#yet they’ve captivated me in some way

[hidingoutbackstage]

Found footage movies on Tubi are so bad. I wanna make edits of them

[azzibuckets]

them kissing at the top of the ferris wheel i BEG. and maybe throw in some angst if u feel like it, adding flashbacks to them doing this every year even when they were just “friends” or the line between friends and something else…?

state of us

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: i wrote this in one setting omfg so this is very unedited but i hope you guys love this just as much as i do!!! enjoy :)

word count: 2.6k

masterlist

August 2017

Azzi has always looked forward to the state fair; it’s one of the few times a year she gets to see her extended family in Minnesota and gorge herself on cookies and corn dogs and all the likes. But something about this year is special, and Azzi would be lying if she said it wasn’t due to the blonde girl whose hand she’s currently holding.

“I still can’t believe I’ve lived in Minnesota my entire life and I’ve never been here,” Paige marvels, jaw slightly dropped in awe as she takes in her surroundings. Azzi is usually like Paige, letting herself get lost in the exhilarating combination of the smell of greasy, buttery foods and the cheery sound of lively music and the smiles on everyone’s faces, but for some reason this year she’s fully and entirely captivated by Paige.

“It’s like the one time of year my parents let us eat whatever we want,” Azzi informs her friend, nodding towards her little brothers who are stuffing themselves with cotton candy. Her and Paige both look at each other and share a giggle before quickly averting their eyes. It’s a novel feeling, the butterflies in Azzi’s belly that erupt every time she holds Paige’s gaze for a little too long. It’s the same feeling she gets when their knuckles brush, or when Paige is being annoying and insists on putting her head in Azzi’s lap whenever they’re lying on the couch. And it’s a scary feeling, so far from what she feels towards all of her other friends, but it’s one that makes her lightheaded and dizzy in the best way possible, a feeling she desperately chases after.

Even now, Azzi tightens her fingers around Paige’s. Her palm is starting to collect sweat, but she prays to the gods that Paige won’t notice. She’s not ready to let go just yet.

Azzi clears her throat. They’ve been silent for a little too long, and the air between them is tense. “I buy a huge bucket of cookies every year,” she continues. “Maybe if you’re nice to me today I’ll let you have some.”

Paige scrunchs her eyebrow in feigned indignation. “I’m always nice to you.”

“Well I guess you gotta be especially nice today.” Then Azzi lets go of her hand, throwing Paige a wink over her shoulder before running to catch up with the rest of their family. Paige doesn’t have enough time to figure out what Azzi’s words mean before Katie starts calling for her too.

They’re in line for the ring toss when Jose pokes Paige hard in the back. The blonde whips around, ready to jokingly give the 11 year old a piece of her mind. But before she can even get a word out, Jose says, “That guy in the very back of the line wants me to tell you that he thinks you’re cute,” then skips away to find Jon.

Paige is confused. She glances towards the huddle of teenage boys 50 feet away and sees one of them, a lanky boy with a mop of unruly brown hair, give her a smirk. Cheeks hot, she turns back to Azzi. “Um,” she stutters, seemingly unable to find her bearings. The topic of boys has certainly come up in her and Azzi’s conversations before, but only when gossiping about their teammates or their friends. In the year she’s known Azzi, Paige hasn’t brought up a single of her own crushes, and neither has Azzi. It’s like an unspoken rule floating between them, a rule now irreparably broken by a boy too bold for his own good.

Azzi’s staring at the laces of her shoes. “You should go talk to him,” she says. She tries to keep her voice casual, calm, but she knows by the shift in Paige’s body language that it was too strained, too forced.

“Why?” Paige’s eyes are burning a hole into Azzi’s forehead. “I don’t even know him.”

Azzi shrugs, toes the dirt with the tip of her shoe. Her heart is beating erratically, and she doesn’t know why. “He thinks you’re cute.”

Paige takes another look at the boy. He is handsome, with striking blue eyes and dimples in his cheeks. But when she looks back at Azzi’s frowning face, she wishes it was her dimples that she could see and not his. “I don’t want to,” Paige says decisively, narrowing her eyes at the boy to show that she’s not interested.

Azzi’s head snaps up. “Why not?”

It’s Paige’s turn to look away. “I dunno. What if we hang out and he tries to steal my first kiss or something?“

Azzi’s body grows hot at the idea of imagining Paige’s first kiss. “Would that be so bad?”

“I want my first kiss to be special,” Paige responds. She takes in Azzi, who’s wearing a neon blue tank top and workout shorts. Her cheeks are a little flushed from the late summer heat. There’s a little curl of hair that escaped from her bun, damp from the humidity of the day. Paige wants to brush it behind Azzi’s ear. So she does. She leans forward and lets her thumb trail across Azzi’s cheek before swiping at the curl, moving it away from Azzi’s eyes. “I don’t wanna do the ring toss anymore,” she says.

Azzi swallows. “We could go on the ferris wheel?” she suggests timidly.

“Okay.”

And before she knows it, Paige’s hand is in Azzi’s again, the older girl letting the younger girl guide them through the maze of bodies. And although Azzi’s hand is a little bit damp and Paige has always hated sweaty hands, not for a single second does the thought of pulling away cross her mind.

Paige drops into the bench across Azzi’s, and the operator shuts the door behind them. The car rocks unsteadily, and Paige glances around nervously.

“It’s okay,” Azzi reassures. “These things are stronger than they look.”

“I hope so.”

Azzi cocks her head curiously. “Come sit with me.”

“Are you sure?” Paige asks tentatively. “What if it makes the car go off balance?”

With a roll of her eyes, Azzi gets up and plants herself next to the blonde. She rubs her hand across Paige’s back, noting the tenseness of her shoulders. “Are you scared right now?” Azzi snickers.

“No!” Paige says defensively. “I’ve just heard stories about fair rides.”

“I didn’t know you were a pussy.”

“Shut up,” Paige demands, but she finds herself leaning into Azzi’s touch. She blames it on her slight fear of heights, but deep down she knows it’s because she’ll never be able to get enough of Azzi.

“I didn’t like it,” Azzi confesses after a brief moment of silence. “Knowing you could’ve left me to hang out with some guy.”

“I would never leave you.” Paige’s eyes are bright in the falling light of the evening, and they hold a promise that Azzi doesn’t yet know will stay true for the rest of their lives. But for now, the soft way Paige is looking at her gives her the boldness to say, “I haven’t had my first kiss either.” She drops her hand from Paige’s back. “I’m too scared.”

“What’re you scared of?” Paige’s voice is barely a whisper.

“That I won’t like it. That they’ll be too rough. Or they’ll say I’m a bad kisser.”

“They?”

Azzi looks down.

“I like girls too.” The words take a second to register in Azzi’s brain, but when they do, she feels defensiveness rise in her chest. “I never said I liked girls,” Azzi said, her voice holding slight traces of panic.

Paige’s lips twist in a frown. “It’s not wrong to like girls.”

“I know, I just….”

“It’s my first time saying it out loud.” Paige cracks a smile. “If that makes you feel better.”

Azzi lets out a breathy laugh. “It’s just hard to tell, sometimes, ya know?”

“I know.” Paige worries her lower lip nervously. “But maybe I could help?”

Azzi’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Like…I could help you confirm whether or not you like girls?” Paige sounds uncertain. “And then…and then your first time wouldn’t have to be with some random asshole.”

Azzi stares at her best friend. She flips Paige’s words over in her brain, trying to make sense of it all. “You want me to kiss you?”

Paige looks flustered. “I don’t want you to. I mean, I don’t not want you to, I just-,” she closes her eyes briefly, taking her time to collect her thoughts. “I’m just offering to. You know? I wouldn’t mind. That way my first kiss can be with someone I trust too.”

Paige waits patiently for Azzi’s response. Her knee’s been jiggling against the hot metal of the bench, but the weight of Azzi’s hand from where she’s now placed it on her thigh quickly stops her movements.

Before her doubts can stop her, Azzi leans in, placing a hand firmly at the back of Paige’s neck. She presses her mouth to Paige’s, letting it linger there for a few seconds before pulling away. “There,” she says shakily. “Our first kiss.”

Paige stares at Azzi, dazed, both of them silent and still as the car slows to a stop, back at the bottom. Azzi realizes that she’s forgotten to take a picture of the sunset at the top like she’s done every year. She wonders what she’s gonna say when her mom asks about it later. Fear creeps into her heart as she realizes the gravity of what they’ve just done. It’s hard to make sense of the rapid beating of her heart, the fresh memory of Paige’s lips molded so perfectly against her own, with the growing panic in her chest that nothing will be the same ever again.

The operator opens the door. “You girls enjoy the ride?” he asks, a smile on his face.

Azzi climbs out in a rush, brushing past the operator without saying a word. Paige takes her time, picking up the water bottle that Azzi forgot and clutching it to her body. “Thanks,” she says tightly to the operator as she exits.

“No problem. Hope your friend feels better. The ferris wheel’s feeling a bit rockier than usually a lot today.”

It takes every bit of strength in Paige to not start crying right then and there.

August 2018

Paige has spent every day of the last year thinking about that kiss on the ferris wheel. And now that, almost exactly a year later, she’s in the car again, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of Azzi’s perfume, she can’t help but think about what Azzi’s hands would feel like tangled in her hair.

When Azzi looks up from her phone and meets Paige’s eyes, she knows there’s no use to try and wrangle any self control out of her body. Forcing herself to sit across from Paige instead of next to her this time doesn’t work. Within moments, she’s across the car, her hands on Paige’s waist. Her lips brush ever so gently against Paige, and she pauses, waiting for the blonde to stop her. When she doesn’t, Azzi swipes her tongue gently across Paige’s bottom lip, and this year their kiss lasts just a little bit longer.

August 2019

“I’m not gonna kiss you.”

Azzi has a date waiting for her at home, a handsome football player who she’s been texting all summer.

Paige looks at her coolly. “Okay.”

They’ve been tense all day. Their parents think it’s the heat wave combined with the stress of school starting. Paige wonders what her dad would say if he knew it was because she’s been thinking about the ferris wheel all day, a mix of dread and anticipation pooling in her stomach.

They’ve spent the entire ride sitting across from each other, their knees just barely touching. And kudos to them, they are better this year - they almost make it the entire ride.

But just 15 feet up from the ground, Azzi is on Paige’s lap, and she doesn’t know how she got there, but she’s not complaining, not when Paige is whimpering against her mouth like this.

They break apart when the operator opens the door, both of their chests heaving, neither of them daring to look at each other.

“This is the last time,” Azzi swears.

“The last time,” Paige repeats.

August 2020

Paige almost didn’t make it this year.

She should be at UConn right now, prepping for her first day of college in a few days. But one text from Azzi, one word saying Please, and she’d bought a plane ticket to Minnesota.

This time, Paige is the one to cross the boundary. This time, Paige fists Azzi’s shirt in her hand and pulls her into a searing kiss. Paige hasn’t said goodbye yet, but she hopes that the way she cups Azzi’s face in her hands and presses their lips together is enough.


Paige pulls away. She doesn’t know she’s crying until Azzi’s wiping at her tears with her thumb.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Azzi whispers.

They’ve spent almost half a year together, starting from when Paige moved in with the Fudds to train during lockdown. She’d stayed for most of the summer too, basically living in Azzi’s skin until her dad had forced her to return home.

“Come to UConn,” Paige urges.

“Paige.”

“Azzi.”

Azzi leans her forehead against Paige’s. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

August 2021

“We’re gonna look so good on the court together.”

Azzi laughs, poking Paige’s cheek affectionately. “You’re insufferable. I’m gonna get so tired of you.”

“Oh yeah?” Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s cheek, then begins working down her jawline, her lips burning into Azzi’s skin. “You’re gonna get tired of this?”

Azzi arches into Paige’s touch. “Paige,” she pants.

“Does this count as following our tradition?”

“You gotta kiss me on the mouth,” Azzi, always a stickler for rules, insists, but when Paige’s lips move downward to suck that sweet spot on her neck, she quickly shuts up.

August 2021

“I’m not letting you forget this time.” Paige nudges Azzi with her camera.

“Kiss me.”

Paige obeys.

They spend the rest of the ride arguing over who gets to keep the polaroid.

August 2022

Azzi kisses Paige. It’s short and sweet and all too reminiscent of 5 years ago, when they were young and dumb but still in love.

“Marry me?”

Azzi shoves Paige. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“I mean it. Don’t say it unless you have a ring.”

Paige’s eyes are hopeful. “So you’d marry me?”

“I’ve been willing to marry you since we met, you idiot.” Azzi kisses Paige again, and this time they’re smiling against each others lips.

August 2023

“I’m starting to think your NIL money is good for nothing.”

“Didn’t I just buy you a corn dog?”

“I still don’t see a ring.”

Paige rolls her eyes and shuts Azzi up with a kiss.

August 2024

“One more year, baby.”

“Stop reminding me.” Azzi turns away from Paige, her face pulled into a pout.

“It’s gonna be our year.” Paige nestles her chin onto Azzi’s shoulder. “Best backcourt duo in the nation.”

“Don’t jinx us.”

Paige wiggles her fingers into the younger girl’s ribs. “Stop being so negative.”

Azzi laughs, a beautiful sound Paige has memorized for years now. “Kiss me and maybe I’ll stop.”

Paige’s lips are familiar to Azzi. But Azzi wants more. She wants Paige, all of her. Paige needs to hurry up and buy that damn ring.

August 2025

Azzi: Missing you

Azzi: Attachment: 1 Image

Paige: screw this game

Paige: i swear i’m buying a plane ticket rn

Azzi: Stop, your team needs you

Azzi: Save me that kiss for later

Paige: i love u more than anything else in this world

Paige: so much more than basketball

Paige: i will literally leave this locker room rn all u gotta do is say the word baby

Azzi: Don’t worry, I’ll eat enough cookies for the two of us

Azzi tucks her phone into her pocket, stares out the window. Recently the homesick ache in her heart has become more familiar than the feeling of Paige’s lips, and she hates it. This next year of getting used to long distance will be the hardest year of their relationship so far, but she knows it’ll be worth it.

August 2026

She knows it’ll be worth it because Paige finally bought the goddamn ring.

“Will you marry me?”

Azzi sinks into Paige’s arms. 10 years.

“Fuck yeah.”

They kiss.

[cordeliawhohung]

Touch Me 'Till I Vomit (pet!au) [10]

pet!au | ghoap x fem!reader | tag list

savior

cw: non-con elements (touching, bathing), minor wound descriptions, dd:dne

That night, you sleep in the kennel. 

It is supposed to be Simon’s punishment for you. An unfortunate comeuppance for hurting his boy the way you did. His blood still stains you. Swirling fingerprints burn into the dips of your hips as they dry a dull brown. This evidence of your transgression further taints you — as if the seed burrowing into your womb isn’t enough. As if you haven’t been ruined past the point of fixing. 

Johnny and Simon hold one another like lovers, and you don’t think you’ve heard either of them ever speak so softly. Wolves and rabid dogs are always so vicious to humans that you often forget just how soft they can be with members of their pack. Tangled limbs, lips smacking against skin, gentle whispers — they sleep soundly while you nurse scrapes and bruises. Licking your wounds, you wonder if you’ve also become more dog than human; if they’ve forced this transformation on you after giving you no other way to survive. Evolving just to better take their beatings. 

In reality, the thin padding and stiff bars are more comforting than either of them have ever been, and you sleep as well as your body aches allow you to. Come morning, it hurts worse. Battered knees scraped from the hardwood floor, achy hips and lower back, a throbbing pain in the side of your face. Nothing beats the wound inside of you. The bleeding that taints the insides of your thighs. The scream of your cervix. Johnny chewed you up from the inside out and slept like a log afterwards. 

Why wouldn’t he? He got what he wanted from you. 

Heavy feet hit the ground, stirring your eyes until they open, and you see Simon’s figure towering over you. Johnny lays behind him on the bed, toned and scarred back gently rising and falling with his sleeping breaths. Your vision becomes obscured as Simon kneels, fingers lazily undoing the lock on your kennel before swinging the door open. His lips pull into a bitter line as he stares at you, virulent eyes still unimpressed with your actions last night. 

