#without saying a word in fear of getting kicked. still got called out for low heals but idc im just trying to help

[wp100]

speaking of Fyrakk's design, his visage form is ehhh

it's like they tried to make him look hot, almost like a tumblr sexyman (in this case, a Blizzard sexyman). (i mean, look at him, he's skinny as a twig, LOL) but he ended up looking like a muppet with that mouth

meh, i still Would.

[frickingnerd]

a place to stay for the night

pairing: percy jackson x gn!mortal!reader

summary: it's been years since you've seen percy last. but on a rainy night, he shows up injured at your door and you decide to nurse your childhood friend back to health

tags: tending to percy's wounds, wholesome fluff, childhood best friends, mortal!reader, passed out!percy, romantic/platonic

you hadn't seen percy in years. in all that time, you had almost forgotten what he looked like. and when you finally saw him again, you barely recognized the boy. he stood in front of your door, soaked in rain and blood and collapsed into your arms as soon as you opened the door.

trying to remain calm, you dragged percy inside your apartment and towards the couch. luckily, he was still breathing and just passed out, but you didn't know what to do with him. it had been years since you last saw and you hadn't imagined your reunion to go like this…

you made your way into the bathroom, grabbing a few towels and anything that you could use for first aid. calling an ambulance might've been better, but you feared that percy hadn't shown up here if he could've simply called an ambulance. he seemed to be in trouble and he must've thought you were the only one he could go to for help.

as you returned to the living room, percy had opened his eyes again, his eyelids fluttering, as he adjusted to the light around him.

“you're awake–!”

you dropped everything you had onto the living room table and crouched down next to percy, who was slowly sitting up straight.

“i-i'm sorry… for scaring you like this…” percy mumbled, his voice low and fragile. “i didn't know where else to go. and i thought, maybe after all those years, you might still live here…”

you couldn't help but smile a little. percy had still remembered where you lived. even after all that time, he seemed like he hadn't forgotten about you. just like you never quite forgot about him.

“percy…” your smile faded slowly as you raised your hand and touched his face, wiping away some blood that was beginning to dry. “who did this to you? was it… what was his name?”

percy chuckled softly.

“gabe? no, he– he's not around anymore. i've got bigger problems nowadays…”

percy smiled as he said that, but those words only made you worry more. bigger problems than gabe? if those wounds weren't from percy's abusive stepfather, then where in the world did he get them?

“hey, don't worry…” percy gently lifted your chin, his thumb gently touching the corner of your lip. “i– i know this looks bad, but i'll be fine! i've been through worse already and–”

“percy, saying that doesn't make me worry less–!”

you gently pushed away the boy's hand and glared at him. but he just chuckled softly, even though laughing made his wounds ache.

“i'm sorry…. i promise you, i'll explain everything to you. just–” percy paused for a moment. “i just need a place to stay. just for a night or two and then i'll be gone again”

you hesitated. sure, you couldn't kick percy out when he was in such a bad state. but it seemed like he was in really big trouble. trouble you might get dragged into, if he stuck around too long.

“fine…” you eventually gave in. “but you have to promise to tell me what happened to you!”

you reached out your pinky to percy, looking the boy deep in the eyes.

“and you have to promise me that you'll visit me again, without needing me for first aid!”

percy chuckled and locked his pinky with yours, leaning a little closer, as he held eye contact.

“i promise!”

[starlightandfairies]

Reaction ~Joel Miller~

Description: Reader kills someone to protect Joel. It was the first person who wasn't infected.

Warnings: she/her pronouns, swearing, death, killing, vomit, blood,

(View whichever Joel you want, show or game. I don't have any in mind. Regardless of what the gif is)

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Last name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 1,578

The Last of Us masterlist

First Person's POV 

Joel and I were running around some city, hunters had been on our arses for a fair while, I wasn't much of a fighter. I mean, I knew how to defend myself, Joel taught me and also how to use a couple weapons but most of the time it was Joel who did the killing. I could take out the infected, I'd be dead if I didn't, I had yet to kill an uninfected person yet. I knew it was inevitable, it's a dog eat dog kinda world now. Gotta do what you gotta to do to survive. 

"Come on, I'll boost you up." I nodded, grunting as Joel gave me the momentum to get into the air and I pulled myself onto the platform and then got on my belly to drag Joel up. 

"You ready?" I nodded and started dragging him up once he grabbed onto my arms. Joel pulled me to my feet once he was up and we climbed into the window. I hid behind something covering the platform we were on, watching as Joel dropped down to the main floor to take out the lone runners. 

He moved with such ease, almost like a ballerina, probably not something I should say to him. Ever. I think he'd kill me if he knew I referred to him being like a ballerina. Joel killed the four runners without alerting any of them, once he waved his hand I dropped down with my knees cracking, creaking and crackling. 

"We going up?" I questioned once making my way to Joel, he nodded and grabbed onto the rope/hose/cable whatever the fuck it was, he grabbed onto it, tugging firmly a few times before gesturing for me to go up first. 

"I'll catch you if you fall, just like last time." I huffed, hated he had to reminded me of it, maybe I should call him a ballerina to his face. I grabbed the rope/hose/cable and used the wall to make my way up. It was hardest getting onto the ledge without getting into some ridiculous position. Once Joel got up, we made the hike to the rooftop, hoping to get the advantage on these hunters. 

I got the plank that was discarded and placed it between the two roof top buildings. Joel finished surveying the rooftop and ushered for me to get across. I did so and ducked down once bullets started firing, Joel kicked off the plank and began firing back at the hunters who managed to sneak up on us. 

"Find a way down, I'll meet you down there!" Bang. Bang. Bang. He ran away before I could muster a protest. Fuck, Fuck. Fuck. Not having any bullets coming my way, I ran to the door, closing it behind me and pulled out my gun creeping down once I gained a hold of my senses and remember everything Joel taught me if I ever ended up alone. 

I was worried the bloaters would be in here, the stalkers had me more scared, I just wanted to go back to safety, when stalkers weren't trying to get me to die by natural causes of a damn heart attack. The worst part is knowing they're there but not knowing when they're gonna jump out. 

In this building I had to deal with just clickers and runners. So glad that no stalkers wanted to give me a heart attack, that honestly relieved me. However, my fear quickly returned as I heard the gunshots growing louder the closer I got to the bottom of this tall building. 

I dropped down from the opened elevator, grunting once more at the pain in my knees, I really needed to stop doing this and I know that Joel's knees were just as abused as mine. I did this little awkward creeping run, trying to stay low but quick to see if Joel was still alive or if something had somehow gone wrong. I got into the building, hiding behind the nearest barricade to ensure that Joel was still alive. 

There he was, fighting with a hunter, his gun was somewhere discarded in the overgrown ground-floor. Joel managed to get a metal spike in his hand before ramming it up the hunter's chin. I did a quick survey, trying to ensure there were no more hunters, as I said before, I'm not much of a fighter and Joel very much knew this, so normally he kept me away from this kind of fighting. Which I was glad he did that, instead of ditching me years back when he realised how much of a fighter I wasn't. He ditched the body to the side, grunting as he did so. I checked again, making sure no one was sneaking around before making my way to Joel. 

It happened so quickly, sounds cliched, but I swear it really did and I don't really think Joel knows what happened either. A hunter tried pulling off some ninja move from movies. He dropped down from the balcony, landing on Joel, causing him to fall belly side on the ground and struggle for air as the man wrapped an a cord around Joel's throat. I fired one shot, landing in the hunter's bicep. Fortunately he let go of Joel, unfortunately the hunter came towards me with a machete. The hunter swung, the blade towards me, I stubbled backwards like the klutz I am and landed myself on my back with the guy charging towards me. I fired one shot and then one more. 

The body fell on top of me. I could feel his blood on me, god I felt sick and awful. Joel took the hunter off of me, I couldn't understand what he was saying, I could see his mouth moving and see the worry in his eyes. 

Joel's POV

Two shots echoed through the building, the man fell down on top of y/n then silence. I moved towards the two, kicking the body off of y/n noticing the bullet in his bicep, chest and one in his forehead. Blood was splattered across her face and clothes, her hands shaking with the gun still firmly kept in her hands. 

Y/n was beyond pale, I could see it in her eyes, I've seen that look too many times to know it would only be a matter of time before she's vomiting. 

"Hey, hey, darlin' I need you to give me the gun." There was no recognition in her eyes, no acknowledgement that she heard me talking, I slowly crept forward and took the gun from her hand and rested it on the ground before helping her onto her knees. I rubbed her back as she threw up and flinched slightly as little sobs came from her lips once she finished. 

"I-oh god I-I f-fuck. There's so much blood." Her hands shook staring at the blood on her hands, I brought her to her feet, knowing that I couldn't help her here until we were away from the hunters' grounds. I grabbed onto her shoulders, trying to get some senses back to her. 

"Darlin' you gotta come with me, I can't help you until we're safe." Y/n nodded, that shellshock look still on her face. 

++++++

First person's POV 

It came in blurs, going between knowing where I am to flashing back to shooting the hunter, knowing that his blood is still on me and knowing that I killed a man. I felt Joel's hands on my face, forcing me to look at him, was I still crying? I don't know, I don't even know if I had been crying but just feeling all the sadness. 

"I killed a man- Joel, I killed him. How do I make the blood go away?" Joel helped me out of the car, stopping near the creek, Joel lowered me to the ground, using some rag to wipe the blood from my face and guided my hands to the running stream to get the blood off. 

"All gone." It was always nice hearing the gentleness, he didn't really show it much, at least not in the typical way one would think of gentleness, he had his own way. 

"I still killed a man." 

"You did what you had to do to survive. If you didn't you'd be dead or worse being raped and tortured by all those hunters. You did what you could to ensure you stayed alive and safe." The words sounded blunt and not what someone who wanted comforting needed but Joel, he knew what he was doing. 

"Darlin' I'm proud of you, even if it wasn't what you wanted to do. You acted fast and you kept yourself alive and unharmed." Joel, brought me in for a hug, stroking my hair and letting out gentle hums. 

"Come on, get into a change of clothes, we'll wash those clothes later on. You tell me how I can help. What can I do to make the hurt go away?" Joel wiped away a tear, leaving his hand on the side of the creek, doing what he could to try and soothe me. 

"Just hold me once I get out of this?" 

"I can arrange that darlin'" 

[brattyfics]

Swampbound I

Adla had lived in Florida her whole life, yet the strange debris that washed ashore after storms still startled her. Broken tree limbs and splintered pieces of homes were expected, but today was different.

Tangled in seaweed, she spotted frantic turtle hatchlings, frogs, and crabs struggling to reclaim their place in the chaos. But nothing compared to the sight before her: a bloody, mangled deer carcass lying in the tall grass, torn flesh and fur clinging to shredded cloth.

Her instincts screamed at her to turn back, but curiosity pulled her closer. Kneeling down, she caught the metallic scent of blood, and a chill gripped her. Something violent had occurred.

A gator? No, they dragged their prey into the water. Maybe a hawk? But even a bird of prey wouldn’t leave this kind of mess. Could it be a bobcat? They prowled these swamps, opportunistic in their hunting. But as she examined the prints—large, wolf-like, and deeper than any she’d seen—her heart raced. Four parallel prints faded into something far stranger: two flatter, elongated impressions.

Like feet.

Human feet.

The footprints were far too big to be hers, and she knew she was alone out there. The air felt thick, the swamp unnaturally quiet, as if the world was holding its breath. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: “Never run from a person or an animal. Running makes you prey.”

She gripped her hunting knife, steadying her wrist, eyes scanning the brush for hidden dangers but there was nothing– no one hiding in the bushes, no animal stalking her. Just thick humidity, carrying the earthy scent of wet soil and decaying leaves. 

Time to head back.

As she treaded carefully over the spongy ground, the low rumble of an engine caught her attention. She hadn’t expected company—she rarely did. As a child, she’d hated the isolation of this place, but now it felt like a shield.

Rushing up the muddy incline, her boots kicked loose clumps of earth. At the porch of her old Cracker house, she leaned against the weathered wood, squinting down the overgrown path. A boxy, faded green Jeep Cherokee bounced along the uneven track.

Jesse Hampton. Of course.

He stepped out, scanning the trees before his gaze settled on her. His mahogany skin glistened under the humid sun, damp shirt clinging to his chest, hair wild from the moisture. Stubble covered his jaw—unusual for him but understandable after the chaos of the storm. Even so, he was as handsome as ever.

“Addy,” he called, voice steady but laced with urgency. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His gaze darted behind her, searching the shadows. “I know it seems all quiet and nice, but it ain’t safe.”

She rolled her eyes, not wanting to give him more reason to worry. “You’re soundin’ just like my father.”

Jesse’s expression tightened, something unspoken hanging between them. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Promise me you’ll be careful. You got a light in you that draws eyes—sometimes the wrong ones.”

His words hung heavy, and a flicker of fear flashed in her eyes. “You’re fussing over nothing. I’m just fine,” she shot back, but unease gnawed at her. Jesse knew something she didn’t.

“What you doing out here, anyway?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Do I need a reason?” he countered, flashing that charming smile of his.

“You always got a reason when you show up without warning. So, what’s the scoop this time?”

Jesse owned a busy convenience store in town but thrived on side hustles, always finding a way to get by. She admired his resourcefulness, but it was a reminder that he always had some angle he was working.

“Just wanted to check on you, see how you’re faring after the storm. But if I ain’t welcome…” He paused, putting on a mock-serious face. “I can just as easily turn right back around.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, turning away as she ascended the steps. “You say that every time, but you always wind up inside.” She shot him a teasing grin over her shoulder. “You don’t even bother asking to come in anymore.”

“After all the times I’ve been ‘round, why would I ask?” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a playful spark in his eye. “Sometimes late at night, if I remember right.”

Adla shook her head, heading toward the kitchen. “That ain’t the same thing, and you know it.”

She opened the fridge and grabbed a pitcher of cold water, pouring a glass and handing it to him. Their fingers brushed, igniting that familiar spark that always hung in the air between them.

“Why you gotta say it like that?” Jesse asked, his brow furrowing as he took a sip from his glass.

“‘Cause you gotta get it, Jesse,” Adla replied, picking her words with care. “I ain’t one for surprises. You should’ve let me know you were coming before just poppin’ up like this.” She forced a sweet smile, hoping to ease the sting. Before anything, he was her closest friend, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him.

He leaned casually against the counter, a sly grin spreading across his face. Adla considered asking if he’d been snooping around her property—Jesse had a knack for being sneaky—but thought better of it. Questions would only lead to more questions.

“I thought I was special,” he inched closer, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Oh, really? Where’d you get that idea from?” She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement.

“Just a hunch,” he said, tugging at a tight curl in her ponytail, the spiral bouncing back like a rubber band. He leaned in to whisper, “I figured if I play my cards right and keep doing that thing you like, I might get a little something in return.”

She fought to hold back a smile. “Like what exactly?”

“Ain’t askin’ for much. Just the freedom to come and go when I feel like it.” Jesse leaned in for a kiss, his lips hovering just shy of hers. Adla pushed against his broad chest, stopping him.

Jesse was fine as hell—fit, sharp, and always finding a way out of trouble. She liked being around him, sure, but no one—not even him—was about to think they had a hold on her. She ran her own life, and settling down wasn’t in the cards, especially when she knew other women were likely getting a taste of that same charm and quick thinking too.

“Nope, not a chance,” she said, playful but firm, shaking her head. “But since you’re already here, I could use your help with something.”

“Oh really?” he replied, his interest piqued. “What you need?”

“Help me set these traps and see what washed up after that storm,” she said, stealing a quick sip from his cup. She wanted to catch some crabs and fish to fill up her freezer, and the thought of going back into the woods alone made her uneasy.

“Aww, man,” he groaned dramatically. “I should’ve known coming over here meant I’d have to work. You’re a real slave driver, you know that?”

They settled into a rhythm, working side by side, their comfortable banter broken by the silence of the storm’s aftermath. They inspected her garden for damage while Jesse filled her in on town gossip—apparently, Mrs. Flowers had been caught in Mr. Jenkins’ house by Mr. Flowers. Uprooted mustard greens littered the ground as Adla pulled them up, but thankfully, the okra and sweet potatoes had weathered the storm. She just hoped the excess moisture wouldn’t lead to rot.

Moving on to the fishing nets and traps, they stumbled upon something concerning.

A mountain of fish heads littered the reeds where she usually set her traps, alongside crab shells stripped of their claws and backs. This wasn’t the typical damage—something worse lurked here, disturbingly messy and uncharacteristic of the area’s usual predators.

“What in the world?” Adla muttered, her heart racing as she scanned the ground for prints. “You think it was a gator?

“A gator wouldn’t leave pieces like this,” Jesse replied, his brow furrowing.

“Something else made this mess,” she finished, feeling her skin prickling as those unsettling feelings from earlier came rushing back. She described the strange prints and the shredded carcass she’d seen to Jesse, who listened closely, rubbing her shoulders to calm her down.

“You shouldn't be out here tonight, Addy. Why don’t you come stay with me?”

Apprehension settled in her gut about what the darkness might bring, but she couldn’t accept his offer. His grandmother’s old house might be just down the road, but it felt wrong to spend the night in another woman’s home—even if she had adored Adla.

Plus, sneaking around with Jesse where anyone could see was out of the question. She refused to give anyone the chance to stir up drama or question her independence. She couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the next Mrs. Flowers, her good name dragged through the mud for all who would listen.

“No one—and nothing—is going to run me out of my house,” she said, half to him, half to herself. This place was her sanctuary, the fruit of her struggles and her ancestors' labor. They had fought hard for this land, and she felt a fierce pride in maintaining it. Out in the wilderness, peace was something earned, not given. She would defend her home if it came to that.

“You don’t know what’s lurking out here, and you think it’s smart to be by yourself? That don’t make no sense, baby doll,” Jesse insisted, his usual persistence edged with urgency.

“Don't call me that. I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she shot back, irritation flaring. She knew what was good for her better than anyone else ever could. Jesse had been testing her boundaries too much lately.

“I already told you—I’m staying. You should head out on out here before dark.”

“Don’t be like that—” he started, his voice smooth and sweet like molasses. Today, though, she wasn’t falling for it.

“Go on,” she said, stepping in close to block his path. “I’ll finish up and lock everything up tight, but I need you to leave now.”

Jesse met her eyes, noticing the resolve etched into her expression. Adla stood firm, arms crossed, one hip jutting out, her nose wrinkled just so. She had made up her mind, and he knew he’d already pushed her enough for one day.

“Alright, I’m on my way,” he agreed. “But you promise me you ain’t stepping outside tonight. Whatever you do, don’t go crossing that threshold.”

Adla frowned at his strange phrasing. “Why would I be out here? I ain’t foolish enough to roam around at night." His shoulders were knotted with tension. "What’s got you so riled up?”

“Just trust me on this,” he insisted, locking eyes with her, his expression serious. “You’ll be safe, no matter what, if you just stay inside tonight.”

Last she checked, danger didn’t give a damn about doors, windows, or any other barriers. But it was clear he wouldn’t leave until she agreed.

“Alright, fine,” she said, stretching out the words, “I’ll stay in tonight. Not like I was gonna be out and about anyway.”

“Good,” Jesse smiled, wrapping her up in his arms tight. “I’ll call you later, and you better pick up. If you don’t, I’ll be back, whether you want me to or not.” As he turned to leave, Adla couldn’t help but smile after him. Jesse could be a handful, but beneath his cool front, she knew he cared for her just as fiercely as she did for him. In the wild expanse of the Florida swamps, that bond meant everything.

He lingered in the driveway while she hurried to gather crab shells, tossing them into the compost bin—no sense letting them go to waste. He didn’t start his engine until she was safely inside with the door closed, waving goodbye from the street as she watched from the window.

After locking up, she sank into a well-deserved bubble bath, a sweet reward for a hard day’s work. The clawfoot tub, older than her but still in solid shape, had become a cherished fixture in her home. The bathroom, filled with the scent of incense and candles, wrapped around her like a familiar hug. After her father passed, her first goal had been to breathe life back into the old house, make it her own.

Reminders of him were everywhere—the doorframe where he marked her height on the first day of school, the cast-iron pans he used for dinner. But mostly, the house was hers now—weathered, yet undeniably new in its own way.

Her time in the city felt like a world away from the peace she found here. Juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet, she was always surrounded by nosy neighbors and men who didn’t know how to take no for an answer. But the worst part was the stalker—a shadowy figure who slipped chilling notes under her apartment door. I know who you are. What you can do. It left her confused and drained, but she didn’t tuck tail and run back home until her father passed away.

The guilt of not being there at the end haunted her, so she kept busy. Her part-time job at the new bed-and-breakfast in town helped pay the bills, and on weekends, she sold her art—sculptures made from found objects—at a flea market a couple of towns over. Every spare moment was spent creating with her hands. Her life wasn’t glamorous, but the peace and was worth more than anything else.

“When You’re Young and in Love” by The Marvelettes played softly on the record player, one of her mother’s favorites. She couldn’t quite relate to the notion of being swept off her feet but it sounded good, romantic even. Her daddy had been left in pieces when her mama died, never even thinking about finding another. She yearned for a love that strong, but the idea also chilled her to the bone.

She had only a handful of pictures, but from those, Adla saw the resemblance. She inherited her father’s level-headed temperament, but her rich skin tone, flat nose, and wide, expressive eyes—all of that came from her mother. Those features made her feel close to the woman whose absence she felt deeply.

With a sigh, Adla rose from the cool water, wrapping a towel around her waist. Her earlier worries faded as she slathered on cocoa butter lotion and slipped into a floral-patterned cotton nightgown.

After her nighttime routine of checking the locks and lights, she settled in. The old wooden floors creaked softly underfoot—a comforting sound that added to the home’s charm.

Just as she was about to crawl into bed, faint sounds from outside caught her ear—rhythmic scraping and thumping carried on the wind. Strange noises weren’t rare out in the boonies, but this one sent a shiver down her spine. Something was different. She paused in the hallway, glancing toward the door.

A tug, almost physical, pulled her toward it, despite Jesse’s warnings. It was as if something—someone—was calling her, and the urge was too strong to ignore. 

The door creaked as she pushed it open. Through the screen, she squinted, trying to make sense of the dim shapes outside. A flicker of movement caught her eye, and in the cool moonlight, she saw it—something massive. A shadow loomed over the porch, too large to be any regular animal.

A knot twisted in her gut. It wasn’t a bobcat. This was more like a coyote—if coyotes were massive. No, this creature looked more like a wolf, except wolves didn’t roam Florida’s saltwater jungle.

Its amber eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark, locking onto hers with an intensity that left her feeling ice-cold. Jesse’s warnings echoed in her mind. Was this creature more than it seemed?

I know this fool ain’t lookin’ at me like I’m dinner. Adla squared her shoulders. “You don’t belong here,” she hollered, “Now, git! Get on outta here!”

The wolf growled low and deep, the frightening sound vibrating through the night air. It took a shaky step forward, and she noticed it was limping. A deep, ugly gash ran from its back down to its hind leg, blood darkening the wooden porch.

She didn’t move. Something about the creature—its pain, its presence—held her still. It was more than an injured beast. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt rooted to the spot.

A wave of instinct surged through her, a primal warning that clashed with her fear.

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” she warned, reaching for the shotgun above the door, her gaze locked on the approaching creature. She raised the gun, aiming through the screen, her finger on the trigger.

If it took just one more step forward—

The wolf paused at the door’s edge, held back by something unseen, something stronger than the flimsy screen. Her eyes flicked to the threshold, recalling Jesse’s cryptic words about things not crossing certain lines.

This was it. A choice. But Adla hesitated, her finger hovering over the trigger. She couldn’t pull it.

The wolf whined, collapsing in a heap at her feet, its strength giving out. Its amber eyes, still glowing, held no aggression—only a silent plea. The sight tugged at something deep inside her, stirring memories of her own struggles.

Her father’s words echoed in her mind: “Respect the creatures out here, just like you respect yourself. Life’s tough enough without us makin’ it harder on each other.”

