#those things I was most painfully hungry for lol

[simonisferal]

Valentine — wanderer x gn reader

erhmm, kaveh gets taped to the ceiling, obvious courting/pining, reader's a fucking simp, wanderer's a small bitch/affectionate

guy came up to me and became my valentine, now i gotta reject him because i dont see him like that 😭 but happy valentines day!!

1.5k words

Valentine’s Day was literally today and you were stressing about what to get your lovely partner! Well, not really. If anything, you’re freaking out on how to confess your feelings for them and *then* ask him out. Crazy, and very last minute, you know, but hear yourself out!

You’ve been pinning and courting him for a while. It’s painfully obvious that you liked him, or at least you think.

Wanderer had no revelation. Sometimes he thought that the flowers and large amounts of flowers, snacks and drinks you left on his desk or mail was part of a big prank. Not even his new friend group (“Aggravate”, as Cyno called them) could tell him differently.

They were walking down the halls, ignoring most people who gawked and eyed them. It wasn’t rare for people to look at the five beauties but it was fairly worse since it’s a holiday.

”You excited?” Tighnari, one of the only people who have a brain in this dumb school, mentions.

"For what?” He pauses his walk.

“Oh! For his little secret admirer to come up and confess!” Kaveh squeals. Alhaitham, who stood behind him only snorted but stayed quiet. Tighnari looked to the side but nevertheless agreed with him, “Something like that. I was going to say chocolates or a present but that works.”

Cyno interjects, “Maybe a letter? Something simple to not attract too much attention to you, I would guess.”

”Oh please, I doubt that prankster has the balls to come up to my face and say something, let alone a fake confession.” Wanderer says, not only denying the idea but shooting down Kaveh’s suggestion as well.

"Booo! Where’s your passion for love? I don’t understand how people like you, babes.” Alhaitham pats Kaveh’s back but we all know he thinks it too.The puppet snorts but doesn’t refute anything else. He continues to walk, leaving the four behind while they head to their classes.

Wanderer was interrupted many times by others trying to give him gifts, making him late several times. He grew tired of the holiday and just wanted to go home. Maybe Tighnari can give him something to ease his mind when it's time for study hall.

But they never show up. Wow, ‘real friends’ my ass.

When he goes to his next class, down a small hall in the Vahumana category, Wanderer only sees the empty class. There was no way he was late or early or even in the wrong classroom.

His wary behavior didn’t cease when he noticed a singular note on a desk, his desk. Wanderer didn’t hesitate to pick it up, his smooth hands running over the frail paper before unfolding it from its fold.

Dear Wanderer, it read.

You’re probably reading this with caution or at least looking behind your back right now but I can assure you, nothing bad’s gonna happen as you read this! (I don’t know if that sounded ominious ominous or not so, sorry :( )

I’m the one who keeps buying you flowers and those snacks if you didn’t know by now! I actually have something to tell you and I really hope you come to the library or else I’ll kind of look like a loser lol— Your secret admirer

ps: I’m a little offended you think this whole thing is a prank, Wanderer :(

Damn. He closed the piece of paper and ran his hands through it again. ‘Yeah, right. Like someone would actually love me enough to do this’, he thinks.

Wanderer shoves the note into his short’s pocket and sits down in his seat. There are small trinkets and sour candies in the desk with another note, “Just in case you get hungry :)”. …He sighs. He takes one of the candies in his hand and starts unwrapping the wrapper. ”You guys can come out now. I finished reading the letter.”

There was a small hint of silence before anyone spoke.

"Oh thank the gods, I thought you were gonna leave us here.” Kaveh groans. Both Tighnari and Cyno reveal themselves from hiding in a closet and Alhatiham just turns around in the professor's chair.

”Kaveh?! How’d you get up there?” Tighnari leaves the closet, passing by Wanderer to get under Kaveh, who was duct-taped to the ceiling. He looked sick and frail and like he was about to throw up.”I asked Alhaitham to help me like three hours ago but he never got me down! I missed a bunch of classes..” He whines. Tighnari gives Haitham a glare but the grey-haired male ignores it.

”I’ll help you down, okay?” Tighnari comforts Kaveh and stretches his hand out towards the closet. “Cyno, give me my bow.”

”Alright.” Cyno starts reaching into the closet while the four of them could hear Kaveh pleading, “Wait! No! I can get down myse—!”

Wanderer’s ears ring at the loud sound of Kaveh crashing onto the floor. Joking, of course. He used his anemo powers to safely get the blond down.

"You four are such a hassle.” He groans.

"Well?”

“‘Well’ what?”

”Are you gonna go?”

”Go where?”

”The library, for god's sake!”

Cyno nods along. “[Name] is waiting for you there.”Wanderer groans again while everyone else looks at Cyno like he just admitted to a murder. They whisper as the puppet crosses his arms in his seat. “I’m not going to a dumbass library to just meet [Na]—…[Name]?”

"Oh wow, Cyno spilled. Expected it to be Kaveh.” Alhaitham retorts. Wanderer could only hear a small ‘hey!’ from the thoughts running through his head.

Believe it or not but you were the second place bachelor in the Akademiya. Most girls and guys would be pursuing you right now but you were just in the library? And you liked him? Yeah, right, he’ll have to see it with his own eyes.

”Fine, come on. Let’s go.” He stood up from his seat and began to walk out the classroom, leaving the four boys again.

”Should we go after him?” Kaveh asked.

"You just fell off of a ceiling, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go…”He whines again but wipes his butt from any dirt from the floor. “Okay…”

”I’ll stay with you.”

”Alhaitham, what?”

”You heard me.”

Both Tighnari and Cyno left to chase after Wanderer, the quick fellow already somehow causing a commotion in the halls. You were sitting in the library when Wanderer ran in. You expected him to come, not because you thought of him as a hopeless romantic but because you knew he’d want to see such a wanted figure as yourself actually liking someone.

”Good afternoon, Wanderer.” He heard.

You were carrying a Sumeru rose in your hands, fiddling and admiring the petals and thorns. He just stood in front of you, not believing it wasn’t a prank.

”’Good afternoon’ my ass. What do you want?”

You frown. “Did you not read the letter I left for you?”

He crosses his arms and scoffs. He had an obvious face of disdain, still not believing you. “Why yes of course I did. And just so you know,” he took a small step closer. “I still think this is a dumb joke.”

That statement couldn’t help but make you laugh. “Really? Aren’t a lot of people pursuing you? What about me courting you for, like, 3 months?”He falls silent. You weren’t known for your jokes, most people (excluding Cyno) thought you were unfunny. You also weren’t a liar—everyone calls you honest and trustworthy that even Wanderer can only imagine how many promises you’ve completed.

”Look. I’m really not joking…” You stand up from your chair at the library, taking small steps towards the short male. You extend your hand, showing him the rose you had been admiring for so long.

“I like you.”

Ha… Haha.. He starts laughing. Wanderer found you absolutely stupid. No one, ever, would actually admit to liking him—let alone on a holiday all about love. You had to be an idiot to even think about him romantically.

The puppet stops laughing after noticing you hadn’t gone away or laughed with him. He raised an eyebrow and looked at your frown. “Seriously? You’re an idiot.” His rude remark did nothing to hide the small smile on his face. It was amusing, such a silly thing actually. Who knew you would be such a dumbass for love? Now he doesn't feel even a single drop of guilt for eating all those snacks.

That look on your face says it all. You're in love with him. Pathetic, honestly. But Wanderer'll give you (and himself) a chance at this little game called life. He finds this little situation funny now that he knows it's not some sort of sick joke.

”Fine, I’ll give you a chance.” He takes the rose in his hands, twirling it with his fingers. He looked up at your excited smile. Humans are so easy to please, he thinks but it doesn't stop the small smile crawling on his own face.

”Just don’t bore me.”

[daenysx]

as a person who studies out of town, this was a little triggering for me to write lol. i hope you like it, i tried to do my best with reflecting all the emotions they feel. <3

requests are open!!

my masterlist

missing his sweet baby

your voice sounds sad and modern!aemond is quick to leave everything behind just to make you smile.nsfw.

it's too hard to miss someone. the feeling crawls in your heart like a heavy burden, you don't know how to carry it. it's because of him.

"i miss you. please, call me."

you leave a message to him with teary eyes.

aemond targaryen is the man of your dreams. he came into your life and shattered your heart for any other person who tries to have it. your heart belongs to him, you had accepted this a long time ago.

you are far away. this is only for six months, you are studying for your dreams. at first it was harder to be away from him, to get used to a new place and a new school. you tried to stay strong against the desire to go back and see him. aemond always supports you, keeps reminding you that this is only for six months and then it will be over. still, the amount of time you spend away from him burns you inside.

three months passed and you got used to it a little. focusing on your studies helped a lot, talking to aemond at least three times a day helped as well. he is working at his family's company and he is quite busy. he does anything to be successful and worthy, you know it must be hard for him. you wish to be with him when he has difficult time with all those bad feelings but there are still three months for you to go back.

you can't stop crying today. all you want to do is to crawl into aemond's arms and bury your face to his neck. he is not here, he is busy to call you back. you feel your heart clench painfully. today, you don't really feel like doing anything, there is no class or assignment to focus on. you are free and sad, sitting in your bed.

the city you now live in is beautiful. your life is the life you always want, you work for your dream career and you have plenty of new friends. the only thing missing is him.

your phone rings, his name is on the screen. you brush your tears away, try to clear your throat for a better voice and slide your finger on the screen.

"hey."

"my love? sorry, there was a meeting, i couldn't answer the phone."

"that's okay. how are you?" you ask, try to keep your voice steady.

"i'm fine, baby. how about you, hmm? don't you have any class today?" aemond asks.

"no, i'm free today. just staying in bed, doing nothing."

"hmm, that's good. you needed to rest."

his voice sounds like he still has a lot of things to do and talks to you at the same time when he works.

"we can talk later if you want. you are still at work, i don't want to take your time." you wonder if you sound sad because you can't control your voice this time.

you hear him chuckle on the other side. "please take my time. talking to you is the most important part of my day, okay? now, tell me how was your study group yesterday, anything new?"

you start telling him about the study group but then you hear another voice on the phone. "mr.targaryen, there is an emergency-"

aemond scoffs. "i'm sorry, sweetheart. i'll call you back."

"that's fine, i love you." you can't help your voice shaking this time. he says he loves you and hangs up.

you burst into tears once more. the crying doesn't stop, you quit trying. you stay in bed for hours, sleeping and crying. the emotions overwhelm you and you just give in. there is no point anyway. you close your eyes after a while and have a restless sleep.

you wake up a few hours later, the room is dark now. you feel extremely tired and your head is empty. you are hungry but you don't want to eat anything, instead you decide to have some coffee.

you drag yourself to bathroom first. you wash your face with cold water, hoping for some relief. then you go to kitchen and make a cup of coffee. you clean the little mess you made in kitchen and hear the doorbell ring as you reach for your cup.

you frown slightly, and wondering who that might be. you reach for the doorknob and open the door.

aemond is standing right there.

your mouth falls open. your sleepy brain can't process the fact that he is here. he gives you a few seconds, a happy expression on his face.

he opens his arms for you and you jump right into them. you wrap your arms around him like a koala and bury your face to his neck. his arms instantly reaches to your waist, holding you close. you feel his lips on your hair and you start crying again.

"shh, don't cry baby. i'm right here. oh, my sweet baby."

he cups your cheeks and presses a slow kiss on your lips. you hold his hand and lead him to your room, closing the door. he puts his bag on the floor and looks at your room.

"looks like someone here had a little crisis, hmm? why didn't you tell me you feel bad?"

you look at his face with shy eyes. "i didn't want to upset you, you are already too busy. i don't want you to worry over me."

he shakes his head. "i can't believe you think like this. nothing i do in that company worths more than you, okay? you should tell me about your feelings so that i can be with you, my love."

you kiss him with tears. you miss him too much, it still doesn't feel real. for three months, both of you never had the right time to fly and see each other, always waiting for the end of six months for your sweet union. the moment he heard your shaky voice and worried tone, he couldn't stay there. that was too much to deal with.

he keeps kissing you until he is longing for air. you lead him to your bed, tearing off his clothes desperately. "calm down, baby. i'm here, i'm right here. let me take care of you, please."

he takes off the rest of his clothes and helps you out of the shirt you wear. his shirt. you take off your knee socks as well and stay only in your panties.

he looks at you for a moment. "you have no idea how much i missed you. you have no idea what you do to me. i would leave everything and go to the end of the world with you just to put a smile on your pretty face."

you open your arms for him and he leans into you. he brushes kisses on your soft breasts and the spot between them. your neck crave his attention and he is quick to give it to you. he sucks and bruises, then softens his pressures with kisses. you become a whimpering mess under him quickly.

"it looks like you missed me, too. is that right, sweetheart?"

you nod. "yes, yes, i missed you so much. so much, aemond."

he chuckles. "it's fine. i'm here now and i will take care of you."

he kisses your lips and you kiss him back. 3 months of missing and longing for each other finally shows itself physically. your fingers travel in his hair, his beautiful hair. his hands are on your waist slowly reaches to your panties.

"let's take this off, hmm?" he smiles as you move your hips. "there you go."

he is painfully hard but he doesn't care. he has to take care of you first.

"aemond, i need you. now, please."

he nods. "would you like me to use my fingers, my love?"

you shake your head, "i can't take it, i just need you inside me. please, please."

he adjusts himself a little. "how were you taking care of yourself when i wasn't here, hmm?"

you show him your hand, playfully. "my fingers."

he kisses your hand. "and were they enough?"

you shake your head. "no, never enough. not like you."

"so, my sweet baby deserves a good orgasm, hmm? i think we can do that."

he slowly pushes himself to your entrance. you are already soaked for him, your muscles painfully throb around his length. he is inside you, holding the flesh of your thighs. he waits a little for you to get used to him. three months of agony and now he has you. he kisses your lips and starts moving when you nod approvingly.

he quickly finds a strong pace. his long fingers stroke your swollen clit. he loves hearing your moans, your closed eyes and messy hair. fuck, he missed the image too much, he is not gonna last.

"aemond, hmm, so close- so clos-"

he moves a little faster. "me too, baby. don't hold back, i need you to come with me."

your first round ends with his skilled fingers applying the right amount of pleasure on your clit and your walls clenching around him. he comes inside you with a deep moan and you arch your back as you find relief.

he stays inside of you. you look mesmerising like this under him, all those emotions you feel make themselves visible on your face. he kisses your lips and moves your hair from your face.

"are you alright?" he asks.

"mm-hmm. can we do that again?"

he chuckles. "don't worry babygirl. we are not done yet."

after your breathing turns steady, he brings his fingers on your cunt. the mix of your liquids keeps you wet. he quickly puts one finger in, his thumb on your clit. he pushes his second finger in as you try to move your hips.

his fingertips touch your g-spot suddenly and you scream his name. your fingers are not enough for you to reach there and when his fingers make a great job at finding and rubbing it, you feel like you'll cry.

"oh, my sweet baby. my beautiful baby, how much i've missed you."

he keeps moving his fingers and rubbing your clit. his free hand goes up to touch your hardened nipple. he squeezes the bud and you flinch. he touches the other one then, pressing and squeezing.

"i'm close, aemon-" you can't complete the sentence because he fastens his fingers in a way that makes you speechless. he is too strong, it's almost too much. you moan his name once more when you come, his fingers are soaked from your wetness. he waits for you to find your balance until he takes his fingers off.

he leaves the bed to get a clean towel from the bathroom. he helps you sit on the bed, your back against your pillows. he cleans the mess he made and brings you a cool glass of water.

"come on, drink it baby. i tire you too much, hmm? come on, finish the glass."

you drink all your water and look up to him. "i'm not tired. i feel perfect. i'm just- so happy that you're here."

"when i heard your voice and your words trying to hide your sadness from me, i left everything. i couldn't take it anymore, i had to see my girl."

you smile. "but you were too busy. what about the work?"

"i don't give a shit about the work now. they'll be fine without me."

"when will you go back?" you ask sadly. you need to know how much time you have with him.

"tomorrow night, baby."

you nod. "that's okay. it means we have time, right?"

"yes, and i will not leave until you have a smile on your face. a lasting smile, sweetheart. you don't know how much it hurts to be far away from you and knowing that you're sad."

you kiss him. "today was different. i've never been like this before."

he nods. "i know but you can't blame a guy for worrying over his sweet baby, hmm?"

you shake your head. "no, i guess i can't."

you pull him closer and he understands what you want to do. he leans his back to the headboard and makes room for you on his lap.

you adjust yourself comfortably on his lap and stroke his cock until it's hard for you. he watches the effect you have on him, he loves being undone because of you. you take him inside you and try to get used to the different angle. he holds your waist and guides you.

you start riding him, your fingers brush his chest and his neck. you move your hips in a certain rhytm. he tries to lift his hips and hits that sweet spot inside you. you moan, clenching around him. he encourages you to keep moving. you ride him through your third orgasm that night. that's not an unusual thing with aemond, you always manage to fuck each other until you are both satisfied. you come apart once more, this time it takes longer and your thighs are a little sore.

you lift your hips and take his weeping cock in your hand. you stroke him until he closes his eye, curves his mouth into a soft smile and comes on your fingers. you don't wait for your next move, take your fingers into your mouth and licking everything.

all he can do is to stay right there and watch you. he doesn't know how will he manage to leave tomorrow night when you look so perfect and when he is so in love.

after you are done, you put your head on his chest and pull the covers on both of you. he lays down and you bury your face to his neck, inhaling his scent. "i've dreamt about you holding me like this, all day long. almost afraid that i lost my mind."

"you are in the right place for your future, sweetheart. only three months more and you'll be back, remember? we can do that. we should do that."

you nod, wrap your arms closer. "i love you."

"i love you." he says it the second time for today but this time not on the other side of the phone, instead in the bed with you, holding you close.

"i think there is some wine in the kitchen. or we can drink coffee. oh god, i forgot to ask, are you hungry? i should've asked before i jump into your arms, i'm sorry." you say the last part teasingly.

"i'm not hungry. and you see, a man in the right mind always prefers you jumping into his arms before food."

"come on, that's too romantic even for you. let's stay in bed for a while, then we'll think of something."

he nods, kisses you hairline. you try not to think about the time he has to leave. you missed him too much and you deserve some good time with him instead of worrying and being sad.

aemond targaryen is the kind of man who would leave things behind just to see you smile. he takes care of your heart, supports you, and stays with you. your love for him feels overwhelming sometimes, how much more can you fall in love with him?

you press a kiss on his chest, ask him about his day. both of you know that you won't be sleeping tonight, it will be a night full of holding, kissing, talking, and touching each other. and it will be perfect.

[nessacousland]

can i ask what was ur problem with treviso? i actually found treviso and the crows to be the most interesting faction out of all of them so maybe im just biased LOL

Okay, full disclosure: I was on vacation and didn’t get to play Veilguard until the 8th of November. Couldn’t take the potential spoilers everywhere, so I've been cramming these past few days to finish the game asap (I still did every side quest, had all factions at max strength and got the “best” ending etc. but didn’t do every chests/stats puzzle). By the time the Treviso questline concluded, I'd been fully marinating in the sauce of all the other criminally stupid quests, is what I’m trying to say, and Treviso was emblematic of every problem I already had with this game. It was my breaking point.

To start with, the questline is offensively generic and an actual insult to the players’ intellect. Painfully linear, cartoon villains abound and nothing of any substance was ever said during its run.

The moment Caterina told us about Lucanis’ non-death, I called Illario being the traitor. There were no clever misdirects, there were no other leads, nope, they showed us his hand *immediately*. Grandma First Talon of the murder guild has a clear favorite and didn’t tell the ‘spare’ heir about her suspicions? Yeah, okay. Repeat FAMILY as often as you want, you piss-poor Godfather knockoff of a questline, I ain't buying.

So, from the start, all tension is gone, I'm just sitting there waiting for the rest of these “capable” assassins who “rule Antiva from the shadows” to catch on to this incredibly obvious plot twist. Meanwhile, the quests had absolutely nothing interesting to say - about the Crows or Treviso. The first bad guy was, predictably, an evil evil Venatori, super more evil than the evil evil Venatori you've seen before, guys, she literally BATHES IN BLOOD. Omg, right? 🙄 (I found Tevinter infinitely more compelling when their entire ruling class were power-hungry tyrants out of self-interest instead of being hit over the head with the mustache-twirling villain/crazed cultist stick).

Mr. “totally not the traitor” kills Zara before she can tell us anything of substance, she dies,clearly shocked, calling him “Amatus”...AND NO ONE CATCHES ON. You can have Neve on the team, Bellara regularly reads Tevinter serials (the whole team has a fucking book club in the middle of an apocalypse), you can play a freaking Shadow Dragon Rook, but nah, nothing. We don’t even get to ask “Uh, what was that?”. Instead, we get to sit through more pointless missives/quests while the ever capable Crows are totally investigating the traitor.

Now, you could argue that the “Amatus” was a reward to tip off those of us who’ve played the previous games and know what the term means. But with a plot this threadbare and obvious…did the writers think they’re Agatha Christie here? Did they really think I was at the edge of my seat, desperate to find out “whodunit” and grateful for any crumbs thrown my way?

Well, anyway, we are told a million times over that super charming (where?) Illario is just “like that” every time he acts super freaking suspicious. (The funeral thing with Caterina's ashes was especially funny.)

You'd think those instances would start to add up and prompt someone - anyone - to start using their brains (don't we have a goddamn detective on our team?!), but NOPE. We have to corpse-whisper to progress this questline. One of the biggest ass-pulls they've introduced via this game in general, in my opinion (is this Forbidden Realms and we just unlocked the Speak with the Dead spell?) - and it acts as the deus ex machina here to finally give us a clue. Wow, thanks.

