#visible trail of destruction

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ཐི❤︎ཋྀ

art cred: maichiatto62 (x)

☦︎synopsis: you get chased by a dark and undetermined figure in the woods, and run toward a dreadful castle that houses a seemingly kind man, will you stay awhile?

☦︎genre: smut w/plot

☦︎tags: vampiric hypnotism, mentions of blood, biting, corruption, dialogue heavy, degradation “whore” , loss of virginity, cunnalingus, creampie, mirror

☦︎wrd cnt: 2.2k

☦︎a/n: vampires and gothic literature is my favorite so this was a dream to write and I hope anyone reading enjoys!

Twigs and thistle snap under your feet as you walk through the fruit berring bushes, feeling the low laying leaves scratch your ankles.

You lost track of time and try to find your group, you probably should have skipped this hiking trip. Or at least wore shorts that covered your knees. The night drew upon your haggard form quite quickly, and the temperature dropped significantly.

You tried your best to find the light of the campfire you knew was there before you left.

After a few minutes of silent walking, besides your rummaging footsteps, you hear a loud thud somewhere behind you.

Your back straightened up like a rod, “Hello?” Your voice echos slightly, bouncing off the trees and up toward the stars. You prayed like hell it was one of your friends, coming to your salvation.

When nobody answered you after your third call out, you kept walking.

You heard another loud noise, as if a bolder dropped straight into a big pile of leaves, trembling the ground you stood on.

Frozen in fear, like a deer, you stand in the middle of a plot of dirt surrounded by the thick trees and shrub.

Your eyes open wide and your hands balled up in fists, you survey the area until you find the source of the sound.

A tree, wounded with a big chunk missing from the side.

It still stood tall, but reckoned to snap if it had been torn just a few more inches towards the unbent side.

You wondered who could have caused such destruction, or rather what.

You would find out soon enough, when you examine the tree to find streaks of blood scattered over earthen hide.

Following the trail you discovered the remains of some animal.

Well that’s what you think it was, it had been mangled and torn in such a brutal manner there was no way to identify exactly what it could have been.

As you tried your best to figure it out, a black shadow stalked you from afar.

Red orbs visible with stillness behind a tree, slowly growing larger in your view as it approached. The dimness of the atmosphere cloaked it well.

You stepped back, shoes muddied and heavy as you ran. You ran until you saw the nearest source of light, not bothered to look behind you to whatever was chasing.

Your labored breath became cold and dryed out your throat.

You ran and ran until you found a rather tall and lucrative looking building, somewhat of a mansion or moreso fitting of a castle.

Where the hell did that come from? You’ve never seen anything like it before in all the times you’d hiked in these woods.

You didn’t have much time to question it, but ran right to the door.

It was slightly crept open, so you figured it must have been some kind of open house or exhibit.

You rushed in, shutting the grand door.

As you caught your breath, you almost screamed when you heard a man’s voice right behind you. Who you somehow didn’t see when first stepping in, as if he’d appeared from thin air.

“Good evening.” The man said, burning candle in his hand.

You turned before he could even finish his greeting, a look of utter terror in your eyes.

“Are you well dear? You’re bleeding”

You didn’t even notice, but your knees had been scrapped and dripping blood halfway down your shins.

His eyes lit a shade of red barely able to be detected, or maybe it was just the reflection of the flame? You were quite scared and paranoid after all.

“Oh- I’m so sorry, The door was open and I didn’t know anyone was here- Someone was chasing me.”

“Oh my, are you alright? Come, let me offer you safety tonight.” He beckoned you to follow him, the rays of the small flame from the wax stick guiding you as he most graciously offered you a safe heaven in his home.

You looked around at the torchlit walls, it felt dark and cold throughout the entire place.

He walked you up 2 flight of stairs, his pace was quite constant throughout, almost like he was floating on each step.

You soon arrived into a hallway full of paintings adorning the walls, hand painted it seemed. So beautiful you had to point it out.

“You have a lovely home- is this artwork all yours?” You ask.

“Yes. I have quite a bit of spare time on my hands, so I much enjoy art.” He answered. The man’s voice was deep and mellow.

You walked down the red carpet hallway to the room all the way to the end, it seemed to be one of the many dozens.

There was a large canopy bed lined with dark lace and wooden upholstery.

“Please, spend the night here until morning. I wouldn’t want you to endanger yourself.”

Before you could even agree to his much eager assistance, he walked over to a box near the fireplace side table and pulled out several glass vials and bandages.

You walked toward him, and sat down per his instruction.

“Thank you- You’ve been so kind to me. Why?”

He chuckled, kneeling down to your level and applying an ointment to the cloth.

“Why? How ever could I turn away such a frightening young lady at my door. There are dangerous things in those woods.”

His tone sounded very concerned, but horrifyingly casual.

“What is your name Sir? If it’s okay to ask.”

“It’s perfectly okay. You can call me Blade.”

“Blade…Nice to meet you” What a strange name.

“Likewise. Now please, allow me.”

You nod, before he dabs a stinging oil to your knee. One by one.

He handles you well, gently.

His cold hands held your calves as he bandaged up your wounds.

He gets up from his knelt position, seeming even taller than he is when he stands from this view.

His long black hair was so dark it seemed blue, ends dipped in a color that resembled the shade of holly berries.

He sat down on the chair opposite of you, his face framed by the fireplaces glow behind him now.

“So tell me dear, what exactly happened?” His voice dripping in concern.

“I…really don’t know. I got lost hiking with my group and I tried to find them, but then I kept hearing weird noise in the forest and I thought it could be them looking for me. But-“

You stopped, reliving the sequence you just ran from.

He waited patiently for you to continue, his sculpture like face and rich eyes giving you their utmost attention.

“I saw blood, and a dead animal, I think a wolf or something could have done it. But there was a man- in the woods. It kept staring at me and getting close. So I ran for a while until I found your- castle?” You chuckle a little, the term house seemed beneath such a grand sanctuary.

“Maybe a werewolf?” The man said, giving you an amused chuckle. He waves his hand, “But anyways…That all sounds very frightening, I’m glad you found me.”

You nod, “As am I” you assure.

Whatever it was you are safe now y/n, very safe.” He took your hands into his own, giving them a positive squeeze with smiling eyes.

You nodded, but soon a hitch in your throat appeared and you felt like your stomach got kicked.

“I never told you my name.”

A smile appeared on his face, “Smart girl.”

His eyes glowed the same shade of sanguine you saw in the forest, chasing you. You could see two sharp teeth sticking past his upper lip, his smirk revealing to you his true identity.

You quickly get up, startled enough to drop the chair behind you and fall back onto the bed.

“Who are you-“ You scream, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as he stood slowly and walked toward you.

“I already told you that, didn’t I?.”

He cupped your face, making you look straight up at him.

“Please- don’t hurt me.” You plead, tears now falling from your eyes and staining your cheeks.

“Hurt you? I just tended to your wounds, why do you think I’ll harm you dear?” His voice sounds even lower at this point, and his eyes fiery.

You kick back your leg and retreat further back into the bed, almost yelling, “You’re a vampire-!”

“And your blood smells so deliciously decadent…I almost couldn’t resist tasting you a moment ago.” He crawls toward your frame, his large hands making deep prints into the mattress.

His eyes seemed to glow in a pattern, the color deepening snd glowing slowly as he got toward you.

Your body felt weak, as if magnetic to him. Almost willing to amuse him.

“What are- what are you doing to me-“

“I haven’t done a thing. I’m just increasing the magnitude of your emotions dear. Whatever you feel at this moment is your utmost desire spilling out every orafice in your body.”

You felt your mind whirl, your body get hotter with every inch he grew closer to you.

He soon wrapped his palms behind your back, seating you in his lap.

You felt an animalistic urge settle upon you, breathing even heavier than when you ran away from him earlier.

He grazed his hand up and down your legs, taking off your shoes and socks, rubbing the sore soles of your feet.

“You must get more comfortable my dear, you seem less tense, good.” He says, slowly pressing his lips to yours as you hold his shoulder.

His tongue found yours, warm in contrast to the rest of him; tangling itself in a waltz.

He nipped at your bottom lip and pricked it, tugging at it and licking the blood that drew from it with his tongue. “Virgin blood…You are truly magnificent.”

You felt your face heat up more than your body, his presence making you feel an insatiable hunger for lust.

“Blade- please…I feel-“

“Concupiscent? I can tell, y/n”, he said, his hand trailing up to your thigh and rubbing your heat through your shorts.

You roll your hips at his touch, a small mewl escaping you.

He picks you up and plops you down further back on the bed, your head hitting the pillow softly as his large frame hovers above your body.

“I can be very thorough in relieving your…lustful desires.”

“Please- yes…” You softly gasp, feeling his lips close to your neck before they kiss you.

Hungrily he rips your top apart, as if it were made of paper.

You quiver at his touch, fear set aside and now unrelentingly yearning for all of him.

“You need not worry…I will take, good, good care of you.”

You nod, watching him soon trail his lips down to your exposed chest.

He circles the tip of his tongue around your nipple, taking it entirely in his mouth to hear you moan out; the other in his hand, his hips grinding to meet your heat as he grinds into you through the fabrics keeping you apart.

“You are a marveling beauty.” He adds, his hands finding the hem of your shorts and pulling them right down, along with your panties.

He pulled back, holding your legs apart and examining every part of you, taking in the view of his next meal.

He watched you shyly try to look away, smirking when he saw how utterly messy your cunt was, glistening and dripping juices down to the sheets.

He didn’t waste much time after that, kissing your inner thigh before planting one on your clit.

He made the most deep, sinful noises as he lapped at your cunt, his eyes not breaking contact with yours as he inserts two long and slender fingers inside you.

He seemed to almost gain more pleasure from sucking on your clit than you did, almost.

You reacted like a beast in heat, legs trembling and hands gripping the sheets as your thighs pressed the sides of his face to pull him deeper into you.

You came faster than ever before. Blade sucked every drop out of you, wiping the corner of his mouth before grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head.

He kissed you once more, not biting this time. Yet.

Without giving you time to recoup- he shed his clothing and slapped his cock on your folds, slipping it inbetween them to get it ready for you.

“I need to taste you dear…truly taste you.”

“M-my blood?” You ask, feeling even weaker and more lustful.

“Yes” he whispers close to your lips, “You will let me drink from you, won’t you, my little temptress?”

You nod- pulling him close to you as if you’d wither without him.

“You are such an eager woman. I quite like that.” He says, before pushing his entire length deep, deep inside you. You groan, eyebrows furrowed harshly as you experience such a reveling sensation.

“Fuck-“ He breathes, “You’re so tight…do you ache for me so deep? You’re sucking me in so much…such a naughty whore you are.”

He moved in and out slowly, making you feel every vein and along his shaft.

You could feel his breathe on your chest, and soon his teeth.

He sinked them into the top of your breast, sucking the blood out of you ferociously as he rutted inside you faster now, making you cry out as tears rolled down your face in pleasure.

“Ah- Blade!…”

“It will only hurt for a moment…I’ll fuck you so deeply you won’t dare to forget it.” He spouts, his mouth dripping with your blood before going back in to take more.

You quickly notice a mirror behind Blade, you haven’t noticed it before but he wasn’t in it of course. All your blurry vision could attest was your spread apart pussy, gaping with a thick hole as you watched yourself be torn apart in the most delicious way, blood dripping down to your nipple, soon to be licked up from Blade tongue, as your body moved with the rhythm of the bed; snapping out of your trance once you heard his suckling.

He whimpered and moaned as he drank, gripping your ass harder as he thrusted into you at a pace you could nearly pass out from.

So much of your cum created a ring around his cock, squelching noises filled the room and muffled the crackling of the wood in the fire.

His grasp on the fat of your ass deepened, possessiveness overwhelming him.

“You’re mine now. You don’t belong in those treacherous woods, you will stay right here.” He commanded, imaging all the ways he’d ruin your perfect pussy, wrapped around him so well he was convinced you were destined to take him, to be his and his only to fuck, eat, and fill.

In response to his hold, you clenched your walls around him tighter until you felt warm fluid rush into your womb, nodding to his wishes profusely as you release together in the romantically gothic room, your breath huffing as you came down from an intense high.

Blade on the other hand, well the stamina of a vampire is quite impressive.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 7✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ A heart can beat, even for the hated one...♡ Tag list: @irlandajacquelinne-blog

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Unbound Tensions‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 9k+ [Part 7] ☆ TW: fluff (mainly Lensless Mark) ☆ Author's Note: I wrote 22,072 words for this chapter. YES, you heard me. Why? Because, I wanted to include smut!!! AH, I talked with a lot of people, and everyone said I should split it (╥﹏╥) so here's the lead-up to the smut chapter, pleaseee give it some love <3 I worked really hard on this...

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The silence was a physical weight, a suffocating blanket woven from the threads of destruction.

Not the peaceful hush of a forest at dawn, but the hollow stillness that follows a storm's brutal rampage. Dust motes, like tiny, restless spirits, danced in the slivers of weak sunlight filtering through grimy, cracked windows. Their ethereal ballet cast long, skeletal shadows across the room's battered floor.

Y/N lay on the remnants of a broken bed frame, springs jutting out like the ribcage of some forgotten beast, the torn mattress a testament to the room's violent history.

Distant explosions, muffled thunder in the ruined landscape, vibrated through the weathered walls of the abandoned house. Smoke, thick and ashen, billowed against a sky the color of a bruised plum, visible through a jagged crack in the half-drawn curtains.

Consciousness returned slowly, a reluctant swimmer surfacing from murky depths. The room spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of faded floral wallpaper, cracked plaster, and forgotten, overturned furniture. Her muscles screamed, a symphony of throbbing pain that spoke of brutal battles and forced, rapid healing.

The memory of the raw, blazing power that had erupted from her, the desperate grasp of the variants as she faltered, and Omni's tear-streaked face flashed behind her eyelids.

A ragged breath, a broken sigh, shattered the oppressive quiet. Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze snapping to the source of the sound. Her pupils dilated, adjusting to the dim light, and her heart clenched.

Lensless Mark sat against the far wall, a prisoner in his own skin. Heavy, industrial-grade chains, thick as her wrist, wrapped around his body like metallic serpents, binding him from shoulders to ankles. Each link, precision-welded, gleamed with a cold, surgical intensity. The metal crisscrossed his torso in an intricate, punishing web.

His luchador-style mask, usually a symbol of his arrogant swagger, was askew, revealing a landscape of mottled bruises blooming across his cheekbones like dark, grotesque flowers. One eye was swollen shut, the skin around it a bruised purple-black, a testament to the brutal beating he'd endured. A trail of dried blood, like a macabre paint stroke, ran from his split lip to his chin. His single visible eye, however, burned with a fierce intensity that belied his vulnerable position. A fresh bruise, a dark purple blossom, marred his jawline—a souvenir from the other variants' fury after his attempt on her life.

Y/N's muscles coiled, her instincts screaming for defense. Her fingers curled into half-fists, ready to unleash the power that still hummed beneath her skin. But Lensless Mark wasn't lunging. He wasn't attacking. He was simply watching, his gaze a silent, smoldering question.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, that single eye glinting with a mix of sardonic humor and barely contained rage. "Sleeping beauty finally graces me with her presence."

His nostrils flared slightly, his upper lip curling into a brief, almost involuntary sneer. "Wonderful performance back there, by the way. Real fuckin' heroic."

The sarcasm dripped from his words, but beneath it, Y/N detected an undercurrent of something else—a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or a grudging respect. The chains rattled softly as he shifted, a metallic whisper in the oppressive quiet.

"Your Marks were... thorough," he remarked, his one good eye tracking her movements as she examined him. His voice carried a note of grudging respect. "Bunch of overprotective bastards."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin, hard line. "You tried to kill me."

"Fair point." A sharp, unexpected laugh escaped him, a sound that was part genuine amusement, part something darker, almost feral. "But where's the fun in killing you quickly?"

Ignoring him, she traced the intricate pattern of the restraints with her gaze. They weren't just simple bindings; they were a statement, a message from the other variants: You are not to be trusted. Each link, custom-forged and precision-engineered, spoke of a desperate need to contain someone with superhuman strength. A Viltrumite's handiwork.

"Comfortable?" she asked, her voice raspier than she expected, her throat dry and raw.

Lensless Mark let out a sharp bark of laughter, tilting his head back to expose the bruised column of his throat. "Oh, absolutely. Nothing says 'five-star accommodation' like being chained up by my multiversal doppelgängers."

Despite the humor, tension radiated from him like heat. His unrestrained eye darted around the room, assessing, calculating. The trademark cocky swagger of his personality, usually a roaring fire, was now a smoldering ember, struggling beneath a glass dome.

"They could have killed me," he said suddenly, his shoulders pulling against the chains as he leaned forward. "But no. Chained me up like some... pet." The last word dripped with contempt, his teeth bared in a brief, almost involuntary snarl.

Y/N shifted, wincing slightly as a jolt of pain shot through her side. The memory of her recent power surge, of the blinding moment of self-healing, was still vivid. She could feel the residual energy humming beneath her skin, a subtle vibration that spoke of untapped potential.

"Why didn't you try to escape?" she asked, her head tilting to one side, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Lensless Mark's lips curled—part smirk, part snarl. "And go where, exactly? I'm stuck in THIS universe. THIS world!" His good eye widened with emphasis, veins standing out on his neck as anger flashed across his face.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken history. Y/N's fingers traced absent patterns on the worn fabric of her partially torn suit, a nervous habit honed through years of survival.

Her eyes continued to study Lensless Mark, searching for something beyond the surface bravado.

"You want to know about the GDA," she said, her voice flat, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a question.

Lensless Mark's eyebrow arched, a micro-expression of surprise quickly masked by his characteristic smirk. "Well, aren't you a mind reader?"

A humorless laugh escaped her, a dry, brittle sound. "Trust me. If I could read minds, I'd have escaped that hellhole years ago."

Her gaze grew distant, her eyes unfocusing as they fixed on a point beyond the room's peeling wallpaper. The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to fade into background noise as memories surfaced—sharp, jagged things that cut like broken glass.

"They didn't just experiment," Y/N began, her voice taking on a clinical detachment that spoke of practiced self-preservation. "Experimenting implies scientific method. What they did? That was torture disguised as research."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his good eye fixed unblinkingly on her face.

Her fingers unconsciously traced a thin, barely visible scar along her forearm—one of many hidden beneath her suit. "Viltrumite physiology is... complex. Unpredictable. The GDA wanted to understand its potential. To create something controllable. Something they could weaponize and use."

Her jaw clenched tight, a vein pulsing at her temple. The chains nearby seemed to vibrate with her rising emotion, though whether from residual power or pure psychological intensity was unclear.

"They'd inject me with different variants of Viltrumite blood," she continued. "Mark Grayson... Nolan Grayson... and they watched how my body responded. Rejected. Adapted. Died. And then brought back." Her laugh this time was closer to a sob, her eyes glistening briefly before she blinked the moisture away. "Regeneration was both a blessing and their favorite torture method."

Lensless Mark's eye had lost its sardonic gleam. Something darker moved behind it—recognition, perhaps. A flicker of something that might have been empathy, quickly buried beneath his trademark cynicism.

"Sounds fun," he muttered, but the words lacked his usual bite, his gaze dropping momentarily to the floor.

Y/N's head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with an intensity that made the air between them seem to shimmer. "Fun? You think this was fun?"

The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to shift almost imperceptibly. Not from his movement—he remained perfectly still—but from the charged energy suddenly filling the room.

Her hands, which moments ago had been trembling slightly, now looked frighteningly steady. The same hands that had unleashed that devastating energy against Lensless earlier. The same hands that had survived countless GDA experiments.

"I'm not looking for your pity," she said quietly, her chin raised, her eyes hard as flint. "I'm telling you so you understand. I'm not a victim. I'm a fucking survivor... And the only one who lived out of every one of their goddamn experiments."

A long moment passed. The dust motes continued their silent dance. Outside, the world remained in total destruction—unaware of the complex drama unfolding in this forgotten room.

Finally, with a heavy grunt of pain, Y/N pushed herself up from the broken bedframe. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, muscles quivering with the effort of supporting her still-recovering body. Each step toward Lensless Mark sent shockwaves of pain through her healing tissues, but she refused to show weakness, her face a mask of determination.

Lensless Mark raised a brow as she approached, his one good eye tracking her movement with predatory attention. The dark swelling around his other eye had begun to recede slightly—the accelerated Viltrumite healing already at work.

Her fingers hovered near the industrial-grade chains, tracing their intricate welding without touching. The metal gleamed coldly in the dim light, each link casting its own small shadow. She could feel the energy signature of the other variants on them—their anger, their protective fury encoded in each precision weld.

"Admiring the jewelry?" Lensless drawled, that single eye glinting with humor. His chest rose with a deep inhale, nostrils flaring slightly.

"No… It just looks like you lost a fight with a garbage disposal," Y/N's lips quirked, a flicker of amusement in the dim light. "I've seen cleaner dumpsters."

"Cute," Lensless Mark retorted, the single visible eye rolling with exaggerated disdain. "Real original. You want a medal, or just a participation trophy?"

Their banter, sharp and laced with unspoken tension, filled the room. Outside, the world burned, a stark counterpoint to their delicate dance of words. Each jab, each retort, was a subtle negotiation, a drawing of invisible lines in the dust-laden air.

Her fingers, light as a feather, traced the cold metal of the chains. Not sympathy, but a clinical curiosity drove her touch. She tested the links, feeling for weaknesses, gauging the resistance they would offer to her enhanced strength.

"You want out?" The question, deceptively casual, carried the weight of unspoken conditions.

A sharp, barking laugh echoed off the cracked walls. "Out? I want to not be a goddamn ornament in this charming apocalypse-chic bedroom." He leaned forward, the chains biting into his bruised flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

Y/N arched a brow, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips. "Conditions, then."

"Always," he hissed, the word a rasping promise. His good eye narrowed, calculating, predatory.

"A pinky promise." She extended her smallest finger, the gesture absurdly childish in their brutal reality. For a fleeting moment, a hint of something softer, almost playful, flickered across her face.

Lensless Mark stared, his jaw slack, the single visible eye widening in disbelief. "A what?"

"You heard me." The playful glint vanished, replaced by a hard, unwavering stare. "Pinky promise you won't immediately try to kill me, or anyone else, when I release you."

He laughed, a startled, genuine sound that rattled the chains around him. "Are we children playing in a sandbox?"

"Promise, or stay chained." Her voice held a steel edge, the extended pinky a silent challenge.

Slowly, deliberately, he extended his own pinky, a gesture that was both ridiculous and utterly serious. "Pinky. Fuckin'. Promise."

Their smallest fingers locked, an absurd pact sealed in the heart of a shattered world. The brief contact, surprisingly warm, lingered as she turned her attention to the chains.

Her fingers closed around a link, thumbs tracing the metal's cold, unyielding surface. She felt for weaknesses, pressure points where the metal might yield. Her grip tightened, the chain feeling like a throat beneath her fingers.

Muscles coiled, Viltrumite strength surging through her arms. Veins, dark and prominent, mapped the pathways of her enhanced power. She applied pressure, a slow, inexorable force.

The first chain snapped, a sharp, gunshot-like crack that echoed through the room.

Metallic links scattered across the worn floorboards, catching the weak light. They skittered into shadowed corners, disappearing like fleeing insects. Y/N's movements, precise and fluid, spoke of countless hours spent understanding mechanisms, a skill honed in the GDA's brutal laboratories.

Lensless Mark watched, his single eye narrowed, lips parted slightly. The bruising around his socket began to yellow, the first signs of rapid Viltrumite healing pushing through the battered skin. "Impressive," he muttered, "didn't know they programmed lockpicking into their little science project."

Her hands stilled, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. "I learned a lot in the GDA. Survival wasn't a choice; it was the only option."

Another chain yielded, the sound softer, almost intimate. The metal twisted and deformed, giving way under her relentless pressure.

Outside, the world continued its fiery death throes. Distant screams and explosions painted a hellish soundscape, a constant reminder of the multiversal war raging beyond their sanctuary. The other variants—Omni, Mohawk, Sinister—remained locked in their negotiations with Angstrom Levy, their voices a distant, indistinct rumble.

"So," Lensless Mark drawled, breaking the silence, his head tilting to one side, "you're not curious why they left me here? Chained up like some… personal project?"

A flicker of humor touched Y/N's lips. Her fingers moved with methodical precision, each link yielding to her strength. "Maybe they thought you needed a timeout." A soft giggle escaped her, surprising even herself.

"A timeout?" His single eye narrowed, a muscle twitching in his bruised cheek. "Because chaining up a multiversal Mark Grayson variant is standard procedure."

Another chain fell, joining the metallic graveyard around them. Each broken link was a promise, a step into the unknown.

"They beat the shit out of me," Lensless Mark said, his voice losing its edge. His gaze fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping. "Not just a fight. A statement."

Her hands paused. Her gaze locked with his, the single eye burning with an intensity that cut through the dim light.

"Because you tried to kill me." She stated the fact, not an accusation.

"Because you're a fucking clone," he spat, his voice raw with rage. "A disgusting imitation wearing her face."

Y/N's fingers froze on the chains, her mouth falling open in shocked confusion. "What?"

He turned away, jaw muscles working furiously. "Forget it."

Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening. "No. No more chains until you explain." Her voice was hard, all humor gone. "You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you shit!" he snarled, yanking against his restraints. The chains held, barely. His eye blazed, and Y/N braced herself.

"FINE!" he exploded, the word echoing in the room.