“Up,” he orders bluntly. 

Disobeying him is not a choice, so you crawl. Fatigued arms push your body off the floor, hands and knees shaking as you pull yourself out from the bars that held you captive all night. He watches you squirm. Takes joy in the way you wince as you push yourself to your feet. He does not offer you help, nor does he bark at you to go faster, he is just there. Some malevolent being that gets off on the way you stand, doubled over with your hands resting over your stomach. If you can hold the aching parts of you together, maybe you can prevent it from killing you. 

“Bathroom. Go on,” he says, pointing toward the door. 

Trudging out of the room feels like a funeral procession with Simon looming behind you the way he always does. Stalking. Pushing you around as if you’re some toy. A dog. Bonnie. Anything but yourself. Forever called by the wrong name. 

He runs the bath and motions for you to get in while it’s still filling up. Frigid tile cools your feverish skin, and it feels emollient against your aches and bruises. Such little reprieve. It’s a fleeting sense of comfort that dissipates the moment he begins to clean you up, rough hands scrubbing away dried blood and sour sweat. You flinch when his fingers run between your thighs, cunt terribly swollen and throbbing. Simon huffs, annoyed with your pain — as if the events of last night shouldn’t have hurt you at all — and he continues despite it. 

He presses between your labia, clearing out the stale blood and congealed cum. Each swipe leaves you cleaner, yet you’ve never felt more squalid. There’s a taint that runs bone deep inside of you — you’d have to destroy yourself to get rid of it. Lay your bones out to bleach in the sun and to be picked clean by the birds who mock you from the window, and maybe then you’d finally be free from this filth. 

Next, it’s your hands. You recall his promise to you as he scrubs the grime off of your palms; how he would break every bone in your body if you ever hurt Johnny again. He’s thinking of it too, you’re certain. There’s too much time he spends languidly cleansing something that was hardly filthy to begin with. He wants to. He has to. Craves feeling the fracture of your fingers in the meat of his hand. You wonder if there will ever become a time where you’re no longer Johnny’s toy, but Simon’s punching bag. Something to bend and squeal for him when his scorn swells too large for him to hide.

“No more accidents,” he says. Dark eyes scan your face as he drops your hand, limb lifelessly falling into the water. When you swallow, the collar around your throat only seems to grow tighter. 

“No more accidents,” you repeat. 

You hardly see much of Johnny that day. He stays hidden behind closed doors with Simon in a darkened room well out of sight. Limp and lifeless, he lays on his stomach, a pack of ice on the back of his neck. The skin beneath it reddens into a dusty pink, skin freezing beneath its frigid presence. It’s the last you’re allowed to view of him before you’re done dressing and Simon locks out of the bedroom. 

You look this manna in the face and take it, holding it close to you as you curl up on the old sofa in the living room. There is a stain on the floor that is not visible to the naked eye, but you feel its presence linger. It’s acrid. Seeps into your skin until it strangles you worse than your collar. Worse than a deadly pair of hands. You stare at that spot where you were defiled. Where football announcers and crowds cheered; egging on your abusers as you were torn to shreds. Devoured, blood and all. 

It’s dead air. A rot that needs to be expunged. 

A creak accompanies the sliding of the window as you open it, airing out the room and all its sins. A summer storm looms in the distance as caliginous clouds gather overhead, skirting so low they nearly brush against the towering treetops of the woods you’ve found yourself trapped in for countless weeks. Wind tugs at the loose branches and thin leaves of the willow tree in the garden, and you notice your bouquet has wilted in its shade. Shriveled stems. Curled petals. Its beautiful flowers have been dead for quite some time. Would it have been better to bring it inside? To keep nourishing them? 

You shake your head. 

No. It wouldn’t have been. 

Rain begins just as the gloam settles and smothers the thick foliage of the forest in bitter penumbra. Simon calling your name drowns out the pitter patter of drops on wood like nails on a chalkboard, and your shoulders involuntarily hunch at the clamor. It’s firm. Cutting. You turn as his monstrous feet stomp down the hallway, and when he enters the room he stares through you. 

“Bed time, Bonnie,” he urges. 

Johnny’s hiding his face from the lamp on the nightstand. Nose nuzzling underneath his arm, face buried into his pillow — he looks like a corpse. Motionless. His body hardly shifts with his breaths and the smallest sense of pity flickers through you. There was so much blood. How bad did you hurt him? 

Laying next to him feels like lowering yourself into a grave. Blankets cover your form like tightly packed dirt, and you stay frozen even after Simon kills the light. But your heart doesn’t. It thrashes and squirms in your chest, attempting to break out of its confinement and run. To do the very thing you are not strong enough to. 

You are a good person. At least, that’s what you’ve been told. A kind smile and a heart of gold — maybe that’s why you’re in this mess. Too polite to call out the creep lurking in the corner. That hunter tracking down fresh meat just by scent alone. He’s ripped out that heart and smelted the metal down into the chains that bind you to the mutt that rests next to you. 

If you were a bad person, perhaps you’d still be living.

In the morning, after Simon has gone to work and the sun has risen just high enough to dance across his skin, Johnny wakes. It comes slow like a gentle drip from a faucet. Trickling. His eyes flutter where they’re met with the view of your face. Slightly chapped lips and a light abrasion on your cheek etch and scratch out the kinder features of your skin. 

His touch is light but your sleep is lighter; a fragile thing that easily shatters at a mere glance. Bleary vision slowly fills with his face as he thumbs over your cheek and you try not to flinch at the sting. He whispers a good morning to you, but you stay silent as you study him. Bloodshot eyes contrast dramatically against his crystalline irises, but there is no mark on his nose. Not a hint of discoloration or scratch — no memory of your transgression. 

“A’m not mad at ye,” he whispers. “For hitting me. Ah ken it was an accident.”

You swallow. It’s not surprising that Johnny isn’t mad. He’s never seemed mad or upset at anything since you’ve known him, and you don’t think he’s capable of it. Always looks at you with soft eyes and pouting lips. You are glad. Rage is better suited for Simon, the monster who can’t seem to stand being near you.

“I was worried about you,” you whisper back. It’s only half a lie. Curious is perhaps a better word. Confused about why he had spent the entire day rotting away yesterday. 

“No need tae worry. Just had a migraine. Ah get ‘em sometimes. And A've been hit harder than that,” he chuckles. 

A gentle simper pulls at your lips, but it hurts. Achy, unused muscles contort the raw skin of your cheek, and it vanishes just as soon as it comes. You study him, scrutinize every detail of his face until you land back on that small keloid by his temple. It’s magnetic, the way it pulls you in. Fingers gracing against the puffy scar as if you can read the story in the damaged cells. 

“I guess you have.” It’s supposed to be humorous, but it falls flatly out of your lips. 

His eyes widen. Dilate until that oceanic blue is swallowed up by the void of his pupils. He leans into your touch, trying to soak up all the affection that isn’t there, and he moves closer. Hot breath fans across your face and you find yourself stiffening — a prey being stalked by a predator. 

“Ah wasn’t hit here,” he admits. “Ah was shot.” 

“Shot?” you repeat. 

He nods, face nuzzling closer to yours. His admittance puts a pit in your stomach. Something with twisting roots that don’t care that they’ve run out of space in your stomach. They travel up — burrowing deep into your esophagus until you’re choking on your words. 

“Who did that?” you ask. 

Johnny’s throat bobs underneath his collar as he stares at you. Eyelids flutter as they dart around your face like he’s watching a movie. A scene by scene play of something he can’t look away from. His thumb drops from your cheek and instead clasps over yours, pressing your fingers into him. 

“A bad man. A very bad man,” he whispers. “But dinnae worry. Simon saved me.” 

Closing his eyes, Johnny sighs long and deep, relishing your softness against the abrasive scar you caress. It’s only a microdose of what he truly desires. More. Always more. This insatiable being. His hand falls from yours, palm resting flat on the mattress as the two of you sit in silence. 

Quiet trepidation bubbles in your stomach as you continue to trace over that scar. This entry wound. You think of Simon’s rifle and your stomach turns so violently your vision begins to darken. No, Simon wouldn’t hurt him. Couldn’t. It would ruin him to hurt his obedient pet in such a way. Look at what he did to you over a blood nose. Surely he wouldn’t stand for a fractured skull. 

Surely. 

Your hand retracts from his skin as if the very thought alone ignites your DNA. Burns your neurons and nerves until you’re nothing but a body filled with soot and ash. A pyre waiting to be lit. 

Johnny mourns the loss of your touch, and dull eyes open once again. He stares into nothing. Into some forgotten space behind you as if you’re nothing but cellophane. His fingers begin to wander, and for the first time, it’s not toward you. Nails scrape against soft bedding as he touches the leather clasped around his throat. Muscles tense and freeze, pulse throbbing to the point you can see it jut out of his skin. He thumbs over his nametag like it’s the first time he’s ever felt it. 

“This is home. He saved me.”

[angelshadowsinger]

oh my fucking god your work is incredible! holy literal shit balls i have never felt that entranced by a fanfiction until reading yours. thank u thank u thank u your azriel is PERFECT.

also i’m totally gonna need your thoughts on azriel sharing with his shadows 👀

re: ummmmmmm call me parmesan bc u got me CHEESIN!?!?!! that is literally sO sweet of you to say, i am touched 🥺 as a fic author you always worry if you’re making the character OOC and, it just makes me so happy to hear your praise!! thank you so much anon~ ♥︎ This HC is a bit more than what you’ve asked for, but it does includes it, so pls enjoy!

Azriel’s Shadows Around his Mate Headcanons

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

In my eyes, Azriel’s shadows are a part of him. There hasn’t been much insight that Maas has given us with shadowsingers and their capabilities in general, but this is what I choose to believe~

Since Azriel’s shadows were perhaps the first of his powers, and the first entity to treat him with some kindness/obedience, I think he would be very in tune with them and he himself would consider them a part of him. He has had over 500 years to develop his relationship with them and therefore, I believe once he found his mate, his shadows would be just as captivated with her as he himself.

Obviously, Azriel is a total simp for his girl (but that’s another hc in its own), so that means his shadows are too. Honestly, it could be viewed as annoying how often at least a few of his shadows are constantly at your side. He’s used to having them totally loyal to him, so now that he has to share them with you… well, it’s not really actually that cumbersome, because he knows that even when you two are apart, he’ll be sure to know if you need him/his help. Though he has a couple less to send out on his spymaster business, technically, the ones with you are acting as his spies anyway. Just, with a far more interesting and important subject.

His shadows do a variety of things for you, making your everyday life easier and more pleasant. Just as their master, the shadows like to give you princess treatment.

For example, they go out of their way to help you with mundane things. If you’re making dinner and a tomato rolls off the cutting board, they’re pushing it back to you. When you’re putting on a dress, they’re helping you with the zip and clasp. If you’re writing something and your pen runs out of ink, somehow they’ve procured a new one that matches your exact preferences.

Both Az and his shadows notice the small things. They take notes of your likes and dislikes, what makes you giggle, cry, or provides you comfort.

At times when he’s away for a long while, and you’re missing him, they will deliver small gifts to you. A couple flowers tied with twine, native to the strange lands he’s currently working in. A special spice he knows you love to use in the foods you share with him. An especially-delicious pastry made with your favorite fruit/flavor. Though the shadows themselves do not find you gifts, they are happy to deliver whatever Az requests they send.

They also will take anything you wish to send him. Whether he’s in another country, or simply training at the House of Wind with his brothers, his shadows will deliver your every gift. Most of the time it’s little sweets or a lunch you’ve packed. Sometimes when you’re feeling cheekier, a receipt from the lingerie store informing him of your latest purchase. If you’re really feeling brazen, sometimes the panties themselves. His shadows are perhaps happiest to carry those items, either to get into contact with them or to see their master’s red cheeks as he shoves them out of his brothers’ view.

His shadows are your caretaker when he is not with you. When you’ve fallen asleep staying up for your mate’s return from yet another mission, his shadows will tuck you under your favorite blanket, taking off your reading glasses and ensuring your spot in the open book on your lap is not lost. Az nearly melts when he comes back to the sight, you dead asleep on the couch in front of the blazing hearth, his shadows perched dutifully there, guarding you.

However, they grow attached to you and even when he is with you, they will not leave you alone unless he commands them.

Azriel likes to take full advantage of his time alone with you. There is nothing he finds more comfort and pleasure in than being in your embrace. Sometimes that’s hard to do, though, when his shadows steal away your attention, or beat him to helping you with the zip of your dress.

It’s a very endearing sight to see him get jealous of his own shadows. He’d have a scowl on his face as he glared at them, silently ordering them to leave your side so he could have you all to himself. The shadows would melt onto the floor, gloomy in a way, whisper once more around your ankle before they go off to fulfill their master’s instruction.

Most of the time, you manage to guilt your mate into letting a few of them come back. And as soon as he calls them, they appear and shoot right for you. Az rolls his eyes but of course he understands. How could they not fall in love with you?

Azriel is actually very good with sharing. This usually applies to you when his shadows are involved, though sometimes he just needs to be alone with you. Whether it’s to have his way with you or just to snuggle up and bask in his mate’s presence. When he needs time like that, he will have his shadows guard your quarters and they will do so without question— fiercely protecting the only two beings they care for.

~spicy hc’s begin ;)~

Most of the time, Azriel will take the lead in pleasuring you— as he should, as your mate— but he’s likely to let his shadows watch or join his efforts if they play a supporting role.

For example, his favorite thing is to be between your legs, feasting on your sweet cunt and making sure you know you are his, while his shadows hold you down so you can’t move an inch. This way, you have to take the pleasure in the exact way he desires, unable to greedily chase your high or buck your hips or push him away.

Usually he plays with you for a while like this, teasing you and edging you a handful of times before he’s ruthless, unstopping even after you’ve come. He does cease his ravishing after you’ve come again, only to ensure he doesn’t overstimulate you before he’s had a chance to fuck you like you both want.

His shadows are happy to shackle you and render you helpless to his onslaught of pleasure; they love hearing your wanton cries and will dry away any tears of pleasure that escape with a cool, ghostly caress.

Speaking of their caress, one of his favorite uses for them is to soothe your skin when he’s done marking it up. Meaning, after every spank or particularly hard bite, the shadows will rove over the irritated flesh, kissing you with their cooling tendrils.

Since the shadows are slightly cold, sending them to curl around your nipples while he fucks you from behind is also another favorite. The temperature-play heightens everything— especially when they move down your curves to tease at your clit or your ass, depending on your preference…

Sometimes he lets them fuck you as part of your foreplay— usually while you’re sucking his cock. He just loves the surprise that flickers in your eyes when you’re choking on the length of him deep in your throat, how your lashes flutter when that familiar cool touch tickles your inner thighs and pushes your wet panties aside, how your moan feels vibrating around him when they thrust inside of you. He savors how your rhythm gets thrown, how you struggle to continue when his shadows are running over every sensitive crevice of your most intimate parts.

On rarer occasions, Azriel will let the shadows have their way with you. He’d sit back in a comfortable, wing-friendly armchair, darkened hazel eyes drinking in every movement before him— you with your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, the darkness holding your legs spread and fondling every inch of you— cupping your tender breasts, tweaking those pert, hard nipples… stroking your face, your hair, your hips and thighs… flowing over your puffy clit, slipping between your dripping folds and even wandering inside of you, perhaps just as deep as Azriel’s cock could reach. He would jerk his leaking shaft at the sight before him, lip held prisoner in his feral snarl. He wouldn’t be able to last very long, the sight before him too much for him to keep his composure.

When you’re both spent and panting for breath, the shadows will run up and down your moistened back, taking away the heat that lingers there and helping to lull you to sleep.

Only when you’re unconscious do they return to Azriel, curling around his shoulders in thanks. They know they are lucky to be the sole creature/presence with which he shares his mate, and any time spent with you is valued payment for the many services they provide their master with.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

TWST boys with a Diana! Reader?