The entire sequence of Lucanis confronting Illario in front of the assembled mafia felt like something out of an Antivan play. So goddamn goofy. I thought that vibe was charming in Josephine's romance quest - Antivans live for the drama - but they wanted us to take this moment seriously. This is Lucanis confronting his “all he has left” (don't get me started on the Fade sequence - apparently we the players can’t grasp anyone's motivations without having them spelled out for us over and over again) for putting him through hell and changing his entire being forever. Should I be laughing right now?

To make matters worse,we're told that the Crows are the perfect killers who never leave a contract unfinished - and then Lucanis spares Illario because the humiliation is the biggest punishment??? Like, I'm fine with him faltering here, that’s human. But this should have had consequences. This is the murder guild we're talking about here. Lucanis’ parents were literally killed in a different house’s coup attempt. He was just made the head mobster, immediately showed weakness in front of the entire mafia and everything is just dandy fine??? Because FAMILY?

Another personal gripe with this is that - as always - Rook had zero agency. No matter what you do, Lucanis will forgive or spare Illario. Imagine if we had the option to convince him to kill him instead. Imagine the resulting resentment tainting our bond with him and having us actively engage with fixing or breaking it. Imagine us going along with his mercy but hashing out the painful consequences for his house with him. But that’s not the game Veilguard is.

Anyway, the quest then becomes even more ridiculous. We've long learned that a human traitor helped the Antaam claim Treviso overnight. Someone with great knowledge of the city and the necessary power to make it happen. Gee, I'm sure the human GOVERNOR regularly hanging out in the Crow headquarters or the market bitching about the Crows’ interference 24/7 - the ONLY town official we get to see - had nothing to do with it. Five scarves fluttered in shock out of five, great job, guys.

The Butcher thing was just…weird. Like, we get to hear and build him up as this totally different antaam leader, cruel but cunning and calculating, someone who will be difficult to dethrone. Only for him to show up out of nowhere and serve no other purpose than to move the main plot forward asap and die. Lol, thanks for your service, I guess.

Then Ivenci, for no fucking reason, decides that they, like any good cartoon villain, should reveal themselves to us just in order to gloat. Um, why don’t they simply order the Antaam to murder us dead right then and there? If Rook and their plucky team of friends are too powerful for that, why haven’t we taken Treviso by force already? But nah, lol, our plot armor doesn’t have any cracks yet, so they literally tell us to go away and try to disturb the gods’ plans, because those guys will totally kill us for them.

Now, we wait again. Excuse me, isn’t this a questline about assassins? Why aren’t we trying to, y'know, assassinate Ivenci? Cut off the snakes's head, how often have we heard this phrase otherwise? Nah, let's wait till we get another letter that shit is going down that the Crows totally didn’t anticipate and THEN let's confront them. (Ofc, the Crows’ investigation of the qamek stalled forever. Cause they’re incompetent.)

But the thing that really broke me…we KNOW Ivenci stole a bunch of special qamek. We run at them THROUGH A GREEN POISON CLOUD. And my Rooks's just like “Huhhh? Is something possibly messing with my mind right now?”. YOU STUPID POS.

And then, ofc, we end the questline and Jacobus pops outta nowhere to spare Ivenci because a good pirate never steals and a good assassin never kills, I guess. Jacobus founds his new house to basically become a big mafia family for orphans like him which everyone is super proud of, because, if the previous installments of the game have taught us anything, it's that the Crows are deeply concerned with the well-being of orphans. Whoop dee doo, the end.

Okay, more notes. It’s been mentioned plenty already that this game has completely neutered the Crows and turned them into edgy found family freedom fighters. Personally, I'm not okay with the explanation that this is simply a different house than House Arainai. Because what the actual fuck, game. Why is Ivenci the bad guy when they're literally right about everything?! Where's my option to agree with them that a fucking murder mafia shouldn’t be the ruling force of a town, let alone the entire country? Why is the municipal government the enemy while my non-Crow Rook keeps shouting “Viva the Crows”??? Are you really telling me that the Crows are the good guy mafia and House Arainai was the bad outlier? Is that what this is?

Look, I'm fine with allying with the Crows if that’s what necessity dictates. We're trying to stop the SUPER BLIGHT here. But don’t sugarcoat that this is us joining forces with the mob. The way Veilguard presents them makes me cringe cause they're basically just leather-clad incompetent fools larping as birds. Show us the reality of this alliance. Get into the nitty-gritty. Make this world feel real. God.

I *wanted* to like this questline. Out of every country in Northern Thedas, I've always been most interested in Antiva. The whole medievalesque guilds system and merchant princes, the mediterranean romance and drama, pirates and Crows, the snazzy outfits and Spanish accents, god, normally, I'm eating that shit UP. I didn’t even think twice about which city to save. Partially because Minrathous was better fortified and Venatori seemed like the lesser evil vs. blighted water, of course, but mostly because Treviso is absolutely gorgeous and Zevran and Josephine instilled a lot of love for Antiva in me that I just don’t feel for Tevinter. I also thought that the setup was very interesting - professional assassins turned into freedom fighters of their occupied turf. And it *would* have been if they had let them remain, y'know, the actual murder mafia they always were.

But aside from my gripes about the Crows’ portrayal, the entire questline was just a total nothing burger. This is the first time ever that we're actually in Antiva, our introduction, so to speak, and what do we learn about the place? That there’s strife and betrayal among the Crows? Um, yeah, Zevran covered that fifteen years ago. There’s nothing new whatsoever. Imagine if our primary goal had actually been to help the Crows free Treviso. That we're working to loosen the Butcher's grasp on the town via strategic assassinations (i.e. actual Crow missions) that also introduce us to Treviso's people/Antivan culture (taking out someone during a theatre play, for example! The drama!), the internal politics of the Merchant princes and the municipal government's struggle to keep this occupied city from imploding. Imagine us getting caught up in this web of intrigue as we get closer and closer to the Butcher and then suddenly, we're being played. And only *then* do we start to suspect a traitor among the Crows’ ranks and the whole thing unravels. Spitballing even further, why repeat the Crow/Venatori romance in a random side quest with random people? Why not have Zara and Illario be actually in love, but he kills her for his ambition anyway? And instead of taking responsibility for his actions, he blames Lucanis for forcing his hand? Or maybe, they both thought they were playing the other and as another power hungry asshole, Zara almost respects Illario for the hussle as she dies? *Some* messiness and drama? (Cause Varric’s initial narration sequence made Zara seem like this blood-soaked femme fatale but the actual narrative gave zero fucks about that vibe. Discount Countess Bathory wannabe).

That might just be what I would have wanted and nobody else, but I still maintain that anything would have been better than this cookie-cutter, baby’s first mafia story that is beat for beat exactly what you'd expect and have seen before.

Well, this was a long rant. I don’t intend to make a habit of shitting on things others enjoy on here, but my emotions are still running high after finishing the game yesterday and you did ask. Sorry.

[luvrbug]

Hi! This one may be a bit sensitive so its alright if its not your cup of tea to write but! May I request

Killer or Law with an s/o who (due to their period) experiences extreme stomach pains and passes out from it. Sorry if its a bit extreme, it happens to me a lot 😅

(Maybe Killer is better on second thought Law might just medicate his S/O all day lol)

AS A PERSON WITH A UTERUS THAT LIKES TO KILL ME MONTHLY I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND !!! I did just , general period headcanons ! i hope thats okay! and i included kata because i feel hed just be. so good at it you know ??

«────────«⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅»────────»

Killer

Killer is not entirely clueless on what happens every month... but he's far from the most experienced. But he's an incredibly fast learner when it comes to comforting you during hell week <3.

You will not be lifting a finger! Kid pirate member or not, killer is absolutely refusing to let you work while you're in this much pain. Kid keeps.. suspiciously silent.. about how little work you're doing.

His hands... HIS HANDS !!! They're warm, steady, and large enough to cover your entire abdomen and gently rub to soothe away the pains.

Killer absolutely is encouraging your period cravings. Pasta? He was feeling pretty hungry himself. Something sweet? His hand slipped, and he ... accidentally ... made a four layer cake!

Killer may not know everything, but he absolutely wants to make this time of month as easy as possible for you. He's just a big softie.

Law

He's a DOCTOR ! he obviously knows all of this, obviously. He's a doctor. Okay, Law really... isn't the best with the reproductive cycles. He's a SURGEON who studied a bit of practical medicine to take up the doctor role in his crew best.

Just because he hasn't learned anything YET doesn't mean he won't learn ever. Obviously, he knows you experience pain, bleeding, irritability, hormone imbalances, etc. But how can he help you feel better without expressing.... emotional vulnerability (eugh).

In the beginning of your relationship law just... leaves painkillers on the nightstand. Stashes chocolate in a certain spot of the kitchen he "accidentally" reveals to you. Changes the sheets while you go to clean yourself up. He's so painfully awkward with every cute, sweet thing he does. Its so endearing.

Later on in the relationship, Law begins to.. loosen up a bit more. He's still a blushing awkward tsundere mess as he does all these sweet things for you, but he's much more physically affectionate and ready to relax with you. Period week? Nah. Vacation week.

Katakuri

THE GOAT AT TAKING CARE OF A PARTNER ON THEIR PERIOD! He's got all those little sisters, and you expect him to be INEXPERIENCED????? No way. This man has made multi-million beri runs in the middle of the night to totto-mart just for tampons, pads, and chocolate. Just give him your order, babe.

But seriously, katakuri knows all the remedies! Even some you wouldn't think about. Heating pad? Done. Massage? Already got it set up. Cuddles and sweets? Impromptu meridena time.

Being a sweet commander has its perks, one of those being a massive, warm bathtub and whatever ridiculously expensive bath product you could possibly want. Katakuri WILL be pampering you.

Killer encourages cravings, but Katakuri goes all out. The kitchen staff shiver in fear when he puts in one of your meal requests. Full buffets, platters, all delivered to you in bed.

Katakuri takes full advantage of the "Excuse-me-my-spouse-is-in-pain" excuse to just. cuddle and spend time with you. He's such a softie <3.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Frailty, thy name is woman! {1}

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, masturbation, mentions of miscarriage, depression, and suicide.

This is dark!doctor!Steve Rogers and soft!Peter Parker and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You have an illness that can’t be seen or named. Doctor Rogers is your last chance at a cure as your loving husband tries to rediscover the woman he married.

Inspired by this ask

Note: So this went a little long and I split it into 2 but you can just pretend it’s a one shot lol. It’s set in the 1900s so keep that in mind! I hope you all like it.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Another cold morning. It started like any other. You woke in the bed, wrapped in the same woolen blanket, in the same dress you’d been wearing for more than a week.  In the same spot you hadn’t left for nearly as long. You didn’t have the strength to do anything but wallow, trapped in another episode of melancholy.

You wanted to be normal, you wanted to be happy, you wanted to get up and go tell your husband to stop messing around in the kitchen so you could do your work. So you could be the wife you were supposed to be. But that desire could not fill the endless pit you felt deep in your chest.

You listened to the clink of heavy dishes and the bubbling of water over the hissing gas burner. Peter moved around in a series of groans and creaks from the floorboards. You pulled the blanket tighter, sickened by your own odor, and sniffed. You wouldn’t cry again, you couldn’t. You always felt as if the tears would fall at any moment but they never came. You just laid there, staring at the wall, curled up against the drafts that blew through the rattling window panes.

You heard the hinges and winced. Worse than letting down your husband was looking in his face and seeing it. He came around your side of the bed and sat on the edge, just against your stomach. He set down a bowl on the boxy night table, steam curling from its brim as he set a spoon against the side and clinked a cup down next to it.

You turned your face into the pillow and he touched your shoulder as he turned and bent his leg up on the mattress. He rubbed your arm gently but you felt nothing. You shivered and knotted your fingers together.

“Hey, you need to eat,” he coaxed, “please.”

You grumbled and shook your head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You said that last night,” he ran his knuckles over your cheek and bent over you, “you haven’t eaten in two days, dear.”

“I don’t care,” you pouted into the feather pillow.

“Well, I do,” he stretched his fingers over your head and rubbed your cheekbone with his thumb, “I care about you, dear. Even after everything that’s happened.”

“Why?” you asked weakly.

“Because I will always care for you. I love you, you’re my wife and we will get through this together, so please, sit up and eat for me.” His voice was brittle and threatened to shatter in the air. Your heart squeezed and you rolled onto your back. 

You looked at him grimly, “I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t need to be sorry,” he pulled open the blanket and hooked his arms under yours to pull you up. He sat you against the metal headboard and took the bowl. “Just eat. I put some cinnamon in the porridge, just like you prefer, and milk in the tea. I promise, it’s not sour this time.”

You accepted the hot bowl and nestled it in your lap. You stared at the oats and wiggled your nose. “I… you shouldn’t do all this. You shouldn’t have to,” you held the bowl with your legs and covered your face, “I want to do it all so badly but--” you blinked away the tears and wiped your cheeks as you dropped your hands back to the dish, “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you want to,” he grabbed the spoon and scooped up some oats, “and I want to help you do that but I can’t unless you help me.”

You let him feed you a mouthful. Just like everything else, it was bland, you barely even felt the heat.

“I’m trying--”

He hushed you and fed you some more. He focused on the task until the bowl was empty and your stomach felt painfully heavy. He placed the bowl back beside the porcelain and handed you the tea.

“I need you to listen to me, dear,” he said, “please and understand this is for your own good. To help you be the wife you once were.”

You held the cup with both hands and watched him over the brim. You gulped. Would he send you to one of those sanitariums where women never came back the same, if at all?

“Please, don’t send me away. You can’t! Please,” you begged and nearly spilled the tea.

“No, no, I… couldn’t,” he touched your elbow gently, “but I’ve been asking around and I’ve found a physician.”

“A physician? Oh, Peter, the last one laughed me out of the room,” you moped, “and the one before him yelled at me so horribly. I cannot do it again.”

“I know, I know,” he played with a fold along his sleeve, “but this one specialises in women’s issues. I’ve heard positive things about him and I think you should talk to him.”

“I don’t know,” you sipped the tea, it was acidic but thin.

Peter was silent as he hung his head. He grasped his knees and his jaw ticked. He heaved and closed his eyes. “I can’t let you die in here. I can’t--” his voice cracked, “please, just try this for me, dear.” He opened his eyes and looked at you, his warm brown irises were desperate, “It would kill me too.”

You lowered your chin and peered into the mug, errant leaves floating in the tea. You exhaled and gulped.

“I’ve made the appointment for noon.”

“I… I’m unready. My hair, my dress… I am unbathed.”

“You have time and I will help you,” he ran his hand up your leg smoothly, “and if you want me in the office with you, I will be there, and if you want me away, I will go.”

You thought and took another drink. You leaned back on the whiny headboard and blinked at Peter. 

“You really think he can help me?”

“I’ve got to hope. It’s all I got,” he said as he opened his hands helplessly, “I believe in you. You’re still the woman I fell in love with.”

🩺

Peter helped you wash and dress. You picked the grey dress with the buttons down the front and the straight sleeves. You hid your hair under a black hat and teetered on the low heels of your boots. You felt like an imposter, like anyone could see through your disguise to the horrid creature beneath.

He drove you uptown in the one-horse buggy and the old steed moved slowly through the mud and cobbles. 

You felt a sudden storm of guilt as he drew up to the brick front of the office and tied up the horse. He did everything, he worked at the laboratory as an lowly assistant, expected only to dispose of the refuse and wipe the countertops, then came home and did your chores for you. He worked hard for the little money you had and now he was spending it on another doctor to fix your irreparable mind.

He helped you out of the buggy with his hand on yours and you pulled your short cape closer as you huddled down against the collar. He led you to the front door of the shared offices and up the three flights to the door marked ‘Dr. Steven Rogers, physician’. 

You wrung your hands as you entered and glanced around as Peter gave your name and the time of your appointment. You were surprised to find that your husband was the only male in the room. He led you to a bench and sat with you, his hand on your arm as he comforted your doubts.

You listened as names were called and after more than an hour, yours finally rose from the nurse’s lips. You stood as Peter did too. “Do you want me here or with you?” he asked.

“I…” your heart raced as you looked between him and the nurse, “I suppose I should do it myself.”

“I’ll be out here. You send for me if you need,” he squeezed your hand one last time and watched you go.

The nurse smiled at you but you couldn’t return the gesture. You were terrified. You had seen so many doctors and each one gave the same answers; there was nothing wrong with you, you were only lazy, you were conjuring it all in your head, you were just another woman without sense.

You were shown into the sterile room and the nurse left your chart on the desk. You stepped up the stool and sat on the metal examination table covered in pure white linen. You waited in suspense, arguing with yourself not to flee and go back to your blanket and bed. When a knock came, you squeaked and the door opened slowly.

A man peeked inside cautiously and cleared his throat as he spotted you. “I’m coming in, miss.”

You nodded and he entered, the door clicking behind him. He greeted you with a handshake and read your name off the chart as he gave his own; Dr. Steven Rogers. He sat on the tall stool by the desk and looked at you. 

His blond hair was as neat as his suit and his blue eyes were penetrating but placid. His white jacket hung from his broad shoulders and a stethoscope rounded his neck as his posture put him above most.

“You can sit on the sofa if your are more comfortable,” he gestured to the leather seat along the opposite wall, “this is just an introductory appointment, I won’t be doing any examinations.”

You pursed your lips and shifted off the table. You went to the sofa and sat, your leg shaking wildly as you tried to still it with your hand. He smiled patiently and dipped his pen in the well.

“So, we will start easy, how old are you?”

Your eyes rounded. You sputtered before you got the answer out and he nodded and scribbled on the paper. He went down a list; an previous health issues, height, weight, current prescriptions. When he finished he set aside the folder and looked at you fully.

“That’s all just formality and I don’t like my patients to feel like they’re being interrogated so we’re just going to talk. Would you like some water?”

“No, no, I’m…” you smoothed a wrinkle in your dull skirt and stared at your lap. 

“You need a moment?” he dipped his head as he tried to catch your eye, “take a breath, I know it’s a lot.”

“No, I’m just… pathetic.” you murmured.

“Now, we don’t talk like that in this office,” he girded, “so why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

You sucked in a breath and your hands crawled over your skirts nervously, skittering like spiders. You could feel the dread rising and the air was thick in your lungs. You began to pant in shallow breaths and gripped the arm of the couch.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” he stood slowly and neared you, “may I sit with you?”

“Oh, oh, oh,” you moaned as you began to shake, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you wetted your dry lips with your tongue, “yes, doctor.”

He lowered himself lightly onto the cushion. He leaned forward and looked you in your face as you tried to hide from him and struggled to breathe. “I’m going to count and you breathe in time; one, two…”

You focused on the numbers and rocked back and forth until your heart slowed and your gasps petered out. He stopped his count and sat up. He stayed where he was, his hand on his thigh as you felt his gaze on you.

“So, what has been happening in your life, ma’am?” he asked.

“I’m sure my husband--”

“No, I don’t speak with husbands, I want to hear from the women themselves. You see I run a practice for women and their troubles and I cannot treat these troubles if they come from the lips of men. So you explain, in your own way, in your own time.”

You raised your shoulders and exhaled. You folded your hands and nodded. You tried to sort through all your thoughts, the blurred days, and the frightening nights.

“Today is the first I’ve left my bed in more than a week. It’s not the first time, either. It keeps happening and… I just don’t know why,” you’re voice quivered as you shrunk down in shame.

You waited in silence. You peeked over at him as you expected him to speak.

“Go on, just pretend as if you were speaking to yourself. No one else is here, you’re just going through your thoughts aloud. Sometimes when we hear them, they are clearer to us.”

“I don’t understand--” you clapped your hands.

“Close your eyes and keep talking.”

You swallowed and let your lids shut. The room disappeared and you mustered your voice. You didn’t know where to begin. So you went back to the day you married Peter. From the wedding day, to the first episode, the second, the third, you gave a brief map of the three years you’d been together. Then you braced yourself for it, the “I don’t know” and “nothing’s wrong”.

“Hmm,” he stood and you opened your eyes. He paced to the other side of the room and leaned against the table. “That’s not everything. You… have to be honest with yourself. This isn’t about me and what I think, it’s about you. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” you gulped.

He nodded and crossed his arms. He dropped them when he saw you frown and resumed his seat on the stool. He sat straight and watched you but held no anger or malintent in his gaze.

“Alright, then we shall go through some questions and answers. Many of my patients find a dialogue more helpful,” he said. “Now, I might ask some personal questions but remember that your answers do not go beyond these walls.”

You bit into your bottom lip and hummed your agreement. He clicked his tongue and smiled again.

“You said you’ve been married for three years, thereabouts, so when was the last time you were close with your husband?”

“Close?” you stammered.

“Intimate,” he prodded.

“Uhhh,” you squirmed and looked away.

“You are married, there is no shame in it. So?”

“Months,” you confessed, “I don’t know how many. And it isn’t as if he doesn’t try but I can’t.”

“Mhmm, and you said you have no children?”

You tensed and couldn’t answer. Your heart sank and you bent over as you hugged yourself.

“You… you’ve lost a child?” he asked softly.

You nodded and batted away tears with your lashes. You shook and grunted in frustration. You stood suddenly and stomped your foot.

“I need to go,” you hissed as you marched to the door.

Doctor Rogers was quick and held the door closed before you could reach it.

“Did he know?” he asked.

You sneered and shook your head.

“Just one?”

You trembled and tried to push his arm down. “I can’t--”

“Hey,” he grabbed your shoulders and edged you back from the door, “I’m trying to help you. You’re here to repair yourself and your marriage, you need to try and it won’t be easy but it would be worse to wallow in all that grief alone.”

“Please, Dr. Rogers, I have to--” you shoved on his arms as you sobbed, “I… I… he is my husband and I can’t give him the most precious thing he ever wanted. I can’t make him happy no matter how I try. It would be a gift if I were to die in that bed. He would be free--”

“No,” he said sharply and guided you backward, “we don’t speak like that.” He sat you down and knelt to look in your eyes, “you don’t speak to yourself like that.”

He sighed and dropped his hands to yours. He held them gently as you sniffed back the tears and hid behind the brim of your hat.

“When was the last?” he asked cautiously.