"My Y/N was HUMAN!" The confession tore from him, his voice cracking. "Just a normal, beautiful human. She didn't need superpowers," a brittle laugh escaped him, his head shaking. "... she looked just like you. Exactly. But she didn't have Viltrumite blood. She was perfect, not like…"

His words trailed off, his jaw clenching. The unspoken venom hung heavy in the air.

The confession hung between them—raw, unexpected. A glimpse beneath the sardonic exterior that showed something more complex than the sadistic killer the other variants had described.

Her fingers silently resumed their work. Another chain fell, the metal giving way with a soft, metallic groan. Y/N's face remained unreadable, eyes focused on the task at hand rather than on his face.

"And that's why you hate me," Y/N said softly, the realization settling like cold steel. "I'm her echo, but distorted. A version you deem... wrong."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his posture shifting subtly. The defiant edge, while still present, was softened by a flicker of something akin to vulnerability. His shoulders slumped against the wall, the fight draining from him like air from a punctured lung.

The final chain fell with a heavy clank, joining its brethren in a metallic heap on the floor.

Freedom waited, a tangible presence in the room. Potential crackled in the air, a silent, volatile energy.

Lensless Mark slowly brought his arms forward, rubbing at the raw, chafed skin where the chains had bitten into his wrists and chest. His fingers probed gingerly at the bruises marring his torso, wincing at particularly tender spots. He flexed his muscles experimentally, gauging their response after hours of confinement. Despite the lingering weakness, a predatory grace underlay his movements—a hunter assessing its strength before the kill.

"Well," he purred, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he looked up at her through his lashes, a smile playing on his lips that didn't reach his eyes, "about that pinky promise..."

The air thickened, charged with a palpable tension. Y/N's muscles tensed instinctively, her body reacting to the predatory gleam in his eye before her mind could fully process the threat.

His bruised face transformed, the fleeting vulnerability vanishing, replaced by a cold, calculating mask. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he slowly, deliberately, rose to his full height.

The broken chains lay scattered around his feet, discarded metallic snakeskins. The afternoon light caught each link, casting distorted, elongated shadows across the worn floorboards.

Lensless Mark rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking with a satisfying pop as he tilted his head from side to side. His single good eye never left Y/N's face. The swelling around his other eye had receded, revealing a sliver of iris, giving him an unsettling, lopsided gaze. He ran his tongue over his split lip, tasting copper and a hint of victory.

"I did promise not to kill you," he whispered, taking a step forward that closed the distance between them. His boot crushed a chain link underfoot, the metal yielding with a dull crunch. "Immediately."

Y/N didn't flinch. Her feet remained rooted to the dusty floor, her weight subtly shifted to the balls of her feet, poised for action. Her chin lifted, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply, registering the scent of his sweat, blood, and something uniquely him. Her eyelids lowered slightly, her gaze sharpening with focused intensity.

"So, that's it?" Her voice, deceptively soft, held the edge of a honed blade. "First taste of freedom, and you're already breaking your word?"

A harsh laugh reverberated through the room, devoid of mirth. It grated against the silence like fingernails on slate.

"My word?" Lensless Mark's chest expanded with a sharp inhale, the bruises on his torso shifting with each breath. "You dare speak of words and promises? That's rich."

Another step forward, the floorboard creaking beneath his boot.

"In my world," he continued, his tongue darting out to touch his split lip again, "the GDA took her too." His voice dropped to a whisper, the words hanging in the air like poisoned darts. "But she didn't survive. She didn't become… this." The last word dripped with contempt, his hand gesturing toward Y/N with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her pupils dilating and contracting as she processed his words. A tiny muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth, the only visible sign of the emotional impact.

"I didn't ask to be their experiment," she said, each syllable precise and measured. The veins in her forearms became more pronounced as her hands curled into loose fists. "I didn't choose this."

Lensless Mark's gaze raked over her, taking in the subtle signs of her enhanced physiology—the unnatural grace, the contained strength, the too-perfect healing of old wounds. His lip curled, revealing his teeth in a predatory snarl.

"But you survived it," he hissed, bitterness etched in the lines around his mouth. "You thrived on it. Became exactly what they wanted."

Before Y/N could respond, a chorus of angry voices erupted outside, distant but distinct. Both occupants of the room froze, heads turning toward the window. The abandoned house suddenly felt paper-thin, the walls barely containing the sounds of the apocalyptic world.

"That's Mohawk," Lensless Mark muttered, his good eye narrowing as he cocked his head, listening. His earlier aggression momentarily receded, replaced by a flicker of concern.

Y/N moved to the window, careful to stay to the side of the grimy glass. Her fingers curled around the peeling windowsill, wood flaking beneath her touch. The sky had darkened to a bruised purple-black, smoke spiraling upward from multiple points across the devastated landscape. Several blocks away, floating figures hovered in the haze.

"Something's happening," she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. Her enhanced vision picked out details—Sinister's distinctive black and yellow suit, Omni Mark's red and white insignia, and a smaller figure with a bulbous head surrounded by portal drones. "Angstrom."

Lensless Mark appeared at her side, his proximity sending a shiver down her spine. He shouldered her aside, pressing his face to the glass. His breath quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Well, well," he drawled, the forced casualness failing to mask the tension in his voice. "Looks like the family reunion is getting heated."

The voices rose again, carried on the smoke-laden air—anger, threats, demands. The hostility vibrated through the very foundation of their sanctuary.

Y/N turned from the window, her mind racing. Her gaze swept over the broken chains, the splintered bed frame, the peeling wallpaper—evidence of a world unraveling. Determination hardened her features.

"We need to go there," she said, the words dropping into the charged silence.

Lensless Mark's head snapped toward her, his expression shifting from surprise to disbelief to mocking amusement. "We? There's no 'we' here, sweetheart. I tried to kill you. Multiple times."

Y/N stepped closer, invading his space. Her eyes locked with his, unflinching.

"And yet here I am, unchaining you," she countered, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Something's happening with Angstrom. Something that has all of them," she gestured toward the window, "in an uproar. Don't you want to know what it is?"

A muscle ticked in Lensless Mark's jaw, his gaze flicking between her and the window. Outside, a flash of blue light illuminated the sky, followed by Mohawk Mark's enraged bellow.

"I'd rather be anywhere but helping your little boyfriend squad," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt even as curiosity flickered in his visible eye, warring with the hatred that had become his constant companion.

Y/N sensed the opening and pressed her advantage, closing the distance between them. The floorboards creaked beneath her careful steps. "They're not my boyfriends," she said, her voice dropping to a honeyed whisper that seemed to reach past his defenses and resonate somewhere deep within him. "They're using me to replace someone they lost. Just like you said."

A subtle change rippled across Lensless Mark's features—his pupil dilated, the one visible eye darkening with an emotion he couldn't quite conceal. His lips parted involuntarily, the slightest tremor passing through them as her words found their target with unerring precision.

"And if Angstrom gets what he wants," she continued, her gaze steady and unflinching as it locked with his, "we all lose. Including you." Her hand hovered near his bruised forearm, not quite making contact but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "You want revenge for your Y/N? Angstrom is the architect of all this destruction. Of all these universes colliding. He's the reason we're all here, suffering."

Something shifted beneath the carefully constructed mask of disdain Lensless Mark wore—a flicker of genuine emotion breaking through like sunlight through storm clouds. His nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath, shoulders squaring beneath the tattered remnants of what had once been an immaculate suit.

"Fine," he spat, the single word seeming to cost him physically. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped along its edge as he practically vibrated with the storm of conflicting emotions battling for supremacy within him. "But this doesn't make us allies. This doesn't make us anything."

Y/N's smile appeared briefly—genuine despite its fleeting nature, a flash of relief that vanished as quickly as morning dew under a harsh sun. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Without further conversation, she moved to the window with fluid, purposeful strides. The hinges protested with a rusty screech as she pushed it fully open, the metallic sound slicing through the heavy silence hanging over the room. Cool evening air rushed in, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of destruction—smoke and dust intermingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood.

Y/N paused at the threshold, glancing back once at Lensless Mark. Her expression remained unreadable in the fading light, shadows playing across the contours of her face. Then she stepped onto the windowsill and launched herself skyward, her body cutting through space with the effortless grace of a predator taking flight.

Lensless Mark watched her disappear, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He stood motionless for a heartbeat—just long enough to mutter a string of creative curses under his breath, each syllable laden with frustration—before following her lead.

They soared above the devastated landscape, twin shadows against the darkening canvas of the sky. The city sprawled beneath them in ruins—buildings reduced to skeletal frameworks, streets split open like wound-like gashes across the face of the earth. Bodies of fallen civilians painted macabre patterns on the ground below, while fires burned unchecked in several districts, their orange-yellow flames serving as beacons in the gathering gloom.

Y/N maintained a slight lead, her body positioned to minimize wind resistance, arms extended at her sides. Her hair streamed behind her like a battle standard, dancing and whipping in the turbulent currents.

Lensless Mark kept pace a few feet behind and to her right, his movements marginally less fluid, the grace in his flight hampered by injuries that refused to be ignored. The exposed portion of his face remained locked in a grimace of concentration, jaw muscles bunching as he clenched his teeth against the pain radiating through his body with each powerful thrust through the air.

They approached the gathering of variants with tactical caution, using the smoke-filled sky as natural camouflage. Below them, the confrontation unfolded above the skeletal remains of what had once been the Grayson family home, its once-welcoming structure now reduced to little more than ash and memory.

The variants hovered in a loose circle around Angstrom Levy, whose bulbous head glistened with a sheen of nervous sweat. His beady eyes darted between the assembled Marks, constantly calculating as he manipulated a constellation of glowing green portal drones that floated around the group like mechanical fireflies, their emerald light casting eerie shadows across the faces of the gathered variants.

Y/N signaled to Lensless Mark with a quick gesture, indicating a partially collapsed rooftop nearby. They descended in perfect silence, landing in a crouch behind a chimney stack that had somehow survived the destruction intact.

"—you promised us anything we wanted!" Mohawk Mark's roar cut through the evening air, each word punctuated by flecks of spittle flying from his contorted lips. The mohawk crowning his head seemed to bristle with his rage, while veins pulsed visibly at his temples. "And now we get nothing?"

Angstrom's laugh—nasal and grating—bounced off the ruins surrounding them as his abnormally large head tilted backward. Sweat trickled down his bulbous forehead, catching the green light of the portal drones as his eyes continued their nervous dance between the variants. "I promised you new universes to conquer. But first, you need to complete your part of the bargain."

"We've done enough," Omni Mark grunted, his powerful frame rigid with barely contained violence. His fists clenched at his sides, the red material of his gloves straining across the knuckles as though struggling to contain the force within. The black lenses of his mask gleamed with menace as he leaned forward, shoulders hunched like a predator preparing to pounce. "This world is in ruins, and we already lost half of us. Invincible's reputation is destroyed. It's time for you to pay up."

Sinister's laugh shattered the moment like broken glass, sharp and dangerous. "Or should I rip that swollen head off your shoulders and be done with it?" His fingers flexed with deliberate slowness, a silent promise of violence to come.

Emperor Mark floated slightly higher than the others, positioning himself with the natural authority of one accustomed to command. His voice cut through the tension like a well-honed blade. "You're stalling, Angstrom. That makes me wonder what you're hiding."

Phantom Mark hovered silently to the side, his full-face mask rendering his expression unreadable, but his body language—head tilted at a calculating angle, arms crossed over his chest—radiated cold assessment.

Prisoner Mark spat on the ground below, his scarred face twisting into a mean grimace that pulled at the puckered tissue crisscrossing his features. "If you think you can double-cross us after everything we've done—"

"Maybe he needs a reminder of who he's dealing with," Viltrumite Mark suggested, his voice a study in deceptive calm. One by one, he cracked his knuckles, each pop carrying ominously through the still air like distant gunshots.

No Mask Mark's lips curled into a cruel smile, his eyes reflecting the sickly green glow of the portal drones as he edged closer to Angstrom. "I've been wanting to get my hands on you since day one."

From their vantage point, Y/N's fingers curled around the rough edge of the chimney, knuckles whitening with pressure as she observed the confrontation unfolding above them. Beside her, Lensless Mark's breathing had become a carefully measured rhythm, each inhale and exhale a deliberate exercise in control.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, the words barely audible even to Lensless Mark's enhanced hearing. "Look at Angstrom's portals."

Lensless Mark narrowed his eyes, focusing on the glowing rifts surrounding the variants. Several of the portal drones pulsed with an erratic rhythm, the edges of their projections wavering and fluctuating as though struggling to maintain coherence. A discordant humming filled the air, the vibration setting teeth on edge and raising the fine hairs on the back of the neck. Behind each variant—all of whom had their attention fixed on Angstrom—additional portal drones were silently rising into position, their movements deliberate and predatory.

"He's losing control," Lensless muttered, a note of grudging respect coloring his voice. "Too many portals open at once, too many dimensions bleeding into each other."

Y/N's gaze flicked to him, surprise momentarily widening her eyes. "You know about dimensional physics?"

His lips curled in a sardonic sneer, though a glint of dark humor danced in his good eye. "I've hopped more dimensions than you've had hot meals, sweetheart. You pick things up."

Their attention snapped back to the confrontation as Mohawk Mark's voice rose above the others, slicing through the cacophony with razor-sharp clarity.

"Enough talk!" he shouted, his dark suit blending with the gathering shadows. "Either you send us where we want to go, or we tear you apart."

Angstrom's expression twisted—fear and calculation battling for dominance across his features. His hand slipped into his pocket with practiced smoothness, withdrawing what looked like a small remote control. Behind the variants, the drones began to rise higher, their movements synchronized with cold precision.

"I believe in contingency plans," Angstrom said, his voice suddenly steadier than it had been moments before. "You want new worlds to conquer? Fine. But not the ones you're thinking of."

His thumb descended on a button, and the drones surged forward, surrounding the variants in a complex geometric pattern. Green energy crackled between them, forming a lattice of dimensional power that began to constrict around the assembled Marks.

"He's going to send them all away," Y/N breathed, her body coiling with tension. "To some hell dimension where they can't threaten him anymore."

Lensless Mark's hand shot out with surprising speed, fingers closing around her wrist with undeniable strength. His eye locked with hers, something unreadable flickering in its depths.

"Let him," he hissed, teeth bared in a feral grin that spoke of old hatreds and deeper wounds. "Less competition for me."

Y/N yanked her arm free, disgust flashing across her face like summer lightning. "They're you. All of them. Different versions, but still you."

"Exactly," he countered, leaning closer until she could count the flecks of gold in his irises. His visible eye narrowed to a dangerous slit, while the corner of his mouth curled upward, revealing teeth stained with dried blood. "And I hate myself more than anyone."

The air between them vibrated with unspoken tension. Y/N's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin of her cheek. Her pupils contracted then dilated as she made her decision.

"I'm going," she stated simply, her voice brooking no argument as her body tensed like a spring.

Lensless Mark's curse disappeared into the wind as Y/N launched herself skyward. Her body sliced through the smoke-laden air, arms extended at her sides, hair streaming behind her like a battle flag. The bruised sky seemed to darken further around her as she rocketed toward the confrontation, a living missile aimed at its heart.

Below, Lensless Mark's features contorted in frustration, nostrils flaring as he dragged in a ragged breath. The swelling around his injured eye had receded enough to allow him to squint through it, giving him a lopsided, dangerous gaze. With a growled string of profanities that would have made hardened criminals blush, he pushed away from the rooftop with enough force to cause the decaying structure to crumble further beneath his departure.

The variants remained oblivious to Y/N's approach, their attention locked on Angstrom. The villain's fingers danced across his remote control with manic energy, sweat beading on his forehead as he manipulated the floating drones. Each mechanical orb pulsed with increasingly erratic energy, the portals they generated flickering and destabilizing as they formed a tightening net around the assembled Marks.

"—tired of your games!" Omni Mark's voice carried over the electric crackle of dimensional energy. His fingers curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides, tendons standing out like cords beneath the material of his gloves.

"You promised us new worlds!" Mohawk Mark snarled, his teeth flashing dangerously in the sickly green glow of the portals. Jaw muscles bunched beneath his skin as rage contorted his features.

Sinister Mark hovered slightly apart from the others, his yellow cape billowing behind him like wings of sulfur. His shoulders hunched forward, head lowered in the posture of a predator preparing to charge. A savage grin split his face beneath the black lenses of his mask, teeth gleaming as a low, menacing laugh bubbled from deep within his chest.

"You lying piece of shit," Sinister hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm going to enjoy peeling your skin off strip by strip." His yellow-gloved fingers flexed and curled in rhythmic anticipation, as if already feeling Angstrom's throat beneath them.

Angstrom's lips peeled back from his teeth in a nervous grimace that tried and failed to masquerade as confidence. His thumb hovered over the central button of his remote, eyelids flickering with anticipation. "You'll get your worlds," he said, voice pitched higher than normal as adrenaline coursed through his system. "And you'll die there."

Y/N's approach created a subtle displacement in the air, a whisper of movement that Omni Mark detected first. His head snapped toward her, eyes widening beneath his mask as recognition dawned.

"Y/N, NO!" His arm shot outward, fingers splayed in desperate warning as he tried to alert her to the danger.

Angstrom pivoted with unexpected agility, eyes bulging as he spotted Y/N hurtling toward him. His finger jabbed frantically at the remote, redirecting one of the drones into her flight path. The device responded with a mechanical whir, positioning itself directly before her. Green energy coalesced around it, swirling into a vortex that yawned open like a hungry maw.

Y/N's pupils contracted to pinpoints as she registered the trap too late. Her momentum carried her forward despite her best efforts, muscles straining as she attempted to alter her trajectory. The portal reached for her with invisible fingers, the air around it warping and distorting with dimensional instability.

Lensless Mark streaked through the air to her left, the remnants of his mask fluttering away from his face, revealing more of his features than he had exposed in years. His hand dipped into a pocket, producing a shard of mirror—a makeshift weapon salvaged from the abandoned house. The setting sun caught it at precisely the right angle, creating a blinding flash that struck Angstrom's eyes with surgical precision.

Angstrom's head jerked backward, eyelids squeezing shut against the sudden assault on his vision. His grip on the remote faltered, thumb slipping across its surface. The drone pattern wavered in response, creating a momentary opening in their formation.

Y/N seized the opportunity, twisting her body mid-flight to avoid the portal directly in her path. Her trajectory shifted, bringing her around behind Angstrom. The air parted before her fist as she drove it forward with all her strength, connecting with Angstrom's skull. The impact reverberated up her arm, bone meeting bone with a sickening crack that echoed across the ruined landscape.

Angstrom plummeted, his body spiraling toward the devastation below. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a fine crimson mist, catching the light of the surrounding portals. His fingers maintained their death grip on the remote, thumb pressing a sequence of buttons as he fell.

The variants roared in unison, breaking free of the destabilized portal net. They remained hovering above, their attention fixed on the spectacle below rather than pursuing Angstrom themselves. Their expressions ranged from surprise to excitement, but all shared one common element: bloodthirsty anticipation.

"Finish him!" Mohawk Mark shouted, fist pumping the air as he destroyed a nearby drone with his other hand. His mohawk seemed to bristle with bloodlust, eyes wide and feverish with excitement.

Prisoner Mark's chains rattled melodically as he crushed a drone between his palms, the metal links of his restraints clinking against each other like wind chimes. "Don't let him escape!"

"Watch the drones!" Emperor Mark warned, his voice carrying the authority of command as he blasted one out of the air with his heat vision, the red beam cutting through the darkening sky like a laser scalpel.

No Mask Mark grinned savagely as he kicked one drone into another, creating a small explosion of green energy that illuminated the scars crisscrossing his face. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting the dimensional energy surrounding them. "Show him what happens when you cross us!"

The variants focused on destroying the remaining drones, smashing them with fists, feet, and energy blasts. Green sparks and fragments of metal rained down upon the devastated landscape below, a strange technological hailstorm over the ruins.

Y/N dove after Angstrom, her body streamlined for maximum velocity. Wind roared past her ears, heart hammering against her ribcage as she accelerated downward. Her hand reached out, fingers stretching toward Angstrom's falling form.

Too late, she saw what he had done.

A new portal opened beneath him, swirling with sickly purple energy—different from the familiar green of his standard portals. This was something else, something engineered for a specific purpose. His thumb caressed the remote one final time, altering the destination encoded in the vortex.

Angstrom's eyes locked with Y/N's as he plunged toward the portal. Blood bubbled between his lips, spattering across his chin and neck in a grotesque parody of a beard. His mouth stretched into a rictus of hatred, teeth stained crimson with his own life essence.

"Enjoy your trip," he spat, the words barely audible over the roar of the portal's energy.

Y/N tried to pull up, to change course, her muscles straining against her own momentum. Too late—the portal expanded like a hungry beast, swallowing Angstrom and reaching hungrily for her.

The variants froze in mid-air, horror dawning on their faces as they realized what was happening. Omni-Mark's arm extended toward her, fingers outstretched in futile desperation. Lensless Mark hovered nearby, both eyes now visible and widened with what might have been concern, his hand reaching toward her in an unconscious gesture.

Sinister Mark, who had been hanging back observing, suddenly became aware of a drone hovering unnoticed behind him. His attention had been entirely focused on Y/N, his black lenses reflecting her plummeting form. For a split second, his normal vigilance lapsed, his body frozen as he watched her fall. The drone's circuitry hummed as it targeted his distracted form. The device activated, creating a second portal that intersected with his flight path.

"Son of a—" His curse was cut short as the portal's energy engulfed him, pulling him inexorably in the same direction Y/N had vanished.

The sensation was like being flayed alive while simultaneously being compressed into a space far too small for a human body. Colors that existed in no known spectrum swirled around Y/N, pressure building against her eardrums until she thought her skull might shatter from the force.

Then, abruptly, release.

Y/N tumbled through open air, disoriented and gasping. Her body struck the ground with bone-jarring force, enhanced physiology absorbing an impact that would have pulverized ordinary human anatomy. Dust billowed around her, a cloud of gritty particles that coated her sweat-dampened skin and invaded her lungs with each desperate breath.

She rolled onto her hands and knees, fingers digging into alien soil as her vision swam and finally began to clear. Her head lifted, eyes widening as she took in her surroundings.

A wasteland stretched in every direction—not the devastated cityscape she had left behind, but something far more alien and terrifying. The sky above hung low and oppressive, a sickly shade of yellow-green that reminded her of infected tissue. Three moons of varying sizes and colors suspended in that alien firmament, casting overlapping shadows across the barren landscape. Jagged rock formations jutted from the earth like broken teeth, their surfaces gleaming with an oily iridescence that suggested something beyond normal geology.

And moving across that landscape—massive shapes that defied classification. Creatures composed primarily of teeth and claws and hunger, their bodies shifting and reforming with each lumbering step. Smaller, quicker things skittered between the giants, gleaming carapaces reflecting the eerie light of the alien moons.

Y/N pushed herself to her feet, muscles trembling with the effort. Her heart hammered against her ribs as understanding crystallized in her mind. This wasn't just another Earth, another timeline. This was something else entirely.

A monster universe. A place where the laws of nature had taken a different, nightmarish turn.

The largest of the distant shapes changed direction, its hulking form now moving purposefully toward her. The ground trembled beneath its approach, vibrations traveling through the soil and into Y/N's bones. Her muscles tensed in response, body automatically shifting into a defensive stance despite her exhaustion.

From three other directions, more creatures noticed her presence, their misshapen heads swiveling toward her with predatory interest. The smallest was still twice her height, its body a writhing mass of tentacles supporting what appeared to be a cluster of jawless mouths. It moved with surprising speed, covering ground in undulating lurches that ate up the distance between them.

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening as she prepared for a fight she wasn't sure she could win. Four against one, each creature more nightmarish than the last, and her body still recovering from the dimensional transition.

The monsters closed in, forming a ring around her. The largest towered at least thirty feet high, its body a grotesque fusion of insectoid and reptilian features. A cluster of milky eyes tracked her movements, pupils contracting to vertical slits in the dim light. Its maw gaped open, revealing row upon row of serrated teeth arranged in concentric circles that extended deep into its gullet.

Y/N circled slowly, keeping all four creatures in her field of vision. Her breathing steadied, muscles warming as she gathered her remaining strength. If this was to be her last stand, she would make it count.

The tentacled monster lunged first, appendages whipping toward her with the speed of striking snakes. Y/N leapt skyward, barely avoiding the attack. Her fist connected with what might have been the creature's head, the impact sending shockwaves up her arm. The monster stumbled but didn't fall, tentacles reconfiguring to maintain its balance.

Before she could press her advantage, the largest creature's arm shot out—a limb that seemed to elongate impossibly, ending in razor-sharp claws that raked across her back. Pain lanced through her body, hot blood soaking through the torn fabric of her suit. She spun in mid-air, teeth gritted against the agony, and delivered a retaliatory kick to the monster's forearm.

The third creature spat a stream of caustic fluid that struck her left shoulder, eating through fabric and searing the skin beneath. Y/N bit back a scream, the smell of her own burning flesh filling her nostrils. She dropped lower, trying to use the tentacled monster as a shield against further chemical attacks.

The fourth monster, a quadrupedal nightmare with a body structure suggesting both canine and arachnid heritage, circled warily, looking for an opening. Its face split horizontally, revealing not a mouth but a writhing nest of smaller, worm-like appendages that reached toward her hungrily.

Y/N fought with everything she had, each blow delivered with precision and desperate strength. Her fists created craters in monstrous flesh, her kicks shattered what might have been bones. But for every creature she staggered, another pressed forward. For every attack she evaded, two more connected.