The reader's a really and I mean REALLY popular and a captivating woman from Siodonna, many rumours were spreading of a beauty from Siodonna yet the TWST boys decided to ignore the rumours, taking them as only bluffs until they met the reader performing in the streets for the poor children. The boys quickly fell head over heels for they're kind nature, and alluring looks. The way those crystal like (Colour) eyes gaze into theirs sending their hearts pounding again their chest. Being lucky enough to marry the woman of their dreams was a big accomplishment but they're happiness was short lived when they found out the risk of the reader dying during childbirth, the TWST boys being selfish asked her to choose them over the child yet the reader didn't have the heart to do so and decided to give her life for the child, only doing as much as witnessing how they're child grew as a wandering spirit and visiting them in their dreams to interact with they're child. How would the guys react when their child(or children) mentioning they're mother's name when they've actually never met or heard of her?? <3

- M. Draconia ; V. Schoenheit ; R. Rosehearts ; L. Kingscholar ; I. Shroud ; L. Vanrouge

"I'm sorry for not choosing you, but I couldn't bare giving it up ( sacrificing an innocent life) either..."

- (Name)

SORRY IT'S BAD, I'M RUSHING THIS 😭😭

Mentioning Your Name | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Its an average day your child casually mentions some advice you gave. It takes them off guard and the problem with lovers as in love as they are suffering from your loss–this can be received very differently:

Malleus Draconia 

“What did you say?”

“I said (Y/n) told me I should try harder to talk to you because your socially immature.”

“....when…when did they say this?”

“In my dream last night, I asked how I was supposed to get you to smile at me and they told me to be ins-st-i-dent?”

He remembers what you said to comfort him before the birth

And honestly if it hadn’t been for that and this child having your smile

He would’ve smited him long ago

But to hear that you’re still here in some capacity

He smiles more 

Speaking into the quiet of the room 

Practically serenading your lingering spirit

“Thats…just like them…”

Vil Schoenheit 

“Wearing those two patterns is a travesty, we won’t be doing plaid with polka-dots–”

“Noooo! B-but I said I would!”

“...To who?”

“To (Y/n) of course I was telling them all about how I’d wear them-”

“Wait wait what did you say?”

He doesn’t believe that you’re meeting in their dreams

Its more than likely one of his close friends slipped up while babysitting

And now they’ve taken the name of their mother for some imaginary friend

Needless to say he’ll get to the bottom of this

Even if it takes a forceful kind of truth serum

“(Y/n)...my half is dead…so whoever they’re speaking to is something else.”

Riddle Rosehearts

“My RULE IS ABSOLUTE TO YOUR ROOM!” 

“(Y/n) would hate you so much!?”

“H-how do y-you–!”

“They said I should be free! That I should be allowed to play with others!”

“Where?! Where did you hear that?!”

He thought that he wouldn’t need to be hurt again

But here you were showing up in your child’s dreams 

But since you’ve left him…what do you words mean now

“You’re not appearing to me and you aren’t here to parent…therefore you’re words barely scrape the height of a suggestion.”

Leona Kingscholar 

“(Y/n) doesn’t think I’m weak!”

“WHAT?!”

“THEY said I’m plenty strong and that you don’t know everything!”

He’ll continue to lock the child away 

Scratching at his post some interloper as he thinks about what his child has said 

“Even across the grave you’re fighting me…can’t do much from where I’m at now can I?”

Idia Shroud 

“Papa I made my own drone…”

“Mmmm.”

“Uhm and uh (Y/n) says that you should maybe look at me when I show you mystuff so…”

“...”

Is floored

Since your departure he’s been torn with hating this child and eliminating anyone who interacts with them

So consumed with grief he shuts himself in his workshop and watches his child relentlessly

He knows them well in fact he’s sure he loves them 

but he can’t stand to speak to them without wanting to cry

So this is all the more painful to him and in his desire to reach out he might end up inventing something meant to capture your wandering spirit

“Just you wait (Y/n), I’ll have you soon.”

Lilia Vanrouge

“Just trust Papa on this you stay inside, my little bat.”

“(Y/n) says you should let me outside more.”

“Oh yeah they really–said…that?”

“Yeah! And that you need to properly comb out my hair you can’t leave it a tangled mess.”

“Hahaha yeah.”

He believes in ghosts, well he knows they exist

So he believes thats what that is about 

And if thats the case than maybe if he suggests somethings for your kid to recite

Maybe he can still reach out to you

“Hey! Hey! Maybe the next time you see them can you tell her how much Daddy loves her?”

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 27: Left for Dead ♡

@febuwhump

< Prev

Content: Guns, death threats, kidnapping, low-key suicidal whumpee

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

As dawn lights up the abandoned warehouse they’ve been sitting in all night, a newly stitched-up Whumpee tilts their head at Whumper with a smug little smile. “Told ya they wouldn’t show.”

“Why do you look so pleased? Your friends abandoned you. Left you for dead.”

“Cause I win.”

“You’re chained up. Completely at my mercy. I’m the only reason you haven’t bled out yet. You haven’t won shit.”

Whumpee sighs. “Can you just let me have this?”

“No.”

Whumper packs up their things, not missing the way Whumpee tenses expectantly when they pick up their gun to put it away.

“You’re not gonna shoot me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Nope.”

“Then shut up.”

Whumpee continues to run their mouth for the entire drive to Whumper’s place. Whumper turns up the radio to drown them out. Whumpee sings along.

They really would do the responsible thing and gag their captive, but it’s a long drive and they just don’t want to make any stops.

At Whumper’s hideout Whumpee is deposited in a cell while Whumper goes to their room to pass out. Whumper doesn’t visit them again until the next morning.

“You’re healing quickly,” Whumper says as they reapply bandages to Whumpee’s wounds. “I’d like for you to fill your end of our deal today.”

Whumpee puts their shirt back on, wincing as they lift their arms above their head. “What deal?”

“You know. I don’t shoot you. You give me some info on your friends.”

“I didn’t shake on that.”

“I’ll get my gun, then.”

Whumpee flops back on their bed. “Okay.”

Whumper pauses, incredulous. “‘Okay?’” they mimic. “What is wrong with you?”

“I accepted my fate the second you grabbed me. Just make it quick, please.”

No wonder Whumpee’s team didn’t come for them. They’re a walking disaster. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

“Then shoot me?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just answer my questions?”

“Not really. I don’t know what gives you the idea that I’d tell you anything.”

“Aren’t you mad at them?”

“Sure, yeah. But not enough to let you hurt them.”

“God. You are just…” Whumper shakes their head, at a loss for words for once. Something about Whumpee drives them crazy, but the thought of putting a gun to their head makes Whumper cringe internally. There’s potential here. They can’t waste it.

“The worst? Yeah, I’ve heard that one.”

“Pathetic.” That’s the word.

Whumpee shrugs, drawing blankets around their body and curling up as well as they can without disturbing their stitches.

“I’ll give you three days to think about it. After that… Let’s just say you’re going to tell me what I want to know whether you want to or not.”

“Can’t bring yourself to kill me, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

@the-art-of-trepetnoi @unicornbeck

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 14

An: Well, it only took 36,000 words to get here, but here we are! It's a long one and I had so much fun writing this part, so I hope you like it!

*Edit: I will be putting this series on a short pause for a few weeks so I have time to catch up on school. Thanks for understanding :)

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 6100

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut, nsfw, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Image credit: @ave661 (they're amazing!!)

I’ve never shot a gun before, but as I hold Ghost’s in my hand, I try to imagine what it will feel like.

The weapon is like solid lead in my hands. I weigh my options as I click the safety on and off. I feel like a broken scale and I’m indecisive at heart. Tonight is no different.

I twist the weapon around to get a better look at the black coating. It’s well taken care of. Everything Ghost does is so meticulous and thought out. So, to see him leave the cabin in such a haste is cause for concern on its own. Did my words really affect him that much? Or was that all his own doing?

Part of me wonders if he’s watching through the window. Does he think I’d risk attempting to shoot him? I could turn the gun around in my hand. He wouldn’t expect that. None of them would. But then neither of us would get what we want. I’d never see my family again. There’s no satisfaction in the thought.

I also know I couldn’t kill anyone else either. No matter the harm they’ve done. There’s already so much pain in the world. Who am I to add to it? Who am I to decide who gets to live or die? I’m no God.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder if the world would be better off without men like him.

So, I set the gun back down on the table. And then I pick it up again. I slide the magazine out and take each bullet. I slip them into my pillowcase. This is as much power as I take back tonight. Whatever Ghost does if or when he returns is all on him. I am staying as far from this game as possible. I never wanted any part. There are enough men dead because of me.

I sleep with the sound of bullets quietly rubbing and clinking against each other beneath my skull. When I feel his hand cold against my skin, I swear I see Death himself.

The ragged gasp for air feels like my first breath. My heart is racing. I feel the hot, meaty muscle as it climbs its way up my throat and suffocates me as it beats against my windpipe. Thump, thump, thump. My eyes immediately lock on the ominous shadow.

Ghost slowly retracts his hand. He smells like sweat and the outdoors. The cold scent lingers on his clothes and mixes with the smell of burning wood present in the cabin.

Moonlight filters in through the window and mixes with the warm glow of the fire. Between the two, I can just make out the watchful eyes behind the balaclava. He sits on the edge of the bed with both hands now resting on his thighs. I didn’t even feel the dip.

I sit up and pull my knees to my chest and away from him.

“How long were you there?” I don’t expect much of a response. I don’t know if I want one. Once I open this door, there are only so many places it can lead.

“A while,” Ghost’s voice is quiet and strained. He says he’s been here a while, yet his hands are still cold. Or maybe I just imagined they were cold. None of this feels real anymore, only my drumming heart demanding resolve. “Where are the bullets for my handgun?” his question catches me off guard. I didn’t think he’d notice so soon. Maybe he has been here a while? Maybe he already knows. I glance at the table to see the shadows of the weapons in the same spot as before, visibly untouched.

“I hid them,” I say without making eye contact. If I do, he’ll know for certain where they are. There’s something about him that’s almost angelic in the way he reads people. It’s utterly terrifying.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure anymore,”

“Y/n, you know I’m not going to shoot you,” It almost comes out like a question. I know, in theory at least. He can’t shoot me because he needs me, but does that mean he won’t?

Part of me knows he won’t because there are better ways to kill a person. Cleaner ways. More personal ways. They could make it look like an accident. 141 could erase me from existence - make it look like I was never born - if they haven’t already.

“Why are we doing this?” my voice is barely audible. His actions over the last day have left me feeling more confused than ever. First, he says it was all a part of his plan and now he’s saying it wasn’t. Deciphering the truth has become more frustrating than ever. 

“Could you recognize the men who did this to you?” I hear the strain in his voice again, like he’s holding back.

“I was blindfolded,”

“Their voices?”

I shake my head. “They all blend together,” A pent-up breath escapes my chest. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does,” he lowly urges. “Y/n, I need you to know what happened to you was unacceptable. That was never the plan. You were to be kept on a low dose of drugs for a limited amount of time, just enough to disorient you. What they did – those marks on your skin – should have never happened. Never,” He insists. I wrap my arms around my knees as he shifts closer. An anxious feeling creeps up the back of my neck. “I can’t punish them if I don’t know who they are.”

“I don’t want more people getting hurt because of me,” I finally look at him. He leans toward me with one hand resting on the bed. There’s a nervousness in the air. 

“Not because of you. Actions have consequences,” he says. “Their behaviour will be corrected.”

“Please don’t,” I quietly beg as I shift onto my knees. I take a risk and gingerly grab onto his forearm. “It’s not worth it,” I’m livid it happened in the first place, but their punishment is just spreading the pain around in my name. I don’t want that. I want it to end.

“If I don’t, it’ll happen again,” Ghost says as he looks down at my hand. His words are resolute. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. His strong arm is tense under the henley, but I don’t pull away.

“What about the man behind this one?” I reach to pull my shirt over my shoulder. His soulful eyes latch onto the bruised skin. Ghost’s chest heaves with a deep sigh. He knew this was coming.

“He needs more than just correction,” Ghost’s eyes are glued to the marks.

“Like what?” I risk the question. It’d be so easy for him to shut me out. To turn around and leave. But I need to know. What kind of a person is he? How does he perceive his own cruelty? I silently pray he stays. 

“Only Hell can help him,” Simon finally looks up. His eyes are filled to the brim with so many emotions, they’re hard to discern. But what stands out the most is how much pain is evident behind that mask.

“I don’t believe that,” I grip his arm tighter. Part of me is afraid of his answer. I don’t know the truth behind his words. I only have a small idea of the violence he’s capable of. I’ve only glanced through a crack in the window of pain he’s caused and even that was significant.

“You don’t know half the things I’ve done, y/n,” his hands tighten into fists. 

“I’ve cut, burned, fucking butchered people without a second thought. I kill men. It brings me so much pleasure to watch those animals die, y/n. I’m not someone who can live without violence,” Ghost starts to tremor. ”There are only so many places for a man like me.”

I shake my head. “I don’t…I don-”

“Believe it,” Ghost cuts me off. “Look at what I did to you,” he moves closer as his other hand reaches up to my exposed arm. Ghost’s fingers lightly trace the bruises. His hands are hot, different from how I remembered them moments ago. There’s a warmth to him, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. Part of me wants to make excuses for him: that it was the heat of the moment, or because I knowingly withheld information that put us all at risk. That doesn’t make it okay. None of this is okay. My moral lines have become so blurred within the last several weeks, it’s hard to know when they’ve been crossed.

I don’t know what to say to him. I focus on the feeling of his gentle fingers on my arm.

“It was the only thing that fixed my father,” His voice deepens. I’m not prepared for where this conversation is about to go. I feel my heart racing in my chest, ready to break free. “I used to hate him for the things he did, how he’d hurt my brother and mum. Fuck, would he hurt her. He hated her and took every ounce of hate out on that woman. He left her beaten and bruised for years,” Ghost wraps his hand around my arm, under the dark bruise. “And look at me now. Look what I’ve done to you. You don’t deserve this.”

My throat tightens and I feel tears prick at my eyes. I tilt my head back and force them down. I feel his careful gaze follow down my neck, across my collarbones, then land on the damning marks above his fingers.

“You’re better than he is, Simon,” it’s barely a whisper.

“You don’t know me,” Ghost’s voice cracks.

“Maybe not. But you’re here right now. And that tells me all I need to know,” our eyes lock together. I see the distress behind his mask. How he so badly wants to believe me. “Simon, I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t. You don’t know how this ends, y/n,” he murmurs. I shift closer to him again so that our legs rest against each other. His breathing deepens at our proximity. His hand leaves my arm to wrap around a strand of hair. He examines it quietly, his thumb slowly tracing the length.

I feel the heat and tension radiating from his body, yet find myself strangely at ease in his presence. He cares. He won’t dare say it, but I can feel it in his gentle touches, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. He had my back when his men were making crude jokes in the van. I think of his concern for me when we were at the last safehouse and I didn’t have shoes. How he lingered to make sure I was okay. How he gave me an extra blanket and touched my shoulders when everyone else was sleeping. I remember when he immediately noticed something was off after the prisoner confronted me. The first thing he did was make sure I was okay. He’s always cared.

My heart still races, but not because I’m scared. My fear has morphed into a more dangerous emotion. One I can’t say out loud. One that would put both of our lives in danger.

When I look into his dark eyes, I see them mirroring my own. Shadowy pools of desire lap at his irises.

“Y/n,” he warns as I look up at him. His eyes flicker down to my bottom lip brawn between my teeth.

“Can I lift your mask?” his head starts to shake even before I’ve finished speaking. “Just a little,” my voice is barely audible. The warm glow of the fire bounces off the walls. Ghost is tinted red. He tilts his head down, searching my eyes. Part of him is still reluctant to trust me. There have been so many people in his life who’ve betrayed him, who’s to say I won’t do the same?

“Ok,” he whispers, dropping the strand of hair.

