#whats the point of clinging on like this?

[ghouljams]

Your Failure, His Rebirth

Tags: knight!Ghost x princess!reader, blood and violence, minor character death, medieval medicine, terrible parenting, allusions to Ghost's past, knight!Keegan x f!oc, king!Konig Summary: Sometimes the universe works in your favor, sometimes it forces you into a role you were never meant to play. a/n: look I know he wouldn't say that, that's why he's reading off the teleprompter while I hold him at gunpoint.

Blood hits the ground and is covered by Ghost’s armored knee as he struggles to stay up. Struggles for his next move.

It happens so quickly.

Your hands shake where they press to the fence keeping you from the field 

but your feet are sure

and your body knows how to jump the barricade as surely as it swings onto a horse.

You’re deaf to the shouting behind you. Uncaring of the hands that grab for you as you run. The ground lurches under you. The wind roars in your ears, racing your blood for which can leave you faster.

Your fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife on Ghost’s hip, ripping it from the sheath as you turn to face your would-be husband.

Your breath comes in hiccups, gulped down with the same fear that threatens to paralyze you. Your hands shake but your grip is tight as you hold the knife up towards Graves’ throat.

The blade of his sword brushes your dress, the razor’s edge leaving thin slices in the fabric. You hope it cuts you, gives you some bite to gnash your teeth against. You don’t see how it would be any more painful than his win.

The stands are raucous. Screaming and shouting hits your ear like the crash of waves, ebbing and flowing with each breath. Everything is too loud, too bright, too alive when you feel like you’re dying, like your belly’s been slit and it’s everything you can do just to keep standing.

You grip the hand holding the knife with your other, trying to stop the shaking. All it does is double it.

“Come on now darlin’,” Graves coos, his voice dripping with mirth, “What do you think you’ll do with that?”

“I’ll kill you,” You assure him, “I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill myself.” After all, if Ghost is going to meet his end, it’s only fitting that you follow him.

Graves tips his head to laugh. Malice fills the air. Ghost says your name, the only softness that could find you in this grave you’ve dug, and Graves twists his hand. Hearing the squelch of Ghost’s skin turns your stomach, frays your nerves. Ghost grunts against the pain, you’re sure it must be torture.

“Hush now. Royalty is talkin’,” Graves reminds him, holding a finger to his helm, uncaring that your knife hovers dangerously in front of him. His hand drops to his side before he turns his attention back to you.

“I like a little fight in my horses too, makes it more fun breaking you in.“ He tilts his head, showing you the soft pink of his neck. “Go on, let’s see if you can do it.”

You can feel the tears stinging your eyes, pushing forwards against your lash line. You will the knife forward. Grit your teeth with determination and beg your body to just move. Your hand feels so unsteady, your nose clogged with the scent of iron, he’s pointing the way, it should be easy to kill him. 

The memory of blood seeping over your hands pulls at you. The warmth of it, almost sticky the way it clung so desperately to your skin. That damn Baron’s last attempt at keeping himself alive, blood released from his body in a way it never should have been still trying to stick to the body, any body really, in a plea to cling to life. Skin had never broken so easily, had never felt so penetrable, so delicate, had never changed itself from barrier to entryway, had never sickened you quite the same as it did when your knife met it.

You remember the bile rising in your throat, the same as it does now. You know the panic still. You’re not meant to hold such instruments.

Ghost had saved you then. He dealt the killing blow. Or, at least said he did. But the blood that pooled under the crumpled body had reached towards you. A damning accusation. It had known, as well as you did now, the sins that had been committed by your hand. Sins you could still feel under your fingernails, pressing at your skin in the hopes that it too would part.

You can’t do it.

Your breath shudders.

Your knife lowers.

You feel the sick unseen smile that Graves wears under his helm, the knowledge that he’s won, like a death shroud.

And you feel Ghost’s hand just as fast,

the wrap of his fingers around yours,

And the thrust of your knife, 

his knife, 

into Graves’ throat.

The blood that comes now is like a fountain.

It sprays over you with a sickly gurgle. You hardly have time to blink and your eyes sting with the shock of blood you couldn’t avoid. Ghost’s hand wrenches yours to the side to slit his opponent’s throat, and your eyes follow it. The jagged edge of Grave’s neck, the wheeze of his windpipe, the instant drop of his sword to grasp at his neck, you feel your body shudder with the convulsion of it. 

You can’t drop the knife, Ghost’s grip makes sure of that. Your knuckles creak under the strain of his hold, your fingers going numb the same way the rest of you is. 

You can’t keep a breath in. Each gasp feels tighter than the last.

Ghost leans his weight on you as he stands, and you feel blood soak your back, your dress cut to the skin as he rips Graves’ sword from his side. You barely feel the warmth of your own blood under the rapid cooling of theirs.

Ghost points Graves’ sword at the priest, his weight against your back, his hand still holding yours, your world holding himself up on your shoulders. Your Atlas passing you the Earth.

“Call it,” He growls.

“Sir- Sir Simon Riley, is- is,” The priest stutters, glancing at your father still back in the stands, his face is white with the same shock that grips you, “has bested-�� he tries again, “-Sir Phillip Graves is unable to continue-”

“Dead,” You correct, your voice little more than a whisper, “he’s dead.”

The priest nods, gesturing to the crowd with a flourish, “Your victor: Sir Simon Riley!”

The explosion of rabid excitement from the crowd deafens you, each voyeur throwing their own comments into the ring. Some cheer. Others curse. You couldn’t piece any single voice together, all of them seemed to bleed into the ringing that filled your ears, but you got the gist: villain, beast, heel. Blood they begged for, but murder… You didn’t understand the line that they drew, what was the difference? They cheered for Ghost’s injury, but screeched at Graves’ death. Blood was blood. Wasn’t it?

It all felt the same sticking to your skin.

Tunneled your vision until you couldn’t see anything but the blood soaking your empty fingers.

Your lady-in-waiting holds your face in shaking hands. Her handkerchief wiping your brow, over your cheeks, her lips move silently as she takes your hands to wipe them as well. Keegan swipes your --Ghost’s-- knife from where you’d unfeelingly dropped it to the dirt and slips the blade into his belt. 

The ringing is starting to leave your ears, replaced by your lady-in-waiting’s sobbing. “My lady,” repeated over and over through her tears. It’s only then that you realize the weight of your knight has left you.

You turn to look at the dirt, praying you don’t find him lying there, dead.

“Where’s Ghost?” You find your voice long enough to ask. 

“With the physician,” Keegan replies. His hand finds the back of your lady-in-waiting’s neck, turning her sobs to sniffles. She keeps wiping at your hands, the bloodied handkerchief doesn’t clean anymore, it smears. Bloodying and unbloodying your hands with each swipe.

You cast your gaze around. They land on the retreating shoulders of your knight. His armor hanging awkwardly off his body, his side still bloodied and leaking. He leans his weight onto another knight, one arm around the man’s shoulder, the other around the doctor that helps him limp back towards the tents. You pull your hands from your lady-in-waiting to run after him, and she pulls you right back.

“My lady,” Her voice rises in a panic.

“I have to make sure he’s alright,” You tell her thoughtlessly.

“You’ll have to do more than that,” Your father’s voice booms behind you. Again you feel your blood drain from your body. Your shoes squish in the bloody mud, you’re sure most of it must be from your own shock with how quickly it seems to rush from you. You turn to find your father, your mother beside him, her hands clenched so tight in her skirts that the fabric is starting to protest. 

“Have you any idea of the mess you’ve made?” Your father asks, his teeth grit. “Throwing my kingdom to a dog with no master. Who knows what he’ll do to us.”

“And you’re any better? Bringing in foreign brutes to try and- and-” You gesture vaguely to König who hovers behind your parents, then to yourself, “You think a man like that wouldn’t kill me before my wedding night?”

König scratches his cheek under the chain mask he wears, muttering in German, “Ah, I miss my wife.” You don’t know what the fuck he’s saying but the weary-nostalgic look he gives your bloodied dress doesn’t make you think it’s anything good.

“You think Graves would have been any better?” You ask, your gaze steadily kept off the corpse at your feet.

“Graves was loyal to-”

“To himself!” You cut your father off, “You truly think that man had the kingdom’s best wishes in mind while brutalizing his opponents?”

“And you think a Riley does?” Your father asks, his tone flat, accusatory. 

“No,” You relent, anger rising in your throat. You’ve never cared where Ghost came from, the reputation that hung like a sword over his family’s crest. Ghost has more than proved himself, more than shown his capabilities, and more than shown where his allegiance lies. “But he doesn’t have to care about the kingdom,” You harden your voice, Ghost doesn’t care for the crown except when it sits on your head, “he’ll care for the people because he cares for me.”

Your father shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak, and freezes. König’s knife dimples his neck, exerting the slightest pointed force to press the skin without breaking it. The German looms behind him, bending over his shoulder to cock his head and watch the pallor of your father’s face as the blood drains from it. The chainmail of his mask hangs haphazardly to the side, and you watch the sickly smile that splits his mouth, showing his teeth as he speaks.

“You are a weak fool,” He seethes, “What battles have you fought to earn your kingdom? What foes have you slaughtered?” The knife presses more firmly against your father’s throat and you feel your stomach flip, your heart clench, at the blood that blooms and falls over his skin. As much as you may hate the man, you don’t want to watch anyone else die. “I have often thought that crowns should be won.” 

Your father, proud and steady, has never felt the kiss of a sword. His throne was handed to him, and though he once trained in fighting, he’s never seen battle. You watch the man that you have always looked at as a pillar of steadfast rule, of divine right, crumble in the face of a little blood. A man who would sell his own child in a time of peace, looks like such a small evil next to König.

You’re starting to think perhaps thrones should be won too.

“But the-”

“Do not start caring for your people now Herr König,” König drawls, the words thick on his accented tongue, “it is-” he pauses, looking for the word.

“Embarrassing?” You suggest, your father tries to glare, any malice already snuffed by his fear.

“Yes, embarrassing.” König agrees. He points his knife your way and gestures at you, “Go on little maus, go find your prize.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You grab your skirt in still shivering fists and run towards the knights’ lodgings.

The losing knights are licking their wounds when you get to their tents. They nurse scrapes and bruises, split lips and cut brows, bruises already purpling over their ribs as their pages assist them in discarding their armor. They pay you little mind, but those that do… You can feel their eyes tracking you, imagining what they might have had if they weren’t up against such formidable foes. 

You don’t give them a second thought, pushing the flap for the physician’s tent to the side in order to duck inside.

Your eyes find Ghost immediately. Stripped down to his breeches, the wide plane of his back tensed as the physician pokes and prods at the deep gash that runs through his side. Blood oozes out of the hole in his back, the tensed muscle so beautifully displayed under his skin now fills in a deep red between its torn edges. The physician leans in to sniff at the wound and Ghost’s already tensed muscles seem to tense further, as if even the sound of it might hurt him. No. His chest expands a fraction before the tension is back, squeezing tight at his ribs like a vice. It’s breathing that’s hurting him.

The mess of his blond hair is drenched with sweat, his skin smeared with blood and dirt, he looks the picture of a man beaten into the ground, and yet he positively glows in the dim light of the tent. Your new king. 

You take a hesitant step forward and the physician glances at you. Only to stop his work and dip his head in a bow that forces Ghost to turn and look as well. You watch the painful twist of his muscles as he moves, the squeeze of blood from his wound. There’s a darkness in his eyes, a pale-ness to his cheeks, it must be excruciating. You can’t help hurrying to him, throwing your arms around his slick shoulders and burying your face against his neck. 

Your dress is already bloody, your nerves already frayed, what else can you do but look for his pulse’s quick thump.

Ghost’s hand squeezes your wrist. Clean. 

“My lady,” He murmurs, “Let the physician work.”

He has more hair on him than you’d thought. You feel it vaguely when you shake your head, the light strands of hair on his shoulders tickle your nose, and you can feel where it’s been slicked close to his skin running down his spine the same way you feel your dress stick to you. You feel terribly childish, failed somehow. Why do you still feel like you’ve lost even with your prize in your arms? 

His hand doesn’t leave you, doesn’t push you away, he makes no noise of discontent at your flagrant disregard of his order, and you wonder how much of his comment was more for the physician’s benefit than his own. 

“She’s alright sir,” The physician informs Ghost, “Can move to your lap when I tackle the back.” Ghost grunts and you peek over your arms to watch the physician. His fingers are prodding Ghost’s wound again. The cut looks just as bad from the front, the skin bowed in and sliced long from the wiggle of Graves’ sword, and the muscle streaked with blood. Pulling your own needle and thread through his skin feels like a distant memory now.

How had you managed to hold your stomach then, when you find it so fragile now.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost grits, as the physician packs herbs into the wound and pinches the edges, “There’s blood on your hands because of me.”

“Royalty mustn’t apologize.” You mumble. His fingers squeeze your wrist lightly.

Ghost is quiet, only the wet pull of threads through skin filling the silence between you. There’s no comfort in the rub of his thumb over your wrist, and the longer you stand there the more pointedly you feel the drying mud of blood and fabric congealing against your skin. It’s unignorable and uninterrupted. There is only the chill of tacky discomfort that sticks to you.

“Ghost?” You ask nervously, the air feeling heavy, bearing down on your shoulders like a terrible weight.

He breathes and it feels like a noose being fitted to your neck. You squeeze your arms tighter around his shoulders, begging him to be as selfish as you feel, to give you this one thing, to not let you go now. 

“It will follow you,” He says finally, his words cutting through the anxious tension in your shoulders, “You’ll scrub your hands and still feel blood under your nails, you’ll ask yourself if there wasn’t someone better, a hand that didn’t hold you like a weapon.”

“I made my choice,” You press, “you’re my sword, and if I can’t be-”

“I’m your knight,” He clarifies, “and I have loved you far past what is acceptable for a knight-” he hisses through his teeth at the physician’s work, his voice faltering for only a second, “-but I’m still your knight. Not the other way around.”

Despite yourself you smile, your cheeks hot and your stomach giddy. He’s reprimanding you, his voice anything but sweet and yet you can only focus on one thing. Love. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. Love, love, love. Far past what’s acceptable, far past what’s expected, what’s necessary, far past what’s proper. Love, love, love. From your knight who’s always held his hands steady and now seems to shake down to his fingertips as the physician presses herbs between the stitches of his wound.

“I love you,” You whisper, sure he’ll hear you. He always has.

“I know,” He tugs at your wrist, raising it to his lips to scrape his teeth over your pulse, you wonder if he can feel the way it hammers under his lips, “and I’ll be dead in the fucking ground before I let anyone take you from me now.”

[xkittzkornerx]

(long? reply)

i always try to keep in mind that what people label themselves as isn’t always gonna match the stereotypes or biases i have in my head. even if i disagree a lot with what they have to say, i’ve had instances where someone who identifies as a Republican sides with my perspective over fellow Republicans.

humans are far too complex to put in boxes (binaries), but we also are naturally drawn to things that we resonate with. we are social creatures looking for like-minded people who understand. for a lot of us, if we agree with the majority of what a movement or community does/advocates for, and what we disagree with them on isn’t too harmful (the determination of which is subjective), we will then use that label, too, and find our role within that community.

i know for sure i’m not a centrist/libertarian bc my father is a libertarian, and we used to argue ourselves into shouting matches when i was younger. at some point, i gave up trying to change him. we get along a lot better now that we accept the other believes what they believe (luckily we have at least a couple middle ground topics now). i think it fueled my need to better understand demographics different from my own, to try to understand where people were coming from when i opposed their beliefs, how they got there. i went down many rabbit holes all over the political spectrum, eventually deciding that where i thought i landed might have been wrong (i was a liberal). i found myself drawn to leftist spaces. challenged myself. deconstructed a lot of ideologies i was raised with, kept only a few. i didn’t agree blindly to everything and took time to really think about things. i continue to challenge myself/advance my perspective. i genuinely believe many leftists do the same, that people in general do this. we’re just faded out by loud idiots and doom-scrolling.

some people avoid labels altogether, think that it’s too restrictive to voluntarily sign yourself up for and still be considered intelligent. others cling on too tight to labels and enforce them tyrannically. personally, i’m one for a healthy balance. like when you mentioned collectivism—the antonym for that would be individualism. i think both can be okay, but then come in the extremists. all of a sudden a group has to be a hivemind, and the individual must never depend on others, is expected to be selfish, must always strive to be as ‘quirky’ and unique as possible, and above all, must never be ‘basic.’ whatever that means.

when it comes to blame, i avoid turning on my fellow countryfolk. the 1% are the ones with the power (plutocracy). they buy our politicians, create and fuel systematic injustices, and facilitate violations of human rights. they carefully construct the media to meet their propagandist standards. civilians are born into this system. schools don’t teach kids critical thinking. we are convinced as children that *insert demographic(s)* are a threat. sometimes you can be both a victim and an upholder of abuse. 🤷🏼‍♀️

the government (bought by the 1%) curates division so that we are never organized. they want us distracted, pointing fingers at one another, having poor working class people blaming other poor working class people for their misfortunes, bc if we were organized, we could easily defeat them, and that would mean defeating the bourgeoisie. that’s why Luigi unifies so many people across the political spectrum. more are realizing it isn’t right vs left, but up vs down. we’re stronger together, even if we disagree on a lot of things. i mean, i’m queer, and i’m willing to work with homophobes if it means fixing the healthcare system and wealth inequality. it is for the greater good of Americans as a whole, not just ones like me.

we don’t have to be best buds to stand in solidarity, and that is a sentence i would have never been able to comprehend if i was still my liberal 14-year-old self.

i do not want to live in a world where a pathetic, evil loser like OJ Simpson can murder two innocent human beings (one of which was his ex-wife, Nicole Brown, whom he abused their entire marriage), and have all evidence pointing toward him + an audio recording of him confessing to the double-homicide, yet he still escapes life in prison and leads a long, free life… but a modern day Robinhood like Luigi Mangione that (allegedly) popped a monster who made billions off denying people healthcare (killing thousands), can’t also be let free.

seeing the people in power scramble to villainize Luigi and paint him as a danger to society, try to convince us that we should be scared just bc they are? babe, it isn’t working. use your brains. that billionaire shitass was shot IN DEFENSE of us bc he was diabolical. how detached do you have to be to not understand how every day people are not going to be afraid of someone who (allegedly) murdered a billionaire making his wealth off our demises?