Adla sighed, lowering the shotgun. The wolf’s blood was already drying on the porch. Tomorrow, she’d scrub it clean, but for tonight, she’d let the creature stay. She hoped it would make it through the night.

After triple-checking the locks, she placed the shotgun within arm’s reach and settled into bed, the creaking floorboards beneath her a familiar lullaby. Yet, the strange pull toward the wolf lingered in her mind. Maybe it wasn’t just an animal, but something deeper—a reflection of her own struggles, a sign from her father. Whatever it was, she’d reckon with it tomorrow. For now, she surrendered to sleep, trusting that both she and the wolf would survive the night.

Chapter Two.

@nayaesworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @sageispunk @megamindsecretlair @blowmymbackout @kindofaintrovert @avoidthings @zillasvilla @insidefeelingofanadult @theereina @slutsareteacherstoo @babybratzmaraj @senajaiaspeak @princessmakipala @writingsbytee @planetblaque @liquorlaughslove @judymfmoody @playgurlxoxo @theescorpiolovechile @keyaho @gg-trini i @vivaalenaa @li-da-savage @ash-ketchumzzz

[yanderes-galore]

Low honor John with prompt 5, 10 by ddarker dreams

like father like son hehe

9/13

-🧨

My jaw is on the FLOOR at these prompts because of what they imply, so let me do my best to make this not all that triggering. Do expect creep behavior and possibly beyond that.... I haven't seen much of RDR's Low Honor John, but I have heard how he speaks to women... so.... Here's John being an icky man. Please be VERY wary of trigger warnings. This is MEANT to be revolting. It's low honor John, after all.

Prompts Here

Yandere! Low Honor! John Marston Prompts 5 + 10

"I’ve denied myself long enough."

"Your body won’t lie to me."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Creep behavior from John, Infidelity, Intimacy, Biting, Kissing, Forced "affection" implied (possible assault), Manipulation, Sexual themes but nothing happens graphically, Theft, Breaking and entering, John watches you sleep, Forced "relationship."

You are such a guilty pleasure.

Wedding vows mean nothing to a man without morals. Sure, John is a married man, one with a wife and son.... However, he's still almost drooling when it came to you.

Poor you had no idea you had attracted a man such as him.

You had "met" him when he was visiting your town. You were working with the general store, looking all cute in that outfit you always wore. He couldn't help but stare... giving you some "compliments" to see how you shy away from him.

It doesn't matter if you hate him... He wants a taste so bad.

You told him off each time he tried to be close. You called him sleazy, a creep. He doesn't deny such things... He's an outlaw, already scum.

Regardless of what you say, he's determined.

"You say that now, baby... but you'll be begging for me soon enough."

He was kicked out of the store, yet he's a persistent man.

John began to stick around after that last encounter. Often riding his horse into town just to hunt you down. Even at night he tracked you to your home, watching through your window as sick fantasies filled his mind.

God, He could feel warmth pooling in places it shouldn't.

John is Infatuated with you. Obsessed with the thought of you being his. You really know how to make a man question his wedding vows....

John couldn't help but get a little impatient. He'd spend hours away from home just to catch a glimpse of you. He always wrote to Abigail that he was hunting down members of the gang. In reality, he was watching you like a hawk from your window.

Sometimes John would try to court and woo you when you were out and about. He'd approach you, a crooked grin on his face as he speaks to you. His words are crude, his touches are inappropriate...

You even smell amazing to him.

You're adorable... He wants you so bad.

Due to his time with the Van Der Linde gang... John's a master at breaking and entering. He occasionally slips into your home to steal clothes or trinkets. Sometimes... He even just likes to watch you sleep.

John wants to make you his. He'd do anything to make you his. Including more unhinged acts... You just spark something primal within him.

He feels like a damn animal.

John can only watch you from a distance for so long. He's aware you simultaneously hate and fear him. Why wouldn't you? He's used to the wandering outlaw life.

But that won't stop him from making you his...

John loves a good challenge.

Poor you barely saw him coming. John was sure to memorize your routine, to know when you got home and when you went to sleep. John knew all sorts of things about you.

He's done all sorts of things to have you....

It was easy for him to slip into your home like usual. He either looked for a window or tried the door. Regardless... John quickly slips in, excitement coursing through him as he stalked through your home.

Poor you... just wanting to get ready for bed. Your back was turned, fidgeting with your sleepwear, only for John to lean against your doorframe. Even in your sleepwear... he's drooling.

"Hey there, sweetheart..." John purrs like a predator surveying prey. Even when you're startled you're adorable. "You look so cute tonight...."

"It's you...!" You gasp, heart frantically beating like a rabbit trapped by a wolf. John can't help but grin. He likes being the wolf...

He likes innocent little rabbits at his mercy....

"It is me..." John growls playfully. "Did you wear that thin little thing all for me? I knew you were interested in me, sweetie...."

"Get out of my house! You're deranged!" You plead, but such pleas fall on deaf ears as John stalks closer. Why would that stop him?

He's killed men he didn't like....

"I’ve denied myself long enough." John grumbles, yet his tone is excited. "You know how long I've been watching you? Having to use clothes to get by? I can barely stay loyal to my own wife... Not with you being all cute and coy...."

John sees you trying to duck behind him, but the outlaw is much more experienced. He wraps his arms around your torso, shoving you backwards roughly. You're pinned to the wall of your home quickly, his grip tight as his lips ghost against your neck. He can't help but press flush against you... carefully tasting your skin like he's a starving man.

"You say you hate me, call me disgusting... I've been called worse...." John mutters, eyes glancing up at you with desire. "I know you don't really hate me... Nah... You know we're meant to be, right?"

John kisses your neck, nipping at the skin with a groan. You feel revolted at his behavior, pushing against him. In response, John merely pins your hands to the wall as he nips your collarbone.

You freeze when he places a leg over you, caging you against his muscled frame.

"Sure, tell me you hate me. Tell me I'm horrible. Tell me you're not mine...." John murmurs against your flesh, using another hand to gently touch your skin. "But I know one thing for sure..."

John grins, a sadistic gleam in his eyes as he pulls you tighter against him, just to hear your whimper.

"Your body won’t lie to me." John chuckles, sighing softly. "You'll know you're mine... especially by the end of tonight, Darling... but don't worry... I'll be gentle."

John then cups your face, breath hot on your face as you tremble.

"Now... let me show you where you belong, Darling...." John coos, touch becoming a little less rough as he scoops you into his arms.

Tonight, John will finally get what he wants, you'll be all his tonight...

You'll be all his EVERY night... Forever.

[kittenfangirl20]

Addict au

Adam felt his entire body shudder as he inhaled the long line of coke. He couldn’t believe how damn good it was. It was some kind of new type of coke on the market. 

It was said to be so good the high would start immediately. To Adam’s pleasure they didn’t lie. Of course it would.

 One of the main elements used to make it and have that effect came from the fallen angel himself. 

His blood.

It might not be as strong as it would be if he were still holy but it produced a kick. 

Val: Well how is it?

Adam glanced up to the man who helped produce the drug.

Adam: It’s good, really good.

Val: See what I tell you? Is it not the best thing that’s ever entered your anatomy? Besides sex that is.

Adam: It is now, don't forget our deal!

Val: You wound me little lamb, do you not have any trust for your own business partner.

Adam: We are NOT business partners. The deal is that I give you my blood and you give me the stuff for free. 

Val: Exactly business partners

Adam scoffed and looked back down at the table with the tray of stuff.

Adam: What are you gonna call it anyway? 

The man smirked, placing a hand on his hip.

Val: Angel’s blood has a nice ring to it. Don’t ya thing? 

Adam merely rolled his eyes and packed up the stuff into his bag and prepared to head out. 

Val: I’ll see you soon then?

Adam: Yeah…soon.

Without another word he marched right out of the overlords office and out of his building. As Adam trudged his way through the filthy streets of Hell fellow addicts lined up along the sidewalk, in the alley, and some in the middle of the fucking road he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Not that long ago Adam would have been disgusted with their behavior. Would have said that extermination was a kindness. They no longer suffer through their addictions if permanently dead.

But that was before Adam died during the extermination, woke up fallen, and began walking a mile in the sinners shoes. He wouldn’t say that sinners were all just poor unfortunate souls that only needed saving. Oh dear Lord no.

He simply had an understanding of them. 

Maybe they were lost and so was he.

He never thought he’d stoop so low that he’d sell his own blood for a bag of dough. Yet here he was. That’s just what happens when you finally get your hands on something that’s never been available to you. 

Soon you want more.

As ironic as it may be, it consumes you. The more you put into your body, the more you feel like you need. To help you relieve any pain in your life, even temporarily. Like it did for Adam.

Here in Hell, his life was nothing but pain. Well, his entire existence has been painful. But at least up on Earth and in Heaven he had people who cared and supported him.

Down here he had no one but himself. At one point during his first days down here he’d considered going to the hotel. Since she did claim redemption was possible for anyone who seemed it.

But that was before Adam got his hands on his first bottle. Then soon moved on to more hardcore stuff. And all his thoughts kept circling back to the truth whenever he thought about the hotel.

They’d never accept him. 

Lucifer would never accept him.

Or worse they did and then what? He didn’t know but he didn’t want to find out. He stopped when he realized he made it to his rundown abandoned apartment complex. 

He merely sighed and went in getting ready to hit himself up again. 

Adam lay on the pitiful excuse for a bed after he took more drugs. It helped at least numb the pain and keep him mind off of the self loathing. But that wasn’t possible because tonight when he turned on the TV he saw a commercial for the Hazbin Hotel which included Lucifer in it. Seeing that made Adam start to cry.

Adam: Why couldn’t you just love me the way I love you.

But it wasn’t meant to be because he chose Lilith over him. Thinking of Lilith made Adam cry even more. Just thinking of the first woman always made Adam sad and fearful. Especially now that Lilith got to relax on the beaches of Heaven while Adam had to sell his blood for money and drugs. Adam cried himself to sleep. In the morning Adam woke up and stumbled out of bed to go and buy some groceries. He didn’t realize that he was spotted by Angel Dust who ran back to the hotel and went to both Charlie and Lucifer.

Angel: Look, I don’t know if we should be concerned or not. But I saw Adam at a local grocery store. He lost quite a bit of weight and he doesn’t look good. I think he is having a rough time in Hell.

Charlie: Dad, we need to help Adam. I know he attacked the hotel, but no one deserves to suffer like that.

Lucifer: I will go and talk to him, I just don’t know if he will listen to me.

The truth was that Lucifer had wanted to help Adam and apologize for everything.

@talesfromawannabewriter

[angry-geese]

Sea, Swallow Me

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Warnings: not OSHA compliant. hurt/comfort, light angst, ex-husband Gojo. angry/hate sex, unprotected sex, oral (cunnilingus), fingering.

Synopsis: some ex-husband Gojo smut except him and the reader are still totally in love with each other >:)

a/n: this has been rattling around in my drafts since like march and I finally got my thoughts gathered enough to write it out lol

Word Count: 4.7k

jjk masterlist

Outside, the sky grows dark, signaling an incoming storm. The weather report called for it yesterday; off and on thunderstorms all night, and well into this afternoon. Not uncommon for this time of year. This morning’s grocery trip was one made with the hope of being back before another downpour started, and from the looks of it, you were successful.

Typically, when you come home, the cat is the first thing to greet you. Today, even after she hears your keys hit the counter, she remains just out of view. You don't mind it so much, even if you do find it odd. It gives you time to put away groceries, and the treats you bought for her without her begging for anything. 

The foul weather makes it as good a day as any to spend inside. Plenty of chores need to be done around your apartment, as work has begun to consume much of your free time. That’s nothing new. Certain times of the year are busier than others at Jujutsu Tech. It certainly doesn't help that two people are out due to injuries, and another is on maternity leave, meaning you’re on call nearly 24/7. 

The cat makes herself known only after she hears a can of food open, chirping as she trots into the kitchen. She stays long enough to finish eating, and get some pets from you, before settling into her spot on the window sill, intently watching leaves being blown around outside. You settle on preparing dinner: thawing meat, and chopping veggies for a soup that’ll take nearly an hour to simmer. 

A noise from the other room draws your attention; in the living room, the TV is on—something you vividly remember shutting off. A drama was playing, but the lead was giving you such bad second-hand embarrassment that you just had to shut it off.

Maybe you really are starting to lose it. 

You’ve seen it happen to others. The stress of the job—this way of life—gets to some. You could chalk it up to forgetting; maybe the cat stepped on the remote, or maybe you really did just forget. Come to think of it, didn't you turn off the lights in the kitchen before leaving too?

The back of your neck prickles with fear. Did someone really break in? You know this isn't a particularly nice part of town, but the chance of that happening is unlikely. Besides, there is no sign of forced entry. It's just a feeling of being watched. Nothing is missing, just some lights are on, and the books on your coffee table have been moved around, as if someone looked through them. Why go through the trouble then?

Nothing in particular tips you off to the presence behind you. It comes suddenly, and without warning. Fight or flight kicks in. With your elbow and wrist parallel to your collarbone, you swing outwards.

Any normal person's elbow would have been shattered by that hit. Satoru blocks it with little effort. He uses the weight of your movement against you, allowing you to fall against him. It doesn't take much time for you to realize what he’s doing, and shove yourself away from him.

“You broke in?” You say, although your voice doesn't carry any surprise. “I gotta admit, Satoru, that's a new low.”

“Technically I didn't,” he says, “I explained to the guy up front that I was your husband and he let me in.”

Internally, you curse your landlord, a sweet old man by the name of Saito. He was one of the few people who would let you move in on such short notice. This was never meant to be a permanent placement, but you suppose you don't have much to complain about here. It's an older building, but maintenance is consistent, and the interior has been completely redone. Your neighbors are quiet, pleasant people, and this is a nice corner of the neighborhood. Not nearly as luxe as your previous home, but not bad either.

As he sits down on the couch, the cat jumps straight into his lap. You know it's not fair to project human emotions onto her. She's just a cat. But you swear you see a smug little look on her face. She chirps, and bumps her head against his hand, purring loud enough it's audible across the room. 

“I think I would have rather dealt with a house robber,” you say.

“I mean, if you're into that kind of thing,” he says, “I can put the mask back on. We'll roleplay…”

“Absolutely not,” you say, snatching the remote for the tv, switching it off, “what do you want?”

Even sitting, he’s nearly eye-level with you. His hand comes up to tug at the silver chain around his neck. You don't know whether to feel angry, or sorry for him. Gojo is almost pathetic enough that you feel bad for him. Almost. 

“What?” He asks, feigning hurt. “I can't drop in to say hello to my lovely wife?”

“Ex-wife,” you say. 

Despite your current irritation with him, the separation was about as amicable as it could be. Although it’s not official in the legal sense yet, the two of you have been living separately for months now. There was no great turning moment in your relationship, just a lifetime of little things that forced a wedge between you two. These things happen. You were young when you married, and so consumed with grief that perhaps there wasn't enough thought put into it. You don't blame yourself for it, or for anything that happened. At the age of eighteen, you had a skewed view of the world. Mistakes were common at that age. That’s just part of growing up. You were young, and every emotion felt so much more potent back then. It felt right at the time. Hell, it was right.

Maybe you still love him. It’s hard to spend so much time with someone—have so many memories with them—and not love them.

“Tsumiki has a game Saturday,” he says, “you coming?”

You're slightly offended at the suggestion you would miss it. She sent you a text about it nearly a week ago. You swore to her you'd make it, even going as far as to make arrangements to leave work early.

“Of course I am.” You say. “I’ll take her—I’m off work early anyway.”

It's better for the kids that you remain an active part in their life. Megumi and Tsumiki have already dealt with so much upheaval in their life. It's cruel enough that one caregiver left them, but two? 

You tell yourself you couldn't do that to them. That alone was enough to get you to stay in your old apartment for a few more months. By then, the kids knew something was up. They're smarter than people give them credit for, and there's only so many excuses you can make for sleeping in separate rooms.

It's been maybe a year since then. Six months since you moved out. You wouldn't call it easy, but you’ve settled into your new routine quite nicely.

“Great,” he says, “why not go together then? I’ll drive. We can get dinner together afterwards.”

Your mouth opens in protest. Although it’s phrased as a question, you know him better than that. Satoru will do everything to weasel his way into this situation. Your barely-pleasant expression sours entirely.

“No, thank you,” you say, gesturing to the door, “now get out of my house.”

“Don't be like that, baby,” he says. His arms stretch out towards you, and you immediately dart out of their path. 

“I hated you calling me that when we were married,” you say, “what makes you think I’ve changed?”

“You haven't.” He says. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Within the air here hangs a rift that time won't heal. This room—this space—is too emotionally charged for you to think straight. Your head spins, clouded with anger and spite.

“Don't tell me you left the kids alone to come bother me?” You say.

Tsumiki is nearly fifteen, and pretty independent, but you don't like leaving the kids alone any longer than you have to.

“Of course not,” he says, almost looking offended, “Tsumiki is off at a sleepover, and I got your mother to watch Megs for the weekend.”

“You what?!” 

A look of shock and betrayal crosses your face. You love your mother dearly, really, but sometimes she can be a bit… much. Early on into your marriage, she was asking when you were going to have children of your own. Being freshly twenty at the time, your answer to her was simple: never. Megumi and Tsumiki were enough. You wanted to be able to devote your time—and attention—to them, not a newborn. 

Satoru catches you in your moment of shock, his arms snaking around your waist. Your hands plant on his wrists to shove them away, yet you stop yourself. 

The sound of your phone ringing in the other room gives you a reason to escape. You free his arms from your waist, heading into the bedroom. You don't hear him get up to follow you, yet you know he does. Sitting on the table beside your bed, still charging, is your phone. It’s Tsumiki. You only glance at your phone long enough to see her name, not what she’s saying. 

The end of the bed dips under his weight as he sits. He tries his best to be covert about it, but you feel his gaze wandering around the room. From the photos on the wall, to the papers on your desk, to the stuffed animals on your bed. Oh, you can hear his snide comments now.

“Those earrings are new,” he says. And you swear you hear a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. “Pretty.”

Goosebumps rise along your arm as he reaches out to feel it, brushing across your shoulder in the process. Crystals, although they may be glass, cut to look like gems, dangling from your ears. They’re blue in color; not a light slate, but a deep cerulean. Subtle enough that they’re rather unnoticeable from a distance.

“Shoko gave them to me,” you say.

She took pity on you once she found out about the divorce. Maybe she felt partially responsible, seeing as she was the one who introduced you two.

Getting sent off to the religious boarding school known as Jujutsu Technical college was a major blow to your teenage social life. At fifteen, all you wanted was to go to a normal high school with your normal friends. Yet you weren't granted such a luxury, and instead were thrown into a world you knew nothing about. You quickly found solace, and a strange kind of companionship in the girl that smoked behind the school: Ieiri Shoko.

If you didn't end up marrying him, you probably would have married her. 

For you, it wasn't love at first sight. You could barely stand him in the beginning. It was a rivalry that slowly turned into friendship, ending in romance, albeit with much prodding from Suguru and Shoko. Teenage love consumed the two of you harshly, and entirely.

It wouldn't be until years later, after the wedding, when you would find out they bet on it.

You don't push him away when he kisses you. Just a peck, nothing more. Like you’re teenagers, exchanging affections in the stairwell between classes. When the higher ups would get upset at you, not him, because he was the strongest and could get away with just about everything.

Of course you still love him. How couldn't you?

You were one of the first to look at him as something other than the strongest. Even after the star plasma vessel, and Toji Zenin. Even after Suguru’s death. Even through your own grief, your presence was constant. To him, the concept of not having you around was strange.

The taste of coffee and lipstick lingers on your lips. Your thumb comes up to wipe away the smudge of red that’s transferred to his lips. And you, so pliable and eager, fall right into his lap.

His lips find your neck, hands wandering from your arms, to your chest, to your waist. He’s savoring your closeness—the scent of your shampoo: coconut. Little do you know, he keeps a bottle of the stuff in his own bathroom. If anyone asks, he claims it’s Tsumiki’s. Only you would know otherwise. She hates the stuff, and has been buying her own since the moment she was able to. Really, he keeps it around because he can't bring himself to throw it away.

“Satoru, we shouldn't do this.” You say. You don't really want him too, it’s only to preserve your pride.

Then why is your body responding so well to him? Your body knows this routine. Maybe the last several months of living alone has sped up the process considerably. Blood rushes where it needs to be, and perhaps most shamefully of all, you’re wet. Although you’re not quite prepared yet, it’s just in the early stages of gathering.

A line of saliva connects his lips and your neck as he pulls away. “If you really wanted me gone, I wouldn't still be here,” he says. 

You tell yourself that, if you really wanted him to stop, then you wouldn't have spent so many nights dreaming of this. You wouldn't reach out to the cold spot on the bed beside you. Your subconscious wouldn't long for him in nearly every way imaginable. 

His hands trace across your waist, coming to take yours. They’re warm, albeit a bit shaky. He’s just itching to undress you—to claim what’s his. It's a sick, possessive side of him that’s only fueled by your recent months apart. He comes to kneel before you like a man bowed in prayer. Satoru sits in worship, but not for the favor of a higher being. You might as well be one to him. Should you wish it, the strongest—wielder of the six eyes—would worship the very ground before you. That devotion would soon become suffocating. It was a bandaid on an already failing relationship.

“Still want me to stop?” He asks, squeezing your hands. Whether that’s on purpose, or an accident, you can't tell. “You say no and I’ll stop here. Just give me the word and we won't ever have to do this again.”

In this moment, your body betrays you: you shake your head. You don't truly want him to go; you know that, he knows that. He wouldn't be poking and prodding at every little unhealed wound if that wasn't the case.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says. That’s when you notice what’s on the chain around his neck: his wedding ring. 

It's like he’s mocking you. Of course he still has it. Of course he saw that yours was still sitting on the bathroom counter. 

Satoru has always been like this. He pokes and prods, finding out where you’re weak. What cracks or wounds he can press his fingers into. Pushing boundaries comes natural to him. 

Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe he hasn't changed at all.

“I just want to get off,” you say. 

“Poor baby,” he coos, “you haven't gotten off at all while I was gone, have you? You should have called me. I would have taken care of you.”

“I think I'd rather call Nanami for that.” You say.

The chuckle he lets out sounds nervous. “I know you're joking,” he says, “but judging by the way he looks at you? I think he'd take you up on the offer.”

You believe it. It was a thinly veiled secret that Nanami harbored a little crush for you. The man would never go as far as to pursue his coworker, let alone his coworker's ex wife. This entire time, he’s kept a respectful distance, only speaking about your marriage if you expressed a want to do so. You’ve considered it. Hell, you’ve given it a lot of thought. You think maybe… just maybe, if the two of you were drunk or desperate enough, something could happen. But fraternizing with coworkers in such a way is ill-advised. 

Satoru is going to give him hell tomorrow when he sees him at work. Nanami will be none the wiser, assuming Satoru is up to his usual antics.

“One last chance to back out of this,” he says, “if you don't want to do this…”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” You ask.

His fingers trace down the curve of your spine, before coming to the hem of your sweater, pulling it up—and over—your head. From him comes an audible little gasp once he realizes you have no bra on underneath. That part wasn't intentional; you need to do laundry, and your shirt was baggy enough that a bra wasn't necessary. Your nipples stiffen once exposed to the open air. Although you know how this looks, it sends a pang of self-consciousness through you, causing you to cross your arms in front of your chest. It’s not like he hasn't seen this before. Maybe it's a last ditch attempt to preserve your pride. And he’s nearly tripping over himself to undress, pulling off his coat, then button-up, then trousers. Off comes your skirt, the silky fabric pooling around your feet. 

If you could stop for a moment and think, it would be endearing: the desperation that falls over you two like teenagers. He can hardly keep his hands off you, while you don't quite know what to do with yours. Eventually, you settle on wrapping your arms around his neck. 

You sit on the edge of the bed before him, still in your panties. Plain black. Nothing fancy, but cute. Maybe if you knew…

You almost scold yourself for thinking such things. It’s not like you had any way of knowing this would happen. You know part of it was to preserve your pride. Being able to move on without seeming like you needed him. He’s not your husband anymore; why go through the effort of getting dressed up?