My hands meet the hem of the balaclava, resting just above his sternum. I slowly roll the fabric up, leaving time for him to stop me. This is the first time he’s ever allowed another person to do this. I feel his vulnerability with each shaky breath. The backs of my fingers trace along his neck as I move the fabric. The scruff that lines his neck and jaw brush against my hands. His adam’s apple bobs as he forces down a nervous swallow. “Just a little more.”

I move the mask just above his jaw. Like the rest of him, it’s sharp and strong. Dark hairs fill in the space after missing his daily shave. Ghost’s hands move to my outer thighs and his thumbs rub along my skin with a reassuring pressure. I bring the mask over his lips and rest the excess material over his nose. Ghost presses his full, slightly chapped lips together as he watches my eyes roam his face.

Part of me wonders why hasn’t he stopped me. Does he yearn for the same type of connection? Does he think about me in the dead of night with wandering hands? Is this something we’ll use against each other in the future? Will there be a future? All of this is a bad idea. But I can’t help the longing. The yearning. How badly I want to feel his hands on my bare skin. Tangled in my hair. Reaching the darkest parts of me.

When I look up, his eyes are so incredibly intense, it’s impossible to look away. A large hand cups my cheek and wraps around the back of my head. Neither of us dares to move any further. We stay frozen in a state of almost vulnerability. It’s not too late to turn back.

It’s hard to see where his irises end and pupils begin, they’re so dark. His eyes hold every word he’s too afraid to say. Words are dangerous. They confirm every want and desire. I’m no braver than he is, not by a mile. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret.

Ghost leans down and rests his masked forehead against mine. The soft fabric presses into my face. His nose tenderly brushes against my own.

“Y/n,” he murmurs as his thumb tenderly traces along my skin. “You have no idea the things you do to me,” I feel goosebumps run down my back at his low, sultry voice. Simon’s cool breath fans against the nape of my neck.

The air between us is charged with tension. I feel a heat start to burn low in my stomach.

Ghost doesn’t move any closer. He has aired his desires. Now it’s my turn. How far do I want this to go? How far am I willing to take it? Nothing happens unless I initiate.

I run my hand along his strong jaw as I lean forward. I hesitantly brush against his lips, providing one last opportunity for us to turn back. Simon ghosts his lips above my own. My muscles tense in anticipation and my breathing is fast and shallow. I loop a finger through his belt loop and pull him closer. 

Ghost takes this as permission and gently presses his lips onto mine. The kiss is soft and fearful and longing. After a breath, I pull away ever so slightly to read his eyes. They open slowly and linger on my lips for a moment longer. Ghost swallows thickly before looking up. There’s an insatiable hunger swimming in those dark pools of desire.

I long for those hot August days spent on the poolside almost as much as I long for him to drag me under the surface. I feel Ghost’s calloused hands moving up the side of my body like waves. Shivers run along my spine. My senses feel heightened. My lungs burn as icy water floods every cavity. I want him to hold me under until every breath of air is stolen from my lips.

Ghost shifts onto his knees and slowly stalks above me. His moves are calculated and predatory. There is only one thing he is on the hunt for. Only one thing that can fully satisfy his appetite.

I lean back as he moves closer until I’m fully pressed against the bed. Ghost leans down on his elbows as his knee urges my legs apart. A dull pulse throbs in my lower stomach. A large hand brushes the hair out of my face as he leans closer.

The kiss is harder this time, needier. Simon’s breath is hot against my mouth. My lungs smoulder with each breath, threatening to burst into flames. I run my hand under the back of his mask into his hair. I want more of him.

“Sweetheart,” my heart skips at the name. “How far can I take this?” his hands cup the side of my face. There’s a different type of seriousness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.

“All the way,” I watch as he licks his lips in anticipation. “I want all of you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I have to be gentle with you,” but I don’t want him to be gentle. I want every pent-up emotion branded into my skin with an iron rod. He’s held back so much from me. I want everything out in the open.

“All of you,” I repeat, brushing my thumb against his jaw.

“Y/n,” he warns as his lips brush against my ear. There’s an exciting sharpness to his tone.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he holds his head up to search my face. There’s genuine fear behind his eyes, but as they flicker down at my lips again there’s an even stronger desire. Once he starts, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop. Every part of his life is so disciplined, that once he relinquishes control, all self-restraint is gone.

“I trust you,” I trace my thumb above his full lips, pausing in the center. His brows furrow, waiting for me to take my words back, change my mind, tell him I don’t mean it. But I do. “I trust you, Simon.”

He uses the last of his restraint to search my eyes one last time. There’s no uncertainty, no fear or hesitancy. I want all of him. Need all of him. Desire burns within my core and he is the only one who can satisfy it. 

His lips are hot and fervorous. Ghost’s eager fingertips drag across my pliable flesh as his hands skim under the hem of my shirt. I want to feel his touch everywhere, my lips, my neck, arms, and chest. I need him everywhere. I want to be consumed by him.

His sweet tongue slips between my lips. It’s a natural motion I welcome with my own. He’s gentle at first, cautious even. But then the hunger grabs a hold of him. His teeth latch onto my bottom lip and pull. Dark eyes test the waters as he gauges my reaction. How far can he really go? A small gasp escapes my chest and I almost miss the corner of his mouth twitching into a devious grin. 

“When I tell you to do something, say yes sir,” his husky voice whispers into my ear as a large hand lightly wraps around my throat.

“Okay,” I respond. He’s not the only one testing the waters. I feel the strong hand tighten ever so slightly. I can’t help a sly smile at his reaction. “Yes sir,” the words noticeably arouse him. Ghost draws in a deep breath as he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. I think of all the times I offhandedly called him that the last several weeks. I wish I knew what a hold it had on him. “Is that better, sir?” I tease.

“You’re trouble,” his tone is suggestive. I love the feeling of his hot breath hitting my neck. I want to feel it drift even lower.

Ghost’s hands are back at the hem of my shirt. He gently tugs at the fabric and I take the signal to sit up and slide it off. I toss it to the side as his eyes take in my figure. I notice how they falter on some of the larger bruises, but in another instant, they’re back on me.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs.

His rough hands travel up my torso - taking care to avoid the bruised areas - as his lips find my neck. He starts off slow, deeply kissing me behind the ear, before moving towards the nape as he begins to suck on my tender skin. One hand begins to tenderly massage my breasts. I feel my eyes flutter shut with pleasure, but then a small part of me remembers I don’t want marks left above the hem of my shirt, especially these kinds of marks.

“Your turn,” I tug on the bottom of his henley.

“That’s not how you ask,” he mumbles as his teeth rake against my skin.

“Please, sir?” he thoughtfully hums against my neck.

Ghost sits up as he straddles me to pull his shirt off with one hand. My breathing hitches. He is stunning. Years of relentless work have shaped him into the machine he is today. Ghost is built like a predator. Strong, sturdy, and sharp. Scars from past challengers and victims litter his chest like medals. His tattoo wraps around the entire length of his arm, around his shoulder, and spanning across half his chest. I’m left speechless as he leans down to meet me again.

My hands unapologetically travel across his vast chest. His muscles flex under the pads of my fingers and I’m reminded of just how strong he is. But I don’t get far, Ghost grabs both wrists with one hand and pins them above my head. He enjoys looking down at me, completely under his power. There’s something about our size difference that is thrilling. He is in complete control. He can do whatever he wants.

Ghost’s lips return where they left off, slowly moving down my delicate body. Past my neck, down my sternum, and right to the spot he is looking forward to the most. His other hand wraps around my back, finding the clasp to my bra. His eyes peer up through his mask, looking to me for permission to keep going. I give him a small nod and immediately I feel the release of the band. He slides the bra up my arms, letting go of my wrists only to free us of it once and for all before grabbing them again. Ghost’s other hand returns to my back, urging me to arch my chest to his lips.

Sharp teeth nip at my soft breasts between deep kisses that are certain to leave more bruises. Ghost adds more pressure to my back as he pushes me closer. He takes his tantalizing time teasing me with his tongue as it swirls around my nipple before the abrupt feeling of his teeth pulling on my skin takes over. I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. I press my lips together to hide my heavy breathing, but it doesn’t get past him.

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” he tastes the tender skin. “No one around for miles.”

Both his hands wrap around my waist as he pulls me flush against his chest. I take the opportunity to run a hand along the waistband of his pants, slipping a finger just under the edge of the fabric. Ghost pauses as his chest heaves from the movement. I grab his jaw and guide his lips to mine again, mimicking his previous movements by tugging on his lower lip with my teeth. I can’t help the growing smile on my face.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart,” his hand trails down my stomach, slipping between my pants and underwear. Two thick fingers circle around me above the thin piece of fabric with growing pressure. My head sinks back into the pillow as my breathing becomes more jagged. Sparks fill my vision from the intense pressure. 

“Oh fuck,” I whimper from his touch. His eyes are intent on my face as they watch the pleasure wash over me.

“That’s a good girl,” he says eagerly. “Wet for me already?”

My thoughts are too twisted to come up with a smart response. I press harder against him for more traction. If only he knew how much I’ve thought about his hands and all the things his fingers can do.

While slipping a hand under the fabric, he leans down letting his lips press against my neck. Our bare chests brush against each other and his other hand winds through my hair. Ghost fists the strands against the back of my head and slowly pulls back, further exposing my neck for better access. I feel the edge of his teeth take my tender flesh between them. I imagine the marks that will litter down my neck leading across my chest.

A thick finger slips into me while his thumb focuses on my clit. The feeling is so intense I can’t help the moans escaping from deep within my throat. Ghost pulls harder on my hair. A deep chuckle reverberates through his chest. He’s enjoying this. 

I wrap a hand around his belt, pushing the leather through the loop, ready to pull it off, but then a large hand clasps over mine.

“So soon?” Ghost teases. The intense pressure of his other hand leaves between my legs as he slides his belt off. The buckle jingles as he twists the leather into itself. When I look down, I realize what he’s created.

There are two spaces for a set of hands to slide through while the belt acts as a pair of handcuffs.

“Simon,” his name is breathy on my tongue.

“Arms up,” he orders.

I raise my hands above my head and feel the leather restraints slip over my fists. “Not tight,” I tell him. His eyes glance down at me and he seems to understand. He pulls the leather band, leaving just enough space that I could escape if I really needed to, before looping the leather back through the buckle.

“Okay?” he whispers and I nod my head in response. “Atta girl,” the side of his mouth quirks up.

I watch Simon trail his thoughtful lips down my torso. He pauses at each bruise, pressing a tender kiss lightly on top of each one. Butterflies swarm inside my stomach. I never thought I’d see such a man be so gentle.

Simon’s thumbs rub in circles over the corner of my hips as he makes his way even lower. There’s a growing anticipation between my legs as I wrap one around his back, pulling him closer.

The black mask lowers between my legs. Swollen lips kiss the inside of my thighs. The edge of his teeth grazes the tender flesh. I draw in a sharp gasp as he bites down. Hard. A full pain throbs along my inner thighs. His previous gentleness slips away. This will leave a bruise lasting for days.

“These are the only marks I want to see on your skin,” his passionate eyes look up from between my legs. The black balaclava covers the rest of his face aside from his lips. How I’d love to run my hands through his hair.

Simon’s arms wrap around my legs to hold me down by my hips. I grasp the belt with whitened knuckles as he moves up, leaving another mark, but not before pressing an apologetic kiss to the area. Small whimpers escape my tight throat as he switches legs and leaves a growing trail of marks closer and closer to the hem of my underwear. I want him to make me feel good again.

“Please Simon,” I feel his lips humorously twitch against my skin.

He pulls away and all of his delicious warmth leaves with him. Simon rests on his knees, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight before him. All I can think about is the heat of his hands as they travel over my skin. Fuck, I need him. I need him everywhere. In the darkest parts of my body and soul.

A rough thumb traces over my lips. “You still want this?” there’s doubt in his voice, like he’s expecting me to change my mind.

“So, fucking bad,” my lips move against his thumb. I take him in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the thick digit, lightly starting to suck on him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he mutters under his breath. His other hand slides beneath his jeans as I press my mouth further down on his thumb. But I don’t let him relish in the feeling.

“I need you, Simon,” I murmur. “Please, sir,” my voice is breathy and desperate.

I can feel the need pooling between my thighs. I ache for his touch.

His hands light my skin on fire as he slips my underwear off, pulling them down my legs. Simon wastes no time stepping out of his jeans, his large erection straining against his boxers.

“Of all thing things I’ve wanted to do to you,” he cups himself over the fabric. I wait for him to expand on his thoughts, but he doesn’t, simply leaving them to hang in the thick air.

Simon grasps himself over his boxes, slowly stroking as he watches me. My eyes never leave his. I feel the growing heat of the fire burning within me. With every stroke, he stokes the flames.

He leans down, lips hovering above mine. One hand gently holds my cheek while the other wraps around his tip. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathes into my mouth before tenderly meeting my lips. A small vein of nervousness is present at the back of my mind, but I channel all of my attention into my growing desire.

Simon adjusts his position as the boxers slide down. The anticipation is too much. He bites his bottom lip as the head of his cock traces my entrance. My heart is pounding. My hands grasp at the belt.

“Relax,” he glances up at me. “You’re tense.”

A gentle hand massages my inner thighs along the bite marks he left. The length of his shaft glides across my clit, sending tingles up my spine.

“Simon-”

“Look at me y/n. I want to see your face when I stretch you out,” my breathing falters at his words. I dare to look him in the eyes just as he pushes in for the first time. Fucking hell.  The feeling is completely unmatched. My breathing is heavy. Simon’s thumbs rub reassuring circles along my inner thighs to ease the sensation between my legs.

“Oh God,” I whimper, tensing around his thick tip. His eyes hungrily watch my expression, burning it to memory. The amount of pleasure he gets from watching is almost equal to that of participating. Simon’s fingers circle my clit with a heavy pressure. I feel the throbbing intensify as he begins to push deeper. I hold back a whimper as he pushes deeper, stretching my tight walls around him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he growls. “You’re doing so good.”

Simon gently moves back before thrusting further in. My walls pulse around his thick cock as he picks up pace. My legs are wrapped around his broad back. One of his hands roughly kneads a breast as he bows his head into the nape of my neck. The metal dog tags hanging around his throat swing in the space between us, bouncing against my skin.

Simon’s breath is hot as it travels down my neck and across my chest. With every clench around him, I’m rewarded with soft needy moans into my ear as he nips at my lobes.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” his breathy voice rumbles against my neck. I feel the tightness in my stomach begin to build as he thrusts harder and his hands press into my clit. The world around me blurs. I’ve never been fucked this hard before. He feels so damn good; it’s like he was made just for me.

His hand drags across my breast, up to my neck as he wraps his strong fingers around the vulnerable area. I should’ve known he wants complete control. For so long he had none, now it rules every aspect of his life.

“You take me so well, y/n,” my name drips sweetly off his tongue like honey. I want to hear him say it over and over again. y/n. y/n. y/n. Fuck, does that sound good.

Every muscle in my body begins to tighten. My breathing quickens. My heart is racing. Every sense feels incredibly heightened. A lucid feeling begins to take over as Ghost’s grip around my throat tightens.

“Don’t go quiet on me now,” his hand moves to my jaw.

“I’m close,” I gasp as the blood rushes back to my face. My cheeks feel hot under his intense gaze. “Simon I-” his name rolls off my tongue, but I lose track of my thoughts. With every thrust, I feel him deeper in my soul. All of the pain. All of the tortures of our diverged pasts are melding together. Right now, I have all of him.

Simon keeps his pace but thrusts his throbbing cock even harder. The sound of skin hitting skin overtakes the crackling fire. The heat is almost too much. Like a flame under a tank of propane. Pressure builds under the heat, ready to combust.

“I, I-” fuck, I can’t think. It’s too much. His hands are tightly woven into my skin. My fingers are white against the leather. My heartbeat is so damn loud. My face twists towards the covers as my body writhes under his touch.