[shomatoriashi]

01/06/25; 06:03pm

sylus x fem.reader | non.mc

obligatory tags: @voidsylus | @milkandstarlight

warnings: unedited; semi-public s-x.

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

the boutique located in the n109 zone that sylus had taken you to was surrounded by dozens of high class women; those who were born with a silver spoon in their hands. now, being an average woman, you didn’t get to experience the luxuries of such a life until much later (the moment you fell in love with sylus as he swore to give you not only his heart, but anything and everything you desired as well.)

which was why you were here to begin with. even as you browsed the cute trinkets and jewelry from the store, you could feel the clerk’s eyes glaring daggers into you. not only were you receiving dark looks, but all the other employees were actively ignoring you, choosing instead to sink their claws into your lover as their saccharine voice asked if he needed any help.

“no, i’m fine, but my girlfriend could use some assistance.”

you momentarily bask in their crestfallen expression, watching as they tossed aside their curled hair before marching over to you. you had not even spoken a single word when the catty employee leans in to harshly whisper in your ear, “sorry, but i believe these cute jewels are just way too expensive for the likes of you. after all, having you wear our brand would be such a disgrace.”

as swiftly as she came, she stomps away from you, her laughter echoing throughout the store as she went to gossip with her coworkers over what had just transpired. manicured nails point at you, as their hushed whispers openly mocked you as they spoke about how unfit you were to be with mr. sylus.

grateful that sylus was entirely focused on the contents of his phone, you decided to get a tiny bit of revenge by hatching an almost diabolical plan. instead of looking at the various rings and necklaces, you cling onto sylus’s arms and point toward the direction of the section that housed all of the lingeries.

“walk me over there?” you point a finger over at where the various lingeries were on display, watching as sylus’s eyebrows go up in amusement.

“my, i wanted to take you here in order to help treat yourself. i didn’t think that i would receive a treat as well, little dove.”

you tried to appear as innocuous as possible, jutting your lips out into a pretty pout as you pulled sylus along. “but of course, i’m always willing to spoil you, sy.”

with sylus practically following you around (like a lost puppy), you have him talk to the lady manning the fitting rooms, asking him to get a key for one of the rooms as you made your selection alone. giving you a chaste kiss, he obeys your command and leaves you to your own devices-

which was exactly what you wanted to happen.

your eyes scan the various lingeries, searching for the perfect one that would set sylus off-

and within mere minutes, you found one.

the material of the flimsy piece left little to the imagination, and you could just picture the way your perky nipples would strain against such pretty lace while wrapping the most intimate part of you in ribbons-

this is the one.

folding the lingerie, you head towards the fitting rooms, seeing sylus waiting for you as he handed you the key. blowing him a kiss, you sweetly ask him to wait for you before locking yourself into the single room. taking a moment to admire such a spacious area, you muse to yourself at how this place felt like a totally different world before getting to work. putting your purse aside, you hurriedly shimmy out of your clothes, making sure you were bare before sliding on the lingerie, feeling the silk fabric fit your form to perfection. admiring yourself in the mirror, you put on a fresh coat of lip gloss while fixing your hair-

ready for sylus to make his move.

you open the door, standing seductively against it while whispering sylus’s name. he looks away from his phone, meeting your sultry gaze as his eyes widened with shock. crimson irises were felt raking down your form, making you giggle.

“like what you see, sy?”

yet the onychinus leader doesn’t answer you, choosing instead to march into your fitting room while slamming the door shut. “do i like what i see? kitten, you are absolutely divine.” you feel the way his powerful hands wrap around your waist before picking you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as you felt the way his clothed erection strained against you-

making you break out into a grin when you realized you had him; hook, line, and sinker.

he presses his hot lips press against the base of your throat when he pins you against the wall, ready to slide off your lingerie when you stopped him. “no… i want to keep this pretty lace on, just for you, sy.”

a low growl escapes from sylus, and you felt him lower his large hand between your legs before moving the ribbons that cover your center off to the side. with a gasp, you felt his large finger slowly drive itself into your wet heat before making a pumping motion. “you’re driving me crazy, love.”

hiding his face within the curve of your neck, sylus continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, drawing out breathy moans that seemed to echo throughout the boutique. with your arms wrapped around his neck, you gently grind your cunt against his fingertips while whispering in his ear, “do i feel good, wrapped around your fingers like this?”

a broken groan was heard coming from sylus when he removed his now soaked fingers out of your core, licking them clean briefly before adjusting his hold on you. he presses your chest against the walls now, making you gasp when you heard the shifting of fabric coming from behind you.

even when you weren’t able to see him, you could feel him- the sensation of hot velvet pressing against your soaked cunt before slowly sheathing itself inside of you. your gasps quickly morph into moans when sylus began to pound his cock into you, literally fucking you into the wall.

“i’m so fucking obsessed with you.” his hot whispers were all you could hear, feeling sylus press lingering kisses against your damp skin. you felt each new angle of his cock slamming back into you, causing a new wave of pleasure to hit you each time as your walls eagerly take in every inch he had to offer.

somehow, you were able to find your voice, begging him to turn you around. “l-let me look at you, sy… i want to see you as i fall apart for you.”

a low hiss was heard as sylus bites down against the lobe of your ear, heeding your command when he hurriedly pulls out of you. the sudden loss of him causes you to sob in response, with sylus gripping at your waist before allowing your back to meet the wall once more. settling himself between your thighs, sylus doesn’t waste another second when he completely impales his cock back into you.

your legs wrapped themselves around his waist, coaxing your lover to go even deeper as you felt your breasts bounce with his every movement. not even caring that you were not alone while in the midst of this expensive boutique, you allow your moans and his grunts to echo throughout the space, your back arching when you felt the way your walls sweetly wrapped around sylus’s cock before milking him for all he was worth.

spurts of his seed were felt escaping your walls as they stained at the lace and ribbons of the lingerie, with sylus letting out a content grunt. his hips sloppily thrust into you, making sure he was completely emptied before resting his weight against your shoulder. by now, you were both panting, feeling the sweat run down your respective forms as sylus pressed a lingering kiss against your shoulder.

keeping your hips still, sylus gently pulls out of you, and you moan when you felt the evidence of your respective release further stain the lingerie. sylus takes a step back, admiring how he had completely wrecked you and the flimsy fabric with an appreciative hum. as he adjusts himself (placing his softened cock back into the confines of his boxers), you watch as he zips up his pants before gathering your crumpled clothes from the ground.

not even allowing you to remove the utterly ruined lingerie, sylus helps you put on your clothes while pocketing your panties. once your blouse was on, you watch as sylus shoves your bra into the confines of your purse, hands automatically going around your waist as he presses a lingering kiss on your temple.

“keep that purchase on you; i’ll pay for it as we walk out- i’m far from being done with you, kitten.”

unlocking the door to the fitting room, sylus grabs the key and his wallet, coming face to face with a now blushing woman that had a wide eyed gaze. he tosses a few bills at her as payment for your latest purchase all while giving your backside a firm smack!

as you both walk out of the boutique, you basked in everyone’s shocked expression (red face and all!) while showing them your own, victorious smile-

having the leader of onychinus as your lover meant that you would always have free reign to do whatever you wished to do (since everyone feared him and would never wish to go against him), and even if you weren’t born with the world given to you on a silver platter-

sylus was all too willing to fix that and make it a reality for you.

end notes: so i had a n a u g h t y daydream earlier and decided to make it a r e a l i t y… (⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[biteyoubiteme]

a good seat

yeonjun x fem!reader

warnings: 🔞!!! thigh riding, brat!reader, eye contact lol, yeonjun calls reader a slut once prob forgot some sorry wc: 1k ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ an: this is for the light of my life @apeachty who wants to be mean a blessing and talk to me about yeonjuns thighs, you put this worm into my head and it wouldnt leave me alone so now here is the fruit of your labor, you didn't ask for it and it’s not the best but eh I hope you enjoy it lol also this is not proofread forgive me sweet angels

[m.list]

You never meant to be a brat, or at least not to the point that it had gotten to recently. And it was never what he did that made you behave in a different way, but always just when you fell into a mood without realizing it. Mostly after a night out with friends, where you sit on the edge of the bed watching him undress. He had taken your shoes off for you at the door, bending down on one knee, gently holding your calf, using any excuse he could to touch you. 

He had been so sweet all night, and now you set out to toy with him just because you could. “Aren't you going to get undressed? Get cozy," Yeonjun nodded, jutting his chin in your direction to let you know he could see you waiting for him.  

“No,” it had been so easy to say when he was half-hidden behind the doorway to the bathroom. Because one look from him and you would be putty, melting around his commands with only apologies and whimpers as a reply. And currently, you felt like playing no matter how both of you knew who always had the better hand. 

“No?” he stepped into view, jeans unbuttoned, unzipped, leaving his pants hanging loose on his hips. His tank top clinging to the panes of his stomach just right, all the exposed skin of his arms crumbling your brain into a cluster of half-formed sentences. The most you could get out was enough to repeat yourself, your “No,” sounding less confident looking him down now. 

It was all he needed you to say before he walked to his side of the bed, pushing down his jeans letting them pool right by the nightstand, the fabric of his underwear clinging to him just enough to leave nothing hidden. Yeonjun sat right on the edge, spreading his legs just enough to have you fit between them, exactly where he wanted you as he tapped his thigh as a call for you to come over. 

It's exactly what you wanted, attention, so it was easy to find yourself in front of him, arms crossed, eyes falling to his lap over and over, enough so that he had to tip your chin with his knuckle to get you to look at his face. “No, my eyes are here, this,” he taps his leg again, “is your seat,” 

It was all he said before he had you straddling his thigh, your hands digging into his shoulders, trying and failing to bite back your moans when he held your hips, dragging you back and forth. He didn't care how bratty you thought you were being, he knew exactly how to work you to the edge of an orgasm and exactly how to make you fall back in line. He didn't even have to do much convincing, just tug your panties down and say a few little words. 

But it wasn't like yeonjun wasn't affected, your knee pressed to the hardening bulge between his legs. The second he felt exactly how wet you were against him, he had moaned, deep in the back of his throat on instinct, never fully able to silence himself when it came to you. And your head had fallen forward, dipping down to hide the way you bit your lip, keeping any noise from slipping out. “No look at me, let me see my little slut begging me for more than just my thigh,” 

Yeonjun was playing with fire, your clit grinding down on his thigh like a match striking the box, igniting and catching, close enough to burn. He had asked for you to look at him but the second your eyes were on him he was ready to break, twist so that he could push right into you, keeping you pressed to the mattress until the sun came back around. But it wasn't until you started to beg, just like he asked, that he felt the struggle set in. “Please,” your nails dug into the fabric of his tank top, hips rocking and rocking as he flexed his thigh to aid the pressure you needed. 

This was only another form of you practicing being a brat, you knew how to rile him up, knew that if you leaned into his demands he'd snap and wouldn’t help himself from getting his fill. “Please jjunie, please,” you whined, his fingers digging into your hips, needing something to ground him as he clenched his jaw. He wouldn't give in, he told himself he wouldn't, and yet your sweet mewls only made him harder. “I’ll be good,” you promised, a gasp catching right in your throat when he helped you find the right rhythm, orgasm building in the pit of my stomach. Your need was palpable, your brows scrunching as you tried to keep your head up to look at him, show him just how needy you were, “please,” it was nearly a cry, your hands slipping down his chest, balling the fabric in your fists as you held him. Cunt so wet against his thigh that it was easy to keep you moving even when you started to tremble. 

“If you cum I'll give it to you,” but even if you couldn't finish he would flip the two of you over, he would be desperate enough to just drag you the few inches he needed so that he could sink into you sitting up just like this. “I want my pretty girl to get off right here against my thigh first,” 

“But-” You couldn't finish your thought, one hand falling to his clothed bulge, palming him over the fabric before you felt your orgasm crash into you. You were a shaking mess, whining so pretty for him that he wasted no time in dragging you closer to him, needing to be in you before your mind cleared. Needing to feel exactly how he made you feel with nothing but his thigh. 

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @no1likemybbgcharlie @chasingthatjjunie @taegyutomorrow @izzyy-stuff want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join!want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition pt. 2 ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

ft. gn! reader x asaba harumasa, billy kid, and seth lowell ; a follow up to my previous dating hcs (which can be found here) and a response to a request ( ^ω^ ) first post of the year（≧∇≦）i hope you enjoy reading!!

asaba harumasa

very clingy. when you're not together, he'd be texting you random little updates or beg for your attention just for the sake of talking to you if calling momentarily isn't an option. sometimes he tries to use you as an excuse to get out of work, but after he's done it a couple of times, you've become immune to always bending to his whims and suddenly he's whining about how you don't love him anymore.

["wait i'll look at your texts later brb love u ^3^" "so you hate me."]

an avid quality time enjoyer, if i've ever seen one. he's content with lazing around with you or doing mundane tasks that don't require much physical effort. likes cuddling against you when you're just sitting engrossed in doing something with your hands and reading or watching something together.

even though he usually appears and acts lighthearted, deep down, he's genuinely happy with you and the relationship you share. he cherishes every moment you can spend together and wishes it could go on for as long as he lives. you're the person he refers to as family when on one of his much-dreaded doctor appointments.

alongside the nightmares he already has regarding his sickness, he'd have times when he'd wake up in a cold sweat from dreams of losing or leaving you and the people he cares for. thankfully, on the days you sleep over, he has you; he's comforted by the sight of your sleeping figure and clings to you for the rest of the night.

on a lighter note, sharing a bed with this man is probably a chaotic experience on a dreamless night; initially, you'd both fall into slumber comfortably cuddled against each other, but the following morning, one of you would be seconds away from suffocating in a vice grip.

billy kid

loves playing games with you. he's usually competitive when playing against you but when you're both on a team together, he's suddenly the biggest cheerleader there is. if both of you lose, that's totally fine! you'll get it next time. what matters to him is that you had fun together.

deeply appreciates it and enjoys when you match him nerd-for-nerd, even if you don't share a lot of similar interests. you take turns randomly info-dumping about any piece of media or activity you're into and both of you pay genuine attention to whatever the other is talking about. he loves listening to you passionately talk or share anything about any topic because you do the same for him.

adding on to the previous point: both of you make jokes about liking your favorite fictional characters or celebrities more, just to be playfully petty.

["if you had to choose between me or monica, who would you pick?" "...well, yes!" "..." "alright, then. between me and /insert favorite character/--" "that's unimportant."]

after spending so much time with him, you already know which maintenance products he likes for himself or his guns. kind of like how other people know what shampoo or body wash their partner prefers. when you see he's running out and you buy them without telling him, he'll notice and be weeping tears of joy.

if you take a while to open up to him about certain things, he's alright with that and will tell you to take your time or give you the space you need. he's been the same when it comes to sharing his past with other people and understands that some things do take courage to tell.

seth lowell

despite having been in a relationship for a while, he most likely still gets easily flustered from any vaguely flirty quip and intimate gesture that comes from you. you could use this knowledge to your advantage but do have mercy on the poor guy.

[there was one instance where you gave him a quick peck on the lips without giving much thought to it before leaving and all he could do was stay where he was with his brain buffering for a whole minute.]

even though he's somewhat shy about expressing his admiration or appreciation for you and sometimes stumbles through his words when doing so, he's sincere in everything he says and does for you.

you're one of the very few people he trusts with touching his tail and ears. it's come to the point where when you're both just laying together, he wouldn't mind the feeling of your fingers gently rubbing on a certain spot on his ears while you run your fingers through his hair.

he appreciates that you see him for who he is and acknowledge his efforts to get where he is now. your affirmations, whether spoken or unspoken, mean much to him and he feels like he can truly be comfortable when he's around you.

sometimes, he unknowingly acts or does very attractive things and it just blows your mind. he'd steer you by the waist from bumping into things or, if you're shorter, accidentally pin you against a wall/surface when trying to reach for something from a high place because he just wants to help! you should be more careful, you know. but you've already mentally imploded while your sweet, sweet boyfriend remains clueless.

[jesuistrestriste]

thinking about alien!art who literally is heads over heels in love with you from the moment he lands on earth.

he tries to court you with alien rituals and gifts from his home planet with his broken english

he always begs you to pull out your telescope so he can point out his planet to you </3

this is soo cuteeee ahhhh

his pretty eyes looking all over you for the first time while he gets in your personal space — and he doesn’t know the concept of that or why his closeness would make u uncomfortable so he’s confused when u step back from him:( but then he’s gifting you bags of sparkling gems and vials of uniquely flavored sweet liquids that he brought with him from his planet to hopefully win your affection

he lays his head on your shoulder when you two stargaze every night, and he cries for the first time in your arms when he finds out what homesickness is. he’s clinging to you and rubbing his face in your neck, softly sobbing about his community so far away..

but he loves it on earth with you, and he doesn’t want to leave. he feels so deeply intertwined with your soul, finding it hard to imagine anything that could change how much he adores you.

while he doesn’t necessarily look too different from humans on earth, one might be able to tell when they see him looking utterly bewildered at the sight of couples in public pressing their lips together. he’s like ? what? is that ? why are they doing that :( ? are they trying to eat one another ? is that what beings on earth do ?

so you’ve gotta be the one to explain kissing to him. sigh.

