in a weird way, most likely a result of binding for years. I accepted the lung damage a long time ago, and it seems to be making itself well known as my breathing grows increasingly ragged. I can't quite keep my legs together anymore with that ever-present weight on my pelvis. It feels like something is about to give at any second. I assume it’s my water, honestly I figured it would have broken by now. I let out a long sigh as the contraction ends and set down the pen. I sway my hips as I flip through the notebook on the counter in front of me. Written on the first page is the date my pregnancy test was positive as well as a few phone numbers. I can still see a few splotches of faded numbers where my tears had mixed with the ink of my favorite pen. The next few pages were symptoms, weight, my medications including my testosterone gel. Everything medical. I was so scared all those months ago, it almost makes me anxious to look back on those pages. I prefer to look at the middle of the notebook, where I noted when I had gone a week without morning sickness, my first weird craving, the bizarre and vivid dreams I was having. My favorite was the page dedicated to name suggestions. All my friends took turns scribbling down names they liked, laughing and teasing each other as we crossed some out and circled others. It isn't too long before I flip to my current page and glance at my phone.

11:00 on the dot.

I bite my lip and continue my swaying with a firm grip on the counter. It hurts now. That's not to say it didn't hurt before, but now it's getting intense. Each clawing contraction feels like a band being tightened around my entire lower abdomen. It's enough to keep me tensed up with my head bowed for its entirety, until finally, finally, there's that give.

I let out a soft groan as my water breaks. It's not a huge gush like in the movies, more of like a gentle pop followed by a steady stream of fluid that lasts a few seconds. I take a moment to assess my situation. Pants need to come off, obviously, but after that? I couldn't quite decide. I weigh my options as I wattle back to my room and remove my sweatpants, tossing them into a laundry pile I'd designated to this whole ordeal. I could lay in bed with a pillow between my knees and just… wait. I quickly toss that option when I realize how little I've sat still since I even realized I was in labor. A shower sounds nice, the wetness between my legs is less than pleasant and the water on my back would be helpful. I could set up a spot on the couch, just throw down some waterproof pads and a towel or two and labor there, maybe get some last minute work done.

I tense up. Oh, now this is different. I subconsciously bend my knees a little as the contraction reaches its peak. The release of pressure when my water broke was heavenly, but the respite didn't last long. Instead the pressure returned, now bringing with it an intense fullness resting just at the base of my pelvis. I grimace as I feel more fluid trickle between my thighs. Shower it is.

I watch the clock switch to 11:04 as the contraction lets up.

It's a short walk across the hall to get to my bathroom. I realize how sensitive my nipples are when I peel off my shirt. I flush at the sound I make when the fabric drags, sending a jolt down my spine. I'm getting worked up and my heart rate quickens for a moment. I turn the faucet tab and slowly drag myself into the tub, letting the warm water run down my back and legs. For a few moments it feels like routine again. Just me and my baby. No college, no work, no bills, no angry parents. Just me, lowering myself to my knees in the shower, my baby burrowing dangerously low in my pelvis with the next contraction.

It's hard to keep track of time from then on. I'm sort of just zoning out a lot, concentrating closely with each new wave of pain and letting my mind wander in the steeply decreasing downtime. Eventually I’m talking aloud to her, telling her how loved she already is, that she can come on out when she’s ready, that I'm so excited to finally meet her. That I'm ready. My mindless blabbering stops when I feel a very sudden shift.

Before I realize it I'm openly groaning into the air with the gripping contraction. It all just got very real, and I can feel myself becoming frantic. The increase in pressure was maddening, and no amount of shifting and rolling my hips would relieve it. My last contraction was at most a minute ago. I don't have long at all. I decide to push, just the tiniest bit, at the end of the contraction. It's just a little shove, I don't even hold my breath. Just enough to try it out and get a feel for the sensation. If she’s coming, she's coming. If she’s not, what happens? I wait a little longer and try again?

Another timid nudge.

Yeah, she’s definitely coming.

As soon as the contraction lets up I turn off the shower and heave myself out to towel off. I almost want to jump out of my skin I'm so excited. A quick collection of my shirt, phone and towel and I’m waddling back into my room, haphazardly tossing them on my bed. I decide to wait until after the next contraction to climb up onto my bed and really get this show on the road. When I get a look at myself in the full length mirror near my dresser I have a chance to catch my breath. My taught belly has noticeably dropped, basically screaming to the world what was about to happen. I'm flushed and sweaty and my wet hair is still sticking to my forehead. I’m all out of sorts, but I couldn't care one bit what I look like right now. Baby couldn't care less either. That telltale tightening grips me again, and when it begs for me to push along with it, I deepen my stance into a half-squat and bare down.

It almost feels… good? It's a very odd sensation but it feels like such a release to finally get to work with the pressure instead of against it. Two firm pushes in front of the mirror and I decided my bed was there if I needed it. Instead, I swipe a training pad from the package and lay it down on the floor in front of the mirror before stepping onto it. And I wait. At this point I'm so eager to push it’s hard to focus on anything else. I slowly lower myself down to be half kneeling, one foot propped up to let my hips open. I suck in a deep breath, and just like that I'm stuck in a contraction and pushing so hard I see my face go red. Exhale, inhale, push like hell. So it goes.

It only takes a few good pushes to feel something hard and very noticeably large lodged in my birth canal. Between pushes one of my hands dips down and curiously prods at my lips. I don't know what I was expecting to feel, she’s definitely not there yet, but nevertheless I’m a lot more sensitive than usual. I feel perpetually slick now considering I've been leaking little by little for the last hour and a half. But that's not just it. The past twelve hours have been the most in-tune I've ever felt with my body, like we’re finally working towards the same goal of giving birth to my daughter safely and calmly. The excitement and the love mixed with the fullness of her head moving downward almost became ecstasy. One accidental brush to my sensitive clit and I'm shivering. The sudden rush of pleasure triggers a contraction and I weakly push through it. Once the contraction ends my fingers slip into my birth canal. I was disappointed for a moment when I didn't feel anything.

Until I did. About two and a half knuckles deep, there was the hard, slimy ball I had been working down for the past twelve hours.

