#and the initial shock of ''oh. those are piercings.''

[tltfu]

Imagine, one day cat! Reader followed haruka to the school without his knowing, when they arrived at his school he meet nirei and suo.

At first suo stared at the cat!reader who is peeking behind the gate, he didn't know that cat! Reader is following sakura he just think the cat just a ordinary cat who is just stared at something that interest it. When they arrived at their class sakura is sitting at his seat, meanwhile cat!reader is outside the Classroom door want to open the door but can't do it.

The cat meowing, the voice became louder to get anyone notice it. Then came enamoto, kusumi and kaji who came to the class for the class president vote.

They stared at the cat shock that a cat is inside bofurin's school, kusumi just pick up the cat. And then they bring the cat, sakura who is familiar with the cat is in shock that cat!reader follow him to school.

Kiryuu is having cute aggression because of how cute cat!reader is.

💀 I love your writing ❤ can't wait to read the next part

A Cat in the gang…?

…in which cat!reader decides to follow our Cat magnet to school.

Part 2 of this!

Haruka lived close to Furin, so his mornings usually consisted of:

waking up.

washing his face in the sink.

changing to his uniform.

getting out of the door.

(maybe) go to Pothos.

…that's it, really.

Today is just like any other one of those days.

…or is it?

What he didn't notice was how a furry friend followed him alllll the way to Furin.

The first person to notice the cat was Suo. He raised a brow at it, but let it slide for the time being. It could be merely another stray cat roaming the streets.

Little did Suo know that the stray cat had a purpose to wander into the school.

The second time the cat was noticed was when the door to class 1-1 was (rudely) slammed in its face. The initial instinct was to scratch at the movable wall, but when that didn't work, it ended up having to loudly meow at the terrifying door to scare it away.

…well, that wasn't working.

But it DID work to get some help from other humans.

Three second years had been meaning to help class 1-1 choose their class captain, but instead found this adorable kitten outside the door.

“You rrrrrreally want to go in therrrre, Kitty?” Enomoto mused as he saw Kusumi pick it up, opening the door to enter the room-

Only for the cat to squirm out of Kusumi's hold right when the door opened.

It landed on the floor silently amidst the chaos, tail happily swishing as it padded over to Haruka and rubbed against his leg with a soft little “meow!”

Just begging to be picked up and coddled.

“Ohhh, so that's why I saw a cat at the school gates earlier. You should've told us that you have a cat, Sakura-kun.” Suo chuckled as the black-and-white-haired boy's face turned a beautiful shade of scarlet after cycling through a few shades of pink.

“I…I- How did you get here!?” Despite the embarrassment, Haruka managed to pick up the cat and give it belly rubs. Its gentle purrs were too adorable NOT to… and how its ears were turned backward, eyes closed, like it was living the best life ever.

No one has ever seen Sakura like this before. So… gentle.

It's obvious that he hasn't given up on the topic of giving and receiving affection… just not from humans.

Silence filled the room.

Painful, yet not awkward silence.

…until a squeal pierced the peace.

“Kyaaaaaa! I didn't know Sakura-kun was a cat whisperer~”

Oh, it was Kiryu.

“It even looks like you! Aaaaaa, so cute~”

Kiryu reached out to pet the cat, only to get hissed at for invading its personal space.

“Oh? You don't like being pet?... but you're letting Sakura pet you!”

The cat stared into his eyes for a good 3 seconds before its eyes closed once more, ignoring the (now sulking) teen.

Haruka felt a small smile creeping at his lips, but he forced himself to keep a stoic face as he continued showering the cat with affection.

“Neko-chan.”

“Huh???”

“Her name is Neko-chan. Let it get used to your scent before trying to pet her… she isn't really cuddly.”

Thanks for reading!!! <3

Maybe part 3?

Don't got any ideas though.

Written by tltfu.

[cloudrunnerscinnamon]

An "early-ish" House MD one shot. House and reader :)

The reader experiences a particular bad night and finds herself stuck in the ER with the one and only Greg House. This could really go either way...

gif is not mine (found it on google)

"Getting mugged wasn’t the worst part about my night"

„I’ll do it“ House took the IV-bag from the nurse before she could argue with him. You on the other hand really didn’t want him near you. However, you knew House well so you decided against putting up a fight and let him take care of you. He made clear that he wanted to watch over you, discussion over. Doctor’s orders. 

Wilson, Cuddy and all of  House’s attendees (old and new) were standing a few meters away from the two of you. The initial shock of you getting mugged and being delivered into the ER with a grade 3 concussion and a laceration to the forehead had worn off but they all felt like staying close. Now, in fact, they were shamelessly watching the scene in front of them unfold. They all knew this would probably be the pivoting point of House’s and your relationship. For a month the two of you had been buzzing around each other. Chase had bets running as per usual. Wilson was sure you would crack first and confess to House how you felt about him. Cuddy on the other hand had put in for „House, taking one more risk for the sake of finally finding happiness“, what can you do, she was sappy like that. There were a few more variants going around in the bookie but those were the two most popular. 

It wasn’t like House or you were denying that you liked each other. It was obvious, the amount of time you spent together and the pile of insiders you shared annoyed everyone around you. But whenever somebody tried to inquire, all they ever got was a 

„Oh, House and me?“

„(Y/N) and me?“ 

„We just hang out, we watch the same crappy shows and like to piss of the pizza place with weirdly specific orders.“ 

„Seriously, we are just friends!“ Even Wilson couldn’t coax a confession out of his stubborn friend. 

Funny thing, neither of you wanted to screw things up by showing your cards. 

„This will sting a bit,“ House was sitting on a chair in front of you taking your hand in his and carefully inserting an intravenous catheter. His hands were steady and his movements well practiced. You still hissed a little when the needle pierced through your skin and you could feel House’s blue eyes immediately on your face. He wanted to say something but reconsidered busying himself again with attaching the tube of the IV- bag to the IV-line. 

„Sure didn’t sting as much as the rest of the night,“ you snatched your hand away as soon as House seemed satisfied with his work. 

„And no, I am not talking about getting mugged.“ The harsh tone of your voice surprised you. Yes you were hurting because of him and yes you were out of your mind from the pain in your chest, your heart, but still. Wounding House didn’t give you any pleasure or redemption. It still sucked. All of it. Stacy sucked, their kiss sucked and what you heard him say, well, that just was the cherry on top. 

House didn’t get up from his chair but remained right in front of you. The chaotic atmosphere of the ER didn’t seem to phase him at all. Slowly he went to take your hand again but you brushed him off. 

„Fuck off House. I don’t want you near me.“ For a second you could see the pain in his eyes flash, then it was gone again. Replaced by his usual wall of safety guards. Safety guards he had let slowly and steadily dissolve with you. He wasn’t going to give up that easily now.

„Yeah, sorry I’m not going anywhere.“ House sounded firm even though you were sure he was confused and so out of his comfort zone. Him prolonging eye contact and taking a „stance“ was all just an act to hide his feelings and ever growing insecurity. For once the doctor was actually scared to lose someone. Displaying confidence and nonchalance was all he knew how to do right now. 

„What? I am not being funny here.“ You leaned further back, unconsciously creating more distance between you and House. Why didn’t he just leave already. Did he take some weird pleasure in knowing that you had overheard his and Stacy’s conversation? That earlier this week you had seen them kiss in his office? You were so angry and hurt that getting mugged almost felt like a nice distraction. 

„Just go!“ You made a flinging motion with your hand and your voice broke from all the emotions. House scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes at you like he simply didn’t understand what was going on. He was confused by your actions. He was here, he was taking care of you and still you wanted him to leave. 

„Why do you want me to go away?“ His voice was small, he seemed sincere which made you want to jump out of your skin. Sad, hurt, humiliated all of which you were feeling right now but deep down there was also frustration and anger. All those month of casually hanging out and spending time together. Was that all a lie? It had felt so genuine. Could you have been so wrong about another person? You sure weren’t stupid. You had never thought of yourself as the one that would change House. You knew many had and tried to be friends as well as love interests and they had all failed more or less miserably. You simply enjoyed being around him as he was. You liked being his friend. Oh how very stupid you felt now. Friends? Your thoughts were interrupted by House’s voice. It sounded modulated like he was really trying to stay in control of his demeanor.

„(Y/N)?“  

Irritatingly for you the shock of getting mugged, the thudding pain in your skull and Stacy’s performance had taken a big chunk out of your self-control. There just wasn’t anything left to hold back the emotions from spilling over. Tears blurred your vision and your mouth twisted into a thin line. At least you were able to hold back that sob building in your throat. You knew you couldn’t take it much longer, something had got to give. 

„Because it hurts to look at you.“ And there it was. Painfully aware of all the people around you and House blankly staring at you. Was he in shock? Your voice had been so much more penetrating than you had anticipated. Shit, where did all that pain come from all of the sudden? Why weren’t you able to look away from those blue eyes? Was he even breathing? Were you breathing? Why was it so quiet? Was anyone breathing? 

„I love you and you crushed my heart!“ Those eight words had slipped out of your mouth before you even noticed they had formed on your tongue. Your own thoughts betraying you and that at the worst time. Why was your face so wet? Then the blue eyes were gone. House remained unnervingly silent. He had however gotten up from the chair. The doctor’s back was turned towards you. His right hand held onto an unused IV-stand. Was he steadying himself? Might be his leg but the pain had gotten a little less excruciating of late. You knew that because he had confided in you. Hot tears were still running down your reddened face while you stared at House’s unmoving figure.

Behind the two of you, at the reception counter of the ER, Wilson shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He huffed out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. Cuddy throw a cautious look at him. They both felt bad. Usually Chase’s bets didn’t turn into such a flurry of dramatic events. Wilson could sense the rising uneasiness of his colleagues around him. He cleared his throat and leaned back a little, turning his head towards Chase. 

„Now that it happened I don’t know why you let me place that bet.“ Chase’s arms were crossed in front of his chest. He silently stared at (Y/N) and House. 

„This is totally upsetting and those are our friends.“ Wilson knew the Aussie doctor wouldn’t let him off the hook that easy and he especially wouldn’t lend any emotional comfort. 

„So you forfeit?“ Chase raised an eyebrow at Wilson. 

„I,“ Wilson hesitated, his moral compass was spinning like a merry-go-round. 

„No, I don’t. I just think we are terrible friends.“ 

Chase snorted and rolled his eyes. 

„Just because we took on bets doesn’t mean we aren’t their friends. Or well (Y/N)’s friends, I don’t know about House. Does House actually have friends?“ 

Wilson looked dumbfounded and left Chase hanging for a good comeback. The other doctor took that as enough of an answer. Just then Chase‘s pager went off. He glanced at it quickly and with another nod towards Wilson, he pushed himself off the reception counter, he had been leaning against and left.

The machines, next to the bed you were sitting on, started to beep loudly. Immediately House turned around and checked for the reason of the onslaught of alarms. A nurse standing nearby also rushed over. You followed House’s line of vision and quickly realized that your condition hadn’t suddenly taken a turn for the worse. The pulse oximeter that had been clamped onto your left index finger had slipped off. You hadn’t even noticed. 

„It’s okay I got it.“ House waved at the nurse stoping her in her track. She just nodded and went back to scribbling on the chart of another patient. House’s hands took a hold of our left one, he slipped the pulse oximeter back on. The noise stopped and the numbers on the screen went back to somewhat normal at least as far as your non existing medical understanding told you. He kept holding your hand and you let him. Your outburst and confession had drained you even more and you were left longing for contact. 

„There, looks good, normal heart rate. So it can’t be crushed.“ House smiled openly at you although it seemed a little too assertive. You couldn’t believe your ears. 

„You are kidding me right?“ Once again you wanted to pull your hand away from his but he held on. It took you a few seconds to untangle your fingers from his, he watched you struggle a bit bevor slowly letting go. You sniffled and tears started to come anew. The way he kept looking at you made you nervous and confused. House’s weird behavior was something you clearly couldn’t deal with. The moodiness, rude arrogance and sheer lack of interest in other people’s necessities you could handle – but this? This was worrisome. 

„House, please just – just leave.“ It sounded like a plea, your tremulous voice not helping. However House didn’t respond. He looked back up to the monitors again, busying himself, biding his time. You knew he wasn’t gonna leave. A frustrated huff through your nose. Shaking your head in disbelieve you let its weight sink down into your hand, rubbing over your forehead. 

„Why do you call me House?“ Your head snapped back up. The blue eyes were on yours again. 

"You never call me House.“ He said his own name like something foreign, something he had to get his tongue acquainted with.

„It’s always been Greg,“ his eyes fell and you had to bend forward a little to still hear him. „Right from the beginning. You only ever use House when you talk to other people.“ To say you were shocked was an understatement. 

„Seriously? This is what you are going with?“ The harshness of your tone was matched my House’s soft response. You had never seen him so abashed.

„Just tell me,“ a quiver at the right corner of his lips, „Please?“ This, you weren’t able to deny. House was either being sincere in all his coyness or he was playing you to get what he wanted but whichever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from indulging him.

„I call you House because everybody does and I am not special.“ Fast and prompt, no time to think about your choice of words. This day wasn’t gonna get any worse, was it? Might as well lean into it then. House was right though. You had always preferred calling him Greg. You understood that at work people referred to him as House. It was both formal and still not too friendly for coworkers. In the beginning you hadn’t actually really noticed that hardly anybody besides you called him Greg but when you realized it you couldn’t help but ask yourself why. The nature of your relationship (or friendship to be correct) was purely pleasure. You didn’t share anything work related and so the version of House you hung out with struck you more as a Greg kind of House other than a House House. 

„To call you House is safe,“ you said and in your head you added: and it is less intimate. With a heavy sigh House took a few steps and let himself sink down next to you on the hospital bed. Both your feet were dangling down and you followed the swinging motion with your eyes. For some reason a comfortable silence fell over you. The ER was, now as before, busy but the different sounds and monotonous buzzing worked like a coat slipping around the two of you. There was enough room to stay still in all the hectic. For the next couple of minutes House and you quietly agreed on taking a breather. 

The dull thud of Houses cane on the floor made you jerk up a little. He was going to say something. Repeatedly hitting the and of his cane on the floor was a tell-tale-sign of the Doctor building up to saying something. You had noticed that relatively early, but you weren’t sure if he realized you knew. House would mold the words in his mind until they satisfied him enough to actually say them. You also knew that he only ever did that if he was nervous or stressed out about what he wanted to say. 

„(Y/N), I am not with Stacy. Even though you might think that after what you heard tonight.“ Ah of course, yes, this would definitely make House uncomfortable. You just stayed silent, letting him continue.