[ubeb0nes]

HCs for Sevika w/ an oral fixation

Ooo baby this one is sin

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This one is based off a hc by @justhereforsubsevika !!! Thank you for the sevi brainrot food my friend 😫

cw: smut. (mostly) bottom!sevika (TEEHEE)

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Those are some of the prettiest, most captivating lips south of Noxus. They were meant to always be wrapped around something; or, parted and filled until she gagged.

She is an absolute munch. She'd live between your legs if you'd allow it. Morning wood? No, morning munchies.

You wake up every morning, without fail, to Sevika peppering your skin with kisses. You can tell sleep is still clinging to her mind like it is yours, because her kisses fade in and out with minute pauses when she nearly falls back asleep for a moment.

And yet, she's still kissing down your body, lingering to lavish your lower stomach with special attention before she rises back to kiss under your ear.

"Can I have it, baby?" She'll ask in a morning voice that could have Janna herself laying back and spreading.

Her fingers are busying themselves teasing the hem of your underwear, and are deftly ripping away the damnable boundary once you emphatically say yes.

She'll always give you those begging eyes while she goes down on you, as if pleading with you for even more of your essence down her throat. She can never have enough of you. Her mind melts away when you're between her lips, all she can comprehend is you, your taste, and how you fall apart in her mouth.

Eating you out is by far her favorite past-time, she would say it's a hobby of hers even, but it's more than even that; it's literally a passion of hers. Sevika daydreams about your pussy, eyes glazing over mid-workday as she traces out your clit in her mind.

MUNCH

Once you two are together, she can't even masturbate without something resembling your pussy with her. In her mouth, specifically.

You get Sevika the custom-made fleshlight as an anniversary gift, handing it to her with a giggle (mostly bc you'd wrapped it in a way where it was very obvious what it was).

"Please make sure I catch you using it," you murmur in her ear with a groan, palming her cunt through her pants to drive home your point. And if bby can do one thing, it's follow orders!

On the night that Sevika first uses it, she gets home a little earlier than you do from work. There's rarely a night where she doesn't need to blow off some steam from dealing with the repercussions of Silco's blunders, or the general headassery of the Chem-barons.

You're not home yet, and she's particularly impatient. She takes the fleshlight out from the nightstand (with a strange sense of bashfulness lol), running her fingers gently over the replica of your pussy lips. She bites her lip, imagining your breathy moans at her light touches.

She lays down on her stomach on the bed, pillow tucked under her hips and propping her pretty ass even further up in the air. She holds the fleshlight with her mechanical hand in front of her face like she's laid between your legs, while the other pumps one of your longer dildos slowly in and out of her pussy…

Sevika doesn't know how she ever touched herself without it beforehand. Stars are shooting around behind her eyes as she traces her tongue over the perfectly-replicated folds of your pussy. There's something so painfully lewd- borderline humiliating- about what she's doing that makes her even more wet.

She loves it, she loves it so much and she's pumping the dildo even faster, her hips bucking as she sucks on "your" clit, eyes rolling back as she swears she can taste you. She can practically hear you cooing her ear, calling her a good girl while your hand strokes over her ass-

Oh, but you are cooing in her ear. And your hand's drifted down to the cock between her legs, taking control and slowing the pace down until she was whimpering. Big, strong Sevika, whimpering.

"Shhh, baby, it's okay, I'm here. Keep eating that little toy of yours out, keep being good."

The little moan of submission she gives shoots straight up your spine, and it takes all of your willpower not to fuck her silly with the dildo. You keep pumping it slowly, bottoming out with each stroke just to hear that restrained whimper in the back of her throat.

Sevika looked so good when you stepped into the bedroom, hips rutting against your pillow as she fucked into herself, face buried in your pussy. She was consumed by you, and it drove you absolutely insane.

You appreciate getting to see from a different angle how she looks when she eats you out. It's so clear that she's eating you out for her own pleasure (the fuckin' brat) rather than your own, as she practically makes out with the fleshlight.

Against all rationale, you're almost jealous. Then you remember, you're in charge.

"Enough of that. Lay on your back." And then, you're climbing up to sit on her pretty face (not without giving her a proper hello kiss first, ofc), leaning over her with a broken moan to continue fucking her with the dildo.

You'd think she hadn't had a proper meal in days with how loudly she moans into your pussy. Her hands clamp down on your hips, pulling you down to smother her face. And suddenly… you're not nearly as in charge as her tongue is.

"B-baby… please, wait, it's so much, oh!" You're whimpering as you rest your forehead on her stomach, your wrist lazily pumping the dildo in and out of her. It's funny how quickly that wicked tongue can break your more dominant spirit.

She won't stop suckling on your clit, muttering "so good, so sweet" in that fucked-out tone of hers that lets you know Sevika's gone. All that's in her place are her whims, all of which have to do with having you in her mouth.

She's pulling your third orgasm of the night out of you, which at that point your throat is raw from screaming and begging for more. You rapidly tap on her thigh, squeaking out a high-pitched string of "please"'s that cause her to release you with a pop.

That puppy-eyed look is back as you two readjust, with you laying back on the bed and her bracketed between your legs. "Was that good?" She asks, her mind still hazy, and sinking back into her subspace as you massaged her scalp.

"So good, Sevi," you praised. She smirked pridefully, dipping down between your legs to give your pussy a kiss. She laughs softly when your hips buck, and you push her face back with a whine.

"The real thing's still better," she says, reaching up to grasp one of your hands as her languid, loving kisses branched out.

[dollfacefantasy]

How’d you think frank would react to reader in subspace! You’re literally one of the only people writing for frank and your writing is so so brilliant!🙂‍↕️

frank castle x fem!reader cw: mdni (18+), smut at the beginning but after that it's just fluff, brief daddy kink a/n: thank you so much angel <33 i gotta keep my fellow frank freaks fed 😤

frank knows you're dropping from the broken whine you let out and the way your hands become grabby, pulling at his shoulders to try and get him as close as physically possible. you always get that way when you start to sink.

he has you on your back beneath his muscular frame, your knees hooked over his shoulders while his cock batters your pussy. his pelvis slams against your center over and over in rough thrusts. he's just pounding you in search of his release.

you'd already cum twice. once on his tongue and once on his cock. the static of overstimulation chipped away at your sensibilities and made you vulnerable. it left you needing him. depending on him.

"just one more for me, baby. c'mon. i know you got it in you," he grunts as his eyes flutter.

"mmm... frankie," you whine. your glossy eyes search to connect with him amidst the haze of lust surrounding you. you babble out the next word while blinking slowly. "daddy..."

he groans at the slurred quality of it. "i'm right here, sweetheart. just gotta cum for me. squeeze me nice and tight."

in this state of mind, defiance isn't an option. you feel your belly starting to flutter along with your legs beginning to flex. the orgasmic spool inside you unravels as though his words work as a direct physical command.

you cry out and arch your back. your arms loop around his neck to cling to him like you're at risk of losing him. your teeth dig into your bottom lip as more choked, pitiful sounds explode out of you. he can feel tears leak from your eyes against his shoulder. you're so close to his ear that he can hear the soft sniffles.

"that's my baby. that's my girl. my good fuckin' girl. so fuckin' good for me, fuck," he grumbles against your skin, his own words trailing off and becoming incoherent.

he presses down on you harder to the point that you're completely squished against the mattress under his weight. his cock is so deep inside you that it'd probably hurt if you were more lucid.

most of the time, he was more gentle with you. everywhere but the bedroom, he treated you as though you were a tiny doll made of glass. when he was close like this though, on the brink draining his balls inside you, being careful felt like something only possible in dreams.

he crashes over the edge hard, growling against your neck and clutching the sheets. his breath comes out in ragged pants as pure euphoria washes through him. you let out tiny squeaks below him, but they're not of much concern right now.

it's after the blissful fog settles that he tends to you.

he rolls off of you once he's almost all the way down. his back hits the bed, and cool air flows between both of your bodies. you lie there for a few moments as if you're dead. if not for the quick rise and fall of your chest, that's what someone may think. your eyes stare at the ceiling, blank and unthinking. tears trail down your temples.

after a few seconds, you start to turn onto your side. you curl up, pupils still cloudy and face void of any specific emotion. in these brief eclipses after sex and before totally settling down, your mind gets stuck in a weird limbo. all you can think about is him. you want him holding you, touching you, taking care of you. but you can't ask for it. can't verbalize the desire for any of that. in the beginning stages of your relationship, he thought you were trying to forget he was beside you.

but now he knows better.

he places a hand on the divot in your waist and pulls you back to him, not letting you draw in on yourself. his nose brushes behind your ear while his lips plant soft kisses on your throat.

"no hiding from me, babydoll. you did so good," he whispers. his hand caress your warm skin, trying to reel you back to him.

you still don't have any words, but your muscles relax for him in an instant. he can feel it under his fingers.

"that's right. i got you, daddy's got you," he mumbles, "let's get you cleaned up."

he rises to his feet on his side of your bed and drags your limp body across it so he can hoist you up into his arms. in your more playful moments, he might throw you over his shoulder, tease you about how he used to have to carry guys like this when he was in the marines. but you're not giggling or squirming right now, so he doesn't.

he scoops you up like a bride and walks over to the bathroom in your apartment. that's when you start coming back a little. you nuzzle at his chest, your warm breath fanning across his muscle.

"there she is," he mumbles.

inside the bathroom, he sits you on the countertop. you lean back against the mirror while he goes to turn on the shower. the surface is cool on your skin. your eyes flutter shut as you relax a bit more.

only seconds later, he's back in front of you. he stands between your thighs and cups your face in one large hand. as quickly as they shut, your eyes pop back open to look at him.

"how're you feeling, pretty girl?" he asks, voice quiet and rough.

you nod in response as if it's a yes or no question. pushing off the mirror, you drape your arms around his shoulders again and press your face to his skin.

"'m ok," you sigh, "just a little sleepy."

"yeah, you are," he says with the hint of a smile gracing his features, "you can knock out as soon as we're done, ok? just let me take care of you."

again, you nod. you never had any objections to handing control over to frank. he lifts you from the counter again and walks into the shower with you.

the hot water streams down onto your bodies below. it trickles from his skin to yours, relaxing both of your muscles. you shut your eyes and keep your head on his shoulder. his fingers twirl in small patterns on your back as he sets you down. the tile is cold on the soles of your feet. you still have to lean against him for balance.

vaguely, you feel his hands running over your body. they’re slippery, slicked up with your sweet-smelling body wash. you swear you hear his deep voice humming, vibrating in his chest beneath your ear, but it could be your imagination.

in total, it feels like the shower is only seconds long. you know you’ve been in there for longer, you felt him run through your whole routine. but time melts away in your mind when you're in this state.

as soon as you’ve acclimated to the smooth surface underfoot, he’s guiding you off of it and onto the cushioned mat outside the shower. you stand there, managing a few lazy blinks.

he laughs softly at that. “few more minutes, sleepy girl.”

with an old towel from the rack, he dries you off. he’s quick but thorough, getting every last little bead of water off of you without being tedious about it.

he scoops you back up after that. your arms and legs latch around him, holding on as he carries you to the bedroom and plops you down on the bed.

“time for sleep?” you yawn, stretching your limbs a bit.

"nice try but you gotta put on some clothes, baby. don't want you catching a cold," he says before heading over to the dresser and grabbing a top for you along with some panties.

"that's not how it works, y'know," you correct while lazily watching him return to you. he tosses the scraps of fabric next to your body on the mattress.

"oh you're a doctor now, huh?" he mutters before tapping your ankle, "put your legs up."

you do as he says without complaint, lifting your legs high into the air so he can pull your panties over them.

"i'm just saying, i wouldn't get sick from sleeping naked," you yawn.

shaking his head, he grabs one of your outstretched arms to pull you up right. despite regaining your ability to speak, you still looked at him with that same dreamy smile you got when you were blissed out.

he tugs the sweatshirt over your head. it was one of his, one of the newer, softer ones you'd bought for him. he'd owned it just long enough and worn it the right amount of times needed for it to smell like him.

"there you go," he says softly and pulls you to his chest for a few seconds. he just feels you in his arms for a moment, pressed against him, safe and sound. as much as you loved being babied, part of the reason he took care of you was for himself too.

he kisses your forehead and then lets you lie down.

"you get comfy, babydoll. i'm gonna put some clothes on, and then i'll be right back," he says before departing to tend to himself for a few minutes.

when he does come back, he's surprised you haven't passed out already. instead, you're tucked under the blankets and curled up to a pillow, waiting for him. you reach out with another grabby hand to signal your desire for him.

"i'm coming," he mutters as he rolls onto the mattress beside you and loops his muscular arm behind your head.

you nuzzle right up to his chest, draping your own limbs over his body. he feels your lips lay a small kiss on his chest.

"get some sleep, baby. don't want you to be all cranky in the morning," he murmurs and shifts a little to engulf you with his frame.

"you're the one who gets cranky..." you reply. but you follow along anyways and shut your eyes. his body heat combined with your soft bedding has you drifting off in no time.

[mayasaurusss]

Hi! I have an idea, it would be nice if you could write it (if you want to). Something happened what made Isha and Jinx too nervous to go to sleep, and reader sings a lullaby to them to make them calm down

Lullaby for a pained heart Contains: heartbreak, pain and comfort, found family trope, fluff, bonus with Vi. How can Jinx sleep after what happened today?

"I am sorry about this..." Jinx looks at you with those big pink eyes of hers, fear barely concealed in the space of her throat. You reassure her to the best of your abilities, covering her under an old, thin blanket. Isha, who decided to sleep next to Jinx tonight, tries to snuggle next to her friend, searching for warmth, but finding only the cold body of the bluenette and an uncomfortable nothing on the other side.

"What for? You know I won't judge you" she just huffs in response, throwing the blanket over her shoulders and pushing her nose on the mattress. "I know but...it's still embarrassing" she can feel her pride slowly wither away, under fear's pressure. She closes her eyes briefly and suddenly, her world is filled by orange hues, smoke flowing in the skies, blood mixing with dust and a monster that so much resembled her father clawing at the corpses of fallen soldiers.

The world resumes its colours, blinding and nauseating her. Her body involuntarily jumps from its position, saliva and the contents of her dinner dangerously close to spilling from her mouth. "Hey, Jinx! Calm down!" you take her shoulders beneath your hands, her strength melted away; she's frail under your touch, shivering and sweating. Her heart is beating too fast, and to put her mind to rest, she crashes onto you, arms clinging tightly to your shoulders and hiding her face in the space between her chest and yours. If you had the time to make jokes, you'd tell her she looks like a scaredy cat. Jinx searches for warmth in your body, finding only cold clinging on your clothes. She quickly puts her ear to your heart, listening for its rhythm, repeating it in her head over and over again.

You let her rest, knowing that what she saw today is worse than anything you've ever gone through: in just a few hours, she learned that her father was alive, became a monster, found her long lost sister and almost witnessed the death of someone who was very close to her. That someone now, who had been left alone during this whole interaction of yours, was watching the two of you with barely hidden sadness, tears wettening her eyes, her mind instantly remembering that second where she made peace with what was about to happen, pointing the gun at that mass of hulking strength, ready to pull the trigger. Isha, as quietly as possible, starts to cry. A deaf sobbing, interrupted by sniffs and whimpers comes from her, alerting both you and Jinx. "Isha..." before she can say anything more, the kid slams into Jinx, crawling between the two of you. Her tears wet the base of the bluenette's neck, wailing freely her fears and sadness away. You let the both of them cry until no tears were left, only warmth and tenderness. "You went through a lot today" with your hand, you take the blanket and wrap it around you, this time joining them on the bed. "Let's just be here, okay?". Several minutes pass by, not one sound can be heard besides the one of your breathings and an occasional sniffle.

"When I was a kid, my mother would always sing a lullaby for me when I woke up from a nightmare" painted with watercolors, her mother took her in her arms, singing an old lullaby, her voice lost in the blank spots of the page. Jinx can never quite remember her mother, her face always lost beneath the mixing colours; only her voice and warmth were left behind.

"Can you... can you sing one for me?" she watches as you crane your neck down and smile at her, a smile that she only ever saw on her sister's lips and on a woman with blue hair, a long time ago. A smile that people reserved especially for her. You adjust your position on the bed, sinking inside the pillows. Jinx's head is placed above your chest, with Isha hugging your stomach, pushing herself between you and your lover. Truth to be told, you somewhat feel embarrassed to sing a lullaby to these two, but you could never resist them. You try to dig for a tune inside your mind, finally finding one you heard many years ago, when you were Isha's age.

Slowly you start to hum a lullaby, one without lyrics, one of those mothers make up on the spot, trying to put their children to sleep. At first, Jinx pouts, wanting to hear words coming from you. But as the notes ever so slowly change, her eyelids become heavier, the traces of smoke clear from her brain, leaving her empty and tired. Isha nuzzles in the crevice your and Jinx's body makes, burrowing herself in like a little mole. Her mind wonders briefly on how beautiful and safe this warmth feels, before falling fast asleep, already dreaming about what she and her best friends will do tomorrow. Jinx follows her shortly, with a comfortable silence filling her mind.

Bonus: Vi walks underneath Zaun's rain, black dye melting away and leaving pink behind. She takes a last blow from her cigarette, one Vander had given her years ago, as a little prize to be kept. It has an awful taste, lost under years of fitting snugly in a pocket in Vi's pants.

Even after running back with her sister and her new unlikely friend to the city, away from prying eyes, she couldn't feel safe. What if someone saw them? What if Ambessa would hunt them down? What would happen to Caitlyn? And what does Vi do, when her principles are shaken and the world changes faster than her mind can keep up with? She runs. She watched as her sister, her Powder looked at her with a knowing pain as she left the workshop. Years ago, she had watched her with those same eyes; but today, that pure desperation had been replaced with a veiled pain and something akin to wisdom. Powder, no, Jinx had seen things during those years they grew apart, and had become stronger than that kid who she left in the alley. Her little sister had grown.