Oh my fucking god, that’s my baby.

I was awestruck. Just allowing the pads of my middle and ring fingers to press against her head was enough to have me grinning like an idiot.

Returning my hand to its place on my knee, I bore down again with the upcoming contraction. This time a low groan escapes my throat and I find myself leaning forward just the slightest bit. Looking in the mirror, I become fixated on the bulge forming behind my lips. I'm leaking fluid considerably now, and I'm grunting out little pushes when I swear I see a dark sliver start to part my folds. I only saw it for a split second. My hand dips between my legs once more and I press a finger into my lips. Sure enough, just out of sight rests my baby’s head. The quick progress I made surprises me, and I let out a breathy laugh as I trace my fingers back up to my dick. The warm tingling in my belly when I rub a few experimental circles into the swollen nub quickly melts my grunts into soft moans. My breath quickens. I was expecting this to be horribly painful, yet here I am moaning with the next contraction. All I can focus on in the mirror is the sight of my lips parting for my baby’s head. I moan through the stretch of my perineum, letting my pleasure bring me higher as I watch my lips pull out into a teardrop shape.

My rubbing has found a steady pace, and my hips buck a bit. I'm close, I can tell, and I feel the head continue to push my lips open. That burn is starting to set in. Another firm push.

I almost yelp when the head stretches me to a full crown, but I find myself so awestruck by the sight that I fail to make any noise at all. My rubbing continues as there the head stays. The burn is searing. Until finally, the release of my orgasm carries me blissfully as the head surges forward with a gush.

I kneel there for a moment, legs shaking and eyes fluttering, as I process what just happened. The aftershocks distract me through the next contraction, giving me time to gather myself. I can see it in the mirror, my baby’s head hanging out of me as it's supported in my hands. A sob rips from my throat as my fingers wander, feeling her tiny ears and nose.

“Oooh-kaaaaay.” I breathe, shaking off the numb tingly feeling that accompanied my orgasm. My fingers fumble around the baby’s neck, quickly untangling the umbilical cord and pulling over her head.

After lifting myself up to standing, the short few steps that should have been my journey to my bed became a quest. I knew I had no chance of closing my legs at this point, so it's a slow shuffle making my way over with shaky legs and a hand between them to support my baby. Climbing up onto the mattress isn't much easier, but I eventually manage to sit up against my pillows, legs butterflied out. From there I wait.

“Come on, kiddo.” I encourage. “I’m ready, you can come out now.” I wiggle my hips and give a tiny push, trying to get her to turn.

Once she does, I'm all in. My hands find purchase behind my knees and I pull back, red in the face as I push as hard as I can for the shoulders. The way I'm sitting, I don’t even need the mirror to see. I watch as my swollen lips spread around the first shoulder, then the other with a small spurt of fluid, and then-

I barely have time to catch her as with the last push, the rest of the baby spills out with a gush.

“Oh my god-” I sputter out as I lift the infant to my chest. As soon as she touches my skin, she begins wailing. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I check her over with wide, misty eyes.

“You are just absolutely perfect, aren't you?”

I giggle at her squirming attempt to get comfortable. So that’s what’s been keeping me up at night.

The ache sets in quickly, and I make quick (quick enough) work of delivering the afterbirth, cutting the cord and making sure we were both cleaned up and warm. Once I'm in a pair of sweatpants and back with her on my bed, I lay her back down on my bare chest, opting for a light blanket to wear cape-style and cover us both. I'm absolutely awestruck.

“Alright, we’ve given your aunts and uncles enough emotional prep time, don't you think?” I say decidedly to the already-sleeping infant as I unlock my phone, quickly finding the “video call” button in the group chat.

I'm grinning like an idiot as three of my friends join the call at lightspeed, the other two following quickly behind.

“Guys, someone wants to meet you!”

[randomwriteronline]

"You will not die," the Great Being said.

It sounded like it was supposed to be a reassurance.

Takanuva yanked his leg back from her hand. His knee felt stiff.

"I promise you," she told him.

"And what about my brothers?" he cried out. "What about my sisters? My friends? Why didn't you extend the same courtesy to them?"

"They are not dead."

"Lies."

"They are not dead. You cannot die."

"The Red Star is gone. We know it's gone. I..."

His thoughts muddled. How did he know? He saw it from afar. He watched it as it happened. He did it himself. He heard so from someone. From who? He knew. He did not know. He could not know. Anybody seemed like the right candidate. Anybody seemed like the wrong candidate. Any scenario was as real in his mind as it was unlikely. Any scenario had happened just as much as it hadn't.

The Great Being looked at him with her strange expression made of pity and annoyance and fondness.

"The Red Star is nothing," she spoke: "Yet another one of our constructs, no different than you, no different than them. Do not fixate upon it. Resurrection... Resurrection is not what I mean."

"Then what is it?"

"You cannot die."

His joints were slowly ceasing to feel, his hands were growing numb. Takanuva struggled to pull himself further away from her hand again as it tried to reach out towards him a second time, fighting against his slowly petrifying body.

"Then what is this?" his voice creaked. "What is it that is happening to me, that is happening to everything? What is it if it isn't death?"

"Oh, Takanuva," she only sighed.

Her breath was lukewarm and lacked all odor.

"There is no such thing as death for you, for any of you," she whispered, or perhaps his hearing too was beginning to fail him. She seemed enormous. "So long as there is a piece, you will not die. You cannot die."

"You speak nonsense," he sobbed harshly.

Her fingertips were pliable as they rested on his brittling armor: "I'm sorry," she replied: "I'm sorry, but it's such a long story. Such an infinitely long story, so many characters, and places, and tales, and secrets... It's not something that can be written again so simply - you understand, do you not? It was your hands we first set the pen in, was it not, Chronicler?"

"Stop it," Takanuva begged. His lungs were filling with solid matter, and yet he felt as though he did not need air. "Stop this. I want to live. I just want us all to live."

"You will not die. You cannot die."

Her cradling touch was gentle, but he could barely feel it. Her thumb brushed over his chestplate tenderly, with the fondness one treats a beloved childhood doll with, and through his waning sight he found her eyes casted down upon his body with a deep melancholy.