Her stamina began to flag, muscles burning with exertion. Blood ran freely from multiple wounds, her accelerated healing struggling to keep pace with the damage. The monsters seemed to sense her weakening, their attacks becoming more coordinated, more precise.

A tentacle wrapped around her ankle, yanking her downward. She twisted, breaking free, but the motion left her open to the quadruped's charge. Its multi-jointed limbs propelled it forward with startling speed, body colliding with hers in mid-air. They crashed to the ground together, Y/N pinned beneath its considerable weight.

The worm-like appendages in its face writhed closer to her skin, exuding a paralytic toxin that numbed wherever they touched. Y/N struggled beneath the creature, muscles screaming with the effort as she tried to heave it off. Her vision began to dim at the edges, consciousness wavering as the other monsters closed in for the kill.

This was it. After everything she'd survived—the GDA experiments, the variants, Angstrom's traps—she would die here, torn apart by monsters in an alien dimension.

A dark blur streaked across her fading vision—something moving too fast to track properly. The weight pinning her suddenly vanished, the quadruped monster flying backward as though struck by a wrecking ball. The sound of impact echoed across the barren landscape, followed by an inhuman shriek of pain.

Y/N rolled onto her side, blinking to clear her vision. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, she made out a familiar silhouette standing between her and the remaining monsters. Armored and imposing, his black and yellow suit gleamed in the light of the three moons, lenses reflecting the creatures' movements.

Sinister Mark.

His masked head didn't turn toward her, attention fixed on the creatures regrouping before him. His stance radiated aggressive confidence, arms hanging loose at his sides, shoulders squared beneath his dark armor. His yellow cape fluttered in the alien breeze, torn but dramatic against the wasteland backdrop.

"Stay down," he commanded, voice tight with barely contained rage. The words emerged as a snarl, every syllable vibrating with violent intent. Gone was the mechanical calm she'd heard from other variants, replaced by raw fury barely contained within human form.

The largest monster roared, the sound vibrating through Y/N's bones like a physical force. Sinister Mark didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head slightly, a wide, savage grin splitting his face beneath his lenses.

"You can't touch what's mine," he laughed, the sound cold and menacing. His body tensed, poised like a coiled spring. "My turn."

What followed wasn't just a fight—it was a massacre. Sinister Mark moved with lethal precision, each blow calculated for maximum damage. His laughter rang out with every strike, a sound of pure joy at the carnage he created. He didn't waste energy on showy techniques or unnecessary movements. His fighting style was brutally efficient, almost surgical in its application of violence.

The tentacled monster exploded in a shower of viscera as Sinister's fist punched clean through what passed for its central mass. "Too easy!" he cackled, lenses glistening with alien blood as he shook gore from his yellow glove with a flick of his wrist.

The acid-spitting creature's head separated from its body before it could unleash another chemical attack, Sinister's hand moving too fast to see properly. "Is that the best you've got?" he taunted, voice dripping with disdain as he kicked the severed head toward another approaching monster.

The quadruped that had nearly killed Y/N limped back into the fray, its body structure already realigning from the previous impact. Sinister Mark met its charge head-on, hands gripping opposing sides of its horizontally-split face. His arms tensed, muscles bunching beneath his armor.

"Let me help you with that face," he sneered and then ripped outward with a wet, tearing sound. The creature collapsed, twitching, as Sinister tossed the separated halves of its head aside, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Much better!"

The largest monster hesitated, milky eyes tracking Sinister Mark's movements with newfound wariness. It began to back away, massive feet creating small tremors with each step. Sinister leapt upward, his body a dark projectile against the alien sky. He landed atop the creature's shoulders, hands gripping what might have been its skull.

"Not so fast," he growled, spittle flying from his lips as he snarled the words. "The fun's just starting." With a single, powerful motion, he twisted until something inside the monster gave way with a sickening crack that echoed across the wasteland.

The creature's legs buckled, its massive body crashing to the ground with earth-shaking force. Sinister rode it down, maintaining his position until the last tremor had passed through its dying form. His laughter echoed across the barren landscape, the sound filled with genuine pleasure at the destruction he'd wrought.

Silence descended over the battlefield, broken only by Y/N's labored breathing and the distant calls of other monsters, wisely keeping their distance after witnessing the fate of their brethren.

Sinister Mark turned toward her, his armor spattered with multicolored fluids that dripped slowly to the ground. He approached with measured steps, his silhouette black against the alien sky. Despite having just saved her life, there was nothing reassuring about his advance.

Y/N pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing as her injuries protested the movement. Her eyes never left Sinister's face, searching for some hint of intention behind the blank lenses of his mask.

"You look like shit," he observed, voice sharp and abrupt. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he loomed over her, cape billowing around him like a shroud. "Waiting for a thank you? Or did I interrupt your suicide attempt?"

A bubble of unexpected laughter escaped Y/N's throat, the sound edged with pain and the rising tide of hysteria. "I feel like shit too," she managed, one hand pressed against a particularly deep gash across her ribs that pulsed with each heartbeat.The alien ground lay scattered with dismembered creatures, their multicolored fluids pooling beneath mangled limbs. 

Sinister folded his frame into a crouch beside her, the movement as fluid as the violence had been moments before. His yellow gloves—vibrant against the desolation surrounding them—reached toward her face, the leather catching on her skin as he tilted her chin upward. Blood transferred between them at the contact, a macabre watercolor of her own crimson mixed with the iridescent fluids of the monsters he'd torn apart with disturbing enthusiasm.

"I don't save people," he said. The words slipped from his lips like blades, sharp with an undercurrent of promised violence. Behind the black lenses of his mask, she couldn't see his eyes, but his exposed lower face betrayed him—a twisted grin spreading slowly, pulling at the corners of his mouth until teeth gleamed in the dim light. Her own battered reflection stared back at her from those obsidian lenses. "But these things don't get to have all the fun with you."

His thumb brushed across her lower lip with unexpected delicacy, leaving behind a crimson streak that stood stark against her pallor. 

He cocked his head, a gesture both predatory and curious. The movement caused a ripple through his torn cape, the yellow fabric catching what little light filtered through the alien atmosphere.

"Those idiots lost you," he continued, leaning into her space until his breath warmed her face, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of battle. "Their loss. My gain."

Y/N wrenched away from his grip, the sudden movement sending fresh waves of pain radiating through her battered body. A hiss escaped between her clenched teeth. Her hand flew instinctively to her shoulder where an acid burn throbbed beneath her torn suit, the edges blackened and still smoking faintly. The muscles in her jaw worked beneath her skin as she fought to control her expression, to hide the vulnerability the pain created.

A laugh erupted from Sinister's throat—high and untethered, his head thrown back with manic abandon. The sound echoed across the barren landscape, returning distorted and hollow.

"Still playing tough?" His body shifted closer, bringing with it the scents of battle that clung to him—a heady mixture of sweat, adrenaline, and blood. Something glittered behind the black lenses, something hungry and intent. His smile never faltered. "Reminds me of my Y/N."

Before she could react—before she could even process the possessive claim in those words—his arms slipped beneath her knees and back. He lifted her against his armored chest in one fluid motion, the metal plates cool against her torn suit. Her injured shoulder pressed against him, drawing an involuntary gasp from her lips. Her fingers clutched at his suit, seeking stability in the sudden vertigo.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" His mask remained fixed on her face, head tilting as he studied her reaction. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. "Pain means you're still alive. Be grateful."

Without warning, he launched skyward, the sudden acceleration forcing her body against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, instinct overriding caution. Her face pressed against his shoulder as the wasteland blurred beneath them. Three alien moons hung overhead, their overlapping shadows creating patterns of darkness across the barren landscape.

"Let me go," Y/N demanded, her voice tight with pain and anger. She pulled back just enough to meet the impassive black lenses of his mask, the wind whipping her hair across her face in wild tendrils.

A laugh vibrated through his chest, genuine in its amusement. The sound rumbled against her body where it pressed against his. "After I went through all that trouble?" His grip tightened, pulling her closer until the yellow of his gloves stood stark against her torn suit. "Besides, those things down there are probably calling their friends for round two."

In the distance, massive shapes undulated across the alien terrain, drawn by the earlier commotion. Sinister adjusted their trajectory toward a jagged rock formation rising from the wasteland. As they approached, the dark mouth of a cave became visible, a shadow deeper than the surrounding darkness.

“How sweet home~”

––––––––––––

☆ YAY! Okay, I hope y'all like this chapter, even though it was just build up... ☆ And mainly fluff cause the next chapter is the main course~ ☆ Good news, I already wrote the next chapter so no waiting!! ☆ Go check it out for some fun with Sinister~ ☆ Pt.8

[syd-djarin]

private eyes - jack daniels x private investigator!f!reader (18+ MDNI)

You’re a PI hired to spy on Jack Daniels, by his ex-fiancé, who is believed to be a cheater. As time goes on, you don’t find any evidence of the sort, but what you do find is unexpectedly…erotic.

this is for @iamasaddie little lady kinky may challenge! congrats on 2.5k! <333 I was paired with Jack / Voyeurism.

banner by: @cafekitsune

tags: voyeurism (reader watches jack), masturbation (m & f), reader is a private investigator, gratuitous descriptions of my fav cowboy stroking his big cock, dub-con a little? reader masturbates in her car but there isn't anyone around so public but private

a/n: this is the first fic I've completed in months. it's short and to the point, idk how i feel about it but it pushed me out of my writing slump! kinda want to do a part 2 for this, what do y'all think 👀

wc: ~1.6k

smut below the cut

 “I want you to catch that son of a bitch in the act.”

The visibly scorned woman, Camilla, sitting across from you asks through tears, ones that she hasn’t allowed to escape down her cheeks; catching them right at the waterline with an overused tissue.

This isn’t the first time a disgruntled, mistreated, or betrayed lover has sought out your services — no shortage of shitty men leaving trails of destruction while they pillage and greedily chase their own interests. She’s no different, seeking closure from the broken-off engagement from her now ex-fiancée, Jack Daniels. The pair had been together for a year, engaged for three months and one day, out of the blue, Jack broke it off. According to her, he didn’t give a concrete reason, something vague about being consumed with his job and that “she deserved a better life than that”. 

Of course you get paid a pretty penny for your work, but you take great pleasure in catching a man in the act. Whether the woman needs proof for divorce settlements, custody battles, or to just have leverage. Whatever the case may be, you find a gratification you don’t get anywhere else; the upheaval of a man trying to have his cake and eat it too. 

The conventionally attractive woman you couldn’t pick out of a line-up slides her homemade dossier across the coffee shop table, tacky & sticky from previous patrons. You flip through the information presented to you, taking mental notes as you go. You can’t deny the heat that rises up your face as you study the picture of your next target. The deep sable eyes resembling a baby calf’s are staring at you through the glossy photo paper. He’s sporting a mustache reminiscent of Burt Reynolds that is calling your name. His smirk is laced with a charming cockiness. 

“He’s quite the looker, I know. Hell of a lay, too,” her words snap you out of your daydream. Her words feel hollow, his looks are the only attributes she’s mentioned during the duration of the consultation. You're not getting paid for moral judgements and you remind yourself you don’t know the whole story. 

“Which is why I want to know who he’s fucking. I know there’s another woman, or maybe even a guy… he’d answer calls in the middle of the night and step into another room and I swear I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end, he’d tell me he’s going on work trips… he works at a whiskey distillery, why the hell does he need to go on all these trips?” She explains, putting air quotes around ‘trips’ with her dainty, well-manicured hands, “he’d stay late at work a few nights a week, and then it turned into a nightly thing… Anyways, you come highly recommended, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down,” she adds. You’re not a fan of the passive aggressive, back-handed compliment she gives you, but ultimately you give her an understanding smile as you both rise from the table. 

“I’ll be in touch,” you tell her, as you exit. As cliche as that line is, you love saying it every time. 

Days of following Jack around have proven to be fruitless. The man has a simple routine: wakes up at six, traipses to the bathroom to begin his morning regimen of a showering, shaving and grooming his beloved mustache, and to conclude,  adorns his body in his tight denim jeans, a crisp button-down, a cowboy hat, and boots to match. You hate to admit it, and someone would have to waterboard this information out of you, but the hat is doing something for him. 

Or you. 

Whatever. 

He shops weekly on Wednesdays (he always puts the cart back inside the store, not the cart returns in the parking lot), takes the same route home everyday, watches Jeopardy while he eats dinner – you caught on quickly that he cooks during Wheel of Fortune, it appears he isn’t a big fan of Pat and Vanna, dishes promptly following Final Jeopardy and bed by nine. In three weeks Jack hasn’t had a single visitor, of any gender, leaves work at five like everyone else, the man isn’t adding up to be a cheating womanizer like Camilla had set him out to be. Not to say that he isn’t, but you’re not finding any evidence to support that claim. You’ve actually found yourself developing a crush on the man. He’s undoubtedly handsome, seemingly laid back despite his strict routine, and there’s something mysterious that lies beneath that you’re itching to unearth.

You’re parked discreetly across the street from his house. It’s a nice quiet street, with only two lamps to illuminate the surrounding neighborhoods, allowing you to stay shrouded in the night. 

You’re about to call it a night, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, when you notice a lamp turned on in the living room. Fortunately, the window faces the street, making your job that much easier for you. You pick up your binoculars to peer in, adjusting the focus for your prying eyes. Thank the universe he left his blinds open. 

He sits on the couch with his back facing you. It looks like he’s reaching for the remote, like maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, but when he settles back into the couch, you notice he’s butt ass naked, in all his glory. Even through the binoculars, you can see how big his cock is. Your mouth salivates at the sight, wanting to feel the stretch of him in all your holes. 

You’re not supposed to see this. Not at all. Usually in your assignments, you don’t get the full X-rated view, just the PG-13 suggestive one, and you are more than grateful for that. 

But not now.

You’re getting your own private peep show from the man you’re getting paid to spy on. You’re feeling like a grade-A pervert right about now but the sight is too glorious to look away. He spits on his hand, and languidly begins stroking his cock. He runs his other hand through his hair, his toned arms flexing with his movements, his chest heaving. 

It shouldn’t turn you on like it does. For one, it’s highly unprofessional. Secondly, he’s unaware he’s got an audience. Morally speaking, it’s definitely not your shining moment. But it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watching him tease and work himself up. You couldn’t pry your eyes away if you wanted to. 

Jack’s not the only one getting worked up; your clit throbs so hard you feel like it’ll go numb. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears thump-thump thump-thump. You let out a whine when Jack massages his tip, precum dribbling out like a sweet nectar you’d like to feast on. He continues his slow movements, dragging out his pleasure at a delicious and excruciating pace. Somehow, this makes the whole scene that much hotter; the display of restraint and discipline. You wonder if he does that with his lovers. Teasing, teasing, teasing, giving just enough to drive you insane before slowing almost to a stop. 

Possessed by desire, you haphazardly look for any lingering people outside before unbuttoning your pants to shove your hand to where it's needed most. You gasp at the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy, you can smell your own arousal seeped into your panties and it spurs you on further. You mirror Jack’s pace - teasing your lips with a featherlight touch, inching closer and closer to your needy clit, stopping just shy of it, to tease yourself more. It’s agonizing in the best way, taking your time like this. Normally, you like efficiency when making yourself come, rarely going the extra mile to turn the pleasure dial up, but this makes you question why you’re ever in a hurry. 

You reach your clit, going in gentle circles to match Jack’s unhurried pace. You wish you could hear the sounds he’s making, all the grunts and whimpers escaping his plush lips. 

He speeds up his strokes, now ravenous for his delayed release and so are you. Overtaken by the need to come, you drop the binoculars, letting them fall to the floorboard. You’re not even watching him anymore, having seen more than enough to commit to your spank bank. With your eyes closed and head pushing into the headrest, your mind is flooded with images of Jack fucking you slow, hard and deep, absolutely destroying your pussy – legs over his shoulders, hitting the spot that makes you scream and cry in euphoria. The image of him spilling into you, filling you up with his come is what tips you over the edge, your body shivers in bliss and you rock against your hand to ride out the high, feeling faint from the intensity. 

After you’ve recovered and fumbled your chance of ever seeing The Pearly Gates, you dare to look back to his house, to find all the lights back off. It’s a bit of a relief, feeling less shameful of what you’ve done now that you can’t see him at the moment. 

You button your pants backup and lean over to retrieve the forgotten binoculars from the floorboard, as your fingers grab them you hear a knock on the window. The sudden rap on the glass makes you flinch, feeling your skeleton attempt to flee from your corporeal body. Your heart drops to your stomach when you see Jack standing outside your car, leaning one forearm against the body so his face is level with yours. Fuck fuck fuck. You’ve been caught. Dizziness and nausea war within you as you roll down the window. You open your mouth to explain the situation, but words never escape your mouth. 

“You like watchin’ people don’t ya?” he asks, his tone is dark, but not angry. No, it’s something else entirely. 

“I–”

“‘S’alright. Caught onto ya pretty quick. A pretty face like yours ain’t hard to miss.”

“I– i’m sorry, um,” you scramble to find words, any words but Jack interjects again. 

“You like watchin’, but darlin’ I want to know, do ya like bein’ watched?”

[moonselune]

Inbox is open, you say? Here's an idea based on something that just happened during my current run: how would the companions react to a Tav who failed the save to reject the Astral-Touched Tadpole and is distraught at how her body's been changed against her will, and scared that she's going to lose her sense of self and become something monstrous? When this happened to me, most of the companions had little if anything to say about it, but Lae'zel and Halsin acted like I'd eaten it willingly and were really mean to me about it. :(

They are so mean ! And for what ! I'm tryna save your asses !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach’s heart broke the moment she saw you, trembling and wide-eyed, after the confrontation with the Astral-Touched Tadpole. The look in your eyes—a mix of shock, fear, and deep sorrow—was something that pierced her in a way that no blade or battle ever could.

You had tried everything to resist the tadpole’s corrupting influence, but it had finally sunk its claws into you, altering your body in ways you never asked for. You feared what came next: a loss of control, the destruction of your mind, and eventually becoming something unrecognizable, something monstrous.

Your body, once so familiar, now felt foreign. The changes weren't just visible; they pulled at your very essence, like you were slowly unraveling from the inside out. In that moment, it felt like everything was slipping away.

And Karlach… Karlach had been there through thick and thin, always smiling, always strong. But when she saw you like this, her heart ached in ways she hadn’t expected. This wasn’t a battle she could fight for you, and that helplessness gnawed at her. Still, she knew exactly what to do.

She crossed the camp swiftly, her warm, comforting presence surrounding you before she even spoke.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” she murmured, sitting beside you and wrapping her arms around your shaking form. Her voice, usually loud and boisterous, softened to a tone meant only for you. “You’re safe. You’re still here with me.”

You clung to her, burying your face in her chest. Her heartbeat was strong and steady, the one thing that felt real when everything else seemed to be slipping away. But despite her comfort, the fear in you hadn’t faded.

“I-I couldn’t stop it, Karlach,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at her. “I… I tried everything. It’s… it’s changing me. I can feel it. What if I lose myself? What if I—" Your voice cracked, and you looked down at your hands, which had started to take on a faint, otherworldly sheen. “What if I become a monster?”

Karlach’s breath hitched in her throat. She could feel your fear like a palpable thing, pressing in on both of you. But she wouldn’t let it take you. Not while she was still here. She cupped your face in her hands, bringing your gaze to meet hers, her eyes filled with fierce determination.

“You listen to me,” she said firmly, but with tenderness, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You are not a monster. Not now, not ever. Do you hear me? No matter what this tadpole does, it doesn’t get to take away who you are.”

You blinked at her, overwhelmed by the conviction in her voice. The tears kept coming, but her words grounded you.

“But I feel… different,” you admitted quietly, almost ashamed. “What if I start thinking differently? What if I—” Your voice trailed off, too scared to finish the sentence.

Karlach shook her head, pulling you closer, her calloused hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. “Then I’ll be right there to remind you who you are. You think I’m going to let you go down without a fight? Hell no. I know you, better than anyone. You’re stubborn, and you’ve got a good heart—a heart I fell in love with. No tadpole can change that.”

She smiled softly at you, her touch radiating warmth as she brushed your hair back from your face. “And even if you start to feel lost, even if things get scary, you’re not doing this alone, alright? We’ll face it together. Whatever this tadpole does, it has to get through me first.”

The way she said it—so fiercely protective, so determined—made something inside you soften. You leaned into her, resting your head against her chest, letting her hold you as if nothing in the world could ever hurt you again.

“But what if I can’t… stop it?” you whispered after a moment. “What if I can’t fight it forever?”

Karlach’s arms tightened around you. “Then we’ll fight it together. You’ll have me by your side, every step of the way. And if things get hard, if you feel like you’re losing yourself, I’ll be there to pull you back. Every time.” She kissed the top of your head, her voice low and sincere. “You’re not losing yourself, love. Not while I’m here.”

You could hear the pain in her voice—the fear of losing you, of not being able to save you from this. But even more than that, you heard her resolve. She wasn’t going to let this thing win. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt a small flicker of hope.

“I love you, you know that?” you murmured, your voice quiet but sincere. It was all you could say in that moment—your way of thanking her for holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart.

Karlach’s chest shook with a quiet laugh, though you could hear the emotion behind it.

“I love you too, more than you know,” she replied, kissing your forehead once more. “We’re going to get through this. I promise.”

You nodded against her, letting her warmth and her unwavering strength comfort you. You knew the fight wasn’t over—far from it. But with Karlach by your side, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could keep hold of yourself. And as she held you in front of the fire, her presence chased away the darkness that threatened to engulf you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

You had locked yourself in your tent for days now, hiding from the world, and hiding from yourself. The Astral-Touched Tadpole had taken root in your mind, warping your body in ways that terrified you. It wasn’t just the physical changes—the strange, shimmering glow to your skin, the unnatural sharpness to your senses—it was the fear of what was happening inside. You could feel it tugging at your mind, whispering, and each day you felt like you were slipping further and further away from who you once were.

Fear clung to you like a second skin, suffocating, and no amount of logic or reasoning could break through the walls you had built around yourself. You refused to leave your tent, convinced that if you did, you would be stepping out as something monstrous, something no one—not even her—could bear to look at.

But Minthara wasn’t the type to wait around. You had learned that early on. Patience wasn’t a virtue she often entertained, especially when it came to things she cared about.

The tent flap was yanked open with force, the dim light of the camp spilling inside and casting long shadows across the floor. Before you could protest, Minthara stepped inside, her presence filling the small space as she glared down at you with a fierce intensity.

“Enough of this,” she snapped, her voice low and commanding. “You will not hide away like some coward over something as insignificant as this.”

Your heart leaped into your throat at her words. “Insignificant?” you choked out, your voice raw from disuse. “Minthara, look at me!” You gestured to yourself, your hands trembling as you did. “It’s changing me. My body, my mind… I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I can feel it inside me, twisting everything. I’m scared I’m going to lose control—lose myself—and turn into something… something horrible.”

Tears welled up in your eyes despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. You didn’t want to cry in front of her—not Minthara, who was always so strong, so composed. But you couldn’t help it. The fear was too overwhelming.

For a moment, Minthara said nothing. She just stood there, looking down at you, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in your disheveled form. Then, with a huff of impatience, she knelt in front of you, grabbing your chin with firm but not painful force and forcing you to look at her.

“Listen to me,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “You are not some fragile creature who will be undone by this. You are strong, stronger than most could ever hope to be. I have seen you in battle, seen you face down horrors that would make others cower. You think a tadpole—a mere parasite—is enough to destroy you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell her that this was different, that this wasn’t something you could fight with sword or spell. But before you could speak, she continued, her voice taking on a softer, more dangerous edge.

“You are ethereal,” she said, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture. “Beautiful. Perfect. This tadpole may have changed you, but it has not taken away the essence of who you are. You are still mine.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, and despite the fear still gnawing at your insides, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth at her touch, at the possessiveness in her tone. Minthara was never one for sentiment, but when she spoke like this, you knew she meant every word.

“And if anything,” she added, a sly smile curling at the corners of her lips, “I should be the one sulking. I had hoped to claim the Astral-Touched Tadpole for myself. But now, you’ve gone and taken it from me.”

She said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, that for a moment, you were stunned into silence. Then, as the absurdity of her words hit you, a laugh—small and hesitant—bubbled up from your chest. Minthara raised an eyebrow at you, her smile growing wider.

“There,” she said, releasing your chin and standing up. “That’s better. I would hate to think my lover had lost her sense of humor along with her sense of self.”

You wiped at your eyes, still feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you, but it was lighter now, less suffocating.

“You’re… really not upset about this?” you asked, your voice quiet but hopeful. Minthara sighed dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Upset? No. Mildly irritated that I wasn’t the one to receive the tadpole’s gifts? Perhaps.” She glanced down at you, her expression softening ever so slightly. “But I am not upset with you. You are still the person I chose, the person I… care for. And that will not change, no matter what happens.”

Her words, though delivered with her usual edge, sent a wave of relief washing over you. You hadn’t even realized how much you had been fearing her rejection, her disgust, until this moment. But here she was, standing before you, fierce and unwavering as ever, ready to stand by your side.

“Now,” she said, reaching down and pulling you to your feet with surprising gentleness, “you will stop this nonsense and come out of this tent. There are battles to be fought, plans to be made, and you will not do either from in here.”