But unlike her sister, she could never let herself give into comfort. Comfort was a trap, something that life gives you to let your guard down, before stabbing you in the back.

The rain now feels heavy on her head, each drop carrying the unmistakable smell of machinery and toxic smoke with it.

It's time to go back. With a sigh, Vi leaves her spot on the ground, walking back to Jinx's home. The room is slightly darker than it was when she left it, only lit by a handful of colorful lights hanging from the ceiling and the bed her sister sleeps in. She zeroes in on the mattress, flight or fight instincts already kicking in, before realizing the bed is occupied by three figures she knows. Walking as slowly and quietly as possible, Vi arrives at the foot of your bed, watching your sleeping figures. Your nest reminds her of how things used to be before everything went to shit.

She wishes she could let herself be vulnerable, to feel the love of a now distant home once again. She quickly glances around the room, watching every shadow, before assessing that everything is fine. No one is going to see, right? Vi drags an old chair from Jinx's desk, placing it at the foot of the bed before falling on top of it, wood scraping against wood. Her mind feels heavy, her heart tired and her limbs weak. She finally gives in, placing the top of her body on the bottom of the bed, where everyone's legs intertwine. As she falls asleep, Vi wants to believe that she can finally have a home, among these people.

Outside, Zaun's rain falls down.

[monster-disaster]

[monsters] New Year's resolution

monsters x human!Reader Good to know: no warnings

Summary: Your New Year's resolution leads to a very intense week in the gym.

“She is the one.”

Kiron frowns. His dark eyes scan through the crowd, searching. “Which one?”

“That pretty girl in the black sweatshirt,” Diran replies, nodding subtly in your direction. “She just left the reception desk.”

“Oh,” Decar hums. The deep baritone of his voice barely rises above the monotone drone of the treadmills. “And she has a membership card. She’s serious.”

Kiron snorts, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Yeah, so is half the city. It’s January, after all.”

Decar’s lips curl into a slow, predatory smirk, just enough to show a hint of his canines. “Well, then, let’s make sure she doesn’t quit after a week, shall we?” His vivid green eyes gleam under the bright fluorescent lights as he watches you take a tentative step closer to a row of sleek, whirring machines. Your gaze darts around, clearly lost and unsure and so blissfully unaware of their scrutiny.

“Boys,” Nara speaks up finally. Her voice cuts through the clang of weights like a pleasant melody. “You will scare her away.”

“Well, do you have a plan?” the orc asks, arching an eyebrow in challenge, though, he already knows the answer, of course. Nara always has a plan.

The succubus flashes a sharp, knowing smile that lights up her face with an air of effortless confidence. “Just watch and see.” The promise in her tone is undeniable.

It is the first Monday of the year, and the gym is full of new beginnings. The air hangs heavy with the potent mix of sweat, disinfectant from the freshly cleaned machines, and the weight of resolutions.

The guys watch as Nara strides toward you. Her steps are confident and fluid as she easily waves through the crowd. The blue yoga outfit she likes so much clings to her in all the right places. The light shade looks like the summer sky on her pastel purple skin. Her black hair is piled into a messy bun, with a matching scrunchie holding it all together.

“What do you think she’s saying to her?” Diran asks, tilting his head in curiosity.

The tiger shrugs. The black stripes on his arms flex as he adjusts his stance. “Who knows.”

“I’m surprised they still have their clothes on,” Kiron remarks teasingly. The orc watches you with amusement glinting in his dark gaze. Your wide, timid eyes remain fixed on Nara. You seem caught somewhere between awe and nervousness as your fingers fidget with the sleeve of your oversized sweatshirt.

The minotaur rolls his eyes, though his lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. “We are in public,” he points out, glancing sideways at the orc, whose knowing grin only deepens.

“Exactly,” the male replies. “You know Nara.”

“Look,” Decar interrupts, nodding toward you and Nara when the succubus turns her head ever so slightly to glance back at their group with a sly curl at the corner of her lips. Your gaze follows hers, landing on them for a brief, uncertain moment. “It’s our time, guys.”

Every part of the gym buzzes with life. Seasoned members move around the equipment with familiarity while the newcomers wander around, watching and trying to get through their “newbie” embarrassment.

“Y/N,” Nara says smoothly before any of the guys can get a word in. She gestures toward the trio with a casual wave of her hand. “These are Diran, Kiron, and Decar,” she introduces them in turn. “Guys, this is Y/N. It’s her first time here.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Diran says first in a friendly and inviting tone, and the others only nod in acknowledgment. Their imposing figures are softened by their smiles, though, Decar's is more of a smirk, and Kiron's grin has a sharpness to it, but the gesture is there.

“Y/N just told me she isn’t sure where to start with her workout.”

The orc has to bite his lip to stifle a comment, his gaze flicking from Nara to you with a glimmer of mischief. “Is that true?”

You nod a bit meekly, feeling self-conscious under the weight of their attention. “It all looks a bit overwhelming,” you admit, gesturing vaguely toward the expansive gym filled with unfamiliar equipment and bustling energy.

“It’s understandable,” Diran says with a reassuring nod. He is calm and grounded, a stark contrast to the others. “We all started somewhere.”

“That’s what I told her,” Nara interjects, flashing a grin as she effortlessly reclaims control of the conversation. “So, I offered to help her out.”

Kiron raises a brow, a sly look creeping onto his face as he exchanges a glance with the succubus. “Oh?”

“I thought we could show her some workout routines,” the woman says, her grin widening. “I don’t start my beginner class until next Monday, but if you’d like, Y/N, you can come early tomorrow, and I will give you a private yoga session.”

Decar snickers at the offer, but the low rumble of his chest gets drowned by all the noises around them. Of course Nara would claim the first opportunity to guide the sweet, wide-eyed newcomer. It’s only fair, after all. “That’s a great idea, Nara." The humor in his tone is evident.

The woman smirks at the tiger. “I know, right?”

The male crosses his arms, his tail swishing idly behind him. “I could show you some boxing moves on Wednesday,” he offers. “It’s a great way to build confidence.”

“And I can show you around the machines on Thursday,” the minotaur adds. “They can be tricky if you are new to them.”

The orc’s lips curl into a slow, dark grin. His tusks catch the bright lights from above. “And when you are all stretched and ready, we can end the week with some weightlifting on Friday.”

[skybreakprimeonao3]

Whenever Din slept, it was almost always in the same position; arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles, head tilted forward. It was a habit he picked up while bounty hunting, especially while in space. The Razor Crest had alarms for almost anything that could pull the ship from hyperspace, but Din would rather stay in the cockpit and nap there.

The position worked well on planet too. Tracking a bounty was a lot of waiting, and depending on the cantina, people were less likely to pester the Mandalorian sleeping in the corner booth. Din wouldn’t dare actually sleep in public, that would be monumentally stupid. But while people thought he was asleep, he was actively scanning his surroundings, checking on the Razor Crest’s systems through his helmet, while keeping a weapon hidden by his arms.

Even if he slept in the small bunk on the Razor Crest, there was very little room to move. With his arms over his chest and his legs crossed, his body knew it was time to rest and stay still, so he continued the habit.

That only changed after he got Grogu. The child had the pram to sleep in, but Din had woken up enough times to find himself cradling Grogu’s body while they slept. At first, he would sigh and put the child back into the pram, but after a while, the small bit of weight became a comfort. Din would wake up, see Grogu, and made sure he was secure before going back to sleep.

Having an actual bed was harder to adapt to. He had a room at Luke’s Jedi school, there for when he visited, and the bed was comfortable to the point that his body didn’t know what to do. He got no sleep the first night, and on the second night, he dragged the blankets to the floor, laying between the wall and the bedframe. That night, he got some sleep, but it took a while to adapt to that, and then adapt to the bed.

By the time he could sleep in a normal bed, he lost his room for the upgraded privilege of sharing a bed with Luke.

And Luke slept like a multi-limbed creature desperately clinging to the nearest solid object.

Din was that solid object.

The beds were almost the same, Luke’s bed a little bit bigger, so Din had to grow used to sharing it with another person.

It didn’t matter if they went to sleep separately. If Luke stayed awake reading while Din rolled away from the light to sleep. If Din came back from a job late at night while everyone was asleep. No matter how much space was between them when they went to sleep, Din woke up with Luke’s arms curled over his waist and their legs tangled together.

Honestly, it was a surprise that Din didn’t wake up at the first touch, but his body must have recognized the safety in Luke’s embrace. Similar to how he didn’t wake up when Grogu had decided to join him while they had travelled the galaxy.

Din smiled as he stared down at the fluffy hair of his beloved, Luke’s head ending up on Din’s shoulder during the night. The rising sun turned Luke’s hair more gold, the darkness fading with each day that Luke spent outside with his students. The Jedi looked much younger asleep, and Din enjoyed the sight of his lover, even though he could only feel pins and needles from the arm under Luke.

With his free hand, he reached over and brushed the hair away from Luke’s face, letting the fingers trace over his eyebrows, the edge of his nose, across one cheek…. Din savored each moment until Luke began to stir, nose scrunching up before blue eyes blinked open at him. Recognition lit up Luke’s face and he smiled sleepily as he sat up.

And realized that he had drooled in his sleep over Din’s sleep shirt.

Din caught the expression of mortification on the Jedi’s face and couldn’t contain his laughter. After helping with children, both in the Covert and in the Jedi school, a bit of sleep drool from his lover was endearing.

[xetlynn]

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

thirteen.

[twelve] [the end]

and both of them want the other to stay.

Staring in the mirror as your heart beats against your chest anxiously. Anxious but also hopeful as you wonder about the day ahead of you. Your fingers play with the ends of your black button up shirt that matches the slightly tight slacks that you bought last minute. As you had completely forgotten about the dress code until Ekko said something. 

The only pop of brightness being on your face with the glittery gold eyeshadow upon your eyelids. Along with your light pink gloss that was kind of sticky as you pop your lips every now and then. A body comes up next to you and you force a smile, wiping the front of your shirt down. “Ready?” You beam with a false positive tone. Something that’s been so… frequent. Consistent, lately. Maybe you've been like this forever. 

No one’s that happy. Well, that’s what everyone says but at some points in your life it was the truth. And nothing but the truth. “Mm, to get made fun of? For sure. But I’m so excited to see your masterpiece you’ve somehow hid from everyone.” Gert nudges you with their shoulder before checking herself out in your mirror. 

The door slams open, Powder tripping into the dorm room with sweat dripping down her forehead. “I can’t find my bracelet!” She squeals and you raise a brow. “The one on your wrist?” You cock your head to the side and she glances down at her skin and she closes her eyes. Collapsing to the ground. “I’ve been looking for this thing for thirty minutes.” She grumbles causing you and Gert to laugh loudly. 

She stands back up and eyes the two of you suddenly with a straight face. The two of you stiffen. “You guys look hot…” She murmurs, and you giggle, awing at her words. “You are so pretty, Pow!” You exclaim, motioning to her outfit. A white blouse with a black pencil skirt. The dress code was white for guests. Black for the artists. It was a very last minute thing but a very cute concept. 

“Ugh, you’re going to make me blush.” Powder waves you away, pretending to be bashful. Gert scrunches her nose with a small chuckle. “We should get heading to the building, I got a text from Mylo saying they’re already there.” She speaks up and the two of you raise a brow at her. Gert rolls her eyes. “Knock it off, you know we’ve been texting a little bit.” She shoves you into Powder. 

“Losers! We’re here!” You wave your arm in the air dramatically, feeling the cold breeze hit your face as your legs quickly move beneath you. Carrying you towards the large building with your two friends that all clinged onto one another. Claggor, Mylo and Ekko turn to see you three, hugging themselves as they shiver. “We’re going to be late, [Name]. Let’s go!” Ekko ignores your words and your jaw slacks open. “Why are you only acknowledging me, Gert’s gonna be late as well.” You pout your lips. 

“It’s your fault and I know it, let’s go!” He grits his teeth against the cold, grabbing the both of you and hurrying inside. Not without blowing a kiss to his girlfriend in the process. She snickers, now in between her older brothers. Claggor shakes his head. “They still have ten minutes.” He informs the blue-haired girl and she gazes up to him. “I know my boyfriend. Trust me, I know.” She leans into the bigger man. He wraps his arms around his sister. 

“C’mon, there’s a guest entrance where we can warm up.” Claggor leads the way, Mylo jogs ahead of them. “What are you doing?” Powder calls after him. “I’m cold! I’m not gonna walk at that slow, turtle pace like you two!” He shouts. 

And as they wait in line, buying their tickets as well as flowers for their friends, four bodies make their way over to them. Violet reaches over her little sister, snatching the bouquet of flowers in her hands. Powder’s face drops and she goes to lecture the person who did it but stops as she realizes who it is. 

Violet roars into laughter, teasing the girl who’s face turns a bright red. “Oh, you’re so irritating!” Powder takes the bouquet back, gently shoving Vi who goes back to standing beside her girlfriend. “Yeah. yeah. When do we go into the room?” Vi asks, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Five minutes.” Claggor answers. 

“Why are you guys here?” Powder questions, her eyebrows furrowed at the four. Do they know people inside? Violet wouldn’t come just for [Name] nor Ekko. As close as they used to be as children they don’t speak much anymore. Either they know other people or they’re here with Viktor. Something only Powder was told about in detail. She knows how close these four are with the man that somehow has [Name] wrapped around his finger. 

“Flyers are all around campus. Can’t we appreciate art like our peers around us?” Vi seems defensive with her answer. Caitlyn lets out a breath through her nose. “Right…? Where’s your fifth? The one with the cane?” Powder folds her arms, leaning on one leg. “Our fifth?” And now Vi just seems dumb as she attempts to act oblivious. 

“Viktor wasn’t at his dorm, we assumed he’d be here.” Jayce butts into the conversation now. “He isn’t though, now we just decided to stay. See the art and judge everything.” He finishes. Powder still isn’t truly convinced but before she can say anything else Mylo speaks. “You want to see [Name]’s art too? Bitch has been hiding it from us like it’s some top secret. You haven’t heard anything about it, have you?” He quizzes them, pointing at all four of them. 

Mel and Caitlyn snicker, shaking their heads ‘no.’ “She’s keeping it a secret?” Jayce asks. 

“Yeah, I bet it’s not even that good. Acting all mysterious for no reason.” Mylo grunts, facing away from the group. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, My.” Powder sighs. “The doors are open, we can finally see what it is.” She points to the two people that look like professors standing by the heavy doors. 

“Oh, I’m so seeing what’s been taking up her time that’s used to usually bake for me on Friday’s.” Mylo stomps past the professors, quietly muttering for a hello to them. A glare is stuck across his face as he scans the room through all the sculptures for your specific style. But it quickly falls once he sees Gert beside her own art piece talking with Ekko and some other guy… Jealousy beats in his chest, he tries to swallow it down. 

He doesn’t even catch himself heading towards them, his heart racing. Someone stands in front of him, the girl he was originally searching for. “Wanna see my sculpture now?” You grin, cheesing ear to ear as you know he’s feeling quite envious right now. And you feel like being an asshole to your close friend. He stands on his tiptoes as he tries to peak over you but you lean your head in the way. 

“I asked you a question Mylooo!” You sing, grabbing his hand and dragging him away. His mouth opens to mutter something but nothing comes out. “Yeah, sure.” He says in a distracted tone that was purposely disregarded. 

The others were quickly behind the two of you, you notice the group talking behind you so you stop. “Vi? What are you guys doing here!?” You inquire with a smile laced upon your lips. “They say they’re here to appreciate their peers' art.” Powder chimes in with a smart ass tone. Vi gave her a look immediately. 

“Yeah, aha… We noticed the flyers and I remembered you did sculpting. Had to come support.” Violet lies and you knew she was but you didn’t comment on it. “Well, I hope you enjoy what you see! Come find me when you see mine! Just remembered I have to go talk to my professor, see ya!” You found yourself growing nervous at the sight of Viktor’s friends. Almost embarrassed. You chirp a swift goodbye, letting go of Mylo and hurriedly walking away from the group. 

You wished you had asked them where Viktor was but in the same breath that would’ve been horrible. Doing it in front of everyone. You’d get teased for days by Powder. 

The group all look at one another, sort of shrugging your behavior off. All now searching for your sculpture. 

You genuinely did have to talk to your professor, that part wasn’t a lie but it was definitely an excuse to get away from the group. 

The seven search through each note, waiting until they spot your initials or your name. It was taking too long, anticipation filling their every nerve. Powder got too annoyed and decided to separate from the group, heading to her boyfriend and just leeching onto him. He had already shown her his sculpture. 

“Is that her initials?” Mel points to the paper in front of a rather large sculpture, it was almost teasing the others because of what the creation was. It took them this long to spot it as well. It felt like a slap to the face. 

Mylo lets out a snort, covering his mouth. “I should’ve guessed.” He admires his friend’s work. Jayce and Vi stand beside one another with knowing smiles. Claggor presses his lips together tightly as Mel and Caitlyn awe and coo at it. Mel picks up the paper that explains the muse. The others hurdled around her as they read it. 

“What are you guys reading?” A voice startles them, Mel instantly placing the paper back down on the table. All of them stand in front of the sculpture. Hiding it from him. Do they know why they’re hiding it? Not really. “Oh heyyy Viktor!” Jayce drags out his words, fear adorning his face along with the others that stand on either side of him. “Hi, Jayce.” Viktor eyes him up and down, glancing at the five other figures. 