„And trust me I know it sounds cliché but it is not what you think it is.“ He half laughed at that, it sounded studded with frustration and a hint of desperation. 

„What is it then? Because it really did sound like the two of you were making up.“ As soon as the words left your mouth you wanted to take them back. You really didn’t want to know. It was enough for you to know that it hurt. 

„You know what? Don’t answer me,“ you lifted your hand, pressing the palm of it against your eyes in an attempt to dampen the headache. It didn’t work and you let your hand sink down again, resting it on your upper thigh. 

„Do you love her?“ Since you had arrived in the ER you had tried to avoid looking at House but the question you had just put to him demanded you to make eye contact. House didn’t immediately answer. His long fingers scratched absentmindedly at his stubbled chin.

„No I don’t and I haven’t for quite some time.“ There was so much conviction in House’s voice that you didn’t doubt he was telling the truth. 

„What I said, what you heard,“ the doctor kept looking around while continuing to explain himself. Scanning over the room but hardly registering what was going on. 

„I wasn’t talking about Stacy and me. But without the proper context I can see how you might think that.“  He snuck a peek at you trying to gauge how this conversation was going. Only the white knuckles of his hand holding his cane in an iron grip gave aways how tense he was. Throwing your hands in the air you could only shake your head. This whole situation was ridiculous. 

„You kissed, I saw you, in your office.“ you said bluntly. You were ready to start a fight. Leaving everything pent up wasn’t gonna work. If House thought he could fool you with this talkative demeanor you were sure as hell gonna make him work for it.  

„I know and I felt awful“ Small voice, barely more than a murmur and two absurdly blue irises. Aaaaand there you crumbled again. You involuntarily mimicked House’s wispy smile.

„Didn’t look like that,“ you muttered. He grabbed your hand carefully avoiding the IV catheter. His fingers drew small patterns on the back of your hand. 

„Well do you believe me if I say you got that the wrong way around as well?“ 

Yes, your thoughts screamed and you wanted to threw yourself into House’s arms. Instead you pressed out a, „No.“ 

But he let you have that one, making sure you could keep your dignity. 

„Fair enough“. House intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing them a little. He sucked in a breath of air.

„But,“ drawing out the vowel, House made his point anyways,“I’m sorry, you do have it the wrong way around.“ Was that his teasing tone? Was he actually mocking you? To be fair you could feel the tension draining from your body. If anyone would ever try to convince you that House wasn’t able to understand emotions and steer them empathetically you would just laugh in their face. Which is also what you did now. You laughed because frankly you were overwhelmed.

„Whatever. This is humiliating.“ You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or to laugh.

„She kissed me.“ House added, looking all dopy and school boyish. You gaped at him. House was carefully maneuvering this sinking wreck off a ship into saver waters and you knew it but it was still annoying you. Why was it working? 

„Oh well that changes everythi–„ You jumped right on board and countered sarcastically but House cut in.

„Yeah no, I know it doesn’t.“ He agreed with you however he wanted you to fully understand the circumstances. 

„The only reason I let her was because I am shit at feelings.“ House shrugged his shoulders.

„What? Sorry you lost me. You are shit at feelings so you kiss your married Ex-wife?“ Was he kidding you? Your hand slipped away from his and you tugged your arms tightly around your middle. You didn’t want to fell like that but anger and frustration where front runners again. House got the message. When he talked next the lightness in his voice was gone.

„If you are shit at feelings you might not be able to trust them. Sometimes I need actions to fully understand them. Actions I get and I am good at them.“

Your mouth opened but potential words were stopped by an index finger pressed against your lips.

„Ah ah ah wait!“ The Doctor removed his finger and continued.

„So when she kissed me I was able to say goodbye,“ he paused for a second, “ because there was nothing. No love, no anger or other sentiment. It was only a kiss which I did not particular care for. It cleared my head.“ 

„Hmm.“ Not as articulate as you would have liked to be but you couldn’t manage more, so you just kept listening. 

„I wanted to come after you. I…“, House hesitated then he turned a little more towards you. He wanted to see your eyes but you kept your gaze low. 

„Your face. The way you just turned around and left.“ His voice was husky.

„I told Stacy then, what I just told you… and to be fair she was pissed. I should have know that she wouldn’t leave it at that.“ A bitter chuckle slipped from House’s mouth and he shook his head. The doctor was lost in his thoughts for a second. Your voice pulled him back into the ER.

„So when you asked me to come by to talk, you in fact wanted to talk?“ Maybe all was not lost. Maybe just, maybe this day had still something good to offer.

„Oh yes, yes I did and other stuff“ A cheeky grin appeared on House’s face and he softly bumped his shoulder agains yours. When you looked at him he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

„Shut up,“ you snorted. This man is unbelievable. 

„Not funny yet?“ He lightly poked your thigh, testing the waters. 

„Nooooo,“ you said, returning the shoulder bump. 

You looked at each other, wary smiles meeting. House drew in a heavy breath then. He still had a few things he wanted to say, get out of his system. 

„Stacy rang the doorbell 10 minutes before you. She must have left the door ajar. And the rest, you witnessed first hand.“ He scratched the back of his neck and proceeded.

„Annoyingly not all of it. Seeing that we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.“

You nodded slowly, processing. Neither of you knew what to say now so you just kept sitting next to each other. It wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward it just seemed necessary to pause for a bit. 

After a few minutes you suddenly had this weird feeling of being watched. You became more aware of your surroundings and let your eyes drift. Behind you, at the reception counter you saw House’s attendees as well as Cuddy and Wilson jump apart like they had been caught red handed. All of them were making it a point to be terribly busy looking. 

„I can’t believe they are all still watching us.“ You nodded towards the group of doctors. House followed your line of sight and you could feel him growing a little bit uneasy. There was no smile on his face and his features seemed more in control. You didn’t want to see him so gloomy after there had just been some kind of light at the end of the tunnel. You wrapped your hand around House’s elbow and tucked a bit. His head turned back to you. You were surprised to find sadness and, what was that? Remorse? Etched into his face.

 „They are making sure I don’t crush your heart twice in one night.“ With the bitterness in House’s words came also a promise. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to make this work and find out what this between the two of you could be. He acknowledged how his actions from earlier had hurt you. Everything about this conversation was so out of character for House that you had a hard time believing you weren’t imagining things. Maybe your concussion was worse than you thought and you were having crazy hallucinations. Could you have hallucinations from concussions?

„Yes, but that is highly unlikely in your case, since the CCT-scan did not pick up any intracerebral bleeding.“ 

„What?“ Surprised you looked at House. 

„Did I just say that out loud?“ The doctor smiled at you amused and your stomach fluttered. You always had liked it when he bestowed you with one of those uncensored grins. 

„Yup.“ House confirmed. Chalking it up to the most ludicrous day you have had in a while you decided to ignore reason and precaution and just trust your gut. You let your head sink against House’s shoulder and immediately the side of your body melted agains him as well. Before a sigh of relieve could escape from you House had already wrapped his arm around your waist. This was nice. It felt good and easy. 

After a while you could feel the weight from House’s head on yours. You watched your feet dangling again. The calm breathing and the warmth between the two of you had you feeling drowsy in no time. A stifled yawn from you and House nuzzled his face into your neck.

„Yeah, me too,“ he whispered.

„How much longer ’til this thing is through,“ you asked quietly while pulling at the tube of the IV-bag. House lifted his head and frowned at the IV-bag. He considered his answer for a couple more seconds and before hopping off the bed.  

„Maybe 10 more minutes. We can speed it up a little.“ The doctor reached for the drip and adjusted the roller clamp. Immediately the solution in the IV-bag started dripping faster and he turned back towards you, sitting back down. 

„I don’t want to stay in the hospital,“ You sighed. Next to you House was blowing raspberries, obviously thinking something over. 

„You should with a third degree concussion. But I can take you home and make sure you’re okay.“ House offered looking at you expectantly. You considered your options and figured that the perspective of having House fussing over you wasn’t too bad. Your stomach rumbled loudly. An idea came to you then.

„Do you still have that pizza I brought, at your place?“ House had to chuckle at that and his laugh lines appeared. He nodded.

„Yes I do, at least I didn’t eat it. I went straight after you this time.“ House looked at you carefully, in all the joking there was also truth. Apparently he was satisfied with what he found in your eyes because he continued lightheartedly.

„If nobody broke in and ate it, it should still be sitting on the kitchen counter. “ 

„Great!“ You exclaimed happily.

„I could eat, really had a long night. How about you?“ You really wanted to get out of the hospital and leave the last few hours behind you.

„Nooo, completely normal night. So relaxing.“ House earned a slap from you on his shoulder. 

„Ouch! Don’t hit the cripple.“ His fake whiny voice made you actually laugh out loud and you were so relieved to feel somewhat normal again. 

„How about instead of taking me to my place, we go to yours and warm up that pizza then? I can be on concussion-watch anywhere right?“ With that you slowly slid off the bed, carefully steadying yourself. House watched you, assessing if you really were able to leave the hospital.

„I was kinda planning on that anyways.“ He stood up as well and undid the tube from your IV-catheter. The IV-bag was empty. With his hand he indicated for you to sit down once more. While he removed the IV-catheter from your hand you were happy to run along with the banter. 

„Sure you were. What if I’d refused.“ You cocked an eyebrow at House, challenging him. Even before he spoke you knew there would be some kind of quick-witted comeback.

„Oh I would have just kidnapped you.“ He shrugged his shoulders casually, a big fat grin on his face while he peeled off the adhesive tape that had kept the IV in place. 

„Of course.“ You laughed. The needle in your arm was gone and House pushed down some gauze on the exit wound. After a few seconds he put a plaster over it to keep it in place.You used his focus to study his features. There was still that smile on House’s face, though it had faded a little. You wondered what was on his mind. The heaviness that started to appear on his forehead couldn’t be from doing some routine doctor stuff. Just when you wanted to go for it an ask House what was going on, he mumbled your name.

„(Y/N)?“ Was his voice shacking? Your heart sank. Please don’t mess this up. Your imagination started to run wild and you feared for the worst.

„Hm?“ you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the inevitable let down.

„Can you not… can you maybe?“ House leaned closer to you. He seemed oblivious to your emotional turmoil. The whispering made his voice sound rough. With another sharp intake of air he took the plunge. 

„You are special, you know. To me you really are special.“The words tumbled out of his mouth practically rolling over each other. You scooped them up, holding them, they felt soft and warm to the touch. 

„So could you maybe not do the House-thing like everyone else?“

You smiled at him. This was big. House just committed to talking about his feelings leaving himself unguarded in the process. 

„Okay, Greg.“ 

[amagialp]

love your fics, how do you think konig, soap and ghost would react to reader wit piercings??? 😏😏 preferably smut but you can write as youd like :)

THANK YOU AND OMGSSS LOVE THIS IDEA!!! HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY IT AS WELL, REQUESTS OPEN! :P

honestly those three + piercings = chaos in my head lol

(TW: smut, suggestiv language etc) please proceed with caution ❤️

GN! reader

Nipple Piercings

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The first time he realizes, he just pauses, staring at you for a solid moment before muttering, “Bloody hell...” That’s it, that’s the tweet. But that little grunt tells you everything.

Simon’s a man of subtle touches, but this? He’s hooked. Fingers brushing over your shirt when no one’s looking, his gloved hand sliding under it during downtime, tracing slow circles around the piercings to watch you squirm.

If you’re wearing something where they’re slightly visible (like a tight shirt or cold weather ahem), you might catch him standing closer than usual, clearly blocking anyone else’s view. He won’t say anything, but his presence speaks volumes.

During private moments? Oh, he’s all over them. He tugs, flicks, and bites with just enough pressure to leave you gasping. He won’t outright say it, but he loves how responsive you are.

König

König is immediately flustered. Like, cheeks red, words tripping over themselves flustered. When he first notices, he’s struggling to maintain eye contact, muttering something like, “Oh, ah… that’s… interesting.”

But the man is curious. After the initial shock, he can’t help but ask questions: “Did it hurt? How long to heal? Does it feel… different?” You might have to tell him to slow down with all the questions.

When he gets bolder, he’s incredibly gentle. He’ll brush his fingertips over them like he’s afraid of hurting you, completely mesmerized by how they feel under his touch.

The first time he kisses you and accidentally tugs on them, the noise you make just about breaks him. He’s obsessed after that, but he’s still so shy about admitting it.

Soap

Soap’s reaction? Immediate mischief. The grin on his face says everything. “Yer full o’ surprises, aren’t ya?”

He loves catching glimpses of them through your shirt and isn’t subtle about it either. He’ll waggle his eyebrows at you like a cheeky bastard.

During private moments, he’s playful as hell. He’ll nuzzle his face against your chest, muttering things like, “These might just be my new favorite thing.”

But he’s not just playful... he knows when to turn up the heat. Loves to tease with gentle nips and tugs until you’re a mess beneath him.

Tongue Piercings

Ghost

Simon notices immediately but doesn’t say anything at first. He just observes, quietly noting how it changes the way you talk or how it glints when you stick your tongue out.

The first time you kiss him with it? Oh, he’s hooked. He pulls back just a little, murmuring, “Do that again.”

If you start teasing him tapping it against your teeth or sticking your tongue out at him he’ll give you a warning look that promises consequences. And Simon? Always delivers.

In the bedroom, he’s completely fascinated by it. He’ll run his thumb over your tongue, feeling the piercing as he mutters, “Such a pretty mouth…”

König

König is speechless when he realizes. His eyes keep flicking to your mouth every time you talk, and his face is burning red.

He won’t ask directly, but his curiosity is through the roof. You might have to be the one to kiss him first, and when he feels it against his tongue, he’s stunned for a second before melting into the kiss.

Afterward, he’ll quietly admit, “I like it it’s, unique. Just like you.”

He’s secretly obsessed with the way it feels during kisses and might nervously trace it with his finger when you’re being affectionate.

Soap

Soap is all in. The second he sees it, he’s already smirking and asking questions like, “Does that make kissin’ better? Or should we find out?”

He’ll tease you relentlessly, sticking his tongue out to mimic yours or making cheeky comments. But he’s also incredibly interested in how it feels during a kiss (or more winkwink).

Loves flicking his tongue against it when things get heated. He’ll pull back with a grin, licking his lips like he’s just tasted something addictive.

Will absolutely joke about it to the others, saying things like, “Bet none of ye can handle what my bonnie’s got goin’ on!” (Don’t worry he keeps the details private).

Lip Piercings (Labret/Monroe/etc.)