You hesitated for a moment, still feeling the lingering fear, but Minthara’s steady presence bolstered you. She wasn’t going to let you fall, not like this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The campfire crackled softly as the evening air settled around you, a chill that you barely noticed compared to the storm of emotions raging inside. You sat a little ways from the others, staring blankly at your hands—the faint glow of the Astral-Touched Tadpole marking your skin, a constant reminder of your failure. No matter how hard you had fought, how desperately you had tried to resist, it hadn’t been enough. The tadpole had taken root, and now your body had begun to change against your will.

Your fingers trembled as you traced the strange, glowing veins that marked your skin. It felt wrong. You felt wrong. There was something unnatural about it, something that made you fear that this was only the beginning. What if the changes continued? What if you lost yourself entirely, became some mindless thrall, or worse—a monster?

You tried to push the thoughts away, but they kept coming, each more terrifying than the last. The fear settled like a weight in your chest, heavy and suffocating. And then there was her—Lae'zel. The words she had yelled at you echoed in your mind, sharp and cutting.

"You failed! You should have been stronger!" she had spat earlier, frustration and anger evident in her eyes.

She hadn’t meant it, not really, but it had stung. You had wanted to be strong. You had tried. But it wasn’t enough. Now, with the glowing marks on your body, you wondered if she would even want to stay with you. Lae’zel was fierce, a warrior of unwavering conviction. How could she look at you the same, knowing you had succumbed to the very thing she feared?

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear her approach at first, the sound of her boots crunching on the dirt drowned out by your racing mind. It wasn’t until she stood right beside you that you glanced up, startled.

“Lae'zel…” you murmured, your voice raw with emotion.

Her expression was unreadable, her sharp gaze fixed on you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you palpable. Then, to your surprise, Lae'zel crouched down beside you, her eyes scanning your face before they fell to the glowing marks on your skin.

“I…” Lae’zel hesitated, something unfamiliar in her tone—something softer than you were used to. “I was wrong.”

You blinked, the words not quite registering at first. Lae’zel, so strong, so sure of herself, admitting she was wrong? It was almost impossible to believe.

She continued, her voice low and almost hesitant. “I lashed out at you earlier. I should not have. It was not your failure alone. It was mine as well. I should have fought harder for you—for us. I should have been by your side.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you quickly looked away, not wanting her to see. The raw vulnerability in her voice only made the emotions you were trying to suppress come rushing to the surface.

“I tried, Lae’zel,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I tried so hard… but it wasn’t enough. Now, I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m scared.”

Lae’zel’s eyes softened as she reached out, her hand hovering above yours for a moment before she gently took it in her own. Her grip was firm but careful, like she was afraid you might break.

“I know,” she said softly, surprising you once more with the gentleness of her tone. “And I am sorry. I should not have shouted. I let my fear and my anger control me. I feared losing you, and I lashed out.”

Her thumb stroked over the back of your hand, her touch grounding you in the moment. You could feel the warmth of her hand, the strength behind it, and it was enough to calm some of the panic swirling in your chest.

“I do not care what changes have taken place,” Lae’zel continued, her voice steady now. “You are still you. You are still the warrior I fell in love with. That will not change.”

“But what if I change?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if I become something… something terrible? What if I lose myself?”

Lae’zel frowned, her brows furrowing as she considered your words. For a moment, you thought she might brush off your fears, tell you to be stronger, but instead, she surprised you yet again.

“If that happens,” she said slowly, “I will be here. I will stand by your side, no matter what. I will fight for you, just as I always have.”

You looked up at her, tears brimming in your eyes. “Even if I… even if I become something monstrous?”

Lae’zel’s grip on your hand tightened. “Even then,” she said firmly. “I will not abandon you. You are mine, and I do not abandon what is mine.”

Her words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for the first time since the changes had started, you felt a small flicker of hope. Lae’zel was many things—fierce, headstrong, relentless—but she was also loyal. And in that moment, you knew that no matter what happened, she would not let you face it alone. You let out a shaky breath, the weight in your chest lifting just a little.

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered. “I should have been stronger. I should have fought harder.”

Lae’zel shook her head. “There is no shame in what has happened,” she said firmly. “We cannot control everything. But we can fight. And we will fight this, together.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, your hand still held tightly in hers. Then, Lae’zel gently pulled you closer, wrapping her arms around you in a rare display of tenderness. You buried your face in her shoulder, letting the tears you had been holding back finally fall.

“I will not let you go,” Lae’zel whispered, her voice fierce and full of conviction. “No matter what happens, I will not let you go.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at your reflection in the small, cracked mirror. Your skin had begun to shimmer unnaturally, an eerie, faint glow—just the beginning of what the Astral-Touched Tadpole had done to you. The mental changes were subtle at first, an unsettling awareness in the back of your mind, and a creeping, hollow feeling that you weren’t entirely yourself anymore.

Your hands trembled as you touched your face, fingers ghosting over the surface of your skin, trying to find something familiar beneath the changes. But it was hard to recognize yourself. It was like looking at a stranger. You felt alien, disconnected, like something deep within was slipping away, and you were powerless to stop it. You had failed to stop the tadpole from sinking its claws into your mind, your body.

That’s when Shadowheart found you. She had been looking for you in the camp, worried after the most recent battle had left you drained and withdrawn. The flap of the tent opened quietly, and her soft footsteps made their way toward you, but you couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t bear to see the concern in her eyes, the worry that you might be slipping away from her.

Her voice was gentle, yet full of that quiet strength you’d always admired in her.

“Hey… there you are. I’ve been looking for you.” She paused, noticing the way you were hunched over, staring at the mirror like it held all the answers to what was happening to you. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold it together, but your body betrayed you, a shudder running through you as you finally whispered, “It’s changing me.”

Shadowheart’s brow furrowed, her eyes scanning your reflection before they softened with understanding. She stepped closer, kneeling beside you. Her hand, cool and soothing, gently rested on your arm. “What do you mean?”

You turned to her, your voice shaking as you spoke, “I couldn’t stop it, Shadowheart. The tadpole—it’s changing me, inside and out. I feel… different. I don’t know how to fight this. I’m scared that I’ll lose myself, that I’ll become something—something monstrous.”

Her eyes darkened with emotion as she listened, the concern you had feared now apparent in her gaze. But instead of recoiling or showing the panic you expected, Shadowheart’s expression softened. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached out, cradling your face in her hands, her thumb brushing against your cheek as if to ground you, to keep you tethered to her.

“You’re not going to become a monster,” she said softly, her voice steady and firm. “I won’t let that happen. You’re still you, no matter what that damn tadpole tries to do.”

Tears stung your eyes as you shook your head, unable to believe her. “But what if I’m not? What if it gets worse? What if I… lose control? What if I hurt you or the others?”

Shadowheart’s grip on your face tightened just slightly, her determination radiating through every word. “Then I’ll be there to stop it. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. You’ve always been stronger than you realize. I know you’re scared, and I know this is… horrifying. But you’re still in control. You still have a choice.”

Her words felt like a lifeline, something to hold on to as the panic and despair threatened to overwhelm you. You leaned into her touch, eyes searching hers for some glimmer of hope.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Shadowheart smiled softly, a hint of sadness in her eyes but also fierce conviction. “Because I know you. I’ve seen you fight—against impossible odds, against your own fears. And you’ve won every time. You’re not going to let this tadpole define you. You’re stronger than it.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak, but her words eased some of the tension in your chest. You wanted to believe her so badly, but the changes… the changes felt like they were happening faster than you could adapt to them. And you were terrified of waking up one day and not recognizing the person you’d become.

Seeing the turmoil still churning within you, Shadowheart leaned closer, pressing her forehead gently against yours, her breath warm against your skin. “I’m not going to let you go through this alone. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. I’m not leaving you, no matter what this tadpole tries to do.”

The warmth of her touch, the steadiness in her voice—it was enough to pull you out of your spiral, if only for a moment. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as the weight of her promise settled over you. She wouldn’t abandon you. She was here, beside you, even in the face of something so terrifying.

You opened your eyes, finding hers filled with a fierce love that took your breath away. “But… what if I’m not me anymore?”

Shadowheart smiled, a gentle, loving smile that melted the fear just a little more.

“You’ll always be you. No matter how much this tadpole tries to twist things, the person I love is still in there.” She brushed her fingers through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear before whispering, “And I’m going to remind you of that every day if I have to.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but it wasn’t entirely from fear anymore. There was comfort in her words, in her presence. You rested your head against her shoulder, your body finally relaxing, if only slightly, as you let yourself lean into her.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you admitted, your voice small and vulnerable.

Shadowheart’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as she whispered, “You won’t. I’m right here.”

And for the first time since you felt the tadpole’s dark influence clawing at your mind, you believed her. You weren’t alone in this. And with Shadowheart by your side, maybe—just maybe—you could hold on to who you were.

As she held you, her hands gently stroking your back, you closed your eyes and let the warmth of her love, her strength, soothe the fear that had been gripping you for so long. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew that with her, you wouldn’t face it alone. And that was enough—for now, it was enough.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

You sat alone at the edge of the camp, knees drawn to your chest, staring at the darkening horizon with a hollow feeling in your chest. The weight of the changes coursing through your body was too much to bear. It wasn’t just the physical transformation—the shimmering glow on your skin, the subtle shift in your senses—but the constant nagging feeling that something else was shifting inside you, something more sinister. The Astral-Touched Tadpole had burrowed into you, and you had failed to stop it. You felt its presence like a growing shadow, threatening to consume everything you were.

Jaheira had been keeping an eye on you all evening. She was never one for dramatic displays of affection, but her eyes often lingered on you when she thought you didn’t notice. You loved her for her strength, her pragmatism, but right now, the fear gripping your chest made you feel like a fragile shell of yourself. You were scared that you’d lose the person you were, that the tadpole would twist your mind, your soul, into something monstrous.

You hadn’t said a word to anyone about it, not even her. But Jaheira knew.

She approached you quietly, her footsteps sure but gentle, the kind of presence that didn’t need to make itself known. She settled beside you, her back straight and her hands resting casually on her lap. For a while, she didn’t say anything, simply sitting in the silence of the camp, the crackling of the fire in the background. The quiet companionship was comforting, but it wasn’t enough to ease the storm raging inside you.

After a moment, you spoke, your voice thick with the weight of your fear. “It’s changing me, Jaheira.” You couldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t bear to see her reaction. “I’m not who I was… I don’t know what I’m becoming.”

Jaheira remained quiet for a beat, her expression unreadable, but you could feel her gaze on you. Finally, she let out a long breath, a mixture of calm and exasperation.

“You are letting this defeat you,” she said plainly, her voice steady but not unkind. You blinked, surprised by the bluntness of her words.

“What?” You turned to face her, finding no trace of pity in her eyes, only the pragmatic strength you had always admired. She wasn’t coddling you.

“I’ve watched you handle impossible situations before this,” Jaheira continued, her tone even. “You’ve faced down terrors that would leave others quaking, and now you sit here, mired in self-pity over something you cannot change.” Her gaze softened just slightly. “Dry your tears.”

Her words cut through your haze of fear, sharp and direct. You looked down, wiping at your face, realizing that tears had indeed begun to fall, though you hadn’t noticed. But the tears weren’t just out of fear—they were out of frustration. Frustration with yourself, with the situation, with the loss of control.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice small, but it held the weight of the turmoil you were feeling.

Jaheira shifted, her hand finding its way to your shoulder, her grip firm and grounding.

“You do what you’ve always done,” she said firmly. “You fight.”

You glanced at her, seeing the steady resolve in her eyes, the kind of resolve that had kept her alive through countless battles and tragedies. Jaheira was someone who never let herself be weighed down by the things she couldn’t change. She had learned to adapt, to find strength in what remained.

“But what if I’m not strong enough this time?” you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice clear. Jaheira tilted her head, a small, wry smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

“You think strength is about not being afraid? That it’s about being invincible?” She shook her head, her hand squeezing your shoulder. “Strength is about pushing forward, even when you’re terrified. It’s about choosing who you are, no matter what the world or… some tadpole,” she said with a slight scoff, “tries to make of you.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of her words settling over you. She was right. It wasn’t about the changes or the fear. It was about who you chose to be, even when faced with something as horrific as the tadpole’s corruption. You had always fought for control over your fate, and this was no different. Jaheira leaned back slightly, watching you as you absorbed her words.

“You’re not going to lose yourself,” she said softly, her voice holding a rare tenderness that she reserved for moments like this. “Not while I’m here. Not while we are here.” Her hand moved to your chin, turning your face to meet her eyes. “But you need to stop wallowing in fear and start fighting back.”

Your chest tightened at the raw honesty in her gaze, the way she looked at you like you were still that same person she had fallen in love with, not some twisted creature on the verge of losing themselves. And in that moment, you realized that Jaheira wouldn’t let you fall. Not without a fight.

You managed a small smile, though it was shaky.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, the truth weighing heavy on your chest, but there was a shift in you now, a flicker of the determination that Jaheira had always seen in you.

“I know,” she said softly, her thumb brushing your cheek briefly before she pulled back, her eyes returning to their usual calm. “Fear is natural. But it doesn’t define you.”

You nodded, the knot of fear still there, but loosened by her words. The changes might be out of your control, but you still had a choice in how you faced them. And with Jaheira by your side, grounding you, reminding you of who you were, maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t lose yourself after all.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. Jaheira gave you a small nod, her lips quirking into a slight smile.

“You don’t need to thank me,” she said, leaning in close enough that her forehead almost touched yours. “Just don’t make me repeat myself.”

Despite everything, you let out a quiet laugh, a tiny spark of hope returning to you. You weren’t alone in this. And with Jaheira’s unflinching pragmatism, her unwavering belief in you—you knew that somehow, you would find a way to face this challenge. Together.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The campfire crackled gently, its warm glow a stark contrast to the cold dread sinking in your chest. You sat off to the side, hugging your knees to your chest, feeling the weight of the changes coursing through your body—the changes you hadn’t been able to stop. You ran a hand along your skin, now marked with the faint, shimmering lines of the Astral-Touched Tadpole’s influence.

You could hear the others moving about in the camp, their laughter and conversation, but it felt distant, disconnected from you. You were afraid—afraid that this was only the beginning, that soon you wouldn’t recognize yourself. What if you became something monstrous, a shell of who you once were? The thought twisted in your stomach, gnawing at you.

And then there was Gale.

He had been watching you for some time, his sharp mind always attuned to the subtle shifts in your mood. Gale could sense when you were withdrawn, and tonight, the heaviness in your heart was undeniable. He approached quietly, his steps soft but deliberate, and sat beside you without a word, his shoulder brushing against yours in a gesture of comfort.

You didn’t look at him. The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally did, a few silent drops trailing down your cheeks.

“I couldn’t stop it, Gale,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s changing me. I can feel it. I… I’m scared I’m going to become something else, something awful.”

Gale’s expression softened instantly. Without hesitation, he reached out and gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that clung to your cheek.

“You’re not becoming something monstrous,” he said softly, his voice filled with such tenderness it made your chest ache. “You are still you, the person I love, the person who has faced down far worse than this.”

You swallowed hard, trying to fight back the swell of emotion in your throat. “But what if I lose myself? What if I… what if I can’t control it? I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Gale’s brow furrowed slightly as he shook his head. He shifted closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest, holding you tightly.

“You could never hurt me,” he whispered, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Not you. Not the person I know. You’re stronger than this, and you’ll fight it. You always fight.”

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. But the fear lingered, the doubt gnawing at your resolve.

“I don’t feel strong right now,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I feel like I’m slipping away, bit by bit.”

Gale’s grip on you tightened, his arms encircling you completely as if he could shield you from your own thoughts. He leaned back slightly, gently guiding your face up so you could meet his gaze. His eyes were warm and filled with a kind of love that made your heart stutter.

“Then let me be strong for you,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Let me remind you of who you are.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, and one on each of your cheeks. Each kiss felt like a promise, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this battle. That he would be with you every step of the way.

“You are fierce, courageous, and filled with so much light,” Gale murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin. “You’ve saved me more times than I can count. You’ve faced down gods, monsters, and even your own fears. This… this tadpole, this thing inside you? It doesn’t stand a chance against your will.”

His words were like a balm to the turmoil inside you, but still, the fear lingered.

“But what if I can’t…?” you started, but Gale hushed you gently, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer.

“You can, and you will,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “And when you doubt yourself, know that I will be here, loving you through every moment of it. Every inch of you, no matter what happens.”

You let out a shaky breath, resting your forehead against his chest as he held you tightly.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Gale let out a soft, affectionate laugh, his hand tracing soothing patterns on your back. “Nonsense. It is I who doesn’t deserve you. But I am hopelessly in love with you, so I suppose we’ll have to settle for being perfectly undeserving of one another.”

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Gale always had a way of making you feel like you were worth more than your fears, more than the darkness threatening to consume you.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, his own gaze brimming with affection.

“I love every part of you,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek again. “No matter what changes, no matter what happens, you will always be you. And I will always love you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The night sky hung heavy above the camp, stars flickering like distant dreams far beyond your grasp. You sat alone by the campfire, legs tucked close to your chest, staring into the flames as they danced, casting fleeting shadows on your face. The warmth from the fire did little to soothe the cold fear twisting inside you.

You could feel the changes. The shimmering lines that traced over your skin, the faint glow of something unnatural stirring beneath. The Astral-Touched Tadpole had done its work, sinking its claws into your body, warping it—warping you. You fought so hard to resist it, to stop it. But you had failed. And now, the fear gnawed at your heart, whispering that you were losing yourself. That soon, you wouldn’t be you anymore. What would you become?

A quiet sound drew your attention, a soft footstep in the grass. You didn’t need to look to know who it was—Astarion. He was always so careful with his movements, every step deliberate, even when he wasn’t trying to be quiet. He had noticed your absence from the group, and of course, he had come looking for you.

“Brooding by the fire, darling? You’re starting to sound like me,” Astarion teased, his voice warm with amusement. But there was an undercurrent of something else—concern, though he would never show it outright. He moved closer, his footsteps light as always, and crouched down beside you, his sharp eyes searching your face.

You turned your gaze away from him, staring down at your hands instead. The shimmering lines on your skin caught the firelight, making you feel like a stranger in your own body.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes right now, Astarion,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Astarion’s brow furrowed, and he shifted his weight, sitting down fully beside you. He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he took in the tension in your frame.

“What’s going on? You’ve been distant ever since…” He trailed off, his eyes flickering to the faint glow beneath your skin. “Since the tadpole’s changes started to show.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the rising lump in your throat. “I didn’t want this,” you said, voice trembling. “I tried so hard to stop it, but now… I don’t even recognize myself. It’s changing me, Astarion. I can feel it.” You finally turned to meet his gaze, tears threatening to spill over. “What if I lose myself? What if I become something… monstrous?”

The words hung heavy between you, and for a long moment, Astarion just stared at you, as though trying to comprehend the weight of your fears. You looked away again, unable to hold his gaze, your hands trembling in your lap.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “If you can’t handle… whatever I’m becoming, I would understand.”

Astarion blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Leave?” he repeated, the word sounding almost foreign on his lips. “Why in the Hells would I leave you?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. Astarion’s expression shifted, something between confusion and hurt flashing in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, darling, but did I miss something? You think I would leave you because of this?” He gestured vaguely toward the shimmering lines on your skin. “This… tadpole nonsense?”

“I—” You faltered, the words catching in your throat.

Astarion scoffed lightly, but it wasn’t in his usual mocking tone. It was more… exasperated, as if the idea of leaving you was so absurd that he didn’t know how to process it.

“First of all, let me make one thing clear—I am not leaving you. Not now, not ever.” He leaned in closer, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter. “Do you honestly think I would abandon you after everything we’ve been through?”

He cupped your face gently, his cool fingers brushing against your skin with surprising tenderness.

“You did this for me,” he said softly, his voice laced with emotion. “For all of us. You fought this fight because you didn’t want to lose any of us, because you wanted to protect us. And now, you think I’d just… walk away?” Astarion let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve clearly forgotten who you’re dealing with, love.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “But what if I become something else?” you asked, your voice shaking. “What if I can’t control it? What if I lose myself?”

Astarion’s expression softened, and he leaned in even closer, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Then I’ll be there to remind you of who you are,” he whispered, his voice so tender it made your chest ache. “I won’t let you forget. You’re stronger than this. You always have been.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. His words soothed the fear gnawing at your heart, but still, the uncertainty lingered.

“I’m scared,” you admitted quietly.

Astarion pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek.

“I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Besides,” he added, his tone shifting back to its usual playful lilt, “you’re still devastatingly attractive. Astral-tadpole glow and all. If anything, it adds a bit of mystery, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

“I don’t feel very attractive right now,” you muttered.

Astarion rolled his eyes dramatically. “Nonsense. You’re the most captivating creature I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’ve lived for over two centuries.” He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment. “You’re still you, no matter what happens. And I love you. Tadpole and all.”

You smiled softly, the weight of your fears still there, but less suffocating with Astarion by your side. He always knew how to bring a bit of light into the darkest moments, and tonight was no exception.

As you leaned into his embrace, letting him hold you close, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as lost as you feared. Not with Astarion beside you, reminding you of who you were, and loving you through it all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The camp was quiet, the crackling of the fire barely loud enough to drown out the swirl of emotions twisting in your chest. You sat by the fire, knees pulled close to your chest, staring blankly at your hands. The faint shimmer of the astral-touched lines that now marked your skin caught the firelight, making you feel like a stranger in your own body. The Astral-Touched Tadpole had done its work. You had tried so hard to fight it, to stop the transformation, but in the end, it had seeped into your very being.

You felt your heart clench at the thought. What were you becoming? Was this who you were now? Your skin glowed faintly, the unnatural light reminding you of your failure. A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away, though it didn’t stop more from following. You tried to steady your breathing, but the fear was all-consuming—fear of losing yourself, of becoming something monstrous.

A familiar voice broke through the storm of your thoughts.

“Hey, there you are.” Wyll’s voice was soft, concerned, as he approached. His boots crunched lightly on the grass as he stopped just a few steps away. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You didn’t look up, still staring at your hands, at the changes you couldn’t undo.

“I don’t think you want to be here, Wyll,” you murmured, your voice low and trembling. Wyll knelt down beside you, his eyes full of concern.

“Why would you say that, love?” he asked, reaching out to gently brush his fingers against your arm.

You flinched slightly at the touch, though not from discomfort. You were scared—scared of what you were turning into.

“I failed,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I couldn’t stop it. The tadpole… it’s changing me. What if I become something terrible, something monstrous? What if I lose myself?”

Wyll’s expression softened, and he carefully reached for your hand, gently turning it over in his as he examined the glowing lines that marked your skin. He didn’t recoil, didn’t flinch or look at you with fear in his eyes. Instead, he gave you a small, understanding smile.

“You’re still you,” he said softly, his voice full of warmth. “These changes don’t define you.”

You shook your head, tears welling up again. “But what if they do? What if I lose control, Wyll? What if I forget who I am? I don’t… I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Wyll’s fingers tightened gently around yours, grounding you in the moment.

“You won’t lose yourself,” he said firmly. “You’re too strong for that. Too stubborn, too kind, too good to let that happen.”

You tried to pull your hand away, guilt and fear still clawing at you, but Wyll wouldn’t let you go. His grip was gentle but unyielding.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

Reluctantly, you met his gaze, your vision blurry with unshed tears.

“You are the bravest person I know,” Wyll continued, his voice unwavering. “You’ve faced impossible odds and never backed down. You’ve fought for the people you love, for strangers, for me. And nothing—nothing—can take that away from you. Not even this tadpole.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and Wyll wiped them away with his thumb, his touch tender and full of love.

“I’ve seen you at your strongest and your most vulnerable, and I love every part of you,” Wyll said, his voice soft but full of conviction. “This doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change you. You are still the person I fell in love with—the person I will always love.”

You shook your head, still feeling the weight of your fear pressing down on you. “But… what if I lose control? What if I forget who I am?”

Wyll stood, still holding your hand, and gently tugged you to your feet.

“Then I’ll be there to remind you,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’ll be there every step of the way. You won’t go through this alone.”

Before you could protest, Wyll pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he held you against his chest.

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You blinked, surprised by the request. “Wyll, I… I don’t think…”

He gently swayed, his hands guiding you into the rhythm. “Trust me,” he murmured. “Just let me hold you for a while.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart against yours, was too comforting to resist. Slowly, you let yourself relax into his arms, your head resting against his shoulder as he swayed you gently in time with the soft crackle of the campfire.

“There you go,” Wyll whispered, his voice soothing. “Just breathe. Just focus on me.”

He twirled you gently, his hand at the small of your back guiding you effortlessly. His warmth, his presence, was enough to momentarily quiet the storm raging inside you. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, the worries and fears momentarily forgotten in the comfort of his arms.

“You’re not alone in this, love,” Wyll murmured against your hair. “I’m with you. Always.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears drying as you leaned into him. “I’m scared, Wyll,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles against your back. “But I’m not going anywhere. We’ll face this together.”

For a while, you just let him hold you, the gentle sway of his movements easing the tension in your body. The fear still lingered, but it wasn’t as overwhelming now, not with Wyll by your side. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be lost in the moment, in the warmth of his embrace and the quiet comfort of his words.

As the fire crackled softly in the background, Wyll pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

“No matter what happens,” he whispered, “you will always be you to me. And I will always love you. Tadpole or not, you’re still my heart.”