“Oh my gosh, is that Gert’s sculpture, we should go see that guys.” Mylo points to a random area in the room. The others gasp, even though the four do not have a single clue who Gert is. Going along with the shorter boy’s words. “Yeah, we definitely should.” Caitlyn encourages, pushing her girlfriend ahead. All of them scurrying away like blind mice. 

Viktor watches them with a scrunched expression, rolling his eyes and looking ahead at what they were hiding. And once his eyes land on it his mouth opens. Eyes dilating at the sight before him. 

“Your sculpture seems to be quite popular tonight…” Your professor softly speaks, bowing their head over to your sculpture. You let out a small gasp, your gaze locked on his figure that stood alone in front of what you made. “He seems awfully familiar.” They whisper before stepping away from you. 

You lift your shoulders, shimmying them slightly to shake away the anxiety that grew. Carefully walking to him. You can hear everyone’s chatter around you. Every noise echoing off the tall walls of the gymnasium. “Do you… like it?” You heard yourself speak but you don’t actually understand how you’re doing it. His focus doesn’t turn to you. Stuck on what’s in front of him. 

“I don’t know if I got your nose quite right. I had to go off memory though so, you get what you get I guess. Did you feel me staring at you in class? Cause that’s like all I did-” Your voice is cut off by a stifled laugh coming from the boy beside you. “What?” You worriedly ask. “Did I weird you out?” You tilt your head and he finally looks over at you.

Smiling, speechless. “You… are something.” He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m your muse?” He changes the subject and you purse out your lips. “I think you always have been.” You answer, going up to your sculpture, touching the copy of Viktor’s face that was partially covered by a crescent moon. All the imperfections of the moon perfectly sculptured. The craters and bumps that showed. 

“You and the moon. The way you talked about the moon, putting it into perspective for me. How you can talk about it is how I can talk and feel about you.” You avoid his gaze. Your note that explained your muse was much more simplified to how you actually felt. He knew that too as you seemed to be holding back even now. 

“How the moon is lit by the sun, getting to see its imperfections. The sun doesn’t care, doesn’t see it as imperfections. Still shining brightly upon it. The moon has its dark side, something the sun never truly gets to see. No matter how hard it tries. But from earth… you can. If you try hard enough.” You explain, loud enough for Viktor to hear. 

“I always thought of you as my sun. I think you might be my Earth though.” You admit to him. “I thought the sun was what motivated the moon. But it’s the Earth, the gravitational pull that keeps it stuck around. Not caring for the brightness or the dark. They need one another. Whether they’d like to admit it or not.” You finally turn to face him. His face was in a softened expression as he limped toward you. Taking your hands. Dropping his cane. 

Your eyes widened and you wanted to drop down to get it but he stopped you. It didn’t work though as you swiftly took it. He unexpectedly pulls you to a quiet section of the gym away from others, he forces you to lean the cane onto the wall. You were more worried about it than its owner who needed it.

“That was either the corniest, cheesiest thing anyone has ever said or the most romantic thing said to me.” Viktor teases you and your teeth bare as you make a face, ultimately agreeing with him. “Yeah, it definitely was.” You pick at your bottom lip awkwardly. 

“You’re my moon. If we’re talking about this- seriously, I used to think of you as my sun. Perfectly no matter what. I’m filled with imperfections but I never thought the same for you. I still don’t.” He informs you and you grin up at him. “Why’d you stop speaking to me for so long then. I mean I understand, I deserved it no doubt. I just, if you felt that way for me..?” You question him, your hands loosen, nervous that he’s going to want to let go but he grips tighter, his thumb gently wiping back and forth over your knuckles. 

“I was scared that the one person I thought could never do anything wrong thought of me the way everyone else did when I was younger. When those messages were sent years ago. My heart sank and I was devastated. I should’ve let you explain but I was blinded by a pain I’ve never felt before.” His voice broke just thinking back to that time of your lives and the guilt still washing over you.

“And I then met you– again, you felt familiar and I enjoyed your company. I enjoyed your presence and everything about it. To find out that you were the person who hurt me so deeply. Who made it so hard for me to trust people again. I needed the time to process it all.” Viktor was sincere with his words. You listened intently. 

“During the time I had. I realized that you were willing to fight still. To wait for me. You never stopped thinking about what happened. someone who truly intended to hurt me would never do that. They also wouldn’t sculpt my face by memory.” He reminds you and you let out a small giggle. “I also realized I was utterly, limitlessly and irrevocably in love with you.” Viktor declares. 

“Talk about corny.” You raise your brows but you can’t hide the tears that weld in your eyes. He hums. “It was quite corny… but it is the truth.” He quiets and you stare at him. Your eyes travel all around his face. You bit the inside of your cheeks, thinking. Your mind is spiraling on what to say. This is all you’ve ever wanted. This was never what you expected though. Especially tonight. 

And as you pick your own confession two arms wrap around the both of you. “You two seem to be friendly again!” Jayce proudly states, squishing the two of you together. “Yeah…” You nod your head. Violet clapped her hands excitedly but Mel and Caitlyn both pinch the bridges of their noses. “You two are idiots.” Caitlyn grumbles. 

“What?” Jayce and Violet falter and you smile over at Viktor’s annoyed face. “Let’s go.” Mel grabs her boyfriend by his shirt and he’s still confused, repeatedly asking what until his girlfriend whispers in his ear.

His face drops and his head snaps over to the two who were now walking back to your sculpture. “I’m such a dumbass!” He cries. 

The rest of the night, you spend with everyone. Of course looking over to Viktor numerous times throughout the night as each of your friends seemed to have been taking turns pulling you further and further away from him.

You mouthed an apology and that you’ll talk later as you got separated. He shrugged his shoulders, telling you it was alright.

Inside though… it was far from alright. He needed you near him. To finish that conversation from before. Something about it just didn’t feel… done. 

Viktor finds himself sitting outside upon a stone bench that the college had recently put in. He leans back, staring up at the sky. The clouds covered the one thing he was hoping to see. His cane rests between his legs. It was cold outside but unlike his friends he had brought a jacket. His nose still felt like ice nonetheless. 

You noticed Viktor missing from the group. Excusing yourself from the conversation you were in the middle of you walked to the halls first. Only seeing a couple eating each others faces and three people sitting on the ground.

You then go outside, the doors loudly opening as you push them against the wind. It almost knocked the air out of you as you stepped out.

You wandered for a little bit until you spot him. Sitting alone and staring at the cloudy, dark sky that was still brightly lit by the moon.

“Out here all alone?” You plop down beside him and he looks at you, confused on why you’re out here. “Shouldn’t you be with everyone else?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, he smiles down at you before looking back up to the sky.

And to his surprise the clouds moved to reveal what he had been wishing to see. 

“Mm, it got stuffy in there. Wanted some fresh air.” He mumbles. “Makes sense.” 

You closed your eyes, letting this moment sink in. Hearing the sounds of the wind blow against the trees. Viktor’s calm breathing. And your own heartbeat that felt like it was going to explode with giddiness.

You ignored the coldness that was quickly covering around you. Goosebumps erupting throughout your skin. 

“I love you too, I hope you know that.” You suddenly say, cutting through the comfortable silence. A smile ghosts his lips. “I know.” He assures you.

THE END! teehee.

taglist:

@policedeer @ang3lz-lov3 @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @confusedgemposts @corpsepies @almostdrowningdown @obittwo @ren-ni @donnie-is-here @urmommt @julia-lestrade @up-l4te-4t-n1ght

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (10 - Welcome Home)

Chapter Summary: “No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people. “I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 6.1k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: We've reached the end of Part 1! If you've noticed the updated series masterlist, I removed the dates of when the Part 2 chapters will be published. I've decided to take my time as I've started Law school. Rest assured this series will be completed, as I have a feeling this will be my last for this pairing/fandom // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It's getting late. Families are beginning to pack up, hauling sugar-fueled, weary kids back home, as the Halloween crowd dwindles to a few costumed stragglers. One by one, the booths start shutting down, their owners announcing fifty percent off final sales in a last-ditch effort to clear their stocks. You haven't returned from your patrol, and Billy and Tommy are nowhere to be seen. 

You should've been back by now. The boys, too. 

Wanda’s anxiety is creeping up again. She scans the square, searching faces, but none of them are yours. None of them are Billy or Tommy's. 

“Have you seen my kids, Billy and Tommy?” she asks a passing neighbor.

“Can't say I have,” he shrugs, moving along.

An uneasy feeling crawls up Wanda's spine. Where’s her family?

Then she spots Agnes, effortlessly holding court with a group of volunteers by the cotton candy stand. She hesitates, knowing full well that getting Agnes' attention usually means signing up for more than she bargained for. But if anyone has a handle on everything happening tonight, it’s her snooping, ever-present neighbor.

“Agnes!” Wanda calls out, weaving through the remnants of the crowd.

Agnes turns, eyes gleaming, her mouth already stretched wide into a blinding smile. “Wanda! What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen the boys? Or Y/N?” Wanda tries to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Oh, the boys are at my place! They heard I got a new gaming console for Ralph and just couldn't resist. Begged me to let them try it out.”

Nothing about what Agnes said makes sense. “They went to your house? Without asking me?”

“Oh, you know how boys are with their toys,” Agnes rolls her eyes. “They were so excited, I didn't have the heart to say no.”

Wanda frowns. She knows her children well—they're adventurous but always inform her or you before taking off. “They should've asked for my permission,” Wanda says.

Agnes waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. They're safe and sound, having the time of their lives.”

“That's not the point,” Wanda snaps.

Agnes laughs, head thrown back, and it makes Wanda's skin prickle. “Come on, dear. It's Halloween. Let them have a little fun.”

Wanda takes a deep breath. “It's getting late. I'd like to bring them home now.”

“Of course, of course,” Agnes says softly, her hand resting briefly on Wanda's arm. “I’ll drive you over.”

Wanda climbs into Agatha’s car, her eyes still darting around, the unease in her chest growing tighter despite having an answer about where her kids are.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Wanda can’t help but ask again, as if hoping for a different answer this time.

Agnes glances at her sideways. “Probably still on patrol. Dedicated, that one.”

Wanda nods, but it doesn’t ease the tightness in her chest. The streets feel longer than usual, stretching out like a labyrinth. Wherever you are, she hopes you’re doing okay, and that you’re nowhere near the boundary.

They arrive at Agnes' house shortly after. Wanda’s expecting the noise of video games coming from the living room, but the house is quiet and poorly-lit. 

“After you,” Agnes says, opening the door.

Wanda steps inside, a cold breeze hitting her on the face almost immediately. 

“Boys? Billy? Tommy?”

But there’s not a sign of them. In fact, there’s no sign of anyone in the house. The gaming console sits untouched near the television, controllers neatly arranged. The silence is too loud. 

Wanda spins around to face her. “Where are they?”

Agnes closes the door behind them. “Oh, they might've wandered downstairs.”

“Which way?”

“Just through the kitchen and down the stairs,” Agnes points. 

Wanda moves toward the basement door, her footsteps muted by an old rug. She opens it and descends the creaking wooden steps. 

“Boys?” Wanda calls out.

The further she goes, the cooler the air becomes. Reaching the bottom, she finds herself in a space that doesn't match the rest of Agnes’ home. 

The basement is expansive and ancient-looking, with stone walls draped in vines whose origins Wanda can't discern. There are candles spread around, making a circular enclosure of the empty spot in the middle. The room is filled with strange artifacts—old books, glass jars containing unidentifiable substances, and objects that seem out of place in a suburban home. 

But none of that catches Wanda’s attention more than the fact that her kids are nowhere to be seen.

She turns back toward the stairs but Agnes is there, blocking her path.

“Looking for something?” Agnes asks innocently.

Wanda takes several steps back, her fists balling at her sides. “Who are you?” 

Agnes looks pleased by that question. “The name’s Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear.”

—

As soon as Darcy mentioned mind control and fabricated reality, you had to get out of the car. Darcy follows suit, and you wait for the punchline, but it never comes. It sounds crazy, but then, this town has always made you feel crazy. Maybe it's not so far-fetched after all.

But what’s inconceivable is Wanda being behind all this madness.

“Wanda? My wife Wanda?” you ask weakly, knowing there’s no one—perhaps no one within a thousand miles—who shares her name.

“Yes, but not exactly,” Darcy says. “She's manipulating everything—people, places, even time. Including you.”

Including you? You don’t feel like you’re being manipulated—not exactly. But whatever this is, it’s starting to wear thin, grating at your patience.

“Is this some kind of prank? Did Agnes put you up to this?”

“I wish it were a joke,” she bemoans, sounding like she means it. “Think about it. Do you remember anything before Westview? How you got here? Your life before this?”

“Of course I do,” you insist, but as you try to recall specifics, your memories blur—faces without names, events without context.

“What's your last clear memory before moving here?”

You try to answer, but your mind keeps drawing a blank.

“Exactly,” Darcy says gently.

You shake your head. “No, this is ridiculous.”

“I know it's hard to accept, but you have to believe me. Wanda is controlling everything, and you're a part of it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you might be the only one who can stop her. The only one she'll listen to.”

“Why me?” you ask, heart pounding. “Do you even know me?”

Darcy shifts her weight under the streetlamp. “I’ve… read about you. You're Y/N, an Avenger, just like Wanda was before... before all this.”

“An Avenger?” You frown, the word sounding not entirely foreign to your tongue. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Darcy raises a brow. “You seriously don’t remember the Avengers? Earth’s mightiest heroes? You were part of a team that saved the world—multiple times.” She says it like it should trigger something, like the name alone should spark recognition. But it doesn’t. And already, you don’t like the sound of it.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a faint grimace. “Sounds like a PR stunt. If these so-called heroes are real, they shouldn't be worshipped like celebrities.”

Darcy chuckles softly. “You know what, you have a point there. But considering one of them is literally a god, it kinda leaves me, I mean us—with, you know—no choice.”

“One of them is a god?” 

“Yeah, Thor. Tall guy, wields a hammer, controls thunder. Ridiculously hot. Ring any bells?”

She might as well be describing a cartoon character. You run a hand through your hair before grabbing a fistful of it in frustration. “This is crazy.”

“It is,” Darcy agrees. “But that’s our world now, apparently.”

You take a deep breath. “If what you're saying is true—”

“I swear it is,” she insists.

“Then how did I end up here? Why would Wanda do this?”

Darcy sighs. “It’s a long story.”

You glance at your watch. It’s 11:05 in the evening. Wanda will be looking for you anytime soon.

“You have five minutes.”

—

“Where are my children?” Wanda demands, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Where are my children?” Agatha imitates her like a parrot. “My, that accent does like to play hide and seek, doesn't it?”

“Where are they?” Wanda yells, throwing her hands up in front of her, ready for the offense. She summons her powers on Agatha, but nothing happens. The shimmering crimson she relies on fails to appear. Agatha relishes in it, letting out a boisterous giggle.

“Oh, your magic’s no good here,” Agatha reveals. 

Before Wanda can react, Agatha lifts her hands, and from her fingertips erupts a swirling purple energy that crackles through the air. In an instant, the magic lashes out, snapping around Wanda's wrists and ankles. With a sharp pull, Agatha yanks her forward, the force dragging Wanda off her feet and toward the center of the room. The bindings constrict, holding her limbs in place painfully, causing Wanda to squirm.

“Didn't you notice?” Agatha smirks haughtily. “On the walls? Basic protection spell. No? Nothing? These are runes, Wanda.”

Wanda glances around, her gaze falling upon the glowing inscriptions etched into the stone but they mean nothing to her. She struggles against the magical restraints, but the more she fights, the tighter they grip.

Agatha circles her, looking very much proud of herself. “In a given space, only the witch that cast the runes can use her magic. How do you not know the fundamentals?”

Runes? Fundamentals? Wanda narrows her eyes at Agatha. “Who are you?”

Agatha smirks, tossing the question back like a live grenade. “Who are you?” she challenges, staring down the bewildered, clueless witch before her.

Confusion flashes across Wanda's face. “What are you talking about?”

Agatha starts circling her, slow, like a vulture. “You've been pulling off magic tricks that take lifetimes to master—casting illusions, transmutation, hijacking minds. All on autopilot. Without any damn training. You will tell me how you did this.”

“I didn't do anything,” Wanda protests. “I'm not—”

That seems to shatter Agatha’s last ounce of patience. She flings Wanda back and forth like a ragdoll, each toss violent and jarring, until Wanda is back where she started, gasping for breath.

“I tried to be gentle, to nudge you awake from this pathetic daydream. But you'd rather fall apart than face your truth.”

Wanda clams up, unable to refute the other woman’s words. All of a sudden, Agatha yanks a hair from Wanda's head.

Clutching the strand, Agatha murmurs, “Revelare vitae memorias.” A purple aura envelops the hair as she weaves her spell.

Wanda tugs against the magical restraints binding her. “What are you doing?”

Agatha shrugs off the question, focused on completing her spell. She conjures a door on a previously bare wall, the surface pulsing with her energy. She flicks a strand of Wanda’s hair towards it, watching as the door swallows it and burns even brighter.

“Time for some real reruns.”

—

Darcy's theory seems just as absurd with the revelation that Wanda has been controlling the entire town this whole time.

“Faking my death and not being there for Wanda when she comes back just doesn't add up,” you say, kicking a stone as you pace in circles. Darcy sits on the pavement, watching as you wear a path in the ground.

“Why not?”

You stop pacing and look Darcy squarely in the eye. “Because I love her. She doesn't need to ‘kidnap’ me to stay with her.”

Darcy throws her hands up in exasperation, looking as lost as you feel. “Look, I don't know why Wanda brought you here! I don't know why you couldn't just be together in the real world or why she did this to Westview,” she walks closer to you. “I'm just as in the dark as you are.”

Her uncertainty only adds to your doubt. “Who are you anyway, Darcy Lewis? How did you even end up here?”