Ghost

Ghost notices immediately and is lowkey obsessed. He’ll spend way too much time staring at your lips when you talk.

The first time you kiss, he’s fascinated by the cool metal against his lips. He pulls back slightly to mumble, “Feels good… different, but good.”

Loves tugging gently on the piercing with his teeth when things get heated. It’s his subtle way of reminding you who’s in charge.

König

König is awestruck. He thinks it looks stunning on you but doesn’t know how to compliment it without sounding awkward and weird.

He’s shy about touching it at first but eventually gets bold enough to trace it with his thumb during intimate moments.

Loves the contrast between the cold metal and the warmth of your skin when he kisses you. It drives him wild, though he’d never say it outright.

Soap

“Didn’t think you could get any hotter, but here we are.” Soap immediately hypes you up. He loves how bold and unique you look with the piercing.

Playfully tugs on it when he kisses you, grinning at your reaction. He’s all about making you squirm.

Buys you fun lip rings or studs as gifts. “Thought this one would look good on ya. Fancy tryin’ it on for me?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What do you think? Did I miss any piercings you’d love to see the COD boys react to? Let me know in my inbox or comments 👀

[whumping-in-the-dark]

~Fun Things To do With Your Whumpee~

CW: dehumanization, general cw for torture, manipulation, drugging, etc etc

So, just got a new whumpee? Or maybe you're looking for ways to engage with an old one? Either way, some of these may prove useful to you :)

Don't do any of these irl. I'm watching you >:(

If you consider yourself a 'nice' intimate whumper~

1. Good ol' freezing the shit out of your darling whumpee so that they cling onto you for some warmth :)

2. No? How about sensory deprivation? If you use it the right way they'll be putty in your arms in no time :)

3. Some good isolation works wonders too! Pair that with starvation, thirst, heat/cold, etc and you've got yourself a treat :)

4. Maybe your whumpee is just oh so stubborn :( but that's nothing a nice little drug dosage (or about nine) can't fix :)

5. Finally, if nothing else works :( just beat them up and then treat their wounds. Show them that YOU are the only source of comfort in their silly little life! It's a little more time consuming than others but frankly more long-lasting too :)

6. Here's a bonus round- paralysis! tie them up and watch a movie together! gags gags gags!! for all the back talking you'd hate for them to do! tattoo your name onto them! brand your initials onto them! and soo much more!!

OR

If you consider yourself a more stoic whumper~

1. Either keep them on a strict schedule or no schedule at all, whichever is more convenient for you :)

2. Force them to do your house chores and then punish them for not doing them properly (yay!) :)

3. Force them to pick their own punishments or maybe pick out how many of X they will have to endure! If they go too easy on themselves just punish them more :)

4. Force them to clean up all of the blood and gore once you're done torturing them. After all they are the ones who made that mess in the first place :)

5. Force them to address you respectfully, thank you after every torture session, give verbal answers each time, etc :)

6. Here's another bonus round- hose them down instead of giving them a shower! keep the naked or half-naked all times! NEVER use their name! collars collars collars!! Bonus points if they are shock collars with 'slave' tags! And soo much more!!

OR

If you consider yourself to be a pure let's torture the shit out of this whumpee kinda whumper... well~

HEY

WAIT

:0

MAJOR

torture and gore tw for this one~

it's the last one so skip it if you'd like~

1. Make sure they KNOW the consequences of their actions- do you pour hot glass/wax/etc into their ear for not listening to you? do you burn their tongue for talking back? or sew their eyes shut for glaring at you? :)

2. Track every torture session you put them through to find ways to slowly drag it out and increase their tolerance. After all, do they really deserve to faint when you're having so much fun with them? :)

3. Force feed them at all times or feed them icky liquids or pastes or maybe cut open their stomach and directly force food in through a tube? :)

4. Rub salt into their wounds! Pour alcohol over their wounds! Press into every little welt and twist your fingers into those cuts! :)

5. What? Still bored? Just pierce any body part of theirs you'd like and hook them up to the ceiling with that! do they get to stand on their toes? You choose that :)

6. A bonus round for y'all too ofc- manhandle them around by their hair! film their torture sessions to show them off to them later! pictures pictures pictures!! cages cages cages!! Torture their loved ones in front of them! Or force them to torture their loved ones! And soo much more!!

Feel free to suggest any additions :)

[xxbloodologyxx]

Withered Roses

MLM | SatoSugu x Male reader | Priest x Incubus | 18+ warning |

content warnings: Dubious consent, religious imagery, alcoholism relapse, mild body horror, dark imagery

“An Angel makes it self look scary to ward away evil.”

—

It had only been a month since you took over your father's position as the priest at your church—nothing too overwhelming, as you were just one of many churches in the town. You were familiar with most of the congregants: the adults who had watched you grow from a child and the children with whom you had spent your own youth.

Occasionally, you encountered strangers—homeless individuals seeking refuge from the cold or newcomers looking for solace and comfort in the familiar embrace of a house of God. But as life often goes, there is always an unexpected twist—an unavoidable unknown that weaves its way into the familiar rhythm of routine.  

This time, that unknown arrived in the form of two unfamiliar men arriving at your church.

You kept yourself busy with chores, even though the church remained open for prayer. At this hour, few people stopped by—mostly those just getting off work, who often stopped by long enough to exchange a quick greeting before heading home.  

Lost in the rhythmic motion of sweeping between the pews, you hardly noticed the presence of the two men. They had entered so silently that they managed to get within a foot and a half of you before the soft sound of a throat clearing broke your focus.  

“Excuse me, Father.”  

The voice was low and smooth, like the finest silk you could imagine. Yet, despite its calmness, it sent a jolt through you, stiffening your posture. Spinning on your heels, you quickly schooled your expression, masking your initial shock.  

“Oh, forgive me—I didn’t hear you come in. My apologies.” You placed a hand over your chest, as if that would steady the rapid beat of your heart.  

Your gaze landed on the two men. They were dressed casually yet carried themselves with an effortless refinement.  

The one who had spoken had long, dark hair tied back in a neat bun, his eyes warm with an undeniable kindness. The other, still silent, exuded an easy confidence—a grin that didn’t quite reach his piercing blue eyes. His pure white hair, kissed by the heavens themselves, seemed almost ethereal in the dim church light.

"Hope we aren’t intruding."  

The white-haired man finally spoke, his gaze meeting yours. For some reason, the moment his eyes locked onto you, a subtle chill ran down your spine, the hairs on your arms standing on end beneath the cover of your vestments. You were grateful for the barrier, sparing you from revealing the strange unease their presence stirred.  

"No worries, we’re open until eight. But all are welcome, no matter the time."  

At your words, the dark-haired man’s smile widened—but unlike before, it failed to reach his eyes.  

"Of course, we’re grateful for that," he said, dipping his head slightly in a gesture of respect.  

You had never felt like this before—on edge. Was that what this was? There was no reason for it, yet the feeling settled unshakably in the back of your mind. Even so, you pushed it aside, continuing with pleasantries. There was no room for judgment here, and any unease, you reasoned, was simply the remnants of being startled earlier.  

"I’m Suguru Geto, and this is—"  

The introduction was abruptly interrupted as the white-haired man cut in smoothly.  

"Satoru Gojo. A pleasure, Father."  

Before you could react, Satoru's hands shot out, cupping one of yours in a firm but strangely casual grasp. The movement was so quick you barely had time to process it before you felt the warmth of his palms enveloping your skin. That was what startled you the most—not the boldness of the gesture, but the sheer heat radiating from him. It was only twenty-five degrees outside, and neither of them looked dressed for the weather, yet Satoru’s touch was like stepping into the height of summer.  

"A pleasure, gentlemen. I’m Father (L/N)," you replied, dipping your head in polite acknowledgment, careful not to betray any sign of surprise. Thankfully, as soon as you offered your name, Satoru released your hand.  

"Is there anything I can help you with tonight?" you asked, settling back into the familiarity of your role. "Are you here for prayer? Confession? Or just looking to…escape the cold for a while?"

You hesitated as you mentioned the cold, noting how the two men seemed entirely unaffected by it. Not even a shiver passed through them as they stepped in from the chill, their composure unwavering.  

"Ah, us. We’re in town for a few weeks on business," Suguru explained smoothly. "We frequent our local church back home, and we figured that just because we’re away doesn’t mean we can’t take a moment to pray. This one was closest to the cabins we’re staying at, and we’re quite glad to find it still open for services."  

There was nothing inherently strange about his words, yet something about them unsettled you. The way he spoke—too polished, too measured—itched at the back of your mind, stirring an unwelcome sense of disbelief. But why?  

You had listened to countless confessions, comforted people at their lowest, and guided those who had nowhere else to turn. You had held the hands of grieving widows, offered solace to the broken, and even tended to those who wandered in high, belligerent, and lost—only to leave with a meal in their stomach and hope in their heart.  

So why?  

Why, in the presence of these two men, did you feel something unfamiliar creeping in? A quiet, insidious insecurity in your faith—one you had never known before.

"Ah, I see. Please, make yourselves comfortable. Allow me to prepare some tea while you're here." Your voice remained steady as you set the broom aside—perhaps subconsciously creating a bit more distance between yourself and the two men.  

Suguru inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you."  

Satoru, however, was quick to add, "And can you put some extra sugar in mine? Thanks, Father." His voice was smooth, almost playful, his smile teetering on the edge of something too sweet, too knowing. And once again, both men held your gaze with unwavering intensity—something you'd noticed from the moment they stepped into the church.  

"Of course." You offered a polite nod before turning on your heel, making your way toward the small kitchen in the back. As you put more space between yourself and the two strangers, you tried not to entertain the unease gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.  

This wasn’t like you.  

You had always been steadfast, unwavering in your faith and acceptance of those who entered these doors. The church you grew up in had always been a place of warmth, of welcome. It was all you'd ever known.  

So why now did you feel so… unsettled?  

Shaking the thought away, you busied yourself with the tea, carefully setting out three delicate porcelain cups. As you poured, a faint frown touched your lips—one of the cups had a thin crack running down its side. With a quiet sigh, you turned to retrieve another from the cupboard.  

But when you turned back—  

You nearly dropped the cup in your hands.  

Satoru was standing there.  

Leaning casually in the doorway, he gave a lazy wave, his grin lopsided and amused. "You're awfully jumpy," he murmured, tilting his head as a low chuckle rumbled from his throat.  

You swallowed, steadying yourself. He wasn’t doing anything particularly out of place—just standing there, hands now tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable. But something about his sudden presence here, away from Suguru, in the quiet space of the church’s kitchen, put you even further on edge.  

"Oh—I just wasn’t expecting anyone back here," you admitted, clearing your throat as you set the new cup down and filled it. "This area is usually for…" You trailed off, watching as he remained rooted in place, eyes fixed solely on you.  

"Anyhow," you continued, regaining your composure, "is there something I can help you with?"  

"Yeah," Satoru said easily. "If you don’t mind, could you add some milk to my tea as well? Figured I’d ask instead of making you run all over the place for lil’ ol’ me."  

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked away—not even once. And even without fully meeting his gaze, you could feel the weight of those piercing blue eyes, impossible to ignore.

"Yes, milk. I can do that for you." You forced a small smile as you turned toward the small fridge in the corner, your hands moving with practiced ease while your mind scrambled for a conversation starter. A part of you wanted to let the silence linger—to avoid the weight of his gaze, the strange unease curling in your chest—but you spoke anyway.  

"Have you and Geto traveled far from home?"  

When you turned back, Satoru had moved again—silent, fluid. Now, he was leaning against the counter beside the tea, his hip just barely brushing the edge.  

"Nah, not too far. Only about an hour out," he answered, his tone casual but vague. "Besides, we travel a lot for work."  

Work. Business. The words echoed in your mind, hollow in a way that made your instincts bristle. It wasn’t that his answer was suspicious outright, but it lacked something—specificity, perhaps.  

Still, you nodded, choosing to push past the feeling. "That’s good, at least. Wouldn’t want you stuck on the road in this weather. We’re in for a long week of snow and freezing temperatures."  

Satoru hummed, arms folding across his chest as he regarded you with what looked like quiet amusement. He was comfortable here, at ease in a way that made you question why you weren’t.  

Swallowing down your unease, you turned back to the tea, pouring a small amount of milk into the cup you had already sweetened. No more words were exchanged after that.  

And yet, as you placed the milk back in the fridge, Satoru simply followed—silent as ever—back to the pews where Suguru was waiting.  

Suguru, for his part, seemed completely at ease, his gaze fixed on the candles resting in the arms of a statue. The flickering light reflected in his dark eyes, distant and contemplative, as if he were somewhere else entirely.  

It wasn’t until your presence—Satoru’s presence—settled beside him that he blinked back to the moment.  

"Ah, thank you, Father," he said smoothly, nodding in greeting as Satoru reclaimed his seat beside him at the edge of the pew.  

You followed close behind, bringing the tray along, setting it down carefully. "Of course, no thanks needed. The cold tonight has quite a bite."  

Suguru chuckled, the sound warm yet unsettling, sending an involuntary ripple of unease down your spine. "Indeed."  

You watched as Satoru reached for his cup first, then, without a second thought, grabbed another and handed it to Suguru. The gesture was small, almost thoughtful, his smile soft—ordinary, even.  

And yet, your doubts remained, lingering like a shadow at the edges of your mind.  

Settling onto the opposite pew with your own tea, you kept your expression neutral, though you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something—whatever it was—was just slightly off.

—

The rest of the evening passed smoothly—light, polite conversation about the church, the weather, and the tea you had prepared, which both men complimented. Eventually, you excused yourself, gathering their empty cups and retreating to the kitchen, leaving them alone for their moment of prayer.  

It was just like any other night—or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.  

They prayed in silence, heads bowed, lips moving in hushed murmurs too soft for you to make out from your place near the back of the church. You busied yourself with small tasks, replacing melted candles, feigning distraction. But despite your best efforts to brush off your unease, you could have sworn you saw Satoru smirk mid-prayer.  

Still, you exhaled slowly and muttered a quiet prayer of your own, asking for forgiveness—for your unease, your suspicion, your restless judgment of two men who had done nothing but show their faith.  

—  

By the time you finished tidying up, the church was quiet save for the soft crackling of candles. The stillness might have been comforting, had it not been for the sound of a heel clicking against the stone floor behind you, announcing their approach before they spoke.  

“We wanted to thank you again for your hospitality," Suguru said smoothly.  

"And—" Satoru cut in, his voice laced with amusement. "We’re looking forward to seeing you again soon. Haven’t had tea that good in a long time."  