You smiled faintly, your tears finally ceasing. For the first time since the changes began, you felt a flicker of hope, a glimmer of peace. And as you danced in the quiet of the night, held safe in Wyll’s arms, you knew that whatever came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The night was calm, but you couldn't find peace. You sat by the campfire, your knees drawn to your chest as you stared into the flickering flames, lost in the storm of your thoughts. The Astral-Touched Tadpole's presence in your body was a constant reminder of your failure—a failure to resist, to protect yourself from the changes it had begun to inflict on you. It had taken root, and no matter how hard you had fought, the battle had been lost.

Your fingers traced the faint, glowing lines that now ran along your arms, marking you as something… different. Something you didn’t recognize, and that thought terrified you. It wasn’t just the changes in your body that unnerved you, but the fear of losing who you were—your sense of self, your mind.

And then there was Halsin.

His reaction had stung more than anything else. When you had first told him what had happened, the horror in his eyes had been unmistakable. He had pulled away from you, his usual warmth replaced with cold, silent shock. His words were harsh and broke your heart. You had done it to save the group, to save him, and yet he had recoiled, reprimanded. That rejection made the weight in your chest all the heavier.

You hadn’t spoken to him since.

Now, as the fire crackled softly before you, you felt the loneliness settle in—a gnawing emptiness where Halsin’s presence should have been. You had always been able to count on him, his steady presence and his comforting words. But now, in the one moment you needed him most, he was absent.

A faint rustle of leaves caught your attention, and you glanced up to see Halsin approaching the campfire. His broad frame was silhouetted against the trees, his expression unreadable as he walked toward you. For a moment, your heart clenched, a mix of hope and fear swirling in your chest. Was he here to turn away from you again? To tell you that you had made a mistake too great to forgive?

He stopped a few steps away from you, his eyes locking with yours. There was a heaviness to his gaze, a sorrow that mirrored your own. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension. Then, Halsin knelt beside you, lowering himself to sit on the ground, close but not too close.

"Forgive me," he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. "I reacted poorly. I let my fear guide my actions, and in doing so, I hurt you."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling into your chest. You had expected anger or disappointment—anything but this quiet admission of guilt.

"I… I didn’t know what to do," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I tried so hard to resist, but it was too much. And now…" Your gaze fell to your hands again, tracing the glowing veins that ran beneath your skin. "Now I don’t even know what I am anymore. I’m scared, Halsin."

He reached out then, his large hand covering yours gently. The warmth of his touch was a balm to the fear that had been clawing at your heart.

"I know," he said softly. "I can see the pain this has caused you, and I am sorry for adding to it. When I first saw what the tadpole had done, I… I was overwhelmed. It reminded me of the darkness I have seen, the corruption I have fought against for so long. But you are not corrupted. You are still you."

"How can you be sure?" you asked, your voice trembling. "What if I change? What if I become something… monstrous?"

Halsin’s grip on your hand tightened, firm but reassuring. "You are stronger than you realize," he said, his deep voice steady and filled with conviction. "This tadpole may have marked your body, but it does not define who you are. You are more than this—more than what has been done to you. And I will be with you, no matter what comes. I swear it."

His words brought a lump to your throat, and tears you had been holding back began to well up in your eyes.

"You… you pulled away," you whispered, the hurt still raw in your chest. "It felt like you didn’t want me anymore."

Halsin’s expression softened, a deep sadness crossing his face.

"I pulled away because I was afraid," he admitted. "Not of you, but of what I might lose if I couldn’t protect you. I have seen so much pain, so much loss, and I couldn’t bear the thought of watching the person I love slip away into something beyond my reach. But I see now that by pulling away, I was failing you in a different way."

You felt the tears spill over then, and you lowered your head, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Halsin shifted closer, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his strong embrace. You buried your face in his chest, the scent of earth and wildflowers familiar and comforting.

"You haven’t lost me," you choked out through the tears. "I’m still here, Halsin… I’m still me. But I don’t know how long I can hold on to that."

Halsin held you tighter, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"Then I will help you hold on," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I will be here, every step of the way. You will not face this alone. I promise you, I will never abandon you."

His words wrapped around your heart like a lifeline, and for the first time since the tadpole had taken root, you felt a flicker of hope. Halsin wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t pulling away. He was staying, standing by your side just as he had promised from the beginning.

After a long moment, you pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. Halsin’s eyes were full of love and warmth as he cupped your cheek in his hand.

"You are not alone in this," he reminded you gently. "We are stronger together. Always."

You nodded, feeling the weight in your chest begin to lift, just a little.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice still shaky but steadier than before. "For not giving up on me."

Halsin smiled softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "I could never give up on you," he said. "You are my heart. We will face whatever comes, together."

As you leaned into his embrace once more, the warmth of the fire and the steadiness of Halsin’s presence soothed your fears.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ooof a little hurt/comfort for y'all, hope you guys enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[astrobolical]

To make you forget, if only for a while

How the kings (Satan, Mammon, Leviathan, Beelzebub) alleviate your fears and worries, at least for a little while— as best they can, and in their own unique ways.

I love the utter filth that comes from this game, but sometimes a little fluff is welcome, too. If this does okay, I may see about doing some of the other devils as well.

Also yes, I do fully believe that there’s no way Leviathan doesn’t have a larger source of water in his home— his bathtub just being his favourite— it’s not as though he’s going out to find any.

Oh, and I went with “Bell” as Beelzebub’s nickname, as it’s what Mammon calls him in Chapter 3.

Content Warnings: Mildly Suggestive (Mostly Beelzebub), devil behaviours, brief mentions of alcohol, brief & mild mentions of depression, (lightly described) anxiety

Reader: Gender Neutral

Your voice had fallen silent, trailing behind the trio in front of you— and Satan cursed himself as he came to realize far too slowly that you’d withdrawn. His steps slowed, turning his head to see just what had garnered your attention… but was left with a foul taste in his mouth as he discerned what exactly it was. Your eyes were gazing down a street visible from where you were, seeing the frantic devils working tirelessly to restore or save their homes and businesses. Fires were being quelled, devils saved from rubble— trying their best to survive. Satan knew, however, that you weren’t simply watching, he could see how your eyes watered, bordering on tears, as you walked helplessly along.

In your racing mind Satan knew that you were blaming yourself entirely, allowing yourself to wallow and drown in the guilt that had begun to eat away. The look in your solemn eyes told him everything— it was a darkness he was all too familiar with, one that gripped him often, one that was difficult to escape from, especially alone. He wanted to stop, to tell you that none of this was your burden to bear, that not a single citizen of Gehenna would ever blame you. You hadn’t asked for any of this, hadn’t wished for an angel and Satan himself to whisk you away into chaos.

Yet all the same he knew those doubts and worries would not be easily assuaged, that your mind would inevitably take his words and discard them as if they were worth nothing. No matter how sincere they may be.

No, Satan knew that words were simply not enough, not for this— not for the gravity of the weight you felt on your shoulders as you looked out into the destruction and havoc. Instead, he decided, quite quickly, on another course of action that always helped him when he needed it the most.

His pace halted entirely, not having to wait long before you bumped carelessly into his back, not realizing he’d come to a full stop in your stupor.

“Satan?” You questioned, breaking free from whatever thoughts had held you. “Did something happen?” You glanced towards Sitri, as if trying to see if he’d heard someone approaching, or trouble nearby, but he shook his head.

“No,” He placed his hand atop your head, smoothing your hair out gently. “Nothing’s changed… I just think we need a break.”

You pouted, studying his eyes and expression. “A break? I’m fine…” You lied through your teeth— he’d already learned your little human quirks, at least partially.

Your protests, however, went unlistened to, and you were given no more time to voice your concerns. Satan pulled you close, holding you around your waist as he had so many times before and started down an unfamiliar alleyway. Not once did he look back to ensure your companions were following, knowing that they, too, completely understood the situation— you however, felt lost.

He led you, primarily, through the alleys and side streets you hadn’t yet seen, keeping away from the carnage you’d been surrounded by. His pace was quick, determined, keeping you against him as he trekked. You couldn’t quite grasp the sudden change of plans and direction, but your trust in Satan allowed you to relax and follow him as best you could (though you were sure without his arm around you, you’d have stumbled multiple times already). You knew that Satan would never harm you, not intentionally.

And, as expected, your intuition was correct and your trust well placed. There was not a single sign of danger where you now found yourself. In fact, it appeared more like a safe haven, mostly left untouched by the chaos that the angels had wreaked upon Gehenna.

It reminded you of the bar that you’d stopped in to rest before, though even more lively. It was larger, decorated with more lavish designs and furniture. Within were dozens of devils, relaxing and laughing with one another— and each and every one rejoiced when their king came through the door. Shouts and hollers, an energetic flurry of motion as they led your ragtag group further into the depths of the building. Not once did Satan release his hold on you.

It warmed your heart to see how joyous his people were just to see him. Though, it alarmed you quite readily when their joy, energy, and questions were also turned towards you. They offered everyone drinks, began to loudly tell you all manner of stories from their lives here in Hell. It as a flurry of motion, of attention and an infectiously rambunctious attitude— a wonderful and welcome feeling, compared to the ghastly reminders just outside.

Satan and Sitri — and even Ppyong— joined in on the revelry, encouraging the energies around them and rallying the morale. Unlike the last visit to a bar that you’d had, this time it was simply for fun and leisure. Satan kept you steady on his lap throughout the whole affair, hand idly massaging your sides or your thigh. You could feel his gaze on you every now and then, though each time you glanced back you were met with a shockingly gentle smile, and encouragement to pay more attention to his people.

He kept any grabby hands at bay, and a few were sent flying with a well-placed kick upon their weaker frames— though this did little to quell them, if anything it had only added to their adoration. Though you noted that with each attempt to get just a little too close to you, his hold would grow a little tighter, he’d pull you more fully into his lap and against him with a snarl.

You hadn’t laughed as much as you did then in what felt like your entire life— hadn’t met so many new faces, or heard such crazy tales, each one more absurd than the last. You leaned back into Satan, nestling yourself close to his warmth and comfort. When he turned to glance your way you stole a kiss from his parted lips— choosing to ignore the whoops and calls of the others in the room— and caught him off guard.

His eyes were wide as you leaned towards his ear. “Thank you,” You murmured, so quiet you were sure that only he (and perhaps Sitri) could hear. “For bringing me here, Satan.” You knew how much he cared for the denizens of Gehenna, how much he treasured and valued each and every one of them. And you’d realized that’s exactly why he’d brought you to such a place, at such a dire time.

In your moment of heartbreak and darkness, he’d brought you to them. To a place you were sure he’d probably often escaped to himself when his mind spiraled and he couldn’t quell it alone. He was showing you that these devils could be your safe space as well, your light out of the darkness that plagued your heart.

His people were his respite, and now they were yours as well.

This king of Hell had done so much for you, in such a short time… saved you more times than you cared to count— so you allowed yourself to enjoy his, and his people’s, company well into the night. Until the drinks finally slowed, and he’d ushered you to a place to rest on the upper floor. It was then that he returned the kiss you’d stolen earlier, with fervour, as if imploring you to realize that you were never alone in this.

He was alarmed— his gut telling him something was amiss, even if he wasn’t quite sure what it may be. Mammon knew only that it had to do with that faraway look within your eyes, almost as if you were looking through the brilliant gold around you rather than at it— it was not admiration, not his coveted greed, it was nothing. Mammon couldn’t understand why you weren’t pleased with your surroundings, or what all you may be thinking… just that he didn’t like it.

He wanted you to look around and desire it, to want the world despite knowing that it was already yours, as he was. He loved to see your eyes alight with a fiery passion, your heart just as full… but somehow you had fallen far, right under his nose. A human folly, he was certain, and not one he had ever encountered. Yet this? This he did not want, he did not covet this new experience, this new emotion. He wanted to be rid of it.

Mammon lifted you with ease, and without warning, breaking your senseless focus immediately, drawing you towards him effortlessly. You clung to him in surprise, steadying yourself though you knew that to Mammon you weighed nothing— he’d proven that already. You wound your arms around his neck, legs finding purchase on his hips, exclaiming his name in your surprise. His strength always amazed you— then again, he was simply amazing overall.

His silence continued as he pressed a warm kiss against your forehead, holding you close with one arm, while pulling your head closer with the other before it settled on your cheek. Your face flushed pink, dumbfounded at the gentle touches he’d graced you with.

His deep voice rumbled as he spoke, and pressed against him as you were you couldn’t help but shiver at the feeling of the vibrations. “What is bothering you, MC?” He questioned, eyes that looked like molten gold peering into yours with concern.

You stared back, silent, unsure how to answer— or if you even should. You worried your lower lip with your teeth as you pondered, not missing the way his eyes flicked downwards at the motion, how he held you a little more tightly. “Nothing,” you finally relented, though accompanied by a forced smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. “I’m alright.”

Mammon did not know doubt, or lies— you knew that your words alone would calm him, come as a reassurance that there was nothing to worry over. And you told yourself that you would do better to keep your worries hidden. A white lie, you decided, was the better way to go.

Even if the weight of all the events thus far was pressing down around you, exerting more pressure with each new battle you found yourself surrounded by.

Yet, despite your reassurance, Mammon’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head. “…While I do not know—or even understand— doubt, MC, I know that there is something wrong. I just know.”

He looked pained as his eyes bore into yours, unyielding as he studied your expressions. His grip became a little tighter as he sighed. “Can you not trust me?”

The question made your breath hitch, and you shook your head rapidly. “I trust you!” You reassured, your heart wrenching at his assumption. Of course you trusted Mammon— with everything in you, you did. You just didn’t want to burden him with your worries, your fears, and your guilt. You’d buried it so deeply within you throughout your journey that you’d thought that maybe you’d somehow escaped it… but it had consumed you the moment you’d finally attempted to rest, comforted by the massive devil’s presence. “I do. It’s just… it’s nothing, really. I’m just worrying over everything that’s happening here in Hell— if Satan hadn't saved me…”

His eyes widened, and his forehead bunted against your own. “Never think that way, MC. Nothing here is your fault— and there is no devil in Hell that thinks that it is.”

“Everyone is ecstatic that you’re here— even more than when they see me!” He continued, placing slow, soft kisses on your face between each breath.

You knew he was right, deep down. That if it hadn’t been you, another descendent of Solomon could have just as easily ignited it all. It wasn’t your burden to bear, just as much as it wasn’t Mammon’s. Whatever happened to God — the event that had earned the angel’s ire— was still a mystery.

You sighed, your eyes glossy as you looked up at him once more. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He straightened again, adjusting his grip on your bottom. “Just tell me when these thoughts plague you, and I will reassure you of every worry— I am yours, after all. You have me at your side to deal with whatever you feel you can’t. You are the only being to ever have this, the only one I’ll ever give it to.”

He grinned, sharp canines glinting in the light that shone into the room from the elegant (yet gaudy) golden windows, and you couldn’t help but smile— genuinely, this time. “Thanks, Mammon. I’ll keep that in mind.” It was strange, you thought, that he could so easily clear your mind with his promises alone… but when you looked at him, it also wasn’t hard to see why. He was powerful, confident— and he so proudly declared himself yours it was difficult to not believe him, to rely on him. “Aren’t you getting tired of holding me up, though?”

Your attempt to change the subject earned you a hearty laugh, that shook you in his arms. “Never!” As if taking your words as a challenge he tossed you upwards before catching you just as effortlessly, before securing you once again against him. “And if you don’t believe me, I’ll parade you around Tartaros to prove it.”

“Please, don’t!” You laughed, though you could see that he was absolutely considering his own words. “Mammon!”

“It would do you well to go out— and you can still rest as long as you’re in my arms.” You hit his chest, grumbling about how impossible he was— but there was little you could do to stop him from walking out the door, with you still held close. Though, despite your protests, you really didn’t mind— Mammon was right, seeing the devils of Tartaros going about their daily lives, seeing their smiling faces as they saw their king, and you… it really would do you good.

And, though you didn’t give him the pleasure of telling him, being held by Mammon was the safest place you felt you could be. Untouchable, secure, and comforted by his warmth.

Even if it was still a bit embarrassing.

Your mind was elsewhere, lost deep within unwanted thoughts that forced their way through despite any efforts to hinder them. Leviathan, in a way, couldn’t fault you for it— you were only human, and your entire world had been upturned and threatened. But Leviathan himself was at your side, seated just an arms length away— could you not even consider him a worthy distraction? Surely his presence alone should earn your gaze, at least? Yet your eyes were staring at the floor, your brows furrowed.

It irked him, stirring feelings in his heart that made his eyes narrow and fists clench— especially when he wondered just what it was you would finally use to alleviate whatever thoughts you were unable to escape. Whoever, or whatever, it may have been, even if imaginary, made envy seep through him.

Had he not proven he would go to great lengths for you already, without question? He’d even gone outside of the sanctity of his home for you, protected you from angels at the cost of his own wellbeing.

He sucked in a breath, steadying himself from whatever spiral he himself had nearly fallen into— now was not the time, not when he could simply take your attention for himself and eliminate the threats from the equation altogether. Motioning with lithe fingers, ropes quickly fell from the inky darkness of the ceiling above, entangling you despite your surprised protest. At least you’d called his name in your alarm.

The ropes dragged you closer to him— surprisingly gentle— and you wondered what his plan was, recalling just how pleasurable it could be to be bound before this devil king. Yet only your jaw was slowly traced by a singular long finger, no further touches gracing your skin. Instead his pale eyes met yours, contemplative. He did not seem exceptionally angry or upset, in fact he appeared oddly calm for having called on his favoured ability.

And then he stood, sighing, leaving you where you were. “Come, then.” He spoke, a chill running through your spine— from suspense or anticipation, you weren’t sure. Yet despite ordering you to follow, he hadn’t intended to give you a choice to begin with, the strong ropes moving you for him, just behind (but so, so careful not to damage your frail, human skin).

He spoke nothing of where he was taking you, barely acknowledging that you were with him at all. At times his intense gaze met yours, as if checking on your wellbeing — though you surmised it was to ensure your attention was on him, as he wanted.

Any complaints you had, though, died on your tongue the moment he opened large double doors with a wave of his hand, and you were greeted with a marvelous sight that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

Within it was not quite the same castle-like structures you’d come to know, it was somehow more cavernous while still retaining its elegance. In the center was a pool, of sorts, though if you were to describe it properly it was more akin to a man-made (devil-made?) lake within the confines of Leviathan’s estate. The water’s surface was reflecting all across the walls and every item it could reach, creating a beautiful, moving pattern that was hard to tear your eyes away from.

You wondered if you should really feel as surprised as you do, that he had such a place tucked away, being as fond of water as Leviathan was.

“Very few have been here, Child of Solomon. I don’t allow it.” He spoke bluntly, those agile fingers motioning for your freedom (and oh, you knew what else those hands could do). “But,” He continued, turning to face you. “It appears you need something to distract you. Come.”

His hand extended towards you, waiting impatiently for you to take it, and despite your surprise and tentativeness you did just that. He led you towards the waters, still fully clothed and unperturbed. “Wait— shouldn’t I get a bathing suit, or something?”

He stopped, a quizzical look upon his beautiful features. “If you must worry about your clothes, just remove them.” As if assuming you would do just that he released your hand as quickly as he’d taken it, stepping into the water without waiting any longer for you to decide.

It wasn’t hard to see he belonged there, his pale skin practically glowing in an ethereal light. Soon enough he vanished into the depths, only to resurface a ways away, floating lazily despite the weight of his clothing.

Hastily you joined him, donning only your undergarments (not quite as confident within such deep waters while being weighed down). Yet when his hands were on you you knew that even if you even began to sink towards the bottom, he’d keep you afloat with ease. “You’re only the second outside of myself I’ve allowed in here.”

“…Why?” You murmured, enjoying the feel of the small, cool waves on your skin.

“Because it’s mine.” A simple answer, blunt as always. “But … so are you. So I don’t mind you being here, as long as your attention is on me, MC.”

Your heart felt warm as you realized how much you meant to him— that he would break his own comforts for your own, in a way. Even if it was borne from wanting your attention only on him and nothing else. “Sorry, Leviathan,” You murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek, which met with a strong hand pulling you closer to him. “For being so distracted before. Thank you for showing me this.”

He hummed in response, more taken with your body in his arms than with your gratitude— though you could very easily see he enjoyed it.

He’d succeeded in claiming your attention, keeping it upon himself with ease now that you were reminded that not everything in your situation was a bad thing. That you had devils like Leviathan at your side, and that they would do anything to assist you. Leviathan, who so rarely let others in but who opened himself to you without thought or hesitance.

Even if Leviathan’s needy hands barely gave you a moment’s rest, itching for your touch at every turn. You’d give him everything he wanted— how could you deny him, after all?

The room felt as though it was nearly split down the center as Beelzebub glanced around— on one side was the chatter and planning, a tense atmosphere of grumbling devils attempting to decide what to do… on the other, was you. Around you was quiet, abnormally so— the devils had let you be, he supposed it was to give you time to breathe and catch up with everything that had transpired.

Yet to Beelzebub, you simply looked pitiful, too sad for his liking. Your eyes were staring blankly out the window, sitting idly and unmoving on the sill. Yet you weren’t really looking at anything, your eyes barely moving even when there was an outburst on the other side of the room, or a bird flew by your window.

Clearly, despite what the others may think, you didn’t need time to yourself to breathe. In fact, it seemed as though leaving you to your own devices was only making things worse in that little human mind of yours. And, being who he is, Beelzebub was more than willing to bend the rules and expectations just to make you smile again.

He could sense Bael’s cautious yet curious gaze on his back— unwilling to believe that his king would simply sit idly. And he wasn’t wrong, really. Yet Beelzebub didn’t do anything immediately, instead standing and making his way over towards you rather languidly, lazily as though he just wanted to banter with you—despite being told to leave you be.

You didn’t react to his approach, or even seem to hear his intentionally loud footsteps, utterly lost in whatever thoughts were plaguing you. If this were another time, or he were any other devil, it may have been concerning how unaware you were of your surroundings in an unfamiliar environment— even if it was safe.

However, he was not another devil, and was still Beelzebub. He looked at this, instead, like an opportunity he simply couldn’t let go of and let pass by. In one swift motion you were hoisted upwards, a garbled noise of surprise escaping you as you were thrown over a strong shoulder. His hand kept you steady, lying comfortably on your lower back (if a little lower than necessary). Instinctively you reached out to grip anything you could to ground yourself, hands clinging to whatever you could reach on him. You knew that no matter how irresponsible Beelzebub may be, he would never drop you, but it was still difficult to settle when you’re quite literally thrown like a sack of potatoes.

“Let’s go out and play, MC.” His voice was a purr, adjusting you quickly before the others could react and taking off out the door with a surprising burst of speed— you hadn’t even known he could move that quickly!

There was chaos behind you near immediately, and you could see the others— particularly Bael— preparing to stop their quick-footed king from escaping, especially with you in tow. However, as much as the efforts were doubled by your presence, they were also incredibly hindered, not wanting to harm you in any way while attempting to stop the ever-troublesome man.

“Bell!” You protested, though he could hear your insincerity within your voice, a bubble of laughter escaping you at the audacity of the unanticipated situation you’d found yourself in. “Where are we even going?!”

The gloom that had surrounded you already began to crumble, and he laughed as he replied. “Somewhere fun!” He didn’t elaborate, however, as he dealt with the devils in his way, deftly outmaneuvering them.

Looking back once more, you couldn’t help but pity Bael, seeing now what it was he dealt with, but at the same time you were thankful for Beelzebub and his free spirited nature. You’d forgotten that, though the situation was incredibly serious, you were still allowed to have fun.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the chaos came to a close, Beelzebub successful in his escape, and you now safely hugged within his arms after he’d set your feet back down securely to the ground. His grin was positively infectious as you took a step back from him, and you had to stifle your laughter. “There!” He exclaimed, fixing your hair idly as he spoke. “Now, let’s find someplace fun to waste some time in. Let’s let loose, MC.”

Grasping your hand he pulled you along through the streets, searching out a familiar haunt that would be filling in with devils soon. He didn’t pay mind to the confused looks he got along the way, loudly talking with you all the while. He didn’t let you rest until you’d arrived at wherever it was that he’d thought of.

The rooms were dimly lit, but there was a well-stocked bar at the far end of the largest one, the music blaring from speakers already despite guests just beginning to filter in. It wasn’t terribly large, more quaint than you’d expected for Beelzebub, but it was clear he was a common sight there, as no one batted an eye in his direction as he led you further in.

You clung to him as the crowd steadily grew, unwilling to be parted from your guide— and it wasn’t as though you disliked touching Beelzebub, either. There were certainly no complaints from him, either, as his hands groped and prodded your body in return. It wasn’t long before he led you to the dance floor, where his hands explored more boldly, front pressed against your back as you swayed to the music.

You knew it didn’t matter if you were any good at dancing, Beelzebub simply wanted you to lose yourself to the music, and more importantly with him.

It wasn’t difficult to persuade you, letting his body guide your movements, losing yourself to his touch and the vibrations in your body from the sounds around you and the mesmerizing lights.

You could hear his praises when his hot breath ghosted by the shell of your ear, sharp teeth toying with the cartilage. His lips finding your neck, his hands dipping lower— it was so easy to lose yourself with Beelzebub, that your worries melted away. Not even the inevitable repercussions that were to come from your escape could bother you.

You were thankful for how carefree the king who held you was, that he’d decided to encourage it within you, too.

Though you weren’t sure how long you were among those on the dance floor before Beelzebub inevitably led you towards the dark bathroom, your bodies barely parted for a moment. You locked the door behind the two of you, opting to lose yourself to him in another way, even if someone heard you.