"We saved everything," she murmured, "Everything we could. Every tale and text and image and instruction. You will not die. You cannot die. We do not want you to. We will not allow oblivion to befall you. But a story like this, a story this long and wonderful and twisted, it cannot be written twice, Takanuva - there just isn't enough time in this world to do so. There just isn't enough time."

"So what will happen, then?" the Toa of Light asked with barely a whisper. His mouth could barely move. His body felt heavy. His thoughts were growing hazy.

She moved him to sit up. His body settled in the pose.

"We will love you," she answered simply.

His translucent eyes held her gaze.

He was asleep.

She settled him carefully upon a shelf, with the rest of his universe.

Her pen dipped in the ink that had made up Spherus Magna, dissolving its image as the words dried on paper, and she gnawed at its end looking at the figurines watching them silently, expectantly, awaiting in thoughtless slumber the coming of their legacy.

After hours, days, months, years, after countless other hands had draft, drafted, sketched, written, proposed, decided, they settled on the name of Okoto.

[tagzpite]

I’ll see you in a lifetime.

Ganondorf doesn’t know when the blue spectre begun to appear anymore.

All he knows is that he’s perhaps more bothersome than when he bore a beating heart.

Smouldering golden eyes did their best to avoid the icy blue of the ghost. Or is it truly one? The king is unsure. Wishing nothing but to be able to focus on his maps and tracking the movements of the princess. Hoping to somehow reclaim her piece of the Triforce.

He already has Courage after all.

Shallow breaths left a barely lifting chest, a heartbeat so slow. Scarlet blood flowing onto the cold stone in rivers. Colouring golden hair a murky, muddy colour. A poor imitation of the Dark King’s own bright crimson. Ganondorf emerged victorious, the hero unprepared, not truly ready for the confrontation. Eyes the shade of the sky itself so blank, so dull.

An irritated sigh left through dark lips, sharp teeth grit as the large man slammed the pen down onto the table. Blue light illuminating the room. He turned his glare to the perpetrator. Gold meeting blue.

Despite the light, the eyes still look dull. Lifeless. The shattered Master sword held by a pale hand. Once a sun kisses tone.

He’s victorious over Courage. So why does his chest feel so tight? Why are his lungs squeezed ever so tight? Blood drips down his blade; joining the droplets already staining the castle’s floors. He should be feeling nothing but the glory of his success. His final win against a warrior who had emerged to fight time and time again. Life after life. Memory or not.

So why does he feel guilt?

No. He doesn’t. He cannot feel guilt for a decision made in full consciousness. One he made a long time ago. Back when the sound of the Knight’s armor sounded down the halls alongside laughter. Mingling with Ganon’s own, booming note. Moments shared and held over Zelda in a teasing manner as the business of men. Urging rolls of eyes and huffs.

“Alright. Keep your secrets. I have my own!”

He refuses to acknowledge the deep ache. The tightening rope wound around his lungs.

His inkwell had fallen over.

Yet he does not pick the small container up. Instead he opts to watch the ink drip down; staining the papers and the wood, trailing along until they fall to stone tiles.

Blood slowly ran down his blade. Soon to dry. The body still. Link did not stand up. The Zoian arm did not glow, did not stop time nor created machines and weapons never seen before by anyone of Hyrule.

Ganondorf feels numb.

“Why.”

Soft hands slowly pulled knots apart. Fixing the crimson locks that had been spilled over his lap. Here and there brushing against the scalp of the dark skinned man. Sun kissing their skin as the sounds of flipped pages gently interrupted the songs of birds. Horses grazing along the hills. Epona a few ways away.

“Why are you here?”

Armor long abandoned in favour of cotton and leather, the sound of a strangely familiar instrument soothing the Gerudo. The melody strangely haunting yet new.

Link always had a talent for the Ocarina.

“Why must you haunt me?!”

If anyone had been alerted by the sounds of a table meeting the ground, bottles shattered and papers flying through the air, they did not come to interrupt the king within his his study. Teeth grit Ganondorf’s chest heaved with heavy breaths. Sucking a breath in before straightening up. Watching as the apparition walked by. Eyes still numb. Still dull. The only difference between him and his corpse the lack of a gash through his chest. A dark skinned hand very nearly raised itself towards the voe. Stopping halfway as Link disappeared.

He does not feel guilt. His heart does not ache. He does not long for something that could have been.

He is a liar.

“Until next life.”

[emma-m-black]

Soul Mate Magic - Chapter Twelve

Rupert Giles x OC (FanFiction) - MATURE 18+

A new magical transfer comes to Sunnydale High, and ends up discovering a magical connection with our favorite Watcher.

OC is 19+ (Not a Minor), Age Gap, Slow Burn-ish (with a little preview thrown in there during the Bandy Candy Episode).

____

Okay so I just finished writing Chapter 20!! I'm so glad that some people seem to be enjoying this story and reading it haha 🩷 I cannot wait to get these all uploaded, and it is taking all my willpower to not just post everything right now, but I'm gonna try and do a few days in between each post.

____

Author Master List

Read: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven,

Chapter Twelve:

Since Christmas Eve, Rose had barely a moment to herself, suffocated by the constant presence of her new-found friends. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate their concern, but their pitiful glances and whispered conversations behind her back gnawed at her nerves. She needed time—time to breathe, time to think. She craved silence from their endless protection. When classes finally resumed, it was her first chance to at least be alone in the crowd, despite Buffy and Giles’s lingering disapproval.

The ride to Sunnydale High in Oz’s van was a brief escape, but not nearly enough. By the time Rose sat down for English, the weight of everything pressed on her once again. She let her mind wander, her pen idly scratching across the notebook page when she felt it—a flicker of magic, like the brush of cold air against her skin. Her notebook lifted ever so slightly off the desk.

Her heart pounded as she found a folded scrap of paper underneath. The ink had bled through hints of jagged letters on the other side. Rose glanced at Willow beside her, but her friend was engrossed in her own work. Slowly, with careful fingers, she unfolded the note beneath her book.