A quiet "oof" left him as Suguru nudged his side—not hard, but firm enough to be corrective.  

“And you’ve been very kind,” Suguru added, casting his partner a faintly exasperated look before turning back to you with a more composed expression. “Thank you, Father.”  

You caught the glance they exchanged—wordless, fleeting, yet full of meaning you weren’t privy to. But you didn’t pry.  

“There’s no need for thanks,” you replied with a polite smile. “I’m simply happy to be of service. You’re always welcome. And I wish you both a good night.”  

Relief settled in your chest, but it was tempered with an inexplicable sense of unease. You weren’t sure if it was because they were leaving—or because they’d be coming back. And deep beneath that, there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name.  

Suguru smiled, this time more genuine—but the way he bared just a bit too much teeth, as if amused by something unspoken, only made that strange feeling in your gut twist further.  

“Have a good night.”  

Satoru offered a lazy salute before the two turned toward the doors, their departure as smooth and unhurried as their arrival.  

And the moment the heavy doors creaked shut behind them, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

Finally, you could close the church for the night, reset, and hopefully clear your mind after some much-needed rest.  

But somehow, you knew—no matter how much you tried to shake them—those two men weren’t leaving your thoughts anytime soon.

—

You had only been home for a short while before slipping into bed, knowing you had a 7 AM worship service and needed to be at the church an hour or two early to prepare. At exactly 10:30, you rested your head on the pillow, forcing yourself to push aside lingering thoughts of Satoru and Suguru. You needed the rest.  

But sleep remained just out of reach.  

You tossed and turned, your room feeling unreasonably warm despite the crisp February night. With a huff, you threw off the top comforter, settling beneath the thin sheet instead—but even that felt suffocating. Frustration built as you kicked your feet free from the covers, letting out an exasperated groan before throwing an arm over your eyes.  

Still, the heat clung to your skin, making it prickle uncomfortably. You tried to steady yourself, to relax, but time dragged on, and sleep never came. Eventually, after what felt like an hour of futile restlessness, you decided to sit up—  

But you couldn’t move.  

A crushing weight pressed against your chest, pinning you down. Your limbs felt impossibly heavy, as if they were no longer your own.  

Your eyes were the only thing you could control. But as they opened, dread curled in your stomach. The room was darker than usual—too dark. Normally, the soft glow of the streetlights outside seeped through the blinds, casting faint streaks across the walls. But now, an eerie, suffocating blackness filled the space, swallowing everything whole.  

Panic crept in as you tried to adjust your gaze, scanning the void, desperate for something—anything—to ground you. But the silence was unnatural. No hum of the heating system. No distant wail of the wind. Nothing.  

You willed your body to move—a twitch of a finger, a shift of your foot—anything to break free from whatever was holding you in place.  

And then, you felt it.  

At first, it was subtle—so faint that you might’ve dismissed it as the blanket shifting against your legs.  

But then you remembered.  

How could it move… if you couldn’t?

Your heart pounded wildly. You had no pets, no logical explanation for the ghostly sensation crawling up your legs—a phantom warmth, subtle yet unmistakable, tracing the curve of your calf. Then came the soft rustle of your sheets, the barely perceptible shift of fabric that sent ice down your spine. Panic lodged itself in your throat, thick and suffocating, but you couldn’t even part your lips to scream.  

The warmth trailed higher, gliding up your thigh, and in your half-focused vision, you could have sworn you saw it—darkness swirling around your lower half, shapeless yet alive. It moved with purpose, not just the absence of light but something more, something sentient.  

Fear, shock, and disbelief crashed over you all at once. You squeezed your eyes shut, a desperate attempt to will it away, to wake up, to convince yourself this was nothing more than a trick of the mind. You prayed silently, clinging to the hope that when you opened your eyes again, the nightmare would be over.  

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the sensation disappeared. The weight lifted.  

A shaky breath escaped through your nose, but you didn’t look. You kept your eyes clenched shut, muttering fevered prayers of protection under your breath.  

Moments passed. Slowly, cautiously, you let your lids crack open.  

And if you had been capable of screaming, the sound would have shattered the silence of the entire apartment complex.  

The darkness was no longer at your legs. It was in front of you.  

This wasn’t just the heavy shadows of your dimly lit room—no, it had a form. Not entirely human, but close enough to unnerve you. It shifted, the black tendrils of its presence sliding over your cheeks, ghosting across your mouth. Then, without warning, it forced your lips apart.  

No sound escaped.  

You felt it slither inside, thick and inky, seeping past your lips like tar. It pushed deeper, coiling in your throat, suffocating, filling every inch of space—  

And then—  

Your alarm blared.  

You shot up, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat. Your hands flew to your neck as a choked gag and stifled scream ripped free. Sweat drenched your skin, tears stung the corners of your eyes, and your breath came in short, ragged bursts.  

Frantic, you darted your gaze around the room.  

The clock read 6 AM.  

The first hints of sunlight peeked through your blinds, washing over the room like a lifeline. Outside, you heard the sounds of cars, the chirping of birds, the steady hum of your heater—sounds of reality, sounds of normalcy.  

It was just a dream.  

No—  

A nightmare.

Your body moved on instinct, feet dragging you toward the bathroom before you even registered what was happening. The moment your knees hit the cold tile, you clutched the sides of the toilet, and bile burned its way up your throat. Vomit spilled from your lips, the force of it wracking your body with violent tremors. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision as you gasped for breath between heaves. You had no idea why this was happening—fear, most likely. The lingering horror of that dream twisting itself into something physical.  

You sat back, body trembling, eyes fluttering open—only to freeze.  

The toilet bowl wasn’t filled with bile and half-digested food. It was black. Thick, murky liquid churned within, swallowing the light.  

A strangled noise tore from your throat as you scrambled backward, hand clamping over your mouth to stifle a scream. Your heart pounded as you dared another glance, needing to confirm what you saw.  

But the moment your eyes met the bowl again, it was just vomit. Nothing more than bile and remnants of dinner.  

You gagged, nausea curling tight in your stomach. What the hell was happening to you? Had the nightmare left such a mark on your mind that you were hallucinating?  

Shaken, you shifted onto your knees, fumbling for the edge of the bathtub. You twisted the faucet, letting cold water run as you scooped handfuls into your mouth, rinsing away the acrid taste, pressing the chill to your burning skin. Anything to ground yourself. Anything to push away the suffocating unease lingering from that dream.  

Why now? You hadn’t experienced a nightmare this vivid, this visceral, since childhood. And yet, here you were, rattled to your core.  

Your thoughts flickered—Satoru and Suguru.  

No. That was ridiculous. A vague feeling of unease couldn’t have possibly triggered something this extreme. They were just two men. Nothing more. You couldn’t allow paranoia to take root, couldn’t let your thoughts be tainted by suspicion and fear.  

With a shaky breath, you pushed yourself up, using the wall for support as you staggered toward the sink. For a fleeting moment, you considered calling your father, confiding in him, asking for guidance—maybe even seeing if he could stand in for you today.  

But no.  

You had only been in this position for a little over a month. You couldn’t falter now. You needed to keep a steady head.  

So, swallowing your nerves, you steadied yourself, washed your face, and began preparing for the morning service.

—

The service went as smoothly as it could, though for the first thirty minutes, your hands trembled as you held your Bible. Even some of the older women—almost like grandmothers to you—noticed your weariness and promised to bring you soup the next day to keep you from falling ill.  

You were grateful for the distraction, for the warmth of familiar voices greeting you, for the hum of conversation that kept your mind occupied. Anything to keep that nightmare at bay.  

But as the evening stretched on, a quiet anticipation settled in the back of your mind. You found yourself waiting—expecting—to see those two men again. And yet, as the clock crept toward seven-thirty, their absence almost felt like a relief.  

But as you let out a sigh something caught your eye.  

The flowers.  

The ones you had bought that very morning to refill the vases by the lectern. They were dead. Completely wilted, their petals brittle and curling inward, falling to the floor in delicate, withered fragments—like they had been left to bake under the sun for days.  

A slow unease coiled in your stomach.  

You stepped forward hesitantly, reaching out with unsteady fingers to brush against the petals. They crumbled at your touch, drifting to the ground in silent surrender. It didn’t make sense. They had water. They were fresh. The church was warm enough that they shouldn’t have withered like this.  

The unease thickened, weighing down your limbs, keeping you frozen by the lectern, caught between logic and the unshakable feeling that something was deeply, terribly wrong.  

Then—  

A voice cut through your thoughts, jolting you with a sharp inhale.  

You whipped your head around, pulse skittering, only to find them standing there.  

Satoru and Suguru.  

They lingered at the end of the pews, barely a foot away. Suguru’s expression held a trace of concern, though the flickering candlelight revealed something beneath it—a glint in his eyes you couldn’t quite name.  

Satoru, however, wore his amusement openly, a smug grin tugging at his lips as if he found it endlessly entertaining to catch you off guard.  

"Good evening, Father," Suguru said smoothly, repeating the greeting that had startled you.  

Satoru’s grin widened, teeth flashing. "We really ought to start knocking on the doors or something. You look like you’ve seen a ghost."  

The taunt sent a ripple of unease through you.  

So they were aware of how often they managed to sneak up on you—aware, and yet made no effort to stop. The thought frustrated you, not at them, but at yourself. Why were you so on edge?  

Forcing composure into your voice, you shook your head. "Oh no, it’s quite alright. I was just lost in thought."  

Suguru raised a brow, as if considering whether to push the issue further. But instead, he let it go, offering an easy, measured response.  

"A long day, I assume. The winter months tend to have that effect. I know I’ve felt the days drag on longer than usual."  

His words were smooth, each syllable deliberate—crafted to sound polite, calm. But there was something else beneath the surface. Guarded, calculated. As if he were only allowing you to see what he wanted you to.

You pushed the thought away, refusing to let exhaustion and lingering suspicion cloud your mind. Instead, you forced a polite smile and nodded in agreement.  

"Winter has that effect on people. This time of year is especially busy at the church—many seek comfort around the holidays, looking for guidance as they navigate the loneliness that winter brings," you said softly, casting a glance around the sanctuary. It was half a distraction, half a way to ensure everything was still in order after the unsettling sight of the dead flowers.  

But as your gaze returned to Suguru, you caught him looking past you—straight at the flowers. Instinctively, you shifted, subtly positioning yourself in front of them. A faint twitch of his brow, barely perceptible, told you he had noticed both the flowers and your reaction.  

Then, Satoru let out a low whistle, the sound ringing through the empty church.  

"Tell me about it. I hate the cold—no wonder people get so depressed." He gave a playful shiver, as if chilled by the air inside the church. But you knew better. Last night, his skin had been hot to the touch. There was no way he actually felt cold.  

"The cold does bring sadness with it," you agreed, glancing toward the kitchen. You considered offering them tea, but the memory of this morning—the bitter aftertaste of it when you'd thrown up—still lingered at the back of your throat. Even so, you found yourself saying, "Speaking of which, I can make some tea or coffee for you."  

Suguru hummed in response. "No coffee for me. We have an early meeting tomorrow. Tea will be just fine."  

Satoru clasped his hands together, his grin widening. "Got any hot cocoa back there? I'm craving something sweet."  

His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip, and it was the way he spoke that gave you pause. He lingered on certain words—craving, sweet—unnecessarily drawing them out, all while holding eye contact that felt a touch too intense.  

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to steady yourself, keeping your composure from slipping. "I think I might have a few packets. I’ll be right back with that for you. Please, take a seat and make yourselves comfortable."  

With that, you turned and made your way to the kitchen.  

Your hands trembled as you prepared the drinks, spooning cocoa powder into a cup and carefully pouring warm milk over it, stirring as methodically as you could manage. Exhaustion pressed against the edges of your mind, heavy and insistent. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but your limbs suddenly felt drained of energy. Perhaps you needed a coffee yourself—  

The thought shattered the moment you felt it.  

Something warm—no, hot—wrapped around your arm and pressed against your back, a weight that was all too familiar. Just like your dream.  

The spoon slipped from your fingers, clattering loudly against the floor.  

You stumbled back, whipping your arm as if to shake off whatever had touched you, twisting away from the space you’d been standing in—desperate to rid yourself of the sensation.  

But when your frantic gaze swept the room, there was nothing. No one.  

Satoru and Suguru were still in the pews—you could hear their voices, faint but distant. You were alone.  

Then what in the world had just touched you?  

It had felt real—so vivid, so unmistakably there that for a moment, you almost believed you had drifted off, slipped into a dream. But the lingering heat against your skin told you otherwise.

You took in a shuddering breath, eyes fixed on your trembling hands. Slowly, you forced your gaze upward, settling on the tea and hot chocolate you had prepared. You had visitors. You had to act normal.  

Kneeling down, you retrieved the fallen spoon and tossed it into the sink before carefully gathering the cups. You could do this. They wouldn’t stay for long—then you could go home and figure out what was wrong with you.  

With measured steps, you left the kitchen, a faint smile curving your lips as you approached the two men. But there was something off about it—your usual brightness dimmed, your features weighed down by something neither of them could ignore.  

Satoru barely spared you a glance, though a small grin played at his lips. You forced yourself to believe it was just excitement for his hot chocolate. Suguru, however—the more perceptive of the two, as you had come to learn—tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharper, more assessing.  

As you handed him his tea, he reached out, his fingers brushing the back of your hand in a quiet gesture of concern.  

The warmth of his touch—too familiar, too similar to the phantom sensation from moments ago—sent a jolt through you. Your fingers instinctively released their grip.  

The teacup crashed to the floor, shattering on impact.  

All the color drained from your face as the two men shot to their feet, concern flashing across their expressions. But the way the dim lighting cast shadows over their faces made something in your chest tighten, and you instinctively took a step back.  

"Are you alright, Father?" Suguru asked, stepping toward you.  

You lifted your hands, keeping some distance between you. "Yes—yes, I'm fine. I'm truly sorry, I’ve made a mess." Your voice wavered as your gaze dropped to the shattered porcelain and the splattered tea. A wave of nausea hit you so suddenly it made your head spin.  

You barely registered Satoru moving, retrieving the broom that had been leaning against one of the pews from earlier.  

"Don’t worry about it," he said lightly. "Just ’cause you’re a priest doesn’t mean you can’t be a klutz."  

The casual remark barely registered. Your thoughts felt like they were unraveling, slipping through your fingers like sand. You simply stepped aside, watching as the two men took over.  

Suguru shot Satoru a pointed look, but Satoru only shrugged, sweeping up the broken shards while Suguru went to fetch napkins.  