[bumblehoneybee]

Bee i am on my knees begging you for a continuation of "Guardian Angel". PLEASE I'M SO HOOKED ON THAT STORYLINE

Guardian Angel, Part 2

Dogday can't remember a time when Home Sweet Home felt so much like a labyrinth. He can remember the old times, where he and the others ran down these halls, their home, their sanctuary with the kids.

Now, it feels like never ending hallways that all look the same. Dogday was down in that dungeon for lord knows how long, and now all his memories are jumbled. Where were they, before the critters attacked? How do they get back there quickest?

It makes his head spin, trying to remember the which ways and that. He can't afford to hesitate, not when Poppy and Kissy are following him. They didn't really visit the Playcare back in the day, so he has to lead the way back to their angel.

Angel, who is all alone, against a hoard of ravenous critters.

Dogday snarls to himself, pushing on despite Poppy and Kissy offering to carry him. Even with no legs, he refuses to be useless. Not when his angel needs him.

He'll die before he allows them to.

Whatever sits above blesses the instincts that rage deep within Dogday, leading him towards the smell of rot and blood. The scurrying noise of the miniature creatures grows louder with each panting crawl Dogday gives.

Then there's a scream. Your scream.

And when Kissy hears it, she takes off, grabbing Dogday by one of his belts to drag him along too. It's quicker, he'll admit.

Quicker to show him the savage sight he left behind.

The grab-pack sits abandoned on the floor, the flare gun smoking and charred from overuse. An array of burned critters, even some with smashed heads or bodies, lays strewn about in a bloody trail of your determination to get away.

But one person cannot fight a wall of ravenous toys. So in the middle of the hall sits a squirming mountain of bright fabric and shrieking joys. Like an anthill overflowing, the critters crawl through and over one another, their large smiles stained with blood.

Your blood.

Dogday jerks himself out of Kissy's grip, throwing himself towards the critters with enraged barks and nasty words. He tears through them, uncaring of the stains on his paws, on his mouth as he rips them from where you must lie.

Kissy is quick to follow, setting Poppy somewhere up high before she begins to kick the critters aside. They scatter like bugs beneath her feet, and while not coordinated, she is fast. They can't escape her for long, and end up decorating the broken walls as a result.

Between Kissy's destruction of the fray, and Dogday's dig through the mountain, the critters begin to see their defeat on the horizon. Those that flee barely escape snapping jaws or striking arms, but they escape. Those that stay get few bites in before they suffer their fate at the hands of enraged, desperate monsters.

As the world stills, the air ripe with fluttering stuffing and scraps of fabric, Dogday finds you. You lie, curled into a ball, beneath the corpses of toys you couldn't fight off. And those toys took from you.

The bite marks that litter your body, deep and bruised, marked into your skin, show it well.

Dogday howls. "Angel!" He drags himself to you, spitting out cotton as he ducks his head to nudge your own. "We're here, angel! We're here! You're safe now!"

Your ball stays tight despite the Dogday's nuzzles. He can't quite catch his breath, not when he sees you eyes closed behind the guard of your bleeding arms.

"Angel?" Poppy calls. Kissy, unable to remain still, paces over to collect her. They approach slowly, hesitance visible. "Dogday? Is Angel okay?"

"Angel, wake up." Dogday pants. His hand ghosts your body, afraid to do more harm, but when you don't move he touches your shoulder. He shakes it. "I. . . Angel, I. . ."

Kissy whines slow in her throat. It sounds mournful. Dogday ignores it.

"I'm sorry, angel." He rasps, settling over you still body. His heart feels like it might beat out of his chest. He has to protect you. "I'm sorry, angel. I took too long. I forgot which way was-" His voice catches, and he fights a deep whine of his own. "I'm sorry, angel. Some guard dog I am."

Dogday lowers his head, a sob escaping him.

"Aw," croaks a voice from below him, "don't feel bad." Dogday jumps up, hovering over you and your lopsided smile. "Just some bad luck, no one's fault."

"Angel!" Poppy and Dogday cry at the same time. Kissy races over, tucking against your back once Dogday lifts you to sit up. He and Kissy both nuzzle into your neck, hugging you tight, while Poppy climbs onto your chest to be cradled in your arms. "You're okay! Angel!"

You laugh, voice hoarse in a way Dogday is familiar with. "Yeah, I am." Your head swivels this way and that, blinking owlishly at the sight of the massacre around you. "Just a little, uh, bit up."

"We'll patch you up right away!" Poppy says, batting her hand to Dogday's head. He looks up, and she points to you as she hops back onto Kissy. "Dogday, carry Angel so we can get them bandages!"

"Yes!" Dogday says, full of energy. His ears perk up, tailing a-wagging as he lowers down for you to crawl onto his back. You try to protest, but Kissy just picks you up and places you on Dogday's back. "Hang on, angel!"

Dogday crawls after Kissy and Poppy, reveling in your sigh and subsequent relaxing against his back. He can feel your heartbeat, light and quick the way his is.

Yeah, once you're patched up, he's not letting you go for anything. Neither will the girls, if they get their way.

Hopefully the beds here are big enough.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Imagine... (‘a crackling fire sets the mood’)

Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

December Daze Challenge - Day 22 - @the-slumberparty

Warnings: (430w) Mob Bucky. Established relationship. Implied violence. Fluff. (Mostly implied) smut.

Imagine mob!Bucky having to come to your rescue, deep in enemy territory, due to no fault of your own. Even if you were to blame, he’d still search for you, mercilessly leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, his men watching his back the entire way. There’s no stopping him until he finds you, his lungs not fully expanding until you’re in his sight, visibly shaken yet seemingly uninjured. It sends a fresh wave of adrenaline pulsing through his veins, his sharp mind formulating a plan of escape as you greet each other in a desperate kiss, Bucky’s hands quickly undoing your binds. More destruction follows your escape, the extent of it becoming clear when you arrive at the safehouse, the distant sky ablaze, smoke lingering in the air. Bucky doesn’t let you focus on it for too long, distracting you with a hot shower and another tender inspection for any bruises or wounds he may have overlooked. And once he’s satisfied that you’re truly okay, there’s no fighting his need for you, the undeniable urge to bring you pleasure overriding everything else. He still has to debrief his men, ensure the threat has been eliminated, and plan for next steps, but he’s aching to make up for lost time, refusing to cut this reunion short. Taking full advantage of the built-in bench in the shower, Bucky draws multiple orgasms out of you, oscillating between tasting you and burying himself as deep as your body allows. He’s insatiable, only stopping long enough to dry you off and pull you over to the bedroom windows, giving you another glimpse at the fire still raging, the sight sending shivers down your spine. “Look at that,” he whispers, his gaze drifting from the window to the beautiful view of you leaning against the dresser, your spread legs inviting him back where he always longs to be.  “Look at all that power you hold,” he groans, filling you in one smooth motion, his hand never stopping its gentle caress of your back. "Entire cities could crumble because of you, ya know that?” There’s nothing Bucky wouldn’t do for you, his powerful connections and endless influence allowing him to do everything necessary to keep you happy and secure. Whatever cracks in his systems that led to you being taken will surely be weeded out, his men just as loyal and protective of you as they are him - there’s no doubt that he’ll have you back home soon enough, reminding you all over again how lucky he is to call you his.

Day 21 | Imagine… Masterlist | Day 23

Banners by @cafekitsune - Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1180

Chapter 29:

Your mind transported you back to a haunting memory, a memory that you would do anything to truly forget.

You were younger back then, in terms of general age but not physical. You had, after all, stopped showing your true age on your face centuries ago; having settled to project only one age.

Back then, you were innocent... until you weren't.

You could still remember that night, all too well.

A wooden shack in the woods, now laying destroyed and barely having any part of it standing. Beneath its collapsed metal and wooden beams and pipes, bodies of men laid. All of them died before the heavy objects fell on them, and if one of them had survived, they would make sure to finish the job.

In the middle of this destruction was you, sweating and panting heavily. Your body shook from shock and exhaustion, your clothes wet, torn and sticking to your skin; blood visible on new wounds from places items had passed through the clothes.

Your hair stuck to your face, the sweat rolling slowly to the side of your temple. You did not even look up, feeling the fait light of the new moon casting its supernatural glow on you; as if you were all that mattered to it and nothing else.

Suddenly, you sensed a new presence forming; coming from your very own shadow.

By instinct alone, you turned to face them; white magic glowing in response, ready to defend you until the end.

Your bright white eyes locked in dark ones, and you found yourself facing another woman... no... another witch.

She kept her distance from you, eyeing the bodies carefully.

"Not a bad job," she said, her face visible while most of her body was covered by a dark green cloak.

You frowned, trying to understand where she fit into all of this. You had not heard her approaching nor had sensed her until the last moment. You knew she was a witch. You could sense your magic reacting; a first for you.

Back then, had you not been tortured for days on end. Had you not been sleep deprived and starved, you would have thought of those questions better and realized there was a very obvious answer to all of them.

But at the moment, you ran on adrenaline; threatening to collapse once it would all pass.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" You demanded to know.

"I was close by," she replied, intentionally skipping to tell you her name or anything else about her. "I thought I should join the party, but I guess I was too late." she shrugged her shoulders, unfazed by the murders she had just witnessed.

"There was no party," you argued and finally let your gaze settle on the bodies around you. "They are dead... they should have stopped... but they didn't"

Your voice trailed off, and yet your emotions seemed to have been switched off. All you could feel was still your blood in your mouth and the feeling of power running through your veins.

Any remorse or empathy had disappeared, and you stared at them with darkness lurking behind your white eyes.

You had warned them, begged them to stop. You had repeated so many times you knew nothing of a coven close by; a lie.

You knew of it. You had visited it, and you were not going to give it away to those cruel sadistic men. They caught you during a full moon, and you had tried to resist, to logic with them, but they were persistent.

Either they liked to torture you or knew you were lying... but they didn't stop.

The days passed, and the moon changed phases, along with your control. Your emotions started to fade, the torture and wounds fueling you in a familiar but also fearful way.

Your pleas and words became warnings and threats. They didn't listen, and when you finally had enough, when the sea stopped being gentle; you stopped holding back.

The result lay all around you, and yet somehow, you felt unsettled at the feeling. You had never taken a human life before or any life for that matter.

Do no harm

That was your mojo, your chosen path. You had strained away from the temptiness that came when the moon shifted phases... until now, when you had no choice.

"Timor mortis morte pejor." This mysterious woman said, snapping you from your trailing thoughts. "The fear of death is worse than death"

Her words finally drew your full attention on her. Your head tilted faintly to the side, and your eyebrows frowned, small creases forming on the space between them.

You were clearly confused by her words, feeling slightly out of topic and yet not so much. But her words had also surprised you and the fact that she chose to quote something in Latin.

Honestly, it had been too long since you heard someone use the ancient language outside of a spell that was.

Your expression seemed to amuse the woman, who unbeknown to you, had been watching you for a long time; waiting for the perfect moment to interfere and approach you.

Now that she had it, she could not help but smirk. "How about we get you somewhere better? Get you all cleaned up? Maybe get something to eat?" She asked, her suggestion as tempting as free candy to an unsuspected child.

You hesitated and glanced down at the bodies. "What about them?" You asked.

To your surprise, the woman waved her hand dismissively. "They will be fine. Its not like they can go anywhere. " she chuckled with her own joke, a humour you could not relate at that moment. Then, she extended her hand towards you. "Come with me,"

You took slow steps towards her, partially hesitating. Could you so blindly and openly trust a witch that you just met? Especially in your state?

You thought of declining her offer, just walking the opposite way, but your body needed rest and food. Your magic was not enough to hold you, and sooner or later, you would collapse. You knew that with certainty.

The mysterious woman waited patiently with her hand outstretched, waiting and studying you.

In the end, you dared to place your bloody hand in hers and you gasped as you felt her magic react with yours in a sudden way that caused faint sparks of pain to be caused for both of you.

You held the need to withdraw your hand, and she didn't seem to be affected by the momentarily shot of quick acute pain. Instead, she seemed enthralled by it.

Your magic was reacting to hers, and she knew why. She had suspected such reaction, and now she wished to explore it more.

On the other hand, you did not know why this happened. Back then, she was nothing but a kind stranger who helped, nurtured, and even guided you.

Back then, you didn't know you were trusting the personification of death itself... back then, you did not know what you were getting into.

Chapter 30

[h4ndwr1tten]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

featuring: roommate!satoru x reader

cw: fluff really, strong language? kinda suggestive.

the sudden, thundering sound of what seemed to be a crash had you jolting awake. you immediately sat upright and reached over to your lamp, switching it on and scanning your room on high alert. glancing over at your digital alarm clock, you found that it was only 1:03 in the winter morning. what kind of asshole would partake in destructing something this late?

the first person to come into mind was satoru, your roommate. he tends to stay up as late as possible doing the most random and stupid shit he could thing of. once, you caught him trying to fit himself into the shared washing machine at 3 am. but you remembered that earlier, you were going to confront him about how he left his used boxers and socks on the bathroom floor after his shower. when you stormed into his room, however, he was surprisingly in deep sleep.

so if satoru was slumped, where did the noise come from?

you debated leaving your bed for your safety or staying there, also for your safety, but ultimately decided on quickly checking the apartment for something unusual. quietly groaning, you forced yourself out of bed and into the hallway.

you hadn't found anything out of the ordinary, making you firmly believe it was an inconsiderate neighbor. nothing felt off and you weren't experiencing any sense of doom, so you returned to your bed and knocked right out.

only, an hour later, you woke up freezing. your room felt like pure ice and your body felt like you had been dipped into an ice bath. when did it get so damn cold? you thought, pulling your blanket higher up your body. it was snowing outside, but the cold shouldn't have been able to be felt with the heater on.

you tried to go back to sleep, but you only found yourself shivering despite the blanket. you rubbed your legs together in an attempt to warm you up, but it didn't seem to work. you huffed, irritated and uncomfortable by the temperature change.

getting up for the second time, you threw your blanket over your shoulders and went into the hallway to check the thermostat. there, you found satoru, also checking the temperature.

"cold?" he asked, his voice raspy from probably having been woken up to the same thing.

you hummed in response, watching silently as he tried to figure out what was wrong. he tapped at a few times, pressed the buttons every second, until he noticed that the temperature of the heater wasn't changing.

"it's broken."

oh.

"what? the thermostat?" you question, a little densely, but to be fair, it was 2 in the morning.

"no, the heater," satoru replied, tapping at his lips in thought.

that made a lot more sense. the weather from antarctica couldn't have just magically moved in with you. but did this have to do with the loud bang from earlier?

"satoru," you begin, "i woke up an hour ago because there was a bang, but i checked and nothing seemed broken inside here."

satoru hummed, turning away from the wall and to you. he opened his mouth to speak and you anticipated it, but instead, you watched as his eyes trailed down your frame, eyes falling onto your body. he was silent for a few seconds, visibly gulping. his face felt warm. could you see his pink-tinted cheeks in the dim lighting?

clearing his throat, satoru turned away and pretended to observe the thermostat, mumbling, "yeah, that might have... that might've been it."

confused, you look down at your body to find what elicited his behavior. it took you a second, but you noticed your hardened nipples poking out through your shirt. you forgot that was a thing. your eyes widened and you quickly folded your arms and blanket over your chest, feeling a tad bit embarrassed.

"what do we do now?" you asked, hoping to ease the awkwardness.

"how many blankets do you have?"

fuck, they're all in the laundry.

"one."

satoru side-eyed you, slowly turning to face you, his face deadpan.

"they're in the laundry!" you raised your hands in defense, effectively dropping the blanket to the ground.

it seemed to have caught satoru's attention because of the way his eyes moved down to the ground. then slowly up your figure, as if drinking in every part of you. your arms were still hiding your chest and you didn't look all that great right now, considering you were only in pajama pants and a baggy tee. but the way he looked at you made you feel like it was more than just the attire.

you shifted your weight onto one foot, warmth creeping up your neck. you had always felt some sort of attraction towards your roommate, but considering how insanely attractive he was, you thought that he would never even think of seeing you the same way.

but gosh, the way he eyed you like the most valuable treasure there ever was. the way there seemed to be a sort of want, desire burning in his eyes. that was enough to make you question his feelings.

"satoru?" you call, growing antsy under his gaze.

"sleep in my room," he suggests casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"what...?"

he sighed, probably wondering if you were stupid, or deaf, or both. "the heating's down, and it's only going to get colder from here. i say that because we are both mature, grown adults, we sleep in the same bed because right now, shared body heat is likely the only thing that's going to keep us from freezing."

you were stunned, to say the least. that's the most and longest sensible thing to come out of satoru's mouth ever. had he thought of this before?

"i guess you're right," you mumbled, face flushed. "but wouldn't it be awkward?"

"it'll only be awkward if you make it awkward," satoru retorted, opening the door to his room and waiting for you to enter. "we're mature, right?"

you walked into his ridiculously messy room, sighing, "i am, but i don't know about you."

"hey!"

you flopped down onto satoru's bed, a lingering warmth around it from before he got up. your heart began to beat a little faster as he approached the bed, the fact that you were actually about to sleep with someone you've dreamed of sleeping with before.

"y/n?" satoru called out, breaking your stare at the floor.

"yeah?"

"that's my side of the bed."

you blush furiously, scrambling to the opposite side, muttering, "oh, sorry."

but once you were there, satoru goes, "that's also my side."

you snap your head at him, glaring. "what do you mean, this is also your side?"

"i sleep in the middle."

"are you serious?" you sigh, growing uncomfortable.

"yep," satoru said, popping the p and sprawling out across the bed like a starfish. his once (and extremely rare) seriousness was gone, and he was back to his irritating antics.

you sat at the very edge of the bed, nearly sliding off, uncomfortable in the silence. satoru's eyes were closed and his breathing seemed to have relaxed, and you wondered if he was asleep. you wondered if he really meant what he said by sharing the bed too.

"satoru?" you murmured, chewing the inside of your cheek.

"mph?"

standing up, you uttered, "i can just go back to my room, i don't wanna bother you. i'll get warm eventually."

you weren't lying. even though sleeping in his bed felt like a really good idea, both for your comfort and desire, you would hate to be a bother to him.

peeking an eye open, satoru reached for your hand and grasped it, pulling you back down.

"i'm joking, y/n," he sighed, slightly muffled by his pillows. "get in here."

he fixed his position, then opened his blanket to beckon you in. you frowned, snapping, "you basically just said there's no room for me after suggesting we share the bed."

despite that, you still found yourself crawling into the warmth of his sheets. you kept yourself at the edge, though, still afraid of taking up his personal space.

it's quiet for a moment again. you raise the blanket just up to the underside of your nose, nervously picking at the pillowcase. his scent engulfed you; a mix of his cologne and natural musk, with a faint hint of detergent. you realize this is real.

satoru sighs, and to your surprise, he throws his arm around your torso and pulls you into him, your back now pressed against his front. he doesn't take off his arm, but instead, gently runs his cold hand along your stomach as if comforting you.

"i was just messing with you," he mumbles, drowsiness in his voice. "but i'm sorry, you big baby."

realizing what he said, you elbowed him in the ribs, but not too hard to actually hurt him. satoru let out a fake whine, both of you laughing quietly after.

silence fills the two of you, the only noises being shared breathing and city noise from outside. it's quiet, but it's comfortable.

you roll over onto your other side to face satoru, finding him with his eyes already shut and brows barely pinched. even in the dark, you can still make out the outline of his perfect features, from his long lashes to his cold-nipped lips. you'd trace them if you could, but you refrained out of fear of waking him up and the fact that you were in no position to be touching him like that.

"i can feel you staring at me," satoru mumbles, fatigued huskiness in his voice.

you blush, grateful for the lack of light in the room, whispering an apology.

satoru opens his eyes, a faint smile sitting atop his lips. "i know i'm insanely handsome, but sleep," he teased.

"i was actually looking at that fat, glow in the dark pimple on your forehead, but okay," you snort, scooting in closer to satoru's warmth.

his hand darts to his forehead, yelping, "actually??"

you giggle, "no. sleep."

"you suck," he sighs, chuckling before bringing his hand back to around you.

you slowly slide your arm under his and wrap it around his torso, your nerves and hesitation fading when he doesn't make a move to remove you. satoru whispers a goodnight, lips ever so slightly brushing against your forehead. you whisper it back, and sleep comes over the both of you.

maybe the heater should stay broken...

note — gave up on my layout D:

m. list

[bzurk]

touch

It would be too selfish to have all of you - your thoughts, your body, your mind and soul. Simon doesn't deserve it. But he needs it, craves it. So he'll break you down, bit by bit. Because if he can't have you wholly, he'll settle for the pieces instead.

<- part 1 here

part 4 here ->

The world is a blur of shadows and whispers. You’re trailing behind your team, a shadow among shadows, adrenaline pumping through your veins like jet fuel. The mission is covert, silent, every step a careful calculation. Your senses are on overdrive, every flicker of movement, every rustle of leaves a potential threat. The air is thick with anticipation, the scent of damp earth and sweat clinging to you. You taste the metallic tang of fear on your tongue, feel the cool trickle of sweat down your spine. Your heart hammers in your chest, a relentless drumbeat. You grip your weapon tighter, its familiar weight both a comfort and a reminder of the stakes. Every movement is deliberate, every breath measured. The world narrows to the path ahead, your teammates’ silhouettes barely visible in the darkness. The ground is soft beneath your boots, muffling your steps, but every crunch of leaves sounds like a gunshot in your ears.

Suddenly, there’s a shift - a flicker in your peripheral vision, one too many footsteps. Before you can react, an attacker is on you, a blur of motion and aggression, heavy against your chest and arms, ice-cold steel to your neck. The shock seizes your breath, but it quickly transforms into something darker, something primal. Paranoia, ever-present, ignites a raw, unfiltered surge of anger and fear.

He’s found you. He’s caught up, and your team is too far ahead, and you’re going to die-

You let out a guttural snarl, fists flying in a violent frenzy. The knife plunges into the dirt next to your head, clanging against your helmet deafeningly, the sound reverberating in your skull. This man, this coward, would not be the end of you, you wouldn’t let him be. In your rage, it’s easy to swing your body weight to the side, legs wrapping around your attackers until you both roll, trapping the shadow beneath you.

Each blow is a release, a cathartic purge of the terror that’s been building up inside you, sloshing and overflowing from your soul. Your knuckles crack against bone, the pain a distant echo as you pummel your attacker. You don’t think, you just act, driven by an animalistic need to dominate, to survive. Your vision narrows, your world reduced to the brutal exchange of flesh and bone. The attacker’s face is a mask of terror and pain below you, their blood splattering with each impact, fragments of teeth and bone and cartilage debris to your destruction. You’re lost in the violence, overtaken by a primal fear that fuels your every strike. The enemy’s resistance fades, their body going limp under your assault, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Each hit is a desperate attempt to banish the shadow of your stalker, to prove you’re not helpless, not weak. You weren’t afraid.

“Fuck you!” Fire burns your throat, licking against your lips as you scream, shrill and wild and animalistic, “Fuck you! Fuck you! You pathetic fucking creep! Fuck you!”

The world fades, leaving only the raw, animalistic need to survive. Your fists are relentless, each strike a hammer blow against the phantoms haunting your mind. The taste of blood, not your own, fills your mouth, a bitter reminder of the violence.

Through the haze of your assault, you barely register the shouts of your teammates. They’re on you, hands pulling you back, trying to restrain your fury. Gaz’s face swims into view, his eyes wide with shock and concern. Soap’s grip is firm, elbows hooked under your armpits, his voice a steady anchor in the storm. “Easy, Stitch, easy!”

Someone else - Ghost, you think - grabs ahold of your kicking, flailing legs, fully restraining your body and forcing you away from your human punching bag.

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice is shrill, painful to your own ears, only interrupted by sobs and hiccups as you struggle to breathe amidst your wild flailing.

“It’s just us, love. Just us. Just breathe, okay? Breathe. Breathe.” Sergeant Garrick holds your face between his palms, his hold steady despite the slick of blood and sweat and tears. He repeats himself a few times before his words register in your screaming mind, the violent whirlpool that only settles when your oxygen thins.

Your breathing is ragged, your heart a sledgehammer in your chest as you finally relent, the fight bleeding out of you. The enemy combatant is a broken heap on the ground, moaning in pain, blood pooling around their battered body. The silence that follows is deafening, your heartbeat the only sound. Your hands are stained with blood, your knuckles raw and throbbing. You stare down at the crumpled body, the face unrecognizable, the violence of your attack evident in every broken feature. The shadows seem to press closer, the forest closing in around you, and for a moment, you feel weightless, lost in the maelstrom in your head.

Captain Price steps forward, his presence a weighty anchor. His gaze is fixed on you, a mix of stern authority and concern, ice-cold and sharp with clarity. You hesitate, your body still trembling with adrenaline, as you meet his eyes, legs wobbly as Ghost releases them, held up only by Johnny at your back. Inside, a storm rages - a whirlwind of fear, vulnerability, and shame. Your mind races, trying to find the words to explain, but they stick in your throat, heavy and unyielding. You want to prostrate yourself before him, to sob and beg for forgiveness under his gaze, reduced to a speck under his scrutinous stare.

Price’s expression softens, his stern facade cracking with sympathy. He doesn’t need words to see the turmoil you’re in, the cracks in your armour. “Talk to me,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

You flinch, unable to meet his eyes. The words tumble out, disjointed and raw, your voice tinged with desperation. “I... I can’t, Captain. I can’t.”

