#tw black mould

[delusion-of-negation]

[whim513]

if yall ever need mold hit my line

[evilneo]

my parents cleaned some of the bathroom and replaced the shower curtains for the first time in AWHILE and it literally changed the acoustics of the entire room???? hello can anyone hear me.

[sp4ceboo]

SNIPPET FOR MY UPCOMING BAKUGOU FIC!!

genre: merfolk au, fantasy au, merman!bakugou x witch!reader, strangers to lovers, bakugou x f!reader, smut and angst and fluff

summary: in a world infested with purgers of magic, neither a clandestine witch nor a lone merman can remain safe for long.

tw for snippet: gore, blood, mention of death (fic will be 18+)

UPDATE: READ IT HERE

With a rusty squeal, the door swings wide, and with it comes the same influx of light that always spills greedily through, stinging your eyes and making them ache - the doing of a tiny, wayward star moulded from precious lamp oil. You blink away the tears that well up at your lash line, testament to your accustomation to the dark, and then blink again. Back when you took for granted the warmth of the sun on your face, you lived too far inland to ever see one in the flesh. You were still a witch under the disguise of a healer, though. You’d heard tales, seen artists’ renderings and gorey body parts wrenched off as trophies. None of those could have ever come close to preparing you for the sight before your eyes. A merman. Deep in enemy territory - so deep, in fact, that all those surrounding him, bar you, have murdered more than dozens of his kind each. He is on a galleon rammed bow to stern with killers. And yet, despite it, he has not fallen victim to the purge. Yes, there is a splintered harpoon sunken into his side, yes, he is limp and broken, but even so, shallowly, his chest rises and falls. He breathes. He breathes, and even that is beautiful. The lamp’s light reflects off his scales; he is mainly jet black, but broad swathes of orange run across the length of his powerful tail like they were drawn with the loving stroke of a painter’s brush. In parts, they darken into a ruby red that glitters and winks as the lamp light dances. Or maybe that’s just blood. There’s a lot of it. It soaks into the sheet they strain to carry between them, pools in the dip his weight makes, streaks in smears down his chest and face, coats his hands and is embedded under his sharp nails. You hope that all of it is not his, that he made them regret whatever they must have done to get a merman vulnerable enough and far enough from his pod to capture him. Deep lacerations cut all along his chest and tail, and one of the spines that extend from his sail-like dorsal fin is bent in a way that must mean it is broken. A smattering of scales reach wide across his shoulders and back and down his arms, some of them twisted and bent out of shape. Your eyes fall to the harpoon buried just below his hip, and you feel the bite of your nails digging into your palms. “Heal it,” commands the man holding the corner of the sheet closest to you. “We’ve been ordered to bring back a merfolk to be studied. It must be in peak condition.”

and yeah. so that's what i've been working on recently, it will be over 10k and most likely under 20k and im sO EXCITED!!

there will be a taglist, so if you want to be on it just reply to this post or message me or whatever is easiest :))

praying this reaches the right audience

[damiansgoodgirll]

can you please write even if it’s a short drabble jude bellingham praising reader when she’s giving him her first 👋job please

jude bellingham x reader

tw : smut!

so good

“oh shit baby, just like that…” jude moaned when your hand finally wrapped around his shaft.

you’ve never meant to tease him for so long, you were just inexperienced and never done something like that so you were just trying to find something that mould make jude lose his mind.

you were straddling his lap, fully clothed while jude was only wearing a black and white shirt. what started as a simple make out session turned out to be something more as your hand began to touch him down there and your mind told you that you wanted to tru something new.

of course, who was he to tell you no if you wanted to do it?

he made sure you were okay with it but didn’t take it too far when you said yes.

at first he gently guided you, his hand over yours but a few minutes later he let you do everything by yourself. it was the first time you saw his cock and you were completely shocked when you saw ho big he was, mentally thinking how probably it was going to you when you’ll decide to do it since you’ve never had sex before.

but you didn’t want your thoughts to ruin the atmosphere so while your hand gently worked over his tip your lips left a few kisses over his neck. you felt him whimper beneath you but you wanted more. so when you began to move your hand up and down you saw his expression change.

“oh fuck fuck…” he kept moaning “so good baby, so fucking good…keep doing that” his eyes closed and his lips half parted.

what a sight.

“right there princess, you’re doing so good…” he moaned and you smiled, knowing that you were the one who was making him feel that way.

you wanted to tried something different again so your free hand went to massage his balls, gently and you felt him holding his breath for a few seconds.

“oh - oh my…keep doing that” he moaned louder “shit baby, you’re so good…so good love” and it took him only a few minutes and a few more different rotations of hand that he came hard all over your hand.

“oh fuck oh -oh fuck…” he kept moaning.

you released his cock, knowing he might was too sensitive and you waited for him to catch his breath. he opened his eyes and he saw your amazed and sweet look. that was enough to make his cock twitch again.

“you’re fantastic baby…fuck, i’ve never came so hard” he was still catching his breath while you shyly laugh.

now that you knew his soft spot, you were determined to find more ways to make him cum ten times harder.

[saintsbuffy]

You’re an angel, i’m a dog.

Pairing: Lucanis/Rook Lucanis/Rook/Spite

TW: injury detail, sexual references, references to abuse, ptsd and depression.

Word count: around 3000

Chapter: 1/?

1 - MIDNIGHTS

— Rook finds herself unable to sleep, Lucanis is always awake.

It’s midnight in the lighthouse when Rook is wakes. Her deep breaths and rapid heartbeat fill the silent chamber as she places one hand to her damp chest whilst the other clutches a dagger from beneath her pillow.

With a final shaken breath as her body comes to full consciousness she pushes herself up off the sweat soaked sheets and tosses them into a pile in the corner along with her loose bed shirt. Moonlight reflects off the stone walls and it shines through the stone cracks and under the curtain of her balcony window.

You are alive, you are safe, you are not alone.

Rook repeats to herself, a phrase in broken Dalish that has brought her comfort since she was a babe.

Her voice hardly a whisper as the wind begins to howl. A clash of thunder groans against the stone as the wind picks up. Another clash, and this time it’s accompanied by a downpour of rain that blows the balcony doors open in a flash, dark blue drapes flying out towards her as the glass and metal bangs against the wall. Without thinking Rook is across the room in one swift movement pushing her entire strength against the doors and she plants her feet firmly against the cold stone fighting the wind until it the force of her body is enough to hold them closed. She fumbles with the dagger letting her hand fall for just one moment until she can secure it through the two handles.

A faint caress of pain beings to bloom at her side as she pulls back from the door and lets out a string of curse words inspecting the temporary fix. The doors appear to hold - only rattling slightly against the floor to ceiling glass as the storm continues on. The first flash of lighting illuminates her room for one swift moment as Rook closes her eyes and holds her hand out willing the storm to stop. Her naked body illuminated by light, she feels the familiar burning sensation followed by warmth as power hums beneath her skin.

Once, she could bend the elements to her will without so much as a second thought but tonight she is begging them to listen, praying to the gods that the storm spare the building she has come to call home.

It had been three months since she’d left the only place she’d ever known. All it had taken was one mistake, one moment where she had lost control and her entire life had changed in a night. Stormborn her mentor had called her, daughter of the sky. The Grey Wardens had raised Rook, fed her, adored her, given her a roof over her head and sword in her hand. She’d been taught how to hunt, fight, kill.

They had taken her in for no burden but their own, a child less than a few weeks old, alone and half frozen to death found in the rubble of an Elven village. It hadn’t taken long for them to recognise the power she had been born with, not only had they found a child with no family or allegiance to mould into whatever they desired but they had found a weapon.

The Wardens had used her to their advantage, honed her powers when it suited them and cast her out when they could no longer control her. She was so young when they had first taken her out on a mission, keeping her at arms length and under close control as she had given instructions. They had watched in awe as the rain choked their enemies.

Finally the burning in her fingertips dulled as the rain began to calm, the pounding noise of droplets against glass now a steady drum instead of a raging fist. Tonight the elements had given her grace, a compromise of the destruction her nightmares often brought.

There would be no more sleep for Rook tonight.

She dressed quickly in an oversized black shirt, fingers too weak to tie the front. Without an undershirt or armour to keep it in place the lace hangs open just above her breasts. She pulls on some loose trousers a few shades lighter than her shirt and a pair of beaten lace up boots slowly as her head throbs. The cloth bandages wrapped around her ribs have held at least, lifting her shirt slightly to check, she can see in the fading light the wound at her side appears to have just strained against her stitches and not ripped open.

The hallway outside her chambers is empty as to be expected, initially she had chosen the room furthest away from everyone in the hopes of keeping her nightmares - and the damage that usually came with them as far away from her companions as possible. Varric was the only one fully aware of her situation, he knew what she had done and had made a deal with the Wardens, most likely saving her from a life of exile or worse. The last thing she needed was to have another group of people fearing her. Though no matter how much time she had spent trying to get to know her companions - some more than others she had come to realise that everyone had their own reasons for being here and their own secrets to keep.

Using the remainder of her strength she manifests a flickering ball of white energy that floats above her palm to light the way. Rook makes her way down the winding halls and staircases that separate her rooms from the heart of the Lighthouse. With no direction in mind she lets her body choose which turn to take, passing the library and the dining hall, the training room and observatory until she has passed all that is familiar to her.

Theres a slight change in scenery as the walls become older, full of more crumbling brick and walls bare of decoration. If her memory of the tour she was given is correct this must be one of the lower levels where those who live and work in the lighthouse slept, and faint chatter of hushed whispers and snoring flows through the walls, doors lining each side as she continues her exploration trying her best to keep her footsteps light as she turns down each path refusing to admit that despite knowing pretty much all of the upper levels of the Lighthouse by heart now - she might be a little bit lost.

Up and then back down another staircase she moves trying to retrace her steps, legs sore and muscles aching until finally she faced a dead end and a singular door at the centre of it. The door itself is small and unassuming - some sort of storage cupboard if she had to guess, with no desire to investigate further Rook turns to go back as the orb of light in her palm begins to vibrate her power humming in alarm. With a snap of electricity and faint sliver of purple smoke her light is gone leaving her in almost complete darkness.

Rook’s hand drops to the waistband of her trousers expecting to find the familiar metal of her dagger at her side only feel the empty space and memory she had left it behind to secure her windows shut. The only light in the corridor is a faint glow seeping out from underneath the door that stands before her accompanied by the faint sound of metal clinking and something fizzing.

Shit.

With no weapons and magic that refuses to obey her at least she can always count on her firsts and years of gets training for protection, even if her body feels like it could keel over at any second.

She clenches her fists by her sides and takes two strides towards the door before kicking it open letting the wood splinter as it swings hitting the back wall with a crash. Upon first glance she has entered nothing more than a storage closet but as her entrance into the room deepens the glamour begins to fade away revealing that this was or is some sort of living quarter or study.

Her eyes adjust to the low light as her vision darts around to take in any threat that could be waiting for her. Stacks of books line shelves that looked like they might collapse at any moment, candles are piled upon trays covered dripping wax that are awkwardly balanced on top of old food crates, a large table is at the centre of the room with glass vails and bottles of varying sizes and colours scattered across the stained wood.

Her inspection of the room is cut short as the sound of glass breaking followed by a grunt that tears her gaze away from her quick inspection. The glamour is completely gone now and a person draped in shadows is silhouetted at the other end of the room. From the noise they just let out and the lack of urgency in their movement it seems they are more irritated than alarmed by her abrupt entrance. Her light going out must’ve activated some sort of warning barrier.

Back hunched over his desk- half seated half standing against a patchy velvet armchair is Lucanis Dellamorte, the Antivan Crow they had recruited only a weeks after Rook had first been brought here.

“Do you kick down the door of every room you enter?” He grunts not giving Rook a chance to answer or even taking his gaze off the pages covering the table infront of him. “You owe me a new door.” Lucanis’ adds eyes snapping up from his work.

Brows furrowed and black eyes narrow Lucanis glares up as he throws down the remainder of his broken glass jar, it smashes into tiny shards on the table as the rest of the black liquid bubbles and hisses until all that remains is a mark singed into the wooden table. The smell of sulphur thick in the air.

“I-“ Rook starts an apology on the tip of her tongue and yet as usual her stubbornness is pushed to the surface. “How did you do that? My magic, it’s like I hit a wall in the corridor and it just…it just stopped.”

Her tone more an accusation than a question, nobody had ever been able to stop her magic like that before, she could barley manage it herself.

Lucanis heaves a breath of annoyance and pushes his hands off the table to stand, flipping over the book to a close before facing her. She can’t see his face but takes in the old shirt, fitted trousers, tan skin and messy hair tied back from his face. A contrast to his usual attire.

“I was in the middle of something if you couldn’t tell, why are you in my room?” Sleeves rolled up his forearms and fingertips stained with the same black powder from his shirt he gestures from the mess on the table to Rook standing in the open doorway. The frustration is clear on his face now, from his clenched jaw to the sideways look of disgust and those dark rimmed eyes.

“You sleep here.” Rook states looking behind him to a sad looking cot bed pushed up against the wall covered with a thin blanket and one flat looking pillow that she was certain was just a pile of rolled up clothes. Lucanis crossed his arms in response. “Like I mean, this is your bedroom?”

Come to think of it, out of all her companions she had never questioned where Lucanis spends his personal time nor did she care. At social gatherings he was always last to arrive, first to leave, only concerning himself with short pleasantries and small talk. Occasionally discussing books with Emmrich in a corner. She couldn’t count the number times she’d gone for Tea in Neve’s quarters or walked around the grounds with Davrin, everyone had welcomed her to her new home with open arms but she’d never even considered where Lucanis might sleep or do whatever it is that he does when everyone goes their separate ways.

There’s no answer again, he just continues to glare at her looking right through her the way he has since they first met. In all the time they’ve worked together, trained together, searched for information and slain enemies over the past months she’s sure those two sentences are probably the most conversation they’ve since their very first meeting when he essentially called her an insolent child and refused her help. If it hadn’t been for the others she was sure he would have never have agreed to come back with her.

“It’s just-“

Rook pauses choosing her next words carefully, suddenly aware she is in his space, has disturbed whatever he had been working on and practically kicked his door down for no reason.

This Lighthouse was supposed to be her fresh start and so far all she’s managed to do was blow up a few enemy hideouts, not get her new companions killed, yet and piss off the guy that’s possessed by a demon.

“There’s plenty of empty rooms, why do you choose to stay down here? I mean even Emmerich has his own quarters and he’s got like bones and stuff everywhere but in a decorative way and Taash has the most comfortable bed-“ She gestures to cot in the corner trying to keep the judgement in her tone to a minimum, desperate to fill the silence.

“I do not care who’s bed you spend your free time in.” He scoffs running a hand down his face. “That’s not what I meant.” Rook can feel her cheeks heat slightly, thankful for the low lighting. “You are not the only one who wishes to sleep alone, Rook.” His accent sounds thicker when he’s annoyed, the way he says her nickname sounds like poison upon his tongue.

Rook feels her chest tighten, she shouldn’t be here, she should’ve left the moment she realised this was his room. Turning back to inspect the damage of the door she pulls down the sleeves of her shirt suddenly conscious about her lack of dress, her long hair that’s that’s come free from its braid and no doubt the exhaustion and embarrassment that’s clear on her face. “My apologises, i’ll leave.”

“Wait.” Lucanis orders, she can hear him walking towards her but he does not close the distance all the way.