“I lost it a month and a half back. I abstained from my marital bed in hopes it might survive,” you quavered, “It did not.”

“Is there pain?”

“Now?”

“Yes?”

“At times, but in my soul,” you said.

He let you go and stood, “and how do you sleep?”

“Not much. I cannot. I only lay and stare and wish.”

“Mm, well, I have some things for you to do but they are easy and I do not want you to stress yourself. If you cannot do all, then some.” He sat on his stool again and picked up a small pad. “I will prescribe you a medicine you can put in your tea, it will aid in your sleep and that it the foundation of healing. Then, there are only small things; when your husband comes to you, affectionately, you will let him kiss you, just on the cheek if you wish, but if he cares as you say, you will let him.”

You listened and fidgeted as he spoke.

“And you will do things for yourself and for your children. If you feel like you can make a dinner, do so, if not, you will take a journal and write. These words are only for your. You will write about those you’ve lost so that they may rest and you will too. For every chore you cannot complete, you will write one sentence, or one page, or as many as you need to.”

“What do I write?”

“Whatever you think. Whatever weighs on your heart at that moment. And you will come back to me in two weeks to go over all you’ve done and I have faith that you will make great progress.”

He stood and tore free a page. He neared and held it out to you. “Take this to the apothecary and they will fill it. One drop in your tea, two if it is an especially bad night.”

You took it and rose. You folded it and tucked it into your handbag. You looked up at him and adjusted your cape.

“I’m sorry, doctor, I will try.”

“You will start by not apologizing for yourself. You have a right to feel and be. And try is all I ask.”

He smiled and turned to stride across the office. He opened the door and bent his head. 

“Now, I hope a peaceful day awaits you and don’t forget, two weeks. You will make an appointment at the desk before you go.”

🩺

The drive through the city was quiet as Peter watched you worried from the corner of his eye. He didn’t dare to ask how it went as you hadn’t yet said a word but to tell him to stop at the pharmacy. With the vial in hand, he took your home and sat you at the table as he made another pot of tea.

He sat with you and sipped his own cup as you stared at the reddish brown brew. You lifted the vial and read the hand-written label. It was too early to sleep. You put it down and looked at Peter.

“It was… not bad,” you said slowly.

He perked up and sat forward on his chair. “Was he nice?”

“Very nice,” you felt the hot porcelain, “he listened.”

“And the medicine?” he looked at the vial.

“For sleep.”

“That’s good,” he uttered nervously, “you’re going back, right, dear?”

“Yes, two weeks,” you said, “I hope. I…” you looked at him glumly, “I’m going to try. I want to try.”

“I know,” he reached across the table and took your hand, “and I can help. I only want to help.”

You nodded and squeezed his hand. It was rough against your dry skin. You felt as if your body was falling apart from neglect. Your nails were peeling and cracked at the tips. You turned his hand so you did not have to see them.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

You lifted your head and searched his face. You tried to smile but it was small. 

“Please,” you whispered.

He came around and bent to kiss your forehead, then your cheek. You stood and shyly looped your arms around him. He held you tentatively and as you leaned into him, he relaxed. You were relieved to find the warmth was still there.

🩺

That night, Peter put you to bed and laid beside you. You wore a proper nightgown and the tincture dragged you down in a deep dreamless slumber. When you woke, you didn’t want to get out of bed but if you stayed, you’d feel worse. You dressed and Peter didn’t hide his joy as he readied for a day at the lab.

You ate together, more porridge and he left you with another kiss. When he was gone, you stared at the wall. You took the dishes and boiled water to wash them in the basin. There were only a few so your work was easy. You thought of wiping down the stove but once more felt the lethargic weight on your chest.

So you went to the bedroom and dug out the old recipe book your mother bought you as a wedding present. You hadn’t used it so the pages remained blank but for a single list of ingredients for stuffed duck. You tore out that page and wrote the date on the next.

You sat at the vanity you never used. Peter bought it after your first episode, thinking it might help you to have the mirror and place to store your toiletries. You held open the pages and dipped the pen into the shallow well. Most of the ink had dried up. You made a blotch on the paper as you tried to think of what to write.

You stayed like that and inked the pen again. Then you wrote the name. The name of the daughter you lost. Peter didn’t know that name and you never dared to speak it. She was the first one, at least, you wanted it to be a girl. You wrote that you wanted her to have Peter’s eyes and his sweetness. You wrote about him holding her and smiling down at her. Then, you shut the book and dropped the pen.

You began to sob and leaned on the vanity. You let out horrible, draining wails. You quaked until you had no strength left. You stood and watched your feet as you went to the bed and fell onto it. It hurt so much.

🩺

You tried to follow Dr. Rogers advice, tried to keep to your chores and your writing, but your renewed vigour faded by your next appointment. That morning wasn’t as hard as the first but Peter had to convince you to leave the house. He couldn’t wait for you as he was due at the lab but he gave you coin for your ride back..

You sat in the hushed waiting room and stared at the wall. The other women chatted with their neighbour or read the penny weekly’s left out for the patients. You rubbed your gloved hands together and counted your breaths. You felt that tidal again, the rising wave of nerves rising within.

When your name was called, you were taken to the same room and the same chart was left on the desk. You sat on the sofa but your restlessness had you back up on your feet and pacing. When the door opened again, you turned and stopped as Dr. Rogers entered with a knock.

“Hello, again,” he offered another stiff handshake and you accepted it meekly as you crossed the room, “and how are you this morning?”

You let out a breath and shrugged, “well as I can be.”

“Please, sit, and we can go over the last two weeks,” he waved to the leather bench and sat on his stool. He ignored the chart as he slung one leg over the other. He waited for you to lower yourself onto the couch and watched your hands you wrung them, “would you like some water? A tea?”

“No, thank you, Doctor,” you tapped your heels nervously.

“You’re anxious,” he said. You nodded and he did the same, “why? Did our last appointment go so poorly?”

You shook your head and stilled your fingers, “I don’t know why I am alight, but I am.”

“Mhmm,” he tapped his fingertips on the desk as he leaned his arm against it, “and your home life, has it changed at all?”

“I… I try to do more but it’s difficult,” you admitted, “I get so overwhelmed.”

“Have you written at all?”

“Some but… it makes me sad,” you explained as you folded a wrinkle in your skirt, “I find myself as I was, in bed with a hole in my heart.”

He considered and scratched his chin, his clean shave smooth beneath his fingers. “Your husband, he is… affectionate?” When you affirmed the question, he continued, “and you have made yourself open to him?”

“Kiss, hand-holding, embraces, but… I cannot…” you squirmed, “I cannot even make him feel as my husband.”

“You have a lot of emotions but speaking of them makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?” he uncrossed his legs and sat up straight.

“They feel like excuses, like a delusion I’ve made up to escape my life,” you stared at the floor, “like I’ve lied not only to myself but the man I love.”

“You’ve seen other physicians for your maladies?”

“Several, yes.”

“And what did they tell you?”

“They told me I was healthy and that my emotions were of my own failure,” you poked your palm with your nail, “and I couldn’t claim they were wrong for I don’t know myself.”

“Do you take exercise?” he asked.

“Not often, not anymore,” you replied evasively.

“You go out in the sun? Open the windows?”

“No,” you muttered, “no…”

“I would suggest thought it is with your own will to take it that you leave the house once a day, for a few minutes, for an hour, whatever you can do, and just walk. You don’t have to go anywhere but I want you to see the sun and keep your blood moving.” he stood and cleared his throat, “perhaps you cannot see it or you will not accept it, but you are doing well. You’ve made progress. If I am being quite honest, I did not expect a second visit and that in itself is a feat.”

You pressed your lips together and shifted. He went to the end of the examination table and looked you over.

“Now, as this is our second visit and we’ve gone over the basics, it is my usual practice to administer a physical exam but if your are unprepared, we can delay it until your third appointment,” he said cautiously, “but as you’ve disclosed your difficulties with conception, I do think it pertinent that I rule out any biological barriers.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you sucked in air. The only man who had ever seen beyond your dress was your husband and even with him you were shy. Still, he was a doctor and he might be able to help. You doubted yourself knowing that if you had time to think on it, you would refuse it altogether.

“If you advise it,” you stood rigidly, “I would permit it.”

He bowed his head and pulled the corner of the sheet taut on the table. He backed away and smoothed his white jacket as he went to the door.

“You only need remove your under garments and I will return in a moment. You will lay on the table and I will do a brief exam of your anatomy,” he guided, “Is this to your acceptance.”

“Doctor,” you said and watched him go, releasing a sigh when he was on the other side of the door.

You removed your leggings and drawers and folded them. You climbed onto the table and laid on your bad, your legs clenched together as your skirts felt thinner. You waited and tried to ease your nerves. The knock at the door spiked your pulse and you assured Dr. Rogers you were ready.

He entered and you listened to him move around. You squeezed your eyes shut and he neared the table. You quivered as he came near and his hand settled on the hem of your skirt. He stood at the foot of the table and his shadow coloured your eyelids.

“We’ll take it one step at a time, I will let you know everything I do before I do it,” he assured you, “now, I’m going to have you bend your legs.”

You nodded and kept your eyes closed and bent your legs. He touched your knees through the layers gently.

“Now part them,” he coaxed.

That was harder and as you obeyed, you felt a rush of air slip up your skirts. Your dress rustled and Dr. Rogers held the hem firm.

“I will now have a look,” you heard metal and flinched, “and I will use a special tool to do so. You will feel perhaps a cold touch and some pressure inside but I will be quick.”

You only nodded and gripped the sides of the table. He lifted your skirts entirely and you gasped. You felt the metal instrument on your most intimate part and he pressed it until it was slightly inside of you. He bent over you as he opened you up with the tool and removed it almost as suddenly as he’d applied it.

“Well, I see no abnormalities,” he set the instrument aside and fixed your skirts, “nothing which would cause difficulty.”

You sat up and turned your legs over the edge of the table. You felt your cheeks burn but he seemed entirely unbothered. You reminded yourself how usual the practice must have been for him.

“I would also recommend smelling salts if you do not already use them for when you feel faint or overcome and I will have a diet plan for you to take with you. Those might help improve your condition as well. I think for now,” he neared the door and paused with his hand on the handle, “that is enough change. It isn’t about pushing yourself, it is about little steps.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you said.

“And if you require anything, you needn’t wait for your next appointment. If you have questions, you may come in and ask,” he turned the handle slowly, “along with all we’ve gone over today, you will continue on with what we established since our first appointment.”

“Yes, doctor.”

He smiled and left you again. You slid off the table and reached for your undergarments. You dressed quickly and as you stepped out, Dr. Rogers bid you farewell. You hoped he could help you, that this wasn’t another lost cause.

[ellariasand]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

Oh gosh, this is so sweet!! Thank you!

This took forever to put together, because tbh I’m overly critical of my own writing and it’s touch to look back on my work after I’ve written it, but I’m sure those of y’all who follow me will not be surprised to see most of this at all. 

Hilariously, none of these are the pieces that are particularly beloved by readers — in fact, some of them have the lowest hit/kudos counts across my entire AO3 profile. And hilariously, only one of them is explicitly a Kastle fic, which seems like the only thing I ever write anymore, lol. 

But hey, in no particular order: 

language barrier — Maya Lopez & Frank Castle, gen, rated G. This spun off my excitement from the Hawkeye finale over Christmas, and is a short little piece of Maya coming to Frank for help after being injured. Frank doesn’t speak ASL, but he can’t not help a kid in need (Frank Castle, magnet for women in distress), so he does his best to learn. I just love Maya and Frank as a friendship, and I’m proud of writing a no-dialogue story while also getting Frank’s inner voice down fairly well. It’s also the first installment in what is slowly spiraling into a Thunderbolts concept I’m working on behind the scenes — which is really just an excuse to give Frank Castle a bunch of adoptive daughters, lol. 

dead ringer — Boba Fett & Fennec Shand & Omega, gen, rated G. This was written for a Big Bang event for Book of Boba Fett, and is one of the few Star Wars fics I’ve written that isn’t some kind of modern day AU to allow me to avoid writing the nuances of sci-fi. It boils down to Boba searching for his fellow clone/sister, and there’s notes of Fennec/Boba in there, but it’s mostly a character piece for Boba, and I’m very proud of both my worldbuilding and the dialogue, particularly Fennec’s narration, since I’d never written for her before — I think this took me like, three days to finish despite being 7.5k. 

hold on — Frank Castle/Maria Castle & Frank Castle/Karen Page, rated G. This was the brainchild of a conversation with one of my besties, and also partially out of spite because I was upset that there are virtually no Punisher fics (especially not recently) that touch on Frank’s relationship with Maria beyond just her death and the days leading up to it. The conceit is that Karen finds one of Maria’s old mixtapes that Frank had kept, and the song triggers a memory for Frank, of dancing with Maria to “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips, hence the title. There’s just something about the tone of this one that I really adore, and Maria is such a fun character to write, even though I’ve only ever done it in flashback — see also my hungry heart piece from recently. She’s so feisty and full of personality, and this fic really successfully pairs her with Karen and establishes that Frank can have two loves of his life without having to shove one to the side for the other. 

a prize for rotten judgement — Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, rated G. Ah yes, my other OTP. There is virtually no content for Oberyn and Ellaria as a ship on the Internet, so I took it upon myself to come up with a hitman AU for the two of them where Ellaria’s a surgeon, and this piece sees her sewing up Oberyn’s bullet wounds on her couch. I absolutely adore Ellaria in the same way that I do Maria Castle, and the dialogue and worldbuilding in this are just spot-on to me. I don’t like Game of Thrones at all, but it’s difficult to find Oberyn content that isn’t painfully oversexualized, and nigh on impossible to find Ellaria content at all, so I’m particularly proud of this corner of fandom that I’ve created. 

tramps like us — Wanda Maximoff & Frank Castle, gen, rated G. My most recent piece, this was the result of me seeing Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness and going “god, Wanda needs to sit down and have a talk with Frank because their trauma is so similar”. One of my favorite things to write is a good character piece where two people are able to just talk without much at all happening, and this is just that. I really nailed Frank’s voice here, and this piece feels cathartic for a lot of reasons, not least of which being the fact that I will always defend women in film going apeshit. Also possibly part of that Thunderbolts concept if I ever get around to it, lol. 

Honorary sixth place goes to you look like bad news (i gotta have you), which is the first in a series of fluffy Shane Walsh/Original Character fics I wrote entirely on impulse. It was my first foray into like, real, honest-to-god rom com writing, which is not something I’m normally half-decent at. But that sucker (which was initially supposed to be one chapter and turned into 16k and three chapters, oops) was so much fun and opened up an avenue for me to write easy, no pressure stories between projects if I need to blow off some steam. 

[cynettic]

Hii,I’d like to request a fanfic about kaeya and venti(seperate) comforting a gn!reader after losing their pet

Summary - Venti and Kaeya comfort you after the loss of your pet.

Pairings - Reader x Venti / Kaeya

Warnings - Pet angst

Penpal - Sorry for getting to you late! If you did by chance lose a pet like that I’m so sorry to hear that- I tried to make it extra comforting for that case. If not and I’m just overthinking it- I hope you enjoy it either way :)

A/N - Ahhhh- I havent posted in so long ;-; sorry sorry, been stuck with 40-50 hours of work this entire week, and when I get home I just grind Inazuma. I havent even caught up to the archon quest, just exploring lol

Comfort after Losing a Pet

Venti

Venti has lived for a very long time, and even with his cheerful chatter and harmless jokes, he’s gained a strong sense of wisdom from these years. He has no doubt attached himself to people throughout these years and lost them, but instead of feeling sad for them, I feel like Venti would keep them close to his heart instead.

He’d urge you to do the same.

Things like these take time, taking in the death of someone important to you is not easy, he understands that.

Venti can be incredibly patient, even though it might be hard for him to put himself exactly in your shoes, he will wait alongside you.

Unless it’s a cat.

He’s allergic to those little fuckers- and even if he doesn’t share a particular hatred towards them…

Jk jk he’ll comfort you and mourn your pet with you either way, he just wants to see you smile again.

What Venti could best give you is words and time, he doesn’t really have much archon duties so he’ll spend the day doing things with you. He’ll even skip a few nights at the bar just to cuddle with you and make you feel safe and like you have someone to rely on.

As for words, we all know Venti is a smooth talker- who’s to say he isn’t good at soothing someone either?

He probably won’t be as touchy as Kaeya will, and will rely on the things he can do to cheer you up. Playing his lyre, telling you jokes, and just being by you.

_-_-_-_

"People and animals come and go, I know for sure that -pet name- loved you dearly Y/n. And even if they can’t be here with you," Venti pressed a loving kiss to your chest right where your heart was. "They’ll always be right here with you.”

_-_-_-_

“They’re gone.”

You slowly sank to your knees, lips pressed firmly shut as you tried to blink away the tears. Shock coursed your body as you tried to understand just what had happened. But every time you thought about it, your heart thud a bit too loudly against your chest, and suddenly you wanted to cry all over again.

Venti, who was right beside you didn’t know what to do. His hands were outstretched to bring you into his arms, but he was unsure of whether it was the contact you need at the moment.

He decided to simply rest his hand on your back.

The two of you had just been on your way back home after having to put your pet down, something you’d been trying to delay, but knew you had to with their age and actions. Venti had stood with you through it all, but you hadn’t shed a tear back then.

But the shock gradually faded away, and you were a sobbing mess.

Venti rubbed his hand on your back, whispering soft promises and loving words into your ear. It hurt him to see you like this, and even if he was close and had known your pet well, it didnt affect him nearly as much as it did you. However, when you continued to sit crouched on the floor, he knew he needed to take action.

Slowly, he lifted you to your feet, opening the door to your home and slowly helping you inside. Tears continued to trickle down your face as he walked you over to your bedroom, a firm grip on your arm so you wouldnt fall. His thumb gently brushed the skin of your arm, a contact that reminded you he was there.

He gently sat you on the bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Y/n,” he began gingerly, already taking off your boots and unnecessary accessories. “Take a deep breath in.”

You did just that, but another sob broke past your lips and suddenly you were wiping them away.

“No no,” he took your hands in his, your wrists encased in his gentle grip. “I’m not asking you to stop crying… I just want you to clear your head a little.” His gaze was soft as he looked up at you from his crouched position. “Being sad over this is completely normal, I’ll be with you through it all.”

He slowly brought your fingertips to his lips, pressing a featherlike kiss to each of them. So soft that by the time he’d finished, you’d stopped crying. His touch made you feel warm, a bright reminder that he was here with you, that you wouldnt be alone during this.

“(Pet Name) loved you Y/n. I want you to know that they were happy till the end, happy with you. I know you need to grieve, but don’t ever think that you’ll have to do it alone.”

Kaeya

Kaeya may not as lived as much as Venti, but he has certainly gone through enough to understand handling a loss. He’s lost a great amount of family, and has lost his relationship with his brother. He probably hasnt had a pet before, but knows the importance they hold.

He probably got to know your pet too, formed memories and came to love them as well.

It wont hit him as hard though .

Kaeya will also be patient with you, theres no rush to heal over what happened or finish your grievances. Expect him to be there with you for the majority of the time, he might ask for a couple of days just to stay with you.

But Kaeya still needs to work, hence time not being one of the main providers he can give you. Instead, he would wrap you in his arms and wouldnt let go. Physical contact and giving are what he’s gonna be doing.

You feel hungry for eggs and bacon? Chef Kaeya to the rescue-

Tbh I dont even know if he can cook.

Like Venti, he will remind you constantly that he’s there. Because he knows that its exactly what he needed back when Crepus died. He’ll remind you through his words, actions, and contact.

24/7 Cuddle buddy.

He most definitely calls you nicknames all the time, but the names before the death of your pet might have been more like, babe, doll, honey. He might’ve switched to love, dear, dearest, stuff like that for a little.

Idk- but ‘Your pet loved you doll,’ doesnt sound as nice as, ‘Your pet loved you dear.

_-_-_-_

“We made so many memories with them,” he whispered into your ear, arms around you. “You were always there with them, loved and took care of them, I know they loved and appreciated you for it.”

_-_-_-_

“I’m fine Kaeya,” you mumbled as he held the cup of tea to your lips. Your hands could easily grasp the sides, but for some odd reasons he insisted on being the one to do everything for you. You knew it was partly because he’d have to start going back to work soon, and he just wanted you to feel comfortable.

“I know,” he simply said, a smile playing at his lips. “But I want to spoil you with love, just take it.”

You felt your throat go dry and your chest thud painfully, something you’d gotten used to since yesterday. The loss of your pet struck hard, but you found it all the more bearable with Kaeya, who stood alongside you through it all.

Finishing the tea, he climbed into bed with you, hand coming to pull you close to his chest. His fingers slowly brushed the skin of your back, soothing patterns that would send you to sleep right away. But instead, you nuzzled your head deeper into his chest.

“I miss them,” you spoke softly.

Kaeya didnt stop with the motions on your back, but instead drifted his other hand to the back of your head. He brushed his fingers through your locks, lowering how own head down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I know you do,” was what he said in a whisper. “Theres nothing wrong with it either, you will miss them for an eternity.” He spoke from experience, but was never harsh with his words as if he expected you to know. “But eventually, you will solely remember those good memories with (Pet name). Those are the only ones that matter, because you made them happy, and they made you happy.”

The deep breath you took in was painful.

But he was right, you knew well that their memories and your yearning for them would turn into a past adoration. You would never forget them, but you’d come to accept their loss and always remember them in a happy light.

“Thank you,” you mumbled softly to the boy, wrapping your hands around his waist. “You always know what to say and do… thank your for being here for me.”

“I will always be here for you,” was his answer.

[honestsycrets]

Extra Hands [ Ivar x Reader, Ivar/Hvitserk Platonic ] VD7

❛ pairing | ivar/hvitserk, ivar x reader

❛ type | drabble for @youbloodymadgenius​ ‘s 1k event that I’m so, totally, late for. i’m so sorry that i’ve been slow, cat. i’ve been in a strange funk. other requests filled: you’ve never had a Valentine’s date and right, like you could do so much better. / You bet your ass I could.