Darcy sighs, realizing she hadn't properly introduced herself or explained the situation right. “Okay, yeah, sorry. I'm…an astrophysicist. S.W.O.R.D—it’s a US government agency—contacted me more than a week ago about an anomaly in New Jersey. I was outside the Hex—this red barrier enclosing all of Westview—trying to figure out what's going on here. And then I got sucked in.”

“Sucked in? How does that happen?”

Darcy hangs back, weighing what's appropriate to share and what isn't. The image of you dying mere seconds after you emerged from the barrier seems to straddle both categories, but given the incredulous way you're looking at her—as if she's sprouted ten heads—signals your dwindling trust. If she doesn’t talk soon, she might just lose this rare opportunity to get you to their side.

She signals you to take a sit on the ground first, but you merely stare at her, waiting.  “Well, it's complicated,” Darcy starts. “But before I ended up here, I saw something you need to know.”

“Go on,” you say cautiously.

She takes a deep breath. “You were dying.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Last night, you tried to cross the boundary of the Hex,” she explains. “But as soon as you did, you started disintegrating—turning into dust.”

You stop cold. That dream where Wanda was vanishing—

Was it you all along?

Darcy continues, “We didn't know what to do, how to help you. But then the Hex started expanding—fast. I couldn't escape, and now here I am.”

You barely register her words as you try to piece together your memory of last night. Is that why you felt déjà vu on the way here? Because you've been here before? Because you've actually been outside?

Could Wanda be the reason you can't recall what Darcy claims happened last night? Has your wife really been manipulating you? Using her powers to deceive you?

“No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people.

“I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

“Fine,” Darcy exhales sharply, pausing to think for a moment. “I got it!”

You cross your arms, waiting expectantly.

“Do you remember your assistant, Geraldine?” she asks.

The fact that Darcy knows about her already turns your stomach. It means she wasn't lying about the broadcasts outside, where people have been monitoring the situation all this time.

You nod, unable to speak. The fear grips you so tightly you worry you might lose the dinner you had just an hour ago.

“Geraldine isn't who you think she is. Her real name is Monica Rambeau. She's an agent from S.W.O.R.D., sent here to investigate what's happening inside Westview.”

“That doesn't make sense. I've known Geraldine for months—”

“Have you?” Darcy counters gently. “Think about it. Can you recall anything about her life outside of work? Her family? Where she lives?”

You open your mouth to respond but realize you can't summon any details. It's as if those memories are just... missing. 

Just like every other little detail in your life.

“I… I can’t—”

Darcy nods sympathetically. “That's because you’re all just playing a role here. Monica tried to reach out to her, to help her see what's real, but Wanda forced her out of this reality.”

Geraldine's resignation is a vague memory, nothing more. If Wanda has been pulling the strings, she's been selective with the memories she's allowed you to keep. That much is certain.

And you’re conflicted. No, that’s not quite right—you’re overwhelmed. You feel betrayed, most prominently. But beneath that, there’s guilt. Deep down, you’re troubled by the thought of how much pain Wanda must have endured to go to such lengths. It pains you too, knowing she suffered so greatly. If this isn't going away anytime soon, that means she's still hurting. And if you're going to agree to help Darcy figure this out, you’re going to do it for Wanda’s sake, not theirs.

Making this decision would be simple if not for—

You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “And our kids? Billy and Tommy?”

Darcy looks away. “We couldn't find any records of them,” she says. “They're not documented anywhere in Westview.”

A sinking feeling grips your chest. “They're our sons—they're real.”

Darcy doesn’t say anything. Your eyes begin to sting as you walk into the middle of the deserted road.

You're not sure how long you stood there, contemplating the plight of these innocent people and the dangers looming over your family beyond this town. You gaze at the wedding ring on your finger. Being Wanda’s wife brought you nothing but joy. Being a mother to your two boys made you feel whole. Can you really let all that go?

Just as Darcy is about to check on you, having waited a while, you catch her off guard by walking back.

“What do you need me to do?”

—

Wanda's eyes dart around. “No... not here,” she whispers, recognizing her childhood home.

She thought those memories were lost—how a seemingly ordinary evening spiraled, altering her life forever. Seeing her mama and papa’s faces is a miracle in itself. Wanda had forgotten their features, unable to carry even a photograph of them for so long.

And Pietro—god, how she's missed him. He was the last sliver of Sokovia, the last piece of home she clung to before becoming an orphan in every sense of the word.

Life was simple then. It wasn’t always comfortable or peaceful, but they were happy as long as the four of them were together. 

Wanda watches on, a helpless spectator as the mundane scene before her—an evening of sitcoms on the living room floor—is shattered by an explosion before the screen cuts to black.

She squeezes her eyes shut. When she dares to look again, devastation greets her. Her younger self and Pietro huddled under rubble, a Stark Industries missile mere feet away, its ominous beeping the only sound in the deafening silence.

Agatha muses, “You stared at that bomb, waiting for it to go off. Did you use a probability hex?”

“No, I…” Wanda blinks, her mind reeling . “It just never went off. It was defective. We didn’t know that. We were… we were trapped.”

“For how long?”

“Two days.”

Agatha hums, sizing up whether this incident had any real impact on Wanda’s recent exploits.  Despite the trauma Wanda has endured, Agatha remains skeptical, and she steers them down another bend in memory lane.

From afar, another room takes shape—the Hydra facility, where she first encountered the Infinity Stone. 

“I don’t want to go back in there.”

“The only way forward is back,” comes the terse reply.

—

Jimmy and Monica sit side by side on a surprisingly comfortable pile of hay inside one of the supply rooms of the camp, their wrists shackled behind them with cuffs this time.

“Well, at least Hayward splurged on the good hay,” Jimmy attempts at a joke, trying to twist his wrists free.

“Yeah, cause the next time I see him, I’ll be shoving them up his—” Monica bites her lip. Now’s not the time to think about all the ways she’ll make Hayward pay. Right now, their priority is getting out of these cuffs.

Reaching into his sleeve, Jimmy fumbles for a hidden pin. “Got a lockpick here. Just give me a sec—almost…”

She watches as he struggles to maneuver the pin into the cuff's lock, his fingers slipping. After several failed attempts, he lets out a frustrated huff.

“Here, let me try,” Monica says, scooting closer.

“Be my guest,” Jimmy says, sliding over the pin.

Monica grabs it, fingers deft and sure. A soft click follows. In a flash, she's free, reaching over to unlock Jimmy's cuffs.

“Impressive,” he remarks, rubbing his wrists.

“Years of field training.”

Jimmy fishes out his cellphone. “Guess they missed this in the pat-down.” He punches in a number. “Calling for backup from Quantico.”

He steps aside, murmuring into the phone, while Monica edges towards the door. She presses an ear against the rough wood, listening hard.

“Any luck?” she murmurs as he ends the call.

“They're sending a team, but we're on borrowed time,” he whispers back.

“Listen,” Monica says suddenly, holding up a hand.

Silence falls. There’s a muffled sound of chaos outside—high-pitched voices, scrambling footsteps, panicked commands. 

“Is that... fighting?” Jimmy's eyes go wide.

“Sounds like it,” Monica says. “But who would be engaging Hayward's agents out here?”

“Maybe another S.W.O.R.D. team?”

She shakes her head. “Unlikely. They trust Hayward too much to send more scouts.”

The clamor grows—a cocktail of grunts, barked orders, and the dull thud of bodies smacking the ground. And then guns firing off nearby.

“This is bad,” Jimmy mutters. “We're sitting ducks. Unarmed ducks.”

Monica's gaze sweeps the area. “We need to find something to defend ourselves.” She snags a rusted metal rod from beside a stack of crates and hands it to Jimmy. “Here.”

He grabs it, his grip firm. “Better than nothing.”

She hoists a solid-looking plank. “Stay alert.”

Suddenly, the outside noises cut off, dropping the world into unnerving stillness.

“Why did it just go quiet?” Jimmy whispers.

Monica takes an offensive stance. “I don't know, but I have a feeling we're about to find out.”

Footsteps draw near—steady, unhurried. The door handle rattles slightly.

“Get ready,” she says, positioning herself beside the door.

Jimmy nods, holding his makeshift weapon at the ready.

The door creaks open slowly, and a sliver of light spills inside. They hold their breath as the door swings wider.

A shadowy figure looms at the threshold, silhouetted against the harsh daylight. Without waiting to see if this was a friend or an enemy, Monica lunges forward, swinging her plank toward the intruder. Jimmy follows suit, thrusting his metal rod in a coordinated attack.

But the figure dodges their attack like they're made of smoke. With a fluid sidestep, you evade Monica's swing, the plank slicing harmlessly through the air. Simultaneously, you pivot gracefully, ducking under Jimmy's thrust. In one seamless motion, you sweep your leg, knocking the rod from his grasp and sending it clattering across the floor. 

Before they can regroup, you're behind Monica, coaxing her wrist until the plank clunks to the ground with a dull thud. Both agents stumble back, dumbstruck.

Monica’s about to charge again when you raise your hands. 

“Easy,” you say hurriedly. “I’m not here to fight.”

Jimmy looks at you with utter shock and awe. “How did you—”

You smile thinly. “No time for explanations.”

Monica squints, peering harder. Something clicks. “Wait... Are you Y/N?” she murmurs in disbelief.

Recognition dawns on Jimmy’s face too. “It is you!”

You nod slowly. “I am.”

Monica keeps searching your face, like she's double-checking if it's really you. There are small differences between this you and the one in the Hex—your hair's shorter, framing a face that's sharper with…age. The lines around your eyes are deeper, and there's a hardness in them now that wasn’t there before.

“Wait, how did you escape the Hex unharmed?” Jimmy asks. “The last time you tried, it looked like you weren’t going to make it…”

You shake your head. “I didn't escape from Westview.”

“What do you mean?” Monica asks. “You're inside the Hex with Wanda, aren't you?"

“No,” you reply evenly. “That wasn’t—isn’t me.”

Just then, footsteps approach from behind. You spin around to see Clint, his bow slung casually over his shoulder.

“Well, that was quick,” you note.

He smirks lightly. “It would've been quicker if I weren’t so rusty.”

“Clint, is it true what she's saying?” Monica asks.

Clint nods solemnly. “Yeah. I made a rookie mistake by not considering the possibility that the Y/N in Westview and out here in the real world aren’t one and the same.”

Jimmy looks baffled. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“When I saw Y/N on that broadcast, I assumed she was inside the Hex. But when we saw the one from Westview disintegrating after she emerged from the barrier, that’s when I realized that something else was going on here.”

Jimmy's face screws up in confusion. “Then who was that?”

You lean back against the wall, a wistful look in your eye. “Based on what Clint told me, she's both me and not me.”

Jimmy throws up his hands. “I'm getting confused.”

“That's Wanda's version of me—the person she left behind five years ago,” you say.

Monica's eyes stretch wide as the penny drops. Is Wanda that powerful to be capable of what you’re implying?

“When you say she's Wanda's version...” She trails off, not confident to finish the thought.

“Wanda created her,” you say, as casual as if you were commenting on the weather. “Wanda doesn't know I'm still alive.”

—

“Exposure to an Infinity Stone,” Agatha muses, eyeing the memory of Wanda clad in a grimy gown that the Hydra facility dressed her into. She grimaces slightly. “That explains some of it, but not all.”

With a subtle gesture of her hand, another door materializes—a portal to another place, another time. Another memory—but this time, not a painful one. Wanda doesn't hesitate this time and walks towards it. There’s no choice in the matter, really. Might as well get it over with.

Behind the door is a well-lit kitchen. The countertops were sleek and clean, aside from an open jar of peanut butter and a half-empty jar of jelly sitting next to a loaf of bread. A butter knife rested on a plate smeared with both spreads, and a glass of water sat nearby, condensation pooling in a faint ring on the stone surface.

You were standing at the large kitchen island, carefully cutting the corners of your sandwich when Vision phased directly through the wall to your left.

“Jesus!” you yelled in surprise, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering against the plate.

“Well, well,” Agatha drawls, leaning back with an amused smirk as she turns to Wanda. “I must admit, I never pictured her as the type to take the Lord’s name in vain. Your wife looks like such a proper lady here in Westview, dear.”

Wanda remains motionless, her entire focus on you as this memory comes rushing back to her.  You weren’t even friends yet, and Wanda had already noticed how distant you kept yourself from her. It wasn’t hostility, exactly, but it was clear you didn’t like her much back then. And she couldn’t blame you.

“My apologies,” Vision said.

You scolded him for announcing himself that way before he formally introduced himself to you. With a sigh, you told him you already knew who he was. Without missing a beat, Vision asked what food you were preparing.

“It's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“The coloration is intriguing,” Vision noted. “I haven't encountered many purple foods in my lifetime.”

To Agatha, the exchange seems utterly trivial—and not to mention, boring. Yet, it only makes her more curious about why this particular memory has surfaced.

“Speaking of food,” Vision began, “Miss Maximoff hasn’t eaten. Nothing in over twelve hours.”

You were just about to take your first bite, but the mention of Wanda made you freeze.

“And why is that my problem?”

“Given that her quarters are adjacent to yours, I thought you might be concerned,” Vision said.

“Concerned? About the person who messed with my head? Hard pass.”

“Oh,” Agatha chimes in, continuing her unsolicited commentary. “Was your wife not particularly fond of you in the beginning?”

Wanda shakes her head slowly. “She hated me.”

Agatha’s grin widens. “And that drew you to her? Well, aren’t we a little kinky.”

The memory continues with Vision gently reprimanding you about the poisonous effects of resentment. You brushed it off with a sharp retort, making it abundantly clear just how little you cared.

Vision didn’t press the matter further. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

He turned to leave, this time opting for the doorway instead of phasing through the wall. 

“Wait,” you called out, piquing Agatha’s interest.

Vision stopped, looking back at you expectantly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Look, just... take her something to eat. Here.” You shoved the sandwich plate toward him.

“It might be more meaningful if you delivered it yourself.”

“Yeah, that's not happening.”

He accepted the plate. “I will relay the gesture.”

“Don’t,” you rushed out. “I mean, don’t tell her it’s from me.”

Agatha scoffs like she’s watching a bad rom-com. “Enemies to lovers. My personal favorite,” she says, smirking. “Two people who can’t stand each other but still do nice things behind each other’s backs. Adorable, really.”

“She didn’t know I was there, watching the whole exchange,” Wanda says softly. “I went back to my room that night, eagerly waiting for Vision to bring me that sandwich. I was so hungry.” Her voice grows even quieter as she adds, “Y/N was the first person to do anything for me after my brother died. And she didn’t even like me.”

Agatha snaps her fingers, then gives Wanda a hard look. “Here’s the punchline, honey: you come back from the Snap—five years gone in a blink for you—and guess what? Y/N didn’t make it.”

Wanda looks stunned by the reminder that in the five years she was gone, she couldn’t shield you, couldn’t stop your demise. Clint kept silent on how it happened, and even when Wanda defiantly probed his mind, she found no clues about your death.

“She was gone,” Agatha says, circling around to meet Wanda's gaze. “But you wanted her back.”

Almost reflexively, Wanda nods. “I did,” she murmurs. “I wanted her back.”

The segment shifts seamlessly to a serene lakeside setting. It's a somber day—the day of Tony Stark's funeral. Wanda of this memory stood alone, gaze lost on the serene water, while members of the Avengers paid their subdued respects to Pepper Potts in a slow procession.

It’s Clint who noticed she’d been standing there a long time already. 

“Hey,” he murmured, the nippy weather forcing his hands in his pockets as he joined Wanda’s side. “You holding up okay?”

Wanda smiled faintly. “As well as can be expected.”

He nodded, sharing her view of the gray lake. “It’s tough, losing someone like Tony. Feels like we’ve been bleeding pieces of ourselves.”

Wanda sighed. “But it's not just Tony, isn’t it?” This funeral should’ve also been for everyone they lost. Natasha, Vision…

You.

“Counting our losses would just do us more harm than good, kid,” Clint said.

She gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I just... I miss them.”

Clint's hand found her shoulder. “I get it. I miss them too.” 

Wanda drew a ragged breath, but these days, it felt like no amount of air was enough.  

“All I've ever known is loss,” she whispered. “You'd think I'd be used to it by now, that it wouldn't hurt as much as when I lost my parents, or Pietro. But this…” Her voice faltered. “Losing Y/N cut the deepest.”

Clint squeezed her shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting but Wanda felt nothing. 

“I’m sorry, kid.”

“I shouldn’t have been brought back,” Wanda said, stepping back, causing Clint’s hand to fall away.

“Don't say that. Y/N would've done everything for you to come back,” he said.

She turned to him, tears brimming in her eyes. “And I would've done everything I could for her to still be here—with me.”

Wanda watches herself in the memory, turning her back on Clint without a word. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t pay her respects to Stark’s widow. She slipped into the driver’s seat of the car you used to own after Clint turned it over to her.

The road led her to a quiet cemetery not too far away. She parked along a gravel path and walked among the rows of headstones until she reached yours. Seeing your name etched in stone brought a fresh wave of grief crashing over her.

Dropping to her knees, Wanda was wracked with sobs, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. She cried until the tears refused to come, her body spent from the depth of her grief. Hours seemed to pass before she finally rose, shaky and streaked with tears. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and headed back to the car. Slumping into the driver's seat, she allowed herself a few more moments of inaction. In search of some small comfort, she flipped open the glove compartment and fished out your favorite CD.

As she rummaged through the assorted items, her fingers brushed against an unfamiliar envelope tucked at the back. Intrigued, she pulled it out and examined it. Her name was written on the front in your unmistakable handwriting.