A flick of his wrist, and the same smoke from before blows past her moving her hair over her shoulder as it slams the door shut with force but the lock does not latch.

“You know, your room is almost directly above mine spare the space of a few floors.” Lucanis is almost directly behind her now but leaves enough distance so that she is just beyond arms reach. She can feel his breath on her bare neck as the scent of smoke and coffee grows stronger.

Rooks breathing becomes shallow once again, she’s not afraid of him despite every one of her senses screaming at her telling her to leave, to run. If not fear pushing against her ribs then anticipation? shame? She’s exposed here, her mind is going too fast to understand what her instincts are trying to tell her. He’s powerful, with years of experience on her, it came down to it Rook knows she stands no chance against him especially not after the week she’s had.

They work together, of course he has no reason to want to hurt her. Other than the title of Mage Killer that makes her skin crawl every-time she hears it. The man has had more than one chance to kill her if he wished, just two days ago an accident in battle ended up with her in the infirmary. She was too focused on clearing the bridge so the villages to flee that she hadn’t seen the creature watching from the tree, if the arrow in her side had been poison it could have ended her. Death would be too easy for the assassin. She was just a girl after all, a reckless failure. Nobody would miss her.

“Your little storms are rather impressive no? It shook almost the entire building tonight.” He raises a brow watching her back stiffen but she doesn’t move away from him. “You are very powerful.”

The way he says that last sentence makes her body still, her hand still outstretched to where the door where the handle would’ve been. There’s no fear in his tone when he says it, no disgust or anger, no awe or compliment, just fact. You are very powerful. She was.

“I’m sorry if I woke you, but I really should be going.” Rook snaps back to reality a single glance back at him before moving to make her exit.

Lucanis considers letting her go, but there’s something about this girl that goes against his everything he has even known, he kills her kind of a living and yet. There’s something deep in his bones calling for him to make her stay. She is like him, an outcast amongst her own people, surrounded by friends and yet utterly alone. The hairs on his arms come to a stand as he feels the familiar presence at his side. A cold gust of air fills the room as the candle light flickers. Jaw clenched, nails digging into his palms Lucanis knows there is no fighting this when it comes. It was painful the first time but the ripping sensation in his chest comes easier than breathing now.

“I do not sleep well either, stay.”

When Lucanis speaks, his voice is not his own for his demon self has returned and in truth, Spite never left.

end chapter notes -

Rook is a femme presenting Grey Warden Mage cast out from her people. In this fic I use she/her pronouns but i’m trying to keep them as non descriptive as possible, feel free to imagine Rook as you wish. This is written before game release some things may contain potential spoilers, non canon events, i will try my best not to mischaracterise him.

you can find this story on ao3 linked below or follow me on twitter @/saintscain for updates and more lucanis brainrot posts

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 8: Does it still hurt?

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 8: Does it still hurt?

Wordcount: 5,9k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for full series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Panic attack, Alcohol

Description: Simon takes you to the doctor in the morning, while Soap takes you to a bar in the evening.

A/N: My wrist is starting to flare up again, this shit is so hard to manage, ugh :( but I finally got the chapter finished. Almost ten chapters, I'm rather impressed with myself how far I've gotten already. My usual friend who reads through my stuff was unfortunately unavailable this time around, so I hope it's not too bad. Hope you all enjoyed <3

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The sterile smell of the medical office is enough to make you want to collapse into a ball of an overstimulated mess. You felt guarded the second Simon had dragged you out of the house this morning, and here at the clinic it was no different.

The office itself is cosier than you'd thought it to be, there hadn't been a lot in the waiting room, and even the receptionist was exceedingly nice. And still, you couldn't find it in your heart to be as nice back to her. Your tone earned you a glare from Simon, but the man wasn’t one to talk, he hated trips like these as much as you.

"There we go...you're all good, let me just go finalize your file, and you'll be good to go," the doctor smiles at you. He'd been nothing but gentle and caring ever since you entered his office. Not that he had much of a choice with the imposing figure that was Simon, and your own death glares sent his way.

He rises from his chair and leaves the two of you alone in the medical office.

You slide your legs off the medical table, getting back up into a sitting position so you could shrug your pant leg back down. As you had suspected, you really hadn't needed to go here, but Price's insistence was something you couldn't get around.

As long as you took it easy, didn't do too much running, then it'd heal just fine with no extra help.

"I don't like him," you mumble to Simon when he hands you, your boots.

"You don't like any doctors" he grumbles right back at you.

You give him a glare that he remains unfazed to. "Am I wrong?" he asks with a quirked eyebrow, a knowing look on his face that made something inside your heart twitch.

He was wearing a black surgical mask; one Soap had shoved in his hand before he left the house. Price kept on insisting that he not be an idiot, and actually try to blend in a bit more. There hadn't been much protest from him, but he did seem more tense without the usual skull mask covering his features.

It was easier to hide behind a mask. To not let people see any humanity in you when you take them down. Every cruel act would be confined to the mask, it would a separation of who you truly are.

They had tried to force a mask upon you, create an identity they could shape and mould. They had failed with the mask, so they took something much more personal from you.

His mask was a choice.

Yours hadn't been.

Carved with tooth and nail, wooden and strong, it had been strapped to your face. Only a knife could cut it away the meaning it held even after you put it to rest. You could almost imagine it, the flesh peeling down from your face as you try to cut away the sins beneath. You could cut all you wanted; no amount of blood would wash you clean.

It would be so easy too.

The doctor had so many tools in here, each and every one could be used if you knew how, and you did.

Cut cut cut

Wash away the sins

"Spider?"

Ignore him

Your attention is brought back to him. It still feels foreign, that nickname on his lips so easily, as if he'd never stopped. It sounded different, with his voice being deeper, more brute. 

He always kept his voice a tad quieter when he addressed you, compared to how he addressed someone such as Gaz. It was different, yet still lacked the warmth he held for Soap.

You try to see past the cover of his face, but it all remains hidden to you. Even with the smaller mask. You should be able to see his face, the smooth skin beneath, his locks of hair. Instead, it's all covered in black shadows, creating a terrifying display of limbs and mass.

He reaches for you again, a steady hand to support you down from the table. You flinch away.

He tucks his hand back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. A defensive manner you'd say, but there are more layers to it. He lets out a deep-rooted sigh and turns away from you, picking up the backpack he'd brought.

Essentials, Price had said when he shoved it into his arms.

Essentials for what you can't quite imagine, you weren't planning on being out long. Simon unzips the bag, placing it on the table next to you to rummage through it. He picks out a wrapped sandwich, shoves it into your hands so you have no choice but to take it. He gives you a pointed look.

"You didn't eat breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry," you protest, but by the growl of your stomach, you aren't given much choice than to accept it. He keeps staring at you, and you realize a little late that he intends for you to eat it now. With a huff, you open it up and take a bite. It's actually not too bad.

The doctor comes back in soon after, forcing your muscles to tense up once more. He gives you a few painkillers, on the house he says, despite how you protest to it. Simon takes the bag for you, probably to make sure you actually kept eating your meal.

"Bloody hell...cold is starting to get annoying," Simon grumbles when the two of you exit the clinic.

"At least this place actually gets snow...most places I've been to recently have just been cold and wet...no snow," you tell him quietly while looking over at a young family of four going further down the street, probably on their way to the market.

"If we're lucky we'll have a white Christmas here too" Simon says in the same grumpy tone. He didn't seem all that excited about it. Maybe he'd rather be at home, and not out here. You'd understand that, not that you had anything to look forward to yourself.

"Lucky?" you raise a brow he doesn't get to see, your attention still darting between the people walking by and in and out of stores.

"Gotta look for the positives Spider..."

Simon gains your attention back with a wave of his hand, he gestures towards the store just opposite of the clinic.

"We should pop in before we head back...need a couple of things for dinner," He starts walking without much of a confirmation, forcing you to pick up the pace to keep up.

"Didn't Soap say he had a surprise for dinner?"

He lets out a rumble of a chuckle and shakes his head, "Yeah but something tells me it's not going to include a lot of actual dinner"

Soap has an eager smile when he leads the flock of you to his most recent discovery. He'd insisted the lot of you needed even a moments' relaxation, to do an honoured tradition within the group. It had been in your suspicions, but somehow you still find yourself slightly disappointed that it's just a bar.

"Beautiful corner piece of the town...or well...that is what ah was told," he takes the step down to the dark wood door. He opens it paying no mind to it's creaking in complaint; quiet music lures the lot of you closer to the dim lighted bar. He gestures with his head towards you, beckoning you inside.

You step forward with your question as you descend behind him, "are you sure this is really a good idea-"

An abrupt hand grabs your arm and saves you what could've been a nasty trip down the extra two stairs that comes after the door. "Easy! Watch your step," Soap chuckles, quickly letting go of your arm when you find your footing and take the last steps fully into the bar.

The rest follow close behind, some more eager than others at the prospect of a drink and some downtime without the stress. Someone answers your question, but you don't hear it. You're too busy looking at where Soap's touch had been, as if you expect burn marks to suddenly appear.

Three of the men walk past you, not minding your little stop in the middle of everything. They go to find a table in the back, taking in the rest of the bar. It's small and quaint, not room for many, but not a lot seems to even frequent this place.

You feel Simon's looming presence behind you. He's refusing to move past you, intent on not letting you be the last, for whatever reason.

You follow after the others. No need to hog the space and attract more attention than you undoubtedly already do.

The booth they've found sits up against the wall, close enough to the bar but also in the lower light of the back. Price and Gaz have taken a seat inward, Soap takes a seat at the edge next to Gaz and Simon next to Price.

You stop for a moment, contemplate where to squeeze yourself in. Soap moves further in and makes space for you next to him. You sit down with little other choice, but quietly appreciative of not sitting in-between the burly men. There was space to make a quick exit should you ever need it.

Simon's eyes meet yours briefly before you rip them away, putting your attention to Gaz and Soap who are already collecting the group's orders to go get them all some drinks.

"And what about you, Spider?" Gaz asks, an excited smile on his lips; he has a pretty glint in his eyes.

Of course. Alcohol.

When was the last time you drank any? Hard to say.

"Uh...yeah, whatever you're having," your mind is only been half there since the morning. Your thoughts occupied, as they often are. You survey the area, looking for the familiar faces, but your own mind sabotages your attempts.

The shadows are persistent.

You could only hope that the alcohol would silence them, even if only somewhat.

This was going to be an interesting night, that was for sure.

He set off enough time. A proper goodbye.

It's time to go. Simon knows it's time, the only way out of here is waiting for him, yet he can't get himself to move. The suns coming down, and you're still not here. He looks at his watch, the ticker going at a steady rate. It couldn't be his timing that was wrong. Despite your usual punctuality, you're late. 5 minutes he can handle, 10 even, but you're still not here and it's been 20 minutes.

And you were missing it.

Maybe you were still angry with him. Still too huddled up in your own thoughts of childish betrayal. He understood why you were upset, but he didn't understand why you were so hell-bent on resenting him for it.

He was getting his way out; you should be happy, right? It's what the both of you have been wanting for years. Since you were little kids and barely even knew each other. It was his only way out; he wasn't going to pass on it to keep you comfortable.

He would come back. He'd swear it to you, to any god that's never answered his prayers. He'll come back for you, to take you with him. When he's got enough money, a place of his own and a secure way out. He'll come save you.

He'll promise it as many times as he needs to, until you believe him, until you have enough reassurance to wait just a little longer.

But he can't wait for you forever.

He lets out a sigh, tugging his coat closer around himself. It's getting colder, the night air can be relentless.

"Where are you, spider..."

The graveyard looks lonely without you. It's hard to believe this is the place you've spent so many years, a morbid refuge only the two of you truly know. He could walk around blindfolded here if he had to, one time you even made him for a fun game. Perhaps it wasn't the most respectful thing for the dead, but you two kept them company in their cold, dark graves.

You'd all end up in the ground eventually, some sooner than others.

He had to go.

If you wouldn't come to him, he'd come to you.

He'd walked the way to your place countless times. Had sneaked around just the way you showed him. A rule the two of you had whenever you didn't come, typically you'd gotten grounded, because you never missed your hangouts, never. You showed him just where to step to not be seen, just where to hit the window to your bedroom to get it loose. A faulty lock that never got replaced.

He used his own precision to crawl into your room with as little noise as possible. A skill he hoped to refine when he got his place in the military.

He did it like clockwork, crawled inside like it was nothing.

But you weren't in your room, either.

It's not often Simon allows tears to rise to his eyes these days, but this hurt. It really fucking hurt. He was going to miss you way more than you knew, and you didn't even seem to care. Where the hell were you.

There had never been a whole lot to look at in your room. It was pretty bare-bones, always neat and clean because there were consequences if it wasn't. Too white and bare for his own taste as well. He might not be much better in decorating, but your room still seemed to be overkill in the amount of nothing it exuded.

Simon sat down on your bed, wincing at the creaking springs. He could only hope your absence meant that of your families as well. They'd never quite taken much of a liking to him, something about his lack of faith, something about his lack of showing it, or just about the family he came from. The reasoning never stayed the same for long.

"Oh, spider...what am I going to do with you..." he runs a hand over his face, following an exhausted huff.

He couldn't ignore it any longer. The time ticked on, and he didn't have forever. He didn't time, he never had enough time.

In a last effort to contact you, he grabs a page of your notebook, scribbling down a parting message for you. Hopefully you'd find it, hopefully you wouldn't hate him or blame him for how this is turning out. He tried.

He places it on top of your pillow, staring at it longer than he should. He knows he should get a move on, that the world won't wait for him, but part of him can't get himself to move. He still hopes you'll walk through the door any moment now. That you can get some time together, even if it's just a few seconds so he can kiss your lips and apologize a million times over.

The sound of the opening door makes his heart skip a beat; he turns around with a haste he didn't have before. He's disappointed to see it isn't you, only to be panicked at the knowledge that it really isn't you.

Simon is frozen in place, looking at the unfamiliar adult before him. He's got a piercing gaze, there's no question in his eyes, as if he already knows who and why Simon is here.

Simon's eyes dart up to the man's hair, something unnatural about the blonde colour, too bright and too slicked back to give off any comforting vibes.

"They're not here," his voice is icy cold, stating the obvious.

"I know-"

"You should leave, they don't need you here."

Simon's brow furrows at his words, taking offence to the near insult thrown his way. Who the hell even was this guy, and why did he care that much. One look at the time, and he reminds himself that it's not a fight he has the time for, not even to question the man.

"Yeah...whatever... I'm leaving...tell them I'm sorry I missed them," he walks towards the door, intent on leaving on more conventional means than he came in. He stops In front of the man, only now really realizing how big he was compared to Simon himself.

"Excuse me," he tries to walk past, but only receives another glare from him.

The message doesn't need to be spoken aloud for Simon to get it, but it doesn't make him any more happy about it. "Bloody hell, man, are you serious," he complains and crosses his arms.

"Get out."

The air has a crisp sense of the oncoming dark winter. Hell, it was practically in the middle of winter already by all the damned snow that just kept falling everywhere. It made for pretty scenery but came along with a cold Simon wasn't a fan of.

Still, it wouldn't keep him from ruminating by himself, smoke in hand, as he took time away from the stuffy atmosphere the bar started to adopt.

Unfortunately, Simon has a habit of stewing on old memories when he's left to his own devices. Typically, he goes over things in his past, painful memories like the good ones. Of his younger days in the military, of when he met Price, of how he became ghost, newer additions being his early relationship with Johnny and how it's evolved.