Beside you, on the bed, he finds a spot to sit. He’s half hard already. His hands ghost up the outsides of your arms, before coming to cup your face. They soon fall to your waist as you move to straddle his lap.

Satoru leans in to kiss you, and it’s… uncharacteristically sweet. That almost makes things worse. If this were something over and done with quickly, that would be tolerable. You could chalk it up to raw emotions or hormones or something other than the fact you still have feelings for him and haven't come to terms with that.

Sex for the sake of mindless pleasure is one thing. It’s tolerable. You can explain it away easily. But the way he handles you—like you’re going to break—sends a pang of pain through your chest. It's too much. Should he act selfishly, that would be far more bearable than this. 

You almost want him to. It would be so much easier if he just took what he wanted, and left.

“Lay back,” he says, “like that. Good girl.”

You scoot back on the bed just far enough to fall against the pillows. Your thighs part just enough to accompany him. The body above yours is warm. His lips find yours, then your neck, then one of your stiffened nipples, softly biting down on it. That draws a sharp gasp from you, although the shock it sends down your spine is rather pleasurable. 

His fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs slowly. Achingly slowly. Shamelessly, his eyes linger on the way they stick to your already slick cunt. This moment is only dragging out because he wants it to. They’re tossed away alongside the rest of your clothes. Long, deft fingers come to trace along your slit; teasing motions done by a man who can barely contain himself. The patience of Satoru Gojo has limits, and you’re testing them.

He palms himself through his boxers. He's completely hard now. That doesn't stop him from trailing long, sloppy kisses down your stomach, and up your thigh. His thumb traces across the bundle of nerves. Slow and steady. Just enough to get you aching for him, but not enough to get you anywhere. You try to angle your hips towards him—to grind against him—but Satoru cruelty pulls his hand away. 

“Just… let me have my moment,” he says, chest heaving as he breathes in. 

So he admits it…

His thumb is soon replaced with his mouth, greedily licking and sucking at the bundle of nerves that is your clit. There's little rhyme or reason but it's just messy enough that it'll get you off. First, his index finger pushes into you, then another. Satoru must be moaning nearly as loud as you. The hand that isn't fucking out is wrapped around his cock, and he's bucking into it like it's a warm body. Judging by the noises he's making, he's going to cum, so he stops himself before he does so. You don't. Satoru guides you through your own orgasm, his mouth leaving your clit only after you've stopped trembling. It felt rushed. You're not quite satisfied.

Satoru makes a show of licking his fingers. When he kisses you, this taste only grows more prominent. He's making you taste yourself and you're not quite sure how to feel about it. It's not unpleasant, akin to unripe persimmons in taste.

“Is it how you remember?" You ask, a coy expression spreading across your face.

“Different,” he says, “better.”

There’s no time to grab a condom. Not that you have any in here anyway. Whatever consequences that result from this will be dealt with in the morning.

A small groan leaves him as he bottoms out. It's obvious that he tries to stifle it, and fails, resulting in a noise that certainly has your neighbors questioning things. You'll avoid their gazes in the hall tomorrow morning. This won't become a regular thing, you tell yourself. 

Hardly a few thrusts in and he knows he is going to cum too soon. You can see it all over his face. Pleasure turns to concentration, then thinly veiled stress. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills your bedroom. Some small, sick little part of you is grateful for your thin walls.

You hate him. You still love him. You wish he would walk out of your apartment right now. But part of you can't bear to sleep another night alone.

“You don't know how much I've been thinking about this,” he says, making a noise between a grunt and a huff, “about the way you feel. Taste. I couldn't get it out of my head.”

His mouth finds yours again and the kiss he exchanges with you is dripping with desperation. Something small, and quiet leaves his lips once they part with yours. You soon recognize it as an “I love you.”

He cums sooner than either of you expected, and from him, your name spills past his lips like a prayer. Though, you suppose that this is the closest he'll ever get to praying.

Your own release is still just out of reach. It doesn't take much effort to get him on his back, and you on top, riding him. He’s still hard, despite having just cum inside you. The fruits of his effort can be seen streaming down your thighs. Your movements grow sloppier as you grow nearer to your release, grinding down against him and his softening cock. Within your stomach, it’s as if an invisible band is tightening. Your own orgasm comes out in the form of a noise that sounds like both a moan and a sob. It's anger and pain mixing with pleasure. Tears of frustration are brimming along your lower lash line. You hate him. You love him. You wish he would leave but you don't want to sleep alone. A rift exists between the two of you that time will not heal.

Instead, you lay beside him on the bed. From beside you, he grabs a blanket for you to cover yourself with. As much as he missed the sight of your naked body, he knows this room is cold, and you’ll be getting up to get dressed anyway. 

To him, there’s not a more beautiful sight: you, laying on the bed beside him, leaking of his cum. It would be better if it were his own bed, he thinks, but this'll do. 

“I take it we’re on speaking terms again?” He asks.

“I don't know yet,” you say, “depends on how this conversation goes.”

From beside you on the nightstand, you retrieve your glasses, putting them back on. Outside, the sky still appears dark, only lit up momentarily by a bolt of lightning. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, running down your window in streams.

“Seems like great weather to stay in bed,” he comments. 

An arm snakes around your waist. You debate with yourself on whether or not to shove it off.

“I think some time apart will do us good.” You say, and the arm around your waist stiffens. He seems to be deciding whether to pull away or not.

“And what? Couples therapy too?” His tone suggests he's making a joke, but not one in bad faith.

“Just in general, you need therapy,” you’re only half joking when you say it, despite it applying to you too, “but I don't think there's one that specializes in whatever you have going on.”

“Funny.” He says flatly.

He lays on his back on the bed, and you lay on your side, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

“I don't know what I want.” You say, finally. “I guess I could use something to eat.”

You had plans to make a nice, elaborate dinner tonight, although you’re no longer feeling like it. You went through the effort of buying the ingredients, and cleaning the kitchen, so you might as well. 

Satoru follows you as you make your way to the kitchen, stopping once to pull on a shirt. It used to be one of his, he notes. Maybe enough time has passed that you don't remember. Maybe you do. It’s just long enough to fall towards the middle of your thighs—you won't be giving the neighbors a show. He stops long enough to pull his boxers back on, leaving the rest of his clothes discarded on your bedroom floor.

From a cabinet, you retrieve two mugs. On goes the kettle to boil. He watches as you fill the french press with one… two… three scoops of coffee grounds. Just enough boiling water goes in to wet the grounds—they have to sit for a few minutes before the rest is poured in. 

Your taste in coffee hasn't changed much over the years. You still take it with cream and sugar. Satoru—when he does drink coffee—takes it with enough sugar to make your teeth hurt. 

“We must be on speaking terms,” he says, “otherwise I'd have been kicked out by now.”

“If I was going to kick you out, I would have done it before we had sex. Not after.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee. 

Something about the casualness of this moment makes your chest ache; like the last year hasn't happened, and the two of you are just sharing a moment over coffee. 

Neither of you notice the front door opening, nor the jingle of keys being inserted into the lock. Tsumiki, standing in the doorway, nearly drops what she’s holding: a book. Her eyes are wide with a mix of shock, before narrowing into anger. 

“‘Miki!” You say, almost as shocked as her, if not moreso. “What are you doing here?”

“Returning this,” she says, holding up the book in her hand, “I sent you a text about it like an hour ago. What are you doing?!”

Truly, you don't have anything to say for yourself. Your mouth opens, and a few, broken fragments of an excuse come out. Satoru, looking nearly as surprised as you, simply waves to her, before disappearing into another room. That won't help your case at all. 

“Having coffee,” you say, “we were just talking about your game on Saturday.”

She seems unconvinced. Tsumiki, like most teenagers, is a lot smarter than people give her credit for. Silently, she sets the book on the counter, before turning back towards the door.

“I’ll see you at dinner," she says, leaving.

[theseasasleep]

Story of Kunning Palace E03 (semi-live reaction)

So, it's our heroine's fate to always be crushed on by the spoiled Princess? LOL

There's no way a young woman who climbed all the way to Empress can avoid most of the path to that fate. In most of the webnovels of this type I've read, reaching that type of pinnacle means you have a fate with it, regardless of the ultimate outcome. The best Xue Ning can do is flip the script on circumstances while doing her best to skirt around the thornier aspects of future events.

1st Life: the Princess thinks back to her first encounter with Xue Ning with humiliation, embarrassment and rage

2nd Life: the Princess will think back on their first encounter with pride, happiness and warmth

So far so good. Although I totally get why she'd want to avoid tangling with a temperamental royal who she had a terrible experience with.

...

I really like how this show is shot. Sometimes you never know with cdramas if you'll get a cheap or pedestrian directing style or a dramatic and/or compelling one.

...

The show is still building its foundations and I'm just so eager to jump into the action!

*fight sequence starts 1 minute later* AND HERE WE GO!

Dude is more pissed off by the damaged qin strings than the assassination attempt! HA!

Xue Ning, as hostage: *minimize connections to minimize involvement* Mr. Hostage-taker, sir, I know Xie Wei only through the grapevine...

Xie Wei: MISS XUE NING, PLEASE DON'T SELL OUR CONNECTION SO SHORT! YOUR FATHER AND I ARE GREAT FRIENDS! IN FACT, YOU ARE MY LIFE SAVIOR!

Xue Ning:

...

Take me instead.

Mmm. Something about the silky oomph with which he said that line combined with his expression... Okay, okay, Zhang Ling He. It took three episodes but you got me: the character of Xie Wei is now officially attractive to me. All he had to do was low key deliver a line that just vibrates with high key threat.

Man, what era are my hormones in? Between finding my mojo over one ML threatening to tear an offensive man's tongue out and fixing my posture when this one is nothing but velvet menace, I need a name for it. I need to know. Should I be worried? Scared? Aroused?

oh. oh. he's so sexy... okay, now you're just showing off; put the murderous sexiness away

Not this man calling her out, leaving her neither a fissure to hide in or a crumb for modesty!

I... I can't wait until he's incandescently in love with her because I just know, I just know it will be so magnificent I won't know what to do with myself.

Girl, while you are absolutely right to defend your current relationship with Yan Lin and right to say it is a flirtation that is undeserving of such rude scrutiny... you (and us) know that man speaks no lies. You are trifling with Yan Lin and you would have done him plenty of harm without the benefit of literal 20/20 hindsight.

That being said, I see @dangermousie point: kicking off a relationship trying to gin up, stoke and maintain fear in the other party is an excellent way to receive future comeuppance in the form of watching the woman you desperately love side-eye you as she lavishes protection and support on her other suitors.

...

I like Yan Lin. Not too sorry to say that. Hopefully Life No. 2 keeps him off the rapist track.

It's nice seeing Xue Ning enjoying festivities. The impression I have of her first life self is that while she reveled in being "wild", she likely didn't really allow herself to enjoy being young and with friends, too busy being hungry.

Dear. God. That seamless transition from earnest Yan Lin in Life No. 2 waxing poetic about his first impressions of Xue Ning to embittered Yan Lin in Life No. 1 waxing poetic about his first impressions of Xue Ning with the exact. same. words. Add to it the implied threat of sexual violence in LIfe No. 1!!!

Chills.

*gagging* Did I say I like Yan Lin? Show, it's going to be hard for me to keep that opinion if you keep flashing back to that.

Me during the Life No. 2 Ning x Yan kiss scene:

I want no part of it.

All right, dude, are you telling me you raped her because she plain text told you she planned to marry someone who could help her achieve her goals?! She didn't sell you out to the devil... Or refuse to shelter either you or wounded family members... but because when you were at your lowest, like the bitch she admittedly is... was..., she told you the truth and cut ties? I mean, that's reason enough not to warn her a coup is coming for her ass in Life No. 1. There's no reason for rape, ever; even if she lit your dog on fire, you can't rape her. Just WTF, guy?!

...

Not that it excuses any of her horrid behavior but I can see how lonely Xue Ning is in what should be her familial home. That cozy scene between her parents and half-sister where in her absence there is only affection and warmth and in her presence, only awkwardness and discomfort.

She lived a childhood in poverty and exile being spoken and looked down upon; returned to her parents' home to find herself being shunted as second-born (in an era where hierarchy matters) and defective instead of receiving proper homecoming. I can see why the attraction of her sole dream, her ultimate goal - becoming Empress - would become all-consuming, especially if such a dream sustained her in exile and fueled her defiance at home.

...

Oh, jesus christ, Yan Lin, don't be an idiot! Don't believe in an enemy soldier during wartime, like...?!

...

So Xue Ning might have accidentally sold Yan Lin out to the devil.

But in her defense, that wasn't her intention. Just to watch him. Like a politics-minded creeper.

Me to Ning as she reads her former coachman cum spy to filth: GET HIM.

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Harborside PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) & Caleb (@dirtwatchman) SUMMARY: A demonic bird attempts to kidnap Wyatt while he's on the phone with Caleb immediately following the fight with Xóchitl. Wyatt is super normal about it, but the zombie quickly comes to his rescue. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

—

Wyatt had barely gotten over the bridge from the isle to the mainland when he had to pull over, realizing he was driving recklessly and not wanting to force Caleb, who he was now on the phone with, to listen to him die after getting himself into a car accident. He got out of the vehicle and began to march aimlessly through the streets in the hopes that he could walk off this frustration, still with his phone pressed to his ear. He’d called Caleb shortly after leaving, asking if he was busy. The man had said no, and Wyatt asked if they could talk for a few minutes while he got his head on straight. Of course Caleb asked what was wrong, and as he tried to figure out how to answer that, Wyatt bumped into another person on the sidewalk coming in the opposite direction. He held up a hand in apology, probably still looking pissed anyway, and sighed, then spoke in a low voice that hopefully wouldn’t be overheard. “I uh… well, I decided to tell someone important to me that I ain’t human. She didn’t take it well. Kicked me out.”

The streets weren’t exactly busy, but they weren’t devoid of other people either. But as he walked and talked, he started to notice less and less foot traffic. Thinking nothing of it, Wyatt wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings until the light overhead suddenly went out. The shifter stopped, lifting his gaze up to the lamppost. The bulb flickered, then stayed dark. Weird timing, but not a weird phenomenon. 

Then another one flickered and went out. Then another, and another. Soon, the whole street was dark. Wyatt realized he’d gotten farther out of the town center than he’d meant to, and a sense of fear started to creep up his spine. “Hey, uh… huh. That’s weird. All the lights on this street just went out.” He stood still, half listening for Caleb’s response, and half listening for… something else. He didn’t know what. 

—

It was immediately clear that Wyatt wasn’t okay as soon as Caleb had heard his voice come through the phone. He’d closed the book that Father Liam had given him, taken his glasses off to rub at his eyes, and proceeded to lean back against his headboard to listen. He needed to do that more…wanted to do that more, and Wyatt hadn’t said much since their last talk so he knew this had to be pretty important. Sighing softly at the words, he shook his head even though the other couldn’t see him. “I’m sorry. I’m sure she’ll come around once the shock has worn off. She probably just needs a minute to process it all.” He hoped. From his experience though that wasn’t a guarantee. 

The other had gone quiet though, Caleb’s brows furrowing at the silence that met his words. “Wyatt?” The lamia’s voice finally cut through his panic but the response didn’t do much to quiet the fear that something was wrong. Was it unusual for the lights in Wicked’s Rest to do such a thing and if it was what could cause it? There were…so many things that could. “Wyatt, are you okay? Are you able to see anything at all?” 

The book was tossed to the other side of the bed without any care, Caleb’s full attention now on this phone call. He didn’t like the sound of what was going on or the hint of fear that had slid into the man’s voice, the zombie wishing that Wyatt would just say something. The panic that had subsided was coming back in full force, gripping his chest with a vice hold. “Maybe you should turn around…”

—

The alleyway to his right was pitch black and seemed to be yawning even wider as he let his eyes settle on it. Did he see something? What was that? “There’s… somethin’ in the alley…” he muttered, taking a step toward it. Wait, toward it? Why was he walking toward it? 

The lights flickered back on and for a brief second, he saw it. He saw a creature, larger than he was, standing on two legs. It was covered in feathers and long, white bones jutted out of its spine. Its arms were wings, with hands like a bat that sported long, terrifying claws. A huge, thin beak parted to reveal teeth and a writhing mass of something in its throat. Wyatt’s grip on the phone tightened, and terror froze him on the spot as he was again bathed in darkness. “No, no, no. This ain’t real.” He choked out the words as his heart tried to claw its way out of his throat. “I think I’m asleep, Caleb. I’m — I —” The shadows moved and the inky black monster slipped through the alley toward him, silent in spite of its size. He couldn’t move, why the fuck couldn’t he move? He hadn’t even dropped the phone yet, the fear of facing this alone keeping the device pressed firmly to his ear. Then again, it didn’t matter if he was dreaming, but —

The monster lurched out of the alley, beak open and the writhing mass in its throat unfurling and reaching for him. Arms. It was arms, with hands and fingers that clutched at his clothing as the monster pressed itself closer. On the off chance that this was real, he at least wanted Caleb to be able to find his body. If this thing didn’t fucking eat him, that is. “Preacher and Kingspine,” he hissed into the receiver, hoping that the nearby intersection would be enough to go off of and finally releasing his grip on the phone, letting it clatter to the pavement. The monster was upon him, and he could feel the slick, slimy grip of those hands as they wrestled for control over him. His eyes squinted closed and he willed himself to wake up, or at least shift so he could give this thing a run for its money. But neither of those things was happening, and instead he was left feeling far too human and vulnerable, and it wrenched a terrified scream from him as the demonic bird sank its talons into his flesh and started to flap those massive wings in an attempt to fly away with him.

—

“Okay, yea, you should turn around.” Caleb was already out of his bed, moving towards the kitchen to grab the keys to his truck. This wasn’t good. He’d never heard fear like this in Wyatt’s voice, hell he wasn’t even sure he’d ever heard fear in Wyatt’s voice before. His feet stopped moving with the words, eyes widening once he realized what was going on. “Wyatt, listen to me, it’s real. Whatever it is, it’s real and I need you to shift so you can fight it. Please shift!” But he was only met with heavy breathing on the other end of the line. For a few terrifying seconds Caleb waited to hear the growl of the gator or even the sounds of a fight being had in the background but all that came was the name of an intersection.

His truck was tearing out of his driveway only moments later, trusty shovel in the back with a few other things he just barely managed to grab. There was no telling what he was about to go up against but he was certain that he needed something or his ass would be handed to him, zombie or not. 

The truck skidded to a stop as soon as Caleb saw the right intersection, his eyes scanning the area. It really was too dark, too empty. He got out, trying to keep an eye out for whatever could have been behind Wyatt’s panic while pulling his phone out and dialing the man’s number. “C’mon, Wyatt, where are you?” Careful not to be too loud in case whatever monster this turned out to be was still out there, he grabbed the first thing his fingers brushed over in the back of his truck; the shovel that he was suddenly glad he had the brain power to grab. 

“Wyatt!” He raised his voice that time, the faint sound of his phone ringing cutting off as the voicemail picked up. It had to be close if Caleb could hear it but nothing was in his line of his sight until his foot stepped on a hard mound on the ground. Wyatt’s phone was sitting face up on the pavement under his foot and the sight of it sent a sharp current of fear through him again. “Wyatt!” The name tore through the darkness, eliciting some sort of shriek coming from the opposite way that Caleb had manically driven. 

Well, that wasn’t good.

But it didn’t stop him from moving towards it. His feet carried him towards the next street, Caleb only stopping to do a double take when he spotted something moving down an alleyway. It turned at the sound of his footsteps, causing that fear to grip the inside of his chest again. “Holy shit…” No wonder the other man was terrified. Of course it had to be a bird thing but more than that it looked…and felt a little familiar. It was like there was some sort of magnetic pull towards it even with the many arms contorting out of its beak and the clear way that thing wasn’t at all friendly. Despite that pull he took off running towards the screech he’d just heard, hoping that the other thing was not following him. 

—

The terror was overpowering. This was exactly like one of his nightmares: a feathered beast of a bird coming to tear him apart, puppeteered by that fucking mare. Teeth and talons and sharp, gnawed-on fingernails grasping at him and digging into his skin, drawing blood that ran in small streams down his arms. But it hurt. Usually, the dreams didn't hurt. If they did, it was only for a moment before he would wake in a panic, but he wasn't waking up now. He couldn't. Was this her again? Was she somehow able to shift her form? Was she able to make it hurt, and she'd only been holding back before? Was this retribution? 

He felt his feet leave the ground, the heavy wing beats of the creature drowning out every other sound. His panic rose, hands grasping at the bird's throat. Fingers that were too human disappeared beneath the thick coat of feathers, but they were coarse and wet. Slicked with something that felt sludgy against his palms as he searched for the beast's airway. Talons dug deeper into his shoulder, the other foot releasing its grip as the thing let out a loud shriek. It reached for Wyatt again, this time snatching him up by the thigh, burying its claws in deep. The shifter dangled from its grip at an awkward angle, twisting and writhing violently as they gained altitude. Giving up on reaching its throat, Wyatt instead went after one of the arms that spilled from its beak, immediately losing his grip as his hands slipped right over its wrist. With a terrified and frustrated yowl, the lamia tried again, trying to dig in with his own nails, begging himself to shift. Still fucking nothing. His anger was growing to mix with the fear, but he managed to hold on, and with every ounce of strength he had, he yanked down hard. 

The arm ripped free from the monster's throat and it screeched again, releasing Wyatt and letting him drop to the ground. As he fell, he realized that this could kill him. He was high enough that odds were, it was going to shatter something important. 

Finally, his body responded to his commands. Just before he hit the ground, skin turned to scales. It was still a sickening crunch that resonated through the air as he collided with the cobblestone of the footpath that cut from one street to the next, and the lamia was still. His clothing hung loosely around his much larger, natural frame, chest rising and falling as those yellow eyes stared blankly into the sky, breath rattling out from between parted jaws.

The bird creature shrieked a third and final time, then dived toward its fallen prey. Despite now being smaller than the thing it was trying to carry off, the creature continued to attempt to pick Wyatt up off the ground, flapping furiously over the top of him as it struggled to get a grip through his tough scales. The gator didn't even seem to register this, dazed and confused as the world swam around him. 

—

Well, the thing was following him now. He should have seen that coming, right? It was rushing up behind him at full speed when Caleb turned the corner at the end of the street, still following the screeching he was hearing. He almost let whatever this thing was slam into the back of him when he spotted Wyatt up ahead as reptilian and big as ever. Instead of fighting his own bird thing though he was just laying there letting it peck at his tough skin. The zombie didn’t have a lot of time to take in the scene before his own bird used its talons to slam Caleb into the brick wall behind him. The sharp ends were digging into his pale skin, the thing preparing to grab him with all of those extra hands, but the shovel came up and connected with the beak. It lurched sideways, his own yell filling the air as his skin ripped with the movement but he was able to break away from it.

Caleb ran towards Wyatt again. He wasn’t sure if the thing was following behind him or not but his focus was mostly on getting the other bird away from the lamia. The shovel connected again, the bird that was trying to pick Wyatt up screeching while it was knocked away and turned his extra hands towards Caleb. “Wyatt! You’re not asleep, okay? You have to snap out of it!”

One good thing about being wounded? He could feel the extra strength rolling into him. Or was that a bad thing? This meant he needed to eat, the animal brains he’d been living on not doing much for him. It might have been good to be able to get these creatures away from them but so many things could go wrong as well. Two bird creatures now had their focus on him…it was inevitable what was going to happen. But it didn’t have to be bad if he could lead them away from the frozen lamia. At least not bad for Wyatt anyway. All of his extra strength went into his next swing, the shovel connecting with the bird in front of him just before the one behind him wrapped a few of its hands around his shoulders and started to drag him back. Back was good. Back meant getting farther from the other man. 