If you want answers, you need to get away from your annoyingly attached friends. Use the cafeteria exit. Your equally annoying family isn’t watching it. - Ethan

Her breath caught in her throat. Ethan. A trick, maybe, but what would her family gain from pretending to be him? And why now? Despite the warning bells ringing in her head, it was tempting. Ethan was part of Giles’s magical past—a piece of the puzzle Rose had been desperately trying to solve.

It’s worth the risk.

There was no slipping away unnoticed if Willow caught wind of her plan. Rose steadied her breath, whispering a word beneath it, “Subsisto.“ The world around her froze mid-motion: the teacher, the ticking clock, the tapping of pencils. Time held still as she darted from her seat, her bag and books clutched to her chest.

Once in the hall, the spell’s effect ebbed. She could already feel it faltering. Heart hammering in her chest, she rushed toward the cafeteria exit, knowing Willow would soon be on her trail. Sunlight blinded her as she burst through the doors, but she barely had time to register Ethan’s dark, triumphant smile before everything went black.

When Rose awoke, cold tile pressed against her cheek, the metallic stench of mildew filling her lungs. Disoriented, she blinked through the haze clouding her mind. Where am I? A dingy bathroom spun into focus, and her stomach twisted as fear anchored in her gut.

“What—?” Her voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Ethan’s face came into view, a smirk plastered across his face as he crouched in front of her. “Why, hello love.”

Her first instinct was to lunge at him, but a sharp jolt of pain held her back. She looked down—her wrists were bound in thick iron cuffs, etched with runes that pulsed faintly. Chains rattled as she struggled, securing her to a rusted pipe behind her. Panic surged through her as she reached for her magic, only to find emptiness. The familiar spark was gone.

“They negate your magic.” Ethan’s voice dripped with amusement as Rose continued her futile attempts to summon her power. “Did you really think I’d meet you without a way to nullify your power? Plus, this keeps you hidden from both your lover and your family.”

Rose gritted her teeth. “So, this was all just a trap.”

“Yes and no,” Ethan replied, standing up and dusting off his hands. “I needed to separate you from your babysitters. As much as I enjoy chaos, I have information you want and I don’t need the band of misfits trying to kill me.”

Her mind raced, but it kept circling back to Giles—how furious he would be, how reckless she’d been. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

Ethan’s smile widened, a glint of malevolence in his eyes. “Because it will kill Ripper to know the truth, and nothing gives me more pleasure than watching him self-destruct. So don’t worry, today is not the day you die, Rose.”

His words struck like a knife, slicing through her resolve. The air around her felt heavier, suffocating. “Why do you hate him so much?” Rose spat, though her voice wavered.

“Hate? Oh, darling, I don’t hate him. I pity him.” Ethan crossed his arms, his tone thick with sarcasm. “Your white knight, hiding behind his books, preaching about morality when he’s done worse than most of the monsters he fights.”

Rose’s heart pounded in her chest. “If I’m here to just listen to you slander him, you’re wasting your breath. Rupert is a good man.”

“Is he now?” Ethan’s gaze bore into her. “Tell me, those feelings you have for him—do they feel real? Or are they just a spell, carefully crafted to bind you to him?”

Her blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a spell, love.” His voice was low, almost gentle, as though he enjoyed watching her break. “Years ago, Ripper and I performed a little ritual. A spell to draw out the one person whose magic would perfectly complement our own. Someone who would satisfy every need, every desire. We were lonely men dear, you have to understand. However, it is my luck that your pesky family curse has made everything so much more fun. “

Rose’s breath hitched, the world around her narrowing into a suffocating tunnel. “A spell?“

Her heart splintered under the weight of his words. Everything she had felt—her attraction to Giles, her growing connection—was it all fabricated and by Giles himself? Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to give Ethan the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

“We thought we did it wrong, that it didn’t work. Then, to my surprise, about five years ago, I found him. Hugh was my everything; we complimented each other perfectly... until the Watchers killed him for using dark magic.” Ethan’s voice was quieter now, but the bitterness behind his words cut deep. Then he left the room, his retreat leaving a hollow silence.

Rose’s pulse quickened, her heart pounding against her chest. It wasn’t just the realization that Ethan had lost someone—someone who completed him, just like she thought Giles did for her—but the creeping fear that slithered into her mind. Was her bond with Giles just an illusion? Just another manipulation?

“So this is all revenge on Rupert because the Council killed the man you bewitched into loving you?” she asked, her voice strained as she pulled at the cuffs, trying to loosen her wrist even a fraction.

Ethan reappeared, a twisted smile tugging at his lips. “No, I’ve wanted revenge on Ripper for much longer than that. Hugh... he gave me a purpose, a new life. But now that he’s gone, what else is there?” He stepped forward, the glint of something cold in his hand catching Rose’s attention.

Her heart dropped as she saw the blade—a ceremonial dagger, its hilt adorned with the same runes that marked her family’s coven. Recognition hit her like a punch to the gut. “How did you get that?” Her voice trembled with fear she could no longer suppress.

“You’re not the only one with friends, love.” Ethan’s smirk deepened as he leaned casually against the doorframe. He twirled the dagger, the metal catching the dim light, making her stomach churn. “Now, here’s where you find yourself, Rose. I want access to your coven’s magic. In exchange, I’ll give you the spell to sever the magical aspect of your romantic connection with Ripper. He’ll still be your guardian in this little curse of yours, but you’ll be free from the... nasty effect your death will have on him.”

Rose felt the walls closing in, her breaths growing shallow as panic settled in her chest. “Why would I even bother? I’m going to die anyway. What difference does it make?” The words came out sharper than she intended, though beneath them was a thread of desperation she couldn’t mask.

“The spell, love.” Ethan’s eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction. “Judging by how close you two were when I first met you, I’d wager you’ve already consummated your bond—emotionally and physically. That’s how the spell fully connects, you see. It ties you to each other in ways you can’t escape. If you die...” He let the words hang in the air, his grin widening. “Rupert dies too.”

Rose’s heart stopped, her blood running cold. “What?” Her voice barely escaped her lips. A strangled whisper as the weight of his words settled on her like a shroud. “But...”