You should have been speaking. You should have been doing something, anything—but you stood frozen, like a deer caught in headlights.  

Somehow, your legs carried you to one of the pews, where you sank down, fingers clenching around the cross hanging from your neck.

You closed your eyes, your body weak and drained, your thoughts sluggish and scattered. The sound of the shattered cup echoed in your mind, relentless, as you muttered a quiet prayer under your breath. Somewhere nearby, you could hear the two men moving about, their footsteps and soft murmurs blending into the heavy silence.  

Then, after a moment, Suguru cleared his throat.  

“I hope you’re alright.” His voice was warm, smooth like honey, and something about it made it harder to open your eyes, as if it were coaxing you into sleep. But you forced them open, your gaze half-lidded as you looked at the two men.  

Satoru was watching you intently, his narrowed eyes sharp, scrutinizing—expectant, though you had no idea what he was waiting for.  

Suguru, on the other hand, had crouched down in front of you, resting on the balls of his feet in an attempt to appear less imposing. “It’s just about eight. You should probably be heading home—you clearly need some rest.”  

Rest.  

The word made your head throb. You didn’t want to—not after last night, not after what happened in the kitchen. You wanted to down a gallon of coffee, force yourself to stay awake until your eyes burned—anything to avoid the unease and dread that came with sleep.  

“Right…right. I’m sorry, you two didn’t even get to—”  

Suguru cut you off with a soft shake of his head. “No worries. There’s always tomorrow.” He offered you a small, reassuring smile, tilting his head slightly.  

But his words only made something sink in your stomach. The thought of them coming back unsettled you. Ever since that first night… No. You couldn’t blame them. This wasn’t their fault.  

“Thank you both. I appreciate it,” you murmured, fingers still clutching tightly at the cross around your neck.  

Suguru stood, taking a step back, and Satoru followed suit. “I hope you feel better soon,” Suguru said warmly.  

Satoru grinned. “Yeah, we’d miss you around here. Plus, I really don’t wanna have to go all the way across town just to—”  

A nudge from Suguru cut him off. He huffed, clearly unimpressed.  

Satoru got the message, clearing his throat. “I mean—feel better as soon as you can, Father (L/N)!”  

You didn’t understand the glance they exchanged or why Suguru chastised him for his remark, but you appreciated their kindness nonetheless. 

“Of course. Have a good night, gentlemen.”  

Suguru gave a nod, and Satoru shot you a quick thumbs-up before they headed for the door.  

The moment they stepped outside, the exhaustion weighing down on you seemed to ease. Maybe your social battery had simply run dry. Maybe you really did need some sleep.  

But you doubted you’d be getting any tonight.  

—  

When you finally returned home, you let out a weary sigh, tossing your keys onto the kitchen table before slumping into a chair. You didn’t want to sleep, but your body ached, and your head throbbed. It had been a long time since you’d felt like this—since you stopped drinking.  

An itch crept into your mind, familiar and insidious. A drink would help. It would numb the unease, lull you into sleep—maybe even keep the nightmares at bay.  

But it had been years. To relapse now…?  

The thought of it made your stomach turn. The disappointment. The shame. Your family had been so proud. You had worked so hard.  

No. You wouldn’t do it.  

Exhaling slowly, you pushed yourself up from the table and shuffled over to the coffee pot, setting it to brew. If you had to, you’d force yourself to stay awake until the exhaustion passed. It was a stupid plan, but the idea of reliving that nightmare again made your skin crawl.  

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe you’d try to rest then. But not tonight.  

—  

Hours had passed—several past your usual bedtime.  

You were on your fourth cup of coffee, still seated at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on your laptop screen as some idle video played. You weren’t really watching it. It was just… background noise. A distraction.  

The kitchen felt safer than your bedroom. The bedroom didn’t feel the same anymore.  

Lifting your mug to your lips, you took a slow sip, letting the bitterness settle on your tongue. No cream, no sugar. Just black. The sharp taste kept you grounded, kept you awake.  

But still, your head dipped slightly. Your eyelids grew heavier.  

And each time, you forced them open, snapping your gaze back to the screen. You had cracked the window open, letting the cold air bite at your skin to keep the heat away. You shivered, but the discomfort was a small price to pay for staying awake.  

Another hour passed. The show on your laptop had faded into meaningless noise, its dialogue a distant hum in your ears. Your head rested against your palm, eyes fluttering open and closed as the shifting colors on the screen blurred together.  

Then—darkness.  

Your eyes had shut for just a moment, a fleeting moment of relief. But as soon as you realized what was happening, panic seized you. You tried to move, to shake yourself awake, but your body wouldn’t respond. Your limbs were heavy, frozen in place. Your head had slumped against the table, vision locked on your feet. Your breath quickened.  

This was a nightmare. You were asleep. But how could you wake yourself up?  

The kitchen was silent, the steady hum of the laptop gone. The warm glow from the overhead light had vanished, swallowed by an unnatural void. Even the crisp air from the window had disappeared, replaced by an oppressive stillness.  

Then, the heat returned.  

It started as a slow, creeping sensation, seeping into your skin like embers catching fire. The air shifted, thick and pungent with an unfamiliar scent. You braced yourself, inhaling through your nose, a silent prayer forming in your thoughts.  

Then—something new.  

A voice.  

“That is—” It crackled like broken radio static, layered with too many tones, overlapping male and female voices that bled into one another. “—not good for your neck.”  

Then, a chuckle.  

Another voice, higher in pitch yet carrying the same distorted depth. “And that’s a lot of coffee.”  

More laughter, eerily synchronized. Your skin prickled—not from the heat, but from pure, unfiltered fear.  

This was a dream. It had to be. No one was in your house. No one was speaking to you. But it felt too real, the paralysis binding you to this waking nightmare.  

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to wake up, to break free. But then, you felt it.  

The darkness.  

It didn’t just surround you—it touched you. It had form, pressing against you with an unnatural weight. It guided your body upright, tilting your head back like a puppet on lifeless strings.  

Don’t open your eyes.  

You knew if you saw it—really saw it—you might break. You might scream until your lungs gave out.  

“Don’t—hide from us—me—” The words twisted together, overlapping in a sickening distortion.  

Then, your name.  

“Open your eyes—(Y/N).”  

Your heart lurched. Panic flooded your veins, a terror so raw it felt like your body might shatter from the weight of it. Against every instinct, your eyes snapped open.  

And they were there.  

Two figures, shifting and flickering like living smoke, never staying in one place for long. Their semi-humanoid forms twisted in and out of the darkness, appearing closer, then further away, their movements erratic and wrong.  

“There you are.”  

One of them loomed in front of you before vanishing again, only to reappear somewhere else. They weren’t just watching.  

They were waiting.

But for what?  

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t run. You couldn’t even speak. All you could do was track the shifting shadows, your eyes darting to follow their erratic movements. And they noticed.  

The layered chuckles returned, reverberating from every direction, overlapping and distorted.  

“Don’t look so surprised,” the higher-pitched voice drawled, its presence flickering just to your left before vanishing and reappearing a foot behind you. “You invited us—me—in.”  

A cold sweat broke across your forehead, trickling down to your hairline. Your eyes widened at the revelation. *You* invited them in? *When? How?*  

A protest clawed at your throat, a scream of denial, but your lips didn’t so much as twitch.  

You had never believed in demonic possession. Despite being a priest, you weren’t the classic type. That was just superstition—stories meant to scare people into faith. Demons didn’t come to Earth.  

And yet, right now, the only explanation that made sense was them.  

Why you? You had your sins—yes. But you had tried to repent, to do better. For yourself. For your family. But maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe you were simply reaping what you had sown.  

“Without hesitation as well,” the deeper voice mused, its tone dripping with something sickly sweet. “Welcomed us—me—in with open arms and a smile.”  

Nausea curled in your gut.  

“Kindness like yours—”  

Silence.  

The figures vanished, and for a fleeting moment, relief nearly took hold. Maybe it was over. Maybe you were finally waking up.  

Then—a hand.  

A rough grip seized your throat, forcing a whine to stifle in your chest. The voices chuckled, amused by your helplessness.  

“Deserves a reward.”  

Your jaw was wrenched open. Your lips parted, but no sound escaped—only a ragged breath of fear. Above you, the shifting shadows loomed, their forms flickering like dying embers. Where their eyes should have been, you saw color—red, then blue, then purple, then green—never settling, but all focused on you.  

The deeper voice, the one that spoke of reward, moved closer.  

Then its head began to split open.  

A mouth. Teeth. A tongue.  

And then—ooze.  

Thick, black sludge dripped from its maw, slow and viscous. You tried to turn away, to clamp your lips shut, but your body refused to obey. All you could do was squeeze your eyes closed as the searing liquid spilled into your mouth.  

The texture was wrong. Heavy, alive, coating your tongue like oil. It tasted like nothing you had ever known, something foreign, something unnatural.  

You tensed your throat, willing yourself not to swallow. But it was useless. The heat seeped downward, spreading through you like fire, burning as it sank deeper—like a shot of alcohol laced with something far, far worse.  

You wanted to scream.  

But all that came was a wet, strangled gargle. The liquid hit your stomach like a brick—heavy, unrelenting. And worse, you could feel it, shifting, writhing inside you like something alive.

The voices erupted into laughter, deep and monstrous, a cacophony that clawed at your senses. The force of it nearly made you retch, but the shadow’s grip tightened, keeping your mouth sealed. Trapping it inside you.  

Panic and dread twisted together in your chest, but they felt useless now. Whatever they had tried to force into you before had finally taken hold. You had no idea what would happen next.  

“Don’t worry,” the voice cooed, sickly sweet. “You’ll see soon how gracious we—I am for your kindness.”  

Then—  

You shot up.  

The chair beneath you scraped back violently, tipping over as you crashed to the floor with a sharp thud. A strangled yelp tore from your lips as you clutched your throat, rolling onto your stomach. Your body convulsed, dry heaving, but nothing came up. Drool dripped from your lips as sobs racked your frame, strangled and raw.  

Tears burned hot down your cheeks. Your clothes clung to you, drenched in sweat. Your hair stuck to your forehead, slick and heavy, as you dragged yourself across the floor, barely managing to pull yourself up against the sink.  

Desperate, you shoved two fingers down your throat.  

Gagging. Drooling. Struggling.  

Nothing.  

No bile. No coffee. Nothing but the taste of it.

Defeat crashed over you like a wave, and you slumped against the counter, pressing your head into your trembling hands. Your body refused to stop shaking, the heat coiling deep in your core, suffocating despite the cold air of your apartment.  

When would this nightmare end?  

Would prayers even help?  

Was this God testing you?  

Or… was this something else?  

The thought of demons gnawed at the edges of your mind, intrusive, insidious. You didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t. But your hands moved on their own, dragging you to your laptop. Searching. Researching.  

Anything. Everything.  

Pages upon pages filled the screen—passages on demons, creatures of the night, accounts of possessions. Every source pointed to the same thing. You had invited something in. A ritual. A bargain. A welcome.  

But you hadn’t done any of that.  

The only thing that had changed in your life was—  

Satoru.

Suguru. 

No.  

No, no, no, no—  

They were just men. Men who visited the church like anyone else. You couldn’t put this on them. Couldn’t accuse them of this.  

A shaky breath left you as you slammed your laptop shut.  

This wasn’t over. Not yet.  

Despite everything, you forced yourself to your feet, dragging yourself forward. You couldn’t stop now. Whatever this was, whatever had taken root inside you, you had to push through.  

You had to prove you were strong enough to survive it.

—

The afternoon light had softened, but you still felt like you were dragging yourself through the day. Your morning service had been rough—your voice had faltered, your hands unsteady. The elderly women from the day before had kept their promise, pressing a tupperware container of soup into your hands.  

Despite your best efforts, they saw right through you.  

“Please, (Y/N), take care of yourself, sweetheart,” one of them had murmured, her voice gentle but insistent. “You do so much for this lil’ old church, but you need to look after yourself too, darling.”  

They fussed over you, offering kind words that should have soothed you. But the lingering weight of your nightmare clung to you, making the church feel suffocating instead of sacred.  

This wasn’t you—not since your lowest point, when you had drowned your sorrow in booze until you woke up covered in vomit and piss, barely scraping by but always managing to afford another bottle. Those days were supposed to be behind you. You had clawed your way out, had seen the pain and disappointment in your family’s eyes, had begged for forgiveness in your father’s arms.  

You couldn’t go back.  

So you swallowed down any lingering emotion, forced a tired smile, and thanked the women, keeping the soup despite the nausea twisting in your gut. You weren’t sure you could stomach anything—not after that dream.  

—  

The day dragged, exhaustion pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. Even coffee wouldn’t help. You hadn’t even picked up fresh flowers, leaving the vases empty and forgotten.  

Instead, you threw yourself into cleaning—wiping down pews, sweeping floors, anything to keep your hands busy. The repetitive motions offered little comfort, but at least they kept your mind occupied.  

Until the door creaked open.  

You turned, expecting to see Suguru or Satoru. But the church was empty.  

“Hello?”  

Silence.  

Then—shffft.

The confessional curtain shifted.  

Your pulse quickened, breath catching as you hesitated before stepping forward.  

“Is someone there?”  

No response.  

Still, you inched closer, standing just outside the booth. Your hand trembled as you reached for the door, stepping inside and settling into the chair.  

Then, a voice—soft, low, impossible to place.  

“Father, I…need to confess.”  

You swallowed your unease. Maybe you’d just missed them coming in. Maybe you were overthinking it.  

“Of course,” you said, voice steady despite the tension coiling in your chest. “Please, speak your truth. I am here.”  

The mesh between you hid their face, but you could hear the hesitation in their breath. The way their voice cracked as they continued.  

“I’ve been…seeing things. Hearing things. Feeling things I’ve never felt before.”  

They paused, as if the words were too much to bear.  

“I don’t know where to turn. Who to talk to. I feel so alone. So scared.” Their voice wavered, thick with something close to desperation. “I have no one. No one I can trust. And this feeling—it’s not natural…”  

Your stomach twisted. The words rang too close to home, striking a chord deep within you.  

Then—  

“I’ve been so hot. I can’t sleep. The dreams—no, nightmares—they won’t stop. They want me. They want me to give in, to let them in—to let them in to LET. THEM. IN! LETTHEMIN!!”  

The voice boomed, echoing impossibly loud, rattling inside your skull. Your ears rang, the pressure unbearable, forcing you to stumble out of the booth.  

With shaking hands, you threw the confessional curtain open.  

Empty.  