With hands that trembled like leaves, she tore it open. Inside, there was a simple, elegant ring—the one she bought for you—and a folded brochure. It’s a map of a small New Jersey town. A plot of land was circled in aggressive red, and in a heart-shaped scribbled below, you've written, Where Maximoff will torment me for the rest of our days.

A smile, bittersweet and crooked, crawled its way to her face. The idea of a future you’d dared to dream together flooded her with both joy and heartache. 

Compelled by a sudden urge to see this dream firsthand, Wanda started the car and set off towards New Jersey. The journey passed in a blur, her mind occupied with thoughts of what could have been. Hours later, she arrived at the ghostly town, its structures forgotten in time, lagging behind the rest of the world by at least a decade.

Following the map, she drove to the marked lot—a field overrun with wildflowers and framed by a quaint white picket fence. She walked to the center of the lot, your ring clenched tight in her fist. As the sun dipped low, it draped everything in a golden light. Right then, the full weight of her pain hit her like a freight train.

And when it happened, it started with a tingling sensation at the back of her neck, a subtle prickling that grew into an all-consuming fervor. Beneath her, the earth whispered of transformations, subtle yet insistent, as reality bended, acquiescing to the sheer force of her will. 

Her powers gradually rose, a resurgent tide swelling from the emptiness that had, until this moment, consumed her. She released a primal scream as she unknowingly reshaped her surroundings—houses and streets morphed, relationships and identities changed—all molded from her memories and desires. Even the very colors of reality altered around her.

But she paid no heed to the unprecedented heights of her abilities. Her only focus was the release—the desperate emptying of her being, striving to purge the agonizing pain she’d felt since discovering you were gone.

With each exertion, she felt a piece of herself ebbing away, her essence—bright and golden—intertwining with the magic, seeping into the reality she molded. The pain was exquisite, an acute contrast to the numbness that had pervaded her existence since her return. She welcomed it, the pain confirming her existence, her agency, her power after so much had been taken from her.

As the final tendrils of red weaved the last of her into this new Westview, she felt a climactic release, as if she’d finally exhaled a burden she could no longer bear. She collapsed, the world spinning dizzyingly around her, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The town pulsed—tentatively, like the first steps of a newborn—with life, a life that was both not hers and wholly of her making.

She lay on the ground, which had metamorphosed from the soft, dewy texture of soil to the cool, smooth tiles of a pristine living room. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, bracing for the afterlife, when—

Wanda gasped, her eyes instantly watering at the sight of you, unchanged, just as she remembered before the snap, before the world fell apart. Disbelief coursed through her, yet she couldn’t look away from the miracle of you, standing there within her reach.

“Wanda,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Extending a hand, you helped her to her feet, her left hand—adorned with a simple gold band—shaking as it met yours. 

“Welcome home.”

A fragile smile began to trace her lips for the first time since her return. With your hand in hers, she stood at the threshold of her new home, crafted from all of her pieces.

[lucygraysboy]

“thanks for tellin’ me ‘bout that. birds are fascinatin’ creatures,” billy admits with a smile, calloused fingertips sorting through the sticks. he separates them into three piles — long and thin, short and thin, weirdly shaped and oddly sized. “that sounds so wonderful! but i’ve never really done that before. do you think they’ll trust me enough to come and eat out of the palm of my hand?” the idea of digging through mud for worms doesn’t scare him, but he wonders if birds can sense that he’s a stranger from a different district. capitol born, at that. maybe the birds out here only trust the locals. it doesn’t even occur to him that his worries are simply ridiculous. he just doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of lucy gray, who’s clearly a very experienced bird mama. “there’s no such thing as too sweet,” he insists with a laugh, shaking his head. he briefly wonders if his brother had at some point complimented her laugh, but why should it matter? the whole universe should tell her that she sounds like a warm day in the middle of may.  “that’s how i feel ‘bout spring and flowers, too. do you have a favorite flower, lucy gray? i really like daisies and lilies and sunflowers and roses.” the latter reminding him of his ma, of how she always smelled like them and of those sweet days when his father wasn’t as cold and heartless and would bring her large bouquets of her favorite flowers. “i especially have a thing for wildflowers, though. i mean, you just gotta admire their resilience.” how they often grow between rocks and cracks, remain exposed to elements, at mother nature’s mercy without a caring hand of a loving gardener… and still they bloom. “careful with that leg of yours, lucy gray,” he softly warns, trying to talk over the sound of different items of clothing rustling and landing tenderly on the floorboards. there’s something strangely intimate about being in the same room as someone who’s undressing, even without actually seeing their bare skin. he can imagine her, and immediately scolds himself for it, as beautiful as the water lilies that he admires so much… lord almighty, that’s so inappropriate, he tells himself, picking up the colorful teddy bear and pretending she’s the one sorting through the sticks. all with that only remaining arm of hers. what a champion. “yeah?” he doesn’t turn right away, as if giving her the time to change her mind if she wanted to, but then pale blue eyes meet hers and his heart does this silly thing where it just jumps up his throat. cheeks heating up, a sweet albeit shy smile spreading across his lips. he’s never seen anyone quite so beautiful. she was stunning before, with mud and dirt clinging to her face, with tear-stained cheeks and matted hair, but now… “well…” don’t stutter, you idiot. don’t fucking stutter. he keeps his eyes trained on her face, never flickering anywhere else. “i’m very glad to hear that it’s makin’ you feel better. reva blue and i just got done sortin’ the sticks. if you… i — i can help you scrub your back or wash your hair or… i can leave if you want some privacy.”

“well, now ya know darlin’.” glad he’s getting to experience birds, they’re too special not to. “tomorrow we’ll hold out worms in our hands, maybe it’ll be a little more warmer to do so and you’ll get to feed one.” lucy gray suggests with a soft smile. “that’s too sweet,” shaking her head in disbelief, believing that’s too kind of him to say. feeling like she’s not even deserving of such beautiful comments— a soft expression etched across olive features. “if i can make flowers bloom with my laugh, then i’m the luckiest girl in the world. flowers are the most special to me. so is spring.” she affectionately speaks, thinking of all her favorite things. eyes playfully watch his movements to her fingers and ears light up at the adorable sound of his laugh, grinning because she’s easily satisfied with the sound. she’s right, it is as sweet sounding as he thinks hers is. hands drawing up defensively, despite herself getting wet anyway when he splashes her. another laugh sounds from her and once he turns, lucy gray drops the blanket from around her shoulders. feeling a little bashful because no, he’s not looking but her skirt drops off her hips with her panties then so does her shirt once she tugs it off her skin. minding all the scratches across her shoulders, arms and collarbones. and then she’s naked with a stranger right there, he isn’t looking but it still makes it feel crazy. she tugs off one sock then the other then carefully throws her legs into the hot water and sinks into it. bending her knees and hugging them, a blissful feeling washing over her as the warmth hugs all her aching muscles despite a little pain radiating off her thigh. realizing she’s getting carried away in the peaceful comforting feeling, lucy gray dips her head back, making sure to soak her tangled hair before leaning back up. “alright, you can turn around now.” remembering at last second, realizing she just got carried away. “this is the best thing i’ve felt in awhile, besides that medicine you gave me last night.” thinking once again, she can’t thank him enough.

[magiturge]

MY GOD GIVEN RIGHT TO LOSE IT ALL.

moofy’s information / backstory under cut

i mentioned it earlier but moofy is my sona / gruntsona, he doubles as an oc i filter my feelings into.

moofy was originally a scientist under the nexus core, diligent and hardworking with ideas brewing under the brim. visually, he looks no different than other scientists, it was just his enthusiasm to present something of his own to the world that made him an outlier. being based on the asylum patient origin, it follows that moofy presented an idea that was deemed too dangerous or outlandish, having him locked up in the asylum.

that idea was uploading the mind into machines, binding what you were to an object or system that did not require organic needs. it was an immortality that ripped you from your body, from sensations in the real world but it should be worth it for the cause of having units that would never fall.

moofy carried that idea with him into insanity, spiraling in the asylum. there are various rashes and scratch marks burned into his skin from the excessive need to soothe himself of the pain he’d received throughout his agonizingly long stay. he avoided lobotomization through other means such as negotiation but other deep cutting scars and wounds are cut into his mind. they’ve forever changed his perception of the world and made an irreparable mark in how he will act towards other.

unlike the patient origin, moofy was never cleared and allowed back into society but freed when hank was in search of hofnarr. asylum patients being able to escape due to the breach, he could run away. it was not an immediate escape, he hung around in his room despite the door being open.

watching and waiting.

the outside world is absolutely not going to be the same as it was since the last time he saw the sky and the prospect of a scary world unaccepting of him made the the bindings of his attire all the more comforting.

although it hit a point that he finally rose from his room, when the chatter and incessant giggling of fellow patients were far away that he surveyed the asylum. there were dead harmacists and orderlies strewn about alongside unfortunate patients who fell to unforgiving, indifferent hands.

it wouldnt be smart to run outside looking like a patient, there was a reason even if crazy and unjust that people were ‘patients’ and someone would find one way or another to keep you in there. you were already messed up, nobody would be averse to giving you another couple injections and tossing you around as a bonus.

he would pick up the labcoat of a harmacist, violently shaking the sleeves off the shoulders of the corpse before gently squeezing the arms of the body in apology. and he apologized again as he would rip the id from their neck, scrambling his hands for a sharp object to scratch into information on it. the face, the name, rubbing it into the blood everywhere, making it as illegible as he possibly could.

he was a harmacist. thats what he is now

he’s a harmacist, a hardworking harmacist caught in the crossfire of the breach. cowering under desks and hiding from unruly, freed patients. all these pricks and scars from needles, an accident from stress.

thats him now. thats what he will run with.

moofy would later encounter a nexus soldat in his exit from the asylum premises, finding himself in the throws of a nexus core in absolute disarray. he would be smitten with this soldat as he would now be the first friendly face that offered kindness and hospitality with no catch. his idea of a healthy relationship was shattered, this is something and someone he clings to with a knuckle aching grip.

from here its rather loose ends, but the absolute end would likely be moofy ‘dying’, achieving his now self centered goal of being within a machine or system, where nothing and no one can touch him again. his body will rot beneath his screen.

[neovillains]

GOLDEN CHRYSANTHEMUMS ⋆ NANAMI KENTO

syn. the golden chrysanthemum, a cozy bed and breakfast with raving views ── according to yelp. just the place you need after your car breaks down near a small town | 5.6k words ( minors, ageless, & blank blogs: do not interact )

── vampire!kento nanami/influencer!reader, nanami runs a bed & breakfast, violence, blood, major character death.

note. i enjoyed writing this a lot and i hope you all do, too. please comment down below or let me know in the tags of your reblogs what you think! mwah!

1800S TO 1900S — nanami’s point of view

Nanami always says he can’t remember his childhood— for Heaven’s sake, it was a long long time ago. Whenever he told guests this, they’d chuckle because he couldn’t be no older than thirty, right? And for the most part, he’s not lying. He can’t remember vivid details of his past like he was once able to. However, there’s a certain time period that could never escape him. Something that always stays relevant in his mind— his first time he stepped foot inside of the Golden Chrysanthemum. A two-story pink Victorian home that was nowhere close to what he was imagining. Clinging to his mother, his stubby fingernails dug into the fine fabric of her dull mustard yellow gown and forced the woman to take very staggered steps. Nanami wasn’t typically a stubborn child, but he remembered his mother telling him to stop, and that, “you’re acting like an ass.”

But still, the boy clung onto his mother like his life depended on it. He had known nothing about his father’s side of the family, but ever since his passing, his mother wanted to change that. Getting in contact through a letter, Nanami’s paternal grandmother thought it was about time that her daughter-in-law forgot about all these petty squabbles the two of them shared, and gave her her right to know her grandson. Trudging up the cobblestone pathway in broad daylight, three hefty knocks sounded through the door before a waft of silence passed. 

The Golden Chrysanthemum wasn’t always a bed and breakfast. No, when Nanami first arrived, it was just Nana’s house. Nana’s house was pink with golden chrysanthemums that caged in the beauty. A well manicured garden and lawn that the woman had tended to for years on end even at her age. She would push a gigantic lawn mower with shears that Nanami was always afraid of getting too close to and each blade of grass was shredded to their desired height. 

That beginning week, Nanami didn’t know much about his grandmother except for the fact that she was his father’s mother and mama didn’t seem to like her very much. However, as days came to pass and she had miraculously learned that Nanami enjoyed pancakes very much, he’d stop hiding behind the frills of his mother’s dress and started trekking behind the older lady. 

He thought he was sly with the way he always kept his distance, sitting on the bench while the mower would loudly rev to life. He thought she didn’t see him when he would sit at the highest steps possible to keep away from view, peeking his head out to watch her cook in the wee hours of the morning. Oh, how she wanted to tell that boy to go back to bed, but those brown eyes. . . (He certainly didn’t get them from her side of the family). They were just so cute and innocent that one day she just had to call out his name. Or, something close to it. 

“Boy,” she called out. “Would you just stop all that hiding and come here?”

She figured that she should’ve been kinder, seeing how the boy started to shudder in fright, already on his feet and running back up the stairs to crawl under the blankets beside his mother. She sighed, but like always, found his skittish tendencies to be quite amusing. She only hoped that this wouldn’t be the end of his morning visits.  

And for a week, she had thought they were. The boy hadn’t come out not once in the past seven days, leaving her alone in the heat as she poured the batter onto the blackening pan over the fire. The sizzle of oil filling in the silence and her growing loneliness. Fortunately, that solitude didn’t last too long. On the tenth day, Nanami finally showed face, his footsteps creaking on the wooden staircase as he took gentle steps down. This time, he trudged closer in her vicinity and waited until she took notice. When she turned her head, she beckoned him over with her head and still addressed him as “boy.”

“Come here and learn how to make pancakes with your grandma, okay?” She said something about not having anyone useless in her house, but Nanami didn’t really care for her ramblings. 

It wasn’t until a month after her death that his mother got the idea of turning the house into a bed and breakfast. Nanami didn’t know what that was, but thought it was a terrible idea. He had brought it up a couple of times, always voicing that he didn’t think that’s what Nana would have wanted. However, time and time again, his mother would remind him to stay in a child’s place and dismiss all of his concerns. However, Nanami was growing into a man. Thirteen years of age and having grown a love for the pink home, he didn’t want to see other people— strangers— lurking inside of the place, his home. He tried staying respectful, but his words always fell upon deaf ears with his mom. 

“Have you no concern for our safety?” He knew the abruptness of the conversation would have his mother taken aback. “Strangers coming in and out of the place for a night— who knows what they could do in those couple of hours!”

Nanami couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten slapped. Before this, he remembered being seven when he felt the heavy impact of his mother’s hand. He always remembers the shock of it, and never the physical pain of it. The way his heart beat would quicken and how he gasps. He remembers being hurt, yes, but it was always something emotional for him. His mother always had a tendency to slap him when he spoke too much and had said something she wasn’t fond of. He thought he learned to keep his mouth shut a couple of years ago, but here he finds himself in the same predicament, feeling that same emotional pain all over again. However, the only solution he had come up with at the time was compliance. 

Fortunately for his mother (and unfortunately for him), he had come to enjoy the idea of a bed and breakfast. However, that wouldn’t happen until many years to come. Though, he can imagine how much his mother is smiling in her grave at the fact that he still carries on the Golden Chrysanthemum in her absence. Always keeping it up to pristine conditions— the home still upkeep that same shade of pink that his grandmother had it and the garden of golden chrysanthemums still in its tip-top shape as he tended to them— he no longer does it begrudgingly. Now, he does everything in the memory of his grandmother. However, sometimes he questions if he’s disappointed her with the amount of red that’s seeped into the ground and the haunting stench of death and decay that lies within his wake. 

The dimming sky as the sun continues to set. The twinkling stars that are coming out of their hiding spots, announcing themselves the winner as yet again, the sun hides away in shame. Nanami has matured some more, standing taller than his mother past six feet at twenty-seven years old. His blond hair no longer covering his face and all the hard work outside is paying off as his muscles are well-defined and he has to go to the tailor’s whenever a button’s getting loose. He slouches in his seat to his mother’s dismay, no longer looking him in the eyes with a sense of joy or happiness. She has come to the term that that’s just what happens in adulthood. 

During dinner, his mother had told him to water the flowers, saying that she had forgotten this time around. It was the only thing she said through its entirety and Nanami simply mumbled in acknowledgment before finishing the rest of his plate. He scraped whatever he could for compost while sinking the porcelain plate into the dirty dish water, letting it soak and submerge in the wet mess. 

In that short time, the sky had completely blackened and the man on the moon was his current guardian. Nana had told Nanami just how to tend to the dear flowers, pointing towards the shed as it had everything he needed. His eyes were falling heavy and his vision getting blurry, trudging his way towards it and swinging the door open. With the force, the door quickly shuts as it opens, leaving him in absolute darkness as he maneuvers himself swiftly through it. Reaching for the water pale and the cloth bag full of plant food as he continues on blind to the red-eyed demon that lurks in the corner. 

Nanami remembers the excruciating pain that he felt as he tried to fight the large and bulky body that pressed against him. The crushing grip that was wrapped around his abdomen, squeezing breath from his as two sharp fangs pierced into his skin; the jaw that sunk into his flesh as Nanami screamed out in the distance. How had his mother not here him?

Slowly on the brink of death, when the monster was finished, it flung Nanami’s weaker body to the ground. He heard things tumble and fall as well as the creak of the shed’s door before it was slammed shut. Laying flat on the ground, he felt like he could barely move. However, with the consciousness that he had left, his fingers twitched as he mustered up whatever strength he could to crawl his way through the door. 

Everything in his path started to lose its life, the sharp blades of grass dwindling and turning yellow, the cobblestone pavement smeared in blood and the petals of the golden chrysanthemums quivering to brown as Nanami forced himself to stand. When he touched the door knob, it left a mark and with his heavy footsteps, he wouldn’t know what to explain to his mother. Though, there was nothing much left of her when he woke up the next day, no longer coated in just his own blood.