❛ summary | hvitserk knows when his brother is nervous.

❛ tags | implied first date, modern ivar

“I dunno why you’re making all of these. Is that a homemade box?” 

Hvitserk picked the chocolate chunks out of Ivar’s drab vanilla cookie mix. It was the first time that he had tried this particular recipe. It was a painfully simple recipe of chocolate chip cookies, but that was the point. He made a note to use sea salt to give it some life. Who, after all, disliked chocolate chip cookies? Ivar gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, scooting himself around the kitchen. 

“Bro, this is a fuckin’ homemade box!” 

“Stop eating the dark chocolate,” Ivar lurched up, smacking his elder brother’s knuckles. Hvitserk sneaks his fingers back in to take three morsels back with him. “You’ll throw off the proportions.” 

“So what? It’s just for us, right?” 

“As if I would put this much effort into something for my brothers.” Ivar oils an ice cream scoop. He digs into the dough, scooping pieces that were-- of course, the perfect size. “It is for my woman.” 

Hvitserk about chokes on his chocolate morsels. 

“A girl?!”

“Yes, a woman, Hvitserk.” 

But you’ve never had a bitch for Valentine’s!”

“Don’t call her that,” Ivar bobs his head toward Hvitserk in a nod. He spent the better part of the afternoon in preparation for his date this evening. It was his first-- with a mother like his-- it had been previously impossible to date. But the ever-growing litany of questions that Hvitserk had for him began to pile up. 

“I gotta see this. Is she hot?” Hvitserk laughed, bouncing up and down in the question. “That why you’re making so many fuckin’ cookies? Chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, sugar cookies. Sweetheart, you can’t buy the necessities of life--err dick-- with cookies.” 

“Don’t Burton me. Why don’t you go fuck another one of your failed film students and leave me alone?” Ivar bit out. It was easier with his help, no doubt, but this was something he did with the express intention of seeing your smile. It had been years. Years that he spent changing your mind about dating your boss. He wasn’t about to ruin this now. 

Hvitserk swept the cookie sheet from the granite countertop and eased it into the oven. Ivar’s mind swims in the vast lake of his mind, wondering exactly how he could make sure that nothing went awry. It was, after all, his first date. 

“I just wanna see what she’s like. I mean, when have you brought a girl home? Suddenly you open up this publishing company, and bam, pussy.” 

Ivar looks at the other steaming cookies. They would have to cool first. His kitchen was perfumed with the scent of vanilla, almond, and delicious brown butter from the oven. Ivar eyes Hvitserk sharply, reaching for the glittery homemade box. “She’s not just pussy. She’s--” 

“Look at you being all romantic and shit.” 

“You are annoying me.” 

Sometimes, he wished he was an only child—most days. Today was one of them. His hands trembled around the box of delicate cookies. His brother’s expression was hooded for a moment before Hvitserk took the handles of his wheelchair, dragging him out of the room with nothing more but Ivar’s booming complaint. Hvitserk knew how much he hated it when he did this. It was like a mother dragging a child by the braids! 

“I’ll come check them fuckin’ cookies, don’ worry. What’re you gonna wear?” 

They come to a stop in Ivar’s room. He looks toward his crutches, settled on the wall, and decides to reach for them so that he could stand. Hvitserk rustles in his closet. He had a wealth of handsome suits-- it happened when you needed to impress a good author or attend an important meeting-- but they all seemed wrong. His practiced expression melts off his face. He thought it all through: the date, the dinner simmering on the stove, but when it came to himself. He dropped his eyes to the floor before returning Hvitserk’s look. 

“That suit, I suppose.” 

“That shit is ugly,” Hvitserk returns.

“Right, like you could do so much better,” Ivar hisses. 

 “Bet your ass I could. You gotta wear something hot. You want her to fuck you, right?”

“I told you--”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not jus’ some pussy. But you wanna fuck, don’t you?” 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t. Something hot ends up being some black slacks that contrast against a burgundy button-up and a tight, black vest. He feels more exposed than he has in a while when Hvitserk comes back from taking out his last batch of cookies. He likes it-- and he hates it.

“That’s hot,” Hvitserk clapped. Ivar runs his finger under the rolled-up sleeves, noting how they formed to his muscles. “No way she doesn’t fuck you.” 

“This isn’t about that.” 

“It’s Valentine’s day,” he told him. “It has to be about that.” 

His phone trills. What he hates, but truly hates, is Hvitserk’s nosiness. He lurches toward it before Ivar could even move. He produces Ivar a decent nod. “She’s beautiful,” he flicks the phone at Ivar on his way out of the room. “Has a pretty smile, too.” 

His heart pounded in leaps in his chest. You must be here; already. He’s not yet put the cookies in the box. He makes his way toward the front door with the bundle of flowers against his chest, cognizant of the sound of a scratching spatula dragging across his cookie sheet. 

Well, Hvitserk is good for something.

Ivar isn’t sure of what the etiquette for Valentine’s Day is, but he could hardly care, knocking the door open to let you in. You slip in beside him, drawing your fingers over the v of his waistcoat. 

“Is this new?” you asked. “It looks… amazing.” 

Hvitserk, of course, is skittering somewhere inside. Ivar can hear the stifled giggle marked by the painfully unapologetic, I told you I could do better. You draw your head toward the inside, peeling the edge of your mask off. You roll your ruby red lipstick in, then out, and smile at him once again. 

“Is someone inside?” 

“Sadly,” he sighs as he hands you the flowers under his arm. “That is my brother Hvitserk. I don’t expect him to stay in the kitchen long.” 

Ivar lingers on the word stay. You laugh, drawing the flowers up to inspect them more carefully. It’s a full bouquet of romantic red roses: painfully cliche, but painfully Ivar. They are his favourite shade. 

“He’s kicking me out of my own kitchen,” Hvitserk calls back. You make your way into the house, drawing the bottom of your skirt lower: if you could manage such a thing. It wasn’t necessarily short: but the slit on the side of your leg was something Ivar knew Hvitserk would point out later. 

Evidence, he’d shout. Evidence of nothing, Ivar would say back. 

Your fingers graze Ivar’s free hand, clipping around the corner where Hvitserk stood with cookie crumbling in between his fingers. Ivar’s forehead creases, the anger bubbling up in his stomach into a roiling boil. At that moment you snatch Ivar’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and throwing cool water to the boil. 

“You must be her,” Hvitserk mumbles. “Ivar’s first date.” 

“First date? Really?” He’d kill him. He’d kill him, he’d drag him out to sea, throw his body over to the bottom of the pond and-- you lean up, planting a kiss at his jawline. “I like being the first.” 

“Yes. This is my older brother Hvitserk. He likes to eat anything he can get his grubby little fingers on. Including things that I did not make for him,” Ivar returns. He leans against the cabinet and slams his crutch on the countertop. At times his brother can be overbearing. Today, like most days, Hvitserk needed his company. Unlike most days, Hvitserk doesn’t have the patience.

“Why don’t you,” he rubs his twirls his hand in a spin. “...fuck off, Hvitserk?” 

“Ivar.” 

“Don’ worry about it. He’s just all wound up because he’s brought me home a girl to meet.” He wiped his chocolates fingers over his basketball shorts and extended his hand out— “Name's Hvitserk.”

“I heard,” you smiled, bringing the hand not cupping Ivar’s hand to squeeze his bicep. “You’re Ivar’s lit agent?”

“One of them.” 

“Ain’t that like— sexual harassment?” Hvitserk folds his hand back in, quickly catching on that you’re not a touchy type. At least, not with him. Fair enough. 

“Why don’t you take a bottle of wine to your room, Hvitserk?” Ivar grumbles. 

“Ain’t that for your date?” 

“We don’t need it,” you shout.

“Huh. Well if you insist.” At last, he folds, taking the bottle and a stolen plate of food with a bounce. Although he doesn’t say anything— he has that dopey smile. He waits until the door slams behind Hvitserk to exhale an apology. Ivar began to think that he would never leave. 

“I made those cookies for you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Hvitserk hollers something from the back room about having helped— and you pat his chest. His cheeks pinken as he looks over the dinner he’s made and the cookies he baked. His nosy Hvitserk— always killing his mood. 

“Take me to your room.”

“Hm?” he asks. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not for pasta.”

Oh. For once, Hvitserk was right.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer​ @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia​ @beyond-the-ashes​ @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071​ @daughterofthenight117​ @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound​ @winchesterwife27​ @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer​ @medievalfangirl @sallydelys​  @bluearchersstuff​ @affectionrabbitt​ @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou​ @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage​ @tgrrose​ @cookies186​ @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​ @msmorganforever​ @destynelseclipsa​ @soleil-dor​ @strangunddurm​ @superwolfchild-fan

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Can we see what happens when Zedaph is finally found after being left in Evil X’s lair?

okay so this is the newest ask in my inbox but i’m sorry, i couldn’t resist doing it now lol i’m on a Zedaph angst hype train asdfghjkl

Requests are still open! Please read pinned post before requesting. 

This one is a sequel! Read the first part here.

...

  Zedaph’s stomach is churning painfully, aching for food. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here but he does know it’s been at least a whole day. His mouth and throat are dry and scratchy; there’s nothing for him to drink in here either. And after having spent most of his energy crying his eyes out in the first hours of his confinement, he’s becoming dangerously dehydrated. 

  His hands are pale and bruised, and his knuckles are even bleeding in a few places, from his various attempts to break down the door. But without a pickaxe, he can’t even make a crack in it. He left most of his stuff behind when he came on patrol with EX, so he has nothing useful. 

  His heart aches when he thinks of EX. He trusted them so much. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for them, but clearly, they never felt the same. They just used him and tossed him aside when they had to, leaving him to rot in a place where his friends will never find him. Or, at least, it will take a very long time. 

  Wincing, he wraps his mask around his actively bleeding knuckles. He feels sick at the sight of the reminder of how naive he’d been, but he has to admit, using it as a makeshift bandage is helping ease the pain a little. 

  He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. Maybe it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet. Time is passing weirdly here. And he certainly loves food enough that going only a day without it would cause his stomach to hurt this much. 

  How much longer will he survive…?

  In the distance, he hears a voice. But does he actually hear it, though? Or is it just a hallucination? It must be fake, because it’s someone calling his name and there’s no way anyone has found him here after only a day. 

  But then he hears footsteps too.

  “Zedaph! Are you down here?! Please, answer me!”

  Zedaph blinks weakly. “Tango…?”

  The footsteps stop. 

  “Zed! Is that you? Say something else!”

  Zedaph jerks to his feet and almost immediately falls over again, weak from lack of nutrition. Thankfully, the noise he makes when he hits the door is enough to alert his best friend to his whereabouts, and Tango’s worried face quickly appears in the barred window in the door. “Oh my God! Zed! You really are down here! Are you okay?!” 

  Zedaph’s sudden movement has drained all his energy. It’s all he can do to force himself to stay awake and not pass out. 

  “Zed!” Tango calls again, desperation audible in his voice. “Gah, there’s no lever or button or anything…!”

  No lever? EX must have taken it with them, Zedaph realises. 

  “Zed, get away from the door! I’m gonna break it down!”

  Zedaph weakly pushes himself to the side, safely out of the way. 

  Outside, Tango takes a deep breath and throws his entire weight against the door. It creaks, but doesn’t break or even crack. 

  “Damnit, I need a pick,” he mutters, taking out his communicator.

  One quick message and five excruciating minutes later, Tango hears footsteps on the stairs. He automatically tenses up but relaxes quickly when he sees Impulse burst into the room, pickaxe in hand. 

  “He’s in there,” Tango says worriedly, pointing at the iron door. “I didn’t bring a pick.”

  Brow furrowed with worry, Impulse rushes over to the door and attacks it. Thanks to his netherite pickaxe, the door breaks within seconds, allowing Tango to squeeze past Impulse and dash into the cell.

  Zedaph is lying propped up against the wall, still dressed in his superhero outfit. His skin is pale and he’s noticeably thinner than the last time Tango saw him, but that’s no surprise. He’s clearly unconscious, his chest slowly rising and falling as he takes shallow breaths. 

  “Zed, can you hear me?” Tango kneels down beside his best friend, trying not to panic. “Zed!”

  But Zedaph doesn’t respond.

  “We need to get him back to his base,” Impulse says shakily from behind him. “I’ll call the others and get them to help us.”

  “No, not his base,” responds Tango immediately. “I want to take him to mine. I need him somewhere I know he’ll be safe.”

  Impulse hesitates, before reassuringly gripping his friend’s shoulder. “Okay.”

…

  When Zedaph opens his eyes, he finds himself in a room he knows well: the guest bedroom at Tango’s base. He’s stayed here many a time, sometimes when he and Tango have a sleepover, sometimes when he has a nightmare and doesn’t want to be alone. 

  Letting out a quiet groan, he pushes himself into a sitting position and notices that not only are his hands bandaged but there’s a weird kind of glyph around his wrist. As soon as he registers this, he realises he doesn’t feel hungry or thirsty anymore. That must be related to the thing on his wrist. 

  As he’s inspecting it more closely, the door opens and he glances up sharply. 

  “Oh!” Tango yelps. “Zed, you’re awake!”

  He and Impulse dash to either side of the bed and sit down; the former on the side of the bed and the latter on a chair next to it. 

  “Hey.” Impulse’s pale face holds a wide smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Um… weird,” replies Zedaph truthfully. “What’s this thing on my wrist?”

  “That’s a command bracelet X gave you,” says Tango. “You were in such a bad way when we found you that X had to use it to get your nourishment levels up. He said you might have ended up in a permanent coma if he hadn’t.”

  “Wow… I can’t believe I managed to get so malnourished in only a day,” Zedaph murmurs. 

  Tango blinks. “A day? ONE day?”

  “Y-Yeah. Why...?”

  Tango and Impulse exchange a glance.

  “Buddy…” Impulse clears his throat. “You were missing for just under a week.”

  Zedaph’s eyes slowly widen. “Wh-What?! A week?! H-How could I have been gone that long…?!”

  “I don’t know, but Xisuma said it’s a miracle there’s no permanent damage to your body or code from going that long without food or water,” says Tango shakily.

  After a moment, Zedaph squeezes his eyes shut, releasing fresh tears. “Why did it take you a week to find me?”

  Tango flinches, while Impulse takes his hand and grasps Zedaph’s shoulder with his other hand. “We got a message from your communicator,” Impulse replies slowly. “Saying you would be busy doing stuff on your own for a while and you didn’t want anyone to disturb you for at least a week.”

  Zedaph takes a moment to digest that but when he does, his heart skips a beat. EX said they had taken Zedaph’s communicator. They must have sent that message so that it would take even longer for him to be found. How could EX be so cruel to him…?

  “Th-That wasn’t me,” he rasps. 

  “Well, luckily, I’m super bad at following instructions,” says Tango with a weak smile. “I came over to see you after four days but I found your base empty. I dunno why, but I got a bad feeling so I looked for you in all your normal places and when I found nothing, I alerted the other Hermits and we started a server-wide hunt.” His smile drops. “I-I’m so sorry it took us this long to find you. We never expected to find you in a place like that.” 

  “If you feel up to talking, how DID you end up in there?” Impulse asks slowly. 

  Zedaph hesitates, his stomach starting to churn again. “I… I’m not ready to tell anyone what happened yet. I’m still… processing it, myself.”

  “Of course.” Tango takes his best friend’s hand. “You should get some rest.” 

  “But first, I gotta ask you a really serious question,” says Impulse sternly.

  Zedaph gazes at him nervously. “O-Okay.”

  “Are you… Worm Man?”

  After a moment, Zedaph spots the sparkle in Impulse’s eyes and has to laugh. His friends join in, and for a minute or so, the three just laugh together, taken by the overwhelming relief that Zedaph is back safely. Those seven days may have gone by in a blur for Zedaph but the last three days were the longest and most painful of Tango’s and Impulse’s lives. 

  But now, it’s finally over. 

  Zedaph is home.

[bunnyywritings]

perfection

dabi x fem!reader

[a/n: I’m gonna be honest, I’ve been feeling super crappy lately. I’ve just been insecure about my body, my mental health has gotten somewhat worse and I’ve just been wanting to sleep and stay in bed 24/7 so I decided to write something with one of my comfort characters, I know having Dabi as a comfort character may seem weird but it was between him, tsukishima, kuroo, shoji, and shoto and I haven’t written for a villain yet so...yeah, enjoy- yours truly, bunnyy ps. sorry that was really personal lol ]

Being part of the LOV was a weird existence. Sure sometimes you’d wreak havoc for no reason but that came with a stern talking to from Shigaraki so it didn’t happen often. It usually just came down to planned attacks and whatnot. There were times where you all did ABSOLUTELY nothing. It varied from time to time.

The most recent ‘villainous activity’ you guys had done as a group was rob some bank because you were all short on money and that just seemed like the logical way to solve the problem, the bank had insurance...they’d be fine. It was a simple job, especially with Kurogiri’s quirk. Just a quick in and out. It was the first time in months that you’d been back at the LOV headquarters, which meant that you finally had your own room and it’s not that you minded sharing a room with Toga but you just needed your own space sometimes.

Lately, you had been feeling pretty down about yourself. You had a small slip up a mission or two ago but it seemed to be something you were constantly reminded of. Whether it was Shiggy passive aggressively telling you to ‘not screw up this time,’ or just being betrayed by your own brain when it brought up the memory at 2am and you spent the entire night and into the early morning just thinking about what you could’ve done better. It had been one of those nights so you had stayed in bed till 5pm. You weren’t sleeping though, you were just in bed drifting in and out of a sleep like state. You had gathered enough strength to shower and  throw on a pair of sleep shorts and one of Dabi’s shirts.

As you walked out of the room, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and walked back to it. Frown creasing your forehead as you examined yourself. Looking at the way your lower stomach had bulged out a bit despite not having eaten an actual meal in a while or how ugly your thighs looked in shorts. The battle scars that littered the skin, as well as stretch marks and a bit of cellulite. Heaving a sigh, you ran a hand down your face and changed into some sweat pants before finally heading to the bar. Dabi was sat on a bar stool while nursing a glass of whiskey.

“Hey Giri, you have any food hidden back there?” You asked quietly as Dabi wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side. 

“I think I can whip you up some onigiri, how’s that?”

“Sounds great, thanks.” You smiled gratefully.

“I haven’t seen you all day baby.” His deep voice was comforting as his thumb rubbed circles into your hip.

“ ‘s cause I just got out of bed.” Your voice came out slightly slurred with fatigue.

“(Y/n), you look different? Did you gain weight?” The question made your eyes  widen and turn to Twice, he was standing beside Toga. There was a somewhat thick silence before he realized. “Oh I’m so sorry! I don’t know why I said that?!” Panic clear in his voice. Now usually something like this wouldn’t have really bothered you since it was normal for Twice to say something out of pocket like that but today just wasn’t the day.

“Nevermind Giri, I think I’ll pass...sorry.” Your voice was quiet and cracking as you patted the bar top as Kurogiri had returned with the food you’d asked for and peeled yourself out of Dabi’s hold before trudging back to your room.

“You idiot! Why would you say that?! You know (y/n) is self conscious about things like that!” Toga scolded as she smacked Twice upside the head. Dabi had shook his head and grabbed the plate from where it was abandoned, reaching over into the cooler and grabbing two bottles of water.

“Thanks Kurogiri.” He muttered before he walked the familiar path to your room.

His heart broke as soon as he entered and heard your crying being muffled by your pillow. Setting his things down and locking the door, he knelt down by the head of the bed.

“What’s wrong, baby doll?” The quiet rumble of his voice and the feeling of a gentle hand brushing your hair back did absolutely nothing to quell your tears. He waited patiently, hand continuing to run through your hair. Once he heard your cries were starting to reduce to small sniffles, he got up and sat on the edge of the bed. His heart constricting painfully as he watched you hesitantly pull your face from the pillow and quickly wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“What’s gotten my pretty baby so upset? Hmm?” He knew that it wasn’t necessarily Twice that was making you feel like this.

“Why are you with me, Dabi?” Your broken voice came out as a whisper.

“I’m with you because I love you, (y/n). You make me feel like no one or no thing ever has.” He responded without missing a beat.

“But I’m gross. I have these disgusting marks everywhere on my body, I’m not pretty...at all, I have issues and I’m just a horrible villain.” This caused him to chuckle a bit, which earned him a deadly glare from you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I-I thought you were joking.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Come here.” He patted his lap. “Come on.” He urged. You slowly crawled over to him and hovered over his lap but he wasn’t having it. He gripped your waist and pulled you down onto him. “I’m sorry I laughed, okay? I really thought you were joking.” He swept a strand of hair behind your ear. He studied your conflicted features as you avoided his gaze, choosing to stare down at your lap.

“You wanna know what I think?” He asked as he tucked your chin in between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head back to look at him. “I don’t care about any of that.” You bit your lip. “I mean, you’ve seen me. All of me. I have these nasty scars and staples all over my body. I have severe daddy and mommy issues. I still don’t have complete control of myself and I’m also a horrible villain. You think I have any right to judge anyone else?”

You had opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off, lips engulfing yours in a hungry kiss. You melted into it, the combination of his rough bottom lip and softness of his top one was dizzying as you reciprocated with the same hunger. He ran his hands down your sides, running his hands up and down your thighs.

“I love your thighs. I love how soft they are, how they feel when they’re wrapped around my head when I’m down in between them.” His blunt confession causing your cheeks to flush a deep crimson. “I love your tummy. I love how it feels against my scars when I wrap my arms around you.” He cupped your warm cheeks and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I love your mind. No matter how messed up you think you are, it’s beautiful. I love how whenever you and Kurogiri come up with a plan, you always make sure everyone is in a position where they’ll be safe if something goes wrong.” He pecked your lips three times. “I especially love that evil grin you get whenever you get excited while on a mission or the downright sinful look in your eyes whenever you get what you want.” His voice was filled with lust as he muttered the last part against your lips. You had tears slipping down your cheeks, ones that he instantly kissed away.