Ethan’s smile widened. “But I’m alive, aren’t I? See, I severed the connection between myself and Hugh long before his death. I’m not one for being tied down and when I realized the love, I felt was a result of the spell, I found a way to break it.” He paused, watching her intently, savoring her unraveling. “Unfortunately, we really did love each other, so it still felt like my heart was being ripped out when his was pierced with a dagger. So, here’s your dilemma, love. If you die, are you going to take Ripper with you?”

“No...” Rose’s throat tightened, her vision blurring as tears welled in her eyes. The book Anya had shown her—the passage about the bond—it had been true. All of it, just not in the context they thought. “No,” she whispered again, as if saying it enough times would make it false, but deep down, she knew. She had known for a while that what she felt was deep down was only magic.

“You really are unlucky, aren’t you?” Ethan cooed, circling her like a predator, savoring its prey. “Cursed by your ancestors and bewitched by a warlock... It’s almost poetic.”

The first tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it, but once it started, more followed. She couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions crashing into her all at once. The love she thought was hers—real and pure—was a fabrication, an enchantment woven into the very fabric of her being.

“So... it’s all a lie?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. The room felt impossibly small, the walls pressing in as her heart broke into pieces.

“No, not entirely. The love I felt for Hugh was still there after I broke the spell, even when I didn’t want to feel it.” Ethan crouched down in front of her, brushing a tear from her cheek with a mockingly gentle touch. “The connection would have been there, but without the spell and given your age differences, you’d have dismissed it as a fleeting crush. And Rupert, well, he would’ve remained the saintly, rule-abiding Watcher, keeping his distance, never acting on his feelings.”

A sob caught in her throat as another tear slipped free. Ethan’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched her crumble. “But I could have never expected what I would find here in Sunnydale, here you are... bound to him in ways you can’t control. Tell me, Rose, do you really want to take him with you to the grave?”

Rose closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the cold wall, feeling utterly defeated. Her mind raced, spinning through the impossible choices laid before her. She couldn’t bear the thought of Giles—Rupert—dying because of her. But to sever the bond meant surrendering to Ethan, allowing him into her coven’s magic. Was there any way out? Any path that wouldn’t end in ruin?

“I can’t do the ritual like this.” Her voice was hoarse, broken as she lifted her shackled wrists slightly in a half-hearted gesture.

“I’m well aware,” Ethan responded smoothly.

“Well?” Rose whispered, her voice trembling as she glanced down at the enchanted cuffs biting into her wrists.

“I’m not stupid, love,” Ethan replied smoothly, his tone condescending as he eyed her restraints. “I’m not releasing you until we’re ready for the ritual. Besides, I’d like Ripper to stew in his own guilt a little longer before we meet up again. Once the time comes, we’ll gather with your do-gooder friends, and once you’ve brought me into the coven, I’ll give you the spell to sever your connection with your beloved Watcher.”

He straightened himself, his gaze cold and calculating as it bore down on her. “But I think I’d like to see you a bit weaker before that. Can’t have you overpowering me, now can we? You see, with those cuffs binding you, the longer you and Ripper are apart, the weaker you’ll both become.” His smile was a cruel, deliberate thing, full of satisfaction. “Gotta even the playing field somehow, because I want to enjoy watching Rupert lose yet another woman he cares for.”

Rose’s heart pounded painfully in her chest as Ethan turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. The moment she was alone, the silence of the musty bathroom swallowed her whole. It was as if every fear and doubt she’d been holding back came crashing down in an unrelenting wave. Her breath hitched, and before she could stop it, the sobs ripped from her throat, raw and helpless.

Her body shook as she cried, the weight of Ethan’s words crashing over her. Every tear that fell was a reminder of how trapped she was—physically, emotionally, magically. The truth carved itself deeper into her heart with every ragged breath. Her love for Giles twisted into a cruel, unnatural connection. It wasn’t real, none of it was real.

And yet, the pain that tore through her wasn’t a lie. The fear of what was happening to them—of what could happen to Giles—was all too real. Ethan’s game, his twisted manipulation, had reduced her to this—bound, broken, and desperate, with no clear way out.

Each sob that wracked her body felt like a betrayal of her own strength, but she couldn’t stop.

Chapter Thirteen

[werewolfnightwalker]

Author!Dabi; Part Two

Part One here!

.

Dabi pretended to forget about the book after a while. Hawks never really brought it up again, though Dabi caught him reading it every now and then.

Sometimes he called Dabi "Raven," to which Dabi replied, "Songbird," but that was it. He never confirmed or denied that it was his book, that he wrote, that contained dozens of poems that were dedicated to his hero. He didn't want to, nor did he need to, so he didn't say anything when he spotted even more books by T. T. Arrow show up on Hawks' bookshelf.

He did watch, though. Watched as the first book- Starless Night and Other Poems- was read again, and again, and again. Dabi watched the spine crack, the page corners get dog-eared, the dustcover begin to tear at the edges.

All from repeated rereads.

"Read any good books lately?" He asked Hawks casually as he saw the hero glancing at the worn tome again.

Hawks hummed, smiling to himself. "Yeah, been thinking about rereading my favorite, though."

His favorite. Not even the five stars and essay-length, raving reviews from critics gave Dabi the same warm, fluttery feeling as that simple statement.

Finally, on a rainy afternoon that had him cooped up in Hawks' apartment while the hero was napping, Dabi got up and approached the bookshelf. He tipped the book towards himself with a finger and pulled it out of its place, carrying it with both hands back to the couch.

He retook his seat and flipped it open, searching the front page for… something. A sign, maybe. A reason, an explanation as to why it was Hawks' favorite.

The pages whispered against each other as he turned to the first poem; Mountainside of Embers was the title. His eyes completely passed over the printed words, so nearly packed into their stanzas, as they zeroed in on the messy scrawls along the sides.

"I'm so sorry." It was written in Hawks' slanted, curly handwriting, next to the paragraph lamenting how hard it was to breathe with lungs full of ash.

"I would have dug you out of the ashes and carried you home." Was scribbled at the end, that compared the mountainside to a graveyard for a single child.

Dabi flipped to another poem quickly; Sleepyhead.