He finds it gives him a sense of peace to ruminate over his choices, whether good or bad. To analyse situations and prepare for similar ones, no matter the circumstance or person. Though ever since being shipped out here, his thoughts seem to only ever be on who his spider used to be.

Trying to piece together the puzzle of your mind and figure out how you became so. It's one of the greater puzzles of the universe. At least to him.

He exhales the smoke from his lungs one final time as his thoughts come to a close over the last memory. How he left you behind. Not a fond memory, and even then, his mind is a muddy walk to go through.

He pulls his cigarette away from his lips, lets the smoke run its course. There's not much left of it, and it was his last light. He'd be damned if he didn't savour it. He could likely bait Price into buying some more for him when he makes his own run to town for more cigars. If they even have any. The captain did have a particular taste, as much in people as his smoking habits.

This place hadn't been much help when it came to gathering intel. He was getting restless in the lack of progress. He knew it to be a delicate process, but normally he'd been able to probe somebody about something by now. He'd have a goal to focus on, instead he's left to wondering about too many things.

The only thing that was keeping him in somewhat of an amenable mood this evening was the towns’ ability to provide a decent drink.

If he was being fair to his own faults, he'd even allow himself to acknowledge how nice it was to be out with the entire team again, with you again. He'd been surprised to see you eager enough for a drink, finishing it off even faster than Johnny or Gaz.

It was nice to see you comfortable, to see you smile. Even if the alcohol likely had a part in getting you to be more open to them. You got a lot more daring, that was for sure, a lot more talkative. Not many of your stories made much sense, changing course and directive half-way through, but you did speak rather fondly of the old team you'd been with a few years ago.

Even if he hadn't been in on your life in a long time, he was glad you'd found comfort in others when he wasn't there to provide it. Even if you had changed, deep down you still kept the same quirks from when you were young, though of course more muted.

He exhales the smoke from his lungs along with a deep sigh. He wanted to get closer to you, but it felt like an impossible prospect. He didn't understand how Johnny made it look so easy, he could be at the ends of the earth, and he'd still make friends wherever that would be.

His attention is lured back to the door at the sound of the little bell ringing above it.

He watches as you come stumbling out of the little bar, almost tripping over your own feet as you take the three steps up. He raises a brow at your form, you definitely hadn't looked that drunk when he was in there. What the hell did you drink.

"You alright there, Spider?"

You garble out some nonsense before coming to stand beside him, leaning all of your weight back on the wall behind you. "Yeah...M'fine..." you said in the most unconvincing voice he's ever heard. He keeps his eyes on you, surveying your expressions. He wasn't about to let you barf all over him.

"You know... I wish I'd found you a bit earlier...you're all so nice..." you let out a little huff as if you'd been running for a while. You let out a quiet giggle, something he truly doesn't think he's ever heard you do, at least not like that.

"Yeah... It's good to have you back, Spider..." he almost allows himself to spout out how much he's missed you. It hangs in the back of his throat, right along with his emotions. It's not the time. He doubts you'll even remember this conversation in the morning. But maybe that was all the more reason to do it.

"Why did you even join up, spider?"

You don't answer at first, and he thinks that maybe you've already clocked out mentally for the night. Your head turns to look at him, something unreadable in your expression. "You never came back..." you sound sad, small in your voice.

His brows furrow, his mouth slightly open before he snaps back to reality and takes another puff of his cigarette. He realizes this is probably the first time you've seen this much of his face without the mask. He'd been lucky enough that it was late and not many around to stare at his ugly mug...but you.

He feels out of place under your gaze, an odd need to crawl away and hide in the darkest corner he can find. It's a foreign feeling with you.

"Figured I needed to do something with my life, and it's not like I had many other opportunities waiting for me back home," you turn your head away once again. For a moment, you sound completely sober, the conversation doing more for you than any amount of cold air ever could.

Then again, the more you seem to stand there, the more your grimace widens. In a swift motion, you push yourself away from the wall, putting your weight back onto your unsteady feet. You push past him, to the edge of the building, the little alley gap in-between.

"Hey where are you going!" he shouts out confused. You turn the corner of the building, disappearing into the darkness. His brows furrowed as he took another puff of his cigarette, hoping you'd emerge shortly after. Maybe you just needed to walk it off?

When he hears the horrid sound of your retching, he knew he was wrong.

"Oh, bloody hell," he throws his cigarette to the ground, crushing it against the pavement before hurrying over to turn the same corner. Surely enough, there you are. Bucked over and barfing up your insides, which seems to be more stomach acid and alcohol than any food.

His movements are as gentle as he can make them, not keen on having you flinch away from help when you're like this. He places his hand on your back, the other supporting your shoulder so you don't fall over. You don't seem to react at all.

"Steaming Jesus, ah was wondering where ye ran off to."

Simon turns his head, seeing Johnny come closer to the two of them. "How much did they drink..." Simon grumbles in a worried tone. When you seem finish puking, he helps you back up, steadier on your feet this time. With a groan, you lean back against the wall behind you.

"Ffffuck..."

"Didn't think ye drank that much...don't hold ye alcohol too well," Johnny gives you a cheeky grin.

You tip your head forward, losing your balance like a newborn foal. Simon is quick to act, gently cupping your cheek to hold up your head, so you don't hurt yourself. "You need to get back to the house and sleep this off..." he didn't think your tolerance would be this shit, but he doesn't recall you ever having much of a tolerance to begin with.

"Help me with them, will ya" Simon moves your arm, helping you use him as support. Johnny takes your other side, helping you lean on them both before they embark on the way back. They help you stumble back out of the alley, where they're met with the questioning stare of Kyle.

He lets out a low chuckle at the sight, "time to go, then?"

  

He'd found it amusing then, more frustrating now. "Spider- no- do not-" he puts a firm hand on your waist so you don't trip over your own legs down out of the car. You lean all your weight on him, and he has to do a mental double take to not keel over right along with you.

Getting you inside is a struggle and a half. Simon isn't sure where your little spouts of energy are coming from, but they surge through you at a random pace. You're almost worse than when you had just gotten freshly drunk in the bar itself.

"No, no... we need to.... ffgh-" you try to tell him something, but he doesn't have half a mind to listen when he needs to get you inside as quickly as possible. You refused to wear a jacket, and he will not have you freezing out here without you even realizing it.

Johnny comes up next to him, helps walk you inside, despite your little protests and seeming urgency to be somewhere else. "C'mon, let's get ye inside" he hooks an arm around yours and together the two of them manage to get you in.

The way to the bedroom is just as annoying and long as it was to get you to the car and back home in the first place. And then as the three of you reach the door, Price calls Johnny away intending on talking to him about something important, leaving Simon to bring you in and into your bed.

"There we go," Simon huffs as he gets you to lean on him again so he can close the door with a click. He tries to walk you in the right direction, but fails to steer you towards your own bed, charting a course for the one he and Johnny shared instead.

It didn't matter too much for one night, the three of you could switch if needed.

"C'mon love onto...the...bed," he manages to walk you backwards until the back of your knees meet with the bed and makes you fall down on to it with a huff. You mumble something incoherent again, writhing a little bit until you seem to deflate on the mattress.

Simon lets out a deep huff, standing back up to look at your dishevelled form. He'd dealt with Johnny drunk enough times by now, but at least he wasn't trying to run in ten different directions as if you were either late to something or running for your life.

Seeing as you'd clearly be incapable of taking care of yourself before you fell asleep, he might as well get to it. "Okay Spider...let's get you ready for bed," he mumbles and crouches down to take off your shoes, one and then the other.

"Mh...no..." you writhe a little bit.

"It's alright...you can sleep in a minute," Simon assures you, but he's not entirely sure if you even hear him. He walks over to your closet, rummaging through for something else to wear. He's stunned by how little you have, it's barely a hunt for it, it's right there within eye height.

He brings the other set of clothes over to your bed, not paying too much attention to your mumbling. He leans back again, running a hand over his face. How exactly was he supposed to do this. He doubted that you would change clothes if he asked you.

"M'sorry love but...well...you gotta," he lets his words trail out realizing you were definitely not listening to any words of assurance he was trying to give you.

Just gotta get it over with, and quick, you were starting to rile up again, and he wasn't about to go chasing after you again if you got another sprout of energy.

He leans over you and unbuttons your pants, but he hesitates as he pulls down your zip. Something in him feels awkward, and he switches his course of direction to your shirt instead. His hands gently reach for the edge of the white fabric.

"No-....m'not......can't....ready...."

His hands take a hold of it and with just as gentle movements he starts to pull it up your torso.

"No- NO! Father, please! Not again-"

He lets go like he's been burned. His eyes wide as he takes a firm step away from you in pure shock. His own heart pounds, his mind reeling to understand what just happened. You clutch your shirt around your abdomen, your body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Your body scrambles to lay further away from him on the bed.

His own hands shake, the worst-case scenarios running wild in his mind of all the possible ways he could've just hurt you.

And still, he doesn't understand your reaction.

"Spider..." he says quietly, carefully. You don't respond to it, so he calls your name even softer.

Your breathing is too rabid for his liking, but he doesn't want to risk touching you again. He doubts you'd react positively to it, and he knows that feeling.

At first, he's at a loss at what to do, how to make you calm down, but he realizes it's really so painfully simple. There's nothing much he can do, but he can do what he had wished someone had done for him way back.

Careful to not collide with your shaking form, he lays down beside you. You instinctively roll onto your side and curl up even further, but you don't turn away, so he takes it as a good sign. Your eyes are shut tight, and your body still trembling just as bad as before.

"I'm here..." he whispers quietly, without knowing if you can even hear him. He extends his hand between the two of you, he doesn't touch you, but it's there whenever you're ready. He doesn't know how long the two of you stay like that, and whatever Price needed Johnny for, he's glad it's taken longer than expected.

He doesn't move, almost doesn't dare breathe any more than necessary as he keeps his eyes on your form. His little praises and words of encouragement doesn't seem to do much, but his heart feels desperate.

Simon takes notice of every little movement, of every twitch and hitch in your breath when you slowly open your eyes to meet his. They're glassy, tears threatening to spill over, but they never fully come.

His hand grabs unto the sheets beneath to not reach out and touch your cheek, to be ready to wipe away any tears that may fall.

"M'sorry..." your apology is quiet and raspy, and for a moment it feels like you're still just the scared kids from back home, trying to survive in a world that's not built for them.

"It's just I-"

"You don't have to explain yourself..." he cuts you off sharply. He doesn't know if it was the right call from the deflated look on your face. You nod, biting your lip softly.

"Simon..." your voice is soft and searching. Your shaking hand bumps into his, and he takes it in his, feeling the coldness of your skin.

"It's okay..."

"Please don't go."

"I won't."

His answer is firm, it's the truth, and he would swear it to you if you asked. He's not going to leave. Not again. Never again. He's here to stay whether you push him away or not, he's here by your side, watching. Always.

He makes a decision on a whim without forethought. Simon's arm hooking around your waist and pulling you closer until he can envelop his arms around you and keep you close to his chest. You tense at first, before you relax in his hold, resign your drunken state to him in favour of falling asleep in the arms of the only person who's ever truly made you feel safe.

"M'not going anywhere, Spider..."

Simon doesn't dare move as you lay your head to his chest, and feel his heartbeat beneath his skin. He doesn't dare move when he hears your breathing even out. He especially doesn't dare move when he can feel your body go lax, and sleep take over you.

The door to the room opens with a quiet creak, and Johnny's footsteps comes closer to the bed. "Mh ah see ye got a head start then..." Johnny's smirk is too wide on his lip, and Simon could easily wipe it off if he wasn't holding something more important at that moment.

"Should ah be offended? Jealous even?" Johnny is merely teasing, but it still elicits a groan from Simon.

"Get in here, dumbass."

Johnny lets out a quiet chuckle, looking down at him with a fond smile. "Let me just...scoot in here..." he crawls unto the bed, struggling to make room for himself, but with a bit of adjusting to your sleeping form, Simon manages to make space for him.

"Are you done wiggling around trying to wake them?" Simon mumbles with a thick layer of sarcasm.

"Ah am not trying to-"

"Ssh!"

Johnny settles in, unashamedly cuddling up to your sleeping form and peeking at Simon over your head. "Goodnight, grump" Johnny whispers quietly, reaching over you to squeeze his arm. He lets out a quiet sigh, letting his own body relax down into the mattress.

"Goodnight, Johnny" Simon murmurs, watching Johnny ever so slowly join you in the realm of dreams.

As he lay there with two of arguably the most impactful people he's ever met, he can't help but feel a sense of warmth within him. Not a physical warmth, but a warmth that blooms in his heart. It's unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. The thoughts that occur with them are dangerous, unsure, things he'll undoubtedly have to entertain when the sun rises again.

But for now, he's content with holding his unknowing world in his arms, and let the warmth lull him into a peaceful sleep.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @kaoyamamegami @lilynotdilly @chickennn-soupp @spicyspicyliving @ellabellabunny123 @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @haipasa

[kokabeeeel]

tw: abuse, non-con

———

“wait- wait! mommy please, no! i’m sorry- i said i was sorry! please don’t hurt me, mommy, please don’t.”

watching her beg, watching her plead and be at his complete mercy… god it was delicious.

“what did i say, sammy? what did mommy say in regards to saying no?”

"y-you said-"

"gonna need you to speak up, baby girl, i can't hear you."

"you said to not think it!"

beaming, dean tugged roughly at his baby girl's hair. "oh what a smart girl you are, sammy! no wonder you ended up here- i should give you a gold star, better yet-"

reeling his fist back, slammed it directly into sammy's nose, blood trickling down to her lips. gripping her chin tightly, dean brought his face close to hers, licking the blood off of his girl's face; smirking. "much better, don't you think so?"

"m-mommy, please, i'm begging you- please!"

“i raised you, sammy- i made you; is a farmer not allowed to sample his produce? is a chef forbidden to taste their food?” he lands a hand on her again, this time her eye. "don't deny me what i want, sammy. i can hurt you a whole lot more than what i already have- do. not. test. me."

sammy shakes her head violently.

the sigh dean lets out is filled with annoyance. “what is it going to take for you to understand, sammy, i take what i want- i get what i want. do i need to beat it into you, huh? black and blue just like john used to- is that what’s gonna help get everything through your thick skull?”

watching sammy flinch in fear, dean lets out a loud laugh and its toxic; acidity burning the oxygen surrounding them. placing his hand against sammy's throat, he tightens it, to the point he can feel the muscle give way under his palm. “come on, sammy, you ended up at stanford, i thought you were supposed to be smart.”

dean can see the exact moment his baby girl gives up; eyes fading and body going limp, she nods - dean releasing the grip he has around her neck.

with tears in her eyes, she slowly pulls down the leggings she had changed into prior to them leaving stanford originally - though if you were to ask dean, he would say sammy should never have changed out of her sleep dress, it would've made this whole ordeal much easier - leaving her in one of dean's old shirts and lace panties.

"much better, baby, glad to see you're learning your place

dean's not gentle when he enters: zero foreplay, or easing with his fingers; lube to making things pleasurable for his sweet girl - tonight is all dean, dean, dean, dean, dean.

he uses her, he nips at her. claws are her skin and leaves red streaks all over her body. she's motionless; allowing her body to used an moulded as if she were clay.

there is nothing she can do to remove her mommy from her body.

when it's finally over, she can't even feel satisfaction from it being over, she feels dirty.