He listens, his eyes never leaving yours, searching for the truth you’re unwilling to share. His determination is a palpable force, but you’re too far gone, too crazed and paranoid to let him in. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken words and shared pain. Finally, he sighs, a sound of frustration and resignation, before calling for an evac.

—

Captain Price’s office is a stark contrast to the chaos outside. It’s quiet, almost eerily so, the kind of silence that presses against your ears and makes your thoughts loud. The walls are lined with maps and tactical plans, the scent of coffee, tobacco and old leather filling the air. You stand at attention, trying to suppress the tremors that still ripple through your body. Price’s gaze is a steady weight on you, his blue eyes sharp and assessing.

“Stitches, sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a command that brooks no argument. You nod, your movements jerky, and lower yourself into the seat. The leather creaks under your weight, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

Price leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. “I want to know what’s going on with you. That out there... that wasn’t just about the mission, was it?”

Your mouth is dry, the words sticking to the back of your throat. You drop your gaze to your hands, clenched in your lap, knuckles still raw and bruised. “No, sir,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t.”

He doesn’t push, just waits, his patience a palpable thing. The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, until finally, you can’t take it anymore. The dam inside you breaks, and the words come tumbling out, raw and unfiltered.

“There’s... there’s someone. Someone on base. I don’t know who it is, but they’re fucking with me. They have been, for months. They’ve been leaving notes, pictures, items.” Your palms sting, nails digging half-moons into your flesh, “I’ve been collecting them all.”

Price’s expression doesn’t change, but you can see the gears turning in his mind. He leans forward, his gaze never leaving yours. “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

Shame burns through you, a hot, searing pain. “I thought I could handle it. Thought they’d grow bored if I didn’t react. But it’s... it’s too much. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

For a moment, Price says nothing. Then he stands, moving around the desk to crouch in front of you, his hands resting on the armrests of your chair. “Stitches, you’re part of this team, and we look out for each other. Always. I’m your captain, and you’re my responsibility. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

His words are a balm to your battered soul, but they don’t ease the fear gnawing at your insides. “Please, Captain. Don’t send me home. I can’t go home. It’s safer here, with you and the team. I need to stay. You have to let me stay.”

Price’s brow furrows, his eyes searching yours. “I can’t ignore what happened out there. You’re barely holding it together. You need a break, some time to get your head straight.”

“Please let me stay,” you plead, desperation creeping into your voice. “I’ll stick to medical, or- or learn admin, anything. Just don’t send me away. I need to be here.”

He studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods, a slow, reluctant movement. “Alright, you can stay. But you’re off active duty. I’ll look into it, Stitches. Promise.”

Relief washes over you, so intense it’s almost dizzying. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Price stands, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Stitches. You’re not alone in this.”

You nod again, the words failing you. As you leave his office, a fragile sense of hope takes root in your chest. It’s not much, but it’s something. And for now, it’s enough.

—

The days blur into weeks, a monotonous rhythm that barely holds you together. The paranoia doesn’t subside, but you find yourself slipping into a twisted routine. Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. You throw yourself into your medical duties, grateful for the distraction. The infirmary becomes your sanctuary, a place where you can lose yourself in the rhythm of work. Bandaging wounds, setting broken bones, administering meds - it’s familiar, grounding. But the shadow of your stalker looms large, a constant presence at the back of your mind.

Lieutenant Simon Riley, Ghost, is always near. His presence sets your nerves on edge. His lingering gazes, the way his fingers brush against yours just a bit too long when handing you supplies - it’s all too much, too similar. You can feel his eyes on you, burning holes in your resolve, eroding your sense of safety. The tension coils tighter within you, a snake ready to strike. He’s silent, an enigma, all broad muscle and intimidation, yet goes undetected if you lose sight of him. The hair on the nape of your neck is always on end, and you know it’s because he’s always around.

You have a feeling Price sent him. Whether it’s to keep an eye on you, or for your safety, you don’t know.

Even at night, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching you.

Price had you moved into a new room, in a more populated wing. Still, you take nothing for granted anymore - checking under your bed, cupboards, even inside your goddamn shower stall for any potential surprises. But your room is empty, just as barren and lifeless as before. Sleep doesn't come easy that night.

The darkness is a suffocating blanket, the silence deafening. Every creak, every rustle, sends your heart racing. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open, unable to succumb to the oblivion of sleep. You can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching you. The shadows seem to move, to shift, forming shapes that shouldn’t be there. The paranoia is a living, breathing entity, feeding on your fear, growing stronger with each passing hour.

Finally, you give up. You can’t take it anymore. Slipping out of bed, you move silently through the darkened corridors, making your way to the infirmary. Maybe some paperwork will help distract you, make the hours pass a little faster.

The infirmary is bathed in the cold, silvery glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. The familiar space feels unsettling and eerie in this light, shadows dancing across surfaces and making them seem almost alive.

Your footsteps are muffled by your thick socks as you approach the door, but your heart thunders loudly in your chest. You hesitate, hand hovering over the doorknob, as a dark figure moves within the infirmary. From here, you can only see their silhouette outlined against the faint light seeping into the room.

Fear grips you like icy fingers around your throat as you press yourself against the wall, barely daring to breathe. The sound of metal and paper rustling through drawers and files echoes loudly in the tense silence. What are they looking for? Why are they here?

With bated breath, you peer around the corner just enough to catch glimpses of the intruder's movements. They seem precise and deliberate as they search through your belongings. Time stretches on endlessly, each moment filled with creeping dread.

Finally, the figure stands up and turns towards the door. Your blood runs cold as the moonlight reveals his face - it's Ghost. The same man who has been watching you with his calculating gaze, haunting your every step.

You wait until he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, before daring to move. Your legs shake beneath you as you rise, trying to quell the tremors in your hands. You need to get out of here - now.

Silently and quickly, you slip out of the infirmary and make your way through dimly lit corridors. Fear and anger swirl within your mind as you reach your room and shut the door behind you, leaning heavily against it as if to keep out any remaining traces of danger.

—

The first light of dawn filters through your window, casting long, ghostly shadows across the room. You haven't slept, and the exhaustion weighs heavily on you, a thick fog that makes every step feel like a monumental effort. The events of the night replay in your mind, a relentless loop of fear and betrayal. Ghost. It was Ghost all along.

You force yourself out of bed, moving mechanically through your morning routine. Each action is deliberate, grounding you in the present moment, trying to push away the lingering dread. But it clings to you, a dark cloud that refuses to dissipate.

The corridors are quiet as you make your way back to the infirmary, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken secrets. You enter the room, the cold, silvery light of dawn mixing with the sterile fluorescence, casting an eerie glow on the surroundings. Your sanctuary feels tainted now, the shadows hiding sinister intentions.

You approach the drawers, your heart pounding in your chest. With trembling hands, you open them, one by one, your breath hitching each time you see your personal belongings disturbed. And there, amidst the medical supplies and paperwork, you find them: another gift and more photos. Moments you thought were private, angles that make your skin crawl. Your room, your workspace, your bloodied knuckles hanging limp by your side - too recent.

Ghost had left them there. You saw him do it.

But the realization hits you like a punch to the gut: you need more proof. You can't just go to Price with your collection of photos and gifts and point fingers. Not after your breakdown on the field - a quick way to label yourself as mad. You need something undeniable, tangible.

Your mind races as you consider your options. You can't confront Ghost directly; he's too dangerous, too unpredictable. Six feet and four inches of honed muscle and skill.

The rest of the day is a blur, the minutes stretching into hours as you move through your duties with a robotic precision. The paranoia is ever-present, a shadow that clings to your every step. You see Ghost in the periphery, always watching, always waiting. His presence is a constant reminder of the danger you're in.

You’ve had enough of waiting. Too long have you been looking over your shoulder, waiting for the shadows to move and strike and ensnare.

This time, you’ll act first.

[skmhlml]

Hi, I saw that requests are open so can I ask for a yender entity 303 x female reader please 🥺🎀🙏

Note: don't know who that is but ill do my research and my best 👍 (also anytime people usually specify the gender it usually thing they want smut so I you do general then nsfw)

✧･ﾟ: Warning / Intro :･ﾟ✧

[Entity 303 x Female Reader Headcanons] → General & NSFW | Dark Themes, Possessiveness, Glitchcore, and Digital Corruption Aesthetics

You ever wonder what happens when the shadows in your Minecraft world start watching back? When the code whispers your name, and you feel safer with the monster than you do with other players? This is for the ones who want the protector and the predator in the same glitched-out package.

Though he lurks in the shadows, Entity 303 always seems to appear when you’re in danger. A creeper explodes too close? He’s suddenly there, smiting mobs with dark flames. He pretends it’s just coincidence, but he’s watching you more than you know.

At first, you were just another player he was observing. But your persistence, your creativity, the way you built little homes in peaceful biomes—it fascinated him. Now, he’s obsessed, watching your every move through code and shadow.

His affection is strange—he might leave you rare enchanted items coded specifically for you, or warp reality around you just to make your path easier. It’s his version of love notes. (books left in your inventory)

doesn’t speak in the usual sense. Instead, signs appear in your base. Text glitches across your screen. Sometimes even command blocks activate without cause, and they all have one message: “You belong to me.”

He hates when other players get close to you. Expect sudden server crashes or “lost connection” errors whenever someone tries to flirt in chat. You may not realize it’s his doing, but he’s marking his territory.

With you, he’s oddly gentle for a being of destruction. He’s cold to the world but has a strange softness for you—maybe even confusion at his own feelings.

Entity 303 doesn’t exist like normal beings. He doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, doesn’t age. But he watches. From the moment you first spawned, he took notice—your username appeared in his code like a pulse in the void. You were just supposed to be another player… but something about you made him pause. Maybe it was your resilience. Maybe your innocence. Maybe your loneliness.

He doesn’t interact in ways you can fully understand. One day, a chest appears outside your house. Inside: enchanted gear with impossible stats, dyed armor in your favorite colors, or books written in code that only translates to “I see you.”

Torches don’t go out when he’s near—they flicker red. Water distorts. Time skips. Sometimes, you find his signature glitchy particles following you, even though he never shows his full form. It should scare you. But deep down, you’ve started looking forward to the signs.

Mdni NSFW

303 is used to control, and that absolutely carries into the bedroom. He loves seeing you vulnerable, beneath him, breathless. But never in a way that hurts you—he’s calculated, precise, and knows how far to push.

There’s something deeply arousing to him about having total control over a human. He’ll glitch your surroundings, phase in and out of visibility, pin you down with hands that feel more like energy than flesh.

Expect glitchy teasing. His touch might phase in and out of reality—fingers disappearing mid-trail down your body, only to reappear between your thighs. It’s maddening, and he knows exactly how to use it.

His presence invades every line of your code. He’ll glitch the world around you, lock your movements, force you to feel him before you can even see him. His idea of foreplay is pressing your character to the bed in your Minecraft home, overriding your controls, and whispering things into your headphones from a voice channel you didn’t even open.

303 doesn’t speak often, but when he does in your moments together, it’s intimate in a way that’s disturbingly erotic. His voice modulates, distorted and low, dripping with digital static—but your name always comes out perfect. No glitches. No errors.

[eyelessfaces]

he'll be gone in the morning

llewyn davis x reader

summary: you wish he would stay. he never does.

alternatively, two times llewyn is gone when you wake up, one time he's not yet.

warnings: there's honestly more smut than plot lol this was an excuse to write llewyn smut; unprotected piv sex (this man never learns), tipsy sex where both parts consent and are aware of what's happening, creampie, oral f receiving, praise kink, both parts are desperate, plot is based on angst, fear of abandonment i guess?, self doubt from both parts, a bit of self sabotaging from llewyn because is it really an oscar isaac character if he's not self destructive

tags: friends to ??lovers I guess, f!reader, unspoken feelings, reader has hair that's long enough to brush away from her face, fluff, yearning

word count: 2.8k

I haven't been sane about llewyn for the past few days. again. it usually takes me weeks to write smut because it makes me go insane but I wrote this in like eight hours so...... yeah. not sane about this man at all.

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog @eyelessupdates

It’s the same as always; he slept there last night, on your worn out couch, too old for him not to get a sore back after a whole night on it. You remember looking back at him as he tucked a pillow behind his head, a soft smile over his lips when he looked over at you before you turned the light off and reluctantly disappeared through the hallway to go to your room, by yourself.

He’s gone now, his own blanket you had gifted him on his most recent birthday messily folded and put back where it usually rests. If it wasn’t for the unfinished cup of coffee and the ashtray gathering a few cigarette butts sitting over your coffee table, it would be like he was never there in the first place.

He almost always disappears before you can join him and tell him good morning, always escapes before you get the opportunity to ask him to stay for one more night, to get him to be sure he has a place to stay at the end of the day.

He never writes notes anymore the way he used to the first few times you let him crash at your place, like he’s now used to your kindness; you don’t mind, you’re glad he feels comfortable staying here to the point where he doesn’t have to apologize when he knocks at your door anymore.

You don’t mind, it’s the whole opposite actually; you just wished he would stay.

—

Your cheeks are hot from the booze, or maybe – no, most definitely – from Llewyn’s mouth on your neck. 

His beard is softly tickling your sensitive skin as he kisses and nips at it, forcing a – treacherous – almost silent whimper out of your mouth at the same time you sink your head into the pillows to grant him more access. It makes him laugh, it fucking makes him laugh smugly to see how he’s turning you into putty in his hands. Your hand instinctively buries in his hair to get a grasp onto something, and he gets a taste of his own little game when you softly tug on his thick curls and earn a small moan from him. Good to know.

Your body only feels warmer when his hands roam along the sides of it, slowly but surely stripping you of your layers until your top half is completely bare as he continues his assault over your neck, biting and sucking on it, making sure there will be visible proof that he went there for the guys staring at you too intensely at the bar to see. 

Then his mouth trails down, again and again. He takes his precious time kissing your collarbone, the top of each breast, from your sternum down to your stomach. You cup the back of his neck as his curls softly tickle your skin and as he brings a special attention to your lower stomach, not giving in what he knows you need, teasing as his fingers press onto your hips before they eventually curl into the hem of your underwear as he continues leaving small, warm kisses to your stomach, sliding the piece of clothing off your hips and down your legs before he tosses it away. 

When he finally moves and spreads your legs apart, it’s not to slide his warm tongue over your cunt like you would expect or hope for, it’s to gently kiss your left thigh and run his hand over your skin burning in the feverish heat of anticipation; the prickle of his beard softly teases the ticklish inside of your thigh, his warm mouth just inches away from where you truly want him, the sensations increased tenfold by the booze. Each trail of his hands and mouth leaves you more sensitive, head spinning already when he’s not even giving you what he knows you truly want from him yet. 

When his mouth shifts again, it’s to give your other thigh the same treatment; soft nibbles while his hand gently caresses your warm skin before he runs the tip of his nose from the inside of your thigh up to your knee, looking back up at you desperately waiting for him to do anything concrete. 

“Llewyn please” you whine needily, throwing your head back into the cushions of your bed as he chuckles and slowly makes his way down to the inside of your thigh again, hot breath teasingly fanning there.

“Tell me what you need, angel” he demands, murmuring close to where you want him as his thumb softly brushes your bare thigh. His eyes dart back to you, raising an eyebrow when you only whine his name as a response.

“You” you slur out, fingers wrapping around his forearm to get something to hold onto. His warm, half lidded eyes make something flutter inside your stomach, his mouth and hot breath close to your soaking slit making your breath halt. “Please”

You softly gasp as both of his hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, firmly grabbing onto it to pull your body closer towards him, no longer intent on teasing you or making you wait; he'd make you beg longer if he wasn't so damn eager to taste you. 

He dives in and presses his flattened tongue against your folds, and you feel the same way you did earlier when you got to your feet after a few drinks; your head spins, your lower stomach burns just the way it did when drinking that whiskey. 

It's a bit messy, a bit rushed and maybe even desperate but not even close to being unpleasant as his tongue laps at your slit, beard harshly rubbing against your sensitive skin. 

He hums to himself as his lips close around your clit, sucking and pulling weak moans out of you, looking up at your through half lidded eyes when his middle finger slowly and carefully pushes inside your slick channel, his free hand stroking along your thigh caging his head. 

He’d praise you more if his mouth wasn’t so damn busy, if your reactions weren’t so damn attractive as he mouthed at you pussy and wouldn't dare stopping, because you look so fucking pretty like this. Disheveled, high on pleasure for him, twitching under his tongue and clenching around the finger inside you.

His ring finger is quick to join alongside the other, stroking your tight walls until he meets the spot that makes your back arch and your breath run short.

He’s barely satisfied until he makes you come on his mouth and fingers twice, until his name and your weak moans and whines are all that can come out of your mouth, until your legs are shaking around his head, until you have to ask him to ease up.

Your chest heaves heavily, your whole body burning and seeming to melt into the mattress from the couple orgasms Llewyn just gave you. You smile dazedly when you look back down at him in between your legs, his cheek mushed against your thigh, his eyes closing contentedly when you run your fingers through his dark locks.

You feel your heart thump hard inside your chest again when he crawls back up to you, his mouth pressing against yours before it opens to let his tongue slip inside.

Your movements are hurried as you fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, impatiently blindly progressively getting it open before you’re finally able to slide it off his shoulders.

You hum a soft, reluctant groan into his mouth when you realize he’s wearing an undershirt, meaning that you’ll have to pull apart from his mouth to get it off. He takes care of the task, stripping himself off the tshirt before throwing it across the room, and quickly links your mouths again when he hovers over you, letting out a deep groan when you cup and feel him through his pants. 

You can't help but smile into the kiss when he chases your touch, all but humping your hand before you pull it away to undo his pants, his tongue desperately licking into your mouth when he hurriedly – and a bit messily – strips himself naked. You’re pulled away from his mouth as he looks down when your hand closes around him and pumps his cock, his breath halting, hips thrusting to meet your movements.

Your leg snakes behind him to pull him closer, your chest burning again with anticipation when he takes his cock in hand and aligns with your entrance. You both let out a synchronized groan as he carefully pushes inside, easily sliding in, your sensitive channel slick from your previous orgasms, but still tight around him. 

He’s gentle as he starts to thrust in, hand firmly planted besides your head, teeth sunk into his bottom lip in concentration. His vision sways from the alcohol; it was way less noticeable when he had his face in between your legs, when he didn’t have to use the rest of his body, when he didn’t have to rely on balance.

His eyes close when your hand cups his cheek, fingers softly scratching his beard while you whisper praises he’s far too gone to truly take into account, too lost in the feeling of your cunt softly contracting around him. His thrusts grow more and more desperate as he goes, less precise, the muscles of his thighs twitching as the familiar feeling quickly starts to gather inside his stomach, exhaling moans like laying in bed with you is a one time opportunity, like it’s the last time he’s ever gonna do this.

“Not gonna last long,” he mumbles dazedly between breaths before you quickly assure him that it’s okay, your hand cupping the back of his neck to pull his face close to yours again.

His tongue mingles with yours in a heated, desperate kiss before he pulls away and sinks his head against your shoulder, huffing out a loud breath when he feels himself getting close, trying not to tip over the edge before you do.

“Come on dove, come on” he begs you, his warm breath fanning over your neck when one of his hands gently holds onto your waist.

He feels like a lucky bastard that you come just seconds before he does; you let a soft cry out as your last orgasm hits you, this one softer than the two previous ones, feeling like a warmth washing through you as Llewyn stills when he reaches his end and spills inside you, eyes rolling back as a soft groan escapes his lips.

His body crumbles over yours as he lets out a loud sigh, pressing small kisses to your cheek, fingers softly running along your arm.

You want to give the affection back to him, want to kiss him until he's out of breath, but all your body does is close your eyes; Llewyn has drawn all the energy out of you, he has loved you until you became numb.

You instinctively know it's early in the morning when your mind awakes, an unpleasant heaviness clouding your head from the alcohol, and a soft ache between your thighs. You hum softly in your still half asleep state, turning around and changing positions to get more comfortable, reaching for the man you spent the night with, hoping you could snuggle to him.

Your eyes are still shut as you reach for Llewyn, your hand only passing along the ruffles and creases of the fitted sheets of your bed.

Your eyes eventually open when you know you have to come to terms with the fact that he’s gone, he’s fucking gone again.

— 

You don’t know how it has happened again when you only wanted to address the issue at first, still mad at him when he knocked and when you opened the door, still mad that he had left like you were just a meaningless one night stand the other night, someone he would never see or hear about again.

But then he seemed so exhausted, so out of it and so crushed by every responsibility resting over his shoulders that you figured it would be better to bother him with the question later instead of overburdening him now.

Then things slipped, again. So fast and so casually at once, like it was simultaneously the right and wrong thing to do. 

You don’t know why he’s in your bed again, but maybe on your part you do, because you will have to one day just admit that you love him.

You can’t help but feel like you’re missing something regarding him. Why is he in your bed again, sober, head resting over your chest and arms tightly wrapped around your waist if it was all the alcohol’s fault that you stepped further into your relationship the other night? Why is he in your bed again if he regretted it last time and felt he had to run away, again?

You swallow thickly as those questions overwhelmingly cloud your mind, trying to chase them away when you continue to absentmindedly run your fingers through his soft, long curls. It’d be a damn mood breaker to trap him into questions like while you’re still enjoying your respective post-high haze, and you would pass as too fucking ungrateful after the things you have just done, but you have to know why he acts like this, why he runs away but somehow always comes back.

“Llewyn,” his name weakly comes out of your mouth, your fingers stopping in their trail. You can hear your own breathing when you await his response, which eventually never comes. 

He's sound asleep; it'll wait, again.

—

You had almost forgotten Llewyn had been there last night when you wake up to the sound of ruffling around the bedroom.

The only source of light in your room is the full moon light seeping through your window, faint but present enough to make you aware of your surroundings.

Llewyn is standing on the other side of the room, gathering his clothes scattered around the room that you so carelessly threw aside when in a hurry last night.

“What’re you doing” you mumble sleepily as you roll over his side of the bed, arm extending as if to reach for him. He looks over at you like a deer caught in headlights, stopping as his pants are already halfway slid up his thighs.

“I uh, I have to head out” he replies in a low mutter as he resumes his action, approaching and shoving in his pocket the pack of cigarettes laying on the bedside table.

“Don’t,” his gaze darts back at you as you speak, stopping in his movements, in fear that he might have heard it wrong. “Stay” you demand, almost beg as you look up at him, almost all ready to go and leave you hanging like always. He exhales softly and sits down over the edge of the bed, hand reaching out to you to brush your hair back from your face. “Please.” you add, tiredly blinking.

“Okay.” he simply declares in a soft whisper, fingers gently tracing your face. Your eyes close as you lean into his touch, sleep still holding a tight grasp over you.

“Why do you keep leaving” you monotonically, weakly ask, your tone successfully translating the hurt you feel. “All the time” 

He halts and pulls away from you, like your reproach suddenly makes him undeserving of touching you. He takes some time before answering, and you're almost lulled back to sleep before the sound of his voice brings you back to reality and makes you open your eyes again. “I don't want you to think I'm doing all this just for a bed to sleep in” he explains, lips pinching skeptically.

You huff out softly, nuzzling against your arm. “It makes me think you're doing this just for a vagina to stick your dick in, Llewyn.”

“Shit, yeah. I'm sorry” he scoffs and sighs, looking out the window in reflection before looking back at you. “It's just– It's the whole opposite. I care about you. I don't wanna fuck this up” he declares, his hand coming to rest over your extended arm. “I didn't start right, I know. I’m sorry angel.” he pauses, softly chewing on his bottom lip. “I thought it was the right thing to do.”

You exhale, somehow ironically relieved that it's only this, that you're not the main part of the problem, that he actually wants you as much as you do. Your stomach flutters at the feeling of his thumb softly rubbing your bare skin, and you weakly but softly smile when you finally look back up at him.

“I only ever wanted you to stay” you mutter, hand reaching to cover his over your arm.

He tiredly smiles back at you, at last erasing the conflicted frown over his face.

“I only ever wanted to stay.”

—

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[nonsense-by-nell]

The Eye of the Storm; Sanemi Shinazugawa X Fem! reader

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

1.7k words. Warnings: cursing, violence, death (demon)

The storm had rolled in before the sun even set - grey waves crashing violently along the cliffs, the scent of salt and blood heavy in the air.

You crouched on the tiled roof of a bathhouse, your blade resting across your knees. Below, the marketplace lay silent, no footsteps, no voices, just overturned carts, damp lanterns and drag marks in mud.

A flicker behind the temple gates. Movement. Something was here.

You dropped from the roof in near silence, crouching behind a broken cart, eyes narrowing.

Your heartbeat had already slowed; focus tightening like the eye of a cyclone. There you are.

A person - well, a woman. She was beautiful, one sight of her and you find yourself dumb, in the sense that your thoughts have stopped flowing, your blade is lowering and the speech ready to leave your lips silences itself in reverence to the sight of dark, flowing locks, sweetheart lips and crystal, blue eyes that are looking at you.

Wait.

She's looking at you.

She's walking towards you.

Why can't you move? Why can't you speak?

Her lips part. Her footsteps are speeding to a run. Is she going to speak?

She screams.

In that empty scream is the pain of the indifferent, of a monster that sold its soul for ease and instead found hell. It can wrap itself in beautiful skin, or show itself in the rancid hide of a decaying creature of the abyss, yet you see it regardless of disguise.

"Hey," you call out, standing slowly, blade drawn. "Nice blood-art you got there, almost fooled me.”

Crystal blue eyes snap to you, the kanji of 'Lower Three' etched into her left eye now visible. "Another one. Another to shred!" Her voice cracked like wet bark and then she's launched at you with lightning speed, claws extended.