"I wouldn't have left your side." Hawks' pen strokes promised next to the story of a sleeping, yet lonely boy.

"And he woke alone, so alone. Second, he thought of hunger, but firstly thought of home."

The whole line was highlighted, underlined, with a scrawled note beside it: "Come home with me!"

That fluttering back in his stomach, Dabi turned the pages with trembling fingers. Poem after poem was highlighted, underlined, scribbled, and doodled by. Notes and comments filled the margins, filled Dabi's vision and chest.

He turned to the first poem he'd written for Hawks, Origami Butterflies, and quickly scanned to one of the middle stanzas:

"Take my sharp edges and fold me together. Make me something beautiful, something that lasts forever. Tuck me safe into your pocket, Into your heart, into your bag, or your locket. Cradle me in work-worn hands, Promise never to let go again."

Next to it, in red ink and in all capital letters, Hawks wrote, "I PROMISE!"

Swallowing against the tightness in his throat now, Dabi looked through a few more before he finally dared himself to look at their poem, Cage of Bone.

The first page was blank.

As was the second.

The third page, where the story of the raven and the songbird ended, only had a single note by the final stanza:

"Begging forgiveness, as towards dawn they flew, The raven sobbed, "I love you, I love you, I love you.""

The poem ended there, in black, printed ink. But the note, written in blue, added on:

"The song bird settled into raven's chest, into his cage, into his nest, And began to sing into the sunrise, "It's alright, raven, dry your eyes. I am swift, and I am strong, And it was always you who heard my song. My wings do ache, my back is sore, So I will rest with you a little more.

Don't weep, dear raven, for you see, When I'm in here, I am free. I will stay in this cage of bone, So you and I are not alone.

Be my wings, and I'll be your heart, Because from you, dear raven, I wish never to part. So you start the song, and I take my cue, To sing on for forever, "I love you, I love you, I love you, too.""

Dabi closed the book like it would fall apart in his hands, carrying back to the shelf and slotting it into its place with the reverence due a holy scripture.

Wiping the blood from his cheeks, he headed for the bedroom, to do just as his songbird, his heart, had said.

He never fully figured out why it was Hawks' favorite book. But when he looked down at his hero, asleep, his head on Dabi's chest, he realized he didn't need to.

Not when the sound of their heartbeats, the sound of their breathing, the sound of Hawks' wings fluttering and the sheets shuffling and bloody tears pattering off Dabi's chin-

Not when they made a symphony, a song, all their own, that sang more than a raven and songbird ever could.

End.

[anitalenia]

𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 ✧˖°.

⋆˙⟡♡ PAIRING ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ diamond x fem!reader x heart

⋆˚✿˖° SYNOPSIS ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑑𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑢𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒… 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔… ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆˙⟡♡ AUTHORS NOTE ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ I admit, this may not be my best writing but it’s not like it’s a fic so it’s okay. And this was inspired by Diamond and Heart from A Dimensional Tune, an og trilogy from way back in the day that I read many many years ago. I used to love that book and the brothers so much 😭 So there are a lot of similarities between them but the differences are also there. Enjoy !

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 a pale pink smog; sparkly and sweet like raspberry lemonade. Every breath tickled your nose and left a lingering taste of sugar in the back of your throat. It made your lips grimace and nose crinkle, lungs swell full of whipped cream. The pink fog was vague despite its opaqueness, transparent enough for you to see the pink and black checkered ceiling above you.

You exhaled slowly like you didn’t recognize your own breathing, your chest aching and your throat scratchy and dry. It smelt of birthday cake and buttercream, and you found yourself liking the tantalizing aroma despite its malignant effect. But, you supposed, that was its purpose.

Your head felt heavy, like it was stuffed with cotton candy and confetti, hanging on your shoulders like a limp piñata. Your eyes were dizzy, the room spinning like marbles around and around and making your head ache and neck stiffen. But the air, it was sickly sweet, nauseatingly so; you felt like you were spinning in a candy cloud, choking on syrup and sprinkles.

Your eyes couldn’t focus on anything, too busy spinning and blurring as you felt your head lull to the side in a pathetic attempt to move it.

You sat in a chair, you didn’t know for sure but you had to be, your arms bound behind you tight enough you could feel the burn in your forearms, the scratchy feeling of rope digging into your wrists. Despite that, you felt weightless at the same time, numb, floating in mid air surrounded by that pink fog that made your thoughts muddle together, slow and messy like a dripping honey comb. Your mind seemed full of holes, unable to finish a word or thought, in and out of it like dotted lines, a pen running out of ink on parchment.

Where were you? You heard nothing except buzzing silence, your heart pounding in your ears but yet you felt entirely too calm.

You felt like there was nothing inside of you, like you were hollow. Hollow and light, a feather drifting in the breeze, bouncing on puffy pink clouds. Nothing seemed to ground you here, here, where you were surrounded by that pink mist that dazzled in your eyes like glitter, soaked into your pores and made drool pool in your cheek. You couldn’t think, couldn’t understand your own thought, your mind clogged like bitter molasses had leaked into every crevice of your skull; you swore you could feel your blood thickening up like sweet syrup, swimming through your veins like mud.

You managed to move your head again with as much focus as you could manage, a very faint groan leaving your lips. You looked to your right, where your blurry vision saw pink clouds and checkered walls.

What was this place?

You were barely aware of your own slow wheezy breaths, your dry lips parted and cracked. Your blurry eyes stared at the wall as your senses became overwhelmed with sweetness, like you were a frozen cherry being dipped in a pot of crystallized sugar; stuck and suffocating.

Your eyes closed when it became too hard to keep them open, but not before catching the faint orange glow of a rectangle on the wall, a faint click in your ears you couldn’t help but ignore.

You heard the echoing clack of shoes on the ground, your head limply spinning to your left as you inhaled a breath of sour sweetness. Were you moving your head? Was someone here? You couldn’t tell, unable to open your eyes or mutter a sentence. You only seemed to be aware within your own consciousness that something was not right and you were not supposed to be here. You couldn’t express that though, paralyzed like a moth in tree sap.