“just you remember, sammy.” his voice is saccharine, but she still flinches, she can't help but think that's the way things are going to be from this point forward. “i brought you into this world- i can sure as shit take you out of it.”

climbing off her, he’s not gentle when he pulls out, but she doesn’t move: static and pretty; she doesn't even swipe at the red running down her leg.

as dean gets back into the drivers seat, and looks in the rearview mirror, he can see his baby girl bathed in blood and sweat; coated in tears and cum.

he laughs quietly to himself - sammy would learn her place, even if dean had to beat it into her.

———

part 1 part 2 part 3

[bowandcurtsey]

Happy birthday, Kuroo Tetsuro

Just a little somethin' for my husbando, some random hcs

Kuroo Tetsuro x f! reader tw: spicy and smutty, minors dni, just an indulgence post :3

[ when he accidentally sees your lingerie]

You both were still dating and stuff y'know, you haven't gone past anything more than making out.

But he was here to pick you up and you just felt that the dress you were wearing, ain't right. So you decided to change.

He didn't do it on purpose, he swore. he was just going to the toilet which happened to be near your bedroom, and your door was slightly ajar.. and there was a mirror and he saw you.

In a sexy lace black matching underwear and bra. He quickly went into the toilet, wondering to himself why is this toilet so god damn hot. His face was red all the way to the tip of his ears.

He closed his eyes, but the image couldn't get out of his brain. God damn did you look so divine.

He looked at you the entire night, boy you looked beautiful in that satin dress but the thought of you showing you that lingerie in full glory was just.. too much.

He swore he shouldn't be like this, he should be respecting you and this date, but he knew that if he saw another glimpse of that lingerie again that night, he wouldn't be able to control himself.

He spent the whole evening trying his best to focus on the conversation you were having... to the food that you were eating.. then on your beautiful face... how you would look like when you were moaning- Kuroo had to mentally slap himself every time.

He excused himself when he felt his semi erected dick straining against his zippers.

There, in the cubicle, he fucked his fist to the thought of you in that sexy black lingerie, riding him, moaning and crying out his name.

He sent you to your doorstep after your dinner, just like the cute gentleman he has always been. He always gives you his signature lazy smile before he pecks you on your cheeks and forehead.

"Would you like to come in, Tetsu?" you shyly asked, "you drove a distance today, maybe you need some rest before you drive home?"

It was all bullshit on your end, the moment your hot boyfriend stepped into the door you guys were making out ferociously; your fingers tangled in his raven hair and his arms pulling you closer and closer to him.

You pulled away at some point and took a step back. your eyes never leaving his. you slowly pulled your zipper down, and your satin dress fell to the floor.

And there he saw it. The black lingerie he caught a glimpse of from the corner of his eyes earlier this evening. It looked even better in full view. The way it wrapped around your body, covering barely the important parts, but enough for him to have his eyes glued to you, his ear tips reddening again for the second time of the night.

"You are a goddess..." he muttered under his breath, so softly and yet enough for you to hear.

You took a step closer, unbuckling his belt and releasing his manhood, fully erected. You looked at it, it was longer than you expected, with a nice curve to it.

You hands tried to wrap around it like you were in a clay moulding session, so gently yet firmly at the same time. The sensation of your fingers made Kuroo hiss.

"Are you sure?" he looked up at you from under those notorious fringe.

You nodded, pulling yourself in to kiss him on the lips, "I prepared this outfit for you, do you like it?"

In a swift move you were pulled up, your legs wrapped around his waist, his penis hard against your open crotch, "you have no idea how much i love it, baby."

By the end of the night, you had no idea how many times you came, you had cummed in every part of the house, you were breathless in your own bed (finally), your face stained with sweat and tears, you barely felt your legs as his cum was leaking down your sore thighs.

Your cunt was filled to the brim with a mixture of your and his fluid, and you were just a fucked out mess, but your lingerie was still on you, albeit your boobs were hanging out from your bra and your panty was half on.

Kuroo looked over at you, thinking about how you looked with your lingerie on and how you looked right now, he loved both the image so much he knew he would never forget this day for as long as he lived.

[bijouxcarys]

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒆𝒏

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: Finally, after a century... here's the next chapter! Enjoyyy <3

CW/TW: Scenes of violence and torture, mentions of drugs

Tags: @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty

Jey’s patience was sparsely contained as he stared at Sami standing before the BOB torso. The realistic punching bag, with its lifeless expression, seemed more intimidating than the red-haired man nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Muscles tensed under black sleeves as Jey folded his arms across his chest, eyes narrowing as he continued to glare at the clearly out-of-his-element Sami.

“A’ight, Uce,” he began roughly and with the frustration that had become all too familiar when dealing with Sami. “This ain’t just about throwin’ punches, man. You gotta make ‘em believe you mean business. Ain’t nobody gonna take you serious if you stand there lookin’ like you ‘bout to apologise after every word.”

Sami nodded eagerly, his wild, curly hair bouncing slightly with the motion. “Right, right. Got it. Be serious, make them believe… I can do that.” He was overly enthusiastic, his natural nervousness seeping through despite his best efforts to seem confident.

Jey let out an exasperated sigh. He didn’t want to be here, wasting his time trying to mould Sami Zayn into something remotely resembling a threat, but Roman had insisted. Ain’t no way Roman thinks this dude can pull this off… he thought as he clenched his jaw and shook his head slightly. But Roman’s orders were Roman’s orders, and if he had to be the one to make Sami intimidating, then so be it.

He tried to sound encouraging, despite his underlying irritation. “Let’s see what you got. Step up to this dummy here, and make me feel like you ‘bout to tear it apart with just your words.”

Sami hesitated for a moment, then awkwardly stepped up to the BOB dummy, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. He cleared his throat, trying to summon some sort of menacing presence. “Hey… uh… you… you better watch yourself, buddy…’cause, uh… I’m not… I’m not someone you want to mess with…” His voice trailed off as he realised how ridiculous he sounded.

Jey facepalmed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “Man, you sound like you ‘bout to ask the dummy on a date,” he muttered, frustration bubbling over. “You gotta put some bass in your voice, Sami! Like you mean it!”

Looking more flustered now, Sami tried again. He squared his shoulders, deepened his voice—as much as he could—and pointed a shaky finger at the dummy. “You… better watch out, or else… uh… you’ll regret it!” His attempt at intimidation is met with silence, the BOB dummy remaining as unimpressed as ever.

He couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore. “Man, you sound like a puppy tryna bark at a Rottweiler,” Jey said between chuckles. But then his face hardened again, and he stepped up to Sami, getting in his face. “Listen, you wanna roll with us, you gotta find that fire inside. Right now, you ain’t scarin’ nobody. Not even this piece of plastic.”

Sami swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. “I-I can do this, Jey. I just… need some practice. I’ll get better, I promise.”

Jey rolled his eyes but stepped back, nodding. “A’ight, let’s take it slow. Start by thinkin’ about what pisses you off. Focus on that, and let it fuel your words. You got a reason to be mad, so show it.”

The redhead took a deep breath, trying to dig deep into his psyche. He wasn’t naturally aggressive at all, but he had pent-up frustration from the constant judgement and doubt from Jey, and possibly the others. If the others had an issue with him being part of The Bloodline, they did a good job at not showing it.

But he tried to channel that, facing the dummy once again.

“You think you can just… walk all over me? You think I’m a joke? Well… you’re wrong. I’m not gonna let anyone push me around anymore!”

Watching on, the corner of Jey’s mouth tugged up into a small smirk. “Better. Still weak, but better. Now put some movement into it. Don’t just stand there lookin’ stiff.”

Feeling a small sense of accomplishment from Jey’s slightly less critical response, Sami decided to step it up. He paced in front of the dummy, pointing at it with exaggerated gestures. “You… you’re nothing! You hear me? Nothing! I’m Sami freakin’ Zayn, and I’m not afraid of you!”

The sight of Sami trying to act tough, with his wild hand movements and shaky voice, was almost too much for Jey. Biting the inside of his cheek was the only way he could stop himself from barking out another series of laughs, knowing that if he did, Sami might lose what little confidence he’d managed to muster.

“Okay, okay, calm down, Rocky Balboa,” he cut in, holding up a hand to stop Sami. “You got the idea, just tone it down. Confidence, not comedy, Uce.”

Sami nodded vigorously, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Right, confidence. Not comedy. Got it.”

Jey sighed, wondering how long this was going to take. “Let’s try something else. How ‘bout you tell this dummy what you’re gonna do to it if it steps outta line?”

Sami looked at Jey with wide eyes. “Uh… what I’m gonna do to it?”

“Yeah, like… what you gonna do? You gonna break its nose, knock its teeth out, make it wish it never looked your way. Stuff like that.”

It was like trying to draw blood from a stone, only… this was trying to draw a drop of aggression from a pale, terrified ginger. 

“I’m… I’m gonna… I’m gonna… rearrange your face!”

Jey blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Rearrange its face, huh? A’ight, not bad, not bad… Now say it like you mean it. Don’t ask the dummy what you’re gonna do. Tell it!”

Sami cleared his throat, boldness capturing a tiny part of him now. “I’m gonna rearrange your face, you hear me? I’m gonna make sure you regret ever messin’ with me!”

He swore he caught a hint of approval in Jey’s eyes—or he hoped that was approval.

“There we go, Uce. Now you sound like you mean it. Keep that up, and maybe one day you’ll be able to talk smack without soundin’ like you’re readin’ a bedtime story.”

Grinning, the small bit of praise boosted Sami’s spirits. “Thanks, Jey. I’m really trying.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Just don’t let it get to your head,” he replied, though his tone was slightly less harsh now. “Let’s keep workin’. We got a long way to go before you can even think about intimidatin’ anybody.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Dim light shone like a laser through cracks in the panelling of this old barn, illuminating the right side of the terrified man in the centre of it. His ankles and wrists tightly strapped to a chair. Clearly out of his depth. But Roman was far from sympathetic.

“You were real comfortable pickin’ up shell casings at the warehouse,” Roman began calmly. “But you ain’t look like no janitor to me. So, why don’t you tell me who sent you?”

The man, whose name was revealed via his ID as Javier Colón, hesitated, shifting in the chair as his eyes darted between Roman and the two… henchmen, behind him—Solo and Jimmy. 

“I-I don’t know, man, I was just there. Cleanin’ up, that’s all.”

Roman sighed heavily when Javier neglected to answer him properly. He could have gone straight in for the kill, desecrated and destroyed this man instantly, but that wasn’t how he worked. Patience was always a virtue to him, regardless of how tedious the wait may have been at times.

Instead of acting on impulse, itching away at his palms like nettle stings, he decided to pull up his own chair, setting it down in front of Javier. Close enough so there were mere inches between the tips of Roman’s Jordans and Javier’s boots as they sat opposite one another.

The crease in Roman’s brow deepened as he regarded Javier. He already knew this was one stubborn fucker, just from the amount of manpower it took to take his wallet from his coat pocket on the drive over.

Watching him squirm in the tension curated on his own accord was probably one of the most exhilarating feelings in the world.

But then, he broke the silence.

“You ever seen Reservoir Dogs?”

The question was so casual, so unexpected to come from Roman’s mouth. Like he was catching up with an old friend over a beer.

“W-What?”

“Reservoir Dogs,” Roman repeated with a shrug of his shoulders. He looked quite spent by this point, just trying to get the guy in that chair, and his bun had fallen somewhat loose, stray strands of his hair falling onto his shoulders. “Have you seen it?”

Javier reluctantly nodded.

Then, Roman’s passive demeanour fell into one that sent pure chills right through Javier’s body. He leaned forward, elbows resting atop his knees.

“Then you know it ends,” he grumbled, a small twitch in his nose. “You know, I hate liars. And right now,” he inhaled deeply. “You’re makin’ me real fuckin’ angry.” He reached into his jeans, pulling out a small switchblade, flicking it open with a click that echoed throughout the barn.

Javier’s eyes widened in terror as Roman twirled the blade casually in his hand. “Now, you can tell me what I wanna know, or…” He trailed off, letting the blade’s glint do the talking. “So,” he leaned back in his chair. “Imma ask you one more time… What do you know about the warehouse job last month?”

Sneering, Javier only stuck to his defiance. Making the silly decision to spit at Roman—well, attempt to. The glob of saliva fell embarrassingly short, landing on the floor between them.

Roman’s lips curled into a cold smile. “You’re brave,” he said in a dangerously soft tone. “But that don’t get you far with me, boy.”

Standing up, and sending the chair back behind him with a sickening screech, Roman began to circle Javier, hands clasped behind his back with the constant threat of the switchblade between his fingers. “You know what happens when you don’t cooperate, right? People start disappearing… families get hurt.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You got family?”

“Fuck you,” Javier muttered hoarsely.

“You got a daughter, right?” Roman asked, as if recalling a casual detail. He knew he didn’t need to raise his voice to be threatening; his very calmness was terrifying. “Pretty little thing, I bet. Must be about six, seven?”

Javier’s eyes flashed with fear, but he kept his mouth shut.

Roman leaned in closer. “You don’t want her growing up without a father, do you? Or worse… wondering why she’s an orphan. Wondering why someone else has to take care of her because Daddy got himself killed.”

Fear seeped through steadily, Javier’s resolve cracking. “Please… leave her out of this.” 

The bravado was slipping.

“You want her safe?” Roman asked with mock concern. “Then start talking.”

But Javier, though terrified, still shook his head, refusing to give in to someone like Roman Reigns. “I don’t know anything!”

Now back in front of him, Roman stood up straight, rolling his shoulders back. He looked ahead of him, over Javier’s head, before glaring back down at the scared little man with a look of disappointment.

“Wrong answer, muchacho.”

With a swift motion, Roman backhanded Javier across the face, the impact shaking the atmosphere. Blood trickled from a split lip, but he remained as silent as ever, save for a small grunt of struggle.

“Hold him,” Roman ordered, adjusting the chunky ring he adorned on his little finger. Solo and Jimmy stepped forward, each grabbing an iron-claw grip on both of Javier’s arms. Immobilising him.

Yet again, the switchblade was drawn.

“You got one more chance, figlio di puttana,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “What do you know about Damian Priest? A stolen shipment of weapons? Who’s involved? And don’t lie to me… I’ll know.”

Still. Javier remained… silent. Breathing ragged, contemplating the space between the blade and Roman’s fury. But it wasn’t enough. Pure refusal.

A darkened demeanour washed over the large Samoan, almost as if he enjoyed that his toy was being so defiant. It only meant he could have more fun.

“Stubborn,” he mused, mostly to himself. “But I’ve broken tougher men than you, topolino.”

Without another word, he slowly, methodically, began to carve into Javier’s hand, the blade slicing through flesh with practised precision. He let out a choked scream, body writhing in agony as Roman’s knife dug deeper.

“Still nothing?” Roman cackled as he continued the brutal work. Javier’s screams were deathly as the blade was now jabbed directly into the top of his hand.

Right. Between. The knuckles.

“Please! Stop! Hablaré, hablaré… I’ll tell you everything!” Javier finally cried out, breaking with desperation.

Roman didn’t immediately stop, instead driving the point home with one last twist of the blade before pulling it out. He wiped the blood from the knife, keeping his dark eyes concentrated on his subject’s tear-streaked face.

“Start talking,” he commanded, devoid of empathy.