The one in front recovered quickly, moving toward him. The shovel was swung blindly but the side blade of it sank deep into the bird’s side, tearing its flesh open with another wail filling the air. The bird behind him yanked him back and effectively wrenched the shovel’s handle out of Caleb’s hand with the other end stuck inside of the first creature. So much for getting them both away from the dazed man next to them. Now that the zombie was occupied and weaponless, the bird in front of him was going towards the gator again.  “Wyatt!”

—

The screeches of the creature that was trying to dig its claws into him and lift him back into the air sounded like they were coming from underwater. There was a loud ringing in his head, his whole body aching from the impact. His vision was still blurry, head rocking slowly from side to side as he fought to stay awake — then he heard it. Another voice, one that was screaming his name. Caleb had made it, he’d come. Get up. Wyatt let out a hiss of pain, squinting his eyes shut again when he saw the blurry form of Caleb arrive in his peripheral vision and hit the bird atop him with something hard. 

You’re not asleep! No, probably not. This hurt too much to be a dream, even a nightmare. 

There was more animalistic shrieking, and the sound of Caleb screaming his name again. Wyatt groaned, opening his eyes and deciding that slow, steady movements were not going to be the thing to get him back on his feet again. He thrashed wildly, twisting himself to get his arms and legs back underneath him. A wide, unfocused gaze was set on the creature ambling toward him now with a shovel stuck in its side, and if he hadn’t felt absolutely sick with fear, he might’ve laughed. It came closer, beak open wide so those sharp teeth and arms could get a grip on him once more, but Wyatt was bigger. Stronger. He pushed through the terror that wanted to paralyze him again, knowing that Caleb was in trouble and needed his help. Finding that anger and clinging to it, the lamia ducked his head and leapt forward, barrelling into the bird monster and knocking it to the ground. His head snapped quickly to the side and his jaws came down on the thing’s neck, clamping down with an incredible amount of pressure that locked the monster in place. From there, it was a simple matter of shaking the thing around violently until he heard enough bones snapping that he was satisfied dropping it back to the ground. It did not get up again, and his attention swiveled to the second monster, and Caleb. 

It was trying to drag Caleb away. Take him somewhere. Probably to wherever they’d been trying to take Wyatt. Still panicked, the gator scrambled forward with his heart feeling like it was fit to burst out of his chest. He didn’t want to hurt Caleb, but he needed to keep that thing from getting airborne. With another frightened hiss, the lamia bit at one of the beast’s thin legs, careful to not catch Caleb in his jaws. He pulled them both backward then lowered himself to the cobblestone, wrenching his head back to bring the creature within reach of his clawed hands. He was attempting to slowly drag the smaller monster to him, trying to give Caleb time to get away from it before he would coil himself around it and rake open its belly with his hind claws.

—

There was nothing like seeing him in action. The world started to move in slow motion as Wyatt finally came out of his trance, Caleb watching wide eyed and grinning. He went for the other bird, the zombie transfixed on every movement, pride for Wyatt’s ability to overcome that paralyzing fear swelling. Well, until the bird behind him stuck its beak inside of a wound its talons had already made. The world sped up again, a sharp intake of air filling his dead lungs while the bird tore more of his flesh in an attempt to drag him further away. His elbow shot up and behind him out of instinct, the bone connecting with the beak with more strength than he should have been able to possess. That wasn’t good. 

He didn’t have time to think about it though. He felt his body being pulled back along with the birds, his eyes finding Wyatt while the gator did everything he could not to even graze Caleb with his teeth. He was yanked back again, the bird refusing to let him go even though sharp teeth were now digging into its flesh, but Caleb wrenched his body out of the creature's grasp. It did take a little bit more of his own flesh with it, something that went unnoticed. He couldn’t even feel it now. 

Telling Wyatt to walk away was on the tip of his tongue. The zombie knew he could handle it now and he wanted the other man far away in case he lost control completely but there was something stopping him. Maybe Wyatt needed this. Taking out the birds, knowing he could, that had to be worth something, right? He was actually fighting now instead of giving in to that catatonic state. A choice. A choice seemed like the best way to go. “I can do it if you need me to.” Caleb noticed his voice was raspier than usual, the effort to stay human affecting him more than he realized. He should have thought about bringing a brain. Did these bastards have one?

—

Caleb got away, and Wyatt dragged the creature kicking and screeching toward him, using his own weight to hold it in place, partially smothering it as he climbed on top of it. It couldn’t push him off as it thrashed violently beneath him, trapped while the pair of them exchanged glances and tried to decide who should take care of it. Caleb offered, and Wyatt considered it for a moment. He still felt… wrong. He still wasn’t himself, despite having ragdolled the other bird to death. Normally he’d be excited about such a random, violent encounter — he’d revel in the opportunity to rip something apart, especially if it was to protect someone he cared for. But Caleb had come here to protect him. Caleb had pulled him out of his state of shock, and now Caleb offered to take care of the rest of the problem if Wyatt didn’t feel up to it. 

It was strange, feeling torn like this. Part of him wanted nothing more than to hide. He wanted to get away from these fucking monsters, he wanted to find some place quiet where he could work through this panic attack without having to stare his feathered phobia dead in its beady little fucking eyes. But the other part of him did want to rip it apart, even though it was no longer an immediate threat like the first one had been. He wanted to paint the cobblestones with its blood, he wanted to eviscerate it and prove to himself again that he could fight back. He could and he did. But his heart was beating so fast, so hard, and there was a ringing in his ears that was deafening and persistent. The world felt wrong, it felt foreign and like it might swallow him up at any moment. He might close his eyes and open them again only to find himself in his room, shredding his bedding again. Maybe he’d just gone home after that disaster of an evening with Xóchitl and Mateo. Maybe he’d gotten drunk and passed out so he didn’t have to think about it anymore, and maybe this was his reward. 

Or maybe he was awake, and he could just kill this thing and get some kind of satisfaction out of it. Maybe. 

The bird thrashed harder and screeched louder, and Wyatt’s gaze held Caleb’s for a moment longer before he silently shook his head. His attention fell to the wounds the zombie had sustained, already repairing themselves from that impressive healing ability he possessed. His head turned, looking at the still corpse of the other bird. If Caleb needed food, if any organs would do, there was a pile of them over there just waiting to be sampled. But this… this thing underneath him needed to be destroyed. Quickly. Without putting Caleb in harm’s way again. 

The lamia clung to it, rolling onto his side and bringing his legs up between them while his arms held the creature fast. Its talons scraped uselessly over his scales, cries growing louder and more desperate as Wyatt sank his hind claws into its belly and kicked his feet downward, shredding it from rib cage to pelvis. And once he got going, with nothing else to distract him, he poured his fears out onto the street like the blood that gushed from the creature’s gut. He bit at it, partially out of anger and partially to muffle his own thunderous bellow. He thought of Inge, of the time he’d seen her on the street. He felt now like he had then — he’d wanted so badly to spill her guts onto the sidewalk, but he’d been stopped. His fury and fear had overwhelmed him, and he’d had no place to put it. 

Now he did. Now there was no one to stop him. It was not this creature’s fault that he could not sleep, that he spent his waking hours in a daze, that he so often felt like he was losing his mind, but… but it was, in a way. It was to him. He’d let Inge get away from him a second time, and that failure tormented him more than he cared to admit, so this was his outlet. This was his way of getting back at her, even though it had nothing to do with her. He ripped the beast open like he wanted to rip her open. He tore at its throat, sliced through muscle and tendon with tooth and claw, knowing that it had died long before he had worked out his aggression and not caring. And, when he finally came back to himself, when the panic finally started to abate, he stumbled away from it. Several paces to the west, where he then collapsed, shivering and just trying to focus on the sound of the crickets that followed in the absence of shrieks and snarls and yowls.

—

He saw the subtle shake of Wyatt’s head, understanding what he was trying to say. He would take care of it. Whether that was because he was still trying to protect Caleb or he needed to do it for himself the zombie wasn’t sure but either way he took a step back, his body pressed against the wall behind him, willing to give the other man what he needed. Then he watched Wyatt look towards the corpse of the one he’d already killed and allowed his eyes to follow that gaze. As disgusting as it would be in the long run it was the best option for both of them. Caleb could stick with his current diet while easing the growing need inside of him and at the same time he could keep himself from going after the other man as well. Besides, he was growing less picky by the second.

Still, he found himself staying in place while Wyatt tore into the other bird. Every ounce of anger occupying that man was fueling him, his rage turning this thing into something almost unrecognizable. Caleb couldn’t blame him at all, especially after seeing how paralyzing his fear had been. He’d been told it was bad but it was something else entirely to see it. It made him ache for the lamia. 

As his body healed itself though he knew he had to pull himself away from this scene before he’d lost his mind in the wake of his physical healing. Not as begrudgingly as he wanted to feel, he felt his knees hit the pavement not long after he peeled himself off the wall, his meal half consumed by the time he realized what he was truly doing. He thought human fingers were bad but once the haze in his mind had lifted slightly this had become so much worse. 

By the time his meal was done Wyatt was sitting farther away from the bird creature he’d just completely destroyed, that dazed look a permanent fixture on his face. Sated but not happy with what he’d had to do, he made his way to the other’s side and sank down on the pavement next to him. Caleb wasn’t close enough to touch but not far enough away for them to not feel each other’s presence. He didn’t say anything, there was really nothing to say anyway, but he moved his hand to hover near Wyatt’s claw. There were no words, no, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be there for him in a different way. He would sit there all night with him if that’s what he wanted to do. He would make sure nothing else came their way. He would abandon his truck in the middle of a deserted street. He would endure the silence that had settled between them. Because none of it mattered. The only thing that did was giving Wyatt time to process it all. 

[tieflingtareon]

My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 4 | Words: 5k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

That devil is getting into his head, while others get into Tar'eons. He doesn't appreciate not having the upperhand after years of being at the disadvantage. He will find a way to make him see.

He is the one he should be listening to. Astarion would make it so, no matter the means.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

Warning: Child death

Finding the Druid wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. After pickpocketing the goblin and letting the human bard free, they had simply continued on and found a back area.

Tar’eon still seemed tired, not at his best, but strangely, his dark circles weren’t as prominent, even if his parlour was paler than usual. Astarion almost felt bad for being greedy the night prior. He’d go easy tonight. Or, he’d attempt to, if Tar’eon was still up for it.

He seemed to sleep like a rock after he sank his fangs into him, so perhaps he could drink his fill on a nearby animal after getting a taste for the man.

Wyll had been told to stay back, Karlach insisting to come today and even playing a game of rock paper scissors over breakfast. Lae’zel had to be taught the rules, curious, and seemed disgruntled when she was beat as well. Wyll didn’t seem to mind staying back, but he followed Tar’eon with his functioning eye until they left. The devil man could use the alone time to get used to his new appearance he supposed, he still seemed fairly disgruntled about it, even if he didn't speak up.

The guards didn’t seem to care much the further they got in. Perhaps they found the bodies, perhaps they didn’t, but either way, who was to say it was their doing? There were no witnesses. They made sure of that.

Tar’eon made his way to the cage where the bear was and spoke to it in a growl, something low and rumbling. Astarion found his animal speak fascinating. Every morning, Tar’eon equipped it like he did his armour. Like he feared missing the opportunity to understand another creature.

His quiet words to the beast in the cage was noticed by the guard nearby though, and like they could smell the deceit in the air, they sprung onto them. Tar’eon launched away from the cage, out of the range of an arrow, snatching up a goblin child he bumped into, almost toppling the young girl with his sturdy frame. The bear rammed into the bars, sending it down with a loud crack as it dislodged from the walls.

He barely avoided the clang of metal himself, a tail winding around his waist and pulling him just out of its impact, a kick of dust coating his boots from the vibrating crash.

Astarion scowled and shoved his tail off as Tar’eon placed the child down and shoved them away from the fight, unsheathing his sword as an arrow sunk into his thigh. He bared his teeth and growled, yanking it out without a moments hesitation, charging and launching his blade into the nearest goblin, watching the creature fall.

He grabbed the hilt from its stomach and flicked the blood off as Shadowheart targeted another with a bolt of sacred flames. Astarion glanced off towards the child and saw them running towards the door. He gritted his teeth, scowling as he pulled his bow string back.

He knew better than to let little darlings escape him now.

“What are you doing?” Tar’eon snarled, looking furious at the very sight, standing between Astarion and the spawn like he had when that tielfing at the grove had tried to strike down the goblin prisoner.

“They’re getting help. I’m stopping them.” Astarion said cooly. “Do you want a whole hoarde of goblins in here?”

“Let them come. We aren’t hunting children.” Tar’eon looked past him with wide eyes, and Astarion turned to look at the body of another child that had been crushed by the gate.

“Not even your furry friend cares for such delicate casualties. Why should you?” Tar’eons jaw flexed and he glared at the bear.

“Because I refuse to be so careless.” He gritted out and charged back into the fray. Astarion clicked his tongue. Amazing. He was glad he stashed healing potions on him, because he’d need them.

The child escaped, but nobody came. There was quiet in the room once goblin blood was spilt across the floor, the only sound the heavy breathing of their leader and Karlach’s engine heart thrumming.

Shadowheart had barely broken a sweat. Astarion refused to let his exertion be known. He was the superior form after all.

The bear shifted in a flurry of light and a splatter of gore at their feet, but Tar’eon didn’t flinch away an inch, even when it got on his boots. Before them stood a man that may as well be a bear in the human form anyway.

“Pardon the viscera. One should cherish all of natures bounty, but…goblin guts are quite far down the list. You aided a bear without knowing if it would savage you?” The Druid seemed greatly amused by that. “A true friend of nature, or a lunatic.”

Tar’eon stared at the Druid a long moment before he did something that caught everyone by surprise.

He drew his hand back, and with pointed black nails, clawed into the man’s cheek, not seeming to care that they were almost of equal size. Halsin was barely a couple inches shorter than the tielfing, and similar in thickness. The pair were like sturdy trunks.

Halsin seemed just as caught off guard as the rest of them, because he staggered and held his cheek, a thin trail of blood slipping down his jaw. He had been aided by the party and now they were attacking him? Not drawing weapons though. Simply scratching him like they were both animalistic shifters.

Astarion watched, his eyes alight with approval. He had no idea why Tar’eon was doing this, but he was happy to see another Druid slain if he wished it.

Maybe he could get a taste while he was at it. Druid’s blood sounded favourable, if not a little on the green side. If anything, he was choosing to eat healthy!

He smirked at his own thoughts.

Tar’eon’s eyes were burning, looking like one of the devils others rumoured his people to be.

He snatched Halsin’s face, turning it towards the cage he’d been held in. Or more so, the small body beneath the bars of it.

“You’re supposed to be a healer. You are no better than Kagha.” Tar’eon said in a low, disappointed voice before letting him go. Halsin looked at the man with furrowed brows, looking confused.

“Kagha? What has she done in my absence?"

“So you left that Druid in charge. She tried to kill a tiefling child over a statue. We revealed her to be a Shadow Druid, and she did not wish to rectify her actions, so she faced the consequences. Are you all like this? So callous about your body count? Driving out innocents..."

"Says the man who just helped me slaughter a small group of goblins." Halsin countered and Tar'eon let out a small laugh, like Halsin was younger than him, like he lacked the wisdom he should have.

Like he was inferior.

"I kill men and women who know the consequences of a fight. Not children who are a part of conflict they did not ask for."

Tar'eon flexed his hand, looking at the skin and faint traces of blood beneath his claws. He stared a long moment, like he was almost tempted to...taste it? Astarion watched him closely, his expression, and saw the moment he seemed to come back to himself, that dark hunger fading, cleaning his claws against the fabric of his pants.

Tar'eon stared Halsin in the eye as he pointed to the door.

"Your job here is done. The people at the grove need you. We will end this war for you, since you seem to lack...the diplomacy needed for it."

Halsin didn't seem to have words to respond with for a long moment, looking lost. Tar'eon had managed to get under his skin, it seemed. Astarion smirked.

"Right, I...I could aid you. I apologise for...upsetting you after your help to free me. There are three leaders in this camp, and they must all be taken care of. Are you certain you can handle that alone?"

"My companions and I are more than capable. Tell Zevlor we should be back by morning. Don't get caught again, because I will not save you twice." The rumbling anger beneath his skin had to be the most attractive thing Astarion had seen in a long time.

What could he say? He was attracted to power, and Tar'eon was proving to be quite the powerful ally. Ally, being the keyword.

"Yes, do hurry. That small girl our dear leader let loose is sure to bring trouble to our door any moment now." Astarion smiled at Halsin, mocking him as he stepped forward and looked up at Tar'eon. "I do not say that lightly."

He took a potion from his pocket and took Tar'eons hand in his, palm up as he placed it there, curling his fingers around it.

"Drink up. We'll need that anger, darling." Astarion smirked and spared Halsin one last look before the man cleared his throat and bowed his head softly.

"I take my leave. Till dawn."

"Till dawn." Tar'eon nodded back, his eyes focused on the potion. He thumbed at the stopper and popped the cork off, shooting it back quickly and allowing the rush of healing swim down into his body, absorbing into the lining of his stomach and targeting his gashes, his aching muscles. It wasn't a complete fix, but he felt much better.

He tossed the bottle aside, approaching the corpse of the child as Halsin made his way towards the door, leaving the party alone in the room. Tar'eon grunted as he crouched and lifted the bars a couple inches, but it was heavy and it strained against the healing wounds on his back, threatening to rip them back open.

Astarion rolled his eyes and stepped forward, but Karlach beat him to it, giving a loud grunt as she lifted it off the young boys body, holding it up for Tar'eon who gave a grateful look, gently cradling the child's body to his chest.

There was no saving the child. Every bone in his body below the neck had been crushed. His skull would have been split open on impact if he hadn't started running. But that didn't save him. He wasn't breathing, and blood soaked his body. Astarion could see multiple splits in the skin from where bone tried to exit when broken.

"...You did the right thing. Telling that druid off. Don't beat yourself up, man. At least...at least you saved one of them." Karlach said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder before she pulled back. Astarion wondered how it felt, having so much desire to comfort, to care, but being unable to touch. She couldn't even touch him now, when he needed it most.

"A child is still dead. I should have left him in that cage." Tar'eon muttered, standing with the child's broken body in his arm. Slowly, he moved towards the altar between the cages, stepping over the body of a worg to brushed the skull and knick knacks from the alter.

Gently, he placed the boy down, bunching the blue fabric beneath his head. If not for the blood and his glassy, bulging eyes, he'd look like he was resting.

Tar'eon placed his hands on the altar and hung his head, eyes closed. Shadowheart stepped closer.

"Are you...praying?" She asked, looking surprised. "I did not think you dedicated to such a thing."

"I'm not." Tar'eon raised his head, standing straighter and fishing out a rag to place gently over the boys eyes. He looked skywards and turned to the door, making his way to it, blade poised and ready for what faced them once they left the room.

"Who did you pray to?" Shadowheart asked, following after him. Astarion was curious himself. He did not worship any deity. Not many of them appreciated the undead, to be far, and he did not trust anyone to dictate his life after his treatment under Cazador. There were no merciful gods. That he knew.

He’d never tasted mercy once in his whole life.

Tar'eon took the handle of the door and paused, his body shrouded in shadows.

"...Ilmater. May he bless that child, and take on his pain, or give me his suffering tenfold before he is taken by Kelemvor to the afterlife." Tar'eon swung the door open and Astarion smirked as he pulled out his bow, trailing behind the others for the best position.

What a self sacrificial idiot.

Where was this idiot during my suffering, dearest deities? He thought bitterly and let his arrows fly.

****

Tar'eon was covered in blood. It soaked every inch of his body, and Astarion couldn't help but stare. It was certainly a look.

"The drow hasn't realised we're here? We just killed her priestess and her host. Why hasn't she come out yet?"

"Because she's waiting for us." Tar'eon said lowly. "She thinks she's above goblins. They're fodder if anything to buy time. Drows are prideful creatures. She's probably making sure she'll look good while she buries her blade into us."

Tar'eon suddenly stripped his torn armour off, the magic in the fabric long gone with how much damaged it sustained to keep him alive. His shirt went next. Astarion watched with interest, quirking a brow. Even Karlach gave him a glance, looking surprised, but it was the pleasant sort. Shadowheart tried to appear unaffected, but she was gawking just like the rest of them, just in a more dignified manner. Who could blame them? Astarion certainly couldn't. The man was all muscle, only looking more toned with the blood that shadowed the lines of his body. The only disappointing thing was the bandages wrapped his chest.

"I feel disgusting. If I'm walking into another fight, I'm getting comfortable." He looked tired, exhausted even, but there was no time to rest. Not now. It was all or nothing. The drow would probably slit their throats in their sleep if they tried to, or the goblins out on the terrace would finish them off as they tried to make their way back.

Tar'eon tossed the bloodied armour into a corner. He hadn't intended on killing every goblin they crossed, but they attacked first. Tar'eon didn't care if he died, but he refused to leave his companions a team member down in this fight. He placed his pack down and fished out his shirt from the night before. He slipped it on and cracked his neck.

"What? No armour? Against the big boss leading these goblins?" Astarion scoffed. Tar'eon chuckled.

"I trust our cleric to keep me alive."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. I'm not sure I can handle much more healing, if I'm honest." Shadowheart looked weary, and even Astarion could see it. But they couldn't turn back now.

"We got this." Karlach assured the group, giving everyone an encouraging smile. "If you tap out, I'll just lop her head off with one swing!" She laughed.

Shadowheart looked endeared, eyes fond and grateful towards the female tiefling.

"You know, I almost believe you could."

"Almost? I total can, and will!" Karlach looked fired up once more, and Astarion huffed softly, crossing his arms. He'd admit, her cheer was rather infectious.

"Alright. Lets get this over with. I need a bath as soon as possible, or I'll stab someone."

"You've stabbed enough people already! That's why you need a bath." Karlach grinned and gave her battleaxe a little twirl. "Lets kill the drow and save the grove!"

"Lets save our people." Tar'eon agreed with a small smile and Karlach gave him one in return, something almost shy. Astarion bristled. Great. Now he had to compete against a fellow tiefling. Why couldn't Tar'eon be an elf or something? Then they'd have no obligation to be in this mess.

But nonetheless, the heroics had to continue. At least he could to kill things.

They made their way deeper, Astarion flanking as he usually did. Within moments, the floating eyes caught them, as well as two guards.

"I've been waiting." The drow woman smirked, standing tall and proud. "You want my head? I invite you to try and take it."

Tar'eon tipped his chin up at her.

"It's too bad you're a cultist. A drow would have completed the party." A fireball grew between his palms, whispering an incantation and setting it on one of the guards, knocking him into the chasm below before he unleashed his blade, turning to the floating eye, but Astarion struck it down first from an arrow. Tar'eon gave him an approving looking and turned back to the drow who sent a blast that Tar'eon only just missed, smacking into the ground at his feet, before he hid behind some shelves.

"Keep your distance. Something tells me it'll be to our advantage not to get close." Tar'eon ordered and Karlach groaned as she put her battleaxe away and pulled out a crossbow. Shadowheart summoned a bolt of light to strike Minthara, but she seemed to only shake it off, laughing as she sent another blast there way, knocking Shadowheart off her feet with a cry of surprise. Karlach whipped around to help her up, and Astarion watched as the drow pointed her next blast his way.

Shit.

He brought his bow up in hopes of at least getting her back in return, seeing as he had nowhere to hide himself. He could handle some holy light - it didn't hurt as much as it used to.

Except he mistook the colour of the magic, only noticing the orange glow as he released his arrow. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for searing pain, but it never came. No, instead of burning fire searing at his skin, he was knocked back by a heavy weight.

He groaned, looking up to find Tar'eon had taken the brunt of the attack.

"You idiot."

"I'm more flame resistant then you." Tar'eon chuckled roughly, obviously in pain regardless of his so called 'resistance'. Minthara's blast was much more powerful than his own.

"Your shirt isn't." Astarion muttered, anger burning low in his belly as Shadowheart sent another blast at the woman, but Minthara only healed herself a moment later. Karlach's arrow sunk into a goblin trying to swing at her. She stopped it in it's tracks with shot to the jugular, shoving it into the chasm below.