“Don’t look away now sweetheart,” his voice is so incredibly thick with need. “I’ll stop if you look away,”

His dark eyes are a whirlpool pulling me in. Suddenly I forget how to swim. Simon drags me under as his thick fingers wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasp as my lungs breathe in water. His lips are heavy against my own. My vision darkens and no other pleasure in the world can match the burning sensations coursing through my veins. My orgasm is the sun’s light from the bottom of the ocean.

I break the surface as Simon’s hot lips hastily press against my forehead. His movements quicken and his grunts deepen. His hands roughly grab onto my waist as he thrusts into me with uneven, jarring movements.

“Fuck, Simon,” the whimper is soft against his skin and the cause of his undoing. His hard cock throbs against my walls once more as he collapses against me from pleasure and exhaustion. Simon’s heavy body lays limp on top of mine. The weight is comforting and safe. No one else in the world can touch me. Only him.

Simon reaches up to undo the belt and free my hands which find their way to his broad back. I trace invisible pictures across the vast space, skimming across old scars and the edge of his tattoo. His hand gently runs down the length of my hair, petting the top of my head. I feel my eyes begin to droop as sleep creeps up from behind me. I want him to hold me forever.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, arms caging me in as his dark eyes peer down at me. The emotions behind Simon’s eyes are too conflicted to decipher. A cautious thumb brushes along the side of my face. For a moment, he simply stares at me, trying to memorize everything that’s just happened and the gravity of it.

“Y/n, I need you to listen very closely,” he murmurs, pulling the balaclava back over his jaw. I feel my brows furrow as a different type of tension takes over.

“Okay,” my voice is barely audible.

“No one can ever know about this,” Ghost’s tone is soft, but I don’t miss the significance that is present. I pause to think about his words. Really think about them. What are the consequences of what we’ve just done? Our actions have just irreversibly complicated 141’s entire mission. Possibly even damaged it.

“What happens if they find out?”

Simon doesn’t respond. I feel a growing, hollow, cavity within me as I consider what happens to the people who interfere with their missions.

This was a mistake. A consequential mistake.

Pt 15:

[aloesarchives]

JJK Drabble #3

Head empty with no thoughts other than thinking about in my “Toji Lives” AU, Reader/you has only imagined a life with Toji and ONLY Toji. It’s to a point that you never seen a future without him or have one with anyone else that wasn’t him. Because if not, your life wouldn’t be like what it is now…which meant you wouldn’t have Megumi nor Tsumiki if you haven’t met Toji.

Anyway, someone randomly mentions how there’s a possibility that in an alternate universe/timeline you and Toji wouldn’t be in love, married, and have a family. Stabbing the knife in your heart even further by mentioning Toji might have another family with another woman with Megumi as their only child. Furthermore, not only isn’t Toji not your husband in another universe/time but he would have another life without you in it.

The thought of in another reality Toji isn’t with you, has another family which also means Megumi and Tsumiki are not your children…Fuck, it hurts you so much to think about such a concept.

What makes it worse is that reality IS POSSIBLE and CAN HAPPEN(referring to the canon timeline).

So now, you’ve become high-key depressed and heartbroken because you are now overthinking about the idea your little family isn’t yours. The more you imagine that prospect, the more your overthinking thoughts make your heart throb with pain as an icy chill washes over you. Numbing you to your current reality that THEY are your FAMILY in this universe/timeline. But your head was too focused and wrapped up that it’s slowly kills your happiness.

Literally everybody is worried about you because this is the most devastated they’ve seen you at all. Satoru and Suguru hunted down the idiot who thought it was a good idea to even say something or gave that idea to you. Everyone else is trying to cheer you up but you brush it and tell them not to worry, which makes them even more worried about you.

Tsumiki and Megumi were the most concerned because that’s their mama who’s so heartbroken and it hurts them to see you so down in the dumps like that. And knowing their mama, the only other person that could get to you that either of them is their one and only papa, Toji. So the kiddos tell Toji your heartbroken state and how worried they are even after trying to make you feel better.

Toji is literally the last resort hope. He goes and finds you, having a pre-occupied stare and looking extremely out of it. He doesn’t want to startle you so he comes up behind you with a gruff but soft “Hey Doll”. Placing his hands on your shoulder and back so you can face him. Rubbing them in a comforting manner.

“Hey, heard you weren’t feeling yourself today? You think you could tell me what’s got you so down?”

You don’t say anything, but the way your eyes start to water and your bottom lip trembling gave it away. Toji would have gently coaxed you on so he can understand what’s got you like this. Then suddenly, you wrapped your arms around Toji’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug. The man doesn’t questioned it and holds you tightly, knowing you need it because he can tell you weren’t ready to tell what’s wrong yet. For some time, Toji lets you hold him tightly because he knows it brings you comfort and eases your stress.

“Anata…Do you think in another life…We would still be together…?”

The way your voice teetered of uncertainty and softness, and that nickname used you for him… Now he has a general idea of what made you so heartbroken because “Anata” is a nickname only reserved for Toji when it’s only you and him alone and either both of you are vulnerable.

“I don’t know for certain, Hon. I’d hope so every time…But I do know is in this lifetime, I will always find you and love ya to the end of my days. An’ remember, Tsumiki and Megumi are here with us too. Your family is here with you, (Y/N). We love you, don’t forget that, please…”

And that was enough to break the spell that held your mind captive. You ease up, calming down, pulling away slightly from your dear, loving, handsome husband. Looking at him so fondly and with much love.

Toji SMILES back at you, cupping your face gently with his callous hand. Using his thumb to softly wipe away the stray tear that fell from your pretty eyes. Leaning into his hand, holding it with both your own. You relish in Toji’s strong but gentle hold, his warmth always brought you great solace in ways no one else can.

Everyone sighs in relief, knowing you’re in a better mood and returning back to your regular self. Especially Megumi and Tsumiki, there’s something about seeing you genuinely smile and looking at their dad with such tenderness they know is only reserved for Toji and him alone that makes them smile to themselves and sigh in relief. The two of them walk up to you and Toji to which you opened your arms out to your children. Tsumiki and Megumi will never deny a hug from you so they go in and you hugged them both tightly against you, kissing their foreheads while saying loving affirmations to your children.

Toji smiles at his family before joining in on the hug, wrapping his huge muscular strong arms around you three. Basking in your husband and kids warmth, you didn’t know why you hyper-focused on the ‘what ifs’ of possible realities when this one you were living in, with your husband and kids, is YOUR current reality. So why fuss over the others when you have this one which is the one you wanted.

If there’s a possibility for them to not be your family in other realities, wouldn’t that mean there are possibilities where they’ll be your family too in other realities/timelines/universes too?

Bonus: Toji asks Satoru and Suguru if he can join them in ganging up on the person who did this to you. Man wasn’t letting anything slide if you were put into a distressed and/or heartbroken state.

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Tags w/ links:

@luqueam @ploylulla @tqd4455 @wolywolymoley @captainbabybear @ravenswife

Tags w/o links:

@szillx @SleppyAnn @g0th1xac1d @kneelarhmstrung

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I literally wrote this on my phone late at night because it was keeping me wide awake lol. Sorry for the sloppy rushed formatting!

[glowinggator]

Nicodeme Savoy/Reader (Pining, Drabble) -- In which you fall asleep in the back of the car, and Nico thinks about how much you mean to him.

Content Warnings: Brief, nonspecific comic spoilers (iykyk), and 1 paragraph on scarification. Not detailed, but it's there.

Names get around easy in the underground — it’s important to know the key players of every operation, lest you get mixed up in the wrong business. But some names are more infamous than others. First for their proficiency, then for their brutality. And some names, such as that of one Nicodeme Savoy, carry a weight that few would care to invoke by speaking it outloud. But that doesn’t mean people don’t make their own assumptions, or gossip in the dark.

“He’s some sort of sadist,” they say, “Brawling type, wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.”

And for most points, Nico isn’t too keen on refuting them. There’s a part of him that enjoys the aire of mystery, of fear, that surrounds him. Plus, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the adrenaline of a good fight, or the rewarding catharsis of blood on his knuckles when he inevitably wins. But that isn’t the only thing that he likes.

They never talk about his love of spicy food, or a well-made Old Fashioned. They certainly never talk about how he likes to dance, or watch the fireflies flicker over the water at night. And nobody would ever be caught dead talking about how much he likes you.

The slow rise and fall of your shoulders is subtle, hardly even visible in the rear view mirror with the dim moonlight that filters through the windows, and yet it’s nothing if not captivating. Your parted lips and relaxed form burn themselves into his memory as his eyes bounce back and forth between your reflection and the road ahead.

You were exhausted, to say the least. All three of you were, really — your last target had necessitated a chase by foot, and while the three of you normally wouldn’t mind such a thing, the man had given you a, quite literal, run for your money.

His last minute backup hadn’t been expected, either.

And thus, what should have been an hour long joyride soon turned into a day long hunt — he’s sure that if Mordecai had been here he would have called off the operation, or suggested some new angle of attack. He scoffs to himself internally — sure, it would have saved them some time if it worked out, but where’s the fun in that? All work and no play, he is. Hard to imagine he's survived this long without blurring the lines, but hey, who is he to judge?

Nico glances at you again, nestled into the side of the car. Your arms twist around yourself comfortingly as you curl into the plush of your jacket, and you’d somehow managed to twist yourself to outstretch your legs across the bench. (Which would have never happened either, if Mordecai had been here. So again, he counts his absence tonight as a win.Leblanc will have to forgive him, for that.)

You seem peaceful — peaceful in a way that, with your gun now long discarded and forgotten — that it’s easy to forget how your hands were stained with blood just hours ago. How easily you danced through his deadly game, laughter ringing out in the abandoned warehouse you’d all ended up in. How easily you meshed with the two of them — the infamous Savoy twins — like you had always belonged.

His lips turn upward ever so slightly, and looks back at the road again. He’d never forget any of that, though.

“When are you going to tell them, hm?” Seraphine murmurs lowly in their home language, French Creole rolling smoothly off her tongue.

“What, about the chicken?” He responds, “Believe me, they already know. Been hounding me about it ever since it went missing, that one.”

She grins, “Mmm, poor thing. All the work they do, and they still find it in them to care for the little ones.” She looks over at him, this time more pointedly. “They’ve got a real big heart. Might even have space for you.”

He hums, mulling her words over as the trees pass them by. Somewhere along the way he slows down, taking care to steer clear of the potholes in the corners of the road. He doesn’t think about how he’d usually take them head-on, or how he’d ordinarily be speeding down the dusty roads. What he does think about, is you. How you had woven yourself into their lives so wholly, and with such ease.

He remembers how warm your hand felt in his as he taught you to dance, and the radiance of your smile as you finally found your rhythm. The plushness of your lips tempted him deeply that night, as they have every night since. It would be so easy to just bend down and close that gap, but for the first time in his life, he can’t seem to take that final step. Never before has a moment of temptation transformed into months of longing, but he isn’t complaining — far from it, actually. The newness of it all doesn’t scare him, and he’s proud to say that he doesn’t seem to scare you in the midst of it all, either.

Flashes of your official welcome into the congregation bless him for a moment at the thought; how you requested that he be the one to do it; how you smiled at him all the while; how you fisted his shirt in your hand during the worst of it… he’s proud to say that he doesn’t scare you. He’s proud to say that you trust him so deeply. And at the end of it all, when knife met table and bandage met skin, you pressed your forehead to his, thanking him. He thought he had known temptation before, but then your tongue darted between your lips as you pulled him to his feet to resume the night’s festivities, and oh, Maitre Carrefour give him strength-

Serafine’s voice brings him from his thoughts.

“They’re one of us, Nicodeme.”

He chuckles to himself, lips perking up once again. “Yeah, yeah they are.”

And when the sunlight filters through the curtains of the Maribel, you realize you don’t remember clambering out of the car, or pulling the your blankets over yourself — all you’re left with is the faint memory of floating and the fading, but familiar, scent of the lakeside.

A/N: I love him. so much. This was originally gonna be a request fill for some mutual pining, but I really liked where this ended up, so... expect more Nico in the future! Let me know if you want me to write the reader's POV on this, or the in-between of getting carried to your room -- I have many, MANY thoughts about being carried by this man <3

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry]

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: nothing yet but this fic is heathers-inspired, so be warned for the future.

author's note: hi guys, long time lurker first time poster. this is my first time WRITING fic so feel free to leave any critique. also i don't know if i did the cut right lol i have a lot planned and hope you like!

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Dear Diary,

I should’ve never let Mindy convince me to start this operation. 

Sure, it’s nice to have a steady cash flow, but nothing is more aggravating than everyone and their mother asking for doctor’s notes, report cards, prescriptions, and absence notes when I’m just trying to make it to fourth-period math. When I was ten, I expected to use my Nancy-Drew-inspired skills to unearth hidden staircases or find whistling statues, not help someone’s checked-out mom get a Xanax. 

Yet I forged three (3) permission slips today. Why? Because, next to mysteries, I love the sweet smell of cash in the morning. Yesterday, I added $150 to the rainy day fund. Hopefully, when the weather’s right, I'll be inspired to buy a car and ditch Woodsboro. This town is fucked, alright. Just ask Chad, Mindy, Sam, or–

“Tara! Jesus Christ!” I rub my leg where her sneaker connected. “What’s your damage?”

“Are you done, Shakespeare? You said you’d get lunch with me like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Tara isn’t so great with patience. But, again, I am not so great at keeping track of time. “Yeah, whatever,” I say. “Let’s go see what they’ve cooked up for us today.”

I follow her through the winding path of tables, chairs, and teenage bodies. As we go, I collect bills from outstretched hands and replace them with papers of varying sizes. Tara turns to smirk at me. “What was the event this time?”

“Oh, you know. It’s report card season, and this school is not known for its stellar GPAs.”

“We just have you to thank for keeping it floating below a 3.0,” she teases. “Tell me, Y/N. Does all that extra brainpower of yours get used up matching the way people dot their i’s and cross their t’s?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Sure, Tara. Let’s just get some lunch. I’m seriously starving.”

We grab trays and join the line, aimlessly chattering about the day. Tara’s been my friend since the beginning of the year when I was the only new kid in a town struck by tragedy. We were the only new buyers in Woodsboro over the summer. The rest are still empty, the memory of last year’s Ghostface attacks having driven out long-time residents.

What’s surprising, though, is that the so-called “Woodsboro Four” are still here. Sure, Sam, Tara, Mindy, and Chad mostly stick together, but despite the terrible tragedy that they witnessed, they let me and Annika, Mindy’s current girlfriend, into their lives. I could never measure up to that. I’m just glad they want to be my friend.

I’m taken out of my musings on friendship when I feel someone’s eyes on my back. Without turning around, I recite my usual speech. “$5 for report cards, $10 for prescriptions and absence notes, and an extra $5 for rush fees.”

“Woah, um, tempting, but I’m not looking for any forgery.”

Confused, I turn around to put a face to an unfamiliar voice. The guy’s tall, almost as tall as Chad, with curly brown hair and brown eyes that widen when I meet them. “Sorry, I was just going to get my lunch, but you dropped some cash back here.”

For some reason, my voice is not working. All I can do is look up at him, suddenly captivated by how shy he seems to be. When I pause for a few moments too long, Tara reaches around and takes the money from his hand. “Uh, thanks. I’m sure my friend here appreciates it. Usually she’s more talkative.”

“Oh, god, yeah, sorry,” I finally get out, stumbling over my words. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Suddenly, I think he remembers to be bashful and walks away without another word.

When he’s gone, Tara laughs. “God, Y/N, drool much? I’ve never seen you like that before.”

I flush red. “Whatever, Tara, you’re the worst.” I give her a playful shove and walk off to buy my lunch. I hand the money to the cashier, but all I can think about are those big, brown eyes, and I know I’m fucked.

[silversnakes-yan]

✲𝓝𝓸𝓪𝓱 𝔀/ 𝓪 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓼✲

Noah had always loved the quiet of the night. The way the world seemed to slow down, how the moonlight cast long, soft shadows across the streets, and the way the stars twinkled like scattered diamonds above. One particularly clear night, feeling restless and unable to sleep, he decided to take a walk through his neighborhood. If smoking didn’t help him sleep maybe a walk would.