Javier was sobbing, the pain in his hand, shooting right up the nerves in his arm, was overwhelming. “Señor Priest… h-he had beef with someone… someone he called ��Bunny.’ That’s all I know, please, lo juro por mi vida, that’s all I know!”

There was an agonisingly lengthy pause on Roman’s end as he studied him with cold eyes. “If I find out you’re lying…” Letting the threat hang in the air, he knew it was unnecessary to spell it out.

“I’m not! I swear, mi amigo, I’m not lying!” Javier nodded frantically, his body trembling as blood continued to spill from his hand. “Dios mío, me voy a morir—oh jesús joder… maría madre de dios…” he rambled to himself, hyperventilating and dropping his head. 

All the while, Roman had stepped back, wiping off the knife and clicking it shut, slipping it back in his pocket before nodding to Jimmy and Solo. “Get rid of him.”

They released their hold on the man, allowing him to slump in the chair, barely conscious. As the two brothers moved to drag him out, Roman added, “And remind him what happens if he even thinks about talking to the wrong people about our little… rendezvous.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Offer still stands, Princess. Call me whenever.

She’d stared at that message several times since it was sent. It even circled in the back of her mind, during dinner, during normal, daily tasks. Roman was like a cockroach; he just wouldn’t go away. The very thought that he encapsulated her mind so easily with a simple text and three measly encounters angered her more than she liked to admit.

But he hadn’t threatened her—apart from trying to lure her into the back of his SUV—hadn’t threatened her family, hadn’t actually made her feel unsafe at any point. And that by itself was… strange.

Three encounters with a person should be enough for the other to gauge what kind of person they are. Despite Dimitri’s descriptions of what Roman Reigns was, Nate was yet to see that. But it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Yet, if he really was as notorious as her father made him out to be… wouldn’t she have seen that in him already? 

She was usually an excellent judge of character, and the fact that she was questioning Roman’s character, instead of being certain about it, just fuelled her anger toward him.

Every time she considered replying to his text message, the same thought slammed into her—Roman was her family’s adversary. The number one name on her father’s hit list. It wouldn’t be just idiotic; it would be so, so dangerous.

Getting into bed with the enemy. Metaphorically, of course. Although, even if she meant it literally… God, in bed with Roman Reigns. She’d had her fair share of liaising with… not enemies, but people her father didn’t take so kindly to. It was just part of her nature. The defiance. She secretly enjoyed the secret, the only thing she could keep to herself, have for herself. 

In fact, Nate could easily list her top five. And she occasionally thought extensively about her fling with Drew McIntyre a few years back, right in the midst of Dimitri’s issues with the Scottish. 

But her best? Well… she tried not to think about it. It was possibly the closest she’d ever gotten to falling in love.

Roman Reigns, however… That would most definitely be the stupidest thing she could ever do. Not even she was that defiant. But still, it beat the prospect of having to share a room and do the inevitable with Borislav Sokolov.

As much as Nate’s curiosity tugged at her, as much as her thumb hovered over the keyboard, the itch to rebel grating on her fingertips, she knew better than to toy with the idea of messaging him back.

Especially not now, when Dimitri’s trust in her was still on shaky ground.

He was slowly rebuilding that trust, testing her loyalty in small ways, like asking her to accompany him to a side business deal. This one involved a figure who went by the codename ‘Bad Bunny,’ someone known for his connections with the Latinos, the Mexicans, the Spanish… He had a lot of allyship under his belt.

Nate was well aware of who Bad Bunny was. It was one of those names that carried weight, and not in a way that made her feel comfortable. But she couldn’t let that show so easily. She had to play the part of the loyal daughter, even if it meant following her father into murky waters.

They were on their way to the meeting when she decided to ask the question that had been gnawing at her. “Papa,” she started, “Why are we dealing with Bunny?”

Dimitri kept his eyes on the road, his expression as unreadable as always. “Sergei and Ivan did some digging,” he explained. “Found out he’s got quite the history with Priest. It’s possible he’s involved in what happened back at the warehouse. Especially with Reigns.”

Nate frowned, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. “But why would he work with The Bloodline? That doesn’t seem like his style.”

Dimitri glanced at her. “Their most skilled snipers were on the ground that night, Natalka. The shot that took out Priest was too clean. They had to be working with someone who knows what they are doing. Bunny’s got more than enough connections, and he’s got a reason to want Priest out of the way.”

She felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She didn’t believe The Bloodline was involved in this, but it wasn’t like she could voice that so openly to her father. Couldn’t admit to meeting with Roman, no less after the incident about X… She couldn’t afford to seem like she was defending them. Not now. 

“I see,” she nodded slowly, leaning back in her seat.

Dimitri’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, dropping his voice to a low murmur. “We can’t trust anyone right now. Until we know for sure, everyone is an enemy.”

Offer still stands.

Nate still couldn’t figure out what Roman’s offer even was for. What did that even mean? She had a vague idea, but… why did part of her want to find out for sure?

“I bought an area of land not far from the house,” Dimitri announced. “Think it might be smart to branch off into… distribution of a different kind.”

Nate eyed him, a little smirk on her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna start selling—”

“Marijuana, Natalka. It’s marijuana. Not heroin.”

“I didn’t say anything about heroin… besides, it’s not really something you need a whole area of land for.”

“And how would you know that, dorogoy?”

She couldn’t stop the smile on her face. “I am not an amateur, Papa.”

A rare sound, Dimitri laughed, tapping the steering wheel as they approached a bit of a bottle neck on the road. “That’s my girl!”

She had to admit, the little bit of praise, as fucked up as it was, made her feel… good. “What’s that got to do with Bunny? Or are you just… trying to have a conversation?”

“Oh, it has everything to do with Bunny. We’re buying from him, and then we distribute…” he trailed off. “And modify his strains… make something better.”

Oh, her father was an evil bastard. Even in the cases where he wasn’t beating someone to a pulp.

They arrived at the meeting spot, one of Bunny’s secluded facilities further down South. The man in question was already there, flanked by a few of his own men. He stood with casual confidence, scanning the area for the Volkovs.

Nate took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever was about to unfold. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. But as long as she was in her father’s world, she had to play her part.

Bunny’s eyes landed on Nate as they approached, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, to appear as cold and indifferent as her father had taught her. “Dimitri,” Bunny greeted, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Didn’t know you were bringing family.”

Dimitri didn’t break stride with a hardened expression. “Family’s the only thing you can trust in this business, Bunny, you should know this by now.”

Bunny’s smile widened, but there was little warmth in it. “True enough.” He shifted his gaze back to Nate. “I’ve heard about you. The princess of the Volkov empire.”

“Just here to observe,” she replied coolly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “This is my father’s deal, not mine.”

“Understood,” Bunny looked at Dimitri. “Let’s talk.”

Dimitri’s meeting with Bad Bunny was more than just a simple drug deal—to him, it was a move of calculation. Stealth. The large marijuana purchase was genuine, of course, but it was also a convenient excuse to get inside. To see what lay beneath the surface.

“So, how much you looking to move?” Bunny asked. 

“Enough to keep my new territory satisfied,” the Russian replied, eyeing up his stock. “We’re talking about a significant amount. Let’s say I’m looking to establish a long-term partnership. This isn’t a one-off.”

Bunny leaned back against a metal table, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sounds like you’re making some big moves, Volkov. Expanding your empire?”

“Something like that,” Dimitri nodded. “Though one has to be curious… Word is, you’ve had a fair share of problems with Damian Priest. The same one who found himself on the wrong end of a sniper’s bullet recently.”

“Priest is old news,” Bunny waved a dismissive hand. “He made enemies, and he paid the price. Doesn’t mean I’m involved, though.”

Dimitri gave a small nod, as if accepting the answer, but he remained vigilant, analytical.

“And, uh… you have to know about the rumours about you… and The Bloodline, da?”

Bunny raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused. “En serio, Dimitri… Rumours are just that. Rumours. I keep my business clean.”

“Good,” Dimitri accepted, matching the demeanour of the man in front of him. “Because I don’t want any surprises. I’m here to do business, Bunny. Keep things smooth between us, and you’ll find me to be a valuable ally.”

Bunny nodded, entirely oblivious to Dimitri’s wandering gaze as he scoped out his place. “I think we can work something out. Let’s finalise the numbers.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Nate’s body burned with the satisfying ache of a workout well done. She wiped the sweat from her brow and took a deep breath, relishing the temporary silence in her mind. The gym served as a decent enough refuge, a place to drown out the relentless thoughts that plagued her every day. Yet, despite her efforts to escape, something—or rather, someone—had caught her attention.

There was a man, broad-shouldered and intense, who had been sitting in the corner for most of her session. His eyes followed her every move with an unsettling focus. She couldn’t accurately read his expression whenever she did glance his way, but his presence was nothing short of imposing and unnerving.

He didn’t seem to be working out; a phone sat idly in his lap, his thumb occasionally flicking across the screen. 

She shook it off. Maybe it was just another creep. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had ogled her during a workout. But there was something about the way he watched her that made her feel… hunted.

When she finally wrapped up, muscles protesting as she picked up her gym bag, she made a point of avoiding his gaze as she headed for the exit. The cool evening air hit her, and she fully embraced it, letting the tension drain from her body.

But just as she started down the steps, a familiar figure stepped into her path, blocking her way.

“Oh my God,” Nate groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re actually a psychopath.”

Roman stood before her, arms crossed over his chest in his murky green zip-up hoodie, the hood pulled over his head, the slither of a beanie poking out from under it. He had an infuriating smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“You really need to learn some manners, Princess,” Roman drawled.

“I have manners,” Nate huffed. “I just reserve them for people who aren’t stalking me.”

Roman chuckled, resting his forearm high against the wall. “I ain’t stalkin’ you. We need to talk.”

“Talk?” Nate crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side, her ponytail falling with the movement. “A text would have sufficed nicely.” She sent him a sour, displeased smile.

“I’m serious, Natalka.”

Nate gasped. “Woah…”

“What?”

“You actually used my name!”

“I wish your ass would stop bein’ so fuckin’ stubborn—”

“And I wish you wouldn’t stalk me, but we can’t all get what we want, can we? Anyway, what could you possibly have to say to me that couldn’t wait until I wasn’t drenched in sweat and red in the face like a fucking tomato?”

“Tom-ah-to?” He copied the way she pronounced the word.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort, Princess, you ain’t look that bad,” he raised an eyebrow. “Definitely seen worse after a workout.”

Nate shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “I am not in the mood for bullshit right now, Reigns, just tell me what you need from me this time.”

Roman’s somewhat amused expression fell a little and he looked around them. “Somewhere private. We can’t talk here.”

Nate narrowed her eyes sceptically. “Why should I trust you? For all I know, you could be planning to kidnap me.”

There it was again. That little smirk. “If I wanted to kidnap you, you’d already be in my car.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small flutter of… what’s that, humour… in her chest. “I swear, you’re lucky I’m even listening to you. There’s a place not far from here. I guess we could go there.”

Nate didn’t miss the way Roman subtly signalled the man from the gym—his watchful eye, she realised—as they started walking. She couldn’t help but think about how easily he seemed to control everything. 

As much as she hated it, there was something about him that drew her in, something dark and magnetic. It wasn’t a feeling she was entirely comfortable with, but it was strong enough to the point where she couldn’t ignore it.

Roman instantly recognised the place she’d brought him and Solo. And it surprised even him that she’d make this decision.

As they approached the Tribeca apartment building, Nate stopped short of the entrance, turning to Roman with a firm expression. “He stays outside,” she said, jerking her thumb back toward Solo, who stood like a silent sentinel behind them.

Roman arched an eyebrow, his posture relaxed, but his eyes betrayed a hint of irritation. “He’s with me.”

“I don’t care,” Nate shot back, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m not letting someone I don’t know into my place. You’re lucky I’m even letting you in.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue immediately. Instead, he studied her for a long moment, assessing, calculating. Nate didn’t flinch, didn’t give an inch. Finally, Roman let out a low sigh, turning his head slightly to address Solo without breaking eye contact with Nate.

“Wait outside. Keep an eye on things.”

Solo, though obviously displeased, gave a curt nod and stepped back, fading into the shadows of the street. Nate’s shoulders eased slightly, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down. Not yet.

Instead of heading into the building through the front entrance, Nate led Roman around the side, where a narrow alley hugged the exterior of the complex. It was tight, barely wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side.

“Where are we going?” he asked, though he held more curiosity than concern.

“Just follow me,” Nate muttered, keeping her voice low as they reached the back of the building. They stopped in front of a wall cluttered with a tangle of wires and electrical boxes. Roman’s eyes flicked over the mess, taking in the chaos with a wary glance.

“What’s this?”

“This,” Nate replied, pointing to a particular junction box, “is how I keep your face off the security tapes.” She reached up, expertly pulling a specific connector, and then another. There was a faint click, followed by the soft hum of something powering down.

Roman watched her closely, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Maybe it was approval, maybe it was amusement, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to; the look he gave her said enough.

“Come on,” she urged, nodding towards the side entrance that led to the lobby. “And keep your head down.”

Actually complying, Roman’s large frame folded slightly as the two of them ducked into the building. The hallways were narrow, dimly lit, and they moved relatively quickly, keeping to the edges until they reached the elevator. Nate punched the button, tapping her foot impatiently as they waited for it to arrive.

The doors slid open with a quiet ding, and they stepped inside. Nate’s finger hovered over the floor button for a moment before she pressed it. This is a stupid idea….

But she was in way too deep. And it weighed down on her heavily as she stepped inside her apartment with Roman following close behind.

She hesitated for a moment, her hand still on the doorknob as the reality of the situation chewed away at her conscience. What the hell am I doing… letting him into my space? 

But years of conditioning took over, instincts honed through a life of placating, pleasing, and making sure her guests felt welcome—no matter who they were. The training to put others at ease ran deep, even if it meant setting aside her own discomfort. She quickly shifted into autopilot, moving through the familiar motions with a quiet efficiency.

“You want something to drink?” she asked, already heading towards the kitchen.

“You got whiskey?” Roman asked without hesitation as he leaned against the doorframe in the kitchen, watching her every move.

“I’ve got a lot of whiskey, actually.” She grabbed a bottle of rosé wine—much nicer than the horrible red they had at home—from the fridge and poured herself a glass, before quickly making Roman a whiskey on ice. She slid the glass over to him on the counter, a kind of dismissive way of passing it to him.

She sipped her wine, eyeing him warily as she moved to lean against the opposite side of the kitchen island. Roman, for all his intensity, seemed relaxed, taking in her apartment with a casual gaze, as if he belonged there.

“You always drink this fancy stuff?” he asked, raising his glass to her.

Nate smirked to herself, her usual confidence returning. “When you’re born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you kinda get used to this… Doesn’t mean I can’t work my way through some cheap beer though.”

Roman chuckled, the sound low and unexpectedly warm. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

She shrugged, letting his comment slide as she took another sip of her wine. “So, this is how you usually conduct your business? Stalk them and then demand a conversation?”

“Sometimes it’s the only way to get the answers I need.”

Nate tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “And what if I don’t have the answers you’re looking for?”

“Then I’ll find someone who does,” he calmly stated.

She shook her head, exhaling sharply. “You’re the most infuriating person on Earth.”

He leaned in slightly, focusing his gaze on hers. “And you’re smart enough to know when to listen…”

“And I’m listening…” Nate shrugged, also leaning forward as if she was telling him to get on with it.

“What do you know about Bad Bunny?”