"Weak, the lot of you." Minthara smirked despite her last guard being killed as she made her way forward, across the bridge.

"I had hoped for better competition...Tell me where the grove is, and I might just let you live." Her hands glowed once more and Astarion stood to his feet.

"Wait your turn, under-elf." He sneered and pulled his bow back. But he wasn't aiming for her. No.

He released the arrow, specially intended to consume wherever it land in flames, and watched as it hit the bridge. Minthara turned, a daunting horror on her face. She could comprehend what was going to happen, but she had no time to escape.

It exploded on contact, and the bridge collapsed, sending her down into the depths below with an enraged scream of defeat.

Astarion smirked.

"She's back where she belongs. Our job here is done." Astarion had to jump back when Karlach went in for a bear hug of victory, shouting at her to save it for when she wouldn't burn him to a crisp. She pouted and Shadowheart chuckled.

"At least he said you can hug him. Just later." She teased and Astarion rolled his eyes. Whatever. If she managed to survive that burning engine of hers, then he would graciously allow her to hug him.

With their luck, it would hopefully never happen.

Astarion turned to Tar'eon to find him smiling at him, looking so...

He couldn't put an emotion to the expression. But it was light yet intense, and it made his undead heart do strange things.

It was almost as if Tar'eon was proud of him.

"Quit that. Take us back to camp so I can bathe already, would you? Only after my beauty sleep will I be bothered by more grateful devils like yourselves looking to deem us heroes." Astarion rolled his eyes at the very idea. Tar'eon chuckled and nodded. He seemed to know Astarion naming them ‘devils’ was more out of a reluctant fondness than prejudice.

"Alright." He got up with a groan, his white bed shirt burnt, laces charred to nothing and bandages singed. He made his way around the corner to his pack, his bloodied clothes thrown over one shoulder.

He offered his hand out to them, and they all reached for each other, eyes falling shut in tandem. They could all sepearently use the portals magic, sure, but Tar'eon seemed to have the strongest connection to its magic. Nobody needed to find themselves stranded again.

Yes, it was Karlach. And yes, it was hilarious when they finally managed to find her an hour later, banging on the sigil next to the crashed ship, whining with a locked out dog.

With a burst of ancient magic, Astarion was grateful to feel the breeze again, the forests early evening air caressing his skin, the sun starting its descent below the horizon. Pity. He hadn't even gotten to feel its shine today.

He soaked up the last tendrils of warmth before it disappeared, the others tending to their wounds or sharing stories. Wyll seemed disappointed that he missed out on the death of the drow, of the goblin leaders, but he was relieved to see them all come back alive. That was worth more than the glory of saving the grove.

With the sun gone, he moved towards the riverside, stripping down to nothing and sinking into the water. It was cold, but it was relaxing nonetheless. To be clean was better than anything right now. He closed his eyes and sunk beneath the waters surface, letting it envelop him. It was...good.

He opened his mouth and forced a scream out, silenced by the gentle rush of the stream.

His chest felt tight once it was out, opening his red eyes beneath the water. It stung softly, but he could make out grey shapes in the river. Plants moving, tiny fish swimming down stream, tadpoles little black dots in his vision as they traversed the river.

He owed him. Again. More and more and more; he was owing Tar'eon everything. He loathed it. The man was making him play hero when he was supposed to be the monster. He was risking his body for the sake of his own, a body that had died long ago and was only kept alive because of the bite Cazador bestowed upon him.

He defended his honour, his body; sustained and protected him, and Astarion hated that every step towards repaying the man in small ways was being overshadowed by his large bouts of heroism.

This would all be so much easier if he could manage to seduce the man. Yet every chance he got at trying, Tar’eon made the moment vulnerable. He hated it. Why didn’t anyone enjoy rough, meaningless sex anymore as a form of payment? Would sure make his life easier and less emotionally complicated.

He thought back to that look after the drow fell...he'd never been looked at like that before. With such earnest pride and affection. Tar'eon was not feeling prideful over one of his things, it was not pride in how well he had trained him, or twisted satisfaction over how obedient he was...

No, it was pure pride in him as an individual, in his own wit. That affection had not been a farce. It had been the look of someone who adored another's victory purely for their sake.

Astarion screamed again despite there being no air in his lungs, no sound from his lips. It was still a scream though, in ever sense of the word, eyes screwed shut and lips taunt over his gums, jaw stretched wide and fangs bared.

His eyes snapped open when he felt hands on him, inhaling water in his surprise and letting out a harsh cough as he was raised out of the water by his shoulders. Astarion whipped his head around to the attacker, ready to snarl, to bite and slash - he didn't need a weapon. Simply the refusal to give up.

His nails swiped across the eye of the large man before he realised who it was, eyes widening in shock.

Hells. This wasn't going to earn him any points, now was it? Clawing the tieflings eyes out.

"Argh!" He let go though, and Astarion sunk further into the water, putting distance between them and hiding his body beneath the darkness of the river.

"What is wrong with you? Sneaking up on me like that, are you insane?!" His throat and chest burned from inhaling the water, trying to stifle the urge to cough more or puke it back up, least he appear any weaker before the man.

"I'm sorry! Shit, I saw you go under and then you didn't come up, and I..." He wasn't even undressed, still in his clothes from the battle. No doubt he'd soaked his boots too, the idiot. Astarion softened his defensive stance slowly, but kept himself guarded.

"What? Did you think I'd drown or something? I'm a vampire! I don't even need to breathe, you fool."

Tar'eon moved his hand from his face, and Astarion was only a little relieved to see he only broke skin along his brow. It didn't look deep either. His eyes looked fine, small pink lines above and below his eye.

"But it's habit to do so, isn't it? And vampires can't cross running water so...I don't know." Tar'eon actually looked embarrassed for once. "I wasn't sure if you knew how to swim. I didn't want to risk it."

Astarion huffed, looking away as he sunk lower, water lapped around his shoulders.

"I...I apologise, for attacking you then. It appears my nerves are on end after today. Can you blame me?"

"No." Tar'eon sighed and ran a hand through his hair, dry with goblin blood.

"...Come join me. This river is big enough for two. Unless you're the one who can't swim." He smirked. Perhaps getting him naked first would make this whole thing easier. He had a decent body at the very least. It wouldn't be so awful.

"I think I can." Tar'eons shoulders sagged, looking much more relaxed at the offer. "I haven't tested it yet. But the water is shallow this end of the river." He chuckled and moved back towards the shore. Astarion watched from the waters like a kelpie, waiting for its next meal to enter the waters.

Tar'eon really had run in with his boots on. For the Gods sake, it was hard enough finding clothes that fit a man of his size this side of the coast.

Tar'eon stripped his shirt off, and for the first time, he seemed to inspect the damage and looked stricken.

"What? Realising you've run out of clean bed shirts and will have to bare the cold tonight, darling?" He chuckled. “I could be persuaded to share some…body heat, if you’d—“ He paused when Tar'eon pulled out a familiar envelope.

It was that tiefling child’s story. The one he read every night the past week...

It had taken the brunt of the blast it seemed, blackened and missing majority of its contents. Tar'eon slipped it out of the envelope and unfolded the parchment, watching it crumble in his hands.

Astarion had read it over his shoulder the first time he was presented with it. Even now, he could remember every messy stroke of the child's scrawl. He found himself slipping out of the water slowly, walking onto the land to stand beside him, glancing at what was left of the charred story.

‘adventurer

ammazeing

strong and safe

like the’

He'd taken a blast for him, and in doing so, Astarion had gotten his precious letter destroyed.

“Reading this reminds me who I am. Or rather, who I want to be. Mirkon’s story reminds me that I can…do good. Despite everything.”

Shit, he actually felt…guilty.

He looked at the large man and found his eyes still on the letter, on the story of his first truly good deed. A selfless deed he could have walked away from. There wouldn't have been anyone to witness him leaving the boy to die to the harpies.

Despite those violent flickers, those moments of darkness, he really did have so much heart. What an idiot. To have such a hopeful heart in a cruel world.

"You'll see him tomorrow, I'm certain. Perhaps he can write you another. A story about how you saved your people from monsters." Astarion hesitated before squeezing his shoulder and moving to collect his clothes. He should leave the man alone with his thoughts. Astarion was no comforter. The only comfort he could give was with his body, and something told him that that was not the comfort Tar'eon sought tonight.

Tar'eon stared at his hands, at the charred letter that disappeared into nothing as the evening wind stole it from him. He fisted his hands and pressed the heels to his head. He fought the urge to cry.

Astarion had no idea. He had no idea how important that story was to him. It was what motivated him to kill the vile urges every time it tried to sink its claws into his mind, somehow more devious than the tadpole.

There was something wrong with him. Deeply, inherently wrong.

And he didn't know how to kill it.

He washed off and despite the destruction of the letter, he was delightfully surprised to find Alfira, a fellow bard, at their camp.

Someone to play music with...Every grand hero had a song about them, didn’t they? Now wouldn't that be nice, creating something with someone else. Occupying his mind so he didn't have to think about everything wrong inside it.

Perhaps they could make music together during their journey.

He couldn't wait.

[themarvelhorse]

EftD Chapter 11 – The Devil in Canterlot High Part 2

Part 1 over here!

Sunset sat up straighter. “What the hell??? That’s so cool! That’s what you do in here all day? And you get paid?”

Woah! Sunset seeing the potential for a future career and place in life?! Gonna take psychology as a way to better understand magic but find herself enjoying it even without the sorcery?

“Huh.” A light smile started on her face like the flickering of kindling by a log.

Back to the comfy forest cabin imagery!

Rubbing her neck, Sunset could feel the sweat building back there. The metaphorical logs caught flame and caused a forest fire in her cheeks. She tittered. “We… we really don’t need to get into all that.”

OH NOT SO COMFY. IT WAS A TRAP!

I also like how everything really is so cold in the literal sense, but she feels the warmth in the nonphysical through this sort of language.

“Oh, good question: Empathy! I feel empathy for people when I empathize with them.” She sat back, raised her hands behind her head and the only thing that would have made her more comfortable is if she had a table or stool in front of her to kick her feet up onto. “Got all you need? Fantastic, let’s change my friends back.”

Omg, Sunset plz, you can’t explain a thing using the same word that’s in it. I swear every time I look up a word on the internet its like “Empathizing means to empathize with someone.” And then I have to search empathize and it’s like  “To empathize means to feel empathy for someone”. Like, thanks you fuckin giant privacy invader ad bot for being the most sophisticated and simultaneously useless thing imaginable.

Also I like how Solstice is testing the waters. Still trying to get her to open up, but has to start where Sunset is comfortable. He needs to find what’s not the jet fuel that gets thrown into the fireplace and keeps it comfy.

He dropped his animal-eyes to the floor, then back up at her, chin lifted

And so, with the spotlight now back on Solstice’s other side, so are the fauna adjectives. Is this Tartarus cell meant to keep Sunset locked in? Or to keep her safe from a certain beast? Perhaps it’s both. Not wanting to reveal parts of themselves for fear of being locked way, or having that which they themselves locked away, be suddenly freed.

“But you do have a demon form,” she said, voice low and rumbling. “You black out. Do you black out often?” … “Would you?”

Damn, this conversation is intense. Hardly anything is being said out loud, but so much is being said that way. Never answering with the yes or no, because that wouldn’t give him a fair chance to prove himself. But it doesn’t matter. How long can you live with what you’re doing without someone calling you out on it? Even when you think you recognized the problem and took steps to mitigate it… only to find out it wasn’t enough, and you hurt someone because of it…

Clawing motions and goat-like eyes. Truly every sort of manifestation of terrible creature, straight out of both hell and Tartarus.

“Individual counselling works for the individual,” he told her. “I want you to feel comfortable here and if you’d be more comfortable asking me some questions first, I say let’s have at it!” He pumped an arm heartily.

Okay, I HATE how you’re making me like him more and more with this. Because it makes what comes next SO CRUEL.

(It’s a temporary, good kind of hate ;))

“My magic is strongest when it’s based in fear,” he said, thumbing his coffee mug. “I’m a coward. Always afraid of this, that, or the other. And whenever I’m most afraid, he appears. He feeds on it. Perhaps not just my own fear, either. I’m not conscious when he is, so I don’t know the full extent of what he can do; but if he feeds on my fear to manifest, I have to imagine he’ll want more. I think… I think that’s why he attacks people in showy, impractical fashions. Snowstorms are just his way of throwing a fit. He considers himself quite the lead. Climactic battlefronts are his stage. Never give him one.”

As a recovering coward myself, I’d say him seeing fear as cowardice is not the whole truth, whether he knows it or not. Yes, he was likely afraid of his father, but I’m sure he’s also afraid of people hurting, because of him or because of their own issues. Does that make him a coward? I wouldn’t say so. I’d say he simply cares. When you’re worried about someone, and their well-being makes you anxious and afraid for them, what is that? It’s just love. Nothing you can do about that. And the issues with his father, what would that fear be based on? Of not being accepted for being into theatre? Of being unloved? So much so that you don’t want anyone else to feel that way, but can’t help but be afraid that they do.

Sunset laughed, pointing at him. “But, see? You care about people! You believe in them! You even believe in me.”

Nice to know that Sunset sees that he’s genuinely good too.

Even despite his eyes billowing smoke, his warm smile made her feel like they were sitting across from each other around a campfire. “I know precisely how you feel. I bought Bridleway tickets for two for the first time in years. I come to this school, and it’s overflowing with people like me.” He laughed, “It’s almost enough to make me think I’m as good as you say, if I might belong in a place like this.

AH! Back to the woodsy feeling again?

Waiting for that campfire smoke to just block all visibility and choke out all the feelings ;;;;

Here he’s feeling loved at last. Someplace where he feels that maybe he can truly keep Sombra down because of those emotions that aren’t about fear. Until he has to grapple with another issue not considered – the fatigue. And then both Sunset and Solstice go on to say the other one is good and they themselves are the bad one. AN ETERNAL BATTLE OF "no u".

Solstice nodded as he took an off-white, sealed envelope from the side table by his chair. He smiled at it. “You’ve cultivated quite the community.” He placed the envelope aside on his L-shaped desk to deal with later and returned to his seat.

Maybe it’s a letter of recommendation for Sunset to pursue something in the future? Rainbow Dash was recently headhunted by NR, so maybe he thinks she’d do very well there. And its close to home! Or one for Sunset to pursue teacher’s college so she can come right back to Canterlot High and inherit the throne from this Celestia. “See a need, fill a need…”. If she stays it’d only end up making sense to have a school for magic related things. City Hall’s already on board!

“It’s hard to know where the line is, though. It’s not even just my past or my transformation into a she-demon anymore. Magic itself is getting dangerous. People get hurt. I can’t keep running away from that anymore, I have to face it head on because I’m not the only one it’s affecting. All the magic and every disaster it causes in this dimension comes from me.”

Solstice Shiver sat across from her, staring for a moment with his devil-eyes. “My… goodness do you ever sound like me. Er, it should also be noted that magical events did occur before you arrived at Canterlot High. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you didn’t create the portal between our worlds. I’ve also heard from other students about some rogue sirens that came to this world before you? And artefacts, like⁠—” He checked his notes. “—A Memorial Stone? Sorry, Memory Stone.” “Okay, maybe not all of it,” she allowed, rubbing her wrist. “But most of it started impacting people’s lives when I came through that mirror in the statue. You’re an exception, not the rule. Uh,” Sunset Shimmer found herself saying, “no offence.”

I... well... I GUESS? Solstice hasn't really had much chance to verify anything until everything started happening at this school. But hey, it was still always there. And now this minority group gets a chance to feel a little less alone, and more validated.

Also, not liking the way this “devil-eyes” adjective was not animal-like but now outright straight from hell.

I wonder if the preceding paragraph had anything to do with it… with mentions of her actually sounding like him, his fears manifested, her thinking of this as facing it head on while he remains cowardly… is this the feeling of fear that Sombra is currently using which prompts the comparison to a devil’s eyes?

…”There’s a strange chaos in what it does to human beings—but I didn’t need anyone here to tell me that.”

A very strange Chaos. What else could facilitate connection between worlds like this than the very Spirit of Chaos? What else would find such a ridiculous joy in a fucked up little statue like that one in front of City Hall? Yes I’m still on that. I know I’ll never know the truth but still!

A pink flooded to the surface of his cheeks. “... O-oh. Oh that makes sense,” Solstice mumbled and cleared his throat. His eyes returned to their standard green, magic evaporating. “Sorry, I... hadn’t heard exactly what the other Celestia was like. Good for her. Royalty,” he said, sounded winded.

More positive emotions dialing back the fear! Hell yeah Solstice! It’s like the peasant running into royalty dressed in common clothes and them simply falling for each other based on who they genuinely are. Good shit.

“Protégé to a princess, goodness. You somehow find ways to be more and more impressive the more I learn about you. What was that like?” he asked, his eyes reigniting. Just as unnerving as last time. She glared at his therapising, so he waved a hand. “Remember: this is purely in the interest of helping your friends. There are methods buried in my madness somewhere.”

Oh hell naw! Fuckin Sombra getting all opportunistic when he hears what potential Sunset has as a target now?

Solstice looked up from taking notes. “So the day you got your cutie mark, that made you who you are?”

“Exactly!” she said, like a teacher proud of their student. “I got mine early, too.” … “What I know is I was little. Maybe I didn’t have anyone there to tell me it was going to be okay. There must’ve been a director or a caretaker during the nights, right? But even if there was, I guess I had to be pretty frightened. One night, I don’t remember why, but that night I panicked. I wasn’t about to go gentle into that good night. My magic must’ve reacted to that, but that night it did it in a big way, and the only way I’ve ever been able to describe what I did was that I kept the sun up with me a little longer.” … …And for context, most ponies could never dream of raising or lowering the sun the way Princess Celestia does every day. That’s alicorn level magic. Regular old unicorns can’t do that.” … Sunset’s hands shook in her lap, itself quaking thanks to her legs, and there was nothing she could do to hide it. “I-I’ve never been able to explain that much power. I used to try to tell myself it was because I was special, but I could never do it again. Maybe I stole magic from Princess Celestia. Maybe I’m that awful. If I did, I didn’t mean to—I mean, it was my fault, I chose to do it, but not like that. I just wanted the sun to stay up longer! I didn’t think I’d almost kill myself! I should’ve known not to, but when the Princess came to visit Her Majesty’s Home for Foundling Fillies, I got the stupid idea in my head that she should stay longer so somehow I just… I made her!”

;~;

She just wanted a mom ;;; Or you know, any adult that could help her feel safe.

Really though, maybe she didn’t move the Sun, maybe she just moved Celestia’s heart enough, calling out to her with a connection that made Celestia stop moving the sun. Which would also be strong magic and shocking to all. Maybe Celestia realized Sunset had this loving connection with her that she hadn’t felt from anyone else before. Because magic is emotion-based, that’d be an extremely powerful magic, especially if, as this chapter goes on to talk about, they were supposed to Face NMM together.

There’s some other elements I want to tie together here: the way dream is italicized for emphasis. It’s done in a way that, yes, expresses that word about just how powerful it was, but it’s also being spoken about in the context of the caretaker there at night being around, but distant. Not doing their job. It feels vaguely connected to Princess Luna, who is currently on involuntary vacation at the Hotel Super Nightlight – ‘see a need, fill a need.’ Since there’s a need for someone to make the nights feel less scary, then who could fill that need? Not only that, but Sunset’s connection to Celestia and the subsequent getting of her cutie mark, happens in a way that emphasizes a need among youth for someone like Celestia to be there for them since Celestia can't. We even later see in the show, that Princess Luna is the one most often showing up for the kids. Celestia just wasn’t able to do that, not as much as she wanted to, and not in the way they deserved. So, when she felt that connection, need, and desire from Sunset for someone to be there for kids, especially those without parents or with shitty parents (like Solstice in this world), Celestia saw Sunset being able to fill that role, that need. That’s how they were intended to rule together.

And that’s why I think this text about Sunset saying ‘“Exactly!” like a teacher proud of their student’, is foreshadowing. Well not just foreshadowing, but it allows us to recognize what gives Sunset energy and passion. This is all from Sunset’s perspective, so how much can we trust as Marvel’s foreshadowing vs. how Sunset’s senses are interpreting things in that situation? How does narration even work when there's so many ways to do it?

We also see it in the way she’s mentoring Twilight to become the next leader of the Rainbooms after her. It’s grounded in this belief that she won’t be around to help them, which is essentially what a teacher and a parent are both supposed to do.

So, there’s this nexus of Sunset being an orphan, connecting to this student counselor with a bad parent, and connecting with Celestia. Celestia is a leader in both worlds, but why a leader of a high school in this one? Because she’s also a teacher. A teacher who knows how to also be the pseudo-parent that some kids and teens need.

Her eyes flashed, alert. She could feel her heart thrashing in her chest, warning her to run and run now. “What? How could any of that possibly be what we have in common?”

Oh gods. It’s the trap set out long ago. A lure set, the truth – the bait.

…he said, walking the length of the rug which meant dissecting the yin-yang design of it in half.

OH GODS! IT’S THE REFERENCE IN THE PIC FROM EARLIER TOO.

The realization hit like a grenade lodged under the couch cushions she sat on. She shot out of her seat, exploding forth.

That’s one way to get your enemy out from behind cover and out into the open, a helpless target.  

“Oh my⁠—oh my Celestia! You’re right! Timber and I don’t deal with our feelings!” Somewhere deep in the depths of school, on the whiteboard with the circle of stylized heads meant to represent herself and her friends magical powers, Sunset could almost see the word labelling the line connecting her to Timber Spruce: Repression. Or maybe, better yet: Emotional Escape.

Love and hate it. Love it because it all makes sense! Hate it because, how didn’t I see it sooner?! I guess the same way Sunset didn't see it sooner.

Sunset’s legs felt unsteady underneath her. She grabbed her arms as the cold seeped through her jacket. The thermometer on the wall sunk to inverted heights. “I… I-I don’t know, I⁠—”

The prey, frozen in fear.

Her breath swirled visible in front of her.

The art! When they were sitting across from each other! The swap is continuing!

Solstice Shiver froze.

She grabbed the opening of her jacket, pulling it together. “They shouldn’t have to go through that. No one should have to—they deserve so much better. They all deserve better.”

The jailer now jailed, and the hunter to become the hunted. Both immobilized by the very same cold they defied at the start of the chapter.

She muffled herself. Eyes raised toward the stars that couldn’t aid in her escape. She blinked, eyes stinging and her skin with it in the cold. She roughly wiped her eyes before grabbing her arms and letting her eyes drop to the floor. “I’ll change everything back to normal and destroy the portal. And then I’m never coming back. I’m sorry if this is goodbye. It was nice knowing you, while it lasted.”

Sobs

The clock froze solid on the wall.

And the day time stood still.

“... Who do you think you’re talking to right now?”

Time stopped pretty much for me too when I read that.

“How do you know?” he asked. “How would anyone know? I’m everything you fear you are. Is there any difference between us? There’s hardly an us about it, it’s all me. It’s always been me.” He gripped the sides of the armchair. “You need to run. I don’t think he likes your plan to take all the magic with you.”

Oh no….

Mug in hand, she came over to him and offered a mug of piping hot coffee. He took it in his hands, and drank as if from the River Styx or the River Lethe. While he did, Sunset staggered back, taking a seat on the purple couch.

And after such a break from the feeling of being in Tartarus, it’s back again. The Greek mythology references are very real for Sunset, but Hell is something less so. Maybe it's something more human. She can fight every one of those 'mythical' monsters, but there's much more fear in what you aren't sure about. The unknown. The darkness, that darkness that Sunset feared as a filly. What lurked there? What lurks now? You know devils and demons exist, you were one. What does that mean about Hell, and everything else you don't know about in the human world? Along with human economics and geography...

Also, I didn’t know this! “The River Lethe - the souls of the dead had to drink from it, which made them forget all they had done and suffered when they were alive.” Or like the River Styx, to renew his oath to protect the students.

Pretty fitting!