He pulled back to get a good look at you. “You know what I see when I look at you, baby doll? I see perfection. Nothing you say or do can change that for me because you’re stuck with me.” He smirked.

“I think I like the sound of that.” You wrapped your arms around him and cuddled into the crook of his neck. “Thank you Dabi.” You pressed kisses against the scarred skin of his collar.

“Anytime baby. You know I love you, right? You can lean on me whenever life gets rough. You’re never alone.” You ran your hands up his neck and into his hair as you sat up and looked him in those beautiful sapphire blue eyes. The eyes that you often got lost in. The ones that bring you comfort.

“I know.” He rested his forehead against yours as you spoke. “I love you too.”

It was a strange existence but it was never a lonely one.

[squirrel-moose-winchester]

Girl of My Dreams

Title: Girl of My Dreams

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3828

Square Filled: Friends to Lovers

Summary: Sleeping together turns into actually sleeping together when a sleepy confession breaks all of Dean’s walls.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (18+ ONLY), then back to Fluff! Unprotected Sex (wrap it up kids!), Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Masturbation, and Slight Language.

Written for @spndeanbingo​

A/N: Sooo… when I started writing this, my intentions were for it to be so incredibly fluffy it would rot your teeth, but then things took a different turn and now you’ve got something fluffy and smutty. Not a bad combination if you ask me. However, I did get carried away. Like way away! Lol. Oh well! I hope you enjoy it! Happy Reading!xx

Sleepovers weren’t uncommon for you and Dean since the two of you were best friends. You’d always get comments like, “you guys act like you’re dating”, “you guys are such a cute couple”, or “you guys argue like an old married couple.” Eventually, it started to become a natural thing, and those comments no longer affected any of you. Neither tried to deny or rectify the truth.

Dean woke up first, light mossy eyes slowly fluttering open in the dimly lit bedroom, the only stream of light coming through the haphazardly closed curtains. His eyes instantly landed on your sleeping face only inches from his. He couldn’t help but smile. There was no doubt he loved you, but how far that love went, he never thought about it.

“Dean…” you mumbled. Dean’s ears perked at the weak sound of his name. “You’re an idiot,” you continued. Dean chuckled knowing you were talking in your sleep, obviously dreaming about him. It wasn’t a frequent occurrence, but when you did, you always had something interesting to say. Last time you spoke in your slumber, you were apparently a male wrestler, trying to rob a bank. It was bizarre.

“Why am I an idiot?” Dean replied, his voice thick with sleep – deep and raspy. He knew you’d respond. You always did.

“Because…” you voice trailed off, your nose scrunching as you snuggled closer to him, most likely searching for more warmth. It was a little chilly in the room.

“Because what?” Dean asked, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in closer.

“Because you are,” your breath fanned against his neck, sending shivers and goosebumps throughout his body and sending a wave of arousal to his already hard member. He groaned at the sensation, willing to shake the feeling away. The feeling rarely happened, and when it did, he always manages to sate it. You were his best friend; he couldn’t be thinking about you that way. He shouldn’t.

“Dean…” you whispered again, hot breath warming his sleep induced heated skin.

“Yeah, Sweetheart,” he struggled to say.

“I love you.”

A small smile graced his lips as he squeezed you tighter, your words melting him. “I know.”

“No…”

“No?” Dean questioned, moving his head slightly so he could look at you.

“I’m in love with you,” you revealed in your latent state. Dean almost felt guilty, as if hearing something he shouldn’t have. “I’m in love with you, you big dummy…”

Dean’s stomach began to flip, swirling like a hurricane. He felt his cheeks heat up, and his cock become painfully hard. His senses heightened and he could feel every curve and soft skin of your body pressing against his. As if Pandora’s box was opened. In that moment, he wanted you, needed you. In that moment, he realized that he was in love with you too. All this time you’ve been by his side, and it took him till now to realize it. He really was a “big dummy.”

“Shit,” he groaned, gently pushing you away and rushing into the bathroom.

Once the door was closed and locked, Dean turned on the showerhead to hot, stripping out of his clothes, and jumping in, feeling the lukewarm water pierce his skin before turning scalding hot. Dean altered the water again so it was hot enough to not cook him alive. His chest was heaving as he saw visions of you every time he closed his eyes.

Frustration took over him and he needed to satisfy himself, so he took his thick and heavy member into his palm, pumping slowly before ramping up his speed. He came with your name falling through his lips repeatedly. His release painted the walls as he breathed heavily. He had never come so hard and so much from just his hand before, it was ridiculous. And the fact it was to you.

When he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel hung lowly around his waist, he saw you sitting on the bed, hair messy, and crop top tousled and draping over one of your shoulders from your movements through the night. His eyes were locked onto your form as if in a trance. He bit his lip when your stretched, raising your arm over your head, the motion lifting your top and exposing your soft stomach. Dean growled softly, feeling his cock begin to stir once again under the towel.

“Morning,” you smiled lazily, eyes still half closed. “I’m hungry,” was the next thing you said, making him chuckle. He felt ridiculous for having such dirty thoughts about you, when you were acting as if nothing happened. Completely innocent, unlike Dean… who had gotten himself off at the thought of you. “Make me tea, slave!” You ordered, the same drowsy look on your face, before you fell back onto the used bed.

Dean couldn’t help but eye you up. Your shirt had risen just high enough that he could see your under boob, and immediately Dean was hungry too… but not for sustenance.

“Yeah, sure…” Dean muttered, his voice coming out strained, as if he was being tortured, which he technically was. He wondered how this was happening so fast… and all at once.

Dean quickly shoved on a pair of running shorts, forgoing underwear since he was only staying in house, and heading out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

By the time the hot water was done, and he was pouring the steaming content into your favorite mug that said, “my house” even though it was his house. The notion didn’t seem as funny as it did before. Now… Dean wouldn’t mind having his house being yours as well. The two of you were best friends after all. You knew everything about him. You’d seen him at his best and worst, and have stayed by his side no matter what. You were his constant. You were his rock. You were his.

“I want Jasmine,” your voice interrupted his thoughts, making him jolt and dropping the Jasmine tea bag into the mug.

Your body made it’s way beside him, your warm skin brushing against his. Your head lulled over, resting on his arm, just below his shoulder because you were that short. His eyes fell on your figure as he watched you gracefully grab the mug, bringing it up to your nose and inhaling deeply, before letting out a content sigh.

He continued to watch you as you brought down the mug to your lips, taking a sip before letting out a yelp. “Hot!” You shouted, setting the mug on the table before covering your mouth with your hand, as if that was going to do anything.

Dean let out another exasperated laugh, lightly slapping his palm on his forehead. He felt utterly ridiculous. He’d been around you for so long, seen you do stupid things so many times, and yet… he hadn’t realized just how adorable you were. Just how much you filled his heart like no one else did. How could he have not noticed before? How could he be that fucking stupid?

When he looked over at you again, you were looking up at him with that annoyed pout you always did. God, he wanted to kiss you, and then without thinking, he leaned in and did just that. Sealing his lips to your unsurprisingly soft ones. When he pulled away, a dreamy sigh left your lips and before he knew what was happening, you were on your tippy-toes, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another.

Dean groaned into the kiss, his arms easily encasing your figure and pressing it flush against his. The kiss became desperate, and Dean bent his knees and lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping themselves around his taught waist.

“Bed,” you manage to say against his lips, and Dean wasted no time in following orders, especially when it meant he would get to kiss you like this all day.

Dean dropped your bodies onto the bed, eliciting an excited squeal from you. You giggled before Dean covered your lips with his, slanting perfectly over yours. He grinded his hips between your legs, the sweatpants you were wearing doing little to hide the heaviness and largeness of what Dean had been blessed with below the waist.

You moaned at the feel, allowing Dean to shove his tongue into your mouth, tongues languidly caressing with one another. Just the kiss alone was enough to make your eyes roll back and take every breath away from you. Unable to breath, you shoved Dean away, gasping for air. Instead, he moved his lips to your neck, licking, nipping, and sucking, searching for your weak spot.

It was the sound of your shaky inhale that alerted him that he had found the right spot, worrying the area until it was prominently red. “Dean,” his name fell through your lips like a purr, the sound driving him more crazy than he already was. He wanted to hear it again. Needed to hear it again.

He trailed his lips down to your exposed shoulder, yanking down your shirt until one breast was fully exposed. Without wasting any time, he took your nipple into his hot mouth, shoving as much as he could take. He sucked hard, his tongue fiddling with your hard nub, causing you to arch your back. “Dean!” You breathed again, this time a little more winded.

Dean didn’t relent, ripping your shirt in half like a savage and tossing the ruined fabric behind him so he could get to your other breast. He gave the same treatment as he did the other, and his hands gripped your waist, keeping you still so he could have his way.

“Please,” you begged, the word coming out strangled. Releasing her nipple with a wet pop, his eyes met yours briefly, both of you sporting lust blown looks.

Dean dragged his tongue down your torso, circling around your bellybutton, which resulted in you bucking your hips to his, rubbing against his strained cock, making both of you moan. Dean slithered lower, leaving a trail of wet kissed down to the soft elastic of your sleeping pants. In one swift motion, Dean was on his knees, peeling your pants off of you and dropping it somewhere in the room, delighted to find out that you weren’t wearing panties. Dean groaned as his cock twitched. Regaining some composure of what little he had left, he resumed his position, and he could feel you shaking. You wanted this. You wanted it so bad, and Dean could tell.

His vision locked on your bare, soaked, pussy, deliciously waiting for him to devour it. “Fuck,” he exhaled, the warmth of his breath grazing over the heat of your needy cunt.

“Please,” you begged again, rolling your hips upwards in hopes you’d reach his mouth, but to your disappointment, Dean just held you down. “Dean, please. I need you!”

Dean groaned, watching your strung out expression, reveling in the thought that it was all because of him. Knowing that he was the one driving you crazy. With new found confidence and hunger, Dean flattened his tongue against your folds and lapped up your pussy, starting from the bottom all the way up to your clit with a playful flick.

Your body convulsed in surprise as a loud moan filled the room. The sound was heaven and Dean needed to hear it over and over again, so this time, he wrapped his mouth over your clit, sucking and teasing it with the tip of his tongue. Slowly but surely, he was making you fall apart, just like the thought of you made him fall apart during his morning shower.

The more Dean continued to taste and lavish your increasingly sensitive pussy, the louder you became. He never pegged you for the loud type, but it did nothing but spur him on. A sweet serendipity. By the end of his ministrations, he wanted you screaming his name. He wanted his neighbors to know who you belonged to, who made you feel this good, that he was the only person that could tear you apart in the best way possible.

Seconds later you were shaking under his face, your juices spilling into his mouth while your hands tugged on his hair, trying to pry him off. You were so overly stimulated that it was too much, but Dean didn’t falter, continuing to ride out your orgasm with slow strokes of his tongue against your clit, delving into your vagina now and again.

Your body continued to twitch under his ministration, your hands still locked in a vice grip in his hair. By the time your body simmered down to deep breathing, Dean pulled away, a warm smile on his lips, which was covered with your slick.

Your eyes met and instantly you both knew things were different, but it didn’t feel alarming. Instead, it felt peaceful, as if everything was now right with the world. Like what was meant to be finally was.

You watched intently as Dean got off of the bed, his eyes raking over your body. The massive tent in his pants made you bite your bottom lip, anticipation adding pressure to your core and making the butterflies go from a flutter to a downright whirlwind in your stomach. From what you could see, he was huge.

Dean shoved his shorts down, exposing him in all his glory. A gasp left your lips and you felt your pussy pulse at the sight. Dean was gorgeous and well endowed, much more intimidating that you thought he’d be. There was no doubt in your mind that Dean would end all men for you.

No words were shared as Dean crawled back onto you like a predator, his hips resting perfectly between your legs, his cock pressed just as perfectly between your folds. Dean’s lips connected with yours in another heated kiss, both your hips gyrating against each other, his cock teasing your pussy delectably as his tip brushed against your clit with purpose.

You purred under him, your hands roaming down to grip his ass, but as quick as they found their purchase, they were above your head, each of Dean’s hands threading through yours, lacing them together.

With one final suck of your tongue, Dean pulled away from the kiss, his hair disheveled and lips swollen, just like yours. He slip your hands down to either sides of your head, pushing himself up as his eyes drank you in. Dark emerald orbs moved from your own, tracing down to your lips, over your perky breasts, then down your torso till they landed on your pussy, where his leaking head was waiting at your entrance.

“Please,” you pleaded for the millionth time. “I need you inside me.”

Your whimpers were a challenge of it’s own, testing Dean’s self control. It was already a thin line, barely hanging by a thread. It was such low hanging fruit that you could simply pluck it off and toss him into blind lust, but he was determined to behave himself, even just a little. He wanted his first time with you to be more than just feral need. He planned on dragging this out, mesmerizing your body, making up for lost time, apologizing to you for making you wait so long for him. He was going to show you how much he was in love with you.

Dean groaned, eyes rolling back, as he slowly entered you. Both of you watched as your pussy engulf his massive cock, his member unable to submerge all the way in. Dean’s eyes met yours, noticing the need in them and pushed himself in deeper, seeing just how much you could take. Your eyes rolled back while your head dropped to the mattress, a string of cuss words filling the room. Dean stopped, holding himself there, waiting for you to adjust.

“Please, don’t stop. Put it all in. All of it, please!” Your plea ended up sounding like you were crying, and you were. You were desperate to have all of him. To take all he had to offer. “Please!”

Dean growled, his control about to snap. At that point he knew what kind of lover you could be. One who likes it a little rough. One who likes a little pain with the pleasure. Giving into your will, Dean pushed in, trying to force the rest of him in, his tip already pressing against your cervix. You cried out, tears slipping down your cheeks before disappearing. Dean noticed the tears but continued to burry himself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he huffed. Dean could see the bulge in your stomach, the sight enough to almost make him lose it. “I can’t,” he gritted, “Sweetheart, it won’t fit.”

“No!” You shouted. “Don’t stop, please. I need all of it.”

“Fuck,” Dean hissed. He was definitely in love. Following your orders, Dean pushed himself in, fighting the barrier to shove all of him in. In the end he was too big. “Shit, baby, I can’t.” Before you could say another word, Dean rammed against your already stuffed cunt, hitting his head roughly against your cervix, earning a loud yelp from your parted lips. “Baby…” his voice came out low and gravelly, maybe even dangerously. “I told you, I can’t fit it all in.” He rammed against you again, a sharp cry ringing through the room as more tears were shed. “My giant cock can’t fit in your tiny little pussy,” he hissed, as if scolding you yet taunting you.

You were at a complete loss for words, and Dean took it upon himself to pull out, then slowly push back in, using all his weight to push as much as he could inside of you. It had already been established that he wouldn’t fit, but that didn’t stop him from trying with every thrust. You sang every time, your sweet moans driving him near insane.

His thrusts went from slow and deep, to steady, deep and rough. You were screaming in bliss, your pussy tightening around him with ever plunge. No one had ever filled you up so full before, and no one had ever made your body sing like he did. Every thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

With one particular hard thrust, Dean forced as much as he could, not stopping until he pushed you up the bed a little. A scream tore from deep in your chest and suddenly you fell apart, your body violently trembling beneath him. As you fell apart, Dean did nothing to retreat, only continuing to shove himself deeper, even if it was no use.

He grunted, reveling in the feel of your sweet cunt pulsing around his dick. You were so fucking tight, and so fucking perfect. Dean felt as if he was losing his mind, and maybe he was. He pulled out and your body jumped at the emptiness.

You opened your eyes and met Dean staring down at you. “Turn over for me, Sweetheart,” he ordered, his voice low and sensual. Just the sound had your pussy clenching around nothing.

Obeying his wishes, your turned over on your stomach. You felt his soft lips against your shoulder and back and then back up to your earlobe where he took it into between his teeth, tugging softly. “You ready?” Dean asked.

“Fuck me, please.”

Once again, Dean filled you up. You screamed as your eyes rolled back. Dean slipped his arms under yours, his hands wrapping around your throat gently, adding a little pressure as he continued to slowly pump inside you.

Dean was trying to control himself, wanting to feel your smooth walls slide over him. He wanted to mesmerize the feeling, lock it into his memories forever. Wet. Warm. Fucking tight!

“Harder,” you gasped as Dean met your cervix with every thrust. “I need it! Give it to me harder!”

As if something snapped inside of him, Dean’s grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your airway slightly as he slammed into you. He was so deep, so overwhelming and overstimulating that you were already coming, squeezing him so tight that it almost hurt.

Dean grunted, trying to fuck you through your orgasm but was suddenly met with his own. His hips pressing flush against your ass as he filled you up. Your eyes rolled back, your entire body falling limp as you felt him gushing. You had never had anyone come so much inside you that it dribbled out of your pussy as he still came, ropes and ropes of his seed. It was mind blowing.

Your body fell completely limp as Dean continued to ride out his high. Dean wasn’t sure if you had passed out or not. “You okay there, Sweetheart?” He asked, releasing your throat but keeping himself lodge inside of you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, having a hard time breathing with his weight on top of you, but you didn’t dare say anything about it. You liked his weight. Welcomed it. “That was so fucking good.” Dean chuckled, slipping out of you and making you gasp. You could feel clumps of his seed dribbling out of your vagina, the sensation making you smile.

You turned your head to the side, meeting Dean’s gaze. He was smiling back, his eyes blazing with something you’ve never seen before. You could tell he was happy, but the way his eyes shined, you knew it was beyond that. Your own lips stretched wide, marveling at the man before you.

“I love you,” you blurted.

“I know,” he grinned.

“No. What I mean is that… I’m in love with you,” you clarified.

“I know,” his grin only widened. “And I’m in love with you.”

A dopey grin spread across your face, your eyes closing with contempt. You’ve loved Dean forever and now you knew he felt the same way. “Since when?” The words slipped out.

“Honestly… I think I’ve loved you even way before I met you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You giggled, unable to understand where he was getting at.

“You’re the girl of my dreams,” he revealed, pearly white teeth on display as he smiled, waiting for your reaction to his hopelessly cheesy confession.

A string of giggle left you, eyes squinting close before your eyes locked on his. God he thought you were beautiful. A fucking goddess.

“Dean Winchester, you are one sappy son of a bitch.” Dean boomed with laughter, an arm snacking under you back and hauling you above him so that you were straddling his hip, his cock already hard between your stomachs. It hadn’t even been five minutes. “Wanna know what else you are?”

“What?” Dean asked, watching you flick your eyes downward to his raging boner.

“Insatiable.”

“Damn right I am,” Dean agreed with pride, lifting you easily, readying his cock at your entrance for round two. “Now ride me.”

--

A/N: If you liked it, please reblog and leave some feedback. Reblogging is the only way to help me get my fics to reach more readers, and feedback pretty much feeds my writing soul! And I would really appreciate the love! xx

[sheabuttahwrites]

[I Know]

. four : reunited, and it feels so...

three

Monday

It was about twenty minutes after eight and Cam had just left. Though, I’d been up for a while since I had to make breakfast for him. I didn’t mind, because I was too anxious to sleep anyway. I was finally about to get out of this depressing ass house for a bit. And O was never boring, so I knew it was about to be a good time. Plus I was so ready to see him. I don't know why, but this particular stretch had felt much longer than all the others. I was on the way to go pack my bag when I decided to mess with him a little instead. I grabbed my phone ready to compose a text, but I already had a notification from him. 

Get up. I’m in route, on my way to you

It had only been there for one minute. I guess we both had the same idea to play this morning. 

I’m up. Been up

You ready?

Yes big head I’m ready 

Ok short legs I was just making sure

I hollered. He was just average height himself, and only about six inches taller than me. Calling somebody short. 

Lmao why you gotta take it there? I’ll be in your vicinity today, don't get beat up

I’m not worried

You should be

Why? Ain't nobody scared of you Jay Baby

Say it to my face

You think I won't

Ok keep that same energy when you see me

Oh fa sho, you do the same

Don't worry about me, you know I’m a G 

Keep talking with your bad ass 

You ain’t gon do nothing

Me and my big head can stay home

I’m not worried lmao you know you wanna see me

You ain't funny

And you ain't gotta lie, you chuckled 

Lol anyway I’m leaving now, I’ll be over there in a minute

I know 

Lmao whatever

I laughed aloud sending him three crying laughing emoji, then slid my phone down into my bra. Finally, I went over to the closet to fill my duffle. I threw a few casual pieces in first, because comfort over everything, and then I added about three or four that could possibly be worn out. I grabbed some sneakers, a couple pairs of heels, a little jewelry, underwear, pajamas, and I packed a separate smaller bag with all of my toiletries. I had taken a shower earlier so I was ready. For about a second, I debated on whether I should change, then decided against it. I knew we would be going right to sleep once we got to his place, so my loungewear would do. 

While I waited for him, I walked over to the mirror, happy that my home remedies had helped my bruises and swelling disappear so quickly. It had only been about two and a half days, but a few aspirin and some intense ice pack usage had really worked. My rug burns were scabbed, but I wasn't too worried about those since the majority would be under my clothes. However, there was still a tiny something at the corner of my mouth, so I covered it with a bit of concealer and finished it with some setting powder. And I was sure to toss the two of them into my makeup bag for later use. 

A little after nine, much to my delight, the doorbell rang. I squealed, giddy as ever, as I jumped up to walk to the door. And, when I opened it, before me stood my bestest friend in the whole world with the goofiest smile on his face. I laughed and invited him in, so excited that I was hardly able to get the door closed behind him. Then I kissed his cheek and pulled him into the tightest hug. It felt so good to be in his arms again. “Hey.” I spoke into his chest and his deep, honeyed timbre fluttered against my ears. 

“Hey.”

I closed my eyes and just held on to him, feeling completely carefree, taking in a moment that didn't get to happen as much as I’d like. I didn't want to let go. Until he took his face down to nuzzle my neck. I flinched and giggled, backing away from him and shielding myself with my shoulder. He knew better. “Don't…”

“Now what's all that shit you was talking?” he asked jokingly, looking down into my face and laughing. 