Now, that wasn’t what she expected. What a coincidence, as well, that he’d bring Bunny up now. On this day specifically. She straightened her posture slowly, looking down at her glass of wine and swilling it about.

“You, uh…” she stumbled a little, chewing her lip. “You really wanna know about him?”

Roman nodded. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

She sighed, taking a swig of wine this time, before setting the glass down. “He’s more than a small-time player,” she began. “Bunny’s always been smart, dangerous even. People tend to minimise his game, y’know… always try to dismiss him as some ‘wannabe gangster,’ but he’s got connections. Major connections. We’re talking about someone who’s survived more shootouts, deals gone bad, and back stabbings than you can count.”

Roman folded his arms, his attention fully on her and her words now. “Go on.”

Her tone was almost conversational as she continued. “Bunny’s been involved in some heavy stuff. Arms deals, smuggling operations, and that’s just what I know off the top of my head. But here’s the thing—he’s been at it for years, and he’s managed to stay out of prison. Not because he’s untouchable, but because he knows how to play people against each other. He’s slippery, always a step ahead.”

His eyes narrowed, clearly impressed with her knowledge on the man. “And… is your father one of those people?”

“He’s had a few run-ins back in the day, but mostly business arrangements. But Bunny, he’s a survivor through and through. He’s always managed to come out on top, one way or another.”

She paused, her mind running through everything she knew about Bunny. Then, a slow realisation washed over her face, and she stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“What?”

Nate looked up at him, her expression a mix of shock and understanding. “You must know he’s had issues with Damian Priest. Everyone knows about it.”

Roman sighed, remembering the sparse information Javier gave him earlier that day. “Yeah, I just found that out today. That’s why I wanted to talk to you now.”

“No, no, it’s not just Priest, though,” Nate cut in. “He’s always had a problem with The Judgement Day. There was this whole bloodbath back at their clubhouse last year—dozens of guys from both sides… Priest barely made it out alive, and since then, it’s just been… silent.”

“So, even after knowing all this shit,” Roman huffed, “You still thought it was my family who fucked it all up?”

“Don’t start, Roman, it just made sense at the time that it was someone who was already there!”

“It’s been over a month since this shit went down, and now is the time you come out with all this?”

“You know what, you came here. You asked to speak to me. You asked me about Bunny. I gave you the answers, and just like last time, I gave you what you fucking wanted. If you’re gonna be a prick about it, just leave.”

My God, this woman is insufferable…

Roman’s gaze hardened. He clearly didn’t like being talked down to. He forgot that he was speaking to the daughter of the most dangerous man in the city, and that she wasn’t afraid to step up to him—or anyone, as it seemed.

“Let me ask you a question,” Nate started up again. “After learning about Bunny and Priest’s history… do you still believe that my family fucked with that shipment?”

It was unexpected, but Roman paused. He seemed to struggle with an answer. And it pissed Nate off.

“Seriously?” she scoffed. “After me basically spilling my guts out to you, telling you I don’t think The Bloodline had anything to do with the shipment, you still think that we did this shit?”

“No,” he replied through a clenched jaw. “I didn’t say that.” He finished off his whiskey, pushing himself up from the counter. He made a slow, steady journey around the island before stopping, just in front of Nate.

“How loyal to your father do you consider yourself to be?” he asked, a grumble in his voice as it teetered on a whisper.

She swallowed down her wine, the question causing her heart rate to speed up. This man towered over her, staring her down as he awaited an important answer to a very important question.

“I-I’m very loyal to my family, Roman,” she answered quietly.

“I don’t believe you.” He placed a large hand on the island, leaning over her to look so deeply into her eyes. “Do not lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” she pressed. “I am loyal to my family.”

Clever girl… Roman smirked at her, noticing the way she teetered around the phrasing. It wasn’t ‘I’m loyal to my father.’ It was ‘I’m loyal to my family.’

“I think we should pay Bunny a visit,” he moved on, though he didn’t pull back. He’d revisit the question of her loyalty another time.

“We?” Nate raised an eyebrow. “Why am I involved in this?”

“You the one that knows the man, Princess. You got the intel. Invaluable.”

“Invaluable or expendable? There’s a difference.”

Roman straightened back up. “You know I wouldn’t have suggested anythin’ if I thought you weren’t worth the risk. You got somethin’ I need—information, access. And you got a lot more to gain by working with me on this than stayin’ in your daddy’s shadow.”

Nate held his gaze, the intensity of the moment thick. The opportunity to finally step out from under her father’s control, to make her own choices—it was tempting, dangerously so. But this was Roman Reigns she was dealing with.

“Are you sure it’s wise, asking your enemy’s daughter for help?”

“Princess, this benefits us both. We were both fucked over. If it weren’t your family, and I know for damn sure it ain’t mine, then it’s gotta be a third party, no? If Bunny’s had issues with Priest and The Judgement Day, who’s to say they ain’t the ones who pulled that trigger? Stole our shit?”

This was such a dangerous proposition. Even if Nate gently attempted to ease a conversation with her father where The Bloodline wasn’t the enemy, and that there was an alternative possibility floating around out there… she knew he wouldn’t listen.

Dimitri Volkov was after Roman Reigns, and it was Roman Reigns’ head he wanted. The Bloodline was the enemy. Even believing Bunny was involved was enough to be an additional reason to go after Roman. The Bloodline in the enemy, Nate, don’t be stu—

“Listen,” Roman sighed, stepping back, lifting his hands. “You tend to see the bigger picture. I don’t know what the fuck has gone down with your dad, but we both know this is a bit more than family loyalty. Somethin’ this big happens, you gotta survive. Stayin’ in your dad’s shadows, blindly followin’ him ain’t helping nothin’.” 

Nate weighed his words carefully, the truth of them settling over her like a heavy cloak. She didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. If Bunny was involved, then going through the usual channels wasn’t going to cut it. And Roman, for all his faults, knew how to get things done.

“Fine.”

The word left her mouth before she could even think about it. Oh, you stupid girl.

“But this is on my terms,” she firmly said. “You tell me what you know. Whenever you know it. No cloak-and-dagger bullshit. If we’re gonna do this, we’re doing it with full transparency. You hold up your end, and I’ll hold up mine.”

Honestly, Roman was a little shocked that she went for it. Perhaps it was the post-workout adrenaline. The adrenaline that gave her skin that glow he often saw in women after he’d worked them to the point of no return. Or maybe it was the wine she kept sipping on, those perfect lips enticing him once a-fuckin-gain.

But he didn’t care how she agreed. He just nodded. “Deal.”

Then, he slowly extended his hand across the island. She hesitated only for a second before reaching out and clasping his hand, the deal sealed with a firm shake. 

As they released their grip, Roman’s eyes bore into hers, respect and a tentative vigilance in the transaction. “You won’t regret this, Princess.”

Nate offered a small, almost sardonic smile. “I already do.”

Roman chuckled again, this time with genuine amusement. The air in the kitchen was no longer as awkward as it was charged with a different kind of energy. It was such a precarious alliance, one built on mutual benefit rather than trust. And neither one of them were 100% sure they knew what they were really doing.

And Nate hoped that the decision she just made hadn’t been an indirect sign-off on her own death warrant.

But first… Bunny.

[khihi]

plenty of people are going to analyse these pictures in a much more eloquent way but i still want to throw out a small perspective i have on nace's photos

especially as someone who's struggled with body image and self perception and weight for practically half my life (so tw for talking about those things kinda)

because i'm sure we're all very aware nace has struggled with those things in the past too, and i can't help but think about how those things will have affected him while having his shoot done.

compare what nace wears here to bojan's topless photos. bojan is emotional in a very different ways in those pictures, and the shirtlessness enhances that, but he's confident in his 'nakedness' (not happy, arguably, but confident enough in his body). compare it especially to kris, who appears the most naked out of all of them in their shoots, despite wearing a shirt, because of the all the artistic choices made and how much more relaxed within himself he is compared to the others in his own 'therapy session'. compare it even to jan's all-black long-sleeved shirt; jan (or the image of jan being presented to us through damon's lens – that's a whole other story in of itself) is making a choice in what he shows of himself, and he's certain in his choice. there's no resistence or discomfort or yearning in the shadows he's hidden himself in.

nace, meanwhile, is somewhere in the middle of all of them. he's in a short-sleeved shirt, tugging it further to give us a glimpse at a little more. aside from, obviously, letting us see his gorgeous tattoo sleeve better, i think one of the things this could well be showing us is nace's strides in confidence, alongside the discomfort he likely still feels.

because he's ready to show off his arms, and he's tugging at the fabric to show a little more than we usually get to see and, let's be real, it's fucking hot. he's confident enough now to start leaning into being found attractive, which is fucking beautiful.

but, at the same time, he's not ready to go fully shirtless – he's not at the point where he can strip and pose purposefully like bojan can, or strip and let himself relax into his identity like kris can. and, unlike the way jan hides himself, which feels very purposeful on jan's part, it doesn't feel like it's fully nace's choice – or, at least, there's tension and discomfort there still that he doesn't get a choice in hiding. his hands are clenched and clinging to the material, his arms are crossed protectively over his chest, and his eyes?? they're heartstoppingly dangerous. protecting himself and keeping the audience at a distance, but alluring and drawing you in at the same time; he's so confident in himself these days, but he still likely carries a lot of his old discomfort.

couple all of that with the way he looks in the last picture up at the top of this post – the way he's rubbing at his face, like he's trying to mould it into a shape, almost. all these three images have a kind of tourmented edge to them.

luckily, similarly to bojan's safe sweater shots, nace gets catharsis after all these intense emotions in these soft, tender shots, where his eyes are so much brighter and then heavily lidded and peaceful.

...oh, and of course, as has already been pointed out by @radioactive-cloud, nace gets his safe sweater in the form of jan, and we get to see that playful smile when he's around someone who makes him feel comfortable in himself ♡

[yourlocaltreesimp]

All Chained Up

All chained up Masterlist

Last chapter *ੈ✩‧₊˚ Next chapter

Tw: It gets a bit existential

Chapter 4: Nothing gives way to nothing

Your dreams were met with the black void again. It’s hollow and empty, so encompassing that it seeps through your skin, leaving a chill across your skin. It’s hard to move again, your limbs surrounded by what feels like molasses. Your mind feels so incredibly loud with its silence, and yet you feel like you are supposed to be this empty. Made to be nothing.

“It’s you-“ “You're back a-” “Why did you le-” The shadows speak, so many voices layered overtop one another that they press against your skull.

“Where am I?” Your voice is so loud here. Crystal clear and commanding despite your intent of a whisper. You flinch away from your own voice, unfamiliar with its power.

“Home.” All of the shadows unanimously agreed, nipping at your skin. You shouldn’t feel pain in a dream. And yet you feel regardless. The nothingness you were made to express was tarnished by the world that surrounds you until you’re no longer a creation that represents what it was meant to. And your creator turned their back on you, leaving you to rot in a world where you could not possibly flourish. These feelings fester and rot until you’re soft and weak. “She’ll be coming to get you soon” One voice whispers right next to your ear, and even then it sounds like a collage of voices pieced together. The words strike fear and yet you do not know why. Shouldn’t the hands of your maker be warm as they mould you back to the form you were intended? You feel as if you know this connection you yearn for with your creator is one you may never have. “We won’t let her take you away again” It puts its hands over your eyes despite there not being much to cover. One darkness simply gave way to another. The empty feeling falling into another until something changes. You feel the energy shift, a low hum filling your senses and buzzing at your limbs. The blood in your veins burns and your organs push against your bones in an effort to escape. Now you were as she intended. Now, you no longer feel like a person. Were you ever really to begin with?

You awake fully sat up, the sun hardly dousing the land with its light. Time watched, silent as ever. Silent as always, and yet your head was filled with chatter. Noise you could not shut out. Wind’s words played back through your head, how Time has given them orders to not speak with you. Caution was good in moderation of course, but that struck you as odd. His gaze was far off, looking far through you. You pop your sore joints and that light of recognition lights in his eyes.

“Rough night?” His voice was different. It’s still hard and commanding as it always had been, but where you were once met with stiffness, there was give. You found it in yourself to nod, not questioning why your nerves still stood on their ends. Why that harrowing emptiness that gave you comfort was stripped away. “Are you usually visited by bad dreams?” Now that, that struck you as odd. Time had given explicit orders to the others to only talk to you as needed (and even then they’ve broken that rule) and he went to great lengths to ignore you himself. But this genuine concern was a jarring shift of character. The shift of his words breaking you down, isolating you, to his words striving to stave off the darkness that infected your mind.

“More recently, I guess” He nods. You feel uncomfortable, despite the fact this concern should be comforting. Much the way you felt about- you cut that thought short. This would all be over soon. It has to be. You’ve fallen into the labyrinth of your mind and would soon find the exit. Or maybe your old life was the labyrinth. Both thoughts now felt sickeningly cruel. Eventually, that awkwardness is broken up by others waking up, Wild making breakfast and Legend’s begrudging return. You felt the urge to reach out, to apologise to the both of them. You hadn’t seen any man look as haunted as Wild did for the rest of that evening, and judging by the bags under his eyes, you guessed he did not sleep well either. And Legend seemed nice enough. Abrasive, sure, but he was the first to actively try and talk to you. Call it clingy, but you weren’t going to let him burn that bridge. So many things flew under your radar. Wind sat glued to your side, silent and still, much unlike the bright and unruly character he normally was. Legend passed you several looks over breakfast, trying to gauge your reaction to his outburst, trying to see if you were still so forgiving of him. Time’s face paint was slightly more vibrant than it usually was, the rich crimson and azure bright and bold against his skin.

As it turned out, both were similarly stubborn in not admitting anything was wrong. Wild was simply unwilling to talk much on the matter, saying that Legend gets heated sometimes, and assured you to ignore it. He made an effort to at least look unbothered, but no person talks with that much strain in their voice about something their unbothered but. Meanwhile, Legend was unwilling to even acknowledge that he spoke to you at all yesterday. So, all things totalled, You’ve broken Time both the person and the concept, pissed of Legend to the point he refuses your existence and possibly started a whole new conflict. And almost met god on a few occasions, but it hasn't happened yet. At least the forests were more forgiving. The trail was quiet, but filled with ambient noise. Birds whistled their song into the wind as it rustled the leaves to the left of you as water ran to your right. You fell in pace with Wild and Twilight, who’s conversation carried on despite you standing there- you felt a little sad that it was an achievement.

“You seem to be enjoyin’ yerself there, care to enlighten us?” Twilight looked over to you and you found yourself panicked. Mainly because you did not know these people well enough to know what dignified as a good response, and the actual response of ‘I’m just glad you didn’t stop talking when I was walking next to you’ was incredibly incriminating.

“I- uh It’s just been a while since I’ve been able to walk around y’know?” They’re both looking at you know, prompting you to continue. “Between work and school and- well everything, it’s been a minute since i’ve just enjoyed the world around me.” They both nod and you’re grateful for the silence that covers you.

“I get that” Wild concedes, nodding his head. “Before I started travelling I always worked too hard to ever really acknowledge the world until-“ His eyes darted to the trees, his hands caught one of the leaves from a bush and peels it apart with his nails. “One day, The world was the only company I had. And I got to see it for what it’s worth. He smiles at you with understanding, warm and unrestrained unlike how he had been earlier. The closeness of the moment is striking, like it’s the ripple of something already passed. Silence falls between the three of you again, but this time, it’s not nearly as harming. It’s comfortable in embracing the world as it is.