The streets were nearly empty, save for a few parked cars and the occasional house with a glowing porch light. As he walked, he listened to the sounds of crickets chirping and the distant hum of traffic. It was peaceful, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

Turning down a quiet, tree-lined street he rarely ventured, Noah saw something that caught his eye. Just ahead, under the soft glow of a streetlamp, was definitely the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. They were crouched on the sidewalk, surrounded by a small group of cats. Noah watched as they carefully placed small bowls of food and water in front of the cats, speaking to them in a gentle, soothing voice.

Curious, Noah approached slowly, not wanting to startle either them or the cats. As he got closer, one of the cats, a sleek black one, looked up and meowed softly. They looked up too, and their eyes met his. They had the most captivating eyes, the color of them seemed to reflect in the moonlight.

"Hiya," Noah said, offering a lopsided smile.

"Hi," they replied, standing up and brushing their hands on their jeans. "I didn't hear you coming."

"My bad. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you," Noah said. "Was just out for a walk and saw you with the cats. You do this often?"

"Yeah, every night," they said, smiling warmly. "I'm ___, by the way."

"Noah," he replied, he walks up beside them and takes a seat at the curb. "Why come out here? You know it’s pretty dangerous at night. Aliens might come down and snatch you."

They look at him incredulously. "I think there’s more concerning things than aliens.” They look back at the cats. “These cats don’t have homes, so I try to take care of them as best as I can. They’ve become like family to me."

Noah turned his head to the cats, who were now happily eating, and felt a surge of admiration for ___. "That's nice of you. They seem to trust you a lot." Their willingness to help others in need reminded him of his brothers. Yet he kept that to himself.

"They do," They said, their smile widening as they take a seat next to him. "It took some time, but now they know I'm here to help."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the cats. Noah felt a connection with them, a sense of understanding and shared appreciation for the quiet beauty of the night.

"Would you like to join me?" They asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Join you?" Noah echoed, a bit surprised.

"Yeah," they said, their eyes twinkling with excitement. "There's another spot a few blocks away where I feed another group of cats. It’s a bit of a walk, but I’d love the company."

Noah felt a rush of excitement. "Yeah sure. I. Hold protect ya."

“Of course from the aliens, right?” They laugh shaking their head.

As they walked together, talking and laughing softly, Noah felt a warmth in his chest. It was as if the night had conspired to bring them together. And as he listened to them talk about their love for the cats and their dreams for the future, he couldn't help but feel that something good finally came into his life.

[misshoneyimhome]

Idk why but I love the idea of Willy with someone who works for the NHL at the Toronto HQ like maybe not in the media team but part of their global marketing division, and they have a great connection because she works with the Swedish office so often and they’ve created a great friendship outside of hockey but as she’s such a high power human and that would be an HR disaster they keep it at a distance. But everyone knows they need to bang so at a holiday party they get caught under the mistletoe together (caught meaning Auston following them around holding it above their heads like an idiot wingman, but also they’re glued to each others sides so they don’t make it easy on themselves) and the Maple Leaf lads aren’t going to let them get away without finally making a move, mostly because they’re tired of Willy’s pining!

Alrighty babe, I mist admit that I wasn't entirely sure where I was going with this 😅 But, I do hope that it caught just parts of what you'd imagined ❤️ otherwise, as always just hit me up 😉

➼｡ﾟ

Don't mix business with pleasure I William Nylander ✿❄︎

"Come on, Willy, just sleep with her already," Mitch's voice rang out in the locker room as the team prepped for practice. “I mean, you've only been into her for like six months already…”

William couldn't help but chuckle at his teammate's blunt comment, even though there was perhaps some truth in it.

"I can't just sleep with her... you know where she works, right?" William responded; a bit hesitant as he adjusted his hockey gear.

"Yeah, she's got a high-up job, but seriously, you two have been ogling each other since she first talked to you about Sweden," Mitch explained, letting it be known that the whole team was aware of the chemistry between you and their teammate.

Working at the Toronto HQ had been a huge achievement in your career, especially at your age in your mid-twenties. The promotion was a result of hard work and dedication, a significant step forward that you had relentlessly pursued.

And it was only a few weeks into your new position when you’d first encountered the Swedish forward, William Nylander. You and your team had invited all the Swedish players in for a meeting, as you were preparing for the up for the upcoming global series event set to happen in Stockholm, the capital of Sweden.

Being part of the global marketing team, you were tasked with managing the event schedule for this huge event, knowing that the Swedes, especially William, would be very much under the spotlight. He wasn't just a star player for the Leafs but also a familiar face in what he considered his home country -Sweden. And right from that moment, an immediate connection sparked between the two of you.

Sure, your professional responsibilities demanded commitment, but amid the discussions in the meeting rooms and event arrangements, there was an unspoken bond in the air - a mutual understanding that went beyond regular work interactions.

William's gaze was fixed on you from the start, as he quickly noticed your voice, gentle and warm, filling the room, a comforting tune to his ears, and your captivating smile and evident passion for your work were magnetic.

You were incredibly smart, and the way you weren’t afraid of speaking your mind, and man-handle those around you who gave you nothing but hell, merely because you were younger than them, had him all intrigued.

And he knew he had to at least try and be around you for more than just a few meetings.

So, days slowly turned into shared moments – casual coffees during breaks, filled with laughter, genuine talks about life beyond the sports arena, and a mutual admiration for each other's dedication to your careers. Yet, underneath this professional facade, there lingered an undeniable tension; an unexpressed longing held back by the responsibilities of professionalism.

You tried to keep things innocent, staying at arm's length and keeping a cool, business-like attitude. But his charm, laughter, and jokes easily cut through the formal work setup, reaching a deeper part of you.

Especially during the Global tour, when you, alongside all the coordinators and Swedes across the NHL-teams, Red Wings, Wilds, and Senators, spent endless hours together sorting schedules, doing interviews, signing autographs, and handling whatever else cropped up.

It became increasingly harder to stay far away from the lad from Stockholm. Yet, both of you knew you had to deal with this undeniable chemistry, sidestepping unspoken feelings that came up whenever you were together.

And perhaps you were a little bit better at it than William.

"Planning to root for us?" he teased during a discussion about the team’s marketing plans.

"Willy, you know I can’t take sides like that; I'm part of the NHL, remember," you replied with a sweet smile.

"Fair enough, but I wouldn't mind hearing you cheering my name one day... supporting the Leafs," he almost whispered, making sure not to make it too obvious to everyone around that your relationship was slowly becoming more than just colleagues. Perhaps even closer than just friends.

But you brushed it off, keeping your attention on your tasks at hand.

Meanwhile, the Maple Leaf lads, always keeping an eye out, couldn't resist teasing and joking around, fully aware of the growing attraction between you and William.

"Looks like someone's aiming high up there," Auston teased William as soon as he’d returned to the group. "So, that's why you're always hanging around, 'assisting' whenever the big boys are here."

"She's not involved in any of that," William defended with a chuckle.

And it did hold some truth to it.

However, he couldn't deny the way you looked in your stylish vintage suit-pants, your hair nearly flawlessly styled, and your makeup enhancing your natural beauty. It occupied too much space in his hockey-focused mind.

Thoughts of your figure lingered in his thoughts, and every time there was a game either at the Scotiabank Arena or elsewhere, he'd search for you in the crowd.

_

As the holiday season drew near, the team's cheerful vibe set the stage for playful banter and, not to forget, the big company Christmas party in Toronto, where the entire headquarters received invites, including the Toronto Maple Leafs players and management.

And amid the festive ambience, the players were casually dressed in their best business casual attire, chatting and mingling, across management levels and occupations.

However, it was Auston's smug look that caught William's attention, prompting him to swiftly turn his head, when you entered the venue.

Your semi-long red dress hugged your figure snugly, and your legs looked elongated by your tall heels, as a blazer draped over your shoulders, and you held a clutch close to your side.

"Hey, Willy, I think you dropped something," Morgan teased as the blonde Swede couldn't take his eyes off you from a distance.

"What?" William questioned.

"Your jaw," the defenseman jested, prompting chuckles from the rest of the guys.

William did his best to shrug off his teammates' playful remarks with laughter, but his gaze remained fixed on you.

And a few moments later, as you picked up a delightful glass of champagne, your eyes met his as well.

It was a tender moment as your eyes locked from across the room, and the atmosphere seemed to grow a bit more intense. You almost sensed his presence, feeling as if his breath was upon you, as the two of you stood almost motionless, the background noise gently fading away.

But then you shook your head, needing to break the intense moment and return to reality as Shannon Hosford's lively storytelling filled the room.

"I swear you have to make a move tonight," Auston chuckled, noticing the not-so-subtle shared moment.

"I wish…" William murmured softly, a faint smirk touching his lips. "Maybe there'll be a Christmas miracle," he chuckled lightly before turning his focus back to his friends.

And that idea sparked something in Auston's mind.

A Christmas miracle—or perhaps just a gentle nudge in the right direction.

As the night progressed, Cynthia Devine delivered a heartfelt speech, followed by Brendan Shanahan, and then a delightful three-course meal. You found yourself engrossed in amusing conversations with the Toronto Maple Leafs' staff. Given your recent close work with them, striking up casual chats felt almost second nature.

Then during the pivotal speech delivered by the NHL Toronto HQ president, William decided to make a move, as he sensed your efforts to keep a distance from him throughout the evening, yet he also felt that it wasn't truly what you desired.

So, as everyone stood, their attention fixed on the stage in the beautiful venue, William moved closer to you, positioning himself right by your side, his shoulder gently brushing against yours. You glanced slightly in his direction, catching a glimpse of his handsome features, before turning back to face the stage, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Just his close presence alone made you feel a sense of warmth.

Then something more tangible occurred.

William delicately and slowly nudged his right hand against your left, which hung by your side, and he lightly traced his fingers against yours, attempting to interlace two of his fingers with your palm, gently wrapping them around your little and ring finger.

Initially, your heart skipped a beat. You knew his touch was almost innocent, yet if anyone from the headquarters spotted you intertwining fingers with an NHL hockey player, HR would undoubtedly raise concerns. It would be deemed a violation of regulations and considered highly unprofessional.

But you found it hard to resist.

Gradually, you relaxed your tensed posture, allowing your arm to hang freely, permitting William's fingers to intertwine further with yours.

However, your actions didn’t go unnoticed.

As Auston saw the subtle finger play between you and William, he was quick to make his move. However, just as he was about to execute his plan, the speech concluded, prompting both you and William to swiftly pull your hands apart and join in the applause with the rest of the crowd.

The room filled with loud sounds as the clapping continued for what seemed like minutes, but it was minutes you relished simply standing next to the tall Swede. Then, as the applause gradually faded and the crowd dispersed from the floor, you took the chance to steal another glance at William. But you weren't alone.

Auston was nearby, and with a smooth move, he produced a small green plant from behind his back. Looking innocent, he whistled and casually raised his hand, looking in a different direction as he held the mistletoe just above your heads.

Both you and William couldn't help but chuckle at Auston's not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking. Yet, there was an understanding that perhaps engaging in intimate contact with William under the guise of mistletoe tradition might make it more acceptable. Your eyes met his once more.

William immediately caught on and subtly moved a bit closer to you, if that was even possible.

It felt like an unspoken agreement. Both of you knew what you desired most in that very moment. However, the moment was interrupted naturally by a colleague calling you over, and once again, you had to separate.

Both Auston and William let out deep sighs, feeling the missed opportunity keenly. So close, yet so far.

Fortunately, no more than an hour passed before another opportunity arose. And this time, Auston was determined to have your lips connected with William's.

The dance floor was packed with guests, music blaring through the speakers, as you had just grabbed another drink from the bar when William approached you gently.

"Not sure if it's appropriate," he softly chuckled. "But you look absolutely amazing tonight."

His attempt to remain polite and professional, while also being charming and flirtatious, amused you. And you couldn’t deny that there was a part of you that simply wanted to give in to the temptation.

Glancing around and spotting none of your managers or colleagues, you leaned in with a confident, teasing expression.

"Only tonight?" you teased back, earning a light chuckle from William.

"I think we both know I think you always look amazing," he corrected himself with a laugh.

And once again, you both felt the tender moment burgeoning between you, as Auston slowly made his way closer.

And again, he took out the little green plant, holding it just above your heads casually, prompting more light chuckles. But this time, you and William silently agreed that it was happening.

As you took a deep breath, fully aware of the countless regulations about to be crossed, you leaned in towards him, meeting his touch halfway as he slowly inclined to let his lips meet yours.

His hands found the curves of your hips as you placed yours on his muscular upper arms, softly leaning into the kiss.

The moment was absolutely perfect.

William's lips felt just right against yours, his closeness feeling wonderful, and the shared breaths creating a heartfelt connection. Your heart quickened, and excitement surged through you with the intensity of the kiss.

But as much as both of you desired for it to last longer, you knew you had to pull away to avoid drawing too much attention.

So, reluctantly, you let out a breath, took a small step back, and willed your heart to calm down, mentally processing the rush the kiss had brought.

Even after parting, amid exclamations and chuckles from the players, the sensation of William's lips lingering on yours remained.

But you knew it couldn't continue, and so you made a painful decision and began to walk away. Heading straight towards the ladies’ room, conflicting emotions clashed with rational thoughts in your head.

And just as you were about to reach for the door handle, William's hand grabbed yours and turned you around, pulling you close to him.

"Willy," you exhaled, slightly bewildered by his sudden action. "Please, we can't…"

"I know, but..." His voice softened as he pondered how to articulate his thoughts. "I know we can't be together, not now and maybe not ever... but I need you to know, no matter what happens, my heart belongs to you."

His words were tender and filled with emotion, conveying a depth of sincerity that struck a chord within you.

And attempting to respond while standing close together in the hallway, grateful that no one interrupted your private moment, you began, "Willy..."

"You don't have to explain - I understand it's your career, and I don't want to jeopardize it - but I just needed you to know how I feel; otherwise, I'd regret it for the rest of my life."

Slowly untangling himself from your proximity, he then started to walk away. However, you couldn't let him leave like this.

After his heartfelt confession, even though circumstances seemed against you, you couldn't let him go without a response. Determinedly, you strode towards him.

"Willy," you called out loudly, causing him to turn around and face you again, just as you leaned in to connect your lips briefly once more.

"Just so you know, I'm not saying never."

A small smile graced the hockey player's face as he let out a relieved sigh, your words simply reassuring him that what was happening between you wasn't entirely off the table for the future.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | sexual content | objectification (f receiving) | penetration | pregnancy descriptions but no actual pregnancy or impregnation | mild breeding kink | size difference.

Seemingly cold and uncaring, you’d never think someone like DR. MANHATTAN could experience attraction. Unapproachable in nature, his glowing blue appearance does not scream invitation and yet you smile at him anyway. Polite at first, but at the sight of how his eyes soften so marginally, a real grin is drawn out of you.

She smiled at me. He thinks, endeared.

It endears him all the way to the rooftops, following you out into the night air as you watch the city below. As if he could still experience trickery without foreseeing the possible consequences of it in all forms, he’s lured to your side. You’re not put off, but you’re nervous, he can feel it emanate off you with each breath of your cells. It’s what dogs can smell. Without logical reason, he seeks to sooth your worries. Your self-doubts, your trepidations regarding being part of a team. Especially part of a team he’s a piece of, you can’t help but be intimidated by the big names you stand aside. He responds to your sharing with vague advice, anything to keep you talking, so he can listen to your voice, so he has an excuse to observe you from close range. He can count every hair follicle on your face, every bat of your long lashes at him while you look up at his towering figure. He knows to the millisecond exactly how long it took you to scan his form head to toe and back up again. Your hormones take a noticeable shift.

Ah, you’ve registered me as a sexual being. He thinks. A potential suitor, a mate, a lover. You want me.

So when the conversation takes a flirtatious turn, he allows it.