Someone had to be here, you could hear their shoes on the ground. You couldn’t even care, mind preoccupied with the image of candy canes and sugar cubes. You almost wanted to giggle, your chest fluffy feeling and euphoric. You didn’t feel bad, didn’t feel any pain, only something close to purity that made your body feel limp and empty, like your insides had been sucked out and replaced with air, a carcass floating endlessly into the stars.

It was a weird feeling, a happy feeling, but your inner mind knew it was a sickly sweet illusion.

“My, we’ve got quite the catch, my dear brother. Wouldn’t you agree?”

A voice. A male voice. Echoey and distant like he was speaking in a hollow church, ringing in your ears as you felt a gust of air swipe on your cheek; he must have walked past you, the undertones of vanilla and black cherry wafting into your nose. You liked it. The voice seemed to be close but way too far, however, you were way too out of it to try and really think about it, mind just as hazy as the room you were trapped in.

You heard the sound of soft giggles somewhere around you; it was chaotic sounding, but also happy and giddy, twinkling around you like the melancholic song of a broken music box. You could feel your skin crawl uncomfortably at the sound of it.

“Ahh yes, brother, of course. You’ve always had such an eye for beauty, Diamond. And this one… this one is quite exquisite.”

This was a different voice, cheerier sounding than the last one. It was closer than the other, you could tell. You felt something sharp brush against your cheek, the tingle of something deadly tracing your skin and making your face itch. Your eyes cracked open very thinly before closing again, seeing the flash of a red and pink blur, or was it just the fog? You couldn’t discern the difference between anything, inhaling another breath that made your body go numb like it was being flooded with Lidocaine. It was strangely addicting, blissful and deadly like a drug. Was this even real? Was this a dream?

“Mmm, yes, I do agree, Heart. She’s much prettier than the last ones. She’ll certainly be a fun little plaything… won’t you, my dear?”

You felt warm breath brush against your cheek, something soft running over the hair on your head. It made your spine tingle in alarm and intrigue. You weren’t able to act on it though, see anything around you, your mind empty like a floating balloon as all you could do was sit there, high on the pink fumes that sparkled around you. How were they not affected, whoever they were?

You heard a manic giggle again and the sound of shoes clacking on the floor excitedly.

“Yes, yes, our plaything! Oh, Diamond, I have such a good feeling about this one. I just know she’ll be a good plaything and entertain us properly, don’t you feel it, dear brother?”

Plaything? You? Brother? Diamond? Heart? Was that there names?

You were only catching bits and pieces of their confusing conversation, but it just raised more questions within you.

“Yes, Heart, I agree. Have patience though, brother. We must wait a little longer for our dear lady to wake.”

You couldn’t see, you weren’t even aware, but poor Heart pouted at his older brother, disappointed at that.

You felt something, a hand, caress your cheek like you were a fragile doll in a case, like you’d shatter to dust under his knuckles. His voice was soft when he spoke, levelheaded and almost condescending.

“Silly Heart, it seems you overdid the sugar bomb again. You always have such a bad habit of that, im afraid.”

“I do apologize for that, dear brother. A mistake if I’ve ever made one. But you know how difficult it is for me to control myself around such pretty things…”

You felt that same sharp feeling run down the plushness of your lips, like a knife caressing your skin. But the texture was soft and silky, possibly a glove.

“I just cant wait to play with her, Diamond, see how sweet her blood tastes on my tongue…”

His gloved hand ran down your jaw, slowly to your collarbone, his claws tickling your skin in its path until you felt it’s warmth leave your cold skin. You wanted to care but you couldn’t, desperately stuck in the effects of this pink smoke.

You heard a deep, happily malevolent chuckle.

“As I’ve said, patience, my dear brother. I assure you once our dear lady awakens we will have our playtime. For now, let us sip tea in the lounge as we wait.”

“Agreed, brother.”

You heard the sound of shoes clacking away from you, distant and echoey as another wave of sweet drowsiness flooded your marrow following a soft inhale.

You heard a click, yellow light washing over your closed eyes all of a sudden.

“After you, Diamond, I insist.”

“Why thank you, Heart.”

You heard a pair of footsteps leave the room, farther and farther until it was silence.

“Farewell for now, my dear lady. Oh, how I can’t wait…”

A giggle sounded once more, stuck and bouncing in your ears like a fly under a glass as you heard a footstep then another click, then nothing at all once more.

[runaway-dreamers]

[Part 1, 2, 3]

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

At the end of all I knew I find the beginning of you and I.

The Everyday Life of Wally Darling

Word count: 1,302

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Papers covered in colorful ink lay in messy piles. A single lamp  light shined down on a notebook, and beside that  lay a crumpled figure curled up within a bundle of blankets. Among the steadily growing collection of notes and drawings hid the unspoken. It lingered between  spaces  floating at the top of white backdrop. It stopped your pen once or  twice. It roared high like a distant wave, but fizzled to a crawling lull of  rolling water failing to reach your feet before the ocean sucked it back in. 

It spoke when you waited for a response to flutter from within the ceramic pumpkin where reality split in two. The nested swirl of blue and black plunged the room into a damp chill. All was silent beyond the creaking floorboards as you adjusted your sore body. Your crying ceased, replaced with labored breath, your tears dried on your face. Hair stuck to your pallid skin. It itched along where the strands clung, but you were far too tired to care. 

Letters fluttered in descending on your figure. You choose to forgo the envelopes as it would slow your response. You printed your thoughts with careful lettering for fear of misunderstanding. Should the tenuous line of communication shudder and fall apart, you hoped your words would ring clear in his mind. Your rampant need for connection was tempered by the loss crushing you to the ground where you lay. 

His red crayon had worn down to a nub, his shared worry shaped his words. Each question was meant to impart something new, something sacred to be kept. There in his stretched thin j's did you find his fear guided strokes. There in your incomplete o's did he find the pains of your impatience. The conversation was one about walking. The discussion lingering on lengths traveled, on sights seen, on passing glimpses of ghostly shapes. 

From above came the darkness raking cold hands down your back. It pawed with clawless fingers in repeated succession. Each passing coaxing an ache that spread tremors all throughout. You sucked in a sharp breath as your writing hand dulled with a spreading tingle. It lay flat on the cool floor rushing its pass. And just before it becomes a memory the pen is taken up and your o's grow incomplete. 