[fanficonly]

Wenclair X Reader -

What Are You?- Part 5

TW: physical Abuse, description of blood

This chapter was a bit darker than I originally wrote it but it ended up this way so it makes sense for the story in the future.

Please don't read if you will be triggered, it's not a lot but that's my own feelings towards it and everyone's different so be careful beautiful readers

Meanwhile*

You trailed behind the women, reluctant to continue on knowing exactly what was going to happen. You stare down the entire time watching the twigs and leaves crunch beneath your studded black boots while you trudged along warily.

You're lost in thoughts, the image of Wednesday's horror etched into your brain by the blade of your own misfortune. You're so out of it that you don't realise the woman who had stopped so abruptly in front of you causing you to collide into her back and stumble backwards. She lets out a somewhat unnerving giggle before smiling and looking down at you amused.

"We're here" she announces and as you look up expecting an extravagant vehicle or the royal guard, you are instead met with a rusty old cabin, that's falling apart at its edges, looking like it's seen better days.The plastic windows cracked, the splintered door and it's frame mould-ridden and discoloured with it's all round unkempt look being the eye-sore of the beautiful forest it occupied.

"Wow bit of step down for you don't you think?" you speak with a twinge of snark and smirk at yourself, still stood coldly with your hands glued to the inside of your pockets. Honestly one day your sarcasm will be your demise, but it's hard not to be slightly petty with her after everything she had done to you. If you asked the woman however she would say 'After everything I've done FOR you' which would only make your insides twist and turn uncomfortably.

"Hmm" she hums "Inside" she jerks her head in the direction of the door and you walk in hesitating with every step, rather annoyed at yourself for complying so easily. You reach for the door and twist the knob, cringing as it creaked loudly and taking one last look back at her before stepping inside.

Upon entering your eyes grow wide, partially from confusion the rest in awe.

"What the fu-" you begin before the women snaps at you, cutting off your speech.

"Language." She scolds you before the curse could barely even touch the surface of your lips

"Sorry" you mumble still admiring the, deceiving from the outside, rustic cabin. The furniture was very modern, the fire was lit creating a light and calming glow and the inside wooden beams were fully varnished and sturdy. It was as if you had stepped through a portal into a completely different house and you knew it had to be some kind of magic or cloaking. Yet that didn't stop you from feeling a little insane and misdirected. You could clearly see the windows double glazed glass, now uncracked, and patterned like those in a 1 million dollar mansion, your eyes glued to it. Mostly because it proved just how close you were to Nevermore still, where you could see the bricks of the school peaking from between the trees outside. Fair play your vision was currently enhanced right now so you weren't that close but you were close enough that the idea of anyone finding this place made your stomach churn once again.

"It's rather insulting that you would believe me to take up residence in such an unflattering building" she comments while your eyes scan the rest of the decor. Of course, you shrug before again having your eyes pulled wide in realisation.

Take up residence..." There's a pit in your stomach as you repeat her words "You're..." You try to ask "you live..." Again you can't bring yourself to finish the question

"Yes I am currently living here Y/N" she confirms your unsaid question with a slight sinister tone "What?" She asks rhetorically "Did you think I was going to allow you to leave us without some kind of supervision?" She breathed out a chuckle causing your face to twist into a frown. You can't help the rise of anger building inside you. The only silver lining in transferring to Nevermore was the freedom you would have from ... Them. She stares at you but all you can focus on is settling your emotions which you weren't succeeding in.

"I didn't leave I was forced out" you mumble and she tuts a little responding only with

"I"m sorry what was that?"

You knew she wasn't really asking. In fact that kind of tone only meant one thing. She was giving you a chance to change your response or atleast take it back.

So you decline to answer her, shrinking away from her and awaiting further instructions or atleast explanations from her instead. Anything that would make you feel more at ease.

"Your eyes are glowing again Y/N" She gives you a disapproving look, one you had grown far to familiar with in the last 5 years. You wanted to comment. Make a snarky remark, tell her to fuck off, leave the cabin and yet you couldn't. With all the conditioning you had been subject too it seemed to be impossible. So you curse yourself mentally, not just for failing to halt your powers but also for turning into this beaten, broken submissive puppy as you always did. And no matter how hard you tried to hide it. No matter how hard you tried to force it down... You just ... Couldn't.

"Oh no I'm sorry it's fine I can..." Your words become quiet when you watch her leave, you assume to retrieve the one item you really REALLY didn't want her to return with. "I can control it!" You yell louder so she can hear you from the kitchen.

You scrunch your eyes together and begin to breathe deep and slow to attempt to control your emotions. You needed to get a handle on this trigger and FAST.

She returns, a disappointed look still covering her features

"I can control it" you shake your head slowly as she approached, you could only retreat, taking a step back still willing it to go away. It was the single most difficult task you ever had to do, once you had a tiny taste of power any subtle hint of strong emotions would spark it up again like a match hitting gasoline. Control the uncontrollable. No amount of water would mix with that fire.

"Aww" she faked a sympathetic tone "Stop lying to yourself sweetie" the most condescending and venomous tone left her lips so sadistically. There she is. That's the woman you knew. You were sure she took some kind of sadistic pleasure in "helping" you control your abilities

"No I can-I can control it please" You try to reason with her as you had done a thousand times before but her blunt and unbothered expression said it all. Stumbling backwards as the back of your knees hit the velvet couch, you buckled falling back into it.

She ignores your tumble then sits beside you and strokes her hand across your face trailing her fingers to your chin to turn it to face you. With how fast and hard your eyes slam shut it's as if they made a thud sound that violated your own eardrums and again you wince.

"Open your eyes Y/N" she instructs but you just shake your head slowly in response, a stray tear betraying you and trailing down your cheek.

"Open. Your. Eyes." She demands more forcefully this time

You practically gulp in fear, but make no move to even turn towards her let alone look at her.

She sighs again, more disappointment and more irritation rising within her, you can practically feel her negative energy penetrating your own sad aura.

"I'm sorry sweetie you have to learn" she almost sounds sincere this time but you know it's all an act, a trick to lure you into a false sense of security before experiencing the pain you let yourself believe you deserve.

"No I can I can control it please please just" you repeat and pull away from her, refusing to sob and instead forcing the tears to to stay put causing your vision to become blurred and fuzzy.

"I'm sorry" she says plunging her jagged nails into your back, causing your head to fly backwards, your eyes to fly open and the water to finally burst from your tear ducts. She grabs your chin with her other hand, slashing your cheek accidentally due to your twitching and struggling . "Ahhhhhhhhhh" a strained scream erupts from your throat followed by a weak whimper. The sting comes next as she blows a light breath in your eyes, It's almost beautiful, the blue tinted sparkly substance that danced towards your eyes like meteors crashing into the earth. And then they land so lightly onto your open pupils and you scream at the embers setting them alight.

"You need" she digs deeper "to learn" you struggle away from her, the pain of the glittery substance still burning your retinas. "To control it" she digs even further and twist her nails emitting a small charge and watching as you fall to the floor panting breathlessly. Paired with the fire in your eyes, the electricity that was pulsating through your body was almost unbearable and you can't help but scream "Fuck!" As your knees hit the harsh ground and you're left digging your own nails into the splintered floorboards beneath you.

"Language!" She scolds again

"FUCK YOU" you're unable to stop yourself from, twisting your neck to bark the hateful words at her. She rips her hand from your spine and plunges one more time, you throw your head back to the sky the light in your eyes dimming, as you push off from the floor. She pulls away again and you grunt in pain gripping the coffee table now more upright, your powers subsiding aggressively.

"There." She smiles and you look back at her with pure hatred in your eyes "That should do it" she proudly states as if abusing you and forcing you to keep your powers buried within was some kind of proud mum moment.

"You're evil" you spit, between breaths.

"Honey" she sits back crossing her legs and pulling out a hanky to wipe your blood from her finger tips "You know it has to be done. Pain is the only way to control your unique abilities" she explains to you. The same speech you have heard a thousand times over penetrating your ears, now nothing but a pointless explanation falling on deaf ears .

However unruly, you knew it was true. Since the day you started showing signs of being this creature you had been subjected to the horrors of "Controlling your unique abilities" and yet you never got used to the horrid feeling.

"Have they stopped glowing then?" You ask her, looking up hopefully your anger subsiding along with your powers.

"Yes. Now relax I will make us some tea, get you a change of clothes and then you can return to Nevermore" She replies

"Can't I just leave now" You whine barely looking at her as you settled your breathing.

"Oh come on. You don't want to spend time with your dear old Godmother, we're family after all" a wicked smile crosses her lips and she tilts her head unnervingly. You wriggle in your clothes, feeling the wet liquid seeping into your white shirt causing it the stick to your back. A change of clothes started to feel like a necessity but right now you needed to address her weak attempt at declaring herself family

"Just because my parents shipped me off to you when I was 12 doesn't make you family" You breath out one more time now able to stand to move as far from the wicked woman as possible. You stride away and vere towards the door slowly.

"No but it does make me responsible for you" you hear from behind you. She rushes to block the door with her arm and continues "And I would hate to have to bring you back to the society grounds" she explains but it feels more like a threat. Well... It is a threat actually and you know better than to fight the sadistic Bitch.

"It's not even been a day Auntie! You have to give me a better chance" You plead with her, now using the term you knew she secretly somewhat liked hearing you say. But of course it's not enough, it never is and she just responds with iron clad logic and condescension.

"A chance to do what? Run around with wolves stealing thier powers and draining ever student you see" she scoffs and looks away elegantly, extremely aware of how right she was. She doesn't say it. She doesn't say what you are. But you know she hates being near such a dangerous human.

"What did you think I was doing at the society it's no different! Maybe at Nevermore it will be" the glint of hope glazed across your eyes seemed to have no affect on your GodMother and instead she continues

"Nevermore outcasts are stronger than our lot and I was hoping with less ... Emotional distractions it wouldn't be necessary for me to intervene as much as I had to there" she says and your mind drifts back to the countless incidents you had caused over the past 5 years. You shake the thoughts from your head and glare at her in response to her slight jab at you.

"Whatever. I haven't even settled in yet can I go?" You ask finally returning to your usual self and staying blunt, just wanting to leave and get out of here.

"Let me look at you" she grabs you by the cheeks inspecting your features aggressively umm'ing and aww'ing as she did

"Give it an hour" She says and you just walk to sit back down slumping in the chair, complying easily once again. The worst was over, now all you had to do was endure her unfortunate company for an hour.

....

Eventually she let you leave after a grueling 70 minutes of talking and because of this you couldn't help but whine all the way back to Nevermore.

When you reached the gates you took a shaky breath in, preparing yourself to start over.

"Okay ... Do over let's start this again" you say aloud before smiling and taking large strides towards the school. You meditate to yourself in your head and walk through the halls, pulling the information you had been given by the principal out of your pocket to find your room. As you pace up the stairs to the top floor you pass by 2 doors on your right and reach the end of the hall a small almost unnoticeable door to the left and open it.

[bucknastysbabe]

Heaven or Las Vegas

Aegon II x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW// Alcohol and drug abuse, verbal abuse, shit head Aegon, manipulation, actually you know what the whole thing is fucked up, non-descript smut, Aegon’s self hatred and learned helplessness

A/N: Yeah so it’s soothing to write about active addiction when I’m feeling crazy so I remember how awful it was. Addiction will hold you and loved ones HOSTAGE. If this struck a chord w anyone my dm’s are open me is sober around 18 months. Anyways love The Weeknd and the trilogy fuckboi era

I'm paying for all my father's sins

Aegon could blame his consistent need to fill the void in his chest on his father. That rotting, dead, vapid old man. The closest thing he had to a dad was the family bodyguard and Aegon never quite lived up to the standard.

Maybe he was just cursed to chew the world up and ruin them before spitting them out. Just like Viserys, clapping and smiling while letting his family fall to pieces and hatred. Never gave a fuck about anyone but his eldest, maybe Aegon’s uncle. His dead wife that Aegon’s mother couldn’t replace.

Vicious cycles.

So I'ma thank him for you, I'ma thank him for you

Like his father, Aegon could thank the wretch for being consistently blessed with good women. Women who took on too much in exchange for very little. Exactly the same as her. That perfect angel who he corrupted and left a goddamn mess. He loved the woman. She shouldn’t love him. Black hole of a human he was.

My serotonin's gone a while ago

She made him laugh and filled that empty hole for a second. When Aegon wasn’t snorting, popping, and drinking up everything. But he was always doing that. The fallen angel found a habit in those pills from him.

But nothing could recapture those moments late late at night, between her thighs. City lights casting her teary face into a gorgeous glow. “Only you, only you, i love you,” he’d lie. She’d cry and tighten around his cock, knowing it was a lie. Gripping manicured nails so hard into Aegon’s shoulders just to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

Girl it’s been gone cause of you, it’s been gone cause of you.

Aegon knew any sort of happiness he’d feel came from warped, perverted things. Orgies, drugs, girls and girls and fucking girls. Spending money he had no clue what do with. It made him fill that void for some minutes. He feared it was going to open up and swallow him whole soon.

The prince wanted her back. So goddamn bad. She didn’t fit in the picture. Got clean, ignored his calls, moved on. Fallen angel no more. Not his baby to mould and blacken to his liking. She thought there was something good in him. Nothing like the rotation of women on his cock now, a fifth of vodka shaking in his hand, tears threatening to roll. They didn’t give a fuck, just like everyone else. But they did what he wanted.

They say they want Heaven, they say they want God.

Towards the end she’d cry and clutch a rosary, praying to god. Aegon would get pissed. He’d demand what the fuck she was on about, get in her face. Those doe eyes bleary and red, flinching in fear.

“I don’t want to live like this. It’s eating me alive Aegon. This,” his baby had sobbed, “Is vile. I’ll never make it heaven. What would God think?”

I say, I got Heaven. I say I am God.

Aegon laughed in her tear streaked face. He gestured to the penthouse around them, booze and drugs scattered around, a wad of cash on the table next to the unlimited card used for cutting coke half the time. His not-so-fallen wept openly when he giggled maniacally, “This is heaven! I am God! You can have everything you want and more, hah, what the fuck’s not clicking here? You want to go back to the poor house?”

I never prayed a moment in my life

He did get down on his knees when his only love left him. Went to detox, didn’t leave a number or address. Aegon shook with anger, self-hatred, mind boggling sadness. He howled to the roof, “Fuck you!” When he was properly fucked up later, lips around his half-flagging cock, the blonde dimly wondered if her prayers had been answered by getting away from him.

Girl, I'm rewarded with you. I've been rewarded with you.

His love came by months later. Aegon put on an act, not a very good one when all he wanted to do was cry and be held once more. She looked good. Healthy. No permanent shakes or dark bags under the eyes. No wonder, she escaped an incubus.

“I love you. You need help.”

How could he receive help? It’s too late for a fuck-up like him. Blackened to the core. Defiled beyond measure.

So, baby, let me kiss your inner thigh. Let me kiss it for you. I can kiss it for you.

Aegon did get down to his knees when the void in his chest ached too much. He stared up at her with that look, the one that made the beauty swoon. He grabbed her soft thighs, begging and begging, “Baby- baby- please, lemme make you feel good. Like old times?” It was the only thing he knew besides drugs. She caressed his cheek and sighed, tears in her eyes, “You’d make me feel good if you loved yourself Aegon. Call me when you do that, yeah?”

Well, they say they want Heaven, they say they want God.