So maybe the Greek references are something more within Sunset's control, but Hell isn't.

And of course, its at this moment that Solstice’s fears are realized and his own heart breaks. After connecting so well to someone and genuinely feeling like he helped them only to hear this? This realization that it wasn’t enough? He couldn’t stop her from leaving or save her from herself? He was so confident that it was working, all that progress, even making her happy by figuring it all out. He was confident he'd never put the students in harm’s way because he had faith in them, students like Sunset, to be able to get better. But how do you deal with someone who is just so determined to continue believing this one damaging thing, despite the progress? Despite the evidence to the contrary of what they thought about themselves? He of all people would have been best suited to stop that, and in the end it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter in the end, but it still mattered that the love was there.

A panting started and Sunset didn’t realize it was her own. Tears streaked. Her vision dappled with darkness and sparks. Maybe she was dying already. Maybe she’d never make it to the mirror at all. Maybe she’d die here. No destiny, no reason she wouldn’t. An empty future. No guarantee. Sunset Shimmer knew she would die purposelessly at Canterlot High. I’m dying... I’m dying…

This part just kinda fucks me up too. She feels like death is here for her. She feels like all the magical catastrophes happen because she exists. And now she feels like she’s about to stop existing and for no reason, to no one’s benefit. And then she goes back to thinking about the portal, the one final purpose she does have, the one final thing she wants to live for before she would have to stop existing in her friends’ lives. She was so worried about becoming the villain again, that she forgot the other thing that happens to heroes.

“Hushhhh,” he told her. “You’re in no condition. You’ve failed. But it’s alright. I’m always here to listen and I’ve heard everything I need to know.” She could hear the smile rise in his voice. “I’ll make certain everyone sees who you really are.”

Gonna choke on the sulfur I taste on my lips / Seeing stars in the dark here beneath an eclipse / Hard to wait for an answer when my belief slips / There’s something else here LISTENING~

She heard her own voice cackle in delight. “Well, well. Theory proven. The doctor was right.” He laughed maniacally at his own joke. “Fear does attract fear. A shame it’s consuming you, otherwise, I might invite you to join.”

My mind is scouring secrets  / Not any soul will tell / Sometimes to face the demons / You have to walk through hell~

Bringing it full circle, there’s been a lot of stories about people going to hell for their loved ones. Of course Orpheus, but also Dante. And now Sunset. Facing down the different versions of the lord of this place, be it Hades or Hell. The place where you go to face your demons, where demons reside. Where you find the King of demons. And then suddenly, it’s a Pandora's box you unleash. One where hope is also released into the world, along with all the horrors. In this case, it’s the hope that Sunset can finally change everyone back. But the horrors!

Sunset’s a lot like Luna, we saw that comparison in the comics. And that might have been another reason why Celestia took in her in. Leaving Sunset there in the orphanage to feel abandoned again? John Milton told us why that’s been a bad thing in Paradise Lost. Orpheus letting Eurydice feel abandoned in Hades. And Sunset was about to let her friends feel abandoned in the human realm. She wasn’t saved from becoming the villain though. And of course, its not like a certain fallen angel isn’t depicted as the same way either, jealous of the new kid who comes along.

And of course- course, it would help if any of those who did feel abandoned had someone else to fall back on, i.e. “another teacher who shared similar feelings of abandonment but was also turned good”.

All that to say, it feels like everything in this chapter fits so well together. And just to finish it off…

“Where Sunset Shimmer belongs, of course. Ruining everything for those she loves most, causing fear and mass panic wherever she goes.” King Sombra popped the collar of his leather jacket. “It seems I have a coronation to attend.”

Shadows swallowed her vision as a demonic Sunset Shimmer left into the halls of Canterlot High.

I can't climb jacob's ladder / Keep on landing on the ground / But hell has an elevator / So just send my body down Down, down, down

...Down the halls of Canterlot High.

Also some end notes!

I like all the little instances of irritation that Solstice encounters in this chapter – at least explicitly. I don’t think any of the others would have added onto this anger that ultimately allows Sombra to take over.

Sunset refuses to zip up her jacket.

Sunset prefers tea, which is not what most students preferred. This allows Solstice to feel comfortable venting about how coffee is getting ruined because he knows he wouldn’t bother Sunset with that.

Sunset’s comment about how therapy is for dumb babies.

Still, these aren’t problems for Solstice because he’s not some controlling snob. It’s because he’s afraid for the students’ well-being. And again, when he finds out its not enough to stop Sunset from blaming herself, it breaks him.

Upon review of all the Greek myth connections, I decided to do a little digging.

So first we have the idea that the psyche is separated from the corpse and transported to the Underworld. Literally have the separation of mind from body in this particular Chapter. And to not just anyone, but to someone who wants to escape Hades itself. Its own prison. It’s a place of darkness and lacks sunlight. This office is also where Twilight, Timber, and Flash all went before she did, and where Celestia, even if its not Sunset’s Celestia, went into first. So we have Orpheus style Sunset going in to get her loved ones back by making a deal and only sticking to that deal. Except that, when her attitude towards Solstice changes by the end, Sunset does a figurative 180, and Orpheus does the literal 180. And they both also end up paying for it. I also see a sort of Persephone/Celestia thing going on, where Solstice’s emotions are tied to the weather changes, and the winter is alleviated by Celestia’s presence.

This whole chapter also lets us see how Sunset shares so many traits with Solstice. She’s the perfect vessel for Sombra to have controlled.

And of course, it all very much vibes with Sympathy for the Devil. How he was always there, being a man of wealth and taste – coffee and wine; the puzzle of understanding Sombra – fear, but what are we afraid of, if not what we don’t understand? The yin-yang-ness of it all –

Just as every cop is a criminal / And all the sinners saints / As heads is tails

And of course, Solstice trying to keep control of Sombra, the restraint, the prison.

Just call me, Lucifer / 'Cause I'm in need of some restraint

Sunset walked into Hell to face its master, and all the things she fears along with it for her friends… and in so doing she left the door wide open for him to leave.

:C

[salemoleander]

Creator Commentary / Explaining Elements

I don't normally do this, but there's SO MUCH going on in this one that I actually wanted to do a commentary on it and why I picked what I did! I put a LOT of thought into elements and how they contribute to the overall effect of a piece, so I thought it might be fun to lay some of that out.

That all got (predictably) incredibly long, so it is under its own cut! I've labeled each bullet by what I intuitively called that element, rather than the actual title/author/etc, to make it easier to follow which bit I'm talking about. (For example, rather than "Président de la nuit", I've labeled it "Chair painting".)

Also, you seem unstable… speech bubble

Chosen because it evokes superhero comics (which is the AU we’re in) and gives a humorous/light-ish start to the piece.

Could genuinely be said from either of them.

Overlaid on the wound-tending image to form a kind of tableau

Bandaging hand art

The hands being Grian/Scar’s isn’t sensical per the fic (they only had the 2 hands during the backstory) but the theme of helping/dependence due to injury really benefits from it.

This art also works bc it ties in the seafoam green & skin tone/reddish hues that appear in the chair & other hands. (The right side of the piece is blue/black, bc it’s about Scar’s “betrayal” of evicting Grian from his body)

in his eyelids poem excerpt

Contains the idea of existing inside another person, as well as the fear - one last nakedness, one last level of being exposed to the possible judgment or harm from someone else. 

The words ‘sleep until dawn’ create an image of soft/warm affection, and the mention of nakedness also leads well into the nude man with blank eyes below it, what happens when Grian is kicked out of that body.

Broken glass

Needed a low-contrast bg image that would blend well into the art below, and to enhance the idea of superheros/danger/risk/fighting without just chucking another wounded hand into the mix. 

When you/ bend and kiss the rotting wings poem excerpt

The rest of the poem is much longer, and even this stanza is longer, but it had several bits I found either redundant or less-applicable for this use. 

The final line in full is “Even now I still need something better to say/ than this hush love creates between two people” but ending it at “better to say” hits harder. The hush love creates is being created by the other pieces & its placement over a cozy house scene, no need to belabor the point.

He tugs gently on my towel… poem excerpt

I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO USE THIS FOR FOREVER Fjords is a phenomenal collection but the poems create such a specific feeling that they’re very hard to use well. 

The full poem POV is referred to with she/her, which isn’t a dealbreaker but I found I could cut around those lines & still get the core image I wanted to steal for this.

Again emphasizing this gentle/warm/caring nature that still results in unclothing (a last nakedness!) the POV character, in reminding them they are not human, and an assumption that that is a flaw.

Blood decanter

This was one of the last additions - I like to break up horizontal/vertical edges when I can, and that middle edge was VERY unbroken. 

There are a bunch of other vein-style carafes by the artist, but this one had an alien/baby-animal-taking-its-first-steps spindliness that I liked.

The recurrent blood motif is partly my own personal bias towards it but also bc it turns out it is VERY HARD to visually convey ‘guy who is living inside another guy’, especially if you, the artist, have a phobia of parasites. So, blood/veins/connections through tendrils it is. Vaguely mold-like but not bc I am a big baby.

Red wings

Again, wanted to break up that vertical line, and also this Grian does have wings, and also also I figured I could maybe do a sort of tableau thing w/ the guy sitting. Not trying to do true collage there, but the implication of his having wings is good enough for me!

Would you murder me texts

Needed something small/with simple or no text to go over the cozy chair. At one point Grian mentions basically ghosting Scar for almost a year?? And it seemed like an appropriately funny-but-not-really thing to include.

Chair painting

I needed the coziest, most Scar-tastic living room (with a balcony/night view bc superhero au obvs) and Ms. Carole Rabe fucking delivered. All of her paintings are so richly done!! Go look at them!

Scar colors, and also blends between the seafoam/pale green & orange -> sunset tones that play so well with the red and dark blue.

Also. There’s only one chair, and it’s empty. 

Give until I’m… poll

I originally used all 4 of the results from this, bc imo they fit REALLY well to Scar Grian Xisuma and then one aimed at recovery. In the fic it’s clear they’re all kind of.. different flavors of too-altruistic, different flavors of lighting themselves on fire to keep someone else warm.

However that ended up dominating the feeling of it/ adding too much gray, so I dialed it back to ones that convey the fears/themes of the work. 

Scar refuses to become hollow, refuses to be a home for someone else; Grian trusts and trusts and that breaks him, gives up his own body until it is a shell for Scar to carry out; Xisuma has seen everyone he loves die and keeps going, doggedly continuing a heroic fight that nearly ended with him dead on a warehouse floor.

Sitting on floor guy painting

GO LOOK AT DENIS SARAZHIN’S ART. NOW.

Okay - the blue with touches of red at the toes was the right color for what I needed. He’s in the dark, almost veiled by the quotes around him.

Mostly I picked this for his expression. Go look at a full-res version of this - his eyes are intelligent but veiled, mouth slightly hardened and fist clenched. 

I also think the title has some very good synergy with the themes.

love me enough to drown me out

I don’t do easter eggs, but this is about as subtle as I’ll let things get. Depending on screen brightness a lot of people won’t even see this element to the right of the sitting man, which is intentional.

With this I was both thinking of Grian’s need for Scar (love me enough to ignore your misgivings, to let me be part of you, to escape the pain of being alone in my own head, drown me out) and Scar’s implied request in return (love me enough to drown out the distrust, to let me see you, to eclipse your fear of not being enough).

It’s hard to see bc this is the point in the story where they are the least communicative - Grian made into an insensate thing, Scar never even telling him what he was planning. 

Think of visible red/blood in this collage as representing ‘wear your heart on your sleeve’; the text is obliterated because the idea it contains is obscured.

I return to the site of injury

Trying to let some pieces be more/less easily legible, letting smaller/more private thoughts exist with less contrast.

They are each others’ sites of injury; Scar literally could not have lived without him, and Grian cannot forgive the wound of separation.

to have & to hold

This might as well be the thesis statement. To have - to possess, to contain, to consume, to be - is incompatible with to hold - to comfort, to exist beside. Wanting doesn’t make them synonyms.

happiness is…

Gonna be real, I just saw that title on an old blood donation ad and was like ‘LOL yeah that works’.

Like yeah happiness is helping other people despite the risk to yourself, reaching out will always be nobler than stagnation, etc etc.

Birds and smoke

I love the bright red of the birds against the smoke, and the sky/smoke mimics the blue of the top right side excellently.

Needed something to subtly set the scene (there’s a fire in the warehouse, it’s nighttime, etc) without being too muddy bc there’s so much stuff in the foreground.

Veins and Bones Arm Embroidery

MAYBE MY FAVORITE ELEMENT

The artist (if I’m understanding correctly): Photographed her own arm. Printed it on fabric. Drew on her bones. And then embroidered her veins!!! Sick as hell!!

I wanted something that used veins, that showed the entry/takeover of Grian into X’s body while also avoiding gore. I had a cool old blood-drawing illustration that I decided to abstain from bc I thought it might be a bit much (and also it wasn’t colorful and I didn’t wanna have to do Yet Another Filter)

The tracing of bone underneath - the implication of something permanent and solid that veins are woven around/ latticed on - felt like a good choice to convey what Grian does in the fic.

with all the holes in you already…

Abjection, baby!

No seriously, go read some Kristeva and then come back. 

Jenny Holzer the text artist of all time tbh. 

Needed something to convey injury/damage/mutualistic parasitism/’you’re afraid but you don’t have to be’ and unfortunately just pasting in a scene from the Xenogenesis trilogy would take too much room.

Also the pale mirrored silver/red fit great with the arm embroidery and bloody hands.

Car headlights

Wanted to convey city/bright/hard to see, and the moment they stepped out the door with Grian piloting X, the need to stand up to news & paparazzi, just a bunch of things related to ‘bright light in my eyes ouch’

I did not hunt down the moment

I am SO SAD scatterghosts deactivated. Wonderful TMG edits.

So this already had the perfect colors and was itself a city scene, it felt very logical to overlay it on the car headlights.

I was mostly thinking about how after a year of avoiding him, this reunion comes upon Grian without warning. 

Also thinking about dreams/waking, potentially suppressing X’s consciousness, and a blurry-eyed attempt to determine What Is Happening.

Bloody hands

\o/ HANDS WITH BLOOD (Do you have any idea how hard it is to get good art with blood/gore that isn’t 1. Guro (very.) 2. Irl photos of dubious provenance 3. Medical photos again of dubious provenance??)

There’s a whole set of hands with blood in that series, actually! I chose these bc I wanted 2 hands (Grian and X), and I wanted X’s to be lax, with Grian’s active.

I thought the way the thumb is digging into the lower arm seemed evocative of the connection/penetration of letting your cells start to breathe for somebody else.

The blood is blood but the way it coats one hand while marring the other also brings up contamination/spreading, like we can see Grian’s cells flowing down?

Do you have a question…? poem excerpt

Again, slightly harder to read than I might normally do!

A question that can’t be answered is about keeping secrets, as well as Grian’s refusal to ask Scar why, to confront him, to have that conversation.

Mercy being difficult to understand is the other side of that coin - if Scar wasn’t being cruel, why did becoming hurt? Why is he willing to risk his life for X, despite knowing the incredible danger? He wants to be a pigeon again.

A piece of burned meat poem excerpt

This is Xisuma’s POV to me, post-fic. Not much of it, but I wanted to explore both the idea of ‘my body is HURT and I am not in control’ and also ‘I am so tired. I have been so tired. At least this isn’t up to me anymore.’

catching signals that sound in the dark webweave

Created as a gift for @droidofmay for her incredible fic!

// Sources under readmore //

What is a webweave? Previous art: Third Life | Void Falling | Attempt 33 | Limited Life | Nightingale | solving counting sheep | Hunger au

Also, you seem unstable… speech bubble / via imperiuswrecked ◆ Naka-Choko [the inherent homoeroticism of wound tending] / @dontbelasagnax ◆ Excerpts from Your Lover (The Galloping Hour: French Poems) / Alejandra Pizarnik via @feral-ballad ◆ Constellation No. 26 / Zhao Zhao via @psikonauti ◆ Excerpt from Hush / C. Dale Young via @grocerystoredean ◆ Excerpt from Refrigerator General (Fjords I) / Zachary Schomburg ◆ Carafe Nº6 / Etienne Meneau ◆ Red wings / Natalia Karna ◆ Would you murder me… texts / sparklebussy (deactivated) ◆ Président de la nuit / Carole Rabe via @huariqueje ◆ Give until I’m… poll / @orewing ◆ Out of touch / Denis Sarazhin ◆ fill me up, fill me full up / @taohun ◆ Excerpt from Heed the Hollow / Malcolm Tariq via @geryone ◆ Excerpt from No I Don’t Want to Connect with You on LinkedIn / Emily Skaja via @serratedpens ◆ Happiness is- / National Institutes of Health ◆ Fire reflected on birds in smoke / Coen Robben via @theanimalblog ◆ Constructual 5 / Juana Gomez ◆ With all the holes… (Survival series) / Jenny Holzer via @valtsv ◆ New York Winter 2014 2015 / Lina Scheynius ◆ I did not hunt down the moment edit [[Need More Bandages / TMG | Night Lights, Berlin / Lesser Ury]] / a-doctor-not-a-fangirl (deactivated) ◆ Lie (Peripety series) / Jen Mazza ◆ Excerpts from From The Book of Time (Devotions) / Mary Oliver via @liriostigre ◆ Excerpts from Having It Out with Melancholy / Jane Kenyon via @cithaerons

[frogtanii]

℗ me and my husband

atsumu x fem!reader (poker face ending)

series masterlist

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

wc. 3.2k (holy shit)

warnings. NOT PROOFREAD, v v soft domestic, marriage :00, smut!! (is marked off!!), soft dom!tsumu, hair pulling (giving), unprotected sex, slight praise kink, pretty vanilla ngl

an. can be read as a one shot but u might be confused lmfao also this took SO LONG OMFG also also heavily unedited, take things w a grain of salt lmfao anyways don’t forget to feed me ahaha m rlly proud of this so i hope y’all like it <33

it was moving day and atsumu was about to lose his mind.

today was the official day of the hyper house disbandment and while most of the members were still figuring out new living arrangements and thus remaining past the deadline, you were one of the few trying to get out as soon as possible.

makki and mattsun were so excited to have you move in, they showed up early that morning to help you pack. now, it was around 1p and it was almost time for you to go. you still had a few more boxes to go but things were speeding right along.

normally, atsumu would be right by your best friends helping you out but he was currently in the middle of a breakdown.

you were leaving. leaving. he had no idea when he’d see you again (even though you promised to meet up weekly to catch up), if he would ever see you again. for all he knew, makki and mattsun would just hide you away forever, never to be seen again.

okay, so he was panicking.

it was just... atsumu was in love with you. he’d known for a while (way longer than he’d like to admit) and he selfishly thought he’d have more time with you so that he could work up the courage to confess. but now? you were like three boxes away from a distance that he didn’t know if he or your relationship could recover from.

it wasn’t that he was bad at long distance but the tragic events that the house brought, brought the two of you closer together and he didn’t want to lose that.

atsumu let out a groan and dropped his head against the wall, his mind running with scenario after scenario, all ending in failure and utter embarrassment.

“hey, you okay?” you called out, a large box cradled delicately in your arms. as atsumu turned from the plaster in front of him, he allowed himself a moment to take you in.

you were wearing short athletic shorts, worn converses, and his t shirt. a thin sheen of sweat covered your skin, the lights above reflecting off of it, giving you a warm glow.

of course you looked hot moving boxes.

you called his name again in concern and he immediately felt his heart clench in guilt. you’d already been through so so much and here he was fantasizing about you instead of being there for you like a good friend would.

atsumu let out a sigh and shot you a wide, albeit empty, smile before walking over to you and taking the box out of your hands. the furrow in your brows told him you saw through his expression but he ignored it and made a show of lifting your box above his head and carrying it to mattsun’s car.

“see, what would ya do without these guns angel?” he joked, placing the cardboard into the trunk. you rolled your eyes and poked him in the side playfully. “die, probably.”

the butterflies in his stomach kicked up at the underlying sincerity in your voice but he tried his best to overlook it. it was much harder than it seemed, especially when you looked at him with such fondness in your gaze that made him want to kiss you senseless.

gulping hard, he quickly turned away from you, busying himself with fitting your things in the truck like a game of tetris.

“atsumu.” your voice was firm but pleading and he didn’t dare look at you for fear of spilling everything right then and there. “wow, ya sure got a lot of stuff, huh? wonder how much of this was bought with ushijima’s money,” he started to ramble but thankfully he was interrupted by makki whooping as he walked out of the house.

“last box bitches!” you shot atsumu one final worried look before running over to makki and mattsun, yelling the whole way there.

atsumu was grateful your back was to him because he couldn’t hide the affectionate look that overtook his face, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he watched you hip bump your friends while cackling wildly.

god, he was so in love with you.

what was he going to do when you moved out and away? what if you found someone, someone how loved you as much as he did (not possible)? he would wish for your happiness even at the expense of his own but... what if you both could be happy?

caught up in his thoughts, atsumu didn’t register you saying your goodbyes to the remaining members until you were finally in front of him.

“i’m gonna miss living with you tsum.” you unceremoniously launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. his heart leapt violently at the contact and he prayed to every deity above that you didn’t hear it underneath your head.

he barely managed to hug you back before you pulled away, your eyes slightly teary and red. “um, well, makki and mattsun are waiting for me so uh,” you trailed off looking back at the van and your friends who were so (im)patiently waiting for you to join them.

atsumu’s breath quickened as you scooted a bit away from him, truly getting ready to leave. no, no, it couldn’t end like this, awkward and distant. no, he wasn’t going to let it.

“atsumu?” you asked worriedly, reaching out a hand to touch him when he didn’t respond but he couldn’t hear you. he felt hot all over, like he was going to explode or magically combust if he didn’t get the words out into the air.

“tsum, are you oka-“ “i’m in love with ya.”

you paused, shock written clearly all over your face. the fear of rejection slammed into atsumu like a brick, the feeling settling in the pit of his stomach like a rock but he still didn’t stop.

“i’m in love with ya and i have been for forever. yn, yer beautiful but yer face and body aren’t even the best part of ya, even though they’re pretty damn great. yer just-“

“tsum-“

“-yer so kind, especially when ya don’t need ta be. yer badass but ya care fer others so deeply and ya make me wanna be a better person. ya make me a better person. i know ya-“

“tsumu please-“

“-ya probably don’t feel the same and that’s alright but i needed ta tell ya, before ya leave and fall in love with some other scrub, just in case we can be happy together and-“

all of a sudden, your hands were buried in his shirt and you were pulling him close to meet your lips with his, your mouths meshing together in a soft and passionate kiss.

bliss. atsumu was in sheer bliss. your lips were as soft as he thought they would be as they moved with his, his hands coming up to grip your waist and pull you even closer to him.

sooner than he would have liked, his lungs started burning for air so he pulled back but not very far, instead resting his forehead against yours.

“i was trying to tell you i liked you too, idiot,” you muttered, your eyes still closed as you spoke. he chuckled, a wide grin overtaking his entire face as he really took in what you were saying.

you liked him back. you liked him. holy shit.

but instead of saying any of that, he decided to tease you a bit. “just like? if i recall, i just confessed my undying love for ya.”

you pulled back with a faux scoff, hitting him in the arm with a huff. “shut up you ass. of course i love you too.” you couldn’t keep your real smile off your cheeks while you confessed, your soft expression bringing another wave of desire over atsumu’s body.

“can, can i take ya inside angel?” he allowed his true intentions to be heard in his words, your eyes widening when you figured out what he meant. you nodded vigorously before shooting a look to makki and mattsun. mattsun just waved you off and got into his truck while makki yelled, “get that dick!”

you heated up horribly, grabbing atsumu’s hand and pulling him towards the house and to his room. he allowed himself to be dragged along, sending winks to the other boys as he went until the two of you were standing right in front of his door.

“i love ya,” he whispered, lifting your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. you grinned. “love you too tsum.”

that must have been the final straw because the minute the words left your mouth, he was on you.