No one was there.  

Your breath came ragged, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.  

This wasn’t right.  

This couldn’t be right.  

You collapsed to your knees, your gaze darting around the church—the melted candles, the dim light of the setting sun casting fractured colors through stained glass.  

“No—no, no, no—!”  

You bolted.  

Your hand shot to your cross, desperate for reassurance—  

SNAP—

The chain broke. Beads scattered across the floor, the metal cross slipping from your grasp.  

But none of that mattered now.  

You needed to get out.

—  

The drive blurred together—keys in the ignition, tires screeching against pavement, the hollow sound of your own breath. By the time you reached the store, your body had moved into autopilot, your mind barely present as you walked through the doors.  

The cashier didn’t look at you. Just took your ID. Your cash. No words exchanged.  

Back in the car, the bottle sat heavy in the passenger seat. The only thing breaking the silence was the soft slosh of liquid and the low rumble of the engine.  

By the time you stumbled into your apartment, everything had turned hazy.  

The first sip burned.  

The second went down smoother.  

By the third, the fire in your throat was familiar. Sickening, but grounding.  

At least it was something you could control.

—

That night was the first in days that you had no dreams—no nightmares. You had drowned yourself in liquor until there was nothing left but the numb embrace of sleep. You passed out on your couch, dead to the world, until your phone blared for the tenth time, your father’s name flashing on the screen.  

Your eyes cracked open, vision blurred by sleep, and the stale mix of vomit and alcohol clung to your breath. A dull, relentless throb pulsed in your skull, and the shrill ringtone only made it worse. With a groan, you fumbled for your phone, answering with a hoarse, “Hello?”  

The voice on the other end was frantic, teetering on the edge of panic. Your father sounded like he had been near tears.  

“(Y/N)? My god, boy, you don’t know how scared I’ve been. Mrs. Soma called me—she said the church doors were locked, and she couldn’t get ahold of you…”  

His words barely registered. The night before came back to you in flashes, distorted and hazy, like trying to recall a fever dream. It took everything in you just to sit up, slumping against the couch with a dull exhale.  

“I—” Your voice cracked, throat raw. There was no accusation in your father’s tone, no anger—just fear. Fear that something had happened to you. If he knew the truth… if he knew you had relapsed, if he knew what was happening to you… Would he understand? Or would he look at you the same way he did all those years ago?  

“I’m sorry,” you rasped, scrambling for an excuse. “I think I caught something from the Sunday school kids.”  

You forced your voice to sound steady, to keep the slur out of your words.  

A relieved breath came from the other end of the line, and you could almost see the tension lifting from your father’s face. “Thank God… You had me and your mother worried sick. We thought—”  

He stopped himself, but you already knew what he was going to say. They thought you had fallen back into the abyss you had spent years crawling out of. And they would have been right.  

Guilt coiled around you like a serpent, squeezing tighter with every passing second. They trusted you. Believed in you. And in the span of three godforsaken days, you had shattered that trust.  

You swallowed hard, blinking away the sting in your eyes. “I’ll be alright. I just need some cold medicine. I let myself sleep in a bit, but I’ll make sure to let them know what happened.”  

Your father was silent for a moment before he chuckled softly. “They love you, son. So don’t worry too much. They just wanted to make sure you were safe.”  

Safe. Trusted. Loved. Comforted.  

All things you had fought to earn, to believe in. And yet, it had all come undone, slipping through your fingers like sand.  

“I’m alright, Dad. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you tonight and let you know how I’m feeling, okay?”  

A beat of silence, then another quiet chuckle. “Please do, (Y/N). I love you.”  

The words struck like a hammer to your chest, ringing in your ears like gongs.  

“I love you too,” you murmured.  

As soon as the call ended, your phone tumbled from your grasp onto the couch. Tears spilled down your cheeks, silent and bitter. Your gaze fell to the half-empty bottle beside you, nausea rising in your throat.  

Then, everything inside you cracked.  

A ragged scream tore from your lips as you slammed your fist against the table. Spit and drool slipped from your mouth as you gasped for air, writhing in agony.  

So much lost. And for what? From what?  

“FUCK!”  

The word ripped from your throat, raw and broken.  

And yet, despite everything—despite the guilt, the shame, the crushing weight of it all—your hand still reached out. Fingers curled around the bottle.  

You tipped it back, swallowing deep, welcoming the burn.  

And in the silence, beneath the ringing in your ears, you swore you heard it—low, guttural, layered laughter echoing from the shadows.  

—

7:30 PM

The day had been a waking nightmare. Your mind was scattered, sluggish—drunk and stupid. You could barely read the pages in front of you, let alone offer comfort to those who sought it. The people who once came to you for guidance now looked at you with something else entirely. Judgment. Fear. Pity.  

Your hands trembled as they rested in your lap, your gaze fixed on the statue before you. The candles around it had burned low, wax dripping down the marble like tears.  

“Please…please forgive me,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Father…Mother…God—please.”  

Your breaths came in shallow gasps. Thoughts refused to form, slipping from your grasp like water through cupped hands.  

Then, the voices returned.  

“Don’t worry…”  

They coiled around you like smoke, thick and suffocating.  

“You’re doing so well—”  

They clashed, layered over one another, overlapping, distorting—until they became unbearable.  

“All you need to do now is….Let. Us. IN.”  

[sunnyswide]

You haven’t seen him in ages ever since he left for the military in high school.

But nothing could have prepared you for this..

“König-” You choke on your words, he was.... massive.

Konig shifted uncomfortably, standing awkwardly at the doorway of your comparatively tiny home. His Miltary Uniform and the signature sniper mask still dawned.

“Can I come in?”

“oh! Of-course” you’re awakened from your trance, his presence looming over your meek body. you stepped aside, letting him wander around your apartment, his boots making the floors creak in agony.

“You haven’t changed much” He stared at you with those damn blue eyes, eyes you haven’t forgotten..you couldn’t.

It’s been years since those last words..

—

“Don’t wait up”

“you promise.. You’ll come back?” You squeeze his hand in yours, tears threatening to slip out the corners of your eyes.

He just stares at you.. those piercing blue eyes and nods. Only a nod. A simple gesture but that’s all you needed at that time.

—

But now? He was back after years, the only friend you kept in contact with after high school and College, the only man who made you feel safe physically but also mentally. The same König that would stutter in front of the class when giving presentations, the same König who seemed tensed in social settings but with you? He’d give you the world.

You thought the feelings faded, your heartstrings cut, but having him right in front of you… well honestly made you flustered and tense.

“You’ve changed though..uhm, König..” You look shamelessly at his body, eyes lazily wandering over his tight shirt, uncovered forearms, broad shoulders, large torso, his..

“my eyes are up here Liebling”

He straightens up, tilting his head back revealing even more of his sculpture-like body.

“I-I wasn’t looking!” you jolt, turning your head to the side.

“Anyways! Tea?”

You walk over to your kitchen counter, setting the quite adorable but inconvenient tea set to a boil. You prepare the concoction nervously, spilling a few fragments on the tray.

“Schatz” He stands up, freeing your couch from suffocation.

He walks towards you, his hand brushing over the black countertop. you back up instinctively.. still unaccustomed to his presence.

“König..”

“Kö- that’s what you used to call me. Isn’t it?” He stepped closer to you, closing the gap.

You swear you stopped breathing at this point.

His hand crept around your waist, fingers pressing against the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Ich habe dich sehr vermisst, Taube.”

“huh?!” You finally catch your breath, confused as to what spell he just conjured up.

But with no answer, he kissed you with his covered mouth, pushing rougher against you to feel your soft rosebud lips.

“mmf!” Your hands freeze, hovering on the sides of his sniper hood before gently setting them against the structure of his jawline. The kiss seemed unreal, you were ready to be awoken in bed at any time but nothing, the world kept spinning and time didn’t stop.

Breathless, you finally disconnect your hands from his face, letting the kiss escape into the past.

“I didn’t want to take off my mask..for you” he muttered, letting go of your waist.

“why?”

“Cause if you didn’t want to..I.” König began to stutter, his hands rubbing against the back of his neck. You smile, reminded of his old socially awkward self.

“dummy..” you whisper, raising your hand up to lift his mask.

“that means the first one didn’t count, we have to do it again” you coo

He looked at you dumbfounded, lips parted in slight shock. But quickly taking the initiative by hoisting you in the air. His hands on the bottom of your thighs, making your face slightly above his.

“Kö-!” You yelp, your hands safely gripping his shoulders in fear.

He tilts up, letting you lift his mask up to expose his scarred lips. Your faces are just centimeters apart. Your breath hitched, you could almost hear your own heart pounding. Worst, König also heard it. He chuckles at your innocence, amused by how such a little thing like you haven’t already had their first kiss.

“Hey..! Don’t look at me like that!” You mumble, cupping his cheek.

“Hm, liebenswert”

You close your eyes…

SCEEEEEEEEEEE!

the kettle screeches making you squeal but Konig calmy looks toward the stove to turn it off.

“So ein Baby” (such a baby <3)

“did that scare you Maus?”

Oh and the first one meant “I missed you so much dove <3”

[total-drama-brainrot]

Total Drama Psycho Noah AU, how does Alejandro react to seeing Noah's true colors through the cameras?... How would Alejandro react to Chris + Chef not being surprised or shocked at all?... What if when Noah learns that everyone saw his true colors, Noah simply smirks and says: "...Whoops." 😏

Well, the cast as a whole are all sort-of introduced to Noah's 'true colours' through the screens in First Class, but I think a lot of them would struggle through the cognitive dissonance between what they 'know' about Noah (apathetic, lazy, almost pathetically harmless) and what they saw on the cameras (emotive/smiley, physically capable, decidedly not harmless), so the initial reaction would be a mixture of terror, confusion and disbelief, mostly.

When they notice that neither Chris nor Chef seem to find anything amiss with Noah's behaviour, that's when the confusion and disbelief morph into outrage (for the more confrontational contestants like Heather) because they knew? Chris and Chef were fully aware that they'd been in near-constant close proximity with the thing they just saw on the screen, and said nothing?!

Alejandro, being a composed person of more subtle displays of emotion (for the most part), masks his fear and anger behind a veneer of concern- for his castmates, for the Ripper, maybe even for Noah himself, because clearly something has happened to his dear teammate that's caused this bout of insanity, surely?

No? He's just like that? Oh. Oh.

Alejandro realises that he's spent the majority of his time on the jet playing nice* with someone who's fully capable of snapping both of his arms like toothpicks, who apparently has an affinity for sharp objects and the colour red. The one person on the jet he felt some semblance of genuine kinship with, as the 'most sane' member of Team Chris barring himself, has been an act this whole time? Has been that dangerous this whole time?!

Needless to say, Alejandro's concern quickly becomes genuine. And self-directed. He's terrified; Noah could've snapped at any moment, and Alejandro likely would've been caught in the crossfire of that thing's hysteria.

But the cast can't exactly air their displeasure with the situation, as two figures hover by the doorway to the First Class Cabin.

It's Courtney and Gwen, dragging a burlap sack behind them. A sigh of relief washes over the group; it's just those two, and not him.

-

When Noah and Owen skitter into First Class, Owen carrying the sack-captured Ripper in his arms (in a kind-hearted gesture to prevent any more damage befalling the Ripper's broken forearms), a trepid silence permeates through the cabin like fog.

Owen, ever the obtuse sort, pierces the veil of fearful anticipation with a victorious cry.

"Sweet! Everybody's okay!"

The others (barring Gwen and Courtney) hesitate to answer, their fear-blown eyes fixated on the nonchalant form of the cynic beside him. Until Heather works up enough courage to respond with her usual haughtiness- though her tone is off, embittered by the acrid taste of anxiety on her tongue.

"Yup! Everyone's fine, no worries here!" She ends her statement with a nervous giggle, ignoring the way her voice cracked mid-sentence, and her focus never drifts from the monster bookworm stood only a few meters away.

"Though it is reassuring to see everyone safe, no?" Alejandro adds sharply, peeling his attention away from Noah to send a pointed look towards the hosting duo.

"Safe? Duh, it's just a challenge. No one was ever gonna really get hurt, it'd be 'bad for ratings'."

A collective flinch tremors across the crowd as Noah speaks, his usual sardonic deadpan accompanied by finger quotes at the end of his sarcastic comment.

It's followed by an awkward pause, the others either too scared or too confused by the frigid atmosphere to talk, and Noah shoots an imploring look towards Chris- a nonverbal request for clarification. Chris wordlessly points towards the flat screen television that's hung on the wall behind the captured contestants, displaying a series of live-feed camera footage; the inside of the bus he and Owen had previously adventured through, bathed in cold moonlight but otherwise eerily gloomy, stares accusingly back at him.

That's interesting.

Owen follows his gaze, as do the rest of the competitors, and the Ripper-wrangling duo both quickly realise what's happened.

A laugh, something unnervingly shrill and breathless- more akin to the yowling of a feral cat than any human noise- rings humourlessly through the cabin, and all eyes snap back towards Noah.

Who's face has twisted into a mirthless grin, more similar to a snarl, that's far too wide for his face and bears unnaturally sharp teeth. His eyes have widened into owl-like near perfect circles, almost drowning the hickory brown of his irises in a sea of ivory sclera, making him look uncanny and deranged. Barely even human.

"Whoops."

[ranpazz]

um um can we get um um hcs of um um wicked games?

Oh Ira I can NEVER resist u 🤍 Ofc we can get some! I'm so sorry I took my sweet time.

𝑊𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐻𝐶'𝑠 ;

Characters included ; Flagger!Reader & Racer!Ranpo

cw ; Mentions of failed relationships, smoking, not proofread, plz lmk if I forgot anything

Racer!ranpo has so many candy wrappers, cups, and snacks in his car it's unbelievable. (he makes you clean it.)

Racer!ranpo who's whole reputation is built off of his egotistical attitude and the praise he acquired while racing.

Racer!ranpo who doesn't worry if people do or don't like him, he's always right either way.

Racer!ranpo who has an unbelievable amount of cash from winning races that he simply doesn't know what to do with it.

Racer!ranpo who has had a few girlfriends in the past, but none of which he saw himself staying with in the long term.

Racer!ranpo who's somewhat mean, but only because he doesn't trust some people in his line of work.

Racer!ranpo who hasn't lost a single race and his win record rivals a certain brunet's.

Racer!ranpo who falls out of love easily, but he fantasizes about having a soulmate or some perfect relationship that he knows doesn't exist.

Racer!ranpo who recieved a Camaro ZL 1 from Fukuzawa as a gift for joining their race team at such a young age.