There’s no hope. He’d just have to make do. Even the bleakest of places looked like Heaven when you’re on enough K to kill someone. Aegon leaned over the balcony that night, staring off into the city, the dark streets below. He was in Heaven. Up above the regular doings of people. Svelte hands locked around his waist, Aegon smiled.

I say, I have Heaven. I say, I am God.

He plowed that girl on the balcony, wind whipping his pale hair. Hips snapping into a nameless wet cunt he shouted, “I am God! Fuck!” She squealed and twisted like she enjoyed his insane ramblings. Aegon finished on her ass and stumbled to his unmade bed, dizzy as the party raged on. He’d make his own destiny. With the void, always there, always hungry.

[fleetingcalypso]

Greetings, oh beautifully talented Calypso.

Today I come forward to ask you a quite peculiar request for a fic, if you'd be comfortable writing about it.

If you'd like to humor me, I am definitely a sucker for Francis Abernathy, therefore I present to you a prompt for him, that takes place in the timeline after the end of college.

Since I tremendously like the way you portray the characters psychological traits, I believe you could write a masterpiece out of this.

Could you write about a reunion between Francis and the reader, who has received Francis' goodbye letter and rushed to his side, after they went no contact for years.

Maybe they were occasional lovers while in college, but Francis kept the reader as a side piece for when Charles didn't want him? All while the reader had genuine feelings for him and stayed by his side even though they knew it was extremely toxic?

How would this reunion end? Would it be with or without comfort? If it's okay for you to write this, I'll leave this decision up to you. Thank you for listening and have a good day!

≋ Quite heartbreaking, being used as a replacement for an impossible love.

≋ Francis Abernathy x AMAB!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2259 words.

≋ TW: Mentions of sh, mentions of s*icide, depressive themes, mentions of d*ath, probable manipulation and toxic relationship, one-sided love, lavender marriage.

≋ CW: Angst with no happy ending. Hurt/No Comfort. Reader is AMAB, but it can be read as GN!Reader.

“Mon amant,”

These are the first words I receive from the one man I gifted my best moments to. Black ink on white paper laughs in my face and  mocks me, the swirls in his penmanship whirl me into an hallucinogenic land I hadn’t stepped foot in for what felt like ages. The last time I spoke to him was at a funeral in St. Louis, a wretched day, where he promised me, with his gaze fixed on a black casket, that he’d never drift too far from me. After that, I’d only meet him in my dreams, during those nights where I thought my time had come.

Just eight letters perfectly placed, that was all it took for dried flowers to be bathed in holy water and blossom into divine red roses. For years and years I had tried to contact him, but in vain; my efforts in hearing his voice again, feeling his skin, catching a glimpse of his eyes only succeeded in my heart shrivelling up into something unrecognisable, chewed, consumed by worms and larvae. Each letter I sent found its way back to my doorstep, each call was left unanswered, Richard was my only way of knowing Francis was even alive at all.

Casting my feelings aside for just a moment, me and my soul feel no shame in drinking up each and every word on the page, it’s like eating cherries. One word leaves me hungry for the other, a famine coming to an end; after so long with only my memories keeping his memory alive it is difficult to contain my craving for any scrap of him I can get my cursed hands on.

His letter reads like an obituary although written in haste. 

“Mon amant,

I will not bother you with worthless, dishonest chatter of the likes of ‘How are you, my friend? We haven’t talked in a while!’ because this is most likely the first and last time I will speak to you in more time than I want to admit.

Seeing Henry being lowered into the ground, with none of our friends present, cleared a lot of fog into my mind, honestly I think this was a long time coming. Don’t feel sorry for me. You of all people, I wholeheartedly feel, should be somewhat relieved.

As I’m writing this, I realise - or perhaps I knew it all along - that I have been anything but kind to you, in our youth. I do ask, beg even, that you forgive me for my sins.

Forgive me for the kisses we shared, forgive me for those gasps I breathed against your neck, forgive me for having moulded you into the silhouette of what I was looking for in a lover, without ever actually dipping more than my finger in your waters.

Forgive me for all the promises I didn’t even try to keep.

There are many things we did together that I can still remember: when my eyes are closed and I'm tip-toeing on the fine line between sleep and wakefulness, my mind brings me back to whispers in the dark, to my back being pressed against the wall and to your hand in mine.

I won’t reminisce any longer. It leaves an all too saccharine aftertaste in my mouth.

If it matters any, you are the one thing I can’t bring myself to regret.

If after I fall into eternal sleep I happen to run into Henry, I will not hesitate in speaking my mind and asking him why the hell he was so selfish as to leave us all behind and not cause a bloodbath in that hotel room. 

Again, please don’t feel too anguished over this. It was only a matter of time.

Yours, if only for a fleeting moment in time,

Francis”

I read it, again and again, until it is burned into my retinas. I could repeat it out loud like a litany, like a religious chant forwards and backwards, in my sleep even. I most likely did repeat it in my sleep, as while I was on a plane rushing to his side in Logan, I remember being gently stirred awake by a young girl who thought I was trapped in what she called a nightmare. I assured her I was alright, but my words would soon reveal themselves to be false.

It was indeed a night terror that I was going through, only I wasn’t asleep and this was the cruel reality that fate had written in the cards for me. And terror inhabited my heart when my eyes finally met his once again.

Who was this man? Where had my Francis gone? Had I gotten the wrong room? Of course I hadn’t, he was reserved a private one, his personal nurse guided me to it.

We stared at each other and not a single muscle was moved, not until he was the one to break the spell that had enchanted us into cold statues. He sighed and turned away. I felt it like a slap in my face, still I rushed to the chair next to his bed, almost tripping over my own feet.

“Francis.” I breathe, tasting his name on my tongue, invisible maraschino cherries grazing my taste buds turning sour when my vision focuses on the bandages around his wrists. It’s unreal. The first time I can breathe in the air he exhales after an everlasting apnea, and it’s because he attempted to take his own life.

I want to scream. I want to break something. Hell, I’d strike him, if he wasn’t injured. What right does he have to take away what I hold closest to my chest? I could have lived, knowing he was alive, living his best - or worst- life somewhere in a far away meander of the world. I could have lived without his presence next to me. I could have endured it for a million lifetime, not knowing if my gaze would catch a glimpse of his red curls ever again. 

What I could not live with, was knowing he was not on this Earth anymore. That my affection was being dispersed into the wind, melting into the roots of trees with no way of reaching its recipient.

Silence reigned, I had left my house in a hurry, not even bothering to wash my dishes, fold my laundry or clean the coffee that spilled on my kitchen table when I read the name inked on the back of the letter delivered to me. It dawns on me tragically. I was so eager to finally be able to count the freckles on his cheeks again, that not for one second had I prepared what to say in his presence.

Surprisingly -or maybe not- he is the one to speak first, his words send an ice dagger through me, “How are you? We haven’t talked in a while.” He says not looking at me, just like he did during Henry’s funeral. History repeats itself.

These are the first words I receive from the one man I gifted my best moments to, this time at the very least I can hear his voice as he mocks me with what he quotes as worthless, dishonest chatter.

“Francis.” There’s a masked harshness to my tone that grabs him by the jaw and forces him to look my way once again. “You tried to kill yourself.”

“Wow, I left you as sharp as an arrow and I find you as dull as an unsharpened knife.” It sounds more like a tease than an insult, the slight rising of his eyebrow confirms my doubt. 

Why the hell would you do that? I want to say, why the hell would you promise me to stick by my side and then disappear like a phantom? Why in the world would you eradicate your existence from my life? But the words never come, because they’re not the ones I should say right now and with the way his hollowed eyes gaze into mine, it’s obvious he understands my struggle in not blowing up.

“I’ve been selfish,” He admits, trying to sit up straighter, my hands fists the material of my trousers to hold back from helping him, “I did not expect to see you ever again. That day, when we said goodbye to Henry…” For a blink of an eye he’s back in time, standing at my side, three rows behind our friend’s weeping mother, “Some inconsiderate part of me truly wanted to be with you, I was looking at the future and there wasn’t much I could count as permanent. Not even life itself. But you… You were always there for me.”

“I was.” I’m not ashamed to admit it. Those times where Charles wanted nothing to do with Francis, I was, without fail, the one he seeked comfort in. My body did not hesitate when it was pulled in bathroom stalls, in bedrooms or in a secluded corner of the library back at Hampden. Maybe he liked having me as his paramour because of my gentle touch and the way I’d carefully set his glasses to the side before kissing him, maybe being on the receiving hand of love and care made him feel more alive than his hair being pulled and teeth digging into his neck.

“I was scared.” Unlike me, he is ashamed. “I was scared if I kept you in my life, I would forever be reminded of what we did.” 

“What we did?” I echo him and he nods solemnly. It’s when his teeth begin torturing his bottom lip, that I almost let myself be pulled back in the past. I almost feel like Orpheus and Eurydice together as one, one single look behind me and I will be forever lost in what could have been. His tongue peaks out to alleviate the damage his teeth are guilty of and it is done.

Invisible spirits wrap themselves around my limbs and guide my hand on top of his, I restrained myself as much as humanly possible. His letter sits in the chest pocket of my jacket, it weighs heavy, though it is not the reason my body leans towards him.

Mesmerised by the way his curls bounce when his head shakes it takes a while for me to realise he’s slipped his hand away from mine to reach for a cigarette on his nightstand, jealousy possesses me when such a small object fits perfectly between his lips, nonetheless I light it up for him. The nearby ashtray is already a residence to a dead cigarette, though it looks like it was put out as soon as it was lit.

After breathing out a cloud of smoke Francis decides it’s time to throw my world off its axis, “I’m getting married. I have to, or I can kiss my grandfather’s money goodbye.” If jealousy possessed me earlier, for a simple cigarette, now a pit sits in my stomach, my head tilts in confusion because it’s all I can do while my throat goes dry. “To an impossibly stupid girl, of all people.” He adds, and it doesn’t take long until he shoves in my hands a photo of someone I don’t recognize.

“She’s pretty.”

“Richard said the same. You just missed him, he left a moment before you arrived.” For some reason it irks me that Richard was here before me. He’d always been everywhere and nowhere at once yet somehow still in the way. Too often Francis had confessed to me how interesting it would be if he could have a chance with Richard.

The more I stared at the smiling woman in the picture the more daggers piercing me. While he may not ever truly love her like a man loves a woman, perhaps she could give him a good life. Something he clearly did not want with me. I’m quick to brush that thought away, the same way I set the photo back onto the nightstand. “Nonetheless congra-”

“I had found someone else.” He interrupts and at this point maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed at home, if I had forgotten Francis Abernathy existed and if I had tried to wash his taste out of my mouth with soap. Each and every word he says is a bullet aimed to kill, he probably doesn’t even realise or if he does then the years have made him much more cruel than I could have ever imagined. “His name is Kim, he’s a lawyer, he went to Harward, he was good. But no, instead I have to marry a stupid girl, whose presence sucks the fun out of every room she steps foot into.” 

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say? “I’m really sorry, Francis.”

“I’m sorry too.” 

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, no you shouldn’t have.”

I wonder if I could offer him to run away together. I wonder if he’d agree to let me be his saviour. I wonder if he opened up to Richard in one day more than he ever did with me. I wonder if he’s going to notice that I stole one of his cigarettes. I wonder how much time I’ve spent sitting in silence on a bench a couple streets away from Brigham and Women’s Hospital. I wonder how much time has passed since I last smoked a cigarette. I wonder why it doesn’t hurt as much as I imagined when the letter he wrote me burns at my feet. I wonder when the next flight back home is.

[white-poppie]

Skyfall

Synopsis: Illumi and Chrollo seeing their s/o become hollow for the art they cherished all due to overworking themselves. Type: Drabble/Reaction (Requested) Genre: hurt/comfort Song rec: Skyfall (Adele) TW: fear of losing, slight mentions of depression, anxiety, crying, dizziness, insomnia, skipping meals, big sed :(

A/N: I have always been more of an artsy kid than sports; I was first in every school competition involving art, dance, and calligraphy etc, (still am very competitive bro fite me 😤) so I relate very much, thank you for the request and sorry for changing it a little.

Chrollo: (piano)

Trembling fingers that thrummed, against the white and black keys; the sound cascaded down like a river rapid. Your head swayed as your arms moved, the sound that felt mellifluous to the beholder was cacophonic in your ears making you clench your teeth and blink back the vexatious tears that fell on the bay today.

Chrollo leaned upon the doorframe of your room, his brows downturned in concern, as much as he hated interrupting he had to, "you have been playing for a while now, take a break."

You huffed and turned back to your notes sheet, squinting at the blurry letters until it was snatched away from your sight. You groaned and looked at Chrollo annoyedly.

“Come on you really expect me to just leet you be when you haven’t slept or eaten properly in days?” He says while keeping a hand on your shoulder

You look down in shame, both at your incompetence and the fact that you have neglected your boyfriend for so long, “it’s a huge recital,” you murmured, "all eyes would be on me, I can’t mess this up and make a fool of myself.”

Chrollo sighs and grabs you by your shoulder, "look at me me, y/n.”

You hesitantly peer into his azure eyes. An attractive, lop-sided grin etches upon his face that causes heat to rush to the tip of your ears.

“There you go,” he smiles, “now listen, you know how humans require at least eight hours of sleep to function properly?” You nod.

“And you haven’t rested all in so long, I am not telling you to stop practising, take a break your body and mind needs, then only can you perform well.”

You bite your tongue and stare at your calloused fingertips, "I keep messing this up, I don't know anymore, I am so tired."

Chrollo grabs your tender hands and brings them close to his lips, placing warm kisses on your fingers that make you giggle in glee.

"Let's order takeout and take a nap and then work on your performance, alright?." You nod, looking at how he is still cradling your hands.

"Give them and yourself some rest baby."

Illumi (art)

Brushes and colours were scattered haphazardly in your workplace, a terrain moulded by dried-up paints encrusted your palette as you kept on lathering the acrylics. The grip on your brush was frighteningly tight, and the heaviness with which you lifted your pencils now fell on your eyes too; half-lidded and blown in a way that no high could ever fathom, it was catharsis, masochistic and utterly tormenting.

You hadn't noticed Illumi staring at your work, probably because he was stealthy like a cat, but his porcelain face cracked a smile whenever he saw you engrossed in your work, but now he was worried.

Your drive towards art has always been an enigma. From the moment he first saw you as a teenager with pen doodles all over your arms, to when your love for art blossomed into an almost self-destructive endeavour.

"Y/N," he says and you look up, the whites of your eyes are bloodshot; searching for a magnum opus on canvases upon canvases that gathered in your room. They were magnificent, but you had been beating yourself up over sullen dreams.

Illumi closed his eyes for a second and picked up the easel and dragged it away from your sight along with the scattered supplies into the living room, despite your protests.

When he came back, your red eyes were now pearlescent with tears. Knees folded to your chest, Illumi carefully sat next to you.

He wraps a blanket around you and picks you up with ease and has you seated on his lap, "rest for a while and then we will figure things out." You nod and rest your head on his toned chest.

"We are in this together, Y/N."

🏷 Tags: @denkis111, @jazzylove, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp,@rintaroubby @nanaseishiro @innerpurple, @cleaningfairylevi, @webawee

⤷‧₊˚ Hunter x Hunter (ハンタ x ハンタ)

🥀 BYI/DNI ♡⌇ Request Rules 𓏸 🗝️ ₊﹒《 Join my Taglist •