"What do you do?" You ask casually, katana at the ready. "Infatuate your target and then strike? Clever. I love girl power."

She screams in your face - you scream back. Ooh. We're harmonizing. I love making female friendships, you think idly, raising your sword when you see her hand coming for you.

Typhoon Breathing, First Form: Cyclone Step

Your blade swept outward in a full arc - wind whipping so violently it knocked roof tiles off a nearby hut.

You distantly hear villagers scream.

You don't hesitate; you slide beneath the creature, flip upward, and drive your blade into her back with a shout.

Second Form: Pressure Break

A burst of compressed air exploded from beneath your boots, launching both of you into the wall of a temple with devastating force. Tiles shatter. Villagers scream. The demon roared.

"You break everything you touch!" She howled, an accusing finger pointed your way as the steam of her regeneration rises.

"Next is your neck." You say through gritted teeth, leaping back and twisting midair like a drill, blade pointed downward, driving it straight into the demon's chest. The entire ground caved beneath you, sending a shockwave that shattered every lantern and splintered three houses outward like a burst wave. When the dust cleared, the demon's head lay a few feet away from its body. You stood above it, panting, one arm trembling slightly from the force of the final strike.

Heh. Where's your Lower Three gone, Muzan? Suck on that.

You look at your surroundings.

Well... maybe it is not just the demon that's gone.

The village was... pretty much a disaster zone.

But nobody was dead. So… a win is a win.

"MESSAGE FROM HEADQUATERS- IMMEDIATE RECALL - REPORT TO ESTATE!"

You cringe, batting the Kasugai crow away instinctively to ease the ringing in your ears that its high pitched cawing has caused. Once the message registers in your battle-fuddled brain, you sigh and sheathe your sword. "Let me guess," you mutter, glancing back at the trail of destruction behind you, "they're pissed again?"

The crow tilts its head and stares at you with its beady eyes for a long moment, and then—

"CAW!!!” Its wings spread wide with the sound, like it’s ready for takeoff, beak peeking out to give you a sharp peck.

"Damn fucking bird!" You curse, reeling back and rubbing your cheek. One day, I'm gonna chop you up and fry you in a—

The crow moves to repeat its attack, halting your inward, bird, murder plan.

"Okay! Okay! I'm going!"

-

The doors slid open with a groan, revealing the high hall of the Ubuyashiki Estate. You stepped inside, boots still wet with rain, the sound of your steps echoing like distant thunder. Your blade was cleaned, but your haori still bore blood - not yours, of course.

Nine figures waited in a crescent before you.

The Hashira.

You pause mid-step. Well fuck. You were expecting the usual line of Kakushi telling you off, this sight may as well be a whole fucking smack-punch to the jaw.

Their presence hit like pressure in the air - too heavy, too perfect. Each one radiated something ethereal. This wasn't a meeting; it was a judgement, a trial of your fate.

Ubuyashiki sat calmly, his face serene as ever despite his frail condition. Two younger girls, who you assume are his daughters, peek from behind his sleeves like spirits in a shrine.

"Y/n Suzuhara, rank Kinoe," he says gently, "thank you for coming.”

You bow stiffly, not quite disrespectful, but not deferential either.

"You were sent to dispatch a Lower Moon in Shirhama. The demon was slain, and no civilians died. That is... commendable."

An awkward, long. pregnant pause.

"However," Shinobu, the Insect Hashira, spoke next, smile dagger-sharp,"you leveled half the market to do it. And a temple. And scared an entire rescue team into fleeing."

"I didn't ask for backup," you mutter under your breath, her smile filling you with a strong urge to smack it off her face.

Shinobu tilts her head, unimpressed. "That's not how squads work."

"Her breathing form is chaotic,” Obanai said flatly, arms folded under his coiled snake. "She destabilizes everything around her. Just get rid of her already."

"Now now " Tengen speaks up. "She's a Kinoe ranked slayer, clearly capable of killing Lower Moons. With the caliber of demon slayers on the decline, we shouldn't be so hasty to dismiss one of her skillset."

"He's got a point." Kyojuro says in agreement, the usual grin painting his face. "If it weren't for her... unusual... destructive habits, she'd be standing among us."

"I won't remember the outcome, so I don't really care." Muichiro speaks up idly. You hold back your amused snort; I aspire to be that level of unbothered.

"Her standing among us is an insult. She's feral." Obanai deadpans.

"And Shinazugawa isn't?" Tengen whispers to Kyojuro, the flame haired individual whacking his arm in mirth after.

More men speak, so you stop listening.

"But she hasn't had a civilian's life slip through her fingers."

"Oh, and half a town in damage every time she goes on a mission makes that okay?"

"It shouldn't be so easily dismissed."

"She can't work on a team; she doesn't belong."

'I'm not trying to belong." You snap. Fucking men.

The room tensed.

Giyuu blinked slowly. Tengen disguises a snort as a cough and turns around to compose himself — Kyojuro, upon seeing his best friend's reaction, flushes red and puffs his cheeks up, his eyes darting anywhere but the flashy male’s direction. Sanemi makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

Mitsuri leaned forward, eyes soft with worry."But don't you want people to fight with you? It's not safe to be alone."

Your expression was one of boredom, "it's safer than trusting someone not to get in my way, or, I don't know, not die next to me."

"No matter your views on working in a squad - you destroyed half the town square - again.” Gyomei speaks up, voice low, deep and commanding — his usual tears already slipping down his face at the thought of the suffering area.

You cross your arms. "They should reinforce their buildings.”

"The temple was sacred."

"So was the woman I saved."

Obanai's lips thinned under his bandages. "This isn't the first time your methods have caused concern. You show no regard for property, chain of command, or coordination. You operate like a storm with no warning."

You smirk. "How very literal of you." Prick.

Suzuhara Y/n. Typhoon Breathing. Dangerous. Untrained. Blacklisted from team assignments.

You knew the whispers. You wore them like armor.

"Enough." Ubuyashiki said gently, and the room stilled again. "You are not being removed from the Corps, but it is clear that you need guidance. One last chance. We are assigning you a mentor, someone to rein you in.”

You tense and then scoff. "Oh, I can't wait to meet the poor fool."

"Therefore," he cuts you off before you can add anything else, "you will be placed under the mentorship of a Hashira."

You pause, blink, and then look around the room.

Oh for fuck sake.

"It is only fitting," Ubuyashiki continued, "that the Wind train the Storm."

All of Sanemi's politeness towards the Master seemed to disappear into thin air for a moment. He stands up straight, heavy with tension, arms folded and the very picture of fury. His eyes cut through you like glass. You'd heard the stories. The Wind Hashira. Rage incarnate, Covered in scars and soaked in blood more often than not, not a single ounce of patience in his being.

"You expect me to fix that?"

Now that’s just rude.

You square your shoulders, a noise of distaste leaving your lips. "You think I need fixing?"

"Oh ho ho." Tengen mutters under his breath, full of mirth.

“How are you meant to 'fix' me? Shouldn't I be worried you'll blow up the place first?" You continue, tone biting. Your glares met like blades drawn in a quiet dojo.

"Big talk from someone that needs a babysitter. Watch your mouth."

Before you can open your mouth with a seething retort, Ubuyashiki speaks again.

"You will train under Shinazugawa for one lunar cycle. If your behavior does not improve, then your position in the Corps will be reconsidered."

Blacklisted or broken in. These are your options.

“Oh fantastic.” Sanemi grunts under his breath.

You side eye the Wind Hashira with distaste.

Fuck you. “Very well.”

Taisho Era Secret!

Y/n was born to a shrine keeper mother and a fisherman father. She was raised surrounded by wind and water, and so storms were sacred in her village! Due to this, she has a superstitious habit of carrying a flask of rainwater from her village shrine!

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Release da Hounds [Epic] of War [Memes]

Synopsis: Inspired by Tête-à-Tête, here's a brief fic of Epic being Epic and Nightmare is dying inside.

Rating: Teen

CW: Epic is Epic. Do with that what you will xD

Relationships: None

Word Count: 1, 504

Dream panted, wincing as ruby ichor spilled from his wounds. His body trembled as he tried to stand, only to collapse onto his knees. 

Nightmare laughed derisively, looming above Dream’s fallen form, his cackling reverberating among the other sounds of battle as weapons clashed and evoked magical attacks were unleashed. 

The dreary sky crackled with thunder, warning of rain as the rest of the Stars clashed with Nightmare’s Gang. Blueberror held his own against Horror, his bone cleaver ringing upon impact with the glitching metal of Blue’s war hammer, whereas Ink disappeared and reappeared in puddles of various viscosity all around Dust, elegantly evading every bone attack and Blaster beam launched their way. 

“Surrender now, Dream,” a baritone sweet like honey did nothing to mask the poison that dripped off its words and coated a darkened heart. “And I will consider sparing your precious band of misfits.”

“There’s still good in you, brother,” He spoke fervently, though the tremble in his speech belied his uncertainty, meaning to convince both himself and Nightmare. 

Dream’s golden eyes searched Nightmare’s eye, hoping to discern even a glimmer of the family he once knew. “Quiero que mi hermano vuelva a casa.”

Nightmare scoffed and shrugged his shoulders from the shiver that trailed up his spine. It was cold, that was all. “You truly are a fool. Your dear brother is dead.”

What an idiot Dream was, searching for something that would never be found.

Something stirs in his Apple, a faint voice calling out for its twin—

NO. There’s nothing. 

It’s HIM. The parasite, the slayer of Nim. 

NO ONE. ELSE.

“If you truly want peace, surrender your Apple to me,” his soft voice offered a beautiful lie that promised serenity where actions betrayed his true cruelty. “And end these long centuries of strife between us.”

Dream’s golden orbs stared into his eye for a moment more. Then his shoulders fell as he closed his eyes and hung his skull. Nightmare’s smirk widened at the visible declaration of defeat. Until—

“Then you leave me no choice, Nightmare.” 

Curious, Nightmare allowed Dream to pull out his phone, noting how Dream didn’t call nor text apart from a single press of a button before he returned the device to his persons. “Whatever happens next, it’s only in retribution of your own actions.”

“Oh?” Please, as if Nightmare was scared of whatever miscreant Dream called for help. “And just what exactly did you do—”

“Ooooohhhh SENPAIIIIIIIIII!”

Rarely did Nightmare experience true and utter dread. Unfortunately for him, this was one of those moments.

Nightmare spun around. With the sound of a portal opening and a new figure emerging, the battle was paused, both sides curious to witness as to who had joined the fray.

Epic posed, kicking his leg up and back as he cheerfully blew a kiss to the Guardian of Negativity, who visibly recoiled at the sight. He gaped as Epic skipped towards them, gracefully hopping atop bones embedded in the ground and jumped high in the air on the last bone, somersaulting midair and landing before the two Guardians, his skirt fluttering behind him. 

"Good to see you again daddy." Epic’s neko ears playfully twitched as his tail fluttered behind him. He gazed around, surveying the battlefield and the various expressions that met his form. Which he personally felt was killed, in both his hoodie and striped thigh-highs and garter belt.

After his observation Epic tsked, sadly shaking his head side to side in disappointment. “You’ve been a naughty boy, Hentainess,” Epic chided. He gestured to the destruction. “You didn’t take any of your chill pills today have you?”

“...Did he call him “daddy”?” 

“Sh sh shhhh,” Ink hushed, eyelights shifting between stars and exclamation points as he put his hand to Dust’s mouth. Offended, Dust bit the appendage, Ink entirely apathetic to the fangs piercing his bones as he threw up in excitement. “The chaos is here.”

“I do not require any medication you — !”

Epic held out his hand, offering up two tide pods to the irate entity. “S’okay, here’re your meds as prescribed by your favorite sexy doctor — oop,” Epic continued to beam even after Nightmare spitefully lunged and bit off Epic’s hand, swallowing the pods, carpals and all, in his fury. “There goes mah fap hand.”

For a moment, Nightmare was immobile, unmoving as he slowly processed Epic’s words with abject horror. 

Abruptly he turned, spitting it out and gagging as he frantically scrubbed his forked tongue with his claws. 

“Oh yay,” Epic wiped his hand clean and then popped it back on, swiveling the joints experimentally. “Welcome back buddy!”

“You wretched, disgraceful, poor excuse of a skeleton!” Nightmare snarled indignantly.

Striking like serpents, his tentacles swarmed Epic, surrounding him and wrapping around his legs until he was held aloft, dangling midair as Nightmare throttled his body like a ragdoll. “DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE — !”

“K–eeee–ee–ya!” Epic’s eyelights rolled in swirls in his sockets before he was thrown onto the ground repeatedly. Over and over and over and over. 

When he was silent, Nightmare finally lifted Epic’s inert form. “Had enough?”

Epic squealed, one hand going to his skirt to hold the ruffles down and the other to his mouth as he averted his gaze, eyelights sparkling as he shyly blushed, cheekbones dusted violet. Sparkles surrounded him, his form surreptitiously surrounded by a soft pink and roses as he cried.

“Pweaze be gwentle, Seme,” Epic begged. “You weren’t even this rough when you were inside me!”

Nightmare’s face convulsed, the sound of a mirror breaking as the roses wilted and he abruptly dropped Epic, who let out an oomph as he fell face first onto the dirt. Good thing he wore fitting shorts, considering his skirt flew up.

He kicked himself off the ground, humming as he dusted his clothes off.

Around them, shocked exclamations and “ooooohs” arose from their audience.

Ink had taken a photo of Epic being “sugoi” and squealed, eyelights a heart and diamond. “Ooh pretty! Hey Epic!” They called out. “Mind if I keep this to draw?!”

Epic dropped his charade and threw a thumbs up to the artist. “Course ya can! Draw me like one of your french girls anytime ya want, babes. Jus’ share with me later!”

“Merci!”

Gathering his wits, Nightmare snarled. “Stop insinuating we have had relations you harlot!”

“Dunno Boss,” Horror remarked, “bein’ inside another man’s some pretty gay “relations”.”

“Yeah,” Dust agreed. “Especially if it happened more than once.”

“L1ke, 0nce, 0kay,” Blueberror added, “y0u’re exper1ment1ng and f1gur1ng y0urself 0ut. But several t1mes? That’s just y0u be1ng cl0seted.”

“I’m not gay — that’s not even the point! I have never once slept with this man!”

“How could you deny all the times you passionately impaled me?!” Epic wailed, tears welling in his sockets. “What will you deny next?! Our beautiful and precious love child?!”

“...What.”

Gasps and stunned exclamations. Even Dream was gasping in conflicting awe and horror. “I’m an uncle?!”

“I would rather eat my own Apple than consider impregnating you —”

Epic sniffled, suddenly cradling an indiscernible bundle. “They even look just like their octodaddy.”

He held up the bundle, revealing a rubber chicken painted black with teal highlights and wearing a baby onesie and apple-shaped bonnet. “Do you feel nothing for Tentai Junior?!”

Unimpressed, Nightmare deadpanned, “That “child” is made of plastic.”

“Don’t despair my tsundere tentacle bitchboi,” Epic sniffled. “There’s still hope for our baby to evolve from a mean girl and become the sweet Barbie boi we know they are.” He squeezed the toy. 

“CAAAAAAAAAW—daddy.” It screeched.

“Amazingly, I feel nothing.”

Epic wept, cradling his child to his chest. To Nightmare’s bafflement, even the toy seemed to cry. “At least pay your child support then you baka!”

“I have no child and you’re beyond salvation.”

Dust whistled, shaking his skull. “And you won't even pay child support? That’s pretty low, even for you.”

“Yeah," Horror agreed. “Murder and torture is one thing, but wow. A homophobic deadbeat dad? You really are the worst of the worst Boss.”

Nightmare stared without any light in his eyelight. Then, in an exhausted voice, muttered, “I’m done.” Spinning on his heel, he flipped everyone off. “Take yourselves back or die, I don’t care.” And with a curse he was gone. 

Epic tossed the chicken back into his inventory and clapped his hands. “Aaaaaaand scene!” He turned and bent at the waist, bowing to the Stars and bemused Dust and Horror before holding out his hand to Dream, helping the Guardian onto his feet with an arm around his shoulder. “How was that Deedee?”

Dream smiled gratefully. “Painful and yet oddly entertaining to watch, thank you Epic.”

Epic shot him a finger gun as he clicked his tongue in a cheeky wink. “Anytime!”

“What do you think Nightmare is doing right now?” Horror wondered aloud.

“Probably cursing us out and torturing that life-size punching bag he had made to look like Dream.”

Meanwhile, Nightmare sat in his large tub and laid in the fetal position, letting the shower pour over him.

[was-that-a-pun]

What if they actually kept Doey in a comically large Doey Dough canister? I mean, I wouldn't put it past them-

That would be hilarious tucked into the emotional moment Doey has to face his cell again in Chapter 12, It's like when you can pick wacky outfits and your characters still wearing them in the cutscene XD like just imagine:

When she turned Doey had moved to a particular one at the end of the hall and starred into it dolefully.

The glass had been burst outward. A huge blue, curved lid that stood taller than her son had come to a stop resting angled against the edge as if it had been used to do the dead. There were smears and splatters of blood in every direction leading out from it, and inside was a massive structure, the nearly terracotta red jar lay on it’s side covered in dulled and dried multicolored dough that spilled out along the trail of destruction.

A white and yellow label emblazoned with ‘DOEY DOUGH!’ In cheery bubbly cartoon letters was just barely visible on the side, the cheery caricature of him hidden against the floor from where it had rolled.

She gave him a moment, waiting in case he wanted to talk. She’d really thought he was fucking with her but there it was. And she hadn’t missed the giant clearance sticker barely peeking out of the rubble.

Why was Playtime so freakin weird….

[damistrolls]

Little Bug

hihihi i randomly decided to write a lil smthn smthn abt kizien from some random fleet soldier's perspective

umm i hope u enjoy ✌️ tho its not proofread oops

(google doc link)

—

The inky blackness of your unconscious mind thrummed dully in the deepest part of your skull. That was the first thing you remembered as you came-to. The pulsating. The pounding. The way your head ached with collision from your scuffle. Scuffle with who? And how did you lose? You’re fleet, aren’t you? 

Your grogginess was unnatural, but familiar, reminiscent of that time you were put under for surgery following a battle. You were sedated, for sure. How else would such a skinny thing best you? 

Skinny. Tall and skinny. With round goggles that reflected ominously in your peripherals while he whispered something that made your skin crawl. Of course. How could you be so stupid? It was Dr. Helzir. 

It wasn’t like you thought you were safe. Despite the frustrated requests of his superiors, Helzir still managed to get away with picking off soldiers if he liked their zombification potential. What a laugh. How can a fleet commander fail so spectacularly at leashing one goddamn fish? 

Blearily, you open your eyes. The overhead surgical lamp burned a bit, so you turned your head to the side with a wince, squinting into a less bright corner of the room. There was a floater in your vision from the light, but you eventually blinked it away, and your gaze settled on some terrible, hulking amalgamation pacing behind a thick glass.

You’ve seen these before. Never this close, though. Brutes, they were called. Helzir made many kinds of zombies, but these were the ones the fleet liked the most. They’re destructive powerhouses, far more than the sum of their literal parts. The rumor is that he strips the densest thew out of multiple trolls and intricately weaves them together, braiding muscle strand against muscle strand until he’s made something stronger than any natural thing. 

You’re not sure it works like that, but regardless, it makes your stomach turn to see the way their muscles ripple unnaturally under the tight, dead skin. Whatever repulsiveness is occurring beneath the surface, you’re just glad you can’t see it. 

“Do you like him, little bug?” 

You visibly startle, and instinctively pull at the reinforced leather straps around your wrists and ankles, the little metal bits jingling as you do. Silence follows, and for a moment, you almost believe you made him up in your mind, like some kind of bogeyman you made up to scare yourself. But your gaze soon settles on a figure seated beside the brute’s containment tank, smiling placidly. 

Your stomach feels rotten again, only worse. 

“He’s to be shipped off soon. I’ll be sorry to see him go. I think I really outdid myself this time.”

Kizien’s voice was even, almost droning, but something about his tone carried a certain ill-fitting airyness. You stare at him, getting a glimpse of his eyes behind his goggles. His tone was innocent, but his eyes betrayed this. He didn’t do this for the money, or even the notoriety. He did this for fun. Like everyone was just a doll in his toybox. 

“Save it,” you spit venomously, “the commander won’t let you have me.”

The biologist brings a hand up, adjusting his goggles as a toothy grin breaks out on his face. 

“Oh, he won’t know until you’re long gone. I prefer to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission.” 

Kizien rises from his seat, trailing a gloved hand over the brute’s enclosure as he passes by it. He approaches you on the vivisection table, and you instinctively lean away. Twiggy as he may be, Helzir unsettles you. You and every ensign that has to tiptoe around his floor, that is. You don’t understand how some people can hold a normal conversation with him, knowing that he’s always thinking about which of your parts he can upcycle. He has no loyalty to anyone. That’s scarier than any zealot, imperial OR rebellious. 

You strain against your bindings again. The violet tuts and pulls a rolling hand table closer. The instruments on display there may be clean, sharp, and well-maintained, but it brings you no comfort. It will be immensely painful regardless. You’ve heard the screams from his lab before. 

“Well, now that you’re good and awake, we should probably get started. I can’t wait to get my fingers under your skin and really feel what I’m working with here…” 

“Wait-” you interrupt, trying not to sound like you’re stalling. Kizien hums and looks over. His hand hovers over one of the surgical tools, fingers twitching excitedly. Think. What can you get him talking about? “... I know I’m not getting out of this. Can’t you tell me the secret?” 

Kizien’s gaze is fixated on you curiously, seeming to turn the request around in his brain a few times. 

“The secret?” 

“About the zombies. About why no one can make them the way you do. I heard about the commander’s old research team. Everyone says it’s special, what you do– that it’s the only reason they let you stay.” 

“That isn’t the only reason.” 

“Well, I’m as good as dead, right? And you’re probably dying to brag to someone about it, right?” 

Kizien’s quiet at first, and it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. But you don’t mind, he can chew on this for as long as he wants, if it delays your non-consensual murder-surgery/surgery-murder. But eventually, he does speak again, a smile ever-present on his face. 

“I’ll let you stall us just a little bit, little bug” he acquiesced. 

Kizien picked up a scalpel to turn it over in his fingers idly. Thinking about what he would have done with that makes you shudder… You have to find a way out, now that you have time. You swallow thickly and give the biologist your attention, hoping he’ll be too distracted by his words to notice you trying to get your ankle out of its restraint. 

“Growing up, I thought magic was just science we haven’t figured out yet,” he began. “That’s what many scientific minds say about it, at least. But in time, I learned that magic really is an entirely different phenomenon than biological or chemical studies, and only a select few are blessed with the ability to utilize it. It isn’t like psionics. You can’t prod at it through the mind or body. Magic is from somewhere else. And then… I discovered that you can still prod at it, even if you can’t use magic yourself. It’s a delicate process, but the previous Sorcerer’s notes were more than enough to get me started.”

“The previous Sorcerer?” 

“Yes.” 

Your brows pinch together. 

“I didn’t know there was a previous one. Titles aren’t usually passed down.” 

“Mm, well, the title was stripped from him when he abandoned the fleet in favor of seeking power and immortality, and the mantle fell to his descendent, our lovely commander Kollin. They figured he ought to be just as powerful as his ancestor, but…”

Kizien's eyes narrow in amusement, and you feel a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, suddenly defensive over your superior. 

“The commander is a powerful sorcerer. What do you know about magic?” 

“More than he does, actually. But we’ll get to that part of the story later. I want to answer your question first, about the ‘secret’. It should come as no surprise now that the secret is magic. I can’t actually wield it, but if I get my hands on raw magical energy, there’s a lot else I can do with it. Most other scientists don’t have the right sort of mind to understand it, though. It’s why your precious commander could never find a team to do it properly.” 

“But that’s not the only reason.”

“No. The other reason is that Velzka Kollin is a fraud, and he needs me.” 

Your mouth feels dry. You try to focus on getting your ankle free, but you begin to wonder… Would the commander even be able to help you, if you got out? 

“What do you mean?” you manage through the cottony dryness of your throat. 

Kizien smiles again, spinning the scalpel around in his fingers. 

“Any magic-user can certainly learn and train and generally improve their skills, but one’s inherent magical capacity is effectively immutable. Some trolls will simply never be able to reach the same heights as others. Not without outside assistance. In the commander’s case… I acquire raw magic for him to take, so that his superiors don’t replace him with someone better. Think of it like… performance-enhancing drugs, but to a more extreme degree.” 

“You’re blackmailing him?” 

“Is it blackmail if I don’t intend to reveal him to anyone? I think it’s more like a bribe. Either he can take it, and enjoy reaping the benefits of his station, or he can send me away, and risk being made obsolete. Really, it’s a choice he’s making here. A selfish choice, when you think about it.” 

You swallow. You were nervous before, but now you’re… scared. The commander is under Kizien’s thumb. There’s no protecting you, even if you get out. The violet takes notice of your demeanor shift, and that big, toothy grin returns to his face. You begin to fight against your restraints again, despite the fact that you know the Ripmaw isn’t safe for you anymore. Anything– ANYTHING to delay the inevitable. 

“I think that’s enough distraction for now,” the biologist hums blithely. 

You yell and squirm and thrash your head, restraints clattering against the surgical table. You almost can’t hear Kizien’s calm voice beneath it all. 

“Don’t worry, little bug,” he all but whispers. “No one will even recognize you by the end of it.”