Racer!ranpo who tries his best to maintain his image, considering all the others on the race team look up to him.

Racer!ranpo hates smoke from cigarettes and will tend to avoid it whenever he can.

Racer!ranpo loves annoying those around him due to the fact he knows he's better than them.

Racer!ranpo who was initially shocked when he first met the flagger of the Port Mafia. He thought she was adorable.

Racer!ranpo who didn't think he'd be so close to someone other than Fukuzawa, but he ultimately, for the first time, proven wrong.

—

Flagger!reader who attends college as a cover up for attending the illegal street races.

Flagger!reader is a sucker for attention, she loves being treated like the main attraction.

Flagger!reader who has a passion for racing, though she never sees herself as a legitimate racer.

Flagger!reader who lost a bet and was forced to get a kitten tattoo on her upper arm.

Flagger!reader chose being a Flagger as an excuse to stand in the middle of the road yet not get hit. (Lowkey adrenaline addict.)

Flagger!reader who doesn't believe love truly exists due to past relationships.

Flagger!reader who only smokes weed with people she trusts to avoid making an idiot out of herself.

Flagger!reader who values her reputation bc it's her only true defense.

Flagger!reader has a bad habit of biting her lip in stressful situations.

Flagger!reader who has double earlobe piercings to match with Chuuya. (they were drunk)

Flagger!reader who hated the idea of fate. Mainly because of a certain someone.

Flagger!reader thought of Ranpo as an arrogant prick when she first met him.

Flagger!Reader who believed that almost everyone lies to her, at least until she met him.

[katalogos]

COLLECTION OF SMALL WRITINGS ABOUT MY NEW OC

His name is Deveor!! These are all just small writings and thoughts placed down for the sake of getting an idea across. This isn't really... prime writing ability from me. Heads up/content warning, people die, get poisoned, get injured, and we have a notably unhinged guy as the star of the show. If you know yourself well enough to know this doesn't sit right with you, PLEASE don't read this! Otherwise, enjoy!

Initial Thoughts

Deveor stared down at the crumpled heap of a human body thrown before him. Piercing eyes picked apart the appearance of the unconscious man, a quiet hum escaping his lips as he pressed them into a straight line. The expression only lasted a moment. He had watched from afar as the man had frantically fought against his guards before he was captured. He killed four of them, miraculously. He was subsequently overwhelmed, but the four dead and two others injured elicited some sort of feeling in him. And it wasn’t hatred or anger. He couldn’t help but be impressed with this little human. “Leave us,” his deep voice growled, echoing against the chamber walls. Fading footsteps indicated that the guards had left. He hadn’t looked away from the human. 

The behemoth crouched down, tilting his head. Long, neon green hair cascaded down to the floor as he did. “Where did you come from?” he inquired to himself, seemingly amused. His large hand grabbed the chin of the unconscious man. Angling his head around, he took in the other’s features. “And why?” Deveor didn’t remain crouched for long. An electric shock shot through his wretched heart. He couldn’t help but raise his brows and shake his head, releasing a sigh of sorts before his expression filled with some semblance of malice. A grin. He rolled the human over, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and lifting his limp body from the stone floor. One pair of hands setting themselves on his hips, while the other was occupied by the other man. He was so much smaller than himself, he thought with a short huff of amusement. 

With the dangling human at eye level, Deveor could get a proper look at his visitor. He stared for another moment, before shrugging slightly. He continued to hold him like a scruffed animal as he strolled into another room. It was smaller than the palace entryway, of course. This was a small side room, generally meant for entertaining real visitors. Members of Deveor’s court. He didn’t think anyone would have the gall to say something about bringing the little human here. As he closed the door, his second pair of hands locked it behind him. He didn’t feel the need to turn. He then took his specimen to the table, dropping him there almost carelessly. He was just careful enough to ensure that he didn’t hit his head off of the gold plating. 

And the waiting began.

Deveor didn’t know yet, but the man laying on his table was named Jesper. He could only imagine the reaction that this predicament was going to get out of the man. He continued to smile as he thought about it, a giddy stir in his stomach. He could’ve giggled. It’s been so long since he’s had any interesting visitors. So long since he’s had any unique fighters, at that. Those humans with their guns, their bombs, their pathetic little knives. But oh no, this human had something different! A weapon that relied on a unique set of skills. Deveor quite loved to see that. He wanted to see it again. He left the weapon wrapped around Jesper, hoping that when he came to, he’d decide to use it against him. If he was stupid enough to, anyway. It’d be more amusing if he was stupid. 

“It’d be such a shame to kill off such a pretty little thing,” he mused aloud. “We’ll have to see how smart you are when you wake up, won’t we? Maybe you’ll struggle a little, seeing as you probably are concussed. I didn’t smell your blood, so I’m assured they didn’t bludgeon you when I wasn’t looking. On the other hand, we have some poisons that can cause short comas… I presume that’s what you’ve got running through you now.” 

Deveor leaned back into his suitably massive chair, both sets of arms folding across his torso. “I wonder what your deal is. I think I will let you tell me yourself… No matter how tempting it is to go through your belongings while you’re out of it.” He chuckled again. As he tilted his head down a little, his unruly hair followed. “I’ve been asking the Araze when I’d get some real entertainment. Let us hope that you don’t disappoint me, or them.” He closed his eyes, a rumble of a laugh in his throat. It was silly to talk to someone who couldn’t hear him. It was even sillier that he felt so excited for Jesper to awaken. Oh well. What was one to do besides wait?

------------------------------------------------

Anticoagulant

A growl ripped from Deveor’s throat as he felt cold steel attempt to slash through his back. His hair, he thought angrily, would be messed up by that stupid blade. He opened his mouth, his upper right hand swiping into his cheek and digging his nails in. He could taste his own blood, witness the viscous black liquid underneath his nails before he swung backwards to lash at the person who had attempted to harm him. He felt his hand make harsh contact. Their body crumbled under his strength. He whipped around to hem up the fallen body, his lower set of arms grabbing both of theirs. He lifted them, baring his teeth in a savage grin. He looked at the cuts that now spanned from their forehead to their chin, in the shape of his nails. Blood welled from the wounds, dribbling out steadily. They wouldn’t stop bleeding now, he knew that. His own blood had mixed with theirs, after all. Bringing soaked fingers to his lips, he dragged his tongue across the blood before he began to talk. “Pathetic attempt,” the behemoth lambasted. “Utterly disappointing.”

------------------------------------------

Nerve Agent 

Deveor looked down at the fallen king before him. Another reign he brought to an end by his own hands. “Please,” the man begged. “You need not kill me-” 

“I do,” Deveor replied dryly, wiping his forehead with the palm of his hand. The warm air felt cool against the liquid that he had just swiped away. Without any warning, his mammoth palm was pressed onto the king’s face. He squeezed the royal’s head, his hand slipping down to wipe across the man’s neck before releasing him. Deveor watched as the king’s eyes watered, his face twitching uncontrollably with the contact. He attempted to speak, but a hefty wheeze was all that escaped. The human’s hands clawed at quickly perspiring skin, trembling. “That looks like it hurts,” Deveor teased, lolling his head to the side. “Mmm, what a sad, sad way to die.”

He watched the human writhe, observing the effects of the liquid. He’s seen it hundreds of times. But he likes to watch. His 12’6 frame crouched, folding his top pair of hands together as the king scrambled and convulsed on the ground. “I wonder if there will ever be a time that this bores me,” he thought aloud. As the man before him screamed, gripping for nothing, fighting to break free from the pain and sporadic movements forced upon him by his own muscles, Deveor shook his head. “No, no I don’t think there will.” The lower pair of arms folded over his abdomen. He listened to the choked sobs of his adversary, noting how he appeared to truly be struggling to breathe now. “There’s always space in my heart for the suffering of others,” he tittered.

Okay, all done! Please feel free to ask questions about Deveor, I'd love to talk about him.

[queerocfandomer]

The Oak Saga - "First Sparks" - Part 1

1958

The first time you met her, it was just an ordinary evening, late enough in the year that frost would cling to the ground overnight, only to melt away by the afternoon sun’s gentle warmth. You were hard at work in the greenhouse, enveloped in the magical hush of the witching hour, pouring your energy into the ritual at hand, harnessing the power of the waxing moon to breathe life into the plants with the promise of growth and prosperity. 

It had been one of those long, tiresome days, and as you wrapped up preparations to preserve the last of the harvest, you could already feel the anticipation of a busy week ahead, filled with canning. A bead of sweat trickled down your face as you completed your task; just one more to go before you could finally surrender to a well-deserved rest.

Suddenly, a presence stirred in the air around you, something you must have missed while absorbed in your work, someone triggering the basic wards that stood at the perimeter of the property. You had anticipated a member of the Arwood Coven to come by this week for a pickup, yet this felt like an unusual time for their arrival. You cast a quick glance at the sky above, its dark canvas beckoning, and thought—you should have enough time to check it out, just to satisfy your growing curiosity.

You step out of the greenhouse, using your arm to wipe the sweat from your brow, feeling the cool of the evening air wash over you. As you take a breath, you call out into the stillness, “Hello, can I help you?” 

Any onlooker might have thought you’d lost your senses, speaking into the empty darkness. But then, with a subtle shift, she dropped her glamour, and a soft, enchanting glow of purple illuminated the darkness as a figure descended gracefully to the ground, beginning to approach you.

Two thoughts flashed through your mind as she came into view. First, the captivating hue of purple was undeniably intriguing, a rare sight. As she stepped closer, you couldn’t help but feel an unexpected annoyance as your heart skipped a beat. Because secondly, she was simply breathtaking; there was no other way to describe it. As the purple light faded, leaving her bathed in the warm glow of the greenhouse lights, you took in her exquisite features.

Her long, dark hair cascaded around her face, both untamed and elegant, framing her exquisitely angled face. The way her attire clung to her figures was undeniable, albeit dressed rather commonly for the age—a dark, fitted blazer paired with a flowing skirt—the distinctive element was the long, flowing deep purple cloak that enveloped her. 

You realized you stood at nearly the same height, which felt unexpectedly daunting, as your eyes met perfectly when you looked straight ahead. Her piercing blue gaze crackled with an electric energy; one thing was clear—this was no ordinary witch.

“Hello, Sorry I missed your initial arrival, I was just working on some waxing moon rituals, Are you here for a coven pick up?”

“Oh, me, No, no, I was just in the area, and I couldn’t help but sense your magik. So I thought I would stop by.” 

“Ah well, I hope I didn’t distract you from your travels too much, but I would definitely remember seeing your face before, so I’m sure we haven’t met. I’m Oakley.” 

As you extend your hand in greeting, you notice her pause, tilting her head ever so slightly, leaving you wondering what thoughts are swirling in her mind. 

“Agatha,” she states, her tone level but with a hint of something more. There’s a brief hesitation before she reaches out to shake your hand. 

Just as your hands meet, something wonderfully strange occurs: your green and her purple suddenly reach out toward one another, sending a jolt of electricity through you, reminiscent of a static shock. You both pull back simultaneously, staring at your hands in fascination, and you notice she mirrors your intrigue. “Strange,” you hear her murmur softly. “Very, yeah, Ahh, that’s never happened before,” you say, glancing back at her, an unexplainable emotion lingering in her eyes.

“So, were you by any chance in need of some herbs or anything? I guess if you're just passing through, you might not be familiar with my work, but I do supply folks with various ingredients and such."

"You know, I did hear from a coven I met down south a few months ago that there was someone in this area who kept a good supply, so I suppose that must be you, I could likely put something to use—do you happen to have Fleawort?"

"I should have some already dried that I can spare,” your gaze shifts to the the moon above as you take note of the time passing “My apologies, but I'm not accustomed to having visitors at this time. I just have one last spell I want to complete before the hour is up. Would you mind waiting until I'm finished? It shouldn't take too long."

"Oh yes, I can stay a few moments longer. Please, continue your work," she replies, gesturing toward the greenhouse. 

A flicker of concern tugs at your mind, intuition whispering that she might have an agenda of her own. You nod in gratitude and head back inside, acutely aware that she has chosen to follow you.

You approach the planting box, summoning your green magik, which casts a soft emerald glow upon the woman standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame as she watches you with a quiet intensity. 

You need to focus, you remind yourself, trying to push her from your mind as you close your eyes and begin the spell. Minutes slip by, the vibrant green fading away until you open your eyes once more to meet Agatha's gaze.

“Thanks for that, The Vervain tends to be quite stubborn in this area, so it really needs the extra help.” You smile as you walk past her, a guiding arm gesturing towards the house. As you catch her eye, you notice something that you can’t quite place on her face—an expression that hints she rarely sees such warmth.

“I should have that Fleawort over at the house, Surely there isn’t anything else you could use? I have something for every need, really,” 

“I think I'll be alright for now,” 

You can’t shake the feeling that she’s made some kind of decision, and you wonder whether it’s good or bad for you. You pause at the ring of runebound rocks surrounding your home, glancing back at her as she waits, and you pass over them before turning to face her.

“I’d invite you in, but you know what they say: don’t let a person past your runes before you’ve seen them smile,” 

She looks at you, and you notice her scrunch her face, as though trying to suppress a genuine reaction to your words. 

“Well, I’ve never heard that before, but if you say so,”

You let out a soft, light laugh, “I’ll just be right back.” 

Turning to enter the house, you switch on the lights and make your way to the kitchen while reminding yourself that she’ll be able to see you through the window. It’s not like you’ve never encountered a beautiful woman before; for heaven’s sake, get a grip, you think to yourself. But what was that spark when we touched? You ponder as you rummage through the cabinets, finally spotting the container you need.

You select a smaller jar from a drawer and fill it with the dried Fleawort. What else could you offer her? Maybe you’ll never see her again, but you should at least try to let her know she’s left an impression. You grab a small burlap sack from a nearby pile, hurriedly tossing in a couple of bay leaves, mugwort, and rosemary before you head back outside. 

Brandishing the jar toward her as you descend the steps, you pause to pluck a sprig of yarrow that thrives around the porch. You add it to the bag cradled in your hand, quickly igniting your green energy to infuse the selection of herbs with vibrancy as you walk. As you do, you notice Agatha's hand glowing a vibrant purple as she summons her own power.

Looking up at her in surprise, your green begins to fade and then you step carefully over the rocks to rejoin her. “Ah, I just put a few things together here in a travel sachet for you,” passing her the small bag. Her purple glow dims as she gazes at you, her expression a mix of something—confusion, surprise, maybe even worry; you just can't quite pinpoint it. A surge of irritation washes over you, igniting your curiosity—why do you want to know so badly? 