YEAR 2024, 10:08 PM — nanami’s point of view 

Nanami has come to terms with his life decisions. Finding solace in his mother’s death, he began to take pride in the upkeep of the Golden Chrysanthemum. Spending his days with the curtains shut and tending to any necessary repairs, he made sure that all guests were out by twelve p.m. Despite the daylight ring that was wrapped around his left middle finger, he spent his days cooped up inside the outdated Victorian home finding things to keep him busy and his mind occupied. Circular reading glasses that stuck to the bridge of his nose, his eyes stared at the words on the laptop, going through any bookings and making sure all his books were up to time. He held onto a red-ink pen, jotting down in the notebook alongside him and crossing out the tasks he completed. 

He missed the trivial little human things he used to whine about,especially a headache— a telltale sign from his body silently telling him that he needed a break. Now, he could stand at this desk until the sun goes down, completely unaware of the world around him. Time only seems to be going faster in his presence, nightfall creeping up on his back as a shiver runs down his spine when he no longer feels the ache of the sun through the window. His fingers don’t ache, but when he bends them, he can hear the cracks from each muscle as he shuts down the screen and hops off the round stool. 

Now, he starts to feel it, that hunger deep inside. That hunger eats him up in a way that’s more animalistic than any other ravenous and furry beast to exist. It beckons him to saunter down the wooden floor as his brown leather shoes clunk against the ground and reach for the door knob. Checking the time— ten-o-eight p.m.— he keeps the sign hanging on the door as it says ‘Open.’ He shouldn’t be gone for that long. 

YEAR 2024, 10:15 PM — your point of view ! [ currently filming ]

You remember when you started vehemently watching youtube. You watched videos that primarily focused on lifestyle and vlogs about strangers that you had come to admire. They’d record themselves under certain predicaments that always seemed too private to be shared on the internet and show themselves in low moments. Then, you always told yourself that if you became an influencer of any sort, you’d never do that. 

Now look at you. 

You fix your tripod, making sure that the camera is focused and that the red light is on as it captures the entirety of your vehicle on camera. Internally, you were asking yourself what you were doing. It was ten-fifteen at night and the sky was dark. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere anyone could come out at any moment and murder you. However, that’s why you also convinced yourself that this was a great idea. If you were to die, your evidence will be recorded for the authorities to find. 

You also needed to talk about your current predicament, even if it was ultimately to yourself in this very moment in time. What was so wrong with that? 

“Guys,” speaking to the camera, you sighed. “My car broke down.”

You had made the plans to travel from your hometown all the way to California in a lonesome roadtrip to celebrate graduating from school with your master’s in Occupational Therapy. It was a huge accomplishment and in the time that it took from undergrad to here, you never really took some time to really do something you wanted. You were also considering the possibility of moving out-of-state with California as the place to be, making sure to kill two birds with one stone as you wanted to experience the different climate as a tourist first before becoming a resident. 

You were expected to arrive at your hotel by tomorrow evening, but you fear that this delay with offset your entire plans. Now, you’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere in Nebraska, stranded. “I don’t even understand how. I made sure that everything was in good standing before I left. Maybe I was overworking it, but I don’t know… Ugh, I’m just gonna google and see if there are any places open at this time at night to see if they’d help a damsel in distress.”

Pulling out your phone from your back pocket, when you press the power button, the brightness blinds you. You turn it down as your attention quickly becomes glued to the device, praying that the few signal bars that you have won’t result in a time-consuming wait. You perch yourself on the hood of the car as your camera silently watches, recording everything. With one hand scrolling through your phone, you start to gnaw on one of your hang-nails.

You gnaw and gnaw absentmindedly until a harsh pinch makes you hiss. From the light of your phone, you can see the small red dot that slowly starts to expand. Grimacing, you sweep it under the bridge, licking off the light wound. 

The camera catches it, the dark figure that appears from nowhere, looming silently before it comes closer. Their figure becomes more clear in their hauntingly silent steps, standing behind your car before your front door. A teal blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows and an animal-print tie that matches with khakis slacks held up by a deep brown belt, he stands half an inch over six feet. 

“Excuse me,” a deep voice that immediately sends you jumping off your car. You immediately catch yourself, using the vehicle to stop your fall. Your phone falls from your grasp, hitting the ground as a squeak leaves your mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” the man comes to apologize. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. It just seems like you needed some help, that’s all. Did your car break down?”

Your body tenses up, taking in the man from head-to-toe as you stoop down to grab your phone, which now has a cracked screen. You test out the power button, grateful that it still lights up, at least. You nod your head, though still averting your eyes away from him. “Yeah, it did.”

“Could I possibly take a look at it to see the problem?” he offers you assistance. “I won’t be able to do much, but I own a bed n’ breakfast just two miles back. You can spend the night and if it’s something simple I can help get your car back on the road, or I can help you find the closest mechanic right in the morning.”

The prospect of his plan was enticing, but something still made your skin crawl about him. A shiver ran down your spine, the cold breeze starting to run through you as you tried debating this in your mind. It was late at night and truthfully, you should've found yourself somewhere to rest your head at. However, you planned to find somewhere by midnight before sluggishly bringing yourself to whatever place to rest your head for the night. Nevertheless, what was a man like this doing at this time of night? 

You give him another once-over. He seems like he just came off of work, you noted to yourself. Did he say he owned a bed n’ breakfast? 

“You own a bed n’ breakfast?” You ask, to which, he nods. “What’s it called?”

“The Golden Chrysanthemum.”

“Do you have a business card for it?” Immediately, he reaches in his back pocket, pulling one out and handing it to you. You dust off your phone, trying to rid yourself of any fine pieces of glass shards onto your loose-fitted pants before typing in the business name for further verification. You scroll through whatever reviews you can find, all of them seemingly rating the place four to five stars and having all nice things to say. 

Your shoulders fall and your body relaxes a bit as you finally give him the okay to check on your car. He sends you to the front seat, popping the lid and starting the car. He’s able to find the issue in a short manner of time and tells you that it’s an easy fix. “You just need a jump start. You have a jump starter, right?”

You feel ashamed to admit that you don’t. You were living a very frugal lifestyle in grad school, knowing that you needed things but couldn’t afford it at the time. When creating this road trip checklist, you had forgotten to put it on your list entirely. Shaking your head no, the man— or Nanami Kento, according to his business card— shuts the lid. “You should invest in one.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, sheepishly. “I know.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’ll call for a tow truck.”

After grabbing some of your necessities from your car— your suitcase and a backpack— Nanami does, most, all of the heavy lifting as he drags your suitcase and backpack. The two of you walk in a silence that you feel is uncomfortable as you constantly glance back at him in a wariness. “Why are you out so late?”

“Couldn’t really sleep,” he answers, nonchalantly. He doesn’t give further elaboration, making more questions swirl in your mind as you remember him saying that the Golden Chrysanthemum was two miles back. Usually, when you had a heavy mind and couldn’t fall asleep, you’d walk half-a-mile— a mile at most. However, his tone was laced with such certainty that it was believable. He seemed so rigid that if you dared to question him any further, you probably wouldn’t get anywhere. 

“Wow,” you gawk instead. “You walked for two miles and still aren’t tired?”

“Yeah,” Nanami answers. He’s learned to not overcompensate. Too long of an explanation would leave people suspicious and suspicious people are why the cat gets killed. He never expected to be helping someone stranded on the side of the road tonight, but the deep neck of the woods were bare of any hikers. He always considered himself a dignified person, having a code that aligned with his morals— no women or children. He’d never break that code with himself.

You frown at the dry response, a fog forming when you sigh as you decide to play along into the silent game. The only thing to be heard is the shuffling of your feet against the ground and the wheels of your suitcase spinning smoothly before you’re finding yourself stepping onto a cobblestone path. Nanami starts leading the way as you take a step behind to marvel over the tall beauty as the moon sparkles against it. 

Two-story pink beauty with white accents, wooden panels that seem so brand new and glass that sparkles even in the dark. The sign next to you seems to have been handpainted, the dark letters that were written in such perfect calligraphy that reads of the name. Nanami doesn’t wait for you, hauling your stuff up as you start getting closer to the front steps. It’s then that you come to notice the well-kept lawn and the garden that aligns the building, the flowers that have given the place its name— The Golden Chrysanthemum. 

YEAR 2024, 12:03 AM — your point of view [ filming ! ] 

You jump up in bed with a jolt, your heart thumping against your chest in an attempt to escape your body. You heave, trying to catch your breath as you don’t have the liberty of gradually coming to your senses. In the darkness, you can’t see anything as you kick off the cotton covers and your bare feet land on the cold, wooden ground. 

The moment that Nanami had set up a room for you, you realized how exhausted you are. The mattress of the bed was so comfortable and the pillows so soft, the minute your head hit the pillow, you were fast asleep. But you had barely been sleeping for half an hour when you heard these creaking sounds and the occasional thud, the very thing being the reason why you’re up right now. 

With your heart more steady and coming to your senses, you glance at the clock and exhale. Still obnoxiously exhausted, you reach for your camera as you remember its existence and turn it on. The lens on your face and the red light right on you, you forget about the fact that you’re in the dark. As if on queue, you drag out a huge yawn. “Well… I managed to find a place to stay for the night.

“This guy… I don’t know where he came from, but…” You’re dozing in and out, trying to get your thoughts straight. “But, he offered to help me out with my car and he owns a bed n’ breakfast. That’s—” you yawn once more “—where I’m at right now.

“The bed—” you pat the bed, droning on and on as you recommend the place. Your eyes would lull shut, dozing off occasionally before your body reminded you of the camera in your hand. Unsteadily, the lens was no longer on your face and pointed towards the window. The moon was shining, but very dimly as you were gifted the view of beautiful greenery. In a bedroom that faced the back of the house, the bushes were whistling in the wind along with the cicadas and crickets that sang at night. It was a singular moment, happening within a split second that the camera captured vividly, a figure that resembled a human but moved at the speed of light. Heading towards the shed as the door quickly opens and shuts. 

Focusing and unfocusing before focusing once more, the camera was hoping to capture more until you had finally come to your senses. Fixing your hand, the camera was back on you. “You know what, I’m gonna head back to sleep. I should’ve just… waited for the morning before updating you guys. Um… Good night.”

YEAR 2024, 2:24 AM — your point of view [ filming! ]

You had a dreamless sleep, but at some point in between, you felt a sense of unease. When you wake up again, it’s nearly half-past-two in the morning. You’re kicking your legs off the bed once more, bare feet planted against the cold wooden ground as you roll your shoulders. You don’t have to come to your senses, your anxiety does all of that for you. Heart pressing against your chest and your breathing harsh and uneven. Your eyes are closed as you try to steady yourself before standing up. 

You roll your shoulders back one more time before rubbing your eyes and wiping away the crust that had begun to form. Exhaling, you think the best thing to do is to go out for a walk. Peeking out of the window, the sky still dark and the moon seeming brighter. You slip back on the shoes you were wearing, still in the same clothes that you had driven in for how many hours. Hand twisting the door knob, the hall is dark with an overhead lamp that’s on a dim setting. You hadn’t forgotten your camera, still at a decent charge as the red light shines dimly. You don’t feel like saying a word. 

It’s silent, deafeningly so that it feels eerie. Though, that only seems natural at a time like this. Everyone else must be fast asleep, you easily presume in order to calm yourself down. Including the owner himself as you walk towards the lobby, where a counter sits to your left and the living area to your right. Cream-colored walls and white furniture that helps brighten up the place. The mounted television is off and everything is still. Every trinket and every object seemingly staring you down in an effort to scrutinize and only increasing your panic as you hug yourself, arms wrapped around you as you move forward to the door.

The night is chillier, the thin veil of your top doing nothing to keep you warm as your feet shuffle down the sidewalk. Your legs move involuntarily, starting you on an unknown path as your phone sits in your back pocket. If push comes to shove, you have that to rely on. It’s now two-thirty-five in the morning as you trek down the cobblestone path and head down the sturdy sidewalk. Even with the insects harmonizing and the gust of wind whirling by, it’s eerily stagnant outside. You try to keep your breathing steady as you hold yourself tighter, walking past an abundance of greenery. The moon peeking through the trees, playing hide and seek with you as it provides you company. Finally, do you speak into the camera, keeping it facing forward instead of on you in order to capture the beauty of the night. 

“I woke up yet again,” you sigh. “Honestly, a lot of this footage, I might be cutting out, but you guys will provide me more comfort while I’m taking a walk… in the middle of the night.”

The next time you check your phone, it’s seven minutes until three in the morning. Gradually do you feel more at peace as you come to accept that your mind and worries are only playing a game on you, finding your demise to be comical. However, it’s three-eleven when you finally decide to turn back around. 

Your camera catches him first. More silent than a pin dropping, his stance is stiff and threatening as his eyes are darker than the coffee-colored hues they were before. Again, your heart pounds against your chest as he approaches you without a word. You clutch your chest, camera staggering as your nails dig into your shirt. “God, you just keep on scaring me tonight.”

He ignores your fright, head tilting to the right as he clutches his fists, veins protruding from his hands to his forearms. “What’re you doing out so late? It’s not safe at this time of night.”

“I’m just taking a little walk,” you explain. “I couldn’t sleep and needed some fresh air.”

“I think it’s best that you head back inside, ma’am.” You notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs, seemingly trying to keep himself together. “Like I said, these times at night aren’t very… safe.”

Against your better judgment, you shake your head. “I’ll head back in soon. I just need a few more minutes to myself before turning back.”

“It would be better if you’d head back now, actually.”

Eyes squinting as you keep the camera pointed to him, you take a step back. “I think I’m fine, actually.”

“You’re in a place you’re unfamiliar with,” Nanami goes on to argue, challenging you as he inhales deeply. “Don’t you think the smart choice would be to turn back?”

“Why do you—”

“Look,” he cuts you off. “I’m trying to seek out your best interests. I don’t think it will be particularly smart for you to keep arguing with me—” His eyes soften, silently pleading with you. “—Please, head back.”

Your shoulders drop in defeat as you go to turn off your camera. Underneath your breath, you say, “Fine.”

However, at three-twelve in the morning, your camera lens is shattered as it lies on the ground and the red light is still shining. In the blink of an eye, you’re gone and the device abandoned. 

YEAR 2024, 4:59 AM — omnipresent point of view [ not recording ] 

You don’t know what time it is when you finally return back to consciousness. Hands bound behind your back as thick ropes keep them still. Your eyes flutter open as your chest rises and falls, trying to get a bearing of your surroundings as Nanami is kneeling in front of you. Eyes that still hold that same darkness as he watches you return back to reality. Oh, how hard he tried to keep himself grounded, trying to restrain the hunger within himself. Even now, he tries to keep himself under control.

However, is there any way to keep you alive after this point? He’s no magician. He can’t take away your memories and make you forget. To have you walking around, knowing of his existence, it wouldn’t be safe for him. 

I could paint her as a mad woman, he contemplates. Who’d believe a girl claiming that vampires are real? However, he knocks that question out with, She could, however, paint me a criminal. Nonetheless, in this battle for rationality and morals, time continues to go and his hunger grows stronger. Nails digging into the palm of his hand, threatening to prick into his skin, he stands when a faint gasp leaves your lips. “Wh–Where am I?”

In the basement, he’s got you tied down to a pole. You try to pull at the binding, your wrists already bruised from how tight he’s got the ropes. “Why am I tied up? Who are you— Let me go!”

Your mind whirls as you come to your senses, eyes widening as you try to free yourself. He should’ve thought this through. He should’ve killed you the moment he knocked you out. You’d have a painless death. Now, he’s given you the curse of one that’ll be excruciating. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I tried warning you when I had a bit more self-control.”

When he inches toward you, you try to back away from him. However, that only results in your head hitting the pole as your breathing becomes erratic. He ignores your fright, trying to ignore the guilt that courses through him as he stands behind you, reaching for the man-made manacles— if you can even call them man-made anymore. “You’ve worn me out, however.”

“What do you mean?” you try looking back, feeling the restraints being lifted and only to be replaced with his tight hold. “Please—” You try your luck here, attempting to pull away from his grasp, but he doesn’t budge one bit. “Please, let me go.” 

Your chest heaves, panting heavily as tears prick down your face. One hand holding down your wrists, Nanami reaches to swipe away at the dried blood. He had created a nasty gash in your head, blood still pooling from it as crimson paints his thumb. “I don’t usually prey on women. It goes against my own code, but…”

With a lick from his tongue, the dark veins underneath his eyes reveal his true form. “You’ve left me no choice. I just couldn’t… I just can’t hold back anymore.”

Eyes widening as you know your impending death is near, your mind does the best thing it could conjure. Letting out signals as your body comes to a cold sweat, you let out a blood-curdling scream in hopes to be heard. However, inhumanely faster than you, sharp canines reveal themselves and prick into the nape of your neck. Your cry for help becomes choked, stuttering on the high-pitched wail as you mewl out in pain. 

“Please,” you beg, your body feeling heavier by the second. “I–I don’t… I don’t want to die.”

When he drops your lifeless body, your eyes are still wide open. Nanami gives you the grace of closing them.

YEAR 2024, 5:43 AM — nanami’s point of view [ destroyed footage ]

Nanami considers himself lucky when he’s the first to find your camera. Picking it up, he’s surprised that the damn thing is still on and flashing red. Mouth smeared in a browning rouge, he looks into the camera lens with a dead stare. Then forcing it to the ground, the glass shatters as two heavy stomps crush the device, the sims card still intact. 

THE END.

film credits — thank you to @mitsuwu for basically giving me the idea to make reader an influencer.

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