I tossed my head back, cackling, before I went to smack his arm. “Shut up.”

“Look out. You ready?”

“Yeah, just let me get my stuff.” I left his embrace and started for the living room where I had been waiting.

“Hurry up, get me out this nigga shit.”

I screamed. I knew he hated coming here. But this was his own fault. Because he also didn’t like texting to tell me he was outside, because to him it wasn't courteous. For the same reason, he didn’t like me taking Ubers to or from his place. I personally didn't have a problem with either. Both had been done maybe twice in the beginning and he told me he felt weird about it. I only half understood, but I didn't fight him on it. Honestly, it felt nice to actually be valued for a change. “Simmer down, sir. I’m coming.”

“You know you naked?” 

I paid him no mind and kept moving toward my bags, still tickled by his earlier demand. “Whatever. No, I’m not.” My boxers and tank were plenty clothes.

“Dude would probably have a fit if he knew you were leaving the house in that.” 

Slightly appalled, I stopped mid stroll and turned back to him. “Excuse you? He would also have a fit if he knew you were picking his girl up. But that hasn’t been an issue for you for how long now?”

“Good point. Carry on.” The way he waved me off almost had me in tears. My rebuttal had shut him up too quick. 

“I thought so.”

“Not even a jacket, though? It’s kinda cool out there.”

“I’ll be ok. I’m just running to the car then right into the house after that.”

“If you say so. But what happened to your knee?” 

“Oh, nothing. I scraped it on the carpet. It was an accident,” I hastily explained just under a shout, disappearing around the corner. I hoped I wouldn't have to go into more detail. Omari definitely wasn't shy about asking questions when he wanted to know something.

“Oh. Damn.”

I returned in no time with my duffle bag in hand and my purse on my arm. He took the bag, being his usual gentlemanly self, and I grabbed my keys to lock up the house. Once we were on the porch, I made sure to engage the alarm from my phone. Then he and I hopped into his white Range that I loved so much, and we were out. 

“You hungry?” he asked, yawning.

I yawned instantly, seeing him do it first. “Nah, I'm good. I just wanna go back to sleep.” 

“Word. Me, too.” 

After Cam was done packing last night, he woke me up for round three. Or maybe it was four. I don’t know. But it wasn’t uncommon for him to try and fuck me senseless before he left for work. I guess he thought overuse of his penis was what it took for me to still be there whenever he returned. Whatever the case, I was tired as hell and in need of some serious rest. 

2:04pm

I opened my eyes, slowly becoming aware that Jade and I were face to face. I lingered for a second, letting my vision clear up, enjoying the view more than anything, though. She was stunning. Just so beautiful. Her features had to have been sculpted by the most masterful hands, using only the finest of materials. The lines were sharp, but they had a softness to them. Her skin was golden like warmed maple on a glorious Sunday morning. When they were available, her round, dark brown eyes were gentle, yet so alluring. The way they sparkled in the sun always got me. To top it all off, her sultry pout sat perfectly beneath a nose that fit just right. She was flawless. 

While I stood stretching, yawning, alternating between bending and rubbing the arm she had been lying on, I could see a sense of calm in her expression. She always looked that way when we were together. Like she was happy. And I knew that wasn't the case at home. I tried not to think about it too often, but honestly it really bothered me. She hit me up pretty regularly, revealing how he talked to her, the many ways he mistreated her. But it was probably a lot worse than she was willing to admit. My instincts told me that he was putting his hands on her. She had never confirmed my suspicions, but I knew it was the truth. I knew. And the thought of that shit alone killed me. She was so sweet. So soft spoken and mild mannered. She didn't have a cruel bone in her body. I just couldn’t imagine her actually having the need to protect herself not only from harmful, ugly words but some nigga’s hand. It fucked me up. She was easily my favorite person. I hadn’t witnessed a more pure soul. And to be aware that she was suffering, especially through something so horrible and damaging, was beginning to be too much. I couldn't do shit about it. I couldn't fix it, I couldn't change it. All I could do was be there for her, give her a place to decompress from time to time. Which I loved. I wanted to help her in any way I could, but I was starting to feel like I was in over my head. Truthfully, I didn’t know how much longer I was gonna be able to do this. It was becoming very difficult for me to live with myself. My conscience was tearing my ass up. The most trifling woman didn’t deserve what she was being subjected to every day, and she wasn’t even guilty of anything. Her only fault was loving a nigga who meant her absolutely no good.

I didn't fully understand that either. Of course I knew love could make you do things you maybe wouldn't normally do, but in this case, what was there to love? How could she look at a nigga who was constantly causing her pain and feel anything other than hate? I just didn't get it. She had to know that whatever she was experiencing wasn't love. He was abusing her. How could she still love him? Why would she take his wrath and still allow him to receive all of her goodness? She had to know he didn't deserve it. She had to know that she deserved so much better. From any man. From life. From any situation she found herself in. She had to know that something wasn't right.

But she held fast to her claims. From the start she made it known that she was in a relationship and that she was in love. I respected her honesty, but her words and her actions never matched up. Her mood on the way to my place and the one on the way back to hers were always on two completely opposite ends of the scale. I don't know if she couldn't conceal it or if she just didn't care to, but it was painfully evident where she was excited to be and where she dreaded. She just didn't move like the taken woman she alleged to be. Not by her ‘man’ at least. 

I walked into the bathroom and made my way to the toilet. Then I went to the sink to wash up. I was leaning over brushing my teeth when I felt her arms wrap around me.

I kissed his back, resting my head right against his bare skin after. “Hey.”

“What’s up?” 

I caught his reflection in the mirror and, before I could stop them, my lips had curled into an enormous grin. I was so ridiculously glad to finally be in the same place as him. Plus he was so cute. He had toothpaste all over his mouth, but it took nothing away from his appearance. I couldn't help but notice how good we looked standing there together. A better best friend duo didn't exist. 

“I’ma start thinking you happy to see me in a minute,” he teased, finishing up at the sink. 

I busted out laughing. How dare he just blow up my spot like that? I let my arms fall from his waist. He turned to face me and I swatted his chest, backing away to leave the room. “Get off. Don't act like you didn't miss me.”

He followed me out, going toward his closet. “I already told you that. You know I’m always glad to be in your presence.”

“Um hmm.” I bashfully rolled my eyes, blushing against my own will. Thankfully he was trailing me. He went into the closet and I leaned up against the doorway. “So I thought about it, let’s stay in today.”

“Ok.” He took a t-shirt from one of the drawers and pulled it over his head. “That’s cool.”

“We can go do something tomorrow.”

“Well, I got a couple meetings,” he casually announced, walking over to the other side of the room headed for the couch.

“Awww.” I wasn’t expecting him to have to work so soon. “What time?”

“The first one is at nine in the morning, but neither of them should take too long. Nobody’s recording and I’m not mixing anything. So it should only be a few hours.” 

I stood as he sat, my demeanor in a totally different arena than before. My arms were loosely folded across my chest and a slight scowl had inevitably taken over my expression. “Ok.”

“Jay,” he chuckled, picking up the remote, “don't act like that.”

“I know what you call a few hours. I probably gotta be here all day without you.” 

“It won't be all day,” he claimed, giving the TV all of his attention as he flipped through the channels. “I should be back by around three at the latest. Maybe four.”

I smacked my lips, annoyed that he was alluding to seven hours being minuscule. That was most certainly the entire day. “That’s long.”

“Pooh, you know work doesn't stop. I’m always working.”

“I know, but I just got here.”

He sighed heavily, looking up at me with remorseful eyes and a frown to match. “Why you tryna make me feel bad?”

“I’m not. I just don’t know what I’m gonna do with myself,” I spoke lightly, but the defeat was heavy in my voice. I dropped my head and gave him my eyes, making sure to slouch my shoulders and pout as deeply as I could manage. I didn't even hold it long before we were both cracking up. 

“Don't even try it. Fake self.” 

“Whaaaat?”

“You just about to be sleep the whole time anyway.” 

I doubled over and slapped my knee, because he definitely wasn’t lying. “Whatever.” But I was not about to admit it. Instead, I went to my bag and grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste. “Be right back.”

[the-darklings]

—𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 [01];

—PART I. | GASOLINE GIRL

pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

word count: 6.2k+

summary: “Carry that ice in your heart, always.”

warnings: mentions of: child abuse, drug abuse, death/torture; swearing, typical mafia-related situations/discussions so take heed because this is a mature read for sure. But we gotta be realistic, this life ain’t pretty. 

notes: so this can be read as a standalone though I do consider it a sort of mini sister series to COA. This will be short (no more than 5 parts) and only updated when I have free time. That being said, I do hope you enjoy. I even flexed my none existent photoshop skills to make the header pic lol. Get ready this one is going to be a ride. 

You don’t become a part of Camorra by choice.

No one sane enough would.

Your parents simply got involved with people who would have had you killed if they stepped out of the line. You know because that was a threat made with you in the room and a cold, merciless barrel of a gun pressed to your head.

Giovanni D’Antonio’s men came at night, dragging you and your parents out of bed in nothing but your nightclothes. They made you kneel on the dusty floor, your knees aching against the hardness of the wood.

The man himself is as awful as you heard people on the streets whisper. Everyone fears him. Fears him and Camorra and the terrors they unleash onto anyone who doesn’t fall in line.

“Such pity you didn’t have a son,” the head of Camorra notes dispassionately as he scrutinises you, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your cheeks. “What am I suppose to do with a girl?”

The man tsks as if some grave crime has been committed against him and takes a long drag of his cigar, turning your head from side to side. Your squirm, knees knocking, your lips trembling, but don’t let him see fear. You can’t afford to let this vile, cruel man who asked his men to beat your father to a bloody heap on the floor to see you weak. You can’t show predator fear if you want to live. Not when your mother is already a sobbing mess on the floor, clutching onto your father in despair.

You wonder if he’s alive. A part of you—

A part of you doesn’t care to know because the man before you stares at you with such finely veiled disgust, you can’t help but know that he will kill you all regardless. He might even enjoy giving the order. And your father is to blame for that.

“Are you at least smart, girl?” he demands and slaps you lightly on the cheek when you don’t respond. “Answer me. Or I will cut your tongue out, and then you will know what it’s like not having the gift of speech. Or maybe I will start with your parents instead.”

Your mother cries harder, practically hysterical and you feel a sting of bitterness, of anger, deep in your chest. She should be strong.

She should be defending you.

But she isn’t. She’s just crying. As if that’s going to save you, protect you, keep these men away.

“You will kill us all anyway,” you whisper knowingly, your words hollow as you stare into those dark, cold eyes that have no end. “They stole from you and you hate thieves.”

The man exhales smoke directly into your face but you don’t flinch—not even as your eyes water from the sting of tobacco, not even when he leans his malign, handsome face closer.

“But I reward loyalty,” he tells you, now almost pleasant, and his thick fingers tilt your chin up as he regards you critically. “Do you understand what I’m saying, hm?”

You nod once.

Giovanni is quiet and thoughtful but then a slight smile creeps across his face.

It’s the most awful sight you have ever seen.

“Then we are done here,” he announces and his hand drops away from your face, his dark gaze lifting over your slight frame and towards the men hovering in the shadows, awaiting orders.

Two shots follow.

You don’t flinch.

The sobs cease.

Giovanni’s grim smile widens, pleased.

“Come along, girl. You no longer have family here.”

. . .

Camorra is a pit.

A pit of betrayal and blood and drugs and more blood.

The first four months are near unbearable.

You’re younger than what they usually recruit and it shows. You don’t know how to navigate this world. You’ve been dropped off at a “care home” that operates more like a drug house but has to keep up a front for the public. Which, in itself, is hilarious because you doubt there is anyone in the nearby province who doesn’t know what this place is.

But it’s survival of the fittest here.

And it’s not a game you know how to play well.

Each person is given a task, a job, and you must do it or you will be punished. Severely.

Giovanni left you here, in this hellhole, with a dismissive hum and a harsh pat on the head, “Let’s see what you make of yourself, gasoline girl.”

Gasoline girl.

Because he didn’t bother asking for your real name. Because he gave you a canister of gasoline and told you to pour it through your house, onto your dead parents, and gave you the remains of his cigar, his order clear.

You watched your home go up in smoke, your parents’ bodies still inside, with gnawing detachment eating away at your heart, your soul.

The flame was hot and bright and Giovanni made you watch till there was nothing left but ash and ruin.

“Little gasoline girl,” he had said then, even more pleased. ���Carry that ice in your heart, always. It will take you far in my family.”

The care home, however, is a desolate place that lacks warmth your home had—that lacks anything resembling anything humane, in fact. The only reason why you’re not drugged that very first night is because Giovanni told his men that you are too young for such a thing. Because he wants to see if you can be useful, your mind as sharp as he hopes it is.

But if you disobey…

It doesn’t frighten you, not at first, not until you see them. Those with sunken eyes and pale skin. Lips cracked and limbs trembling. They no longer have wills or dreams or aspirations. They are tools, shells, empty of everything that once made them human. Riddled with pain and despair that plagues them till their next fix or death.

They frighten you so much you hide away in the attic. You’re not sure how you find your way up there but you curl on the floor—in the darkest, deepest hole you can find—and sob and sob and sob into the dust and the dirt. Sob till your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw.

You rip and tear the girl you once were to shreds that night. Because even then, you know, that you will not survive long like this. That this dark pit will consume you unless you find a way to survive, to fight back.

Carry that ice in your heart, always.

You intend to.

You will.

. . .

Next four months are consistent of a few things: death, blood, drugs and violence.

It’s everywhere you look, all you hear at all times of day and night, and you can’t escape it.

There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide—not when Camorra owns this city. Not when Giovanni knows you by face, if not by name—something that’s a rare honour, you learn later, seeing the Boss in person. Being handpicked by him.

Money laundering, sex, drug distribution, torture; the care home cycles through it all on a daily basis.

Hunger becomes part of the routine, the attic your new home.

You exist in the shadows out of fear, at first. Then, you realize how much power comes from being unseen. If you are unseen, then you can never be hurt, never be abused.

Not like so many—young, so young—always are.

There is nothing glorious about this life. It’s just survival.

Ugly and filthy and dangerous.

So you listen and hide and learn.

The staff—mostly men who are loud and rowdy but follow the rules because they fear the Boss too much, and few older women—start calling you a ghost.

You don’t mind. Not even at all.

It’s better than being actually dead.

. . .

The first time you meet him, you’ve been at the care home for little over a year.

The sounds of pain, pleasure, and death no longer scare you at night.

They have become your reality. Your own twisted, lewd lullaby in a way.

Violence and hate. Pleasure and pain. Greed and death.

They have become levers and cornerstones upon which you have built stability and routine.

Giovanni is coming tonight, the people in the hallways whisper in hushed breaths that morning though, and if anything is out of place blood will be shed.

You haven’t seen him in a year.

You’ve grown and hardened, killed as many soft parts of yourself as you could since the last time you saw him.

You have also become useful.

So normal, so sweet-looking, so unassuming.  

Like a ghost the staff compares you to, you haunt the streets and collect information for Camorra; the perfect little spy.

You nurture that ice in your heart and project it outward, and when Giovanni comes and calls forth everyone at the care home, you hold your chin up; unmoving, stiff-backed, and defiant.

Much to your surprise, his dark gaze snags on you and he pauses in his step, recognition reflecting back at you.

The leader of the care home pauses too, hesitating, clearly unsure if he should comment until Giovanni speaks.

“So you lived.”

He sounds surprised, pleasantly so.

You don’t so much as blink.

“Santino.”

It is then, from the folds of Giovanni’s guard, that a boy steps through. He’s barely taller than you and clearly you are close in age, if not the same, you conclude as he steps beside his father.

His hair is dark and finely combed, his clothes neat and expensive, and he reeks of privilege even more so than his father.

He’s also terrible at hiding his thoughts. He’s repulsed to be here, he thinks it beneath him and being faced with this—grim, hungry faces and grime—he’s balking under the stark contrast to his no doubt princely life at home.

He is the prince of Camorra—every bit as spoiled and arrogant as you expected him to be.  

You hate him on sight.

“What do you see?” Giovanni asks his son as the two stand before you.

Santino’s dark brows furrow and he blinks slowly, looking you up and down. There isn’t much to you. Your clothes are dirty and worn, your features no doubt hostile and your gaze even worse. It’s how you keep yourself safe. Snarl and bite first. Some men like to mutter “rabid dog” under their breaths as you pass in the hallways, but you’re fine with that, too. Even when they make offhand comments that only one thing happens to rabid dogs eventually.

“A nobody, father.”

Oh?

Giovanni sighs, disappointed, and Santino sees this, scrambling for something else to add, “She’s—she’s a girl.”

“Obviously,” the man says, his voice bored, dismissive, and Santino’s expression falls, his eyes lowering. But the older man is still staring at you. “Keep that ice in your heart, gasoline girl,” he reminds you, mild but stern.

He walks away without another word, going back to business in a blink.

His son lingers for a breath, his eyes jumping up and finally meeting yours.

He looks resentful. He’s blaming you for his father’s disappointment in him. He thinks that you are to blame for the failed test.

He looks at you like you are beneath him, like you are less, a nobody he accused you of being.

His eyes are vivid green.

Green as your mother’s garden. Green as the oak that used to sway outside your window.

Green as the grass you used to roll around in when spring flowers bloomed behind your house.

You hate him even more, then.

For the reminder.  

Santino D’Antonio stares at you for another long, hateful moment until his father calls him.

He surprises you by hesitating, still staring, but you only glare at him. Openly, without fear and with clear contempt.

I hate you. I hate you and everything you stand for—everything that you are. You will never know what it’s like to be hungry or cold or scared. What it is to kill and survive.

You dismiss him. A simple sweep of your eyes over his shoulder.

He exhales sharply at your defiance.

You wonder if anyone has ever defied him before and not been severely punished for it.

It makes you feel alive, for a moment, that spark of disobedience.

It’s perhaps the most real you have felt since that night with your knees in the dirt.

The weight of his stare is suffocating and you feel seen, beheld in a way that strips you down to your core.

“Santino.”

Giovanni’s voice is a subtle, cutting blade and his son jerks after him like dog on a leash.

You hope you will never see him again.

. . .

Days turn into weeks, into months, and then years.

With each new day at Camorra, your heart ices over and over.

You meet people, and you lose even more of them.

It teaches you a lesson of not getting attached, of not caring, of things outside of yourself being fragile and breakable.  

First there’s Nari. Too sweet, too kind, and with circumstances that are a bit too similar to your own. Is it any wonder he seeks you out? Any wonder that you let him close? Becoming his friend seems inevitable when you’ve been lonely for so long.

He gets shot on a drug run gone wrong six months after meeting you. There is nothing left of him for you to remember him by. There’s only memories of dark, midnight hair and his wheezy, shrill laugh that you always told him was annoying.

Then, a few years later comes Lucie. You’re a part of the home by then. There is a place for you here; a strength and a steadily rising reputation attached to your person. The pain-soaked hallways are familiar and your own now because you claimed them as such. Attic is no longer a hole to hide in but your home, your sanctuary, your dark throne.

She’s too beautiful and too gentle to survive this place. You know it from the moment you see her. It takes one look to know that this place will gobble her up and spit her back out, crushed and broken.

But there is something about her. Something about the ring of her laughter and the spark in her eyes. The shade of her long hair that reminds you of your mother. Something about the way she trusts you, relies on you, and believes in you. Looks at you as a friend, as a companion, salvation. How during the cold, bleak nights she seeks your warmth and dreams out loud of the life you will have once you both break free of Camorra. Once you find a way to make an honest living. She dreams of a world far bigger and grander than you’ve ever had.

Your dreams are simple: survive, become a nightmare that sweeps through the ranks of Camorra.

Lucie dreams of a home by the sea with three chickens, a cow, and a loving family.

“I want a big one,” she reveals one night, turning to face you with a serious frown. “At least four kids.”

You suppress a shiver. Seeing what you have seen, living through what you have, you can’t imagine having a family. Not one that big, at least. But perhaps it’s because you haven’t felt safe in so very long that any extension of yourself will always feel like a weakness opposed to strength.

“Sounds painful.”

She laughs; a soft, soothing sound as she rests her cheek against your shoulder with a faint smile. “They will have an amazing, scary aunt to look after them. I’m not worried.”  

It’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “What about you?”

Noting your blank stare, she adds, “Don’t you want a family? Or at least someone to call your own?”

“No,” you shoot back stiffly, and take another deliberate bite of your soggy bread. “People you love can be used against you. Hurt because of you, or by you. If I love them,” you pause, the word foreign on your tongue. “I won’t want them to suffer because of me. If I’m hurting them, then it’s not love at all.”

It’s silent for a long time.

“Sometimes,” Lucie whispers eventually with a sad, quiet sigh. “I can’t help but think that they’re one and the same.”

You think about that for a while.

Think about how her father used to beat her mother but they still stayed. Think about how that takes a special kind of bravery and strength. How despite that, he was a loving father to Lucie. How sometimes humans can be ugly and awful but have some semblance of good in them, too. How good can be done by bad and bad can be done by good.  

“I suppose.”

She blinks up at you. “Well if I have a family, then you have to have one as well.”

Your lips curve and it feels strange on your face. “Is that so?”

She nods but her eyes are full of mirth. “We’re both going to be fat and pregnant with swollen ankles and awful cravings. Promise?”

Her eyes are full of dreams, full of light you have never seen before.

You try to protect that light, try to hide her away from the men who would hurt her, from the women who would drug her and bargain her away.

It’s foolish and reckless of you but you are almost frenzied with the need to keep something good alive. For once, you just need—

She gets taken.

It’s planned in advance, you learn later.

They had to get you out of the house first. They lied—a job straight from the high tier of Camorra, from the elite itself, no refusals—and used that time you were away to take her.

What they did—

They pay for it.