You’re young. The perfect age for fertilization if I was capable of procreation. Perhaps that is the basis of your appeal, your ability to carry children. He thinks. For a brief period, he attempts to visualize what that would be like. How your appearance would change, how your body would react, in what ways it’d never be the same after you’ve been with child. He ponders what abomination he’d create with his impossible physiology welded with the soft interiors of humanity. If he had any chromosomes, any flesh to bestow, there’s no way pregnancy would carry to term. There’s an entire war of disgusting politics that go on in a body when it grows an entire separate being inside it, a war that would be lost time and time again.

Yet his nethers stir, as if they’ve forgotten he’s unlike his former self. Those moments happen, even if they’re few and far in between. You are still attractive. You are still young. And you sit with him, and let him kiss you. Long, passionate kisses. He cups your face and slides his tongue against yours as you wriggle like an impatient pup against his bare chest. You want more, and he will grant it to you. So you take him home, you offer him tea which he accepts out of good manners but it goes cold untouched on the table while you bring him upstairs.

“Won’t you take off my clothes?” you ask, a lilt of innocence to your tone that conveys your lack of experience with someone like him. He moves to oblige you.

Ah, yes. Clothes. He thinks.

Fingers deftly graze your skin, seeking out zippers or strings or hemlines, things he remembers are tools to help remove clothes. He hasn’t had a need to wear anything for some time.

You open yourself to him. The human body is fascinating when it seeks to be bred. Legs spread, vaginal canal loosened, secreting fluid he would’ve called nectar back before he could walk on the surface of the sun. An entire internal process conducted step by step in order to ready to take him is a captivating ordeal indeed, one he chooses to observe through your sacrifice. He positions you onto your back, and manhandles you like he’s sure you’d like, laying your legs straight up against his chest and abdomen. Large hands wrap around your thighs to lift your tailbone from the mattress, entering you from this angle that has you yelling with need. With each hard thrust, his skin smacks against yours, rippling your tissue in a most artistic way, he watches your face contort with pleasure, fluids seeping out from your plugged up hole.

Surely you’re the best humanity has to offer. He’s no god, but if he was, he wouldn’t mind you as a tribute.

[loutalks2much]

before I speak I just wanna admit and apologize that I have not continued my gameplay on hpma whatsoever ever since my last update... oops

someone should make some sort of analysis on MC's personality or overall character because there's something about them that's so intriguing to me and I don’t know what it is ???

like the other characters have such interesting stories and each of them are the center of attention in a given year. but MC still somewhat stands out to me in a way

like they’re more of a supporting character- sometimes they barely talk (well, in comparison to the rest of the cast), and are somewhat mysterious yet so so SO normal. like there’s nothing particularly special about them; they’re super nice, sweet, brave, and fair—additionally somewhat charismatic and occasionally cheeky. idk what about them captivates me so much 😭

to me, it sometimes feels like the MC is their own character rather than me as a player but they’re also still a blank slate if ykwim?

they’re so?? enigmatic and you barely know anything about them other than they’re muggleborn. yet you can’t even find anything to be suspicious about because all they’ve ever done is risk their lives multiple times for their friends. probably to other people (seperating the in-game MC from people’s OCs) MC's like... ok, I guess- a typical and somewhat too bland of a main character. but something about them is so interesting to me and idk. I can’t place a finger on it,, it’s so weird to me 😭 like even now I haven’t played hpma at all in such a long time but out of all the characters, it’s MC who somehow stuck to me the most

[collectivecloseness]

sorry I hope you’re still wanting asks about those yan fruity 4 posts I’ve just seen them all sorry but I’m really intrigued by what’s been going on with ‘the lamps’(?) hinted at or like i don’t know if it’s something you’ve posted about earlier but what happened with the lamp after they kidnapped reader and like why they’re banned and stuff. Sorry if this is late or anything

OMG YES thank you so so much for bringing it up actually bc no I haven’t posted specifically about it yet, I really wanted to talk about this part but it felt too much to add on to the other posts!! But no no no absolutely I’m still loving talking about the yandere fruity four, and especially this specific like Nancy kidnapping au ig you could call it, absolutely do not hesitate to send me thoughts on this scenario you’re absolutely fine hahaha.

And yes, there was a specific incident that lead to the fruity four banning lamps from your room. That and water glasses, ceramic plates, bowls, vases... don’t worry, they still give you lots of flowers though :)

You thought in the first couple of days that they’d let you go. Then if not all of them, maybe some of them, eventually even just one.

But no. The four keep you locked in that room - ‘your new bedroom’, and they only seem to get more into the delusion that this will all work out well and you’ll forgive them, as time goes on.

Once your begging tactics don’t work, and you being smart and attempting an escape only leads to them feeling so much more sympathetic towards you and trying harder to be so lovey dovey, you decide to switch up tactics. Or, maybe it’s less of a decision, and more your emotions switching up as you deal with this trauma, threat, situation, whatever the hell this is.

Specifically, now you’re angry. Of course you have been pissed off, but now you’re ready to fight. You feel rageful. And you’re beginning to get so ballistic that where a few days ago you would have killed an entire town just to protect your friends, now you’re willing to do whatever you have to to either get out of here, or get them to fall out of ‘love’ with you, or at least let them know you’re serious business.

Just not... just not that, you wouldn’t go that far. Honestly? You couldn’t ever imagine doing... that.. to them, even if they have you locked up here. You don’t exactly see them the same way as before, and you never will, but they’ve saved your life so many times, and you’ve saved them. You’ve nearly fallen apart having thought one, or more of them, may have died, or are too close to danger; you can’t imagine losing them after feeling all of that, having been through that pain of waiting, no matter what they’ve done. You can’t feel that way ever again. But are you full of enough adrenaline and rage and justice to draw blood or fistfight your way through them and a whole door if needs be? Definitely.

Robin has come into your room alone one day, Eddie waiting by the door, as she comes to chat with you, check up on you.

You inform her that you can’t possibly be doing well, considering the circumstances, but Robin is pissing you off. Yet again she’s saying that you’re not getting out of here. And she even seems upset that you keep bringing it up!!

You try to have a semi normal conversation with her as you let her sit side by side on your bed- the bed. Hoping beyond hope that she’ll prove how much she loves you and at least talk to the others. You’re sure her even trying, and with you holding the same view, it might sway some votes. But Robin decides to leave you be with a sigh, standing as she turns away from you with a “Y/n that’s not gonna happen. I don’t know how many times we have to tell you, but we’ll keep doing so. Look just rest up because you haven’t been eating. And, you know, Steve’s been trying really hard to make all your favourites!”

She sounds more emotional talking about Steve’s efforts and trying to get you to understand their love, versus actually talking to you about your captivity. “Someone will come check on you again in an hour. But you know you can always ask for one of us if you wanna talk.”

Robin has her back fully turned, with Eddie opening the door and waiting for her, Steve and Nancy both meeting them in the hall too. You’re still on the other side of the bed, so no one bothers to get too close to the door, it’s not like you’re making a run for it this time from there.

But they shouldn’t have let their defences down.

Robin is still facing away from you, just a couple of feet from your open door, when suddenly a lamp is smashed into the wall and door frame in front of her, to the left of her head.

The three who watched from the hall are frozen in utter shock.

Robin stands still too. Before turning around to see you, breathing heavily, and with your arm still out from where you’d launched your bedroom lamp, right on the wall just feet away from her head, all to make your point.

Nancy and Steve quickly move forward, Nancy taking a step into your room for the first time without you screaming at her, but it’s because both of them are rushing and grabbing an arm of Robin’s each, pulling her out of the room so nothing else can happen that can escalate this further.

Robin looks utterly betrayed. Her mouth open in shock, still facing you even as her partners pull her out the room, and her eyes hurt by what you’ve just done. None of them could ever have expected this of you.

Which was weird considering the situation they’ve put you in, by acting so unexpectedly in your mind too.

Eddie looks away from you and to the ground with wide eyes, clearly also shocked and conflicted, maybe even a little ashamed, although who of you’re not sure.

But you keep your eyes fiery with rage, with your body still. Breathing hard, arm still stretched out, but apart from that you’re almost calm. Which is scarier for the others. Like you have no guilt about what you’ve just done whatsoever. Acting out violently, and threatening Robin. Who really had just come in your room, chatted with you, and not done anything wrong at all! She hadn’t even upset you today! Not until then...

They all close the door, and you can’t hear what must be a hushed conversation on the other side. But you just sit down on your bed, staring out the window. And wondering if the others would all restrain you even worse if you had thrown that lamp through there instead, to try and call for help.

Imagining all four of them all pinning you to the bed, you struggling, but your limbs with nowhere to go, their faces... their faces like in your nightmares, determined and scary. And imprisoning you even more. So that walking around in your room, which is all you can do right now, would be a luxury in comparison.

You try to get those thoughts out of your head, when you realise that after your little stunt, you’ll probably be left alone with just your mind for the next few hours.

Eddie comes in with dinner for you by the end of the evening, while Steve follows him in. You notice Robin at the end of the door, but when she catches your eye she looks away after a second, shutting it behind you three.

Eddie makes quick conversation about food and such, but you’re more focused on the way Steve’s completely avoiding looking at you, his head bent like he’s ashamed to do so. And then Eddie’s talking isn’t distracting you at all, because you notice Steve picking up the other two decorative lamps and hauling them under his arms.

When you ask him what he’s doing, even though you know full well, Steve seems shy around you almost. He’s pink in the face, and he does make a bit of eye contact, but mostly keeps his head down. They all agreed they should take the rest of the lamps out. You can tell he’s also sad about the whole you threatening Robin thing, especially since you know how much his ‘family’ is important to him.

If it takes making them unhappy to get them to understand this is not a good plan, then you don’t really care.

Nothing about what you did seems to have effected them too much at all though. And while you were getting more and more enraged at the fact your ‘ex’ friends had not only kidnapped you, but were obsessed delusional assholes, you were steaming even more at the fact they seemed to brush off your threat as if it was a little tantrum. Well, you knew they did take it seriously, but they were trying to act as if it was all okay and they love you just the same and everyone’s just moving on blah blah blah.

The day after your lamp stunt Robin came in with the other three, it was another attempt at getting you to not react so... poorly, to Nancy. And apart from a talk in the morning, and you bringing it up again at lunch, the others had tried to act normal with you. Whatever normal could possibly be with these guys.

The next day Robin came in with your meal, happily chatting away to you - after turning on the main light, considering it was dinner time and dark out. She didn’t even mention what you both knew was a little act of rebellion on your part, sitting in the dark for probably hours, because they took away your lamps. She just chatted with you and tried to hand you the new book Nancy had brought you a couple of days ago, asking if you’ve read it yet. Or if you’d like her to read it to you!

Apart from some spoken arguments on your end in the beginning, you were pretty quiet, as Robin lounged about your room, as she was free to do so in any room of her house, and tried to get you to open up again. Like you were before.

This time, as Robin turned to leave, the door shut closed, and facing your wall in the same spot she’d stood just two days before, you threw the now empty glass of water she’d given you across the room, and you smashed it into the back of her head.

It wasn’t particularly strong glass, and it half shattered the moment you threw it at Robin’s head. You knocked her out cold.

Steve heard the thump of something loud collapsing on your bedroom floor, and he ran down the hall to burst open your room. Upon finding Robin, knocked unconscious face first on the ground, and the broken cup by her side, Steve fell to his knees right by his best friend. Shock crashing through his system like frozen ice in his veins, his heart pumping wildly, as Steve scoops Robin up to his lap, watching her screw her face up and moan smally, as he pressed his hand to her cheek, Robin still remaining unconscious, if not seemingly alright apart from that.

But she was still hurt. The shock was still there. And Steve was very much aware that you, one of the loves of his life, had just hurt Robin on purpose.

“What the fuck have you done?” Steve asks stupefied. His hand on the back of her head coming back with just a small trail of blood, mixed into his best friend’s dirty blonde hair, as he looks up at you horrified. Steve is genuinely just shocked, asking you this.

Astounded and appalled by your actions. But for the first time after this, he looks at you differently. Because you watch Steve cradling Robin knocked out, and you just sit down on the edge of your bed. Nothing else in your hands. And you just look at them.

It’s the first time Steve has ever seen you differently...

But only a second later, Steve can tell there’s some upset in your eyes. You’re not looking at him as he just gawks at you, but with your head tilted down on him and Robin, he sees the shininess of wet in your eyes, a twinkle of deep deep knowledge and thought of your actions, of what led to Robin being like this. And Steve very very quickly remembers that you are just so stressed, he knows it’s not like he just never knew you, any thoughts he could have even started to think in his horror are no longer gonna sprout to his mind. He takes a second in dumb awe definitely, but Steve very quickly remembers just how hard this situation is for you, and of course in such terrible times, people act out in odd ways.

Even though this is not okay, he still understands you the same as he thinks he always has. He knows you’re not different, he knows that very clearly, and he certainly won’t let one incident effect how he thinks or feels about you. This just... none of this is right. And his focus is very much on Robin right now.

You’re crying as the four all take Robin out. They can all see and hear you, even though they’re panicked and fussing over Robin right now. For the first time no one really with you as you cry, as you sob, all just focusing on quickly checking Robin and what happened, as Steve carries her in his arms to take her downstairs. Everyone staggered at not only seeing Robin like this at home after running to Steve’s worried yells for them, but hearing you did it, and seeing you’re not even coming to her now. Your eyes full of tears and sobs aching your chest, as you watch Robin groan unconsciously, before they all take her out.

Even while Robin wakes up on the stairs downwards, just seconds after leaving your room, and as they all apply first aid while Robin is on the dining table downstairs, they can still hear your hearty cries from directly above them.

All their attention is on Robin, tears in their eyes and their touches all either medical or reassuring or loving, as they ask her questions ranging from ‘Can you tell me if this hurts? How many fingers am I holding up? Do you remember everything?’ All three genuinely upset at not only seeing Robin hurt, especially after all their trauma, and especially it happening in their home with all of them there who are supposed to protect her, but the fact you, their love, her love, did this. That you were so pent up from your situation you acted out like this.

The three all stay to console Robin, as she bawls knowing that you’d just done this to her, even as they all brace themselves from hearing your heaved and panicked wails and sobs from up above.

All five of you in agony. But this time none of them coming to try and help you.

Not one of you are even sure if them doing so would make you feel better, or worse, that night.

It was your first break, the first time you really acted not like yourself, not like anyone you ever wanted to be, but what they were turning you into.

You weren’t as destructive as that again. But it didn’t stop you from either acting out of impulsive and defensive anger, or letting them know you were serious.

Like one time with Eddie. He wasn’t one of the worst ones, if any of them could be called so, but sometimes being that meant he forgot his place. Like over a week in, when he very softly brushed his hand down your hair.

You were on his side the moment your spine finished crawling. Yelling angrily, but it was on par with Eddie’s pained yells for you to stop.

You were on top of Eddie’s side, yanking at his hair hard, pulling and scratching at locks of his shaggy mullet as you took literal tufts out furiously.

“Y/N STOP! STOP, STOP IT!!” Eddie yells, trying to push you off, but pained shrieks leaving like cries as it only means you rip more of his long waves out from his head. Eddie trying desperately to get you to stop, pushing not too hard at you because he didn’t want to and because it only made it worse.

You were screeching as you attacked at his head. Ripping Eddie’s hair out and not letting go whatsoever, even when the others were all pulling you off of him so hard it hurt. Your fingers going numb as your wrists were being squeezed, and your hands were being scratched up, as they try to unhook your claws from the knotted fistfuls of Eddie’s hair you’re grabbing onto. Arms wrapped around your body and upper arms tightly, squeezing you hard and painfully squishing you as they try pulling you away, while also soon pinning you down with their own bodies. Having to hurt you just a bit as they try and pull you off of him because you just will not let go. Eddie crying out in pain, you screaming madly, and the others all yelling your name and for you to stop loudly.

They were all acting quick and had to be uncaring about being a bit rough with you as they had to get you off of Eddie now. You were worried Steve was going to break your wrist, even though he would never want to, he was just squeezing it that hard, to the point that hand cramped so you couldn’t even untangle your fingers from Eddie’s knots if you tried. Steve’s other arm wrapped like a python around your body, as him and Robin tried leaning on top of you. All three scratching at the backs of your hands, Nancy’s especially pinching and painful. Gripping your fingers in such awkward and painful ways, as they tried to unhook you from Eddie’s head. But it still took all three of them and Eddie’s help a long time to fully free Eddie from your clutches.