••• smut begin•••

pressing you up against the door, atsumu ravaged your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours as he walked you backwards into his room, laying you down on the bed so that he was hovering over you, his hips pressing hard against yours.

instinctively, you ground up into him, rewarding you with a loud groan and a gasp of your name. “fuck angel, yer killing me here,” he laughed breathlessly, rolling his hardness against your thigh. you let out a breathy moan and tangled your hands in his hair to bring him back down to your lips.

as you continued to kiss him, his hands scrambled at your waist, pushing his hands under it to grope at your chest. you giggled at the cold of his fingers but he didn’t pay it any mind, moving down from your mouth to your neck, sucking dark marks into the sensitive skin there.

“ah, shit tsumu,” you tilted your head to the side to give him more access, just as he reached under your bra to tease your nipples. a startled gasp left you, your back arching into his careful touch. “that feel good angel?” atsumu asked, voice low and gravelly as he pinched the delicate bud, drawing another noise from your throat.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. you bit your bottom lip while he pulled your shirt and bra off, tossing them somewhere in the room. as he scanned your half naked body, he noticed you quieting yourself and he lightly shook his head. his thumb found its way to your lip, carefully pulling it from between your teeth.

“wanna hear ya angel, let me hear yer pretty noises, yeah?” without letting you respond, atsumu dove back into your chest, suckling one of your nipples into his mouth while toying with the other, a sigh of his name sending a bolt of arousal straight to his loins.

he grinded against you absentmindedly, losing himself in you, eventually switching sides to give the same treatment to your neglected bud.

while atsumu seemed to be having the time of his life attached to your tit, you were getting impatient, your arousal completely soaking through your underwear. you needed more.

tangling your fingers in his blond locks, you attempted to tug him away from your chest but his reaction was unlike anything you could’ve expected. “aahh!” he let out a strangled whine, his hips bucking against your side.

“please, tsumu, need more,” you breathed, his needy reaction not lost on you as pulled his hair a bit harder. you were not disappointed as his eyes rolled back and his mouth opened in a silent moan before dropping his head to your shoulder.

“fuck, fuck, okay angel, i got ya, i got ya.” atsumu swiftly disposed of both yours and his bottoms and underwear before lifting your leg and positioning himself at your entrance.

“tell me if i hurt ya, alright? i love ya,” he smiled down on you, your heart swelling two times at his carefulness. “i love you too,” you replied, watching as his pupils grew and a low groan broke free from his chest.

“oh angel, ‘m gonna ruin ya.” that was the last thing he said before he pushed into you, both of you letting out whimpers as he stretched you open, the blunt head of his cock just a few centimeters shy of your cervix.

your back arched in pleasure, both of your hands scrambling until they found purchase on his back, your nails digging in just when he started to thrust shallowly into you.

“f-fuck, how’re ya s-so fuckin’ tight?” atsumu growled through gritted teeth, every word punctuated with a roll of his hips. you couldn’t respond as you were too overwhelmed with pleasure, his cock rubbing against your g-spot with every slow movement.

speaking of slow, he was moving way too leisurely for your tastes. you needed him to move faster and you knew exactly how to do it.

sliding your hand up from his back, you grabbed a good chunk of hair from the back of his head and pulled. his reaction was immediate and oh-so gratifying.

an honest to god whimper poured from his lips and he instantly thrusted all the way into you, his length driving into your g-spot perfectly. you both let out twin moans as he started rocking into consistently, every movement bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

“i love ya, i love ya so fuckin’ much, angel—shit—yer so amazing, i love ya,” atsumu rambled while pounding into you, deep curses and whines of your name interspersed with his declarations of love. if you could speak, you would reciprocate but you were too busy holding on for dear life as he fucked you into oblivion.

desperate for some kind of anchor to reality, you grasped onto his locks again, gripping tightly as drawn-out cries of his name slipped from your open lips. you were close, so close and he knew it too.

“feel ya clenchin’ around me like a good girl, ya gonna cum fer me? gonna cum fer me angel?” atsumu’s hand snaked down between your bodies to rub fast circles on your clit, a shaky sob finding its way out into the open air.

“oh shit, yeah, ‘m g-gonna cum for you tsum, ‘s all for you,” you moaned, clamping down on him sporadically as you started to cum, your vision whiting out and your thighs trembling while you gushed around him.

your mind was floating off when you felt him cum with a shout, his warmth flooding you and spilling out as he collapsed onto your chest.

••• smut over •••

the two of you lied there for a while, attempting to regain your brain and feeling in your legs. you vaguely made note of the wet rag cleaning between your thighs and the following weight falling down beside you but it was only after a few more minutes that you really came back to yourself, rolling over to lay on atsumu’s bare chest.

“holy shit, tsumu,” you said in awe, your boyfriend (!!) laughing at your reaction. “i’m just that good angel, what can i say?”

you groaned and hit him in the chest but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face if you tried. “you are such a menace!”

“only fittin’ that i picked a gremlin ta be with then,” atsumu teased while playing with a piece of your hair. mock offense filled your chest as you sat up, fixing him with your ‘angriest’ glare.

“is that the kind of language you’ll be using in your vows, mister?” you were only joking but when atsumu’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his cheeks, you realized your mistake.

you opened your mouth to apologize or to make some kind of excuse but he beat you to the punch. “ya wanna marry me angel?” he asked, looking so vulnerable with hope shining in his brown irises. you couldn’t bear to lie.

“of course tsum, you’re it for me,” you reached out a hand to caress his cheek and he leaned into it, his own coming up to cup yours and hold it against his face.

“good.” and that was the end of that, that evening’s... extraneous activities having thoroughly tired to the point that you fell completely asleep with your face against one of his pecs.

if you had stayed awake a little longer, you would’ve seen atsumu pull out his phone and start a new note titled, “my angel.”

if i just said i loved you, it would be an understatement. it would be like saying the sun’s surface is just a bit warm or that the arctic is just a little chilly. it would be an injustice to you and to how i truly feel about you. love—

“-is a word that is much too soft and used far too often ta ever describe the fierce, infinite and blazing passion that i have in my heart for ya angel. ya acknowledge my strengths and ya accept my faults. ya make me wanna be a better person every day. so, today i vow ta laugh with ya and comfort ya during times of joy and times of sorrow. i promise ta always pursue ya, ta fight for ya, and love ya unconditionally and wholeheartedly for the rest of my life. ya are my best friend and i’m the luckiest person on earth ta call ya mine- wait are ya crying?"

the audience burst into laughter as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, punching atsumu softly on the arm. “of course i am, you ass.”

the officiant cleared his throat, grabbing both of your attentions. “it is the bride’s turn to give her vows. if you may?”

you nodded and atsumu already felt like crying. again. he’d cried that morning while getting dressed and then again when you walked down the aisle in the most beautiful dress he had ever seen. now, as he watched you pull a folded piece of paper out of your bra, he knew he’d made the right decision in confessing to you, all those years ago.

he also knew he was definitely going to cry again.

“atsumu, falling for you wasn’t falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing that you’re home. today, i want to make you promises that i will always keep. i promise to never stop holding your hand or accepting your kisses. i promise to not hit you too hard when you insult me or call me a gremlin. i promise to share my food with you, to never go to bed angry, and to try and understand your obsession with professional men’s volleyball. i promise to love, respect, protect and trust you, and give you the best of myself, for i know that together we will build a life far better than either of us could imagine alone. i choose you. i’ll choose you over and over and over, without pause, without doubt, i’ll keep choosing you.

i used to never truly enjoy moments because i was always waiting for what's next. the next thing horrible thing to happen. now that i have you, i enjoy the moment. every moment.

today seems like it's the start of a new journey, but i already belong to you. falling for you wasn't falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing you're home. i love you.”

and at least in this lifetime

we’re sticking together

me and my husband

we’re sticking together

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[tteokdoroki]

had it | k.bakugou.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 4.5K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, married!au, fluff, comfort.

♡ summary: your pro hero husband is a show off, always has and always will be... but when his big ego gets in the way of you doing your job, you give him little piece of your mind..

♡ warning(s): please read ! mentions of violence, i gave reader a quirk?? bakugou with a daughter ok literally nothing. oh and angst if you squint.

♡ author’s note(s):  hi besties!! happy birthday to meee!! today i’m dropping a fic that’s been a long time coming, its a short and fluffy little piece with domestic baku bc i love him with babies n kids ok ok!! i hope you all have a lovely day <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

some say that working for a pro hero is an honour, no matter what the position is. some may work behind the scenes— creating gear and suits that support the pros protecting their cities or livelihoods. others are in charge of things like reports, PR and even physical health. everyone plays an important role in a hero's career. there’s never a dull moment working in a team supporting the pros, especially if that pro was dynamight.

the offices for katsuki bakugou’s hero agency were always buzzing; usually because the clean up team were rushing through with stacks upon stacks of receipts and paperwork from the damage done during bakugou’s patrols— other times it would be his secretaries gossiping about how good he looks in his winter costume because damn did that tight black shirt do his arms justice but usually it was just because of the PR team contacting media outlets with excuses for bakugou’s potty mouth.

working for the hot headed blonde was more laid back than it seemed however, the man himself was rarely ever in the office as the number two hero but out on missions instead, the pay was pretty decent and no one ever really faced his angry wrath nor his sailor like mouth unless they had royally fucked up on their job. katsuki bakugou was someone to admire, he never gave a damn about what people had to say about him— he only cared about getting the job done and maybe that’s why most people enjoyed their time under the dynamight agency.

particularly this time, right around noon.

the doors to the floor of the secretary offices fly open, crashing loudly against the walls and drawing the staff from their daily work. this office space is around ten floors up and somehow you’ve made it in record time today. “where is he?” your voice crawls through the entrance of the room, settling over the workers like a thick fog— commanding, menacing and soft all at the same time. newbies cower in their boots, confused at what’s going on and it’s safe to presume those who have been working here for years have yet to give them the run down. “don’t make me ask again.” you add, eyes darkening as you cast your gaze across the room.

an intern approaches you, visibly shaking with fear which makes you loosen your stance and raise an eyebrow toward them. “he-uh... he just went for his lunch break—“ the stutter, gulping under the stare of another highly ranked pro hero. “in his...office— ma’am!” they stumble through their words, hiding behind the ungodly amount of paperwork that's been dumped into their hands. you make a mental note to chew bakugou out on the load his interns have been getting as well as your prior reasons for coming to his agency.

nonetheless you shake your head and drop the frown, a sweet smile quickly replacing the look that could put anyone six feet under if you really tried. with a tap to the side of your head, the visor to your hero costume rises above your eyes— allowing you to give the poor little intern a cheeky wink as thanks. “‘ppreciate it darling, have a good one!” you thank them properly with a ruffle to their hair, resuming your previous stance as you march the rest of the way through the office and kick open the door at the end of the room.

the intern sags, a whimper of relief passing from tired lips while they wipe at the sweat forming on their brow. they’d not even encountered their boss yet and they’d already come face to face with a top pro hero. “w-what’s her deal?”

a chuckle to the left of the poor kid startles them out of their mind; but they relax upon realising it’s just another one of dynamight’s secretaries— haruto, who’d apparently been working at the agency since it started up. “that’s nightsky, her quirk is lullaby, which allows her to control certain people if she hits the right note. she can also put them to sleep, if she really wants to,” the intern now perks up, remembering you from countless interviews on tv. you ranked pretty highly too, managing to the reach the top five this year along with others like shoto and deku. “she owns the hero agency across the street, herself and dynamight have been going at it ever since. it’s like they’re elderly lovers or somethin‘.”

“d-do you think they are? lovers like you say?” the intern asks a little too excitedly, touching at their messy hair from where you’d ruffled it. a crimson blush warms their cheeks, the idea of two pros playing enemies to the public eye but being lovers in secret seemed like something right out of a romance novel. how romantic.

haruto only chuckles at the newbie, standing to ruffle their hair as well before heading over to the coffee stand to fix himself a cup. “beats me,” he mumbles cheerily as he walks away, arms crossed behind his head. “but with the way yn bursts in here at the same time everyday to scold bakugou, and leaves with a huge smile on her face— i wouldn’t put it past them. they probably have a whole life together.” he taps his nose once as if he’s given away too much information, turning away without a word.

the intern hums, seemingly happy with their superior’s answer and easily heads back to work from there.

katsuki bakugou was bored out of his mind.

being a successful pro hero was all he’d ever wanted— being the number two pro hero just came with that. bakugou wanted to get to the top and show everyone he was the best of the best and with him being blessed with a powerful quirk there was no way he couldn’t be where he was today. yet, now that he’d finally achieved his dream all he wanted was a fucking break. the blonde stares down at his microwaveable bowl of home cooked stew, a frown cutting deep into his cheeks. it was his lunch break for crying out loud, but instead of scarfing down the delicious meal before him, the hero was forced to watch it cool as some dumb fuck reporter asked him questions over the phone.

the telephone interview ( or a waste of his fucking time, as katsuki had called it ) , had been set up by his PR team right after he’d taken down a couple low level villains downtown earlier this morning. katsuki had called it nothing but apparently the whole world and their mother had been on his ass, watching as he took the criminals down with ease and raving about how glorious dynamight was during that fight. the reporter drones on about said event, asking the same old questions and it takes everything within the hot headed pro not to blow a casket— he’d been promised a few extra days off from his manager if he could finish the interview without blowing something up and only god knew how much katsuki needed a break from dumb paps and some overly obsessive fans.

‘so, final question, how does it feel to be the number two?’

bakugou grunts, buying himself time to formulate an answer. what he really wants to do is kindly tell the reporter to fuck off and ask more original questions; but with the prize of a longer weekend hanging in the balance he bites his tongue for the sake of freedom. “well i—“

“katsuki bakugou.” your voice cuts through his sentence before he can finish, vermillion eyes land on your hero costume clad form as you burst into his office. a lazy smirk now decorates the hero’s lips, brow quirked with piqued interest. “i have a bone to pick with you, you motherfucker.”

the reporter on the other end falls silent as katsuki watches you, leaning back in his plush leather chair. you look slightly disheveled, costume torn in a few places, scrapes littering your skin as you pant heavily from exertion— chest rising and falling with every breath, it seems ragged and bakugou makes a mental note to remind you to get your ribs checked out later. “you’re late, shitty woman.” the number two sits up a little straighter as you enter the room, leaning up to look at you while you slam your hands down on the smooth marble desk— the force rattling the items he has neatly placed on it.

‘uh-? mister...dynamight-? sir?’

your eyes sweep the room while the pro before you deals with the reporter, mentioning to her that they’ll have to continue their call later. in the meantime, you note that katsuki’s office is meticulously clean, not a single book, folder or pen out of place— it’s high up with a perfect view of the city and the large windows allow golden beams of the sun to light up the room. the sound of a phone being placed back on its hook brings you from your thoughts; annoyance settling deep in your veins as you turn to face bakugou again.

“i had it,” you growl lowly, jumping the gun before he can even register what you’ve said. “i’m a grown woman, katsuki, i can handle a couple of criminals myself, you know.”

the blasting hero does nothing but smirk even wider at the irked tone that litters your voice, standing up as well to tower over you. bakugou still wears his own hero costume, considerably in less damage than yours— not a single tear had formed in his suit, mind the small scratches on his face no doubt from his stupid explosions creating some debris. leaning over the desk between you, bakugou uses a forefinger and thumb to tilt your head up, bringing you even closer than before. “clearly y’didn’t sweetheart, or otherwise that icyhot bastard wouldn’t have needed to back you up ‘fore i got there...” his timbre voice sends sparks of electricity through the air in the room, it’s low and gravelly which is enough to send shivers down your spine but you’re not about to let katsuki bakugou know that he makes you flustered— it’d go straight to his head, the cocky bastard.

nonetheless; you roll your eyes at the mention of your old classmate and fellow pro hero— shoto todoroki. yourself and shoto got along fairly well, even back in high school, so it was normal for you to work together from time to time; you both made a great team and your skill set complimented each other’s well. katsuki was just jealous. he never really got along with todoroki like that. “he didn’t back me up, we were working together,” you snap back at the blonde, shaking yourself from bakugou’s grasp and flicking him right between those alluring vermillion eyes. “something you might not be familiar with, mister number two.” bakugou backs away from you completely ( only wincing slightly ), making you smirk in victory. you’ve struck a nerve. deciding to leave the conversation at that, you turn to make your exit as he collapses back into his seat with a deathly scowl and a quiet ‘tch’. “like i said, i had it, dynamight. next time, don’t jump in uninvited.”

happy that you got the last laugh, you open the door to leave his office but pause when a wave of heat hits your back. you should have known, katsuki bakugou was never one to back down from a challenge and you certainly weren’t an exception. well shit. when you turn around to face the blonde, small explosions spark from his right hand and he has some what of a look of a feral pomeranian, blood red eyes full of rage.

you visibly gulp and katsuki growls out his next words with the upmost venom, designed to hurt and cut at your feelings. “well maybe y’sudda let the actual pros handle shit like this,” bakugou begins, voice rising in volume with every syllable that passes his lips. “we both know you’re no good at short distance attacks with your quirk, shitty woman, you couldn’t have taken those villains down without me.” the blonde finishes with a short ‘tsk’, settling the explosions that spark in his palms. now it’s your turn to be pissed. you could handle katsuki’s jealousy, his petty reasoning for joining you on your patrol and taking the credit but bashing you and your quirk? no way in hell would he get away with that.

“bakugou?”

“what? the fuck y’still here for?”

you roll your shoulders, gracing the blonde with a devilish smile as your eyes light up mischievously. “why are you hitting yourself, bakugou?” you sing, hitting just the right notes that will have him under your spell, the tone in your voice as smooth as chocolate. katsuki’s eyes widen in horror and before he can stop himself, his free hand comes up to slap him across the face. that was your quirk, lullaby. you had the ability to sing your way out of any situation— adjusting the tune of your song to control the actions of certain individuals or groups of people. it was near impossible to resist but the more people you used your quirk on, the weaker your control over them was. that doesn’t mean you weren’t going to use it on bakugou from time to time. the blonde tries to fight it, he really does, but he’s no use up against your ability— losing all control of his own body. he grunts on impact, looking bewildered for a moment as he moves to grab his own wrist to stop any impending blows. “not so cocky now, are we dynamight?”

“h-hey!” he stammers, refusing to accept defeat against you. “shitty woman, no fuckin’ fair. you know i can’t use my quirk against you in here.” he was right, while your quirk was poor against short distance attacks ( meaning you had to result to hand to hand combat ), bakugou couldn’t use his own in enclosed spaces without hurting anyone he didn’t want to. especially you, he would never hurt you intentionally unless you were sparring.

“shoulda thought about that before you decided to taunt me, you know better than to piss off your wife, katsu.” you chide, still smiling just as brightly as you were earlier, before taking a seat on his desk and folding one leg over the other. it was quite amusing to watch your husband of four years fight against himself— everyone knew katsuki had an unbelievable amount of strength even without his quirk so he was definitely beating himself up ( literally and figuratively ).

bakugou looks up at you through gritted teeth while he struggles to keep the wrist you have control of down and you almost feel bad for the guy. “turn it off, dammit!” he curses at you, said hand rising above his free one to tug at his own sun kissed locks.

feigning interest in the objects on your lover's desk, you ignore his pleas for you to release him from the holds of your quirk and hum “apologise.”

“f-fuck... fuck y-you.”

you sigh knowingly, picking up a hand crafted paperweight, covered in glitter and sequin stars,  inspecting it carefully. bakugou could hardly ever say the word ‘sorry’, it was just in his nature and he’d been that way since you were young. part of you knows it’s because of how he was treated as a child where people praised him for his quirk. that meant he became prideful yes, thought highly of himself too and struggled to admit when others were right...but he had his own way of apologising— through actions instead of words.

like when you first moved in together and he had broken your favourite mug, instead of saying he was sorry, he spent all night super glueing it back together for you to use in the morning. to him, actions were louder than words but you right now; you were being mean and just wanted to hear him say it.

“fuck fuck, fine. alright. ‘m sorry.” bakugou lets out a strained growl as the hand you control gives a particularly hard yank to his hair. “i’m sorry for lying about your quirk. it’s not shitty…’n ‘m sorry for... barging in on your patrol. again.” you grin, satisfied with his answer and grab the hand he keeps down with his wrist. you press a simple kiss to the skin, making your husband blush as you release your hold over the limb. katsuki shyly yanks it from your grip, rubbing over the area that you’d kissed, shooting his gaze to the side in the process. “jesus shitty woman, if i don’t die from being a hero or of old fucking age, i know for a fact you’ll be the one to kill me first.” he mutters harshly under his breath, but you know he’s only kidding from the way his hands now fall to your thighs and his fingers rub small circles into the exposed skin.

“pro hero nightsky murders number two pro hero dynamight in cold blood!” you joke as if you’re reading a headline in a news article, katsuki only glares up at you— making no effort to curse you out because of your shitty joke, which causes you to frown while leaning  forward to brush some of his hair away from his face. “you know i’m only kidding right? is something wrong? did i come at a bad time?”

it’s only now that you notice the exhausted expression that paints your lover’s face. he’s always up to playing this game with you, at the same time every day— you come to bother him about some trivial matter, tease him a bit and leave with a kiss. but today, you can tell he’s trying to hide something from you. something that bothers him.

bakugou shakes his head, leaning into your touch as you play with his hair— a habit he’d picked up from even before you started dating back in high school, although he’d never admit that to you if you’d asked. “nothin’, just this stupid fuckin’ interview the PR team want me to do about the fight today. the one i took from you,” your husband smirks slightly at the thought and you roll your eyes for what seems like the nine hundredth time that afternoon. “didn’t get to finish my fuckin’ lunch but they promised me a couple days off if i got the interview done.”

“better the number two than me, eh? but don’t worry, i’ll order us some take out tonight,” your suggest, voice coming out as soft and mingling with your slight giggle— a quiet melody to katsuki’s ears. your only reply from him is a grunt, so you stop your fingers in his hair and watch as he scowls up at you. you quickly press a kiss to the explosive hero’s lips, pulling away to reveal his blushing face. you smile, knowing that you’re the only one who can make him flush red like that. “there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?”

if there’s one thing katsuki bakugou hates, it’s how you read him like an open book. one look at him and it’s like you know exactly how he’s feeling. he can never hide anything from you— sometimes that both pisses him off and reminds him of how much he is loved by you. he hesitates with his words at first but decides to confide in you anyway, knowing that you’ll get it out of him in one way or another. “‘m worried about you, dumbass.” he mumbles, nudging your hand with his head as if to ask you to continue your earlier actions. “i know you had it, yer fuckin’ powerful but you looked so tired in that fight today ‘n i thought something bad was gonna happen to you, y’fuckin’ shitty woman.”

he toys with the tears in your costume now, smoothing over scars from your bumps and scratches as a result of combat. “oh lovebug,” you mumble, cupping his cheeks to make him look up at you. “you know i can handle my own, they just took a lot out of me today. i promise i’ll—“

“that’s not it, fuck,” katsuki cuts you off, brows furrowing deeply as he grabs your wrists— pulling your from his desk and into his lap. he holds you close, burying his nose into your neck as if you’re going to disappear. you sit still, a little shocked by his actions and his quick change of mood, but wrap your arms around him anyway and slowly fall silent. “it's just that...we’re both pros now and at the top of our ranks ‘n we both have a lot to lose.” you instinctively cling tighter to katsuki, mind flickering to the homemade paperweight you’d spotted on his desk earlier... causing your heart clench.

your daughter had made that for him during her time at preschool for fathers day; something your husband cherished with his whole heart, even if the thing was still sticky with glue when he’d gotten it.

katsuki loved taiga more than anything in the world and if something had happened to her because of your line of work, you don’t know what either of you would do. “what if something were to happen to you? or to me? or shit...both of us? who would look after taiga? you know what happens to kids who end up in the fucking system.” bakugou pauses, the same tired expression from earlier now sitting heavily on his face. “i just want you to be careful, stop pushing yourself so much, y’fuckin’ dumbasss. we have a family take care of. it’s not just you and i anymore.”

you nod, grasping onto your lover’s clothes tightly. the air is flooded with a comfortable silence, the pair of you holding one another right the way through it. you treasure moments like this, where the world stops and katsuki shows you another, more vulnerable side to him.

he would never admit or show this to anyone; but he cares , more than he lets on... especially for you and especially for your daughter. he was attentive, paid attention to you and your weaknesses and helped you overcome them. it was something you couldn’t stop loving about him. “i promise to be more careful, for you and for taiga,” you say quietly after he’s done scolding you, brushing your lips against the side of his head in a soft peck. “that must’ve been why jumped in earlier, you were worried about me?”