Julie had given you a pressed flower, it lay melted between the folded wax sheet. Sally sent a speckle of stardust that dulled to golden glitter. From Howdy came a caramel apple, but from within worms squirmed in the flesh of sagging fruit. Eddie's colorful craft of construction paper rings had crumpled apart and faded to dull grays. Poppy's muffins had crumbled around the portal coming to you already dust. Frank had left Wally with the vortex swirling within the guts of pumpkins. Letters from moments ago were already running with ink pooling together in a congealed mass of putrid nothingness. Words soaked the pages erasing all that had been contained, eating them all without a moment's break. 

Still each word was crafted with care. Each line is dotted with varied punctuation enunciating poorly remembered jokes. Each smile, every question, and all the answers took shape as intended, as needed. Your arm has cramped again. Sweat ran down the back of your neck drying to your skin and shirt. With a panging ache you dragged yourself up onto your arms. Your knees wobbled beneath you, and soon you sat upright. With great difficulty you held yourself up as the ache thrummed from head to toe. Each breath rattled in your lungs, but it was easier to draw in without the pressure of you and the floor. A note dropped in from the void.

[Y/N]

My letters from you have rotted. My memories of you have flown away. From within, my mind has no doubt, the pieces of you have molded through. 

[Wally] 

Where you once stood has become a vacant space. Snatched from me, your fading voice lingers beneath hollow winds. A wordless voice, devoid of thought or refrain, becomes the whole of what stays. 

[Y/N]

Where I am, you will be. Where you are, I will stay. An endless conversation, an endless changing of hands.

[Wally]

And if an end draws near? 

[Y/N]

Never spare me from harsh realities. Let me know the course of change. 

[Wally] 

The pumpkin rots. 

And the silence began. The letters slowed. The topic ceased. You sat alone with puffy eyes watching the swirl of a fading rip between you and him. You measured the passing time against thudding heartbeats. Your eyes pulled away to the notebook resting among the piles. Pages had been torn away and reused in a bid to talk longer. With careful hands the book was lifted and came to rest on your lap. You flipped through the remaining curdled pages. 

Eyes peered back at you, vibrant and unseeing. The lines had taken on a watery look, but they had not muddled together. Your fingers pressed against the beading of liquid. It stuck to your fingers coating the crevices of your skin. It dried flakey and pigmented. It bled like a cut, you marveled. The book remained unchanged save for the slowly smearing lines. This book traveled with you from one place to the next, it had seen everything. 

Your eyes looked briefly at the soggy mass forming in the corner of your light. The floorboards swelled with rot. And here in your hands something had outlasted the younger papers. You inched closer to the portal, closer than you had gone before. A breeze parted through your hair. Your skin paled against it. Something tugged at the notebook. You inched closer and the tug became a strong pull. Yanked from your hand it leapt to the portal. Sticky tendrils latched onto it, drinking it into nothingness. You sat stunned by the vigor the spinning vortex showed. A bright light engulfed your room blinding you. Something dropped onto your lap. With blurry eyes you pawed at the paper. 

[Wally]

What was that?

[Frank]

What did you do?

Are you alright?

[Y/N]

It devoured our notebook. It devoured it and sprung back to life! 

[Frank]

Our notebook fed it? What else can we feed it? 

[Y/N]

I'm not sure, that was all I had except, except the earring. 

The ceramic pumpkin cracked down its side. The portal spun into a tight circle shaking against the sides of it. The sound of ripping ceramic filled the room before it shattered to pieces. Each jagged edge was caught in the pull of the growing portal. Your blanket had fallen from your frame as the burst of air filled your apartment. You stared at the massive hole forming before you. It glowed like vibrant jellyfish dancing down into the bottomless dark. 

"Amazing.." You whispered. The soggy pages squelched as the tendrils stabbed into them. They were absorbed by the mass. You stood on shaking legs as voices floated on the breeze. 

"Wh-What even is this!?" 

"Oh, my goodness! Look at how pretty it is!" 

"A vortex? Here of all places? Quite an old one, too. How perplexing…" 

"I-I heard screams and I- OH MY FEATHERS!" 

"Was that Y/N's mailbox?" 

"Y/N's mailbox?" 

"Y/N! Can you hear me?" 

You ran tossing yourself against the solid glass-like cover to the vortex. Your earring was lifted and gently tugged from the clip on your lobe, "I'm here! I'm here! Please, hear me!" 

"I want to come back Home!" 

You landed somewhere dark. The expansive sky above filled your vision. Stars shined brightly all throughout. The smell of pumpkins wafted in the gentle breeze that rocked bare branches. Around you came groans. Blue hair, undone and slightly dirty, tickled your nose. 

A familiar face leaned in close, "Welcome Home." 

[boysaints]

diary entry with failing pen, published in streetcake magazine

[ID: black text growing progressively lighter until it blends in completely with the white background. text transcript:

& truthfully i spent most of my life wanting to write like those restless white men like bukowski’s unique brand of sadness so permeable i could smell it if i put my face to the paper & truthfully i spent most of my life wanting to be bleak by nature to write about trees shorn of leaves so intuitively understood in my desolation though i don’t know if it would save me to make my misery nameless & abstract & able to disappear into the ink & it’s mostly because i don’t think that sort of torment belongs to me the lethargic sort i mean i thought i was supposed to make something useful from my sorrow take the needle & thread & sew the gap together & truthfully i spent most of my life wanting to be visible but only in the ways i could control i wanted to be a beautiful girl wasting away on someone’s leather couch eating only the air & didn’t those white men have wives & children & families how did they afford to lock themselves in a room for hours on end drunk on bottom-shelf liquor & truthfully i wanted my torment to be tangible but nothing else i wanted to ask CAN YOU SEE ME at the top of my lungs & hear someone shout I’M RIGHT HERE back at me sweep their tender breath over my stammering nerves i wanted to write things falling from the sky i wanted to write love into existence i wanted to write my depression into just a bad dream a bad dream a bad dre]