By that point Steve and Robin were sitting on top of your body with their own. Crushing you. You were crying out, pained and panicked and horrified at being in a situation like this. Trying to breathe with them on top of you, made much harder by your sobs, as not only were they shadowing and crushing you, but also as you never ever wanted to be in this position with the stalkers who declared their love for you near constantly, the friends who you now were horrified by.

Eddie went straight to the floor as soon as he was free, panting and crying, looking right at you with those big fucking doe brown eyes, that you can barely see from where Steve’s torso is blocking your view as he shadows on top of you, but those fucking eyes making you wail even harder. For a completely different reason now.

Nancy goes right down to comfort Eddie. Meanwhile you’re trying desperately to get his hair out of your hands as quick as possible. The small strands you managed to get, making you feel sick to now have touching you, for a myriad of reasons. But you couldn’t get them off with Robin and Steve both lying on top of your restrained body. You could only shake your hands and not even purposely. Steve was still restraining your arms too, and now they were in a twisted position that hurt, but the four couldn’t exactly focus on that when they were concentrated on Eddie. Even if you knew you were in a similar amount of pain to what he was in, at least in some way.

They had to restrain you, if you were hurting them, if they had to, you might get a couple of bruises from attacking them, but they would never, ever hurt you apart from that. They don’t want to. And they weren’t hurting you too badly, even now, they wouldn’t do that. You were still their love but you were just acting out in dangerous ways.

Nancy hit you. She knocked you unconscious. She tied you up so much the others had all thrown up at least once from the image since. And then they’d all kidnapped you. You guess, to be fair, they don’t always respond much the other times you hurt them. They even accepted it sometimes.

Although that could occasionally infuriate you more.

Steve comes to check on you and see if you’re hurt, after they’ve all gotten a sobbing Eddie breathing again and somewhat looked over downstairs. You spit in his face. Steve still gives you first aid for your bruises and scratches, and apologies.

Sometimes when you hurt them they’ll stay there and accept it. Sometimes they just simply leave you be. And sometimes they apologise, but you know it’s not just for the recent reason that caused you to hurt them, you know they know what they’re doing to you is wrong, even if they convince themselves it’ll all be good.

Sometimes you didn’t care after one had left and you’d hurt them; you’d think you only really did so when they deserved it, even though for what they’ve done they always deserve so.

Sometimes you feel bad. That’s normally for when you’ve hurt them more than just one quick reaction.

You could slap Robin in the face, and she could look into your eyes with absolute awe and sadness, you’d stay exactly where you were, staring her down. Other times you could kick Steve in the stomach as he was on your floor for something, but the moment you meet his teary eyes, you were sobbing at him to just go, because you didn’t want him to see you cry because of this. It was usually context dependent.

Nancy once left your room with scratches all over her face. Steve was shocked and immediately grabbed Nancy’s cheeks, lightly, to look at her face in all angles, where he waited for her down the hall. Worried about Nancy because of course he is, he loves her and she’s part of his family, but also asking her what the hell happened in there?

They were light scratches, they’d fade soon. At least when you hurt them with your fingernails or something, it wasn’t like an object they could take away from you. Like the fact you now only get plastic cups. Your nails were getting bitten to hell enough anyway.

She’s tried to instinctively push your wrists away when you first started clawing at her face, trying to soothingly say “Y/n-“ but you went for her lips. Nancy leaned her head away from you, backing up, but you kept following. And she kept her hands trying to chase your arms, trying lightly to push you off of her. Getting slightly more panicked when you tried to pin her down and really go at her face, Nancy thought of democreatures pinning her and loved ones down and attacking if that happened, but you were in one of your moods where you were set on your task.

She winced and cried out quietly and tried talking to you, asking you to stop now, that she’d go okay? Hissing and whining and groaning sad you continued wildly scratching at her anywhere you could get near her face, neck and shoulders too a little, dragging them down. And also a little scared, definitely hurt, and worrying the longer it goes on. But she’s managed to hit your hands down in one swoop and back up a couple of steps, and as she knew, that pause made you finally stop. Especially with Nancy telling you she’d just leave now, okay?

Nancy hadn’t even called out for help, even though she had obviously asked and tried to get you to stop. She didn’t want any of her other partners to go talk to you either, not that they’d really ‘punish ’ you much or anything though. Nancy understood, even if she didn’t like the fact you’d do things like this now, no matter how much, she loved you, so so dearly, it would never ever change no matter what you do.

Sometimes they won’t call out to the others if you hurt them, either they think they can handle it, or mostly it’s because they feel like they deserve it. You can get it out, it’s okay, they understand how maddened you must be, and they know they’ve got a lot of making up to do to you, they’re guilty enough to let you do so anyway. Not guilty enough to convince themselves they should let you leave them or anything though. They can’t have that happen, they just couldn’t cope if that..! But even if they’re a bit emotionally hurt at those times, they’re not mad at you.

And unfortunately, they do start to become slightly less surprised by it. Even though at the same time, past the first two - three weeks, your attacks lessen. It would be an odd looking chart.

Nancy’s making graphs of you concerning different things though, it helps her keep peace of mind sometimes. And they all have big family talks about you a lot anyway, more than they even did before you joined their home, so she has all of them to show her notes to.

That scratching at her was still pretty early on after she hit you and knocked you out, Nancy can’t blame you for acting out. Even if she feels right having you here, finally having you home, Nancy felt guilty for hurting you.

The first time she tried to have a conversation with you, after they all explained you would be staying here now, you’d looked at her with such emotion in your eyes as you said “You hit me Nancy.”

Nancy could never forget that. She’d burst into tears the moment you said it, but kept her eyes right on you, her hand to her heart, as you looked at her so betrayed, so hurt, so in shock that she would ever do something like that to you.

“I’m- I’m so so sorry y/n..!” Nancy hiccuped, tears streaming down her pink cheeks as she felt genuine horror at knowing she had hit you. She loves you. She can’t believe she would ever be the type of lover to hit you. After both of you saving each other’s lives. After all the promises she made to your image. Being so sure she and the others were the right option for you, the best way to keep you safe, and loved, and comforted always, your future. She hit you hard enough to make your head bleed, and then she’d taken you away.

The others weren’t exactly comforting her at that point. But Nancy would have directed them back to you anyway, during that conversation. Nancy never wanted to hit you again.

Steve had soothingly applied first aid to the scratches you’d clawed all into Nancy’s face, and neck, trying to ask her if she was okay, emotionally they both knew he meant, but Nancy kept promising she was fine. Even though everyone in the house felt a gloom cloud over the home and all of them each time you became different and hurt someone.

They did understand. And they still loved you. Sometimes you were genuinely scared in that moment, even a little traumatised (they were horrified to think it), and they really didn’t blame you at all in those moments. Usually someone would stay with you to try and calm you down from your panic attack state about the other one going to hurt you, as someone else took them out of the room, to check they were okay.

They really did feel awful for you in those instances. No one treated you differently after them. They were even more caring in fact. Just trying to soothe you into knowing you were okay, they weren’t trying to hurt you, look at them, just look at them, in their eyes don’t look at the other, nothing is going to try and hurt you, they promise, it’s alright, no one is going to harm you here okay? You’re safe.

Steve had been that person to breathe with you once, when you’d repeatedly shoved Eddie hard to the ground, and kicked Nancy to the floor as well, not allowing either of them up as you panickedly kept pushing them down, convinced that one or both of them were about to hurt you. As soon as Robin helped them both leave and shut the door to leave the room quiet, with Steve holding your shoulders and looking into your eyes, his own sure but empathetic, and comforting as well as strong, talking you through how safe you were as you came down from your sudden panic, you’d moved forward in a rattling fearful sob and wrapped your arms around Steve.

Steve felt shame for the fact he thought you were coming to tackle him too, rather than hug him, but he’s sure it’s because he hasn’t felt you hug him since he first untied you in this room. And not leaping at him wanting his comfort in that long either. Immediately, Steve’s wrapping his arms around you, and he’s hugging you just as he’d always do before. Tight, but not too strongly, tender and soothing. He kept you close, as your fists gripped onto his waist and shirt, one of his hands stroking your hair down your head, neck, and shoulders. As he let you place your head into his shoulder, and he pressed his cheek into your head, your hair moving softly together, as he held you in his close arms.

He holds you, he just holds you, he does everything you need right now, that you’ve probably needed for a long time. His words confident and soothing, promising you all the safety in the world. Letting his soft cheek finally press against your warm one again. Actual skin on skin contact, to comfort both of you. Letting him finally be not just the hero, screw that, but your friend again, one of your best friends. Steve’s heart and body full of relief at the fact he’s able to comfort you again. And hugging and holding you lovingly, the same way he did before, nothing more, it wasn’t needed. All Steve needed and all he wanted right then in the entire world was to hug you and make you feel safe and comforted. And so, that’s exactly what he did. Exactly like he would as your friend, and he is still your friend! He would never ever stop, and he’s so so glad you’re letting him be your friend again, just like before.

For two full minutes you clung onto Steve and sobbed, needing your best friend to promise you that you were not in danger right now, as you came down from feeling like you most definitely were. And Steve relished that you were finally able to be comforted by him again, but also that you let him, that you wanted him, and that you’d been so so brave to come to him for it first. You were amazing. You were constantly proving how strong you were. And he loved you, not just like that, but in every single way.

It killed Steve just a little bit after just those two minutes, when you pulled back, and looking right down at the floor, arms wrapped around yourself instead, you quietly asked him to leave now. And that the next day, you didn’t reach out to him or the others, in any way the same. That you seemed even sadder...

But he had told the others what had happened. It at least gave them all hope. All they want is to be able to comfort you again, they just don’t want you to feel like this anymore, and especially not all alone.

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

I can’t stop writing little vignettes, moments from random parts of my bard durge Killian’s life. Should I be putting them on AO3? I don’t know. But I need to get them out of me like an exorcism.

Anyway, have a moment of internal crisis set a few years before BG3, after he and Gortash have been working together for some time but before they’ve really gotten the Absolute hoax off the ground. Very “prayer of forgiveness” inspired.

It’s Durgetash, but not nsfw beyond a bit of murder between friends. Canon-typical dark urge behaviour.

———

The body twitched and moaned from where it hung from the rafters, a noose fit snugly around its neck and its arms bound behind its back, toes scrambling for purchase on the stool below its feet. By now, the gag in its mouth was soaked through from all its blubbering and its face glistened in the low light, streaked with tears and spittle.

Killian lay on the bed only a few feet away, unmoved by the plight of a soul that was already committed to Bhaal. He strummed out a few ominous chords on the lute while he waited. A funeral dirge for the sacrifice, a calming melody for his own nerves. It was a shame to make Father wait so long for a sacrifice in the name of theatre. It was the sort of thing that Orin would do. But this was important. A test. An apology, perhaps.

Orin may have been sorely misled about the way in which their father demanded death, but she was right about some things. About the beauty in a well-executed kill, for one. Almost… romantic.

Kill sighed and flexed his toes as he plucked away – new boots still stiff, the leather yet to be broken in. Already they were dotted in flecks of blood splatter from bludgeoning the sacrifice before dragging it here. Soon enough they would be soft and supple and dyed a coppery maroon by the blood of his victims. Their victims.

The lock to the chamber door clicked and Kill sat up straight, tossing his lute aside. The body quit its struggling, going still as if it hoped whoever lay beyond the door would be its saviour. A hysterical notion, for the both of them.

The door swung open to reveal the Chosen of Bane, who took only a moment to assess the scene laid out in his bedchambers before stepping towards the man hanging from the rafters, unperturbed, to look up and meet his eyes. The captive began to grunt and thrash frantically, a wordless yet desperate plea for mercy, but Enver Gortash only rolled his eyes and turned away to face his co-conspirator with a scoff.

“Couldn’t you have taken a moment to lay down a few rags? It takes forever to get the blood out of the floorboards. I’ll have to get a wizard in.”

There was a spark of amusement in the admonishment. The man hanging from the ceiling’s frantic grunting quieted back to muffled sobs. Killian stood to meet Gortash and pressed a dagger to the body’s lower back, forceful but not hard enough to break skin. It whimpered, then went silent.

“I promise I’ll make it clean,” Kill purred, his eyes heavy-lidded with something like intoxication. The drunken feeling of death so near, at his fingertips. Of something else, at his fingertips. With his free hand, he reached out and ran his fingers over the sleeve of Gortash’s cloak. “New?”

“Do you like it?” Gortash smirked and tilted his head as if he was suppressing the impulse to do a twirl. “I just got back from the tailor.”

“Very archducal,” Kill said. “You should get a portrait done.”

Gortash’s smirk didn’t waver. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” He gestured to the man hanging from the ceiling. “Special occasion? Some Bhaalian holiday I don’t know about?”

Kill drew back and shrugged, suddenly hesitant. “Not exactly. You weren’t the only one with a sartorial consultation today. I went to see a cobbler this afternoon.”

That smirk didn’t falter, but it froze, the expression on Gortash’s face suddenly all too still. “Is that so?”

“Father’s orders,” Kill murmured.

Gortash made a noise in the back of his throat, something like a laugh, but swallowed whole before it could escape. He turned away and looked up again at the tear-streaked face of the captive man. “Well, out with it. Have you made me an orphan or not?”

“Don’t act like you’d be sad,” Killian hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits again. The dagger in his hand trembled against the body’s back, threatening to draw a portrait of his shame upon its spine. “I’d only be hastening the inevitable.”

Gortash took a moment to consider this, then turned back to meet Kill’s eyes, that smirk brightening into a true smile.

“So not.” His excitement was palpable— and certainly not out of any concern for the Flymms. His eyes flicked to Killian’s feet. “And you even bought new shoes!”

“Your mother was very persuasive… it must run in the family,” Kill said, his shoulders hunching, his voice dripping with venom. Like he wasn’t sure if he hated himself or Gortash more, and that hate was fueling something unspeakable within him.

Gortash laughed, swiftly grasping Killian by the shoulders, bringing their faces mere inches apart. The crackle of energy between them was as heady as the scent of blood in the air, and Killian struggled to decide whether to fight against it or give in. “You defied your father for me. Your god,” Gortash said, his voice just shy of awestruck.

Killian did struggle. Hate was a mortal’s most powerful emotion. The most holy. And gods above and below, did Enver cloud his mind with a wet swirl of billowing heat— not heat— righteous, unholy hatred.

“They’re still going to die–and by my hand, I swear it. I will do as my father commands,” Kill insisted, but dropped his dagger so he could bring his hands to Enver’s sides, slipped beneath the brand new cloak, soft, velvety, lovely. He felt himself falter, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper, almost fond. “But I saw no harm in a small delay to allow you a bit of vengeance first.”

With a jubilant, throaty laugh from Enver, their lips crashed together and Killian nearly stumbled back and fell into the bed. He steeled himself, twisting an arm around Enver’s waist as images flashed behind his eyelids of his own body laid bare, flayed and forgotten, on the bloodstained stone of his father’s temple. Enver pressed forward, bringing them closer together, and Kill clawed at him, desperate, needy, almost forgetting his purpose for coming here in the first place.

A prayer, an apology. A test.

Just as he was about to fall back and lose himself entire, he kicked out, sending the stool beneath the sacrifice’s feet flying across the room. It let out a strangled cry as the noose tightened, then went blissfully silent as its neck snapped clean.

Killian felt the rush as the sacrifice’s life left its body, the pure and perfect euphoria always granted by his father. And still, insanely, absurdly, unconscionably, he found himself leaning more fully into Enver Gortash’s arms— and the abhorrent answer to all of his heretical questions filled his soul like the rush of blood pumped by his foul heart.

This wasn’t hate, but it was something pure. Something perfect. Something absolutely vile.

Sceleritas would have a fit. And his father— he would never—

Please forgive me.