Everyone in the care home that had anything to do with it, anyone who knew.

You tear ten people apart. Slowly; piece by piece, muscle by muscle, sinew by sinew. Over the years you have found new talents, new hobbies. Ghost is an old name they called you around the house.

But you have others you prefer now.

When it’s done, you stalk through the too silent house, covered in cooling blood and—

You’re not sure how much of it is from the people you just killed and how much is from—

Lucie is where you found her.

Your eyes sting as you gaze at the sight in front of you. You gather her in your arms gently and even if it’s a slog, slow and painful, you take her to the tiny bathroom down the hall.

You wash her hair of dirt and blood and—

Tears fall heavy and hot the entire time you work and you have to pause in-between, choking down your sobs.  

Her body is next. Wetting a cloth in your hand, you clean her skin, fold her hands over her chest, ignoring the broken bones and broken skin.

You’re glad it’s late spring.

The ground is softer, more pliable.

Despite that, it still takes you four hours to dig a grave deep enough. Your hands are numb, bloodied and blistered by the time you’re done. The stench of sweat and death mixes with the blood but you ignore it.

Lowering her takes time—time and care and self-control. Because she’s so cold, so stiff, and it’s awful knowing that you will never see her again after this.

You bury dreams and hopes and aspirations with her—both hers and yours. A handful of dirt at the time. Your hands are raw but you force yourself to keep going.

And when it’s done, you collapse beside the grave and stay there for hours, days, maybe weeks.

It starts raining and you let the freezing spring rain wash over you. The smell of wet earth and grass drags you into hazy dreams. They transform into feverish nightmares eventually, haunting you and killing you over and over again. You failed. Failed to protect something good. Maybe saving Lucie was only partially about saving her—an innocent—from this awful fate, and more about…

More about some vague, distant belief—hope—that you could be saved, too.

Grief splits you apart and suffocates you with every breath as you lay beside the fresh grave.

Grief. You’re not sure if you even grieved your parents. Not really. Because they were dead and you still had an uncertain future ahead of you. You grieved a life you could have had. But it’s been so long. So very long now.

Time is not a concept you can understand any longer.

By the time they find you, a part of you wishes they would just let you die and bury you beside your friends. Let you rest at long last.

But there are voices.

A foot nudges you as you roll over onto your back with a heavy thud. Dark sky stretches out above you.

Then, through a haze, a face appears, peering down at your with mild disinterest.

Recognition; it comes fierce and sharp and you know it’s the same for him.

Urgent, angry voices blur together as everything fades away into nothing.

You fucking hate those green eyes.

. . .

When you wake up, the Devil is standing over you.

Giovanni D’Antonio lifts a single eyebrow, not bothering to mask his cool distaste at your wheezing, delirious state.

You scramble upwards anyway, wincing at the ringing in your head and the popping in your ears.

You feel heavy and fuzzy in the worst way possible—the way that makes one slow and vulnerable. Nausea rolls your stomach, mixing with the instinctual fear of seeing who is standing above you.

“What a mess,” Giovanni drawls and hitches his trousers up as he sits down on a creaky chair beside your cot. “What a mess, gasoline girl.”

You’re sweating but feel so cold your body trembles and you can’t hide it. This man should never see you vulnerable but he is right now and you hate your own weakness.

“Who knew you had such a gift for death,” he continues and you swallow, your throat raw—from crying, from screaming and howling at the sky, you recall through your delirium—and you tremble again. “Ten dead. So easy, too. And such…brutality.”

If you didn’t know any better you would say he’s paying you a compliment—that he’s impressed.

The man reaches into his pocket and your bandaged hands—why are they bandaged, what—constrict around the fresh, cotton sheets covering you.

Cotton. You haven’t touched something as soft, as luxurious, as cotton since that last night you slept in your own bed years ago.

But Giovanni pulls out a cigar holder from his pocket instead of a gun, offering it to you. You don’t move, hardly breathe, as you stare at him through your watery eyes. Your ears are still ringing.

“I asked others about what happened,” he begins after lighting his cigar. He rolls it between his thick fingers, his golden rings gleaming and you shudder. “What justified ten of my own slaughtered like barn animals. So rethink lying to me, if that was your intention, girl. Let me start with something easy, though: was the girl your lover?”

Your eyes find his and perhaps it’s the fever, or the hole in your soul, but you don’t look away even when his eyes narrow on you.

He doesn’t understand. Of course, he doesn’t. As if a man like him could ever understand what it’s like to be so lost and raw with loneliness your heart is ready to crumble away at the gentlest of touches. As if everything in this world has to be about physicality and desire. As if care and loyalty can’t come from a place of love that has nothing to do with gratification of the body.

“No.”

“Then why did you kill them?”

“Because they deserved it,” you croak out, and your voice cracks as you pant for breath. Your head spins and you drop back against the wall even as your chest rattles with a loud, wet cough. Giovanni waits, expectant, and your eyes narrow. Let him kill you after. But he will hear this, if he wants truth so badly. “They deserved it for what they d-did to her. It—those m-monsters. She was sixteen. And they did it on purpose. Because they enjoyed it. I would—I would do it again gladly. Over and over again till there is nothing left of them to bury. Till—till only pieces remain and even then it would be too kind.”

The bloodlust is surging through you like a river after the fresh spring rain, untamed and wild, and you struggle for breath. The regret that you didn’t take longer, hurt them more—

And perhaps that makes you a monster. No—you know it does. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Better to be a monster than a coward. Better to be alive and hated than loved but dead.

Giovanni exhales, his lips pressing into a displeased line. “So naive,” he mutters and takes another drag. “I figured the home would have eroded that away by now. Shame.”

You gape at him, shivering but silent. It’s like he’s reached down your throat and robbed you of speech.

“What do you think happens to people like that girl, hm?” he wonders out loud, slanting his head just so. Even with his hair starting to grey, he’s still handsome, still electric to look at. It’s the coldness of that dark, bottomless stare that sets him apart from others you have met. “She was no better than your parents. Weak. And weak do not survive in this world, they are used and that’s how we live. You could have been like her, but you fought back. That’s why I told you to keep that ice in your heart, yes? There are thousands like that girl and there will be a thousand more, and a thousand more after that. It is the way of the world. I am simply…reaping.”

His cigar flares at the tip again as Giovanni takes a steady drag, savouring the burn of it against the back of his throat.

You want to cry and scream and tear at him. This world—his world—is wrong and twisted and—

But you have chosen it, haven’t you?

Better than being dead.

And you’ve killed and stolen and lied and cheated for years now. You’ve gotten good at it. Better than most. Better than anyone in the home had been.

“Did it break you?”

Your eyes drag back to him, and you realise that you’ve been silent for so long, you’ve started to doze off. Laying in the rain for god knows how long didn’t do you much good. You feel worse and worse with every second that stretches by.

His emotionless question clatters through you though, settling in the pit of your stomach.

Lucie.

Her happy smile flashes through your weary mind and you try to draw breath into your wrecked lungs.

“No.”

It has only made you colder and emptier, you realise. You had laid next to Lucie’s grave because you had hoped for a quick end. But—

But no.

For the second time in your life, you lift your head and look the Devil in the eyes as you choose life.

Whatever form it comes in.

Regardless of what else it will demand of you.

Perhaps, you should be thankful for this lesson.

The head of Camorra nods once, considering you, and then asks a serious, “Do you remember what I told you about loyalty, gasoline girl?”

I reward loyalty.

“Yes.”

It’s an effort to keep your eyes on him. His features are blurring, and you can’t even smell the thick cloud of smoke in the air anymore.

“Who were you loyal to when you killed my people? Your people?”

You don’t hesitate, spitting out a vicious, “To myself. Just as you wanted me to be.”

For a moment, you think that Giovanni D’Antonio will smile at you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the shadows of the room.

“What do you see, Santino?”

You still. You’ve been so preoccupied with keeping yourself awake and lucid, with keeping your whole attention on this man without scruples normal people have that—

It comes rushing back.

The grave, the smell of dirt beneath your cheek, rain, the coldness sinking deep into your bones, green eyes—

He was the one who found you. You have no idea how; a part of you doesn’t want to know, either.

He’s changed as well. His frame stretches taller, leaner, than the last time you saw him. His hair is slightly longer but still curly and neatly combed. That boyish roundness still holds his features, giving him an appearance of a youth instead of a young man and you stare at him with open, dazed animosity.  

But there is something about the way he watches you from the shadows.

His pupils are blown wide open when he steps closer into the light, his shoulders coiled with tension that you have no name for.

He gazes at you like he is looking at something beautiful, something terrible, something—

Something he admires and hates and doesn’t understand.

No one has ever looked at you like that. Like they’re seeing right into you, through you, pulling apart every weakness and every strength.  

That anger in your chest ignites at the sight of him, washing away the emptiness and the loss.

“A monster.”

It seizes a part of you. Cracks it to pieces.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate the fact that he—

That he sees you. Just like last time, just like now.

Giovanni’s eyebrows rise slowly at his son’s blunt assessment. He peers at Santino for a pensive moment before the boy finally drags his eyes towards his father, almost reluctantly so.  

“Loyalty to yourself, was it, girl?” the man wonders calmly and takes another drag of his cigar. It’s almost gone now and black spots dance in your vision as you watch him tilt his chin upwards and exhale another lazy puff of smoke. “Give me your hand.”

You stare at him blankly, uncomprehending, almost nauseous now.

Giovanni turns his stern face back towards you and holds out his own large hand. “Your hand.”

His voice is eerily serene but it locks your muscles with fear. Like an animal being hunted down, even with your hazy, sluggish mind you still recognise the danger crowding in.

But what’s the alternative?

Your hand shakes but you hold it out, setting your jaw taut.

“I reward loyalty,” Giovanni reminds evenly, grasping your hand in his. His hold feels so cold you shiver. “But you still killed ten able bodies. Bodies I will now have to replace.”

“Father—”

Giovanni jerks your hand, palm up, and sinks his cigar right into the skin of your palm, burning right through the thin bandage.

Agony.

Splitting, sickening agony—

A sound that tears out of your throat is hardly human but the man has your arm in an iron-like grip; unmoving, bruising. You collapse face-first onto the cot, your scream growing silent and choked as you jerk weakly, unable to swallow your own spit.

Your hand is numb from a piercing, acute sort of pain.

Giovanni hums under his breath, and you feel him turn the cigar into your skin, making you yelp and twitch. “I hope you live,” he states coldly and pushes the cigar deeper into your palm, just once, before he drops your hand back onto the sheets. “There are a great many things I can do with that ice in your heart, gasoline girl.”

You don’t hear him rise over the sound of your pain. Your hand is spasming but you can’t look at it, can’t focus—

The door slams shut with a deafening bang and then—

Someone is speaking; hushed and soft, their hands on you, almost—

You barely manage to pull yourself over the edge of the cot and throw up before everything goes dark.

. . .

You’re burning.

There is a raging fire in your lungs and veins.

Your head is being held under a liquid flame, and you inhale it as it slithers down your throat, suffocating you.

You want to drag your nails down your body to get rid of the burn but you can’t. Someone—

Someone is holding you down and your lips part, a wounded sound slipping free. Why can’t you just be free?

A heavy weight pushes down on you and you try to fight it off, try to—

“Stop moving,” a voice urges, breathless but annoyed. “Stop—”

You think that you might be crying or screaming or both.

You’re burning.

There is no relief.

Not for a long time.

. . .

“Will she live?”

“It’s hard to say right now. The infection—”

An inpatient exhale. “I know what her condition is,” an irritated voice snaps. “I want to know if she will live.”

“I will try my hardest to save her.”

A lengthy pause follows. “No,” the voice speaks again, but this time with such soft malice that you shiver again. “My father wants her alive and so she will live. Or you will find yourself without a head, dear doctor. As will your family.”

. . .

Cool fingers brush against your hair.

“Lucie?” you rasp weakly and try to open your eyes.

Everything blurs around you so you let them close again.

Sickness cramps your stomach and you shiver for what seems like the hundredth time.

Still, the sensation of a glass pressing against your lips registers. Urgent, insistent. “Drink.”

It’s an order. Spoken by someone who is used to being listened to, obeyed, heeded.

You don’t want to but you’re so thirsty. There’s a painful itch in your lungs and you inhale again, deafened by the crackling in your lungs. Whatever it is that you’re wearing clings to your body in a sweaty, uncomfortable mess and you almost sigh when those cool fingers return. They press against your cheek, turning your head and the glass returns.

This time, you force your cracked lips to part and refreshing wetness slides down your throat seconds later. Flinching, you force yourself to swallow. The sensation is like a knife being forced down your chest but you bear it.

The fingers tilt your chin. “Slowly.”

You manage another few, shaky mouthfuls before your strength escapes you.

“Are you—”

The fragility of your own cracking voice might have disgusted you once. There had been plenty of times in the past when you had seen and heard Fredricko peeling back peoples’ fingernails to get the information he needed. That often resulted in such weakness—such fragility. Now though—

“Are you…”

Something freezing cold and wet comes to rest against your forehead and you sigh, gasping slightly. A wet cloth. A miracle, perhaps. It soothes the burning and the itch. It trails down your forehead and jaw and neck. Brushes over your dry lips, too. You almost sob in relief, making a miserable little whine at the back of your throat.

“Are…”

A quiet hum. “Am I what?”

“An angel?”

The cloth disappears for a few moments and you curl into a ball, silently willing it to come back.

A few moments later, mercifully, it does. As does the voice. “No.”

You lean into the refreshing cold again. Try to hide your disappointment, too.

The cloth presses against your forehead and stays there. A beat. Then, fingers ghost over your tightly clenched hand. Your other hand—

There is only numbness there.

An odd sense of fear follows that foggy observation. Like you’re forgetting something you shouldn’t—something important.

The fingers are delicate and careful but they help. They pacify that nameless, gnawing dread.

“Would you like me to be?”

There is a long moment in which you have no idea what the voice is asking. But your muddy mind finally manages to claw back a recollection of your earlier question.

An angel.

You think that the owner of this voice is an idiot.

He no doubt thinks that you mean a guardian angel. Something holy, fierce, and divine.  

But you had meant the Angel of Death. Finally here to take you. Finally here to reunite you with those you have lost.  

But is there any difference anymore?  

You’ve been half-dead and half-alive for years now.

A foot on the doorway to death ever since that fateful night. You have embraced it though. Bargained and stolen and killed. What you did for Lucie was just a fraction, you think through the delirium, just a fraction of what you can do.

You will turn that ice in your heart into a blade, and that blade you will use to cut down anyone in your path.

No half-measures, no mercy. You will be as terrible as they want you to be.

You will be the most terrible thing they have ever seen.

And when it’s done.

Oh, when it’s done.

You will set it all on fire and watch it burn.

“Yes.”

The fingers pause, hovering. Then they wrap around your still clenched hand. Slow but purposeful.

And the tightness of that grip makes you think that your hand will never be your own again.

. . .

an: wellllllllllllll, here’s that! Warning you all now that, yes, this story will get even more twisty and Santino/V will be hate-to...uh...love? We’ll see, I guess lol. Some familiar faces will appear in the future, too. And, uh, maybe some smuttiness is on the cards as well but you know how I roll - nothing too wild or explicit because this clown sucks at nsfw. 

Also because I have no idea when or how often this mini-series will be updated, I will be opening up a tag list for this series ONLY (I rarely do them because they’re often more work than they’re worth). So please feel free to comment or send me a message and I’ll add you. Thank you so much for reading!! Any feedback would be swell. <33  

[slasherkisss]

Hey! Omg requests are open! Okay I've had this one in my head for ages so here it is! Could I request like a one shot or headcanons on how your of Emry met his s/o? I love him a lot and really need more content for him lol. As always I love your writing!

[I am so flattered that you enjoy Emry so much! It means so much to me that he has a few fans lol. I wrote way too much for thiS SO I HOPE YOU LIKE LONG ONESHOTS-]

Feral

“Fucking pieces of shit,” You cursed to yourself as you kicked a stray rock somewhere into the foggy void of the forest around you, “Why is it always me who has to go ‘find help’? If they had just stopped at the last gas station and filled the air in our tires they wouldn’t be bitching about anything because they wouldn’t be stranded!”

It was supposed to be you and your friend’s last road trip together and, now, it was simply you in the forest as you wandered along a path one of the guys had noticed hidden tight against the edges of the overgrown Louisiana brush. A drawing of straws and a few more rock, paper, scissors matches later had determined that you were the unfortunate soul to explore the singular dirt road in hopes that the end would find you either at a small town or a home with a working phone that could be used to call for a tow truck back to the town that was now far too many miles away for you to walk.

Not that this was any fucking better.

Your body shuddered, not only because of the humid chill that seemed to set itself into the mossy earth, but because of a... sensation of some sorts. A strange feeling that burned into your stomach as your eyes became all too aware of how dark it was getting. Of how heavy the air felt and how thick the world around you grew on your back as your shirt stuck to your body with the sweat of walking for as long as you had been.

A snap of a twig echoed somewhere behind you and birds cawed angrily into the background, making you stop and turn your head with wide eyes. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you gazed against the thick trees and shrubs that obfuscated your vision from any possible danger. Your breath shook as you promised yourself that it was just the wind. Just an animal moving through the underbrush and minding its own business as it foraged. 

Peter told you about how pigs were the most intrusive species in the south nowadays. That was probably all it was, right?

You stood in the forest, debating whether to keep moving or step back as you moved your feet back and forth with an unsure bite of your lip.  You didn’t like this. It was like you were being watched... no... more than that, maybe?

Maybe you were being hunted.

Your feet moved then, but you were unsure of what direction other than forward. Forward and away from the beady nothingness that seemed to overcome your senses and rage at the instincts in the pits of your stomach as you moved.  Your walk had slowly turned into a jog and now that was beginning to turn into a run as the mist nipped at your heels like hungry hunting dogs, barking and baring misty teeth at your skin as you hurried with hot, ragged breaths into the night.

Your foot caught on a loose branch, sending you tumbling forward as your ankle made a disgustingly loud cracking noise under the pressure of the sudden juxtaposition. You cried out, catching yourself on the palms of your hands and letting the rocks and twigs dig into the tender flesh as you lay there, breathing heavily as the world around you spun with adrenaline. The silence was deafening around you and you saw a single drip of sweat fall from the tip of your nose down to the floor, where the earth soaked it up with greedy desire.

A crack and a growl echoed around you, the heavy snort of something inhuman shuffling in the dirt made your stomach curdle like spoiled milk and you dared to look upwards with a swallow.

The boar standing before you was massive. You had seen pigs at the petting zoo before but this was not one of those cute, domesticated little things you fawned over so much as a child certainly. Its tusks curled in on itself, sharp and fierce to match the drool along the rest of its teeth. They were stained with what looked to be the trace remains of blood against dirt and your hands dug into the foliage beneath you as you tried to move your feet. The warnings about the aggressive wild hogs eating human flesh made your blood run still as you winced in pain against your clearly broken bone. 

The pig shuffled and snorted, its drool increasing as it caught your scent. Its squeal was painful on your ear drums as tears welled in your eyes. Was this how you were going to die? Your mind raced as you stepped back in terror, shuffling on your stomach in hopes that it, somehow, wouldn’t see you.

You didn’t have to.

There was an additional crack in the brush and a growl far more terrifying than the one the pig had squealed out reverberated in the depths of your mind. The shuffling of the earth increased at a fervent pace, as if matching your heart, and you barely registered the blur of a form that broke itself out into the clearing with you and your swiney captor.

The sound of the struggle would haunt you for the rest of your life, just as the sight would. A blur of a human had tackled the menacing creature down to the floor, wrestling vehemently as the pig squealed with anger and surprise. Matching that noise was a set of chattering teeth and snarling growls as the being raised a large, curved hook into the air and sunk its end into the pig’s flesh, making it scream louder as blood spurted out of an artery that the cool metal hit. 

It took you a moment of staring to taste the blood on your lips. To register the blurry vision of your gaze. To understand that the blood had spattered on you as the pig’s tusks gnashed and clawed with its own fight of frustration. The struggle lasted for longer than you could understand, time blurring together in your shock until you watched the creature - no, you corrected, the man - reach down with two hands and wrench the creature’s jaws apart, snapping them and its head with a sickening break of bones and rendering it limp in the darkness.

All was quiet then, save for the sound of the man’s breathing as he gazed down at the prey he had killed.

Shirtless and with long, tangled brown hair that molded with grit and blood at its ends, the being stood well over six feet tall. Though you could only see his back, you would be fool not to notice the definition of muscle in the shape of his back, each shape curved with years of athletic exercise and unstoppable power. Scars littered the back and curled around his side to the front, where a chain wrapped itself sturdily against his body. You guessed it was attached to the hook. You didn’t move. You didn’t breath.

The being lifted something off of his face and leaned down. You caught the faintest glimmer of a hungry, wide, and drooling mouth in the moonlight before he descended downwards.

Fangs pulled greedily at raw flesh. They broke through the thick skin and gristle of the dead boar and pulled at the tendons with a fierce movement of his jaw. More blood splattered across the being and he spit out the hunk of useless fur and unchewable skin before reaching down with a free hand and spreading the new wound open to gain more access to the meat beneath it, like a treasure trove.

Handfuls of that sickly copper scented flesh was scooped open and thrust into his waiting mouth. The forest echoed with the heavy, disgusting chews of something you were now sure was just as monstrous as the pig it had killed. 

What could you do? What should you do? Your mind panicked.

Slowly you shifted your body, seeing if you could at least crawl a decent length away from the sight before you. To somehow get back to your friends and the safety of your car and-

A twig snapped and his head snapped with it, his gaze forward as he finished a mouthful of raw flesh. You cursed under your breath as you tried to sit up.

The man slid something down his face this time before turning to face you, chest heaving with an out of breath echo as he grabbed your gaze with his own. 

It was a mask he was wearing, the design hand crafted and messy to say the least, with one eye hole that watched you with the careful deduction of a predator. Your stomach twisted and you didn’t move again, gazing into his eyes as well as the two of you sat there for a long, endless moment of quiet in the world.