“somethin’ like that, you crazy woman,,” bakugou whispers, there’s a tinge of fondness to his ruby eyes as you pull away to look at him, his hands settling on your hips while he moves up to press a soft kiss to your awaiting lips. “didn’t want you getting yourself killed.”

you stay with katsuki in the office for a little longer than usual, laying on his chest as he prattles away about everything and anything even though he should be working. you make sure he eats his lunch, despite how cold it is and promise him a boat load of take out when he comes home later— your sweet cuddling session only being cut short by a call from your assistant to tell you that your daughter is ready to be picked up from school. “better finish that interview katsu, taiga’ll be happy to know her daddy’s getting some time off to spend with her soon,” you remind him as you gather yourself together, your husband pouting ( he swears on his life he wasn’t ) from the loss of your warmth in his lap. “she has a lot to tell you.”

the blonde quirks a brow, watching you as you head for the door. “yeah? like what?” a hand comes up to cover your mouth as you giggle at his curious face. sometimes, when you look at katsuki, you could see how much your daughter resembles him, right down to his mannerisms. she had somehow inherited the shape of your nose and the brightness of your smile ( the only reason barely anyone realised bakugou had a kid, he never fucking smiled. ) but the bakugou genes were incredibly strong so there was no way she’d miss out on those crimson eyes and uncontrollable, untameable messy blonde hair.

she even acted like him. a very brazen little girl who knew what she wanted and how to get it, so she had her daddy wrapped around her stubby little fingers.

you grin, eyes sparkling with the same mischief as before. “oh y’know, just her little crush on midoriya’s boy.”

“yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

“i would never joke about such a thing,  just make sure you’re home in time for dinner, number two!” you squeal, dashing out of the office before your husband has time to demand more answers from you. slamming the door shut, you chuckle at the melody of curses that leave your husbands mouth before heading off to pick up your daughter.

on your way, you admit to yourself , that maybe you didn’t have this fight in the bag. but what you did have; was a loving husband, a beautiful daughter and the best life you could have ever imagined.

extended ending:

“so, taiga... daddy hears you have a little... crush on someone.”

you’re in the kitchen, washing the dishes from tonight’s dinner as bakugou wipes tentatively at your little girl’s messy face— she was a poor eater but it’s something you didn’t mind, not when your husband was so soft with cleaning her up. you can see them from where you stand, watching katsuki knowingly.

taiga looks up from the colouring you’d set out for her when she finished up her meal, crimson eyes shining brightly as she fixes her gaze on her father. “mhm mhm!! he’s mister deku’s son! and i’m gonna marry him!”

“no yer not.” bakugou answers simply, looking close to popping a vein.

“why not?”

your husband scoffs, throwing away the tissue he’d used to clean his little girl up before joining her in her colouring. “‘cause daddy says so ‘n boys are gross, especially ones who’s dad’s look like broccoli.” the older ash blonde seems satisfied with his answer, grinning to himself as you dry the dishes with an amused smile.

but taiga isn’t finished, swapping her green crayon for a red one to finish up her drawing. “but you’re a boy...and mommy still married you!”

bakugou pauses, lost for words as taiga continues to colour— humming the theme song from a commercial for some of deku’s merch. you can tell it’s taking everything katsuki’s got not to combust right there on the spot, but he can’t stay mad at taiga for too long, not when she’s describing her wedding and how her daddy is going to walk her down the isle.

setting the dishes to dry and towelling your hands; you smile to yourself as you admire your family. some would say you had it all, and looking at the pair of bakugou’s now, who were you to deny the truth.

[flightlessangelwings]

Emotions in the Darkness

The Darkling (Aleksander Morozova) x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: 1.1k

Prompt: character is taken hostage by the antagonist, their lover goes absolutely ballistic, doing everything in their power to protect their lover, the antagonist has to restrain them, but it doesn't stop the character from trying to reach their lover, doesn’t matter what happens to them, doesn’t matter if they get beaten as long as their lover is safe - Billy or Darkling (requested by @stardust-danvers for my 3k follower celebration!)

Warnings: kidnapping, minor character death, blood/violence (not super detailed), protective!Aleksander, feelings, hurt/comfort

Notes: My favorite trope ever!!! And I picked Darkling for this one cause the idea came to me first, tho it works for Billy very well too lol. Enjoy! My update blog is @flightlessangelwings-updates to stay up to date on when I post!

~

“What do you mean ‘taken?’” General Kirigan hissed as his dark eyes shot daggers at the subordinate who delivered the bad news. Every muscle in his body tensed as his rage threatened to overtake everything in him.

The poor low-ranking Grisha cowered in fear, “We-we were attacked. The men seemed to know exactly who to target. Th-they took…” he mumbled your name as his gaze dropped to the floor.

Kirigan seethed in anger. Without even trying, he covered the entire room in darkness until the subordinate before him couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. In the darkness, the general let out a pained yell before he stormed off.

*

You felt the pain before you even opened your eyes. With a groan, you forced yourself to lift your head so you could take in your surroundings. You were in a large, open room, but your arms were chained to the ceiling above your head. Flashes of white light clouded your vision, and you guessed that was from whoever had knocked you on your head and rendered you unconscious.

“Shit,” you murmured to yourself as you tried to struggle free. 

“It’s pointless my sweet,” a voice called from the other end of the room.

You strained, but you couldn’t see the figure right away. When he emerged, you recognized him as one of the group of mercs who had gotten the jump on you. Slowly, more men emerged from the shadows one by one until you were completely surrounded. They all had sinister looks on their faces and were armed to the teeth.

Even if your hands weren’t bound, you knew you would have trouble taking them all on at once. You hated the feeling of helplessness that took over you, but you didn’t let your fear show. You weren’t going to give them the satisfaction. 

“So this is the Darkling’s little pet,” another man sneered, “A pretty thing I’ll say,” he reached out and cupped your chin as he degraded you in front of everyone.

“The black general can pick a whore I’ll give him that,” another leered, “But we now have the best bargaining chip against him.”

You hissed and shook your head free of his filthy grip, “Don’t touch me!”

The men only grinned darkly as they surrounded you. This time, you couldn’t hide your fear as you were completely defenseless for the first time in your life. You were on your own, with no way of escape. And it only added insult to your pride that they took you to use against General Kirigan.

But, you weren’t going to go down without a fight, and you kicked at the men who got too close to you. One groaned in pain as you hit him right between his legs, but it only fueled the rest more. Hands were on you as they worked to keep you still so the leader could get an easy shot at your face with his fist.

Before he had the chance, however, the room suddenly went completely dark. The once proud, tough men instantly turned frightened as they lost their vision and their upper hand. Before any of them could even react, a woosh blew through the room and as you strained to see what was happening, you saw a brief flash of light. You knew exactly what it was: the cut.

Screams of the men filled the room for just a moment, then the silence rang louder than their cries. When the darkness retreated, the bodies of all the men save for their leader littered the room and General Kirigan stood in the doorway with a look of pure murder on his face.

The leader stood his ground and pulled out his sword, “Come on, Darkling!” he spat his words as if the title was an insult.

“You dare take something precious from me,” the general’s voice was lower than you had ever heard before as he launched himself at the leader.

The leader didn’t stand a chance and in an instant he found himself on the ground. Kirigan hovered over him and landed punch after punch on his face. Blinded by anger, he let out a roar that sent chills up your spine.

“General,” you called to him. When he didn’t respond, you used a different name, “Aleksander!”

That made him freeze. With one last blow, he dropped the body in his hands and faced you. His expression instantly changed as he stared into your eyes and whispered your name. In a flash, he was at your side and quickly freed you from your shackles.

“Are you alright?” Aleksander fussed over you as he gently lowered you to the ground. The blood on his hands stained your clothing, but he was too caught up in his worry for you to care. As Aleksander looked at you, his anger returned when he saw the marks on your face, “Those bastards…”

Darkness threatened to overtake the room once more, and when you looked at your general, you saw how tightly his jaw was clenched. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and you felt his grip on you tighten.

“Hey,” you cupped his face and forced him to turn and look into your eyes, “I’m ok Aleksander,” your voice was soft as you saw the tears fall, “I’m ok.”

Something within him broke and Aleksander wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against his body. He finally let the fear that boiled inside of him flow out as he sobbed against you, “I’m sorry,” his voice was so hushed you barely heard him, “I swear to you, no one will harm you again,” he squeezed you harder, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His words made you tear up as well; you had never seen your general like this before and you didn’t know what to say. The two of you had a… unique relationship, but it was something that was entirely unspoken. At least until now when you saw how much he truly cared for you.

“I’m ok,” you repeated, unsure of what else to say, “Thank you.”

Aleksander pulled back enough to look into your eyes. The two of you stayed locked in each other’s gazes for what felt like ages, neither of you sure of what to say or do next. He looked as if he had something on his mind, something he wanted to say to you. But instead, he got to his knees and helped you up.

“Let’s get you back,” was all he said.

You weren’t sure what you wanted him to say, but you tried to hide the way your shoulders dropped when he didn’t say it. All you did was nod and allow him to help you. For now, this would be enough. Later, once you were back and safe, you could tackle the feelings that bloomed between the two of you.

[purple-babygirl]

Oh oh what about Bucky's little staying over at Steve's for the weekend cause Bucky is busy. She's being a brat but whenever Steve calls Bucky to show him she's a Angel. So Bucky sneaks by unexpected & sees her being a brat

Word Count: 2,901 (i tried to cut it short, i tried, but i'm hopeless when it comes to soft stuff)

Warnings: ddlg dynamics, and angst i think? the rest is fluff

A/N: Nonnie, thank you so much for sending this and sharing your idea with me. i hope i didn't take too long and i hope i didn't disappoint?:" please enjoy xx.

Alternative ending

~

bratty angel

“Give her the phone, would you? I missed her,” Bucky requested, desperate to hear the little one's voice.

“Quick question while I still have you though,” Steve scratched the back of his head, not sure if he should tell Bucky.

“Yeah?”

“What do you usually do with her if she's being a little.. troublesome?” Steve didn't want to get her punished; he just wanted a way to deal with her behavior.

Steve obviously knew he could punish her the small punishments, like no screen time for a day or a timeout, but he didn't want to. She already seemed to dislike him enough, he wasn't about to make it worse. He didn't want to punish her but he also couldn't take all the brattiness and backtalk.

He was a kind uncle and he actually enjoyed being around her. But her behavior has been driving him crazy this time and it needed to stop. He knew she didn't want Bucky to leave this time and was most likely punishing Steve for telling him he could take care of her while he was gone. She probably thought Bucky would've stayed if there was no one to tend to her during his absence, and she had Steve to blame for it.

“Being what? What did she do?” Bucky's angry voice asked from the other side of the phone, and Steve could picture him narrowing his eyes.

“It's nothing major, Buck-”

“What did she do, Steve?”

“Well, uh, for starters she says no to almost everything even if she's eventually gonna do it anyway. She knocks stuff over when I don't do what she wants and pretends it was an accident,” Steve stopped and sighed, “she's giving me a hard time and it all goes away when you call!” Steve almost whined.

He sighed again when Bucky went silent, knowing she'd really get it now but she didn't exactly leave him much of a choice.

“I'm gonna handle it. I'm sorry, Steve,” Bucky said, sounding pissed.

“Hey, it's all good. Hold on, I'll give her the phone.”

“Yeah, please do.” Bucky wasn't as excited to talk to her anymore.

He could hear Steve softly calling out for her to come talk to Daddy and her feet hitting the wooden floor as she came to the phone. What he didn't hear though was a thank you to Steve.

“Dada!” Her happy voice spoke and Bucky couldn't help but smile a little.

“Hey, doll! How've you been?”

“Been good, dada. Missed you,” she sighed, pouting.

“I missed you too, baby. Are you behaving for Uncle Steve?”

“Yes, daddy,” she lied all too quickly and Bucky clenched his jaw.

“Good girl.”

~

“Sweetheart, please get in your skirt,” Steve sighed again, holding the item of clothing low for her to step into.

“No.” Her naked leg kicked the mini skirt from Steve's hands before she crossed her legs and leaned on her bed.

“Don't make this hard now!” Steve rubbed his face in frustration.

“I'll do what I want. You're not my daddy,” she said stubbornly before snatching the skirt off the floor and slipping it up her legs to her waist. If she looked messy, she didn't care.

When she turned around to leave the unorganized room, Bucky was standing there with the biggest scowl on his face. Her heart stopped and her world froze. How come they didn't know he was arriving today? How come they didn't hear him come in?

“Dada,” she whispered in mixed fear and shame, making Steve look up, a look of utter relief washing over him when he saw his best friend.

Everything was about to get better now that Bucky was here, including her temper.

“Is that what I taught you, little one?” Bucky's tone dripped of disappointment.

“Dada.” Tears quickly came to her eyes as she saw the letdown look in Bucky's.

“And here I was thinking you were my good girl, returning home early to see you.” Bucky shook his head at her.

“Dada, I am your good girl. I am,” she begged, walking closer to him, but Bucky didn't reciprocate.

“Dada, I missed you.” She went to hug Bucky but he stepped away. She tried to hold his hand and he slipped his fingers out of her grab.

“You don't get to welcome daddy home after you've disrespected Uncle Steve like that, little girl,” Bucky told her, his frown not disappearing, only deepening.

“Dada, I'm sorry.” Her lower lip trembled.

She’s missed Bucky so much. She was touch-starved because she hadn't given Steve a chance to come anywhere near her all weekend. She refused to let him hug her, kiss her, or carry her. She was distant and bratty and rude. She needed Bucky's warm touch but he was far too mad at her.

“I'm not the one you should be apologizing to.” Bucky crossed his arms, looking at Steve behind her.

“Uncle Steve, I'm s-sorry,” she mumbled quickly, without even looking at the blond man, moving to hug Bucky again but he still wouldn't let her.

“Dada,” she called, tears leaving her eyes.

“You have to mean it, little one.”

“Daddy, I mean it,” she whined. It frustrated her little heart that Bucky kept calling her little one. He only did that when he was mad at her; too angry to use a pet name.

“Enough lying already!” Bucky raised his voice and she flinched.

“I'm not going to talk to you or touch you until you've made it up to Uncle Steve. Until then I'm gonna pretend I haven't come home and saw what I just saw.” Bucky left her room, walking over to his and slamming the door behind him.

He didn't normally choose to be hard on her; she was his baby doll, but what she did with Steve was just unacceptable. Bucky couldn't let her get away with disrespecting anyone, especially Steve, not after witnessing it all himself.

He'd thought it over on his way home. If he spanked her or took her favourite things away, she'd dislike Steve even more, if not hate him. Bucky couldn't give her more things to blame Steve for or more reasons to refuse him.

~

“Sweetheart,” Steve called, feeling bad after Bucky left and she stood by the door frame and started crying.

He didn't really want Bucky to punish her; he just wanted to know how to deal with her bratty behavior. He just wanted a way to communicate better. Steve never intended on making her cry. Bucky surprised him with that punishment.

“'S all because of you. I hate you!” She cried harder, throwing herself on her bed to hide her face in the mattress as she sobbed.

Her words broke Steve's heart to tiny pieces and he felt even worse now that Bucky was here. His mouth opened but no words came to him so he closed it again. He gathered her clothes from the floor and hung them back in her closet before leaving her to cry it out, giving her some time.

~

“I'm so sorry, Steve.” Bucky shook his head, embarrassed by her behavior towards his best friend.

“Hey, it's alright. I know she's a good girl; she just missed you.”

“You know I missed her too but she can't just get away with such stuff,” Bucky sighed, taking another sip from his beer.

“I know.”

“Dada.” She entered the room after a good crying session, rubbing her puffy eyes.

True to his previous words, Bucky didn't answer her, swallowing the lump in his throat with his beer. He couldn't give in.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Steve responded instead, not wanting to leave her hanging, which made her pout in annoyance.

Like him and Bucky had agreed, if she wanted anything she'd have to go to Uncle Steve for it and relearn to use her manners.

“Dada,” she called again and got the same reaction. Bucky pretended he wasn't there.

Tears gathered in her eyes again and she hid her face in her hands and began crying. The sound shook Bucky's heart and he almost broke and forgave her.

“Hey, hey, no, it's alright,” Steve cooed, immediately coming to her side.

He hated this. Once he got her to stop crying he was going to talk to Bucky about calling it off. He didn't care if she was bratty or bad-mannered, he just wanted her happy again.

Steve led her back to her room and sat down on the bed beside her.

“Daddy's never gonna speak to me again!” She sobbed and Steve's heart ached for her.

“Sweetheart, please don't cry.” He gently patted her back.

“Can't you just tell him I said sorry and I mean it?” A pair of teary eyes implored Steve's blue ones.

“I will, but no more tears, okay?” Steve quickly agreed, wanting her to calm down.

“You will?” She wiped at her cheeks and Steve nodded with half a smile, his thumb catching her new tears.

“You'd lie to daddy for me?” Her red eyes widened.

“I'd do lots of stuff for you.” Steve chuckled.

“Like what?” She mumbled, sniffing and wiping her nose before Steve grabbed her a tissue off the bedside table.

“Like let you pour your milk on me and pretend it was an accident.” Steve smiled fondly, dabbing the tissue on her wet cheeks and under her nose.

In that moment as she looked up at the man with tear-filled eyes, her little mind seemed to recall all the ways she'd tortured him all week. She'd disobeyed nearly everything he'd told her and he still didn't hurt her or even raise his voice at her. She'd 'accidently' dumped all the salt in the salt shaker on his dinner. She'd dropped his phone on the kitchen counter multiple times after talking to Bucky, adding to the cracks on its screen. She'd wet him and got soap in his eyes during shower time. She'd constantly knocked stuff out of his hands whenever he held them out for her. She's been a real demon. If it was Bucky he would've punished her in every way in the book. But Steve didn't. He didn't make her pay for any of it and he was ready to lie to Bucky to save her bratty, ungrateful ass from having to endure his silent treatment.

“And then you leave?” She wondered.

She saw Steve's face fall at her question. She really did hate him, didn't she?

“And then I leave.” He still nodded with a kind smile.

“But could you not though?” She whispered, playing with the ends of her mini skirt.

“What?” Steve looked at her in surprise; he must've heard her wrong.

“Don't leave,” she told him, clearer this time, awkwardly extending her hand to touch his.

“Sweetheart-”

“I'm sorry, Uncle Steve,” she started tearing up again in regret, “I didn't mean to be so bad.” She shook her head and cried.

“Aw, sweetheart, it's okay.” Steve hugged her to his side, smoothing a hand on her head.

That was all he needed to hear.

“You know I like you, right?” She asked, sniffing in his shirt and Steve chuckled.

“Yeah?” He asked cheekily and she nodded, silently crying.

“Yeah, you make the best cookies, but don't tell daddy,” she said and Steve chuckled, “I'm sorry.” She cried more.

“I like you too, darling. Don't cry now, we're good.” He assured her, holding her closer to him and gently patting her back.

“So you’ll stay?”

“If that's what you want.” Steve's thumb wiped her tears away as she nodded again.

She wanted to make things up to Uncle Steve like Daddy wanted and Uncle Steve deserved. She wanted to show him she truly was a good girl.

“On one condition though,” Steve said playfully, slipping her hair behind her ear.

She looked up at him, waiting for his next words.

“You let me take care of you like I was supposed to.” Steve's face was serious. It was all he wanted all weekend.

“Okay.” She nodded, smiling tearfully.

How kind was Uncle Steve and how blind was she to not see it!

Steve kissed her forehead and smiled down at her, wiping the rest of her tears away. He adjusted her skirt before they walked back out hand in hand and he sat her down on the couch beside Bucky, who on his turn pretended she wasn't there.

Was Bucky curious about what happened in there? Yeah, he was. But he wasn't about to ask her. He was just glad Steve has got her to stop crying because nothing hurt more than seeing her pretty face all sad and teary.

Steve prepared her snack and came back. He lifted her on his lap and handed her the plate before grabbing the remote to turn on her favourite afternoon show.

“Thank you, Uncle Steve,” she whispered shyly, kissing the man's cheek.

Steve smiled and kissed her temple, rubbing her back as he encouraged her to eat, even feeding her a couple of times and she let him, thanking him every time.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at the scene unfolding beside him but still held back from interfering or interacting with her. He was still mad and she needed to prove herself good again. He bit back a smile, pressing the beer bottle to his lips instead.

~

As the day came to an end and Steve put her to bed, she was keeping her 'please' and 'thank you's up, using her manners just right and Bucky would secretly, proudly grin every time she did.

“Would you please tell daddy I said goodnight?” She asked Steve, trying not to cry again before bed. She'd wished he'd forgive her by bedtime but he clearly didn't.

“I will, sweetheart. And I'm sure he wishes you a good night too,” Steve pecked her forehead and she smiled.

“Goodnight, Uncle Steve.” She pecked his cheek before resting back, pulling the covers to her chin.

If Bucky was listening, he made no effort to let any of them know.

~

The next morning Bucky was the same, still giving her a taste of her own medicine. She wanted to cry again but didn't, focusing on fixing things with Uncle Steve, whom she'd been awful to.

“Uncle Steve, please come with me?” She held onto Steve's wrist while he stood with Bucky in the kitchen.

Steve mumbled a 'sure', tilting his head in confusion as he followed the shorter girl.

She sat him on her bed and stood on her tiptoes till she reached her pink piggy bank on the upper shelf on her wall.

She walked to Steve and put the small safe in his lap, “I thought all morning long,”

“What's this, sweetheart?” Steve eyed the object before looking at her.

She smiled sheepishly before shaking the safe left and right in his lap, “to fix Uncle Steve's phone.”

Steve's heart soared in his chest and he remained speechless. She waited for him to take the money but he didn't.

“'S a lot of money. Dada gave me some to keep with piggy every day,” she assured Steve, taking his big hands and wrapping them around the pink safe, wanting him to accept it.

“Sweetheart,” Steve mumbled, setting the piggy bank on the bed before holding her to his chest.

She let herself be squished in his embrace as she stood between his legs, not really understanding what was happening, but at least he wasn't mad at her.

“You don't have to do that.” Steve shook his head before kissing her head.

“But I wanna make it up to you, Uncle Steve. I can't take away the salt in your food or the soap in your eyes or the milk on your pants-” She stopped and pulled back and her smaller hand cupped Steve's cheek, “do you wamme to wash your pants?”

Oh, how precious! She spent her morning thinking about ways to fix what she'd done to him. And she wanted to give him all of her savings to fix his phone. She was even ready to try and clean his pants. She was such a kind little one.

He’d done it. She finally likes him. Steve was beside himself at the progress. This kind of connection with her was all he ever wanted and it made him forget about whatever evil things she'd done during that weekend.

And on the other side of the wall stood a very pleased Bucky.

~

When they walked back out to the living room, Steve was beaming as he helped her up on his lap. Her body was facing Bucky’s as she leaned onto Steve’s chest. She looked at Bucky and when he looked back she cast her eyes down in shame.

“Come here, doll.” Bucky beckoned, opening his arms for her.

She grinned happily, jumping into them as he lifted her to straddle him. She wrapped her arms around Bucky's neck, burying her face in his shoulders and smelling his scent. Steve smiled, satisfied with their reunion.

Bucky wrapped her up tightly in his arms, pressing a longing kiss to the side of her head, “I missed you too, doll. I missed you so bad.”

“I’m sorry, dada,” she sniffled, clutching Bucky’s shirt.

“I know, doll.” Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead and let the kiss linger there.

In each others' arms, now both, her and Bucky, were really home.