“Um... I think it was... going to eat me,” You whispered out awkwardly as you pointed to the pig, “I... Um... thanks for... eating it instead?”

Another scalding silence. The man tilted his head, some of his messy strands of hair falling into his masked face as he did so. The action would have looked cute on a being that wasn’t holding a giant hook and dripping with fresh pig’s blood. You simply stared back into that bright, curious green eye that held your gaze like a serpent’s might its seductor. You felt like, if your mind would panic less, you might be able to have a telepathic conversation with this guy.

Then he started to crawl towards you.

His fingertips dug into the earth beneath them, his limbs suddenly far too long for his body as he made his way over on all fours like some sort of feral animal. Your fight or flight reflexes echoed again and you scrambled away, only to cry out in pain as your ankle reminded you of its painfully broken sections of bone. The scream did not make him pause in his movements. He did not stop until he was in front of you, the nose of his mask touching your own and his hot breath filtering around the edges of his mask and hitting you with humid gusts. You held your own breath, fearful of its effect as the scent of blood and gore overpowered your mind. 

A hand reached out, touching the ankle that was broken and giving it a squeeze. You cried out again as his hand tightened and then let go, as if experimenting. He tilted his head again.

“I... I broke it.” You whimpered out, shutting your eyes tight, fearing that your fate might be one shared with the pig’s who had made you run so fast. 

Instead you were suddenly weightless. Your gaze snapped open to find yourself above the ground, in the arms of the masked man who had previously terrified you. His hands smeared blood on your arms and gore soaked into your clothes as his entire form overwhelmed your own with its mere presence. You felt the cold of the chain and the hook dig into your flesh, giving you goosebumps as the edges of his bloody hair tickled your face and made you gag with its rotting scent. 

And suddenly you were carried off into the darkness of the woods with nothing but apprehension to keep you from screaming in terror in the grip of such a feral monster. 

[bleufrost]

I don't know if you write smut but if you're comfortable with it, could you do some nsfw headcannons with Loki or maybe James Conrad? Thank you!

Loki x reader nsfw headcannons:

a/n: this is the first time im publishing smut so please let me know what you think! headcannon and drabble requests are open!

warnings: um,,,this is nsfw my lovely dudes. theres some smut, cockwarming, teasing, and namecalling. ya know, loki shit.

ok so lets get one thing very clear, Loki likes to be in charge. I'm not talking, mean dom that throws you around in charge, I'm saying he likes making it abundantly clear that even when he's the one getting tied up and pushed down, its because he's letting you do that to him; because he wants you to do that to him.

One of Loki's favorite things is moving up your body, forcing you to stay still as he allows his breath to brush your delicate skin and cause your most sensitive places to tingle with excitement.

He gets off on teasing you. All the time. Being the prince meant that he had to be shown a certain amount of respect, and god did he use that to his advantage.

Forcing you to bow to him, kneel for him, and even kiss his hand from time to time was his favorite form of punishment. He loved to put you in the most compromising positions, leaning close and whispering completely filthy things into your ear before nipping it slighlty and moving away just as Thor or another member of the royal group entered. Loki would smirk as you would desperately try to contain your blush and stop the wet heat of your core from making itself known to the new guest.

You would tease him back, of course. Calling him your highness and my god in between desperate moans while you came unraveled beneath silken sheets; and then turning around and using those exact same titles to address him in public. Loki's breathing would hitch, sometimes choking on his drink or moving to hide the growing bulge in his pants as he tried in vain to act as though those names weren't something that caused a blinding shot of heat to run directly to his growing member.

He would always punish you dutifully for little stunts like that. Loki was a glutton for dealing out punishment.

Most nights would find you tied down to the bed, legs spread apart as he slowly allowed his skin to take on the icy chill that was familiar to him. The frost of his fingertips would dance against your hot skin, making their way down to your core before entering you slowly. The cold contrasted greatly with the heat of your slit, and the pleasure it brought on left you screaming and begging for more. It really was less of a punishment than a reward, but neither one of you would complain.

Loki can also be soft and needy. He has a lot of pressure on him to be great, and sometimes he just needs to be held as he rocks his hips into you.

Some nights, when he's really needy he likes to just lay there with his cock inside of you. It comforts him to feel your walls wrapped around him, knowing that he's safe and able to be so intimate with you with no expectations. Sometimes he falls asleep, still deeply buried within you. Other times, neither one of you can stop the slow movements of your hips as you begin to squirm, needing to feel something more.

When you would start moving first, letting out little whimpers as you ached to feel his cock stretch your walls and push into you in the most delicious ways, Loki would make sure you got everything you wanted. He loves grabbing your thighs, pushing himself as deep as he can go into your wet core before pulling back out, barely allowing the swollen tip of his throbbing member to stay pressed against your entrance before pulling you closely to him and back down onto his length. There's nothing he craves more than to hear you cry out his name, feeding his ego and reminding him that there was no one you wanted more than him.

Loki doesn't really care much for degradation in the form of terms such as slut or whore. He much prefers to make you feel small and innocent.

His favorite names for you in the bedroom are "pet" and "kitten." There's just something about seeing you licking up and down his cock and gently rolling his balls between your soft hands that warrants a name such as kitten.

Loki loves to pull beautiful little noises out of you whenever he can. He knows all the right places to bite, suck, and lick to coax the most sensual whimpers and cries from your lips, and it makes his cock harden and throb almost painfully to hear them. He's not selfish with his own noises either. Loki loves to reward you with his own breathy moans and dirty talk, letting you know just how good of a girl you're being as you take his hard length fully inside of you. It turns you both on to no end to hear the other's pleasured moans.

Overall, Loki is just fucking great in the bedroom. He may be a cocky jerk sometimes, but the way in which he works magic on your swollen clit, feeding your hungry pussy with his dick, and leaving you breathless and crying out for more kind of justifies the behavior.

a/n: ill probably do james conrad after i rewatch skull island, but i hope you liked this! ((im only tagging full length fics bc i feel like tagging these isn't worth peoples time?? idk im self conscious lol))

[star-and-the-motherverse]

Chapter 6 - Off She Goes

The Butterfly Who Lost Her Wings

Word Count: 3476 | AO3 Mirror | Previous | Next

Summary: Marco tries not to think about summer. A familiar face realizes he’s out of the loop.

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ☾ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It didn’t really feel as if summer had ever arrived, to Marco, but it wasn’t like that was a trait unique to this particular one. When he was little, summer was the most exciting time of the year, but as he’d grown up, summer started to feel like it was getting shorter each time it came around. It had sort of lost its magic, in a strange way.

Not to say it was unwelcome—far from that, really. Summer break still probably was one of the better parts of the year. He got to spend a lot more time with his friends when they weren’t in school, and it was nice to take a couple months of break, not having to worry so much about the future.

But as days went by, he was starting to realize that he was… bored. By almost all of it. And it was strange, so strange. Really, this summer was equally as mundane as those that preceded it, and yet, here he was, feeling overwhelmingly alone.

You know exactly why that is.

Marco tried his best not to think about it—about her—as he went about his day-to-day life. But over half a year had passed since his everyday life had been upheaved. He’d practically forgotten what the bathroom countertop actually looked like when it was completely clear, or how small the guest room really was before it belonged to Star. They were little details that he was sure never would have stood out to him, not in the past. His painfully normal life had never stuck out to him like this until now, after everything that’s happened.

He missed the unpredictable nature of having Star as a housemate. The excitement, the danger, and everything else. He missed it so much.

Everything is still about Star.

He rolled over in bed, groaning, not able to find the motivation to get up just yet.

Some of his old friends hadn’t spoken to him in what felt like ages. Did he miss them too? He couldn’t tell. He thought that he did, but couldn’t even begin to think of how he might reach out. Jackie and—to a lesser extent—Janna were really the only friends from school that he regularly talked with anymore. He wasn’t exactly doing a good job of keeping in touch with anyone else.

Before he could think on it any longer, his phone vibrated. It took a surprising amount of effort for him to sit up and grab it off of bedside table. Reading over his lock screen, he saw that Jackie had texted him twice, the first message being from about an hour ago, and the other happening just now.

Jackie: Hey! How are u doing?

Jackie: Just realized you might still be asleep, sorry! xoxo

12:30 in the afternoon wasn’t a completely unreasonable time for a teenager to sleep in to, but Marco rarely ever stayed in bed for that long. He’d been up since noon at least—on a normal day, he’d be annoyed after wasting time, laying there and feeling sorry for himself.

Marco: Nah, I wasn’t. Sorry, missed your first text

Marco: It’s been a long morning 😅

Jackie: No worries :) Just checking in on u!

Jackie: Have u had lunch? Theres a food truck fair in town at the park, I think it would be fun to go!

Jackie: I bet theres a nacho truck somewhere, probably not as good as urs tho :)

He wasn’t really hungry at all, but he could certainly use the distraction. And he loved spending time with Jackie, more than anything. She always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better.

Marco: That sounds great. Did you want to meet there?

Jackie: Sure! Is 1:00 too soon?

Jackie: Also, hope u don’t mind but I invited Janna to come too!

Janna was one of the few people he’d managed to keep up regular conversation with, mostly over text. She didn’t give off the impression of a very social person, but then again, their unusual friendship probably didn’t make a lot of sense to outsiders, either.

Her reaction to the news of Star’s disappearance had been about in line with he was expecting, which wasn’t really saying much. Janna was an absolute wildcard, and he had a hard time figuring out what was going through her head even when things were normal. So her complete non-reaction, which might have caught other people off-guard, was just another Janna thing, in his mind.

She never liked talking about her emotions, and this would be no different. All he could really do was let her know that he was available to talk if she never needed to.

Marco: 1:00 is fine. And that’s cool with me

Marco: She’d probably find a way to invite herself if you didn’t.

Jackie: Lol ur probably right :P

Jackie: I’ll see you then💖

He let out a sigh and set the phone down on his bed, finally convincing himself to stand up. It wouldn’t take him that long to get ready to go out, mercifully. Such was the benefit of wearing a hoodie every day—even if the summer weather wasn’t exactly kind to him for it. He’d have plenty of time to get to the park and meet up with his friends, provided nothing weird happened.

Of course, as luck would have it, a lone laser puppy came wandering into the room, his tail wagging in excitement.

“Oh, hey… Sajak?” Star was the only one who could ever tell them apart, but he liked to believe he was getting better at it. “Yeah… Sajak.”

The puppy gave short little barks as he hopped around the room, coming to a stop in front of Marco and rearing up on his hind legs to demand his attention.

“‘Scuse me, buddy,” he said, carefully stepping over Sajak so that he could better reach his closet. “Sorry, but I’ve got things I gotta do today. No more lounging around.”

Sajak kept running circles around him and the room, occasionally pausing to stare at him expectantly. Marco tried to head out to the hall and towards the bathroom, but nearly tripped over the puppy as he rushed out in front of him before flopping down in front of the closed bathroom door.

“What in the world has gotten into you?” Marco asked, laughing, mostly to himself. He scooped up the dog with the intention of moving him. “You don’t feel like shooting me with a laser today? No?”

It was sort of a joke. He couldn’t quite remember last when the puppies had used their laser eyes. He wondered if it was related to whatever was going on with magic. It was a bit nicer to pretend that Sajak was just being particularly nice today, though.

Before he got the chance to move, a horde of laser puppies charged up the stairs, yapping excitedly. Barko Diaz brought up the rear, dragging in a multi-leash with him and nearly tripping over its cable several times as the lugged it up to the second floor.

“Seriously?” It was pretty cute at first, but now this was getting kind of ridiculous. “Guys, come on! I’m trying to do things!”

But he knew better than to tempt fate. These puppies were absolutely ruthless when it came to getting what they wanted. Truly, how could anyone say no to those adorable little faces?

He let out another low sigh. “Okay, okay, fine!” He’d had stranger mornings. If anything, he was getting exactly what he’d asked for with a distraction. His bad mood from the early morning was a distant memory by this point, which was a rather impressive turnaround.

He made his way slowly through what felt like a minefield of dogs, back to the side of his bed and picked up his phone once more.

Marco: I’m gonna be a little late, I have to take the dogs out on a walk first. They won’t leave me alone, haha

Jackie: Aww, so cute! That’s cause they love u so much ^^

Marco: Just doing my civic duty o7

Marco: See you in a bit ❤️

Jackie: 💖💖

“Settle down, Barko!” He cried out, once he’d turned his attention back to the excitable puppies. “I can’t put a leash on you if you won’t sit still!!”

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ♥︎ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

“What the heck?”

The phrase wasn’t really intended to be a question. It was more like... some sort of out-loud expression of Star’s ever-growing confusion. She’d only been free falling for a few seconds or so, but as she blinked, she somehow found herself standing in front of Echo Creek Academy. She had no idea how or why. She didn’t even remember landing on the ground, which she was sure would have injured her under normal conditions.

“School? Again?!”

What even were the odds that she’d end up on the school’s doorsteps? Unless, for some reason, it was doing that thing where it was in every place she looked—

Oh no… it absolutely was. There was another school right in front of her. When she turned away, there was another school there, too. She turned again and again. Another one, each time.

“You’ve gotta be kidding..! Why?! Why here?!”

She was most definitely somewhere inside of the wand. She shouldn’t have been that surprised—it was one of the most likely options that she’d narrowed down, for cob’s sake—but there was still something deeply unsettling about how she’d found her way back to this place. Not long from now and she’d probably start bumping into past versions of herself, following in her current footsteps like some sort of video game. Only this time, she had no idea of how she was supposed to get out. Hopefully Glossaryck would know to come rescue her if things got bad.

At least those weird disembodied voices hadn’t managed to follow her here. Somewhere along the way she must have lost them.

“I’m not going in the stupid school,” she grumbled, having nothing but negative memories associated with its strange, magical realm counterpart. It’s supposed to be summer! I do what I want!

Instead, she took to the sidewalk, putting her hands in her dress pockets and wandering along, looking around for a glimpse of something, anything else.

There certainly wasn’t any shortage of weird things to look at in the wand. Everywhere she looked were pieces of Echo Creek and Mewni, awkwardly stitched together in ways that didn’t make much sense at all. Street lamps and sidewalks wove between wells and Mewnian carnival tents. Spanish-style houses were dotted between the fields of corn that stretched out into the horizon, from what she could see past the school. Cacti and coniferous trees were growing side by side, as if they were always supposed to be that way. But even with everything going on, the looming silhouette of Butterfly Castle towered over all other set pieces, only dwarfed in size by the mountainous terrain that made up the background of this strange place.

“Ack!” she cried out suddenly, stumbling a bit as the ground beneath her transitioned from sidewalk to an empty parking lot—save for a single chariot parked on the other side. Just ahead of her, a little puddle rested on the uneven pavement, made up of that same green sludge that Toffee had left her to drown in.

She was so overcome with anger and frustration at the sight of it that she kicked it out of impulse. Just before her boot made contact with the puddle, though, she swore she saw a glimmer of light hiding within it—but not nearly soon enough to stop. When her foot landed back on the ground, and the puddle stilled, nothing was there.

A bit shaken, her gaze wandered upwards. The star-shaped insignia in the dark purple sky looked the same as it had before, split in half and all. But as she watched it, she couldn’t help but think it looked a bit dimmer. It’s fine. You’re gonna be fine, she wanted to say, but she never spoke it aloud, not entirely sold on the idea herself.

Was it fine? Is that really why she wasn’t running into any timeline duplicates of herself? She was still alone, sure, and maybe that was a good thing. There wasn’t any immediate danger, or anything like that. So why am I worried?

She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to quell her doubts.

Surely nothing had changed, right?

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* ☀ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand as he made his way out of his room and towards the dining hall, headed out in search of coffee. He never was much of a morning person, and that fact probably wouldn’t come as a surprise to many people. He was never thrilled about having to wake up early for meetings, or summons, or whatever else, but that was something that sort of came with the territory of being a prince.

He’d been trying to avoid Star ever since he’d failed his anger management final exam, following the suggestion from his life coach. It didn’t make sense to him at first—how was he supposed to know when she wanted to talk to him again?—but he’d ultimately come around to Brian’s advice, even if it was with reluctance. It was clear that she still wanted space. He needed to respect that.

It sure was frustrating, though. Patience wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

He was drawn out of his irritated thoughts when a messenger demon nearly crashed into him as he appeared around the corner. “Watch it!” Tom snapped, but the messenger didn’t acknowledge him as he continued in a hurry down the corridor. He couldn’t help but be a bit curious why this particular message was so important that it demanded such prompt attention.

Weirdly, the demon suddenly skidded to a halt, whirling around to come back down the hallway and stop in front of Tom, bowing. “Master Tom! Would you perhaps know where King Dave would be at this hour?”

“Uh… probably in his office?”

“Thank you, Master Tom!” Just as quickly as he’d returned, he was off again, headed back down the hall.

That was weird, Tom noted. He watched the messenger instinctively head towards the throne room, only to remember where he was supposed to be headed and travel down the adjacent hall instead. It wasn’t often that they received news worthy of any interest, so before Tom could convince himself otherwise, he was chasing after the messenger—too intrigued to stop himself from prying. It’s not like I have anything better to do, he remarked inwardly, somewhat dejected.

Light on his feet, he followed the smaller demon at a short distance so that he wouldn’t be noticed. They both quickly arrived at the king’s office, and the messenger disappeared through the towering doorway. Tom was able to catch the conversation before it had really started, listening through the door.

“—uncement from the Butterfly Kingdom, my lord! The Silver Bell Ball has been indefinitely postponed!”

What? If he was being completely honest, he’d sort of forgotten that it was almost time for the Silver Bell Ball again. He had some fond memories of the event from over the years, but he wasn’t really the dancing type. It was more boring than anything else, and it was quite funny how Star agreed with him wholeheartedly. But she always made the point of how it was nice to see everyone again, and he supposed that was one of its better aspects. It would feel weird to not go to it every year.

His father’s thought process mirrored his own. “What?” Dave exclaimed. “But the ball is a yearly tradition! Why would they do such a thing?”

Tom overheard the messenger clear his throat as he unraveled a scroll. “In the words of the Queen and King themselves: ‘it is with great reluctance that we inform you of our decision to cancel the Silver Bell Ball this year. We believe that this is the right thing to do, as the ongoing magical fritz is a pressing issue that requires our full attention. This is a difficult time for our kingdom, and we sincerely thank you for your patience and understanding.’”

“A magical fritz? What in the Underworld does that even mean?”

“The announcement does not clarify it, my lord.”

Tom heard the groan of table legs against the floor as Dave adjusted his chair. “I know that the Butterfly Kingdom is quite dependent on magic, but enough to cause this level of instability? This is preposterous!”

Admittedly, he didn’t have that much of an understanding of how magic worked, either. Most of the cities across Mewni had close ties to magic, but none of them were quite as clear cut as the Butterfly Kingdom. They had been an incredibly powerful force for centuries. If something weird was happening with magic, Star likely would have been one of the first to notice, since she was in possession of the magic wand.

“There could be something more serious at play here…” The messenger demon’s words trailed off.

“In what sense?” Dave asked.

“Well…” He lowered his voice, and it immediately became more difficult for Tom to pick up on their conversation, much to his frustration. He had to listen incredibly closely in order to make out what was being said, leaned up against the door. “There’s a rumor going around that something happened to the princess.”

Tom swore he could feel his blood run cold.

“What do you mean?” the king asked. “Is she sick?”

“Something like that. People can’t seem to agree on what’s happened to her.”

Dave paused for several moments, likely thinking over the implications of the messenger’s words. “You think that the Butterflies are lying?”

“Not necessarily. Perhaps it is an indirect lie, or a lie by omission. Whatever is going on, it appears the royal family are trying to hide it while they're so vulnerable.”

It had to be impossible. Star must’ve been fine. She was on Earth! Who did this messenger think he was, to present such a baseless claim as an actual reality? No, he’d prove him wrong. He could call her, right?

Of course! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

Before he could even stop to remind himself that, no, Star still needed space, he shouldn’t bother her, she’ll come back to him when she’s ready to talk again—he was clicking through his contact list and tapping on her displayed nickname. Starship. He’d never brought himself to change it from that.

“Calling Star,” read the text-to-speech voice, before it was cut off by a screen tear and replaced with loud, crackling static and white noise. Startled, he snapped his compact shut immediately to silence it.

“What was that?”

“Huh? I didn’t hear anything…”

“Oh… hmm. Sorry. Perhaps it was nothing.”

He wasn’t listening to them anymore—no, he was panicking. Fear was getting to him, badly. He hated this, he hated feeling scared. This didn’t make any sense! Even if something had happened to her, the call should have gone through. It still should have let him leave a voicemail, or something! Not static and nothing else!

This was strange, this was wrong. Something was wrong, and he had no idea what it was.

“—h well,” he overheard Dave start to speak again. “I suppose it’s not—“

Unable to stand there any longer, Tom threw open the door and came storming in, glaring accusingly between them both. “That’s not good enough!”

“Thomas!” Dave scolded, standing up from his chair. “What have I told you about eavesdropping on my conversations?”

Ignoring him, Tom stared directly at the messenger, his eyes fiery with anger. “What did you say happened to Star?!”

The demon flinched, scrambling for words as he stepped backwards. “I-I’m sorry, Master Tom! I truly wish that I had more information, but I don’t. So long as the Butterfly kingdom keeps its borders closed, I’m not sure we’ll ever get an answer…”

“Then do your job!” He snarled, clenching his fists. “Go out there and find the answer, and don’t come back until you do!”

“Thomas, that’s enough!” Dave stepped between them both. “We don’t know what’s going on, and that’s how it’s going to be for right now. It’s ultimately not our business, to know what’s happening in the personal lives of other royals.”

“It is mine!” Tom hissed. “I care about her! I need to know that she’s okay!”

But no matter how much shouting he did during that confrontation—and it certainly was a lot—he never got an answer he was happy with. No amount of sulking around the castle was going to change that. He wasn’t going to find an answer here on Mewni, not anytime soon.