She gently takes the bag from your hand, “Ahhh, thanks.” 

“Not to judge or anything, but ah, did you think I was going to attack you?” 

“Well, I mean, ahh, no, I…” The way she stumbles over her words drives you a little crazy; suddenly, she seems to waver, her immense confidence faltering just a little bit. Was she taken aback by your question or just surprised that you dared to ask it? “Maybe, I mean, you can never be too safe, I guess,” she mumbles.

“You do have a point there,” you say motioning to the runed rocks beside you “it’s never really cut and dry with our kind… Anyway, here’s that Fleawort. It’s ready to go; just add it to whatever.” You hand over the jar, adding it to the bag in her hand.

An uncertainty hangs in the air, thick and palpable, as you both stand in silence for a moment before she finally speaks again. 

“Yes, well, I should really be on my way then,” 

“Right, well It was really nice to meet you, Agatha. I, um, hope to see you again sometime.” —Oh my gosh, Oakley, what are you doing? You can’t help but feel a rush of embarrassment as you curse yourself internally. 

“Yeah, um, same,” with a slight shrug as she ignites her purple glow and takes off gracefully into the night sky.

>>>NEXT PART

[coffeandmidnights]

NOBODY'S SOLDIER Ch 7: Merry Christmas, please don't call

here and on ao3

Hide sighed, sinking his hands in the big pockets of his coat, reaching a hard surface. He grasped it like it was a weapon, clutching to it, while the door in front of him opened, revealing Haise, smiling as always.  "Hideyoshi! I'm glad you could come." Hide forced a smile "Oh, I'm just passing by. I have another place to be." Haise shrugged and invited him in "Have a drink then. And merry Christmas!" Hide stepped in, blinded by the white lights of the apartment. Everybody greeted him: the whole Quinx squad, Akira, Juuzou and Hanbee, Iroiwa, Kuramoto and then Arima, who pierced his eyes like he knew his plan. Hide touched his pocket again, caressing the book that kept him sane for many years, his light of hope.

When he received the invitation to the Quinx Christmas party, that book was the first thing he grabbed, without even thinking. The only thing left of his best friend, and he was ready to give away like nothing, the present he could never give. "I wanted to give you this." Said Haise, snapping him out of the haze and handing him a large box wrapped in red paper. "You didn't have to." Hide blushed, gently ripping the paper and finding a pair of headphones, glowing in their bright yellow colour. "Initially I thought of gloves, but Akira mentioned how much you listen to music and so...But it's okay if you don't like them." Hide slowly lifted his head, meeting Haise's eyes and staring for what seemed like hours, then melting into a loving smile. "They're fantastic. Thank you."

I have something for you too He was prepared to say, already heading to the book, but Haise got closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And I wanted to thank you. Without your help at the Auction, who knows what could've happened." The touch paralyzed Hide, leaving him at loss of words, looking around. The rest of the party seemed to enjoy their moment, participants in Haise's emotion, clueless of Hide's internal fire.

"It was sheer luck. But I'm glad you're okay." He held the headphones to his chest, backing up. "Well, thank you for the hospitality, but I promised a friend I'd stay with her."   "Her?" Haise smiled curiously "If so, go your way. We'll see each other at work." Hide smiled again and reached the door with too much urge.

Once the door locked him out of the party, he took the book from his pocket, opening the first page. To Ken Kaneki. Happy birthday. Decorated with Sen Takatsuki's signature on the bottom. An author Hide barely knew, but for whom Hide endured hours of line. All to have a present for his best friend, back when he was just a stray ghoul. And then, days of yearning to see him again, years of holding to those white pages, read countless times to keep the memory of Kaneki alive, clinging to the faint hope to fix everything.

Hide smelled the pages one last time. Then, without thinking, left it in the small mailbox outside the door.

Touka polished the last coffee cup and carefully placed it on the shelf with the others. She looked around the cafe, lit by the small Christmas tree in the corner, with Yomo beside her, silently rubbing the wood counter. The religious silence was interrupted by the door opening and Touka smiled. "You're late." Hide closed the door and sat in front of her. "Sorry. I had to pass by the Quinx party." Yomo raised his eyebrows alarmed. "They don't know you're here, right?" Hide laughed: "Remember, here I'm a friend, not an investigator." Touka handed him a cup of hot coffee, the scent of home pervading the room. "Yomo, remember we have to thank Hide if this cafe exists." "As always, Touka, you're too good for us mortals." Hide laughed, enjoying his coffee, but then returned serious, placing Haise's present on the counter. "He gave me these." She stared in shock, holding the package like a bomb. "They look just like yours. You think he remembers?" He shrugged. "I can't understand. Sometimes it seems like he's going to snap out of it and come back, but in a second he's already back into soldier mode." Touka sat in silence, playing with her hair. "Is he happy?"

Hide took a long breath before answering, replaying the past months in his head, all the times he observed Haise, their little talks, the way his squad looked at him. Quinx love him, Akira needs him, Arima owns him.

But is he happy?

"I hope so." She lowered her eyes, unable to ask anything else.

Hide softly reached for her hand, locking eyes with her. "Whatever happens, I won't give up on him. Not this time." Touka held his hand, smiling sadly. "I never doubted that."

Hide entered his apartment, welcomed by cold hair and darkness. He  walked in the dark, reaching for his room. There, he found the same scenario of that morning: a messed up bed, posters covering the walls, papers scattered around and a desk flooded with documents. He sat in front of it, diving into the words. From the report given by Marude -about a ghoul helping a CCG operation- to the old files on the Owl mission of years before. Weeks of work and investigation, data that led to a name, someone forgotten, a ghost haunting their lives. Hide rumbled through the pages, picking a photo.

Amon Koutaro.

No one will be left behind. Not this time.

[goobie-goo]

SONG OF THE DAY + 1 bc ehehshjddb

abnormality dancing girl by guchiry… my beloved… it has lore but i interpret it for dallas in the way that “did i get it? that brand new me?” PUFHH. also the character in the video is highly implied to go insane and also implied to kill herself or something. she at least goes insane with the obsession of being perfect. dallas isnt like it so i took the lyrics and twisted them iykwim. its in JP so i gave the video w the eng subs :D

https://youtu.be/DK56dOxLxPY?si=k0yatpQT4bSD0Tiu

and then the +1,,, oughhh probabky my fav or one of my fav kikuo songs: dance of the frogs. ITS ABOUT REINCARNATION!!!! YEAHH. theres a really sick part at 2:52 and onwards like OMIGOD i fucking love the animation like HHSJSHODBSJ frogs??? skeletons??? buddhism elements?? qi xuan is such an amazing voice bank????!:!/&!:8 yes its also a dallas song, especially bc its about reincarnation which can be tied into the lore of dallas never dying like oughh especially when the dance at 3:09,, and then it gets less lighthearted with the frogs looking like theyre in pain (3:27) WITH THE FROG HANDS STRUGGLING TO TRY AND GRASP EACH OTHER AND THE LYRICS?? ‘SUFFERANCE’?? ‘JAIL’?? ‘PRISON CELL’? YEAH NOT DYING WOULD BE HELL FR!!! AND THEN THE SICK SKELETON DANCE INSTRUMENTAL AT 3:59?? AND THEN THE SICK ASS INSTRUMENTAL WITH THE IMPLIED TRANSITION FROM ONE REINCARNATION LIFE TO THE NEXT AT 4:25??? THE WAY IT SLOWLY GETS FASTER?? OH MY GOD. and then the end of that scene with a frame of a lotus im deceased (lotuses mean rebirth).

https://youtu.be/8aS1DiEKAsI?si=QAYK7B9LnuRftNNs

flashing colors warning but it’s so worth it (unless you get a seizure). kikuo’s videos always have captions and theyre STYLIZED!! glamified!! oughhh i fucking love this song and the hidden meanings

OOOOOO those sound sick as FUCK!!!!! i really wanna see whats up with dance of the frogs because from your description it sounds absolutely INSANE

last time i checked i dont usually get seizures so i should be good to go!! tomorrow tho. its my self imposed bed time right now

i!! also have a song of the day!!!! +1!!!!!!! really its more like whatever song is stuck in my head at the moment but! thats ok

1. Drella by Pierce the Veil (shocking i know)

oughhhhhh this song is in my BRAINNNN its in my NEURONSSSSS my freaking UAGH

its????? idk its like. the way he sings is so AUGH and idrk how to interpret lyrics so im not sure what this song is about but its FIRE SO YIPPEE!!!!!!!! the freaking BEAT oiygahhsjshsh dude the way he sings is. gwoahghr cause like he has a rlly distinct voice n he sings pretty high and it ITCHES my BRAIN (also theres a lot of screaming. but as a will wood fan i feel like that wouldnt phase you by now)

+1. Tangled in the Great Escape by Pierce the Veil

DUDE. DUDE THIS SONG. DUDE THIS FREAKING SONG. DUDE GSUAHAGSHDHEHND

i love this album so much cause its got some really sad songs (AND EVERG SINGLE ONE IS A BANGERRR) and this one is one of them and honestly i dont know why its not more popular because its SO GOODDDDDDDDD GRAH

a lot of people saw the song as being about losing a friend to drug addiction when you start to see theyre too far gone but another interpretation i saw was about suicide, which me personally i thought of it as initially but im not really sure. all i know is that its SAD (but its pretty fire on the beat n g l)

tbh i think tangled in the great escape would make a really good song for the villain au? like if alibi was singing it about dallas (who became so obsessed with the idea of revenge that it was basically like losing the person you loved which. wowie i made myself sad)

[kimium]

Saw AU ask time! So, I know you’ve said more than once you’d like to add a bit where Yuu’s university/college friends (the OCs) meet Yuu’s NRC friends and freak out over how famous they are…so I wanna know:

1. Which OC’s would meet which houses?

2. What would their initial reaction be?

3. Is there a point where they sense anything suspicious about the NRC alumni?👀

Oh! What a fun ask! I'm so excited to answer it!

As always to anyone who isn't aware me and @m34gs have a Twisted Wonderland Sort of Saw AU that we're writing together. If you haven't checked out our fics, the link is above!

First, I'm going to leave Leona out of this since I already wrote majority of my OCs meeting him in my Leona focused fic Casino Night.

Next, I'm going to lay out my OCs for everyone. I will admit, there isn't a ton to them. Mostly because I wrote them to be other characters for Yuu to bounce off. So don't expect any deep lore about them. I'm not a big OC making person.

My OCs are as follows:

Professor Robertson - He's the professor that Yuu is working under as a Masters Student. He's friends with Trein and the two enjoy drinking tea/coffee together.

Heather - She's a reliable person. Probably bisexual or lesbian. Unclear. Up to you to decide, I suppose.

Chloe - My favourite one due to her bright personality. She's also a fan of Vil's works.

Riley - Another graduate student.

Pierce - Another graduate student. Dating Nathan.

Nathan - Yet another graduate student. Dating Pierce.

Onto the questions!

1. Which OC’s would meet which houses?

Besides Leona, who they all met, here are the houses they'd meet:

Heartslaybul: I want everyone or a majority of them to meet Heartslaybul. I feel it's inevitable given that Yuu hangs around Ace/Deuce all the time.

Octavinelle: I want either Pierce or Nathan to meet them! I want this because I haven't written those two in a long while. Give them a chance to have the spotlight and maybe flesh a bit more out for their characters.

Scarbia: It has to be Riley because (fic spoilers) he's the one who had the issue that Yuu told Jamil and Kalim about which lead to their murder victim.

Pomefiore: Chloe has to meet Pomefiore.

Ignihyde: Bold to assume anyone could meet Idia. JK, I think someone like Heather or Riley would be fun for Idia to meet.

Diasomnia: Everyone will meet Diasomnia.

2. What would their initial reaction be?

Heartslaybul: They'll be mostly excited to meet some of Yuu's other friends! They've heard many stories about Ace/Deuce. Though, I imagine there will be some shock when they realize Yuu is friends with Trey Clover (owner of one of the most popular bakeries in town), Cater (Magicam extraordinaire), and Riddle (one of the youngest CEOs of a law firm).

Octavinelle: I think it depends on who they're meeting. Contextual wise it makes most sense to have them meet at a Monstro Lounge. In which case they'll see the Customer Service Azul, Jade, and Floyd. Well, as best of a customer service Floyd one can hope for. Working hasn't stopped Floyd from running across the restaurant to squeeze Yuu. In any case, I'm certain any OC who meets them will remain on the polite end of "I'm meeting new people".

Scarabia: Extremely shocked and in awe that Yuu is friends with Kalim Al Asim. This shock will only increase when Kalim (in his earnest nature) wants to throw a "small party" to get to know Yuu's other friends. Yuu wants to apologize, but also there is some amusement to watching someone taking in the grandeur of Kalim's wealth first hand.

Pomefiore: Once Chloe is over the shock of Yuu knowing THE Vil Schoenheit she's going to have a huge fan girl moment. She'll be super respectful, of course, but elated at the same time.

Ignihyde: I want anyone who meets Idia unaware of who he is at first. I want them to think he's some weird, pale, shut-in that Yuu somehow befriended. It's only after a while that all the pieces click into place and they realize "That's Idia Shroud of the Shroud Family".

Diasomnia: I don't just want shock. I want disbelief. I want everyone to Blue Screen for at least 5 minutes when they realize Yuu is friends with The Malleus Draconia, Crown Prince to Briar Valley. Sebek will take this as "They're in awe of Malleus-sama... AS THEY SHOULD BE. Bow before my Lord, Mortals" but thankfully Silver is there to assure everyone they do NOT need to start worshipping Malleus.

3. Is there a point where they sense anything suspicious about the NRC alumni?👀

Rapid fire answers here! Savanclaw can be included this time, given I didn't address this part in the fic.

Heartslaybul: I think it depends on the person. Some are easier to excuse than others. For example: Riddle is just too good at covering his tracks and Trey isn't participating in the murders. So, they're off the hook. However, I could see Ace/Deuce and maybe Cater accidentally slipping up a bit from time to time. It's easily fixed though.

Savanaclaw: Yes, but it's easily swept away with a "Well, he's Royalty and there have to be secrets kept from us lay people". Everyone thinks what Leona is hiding are national security/sensitive cases that comes with ruling and politics. Ruggie is not sloppy and Jack would never be that unprofessional.

Octavinelle: Yes. If they're not a little suspicious of Octavinelle there is something wrong. However, Jade and Floyd will "resolve" their suspicions with a red herring. For example, Jade will purposefully make a parcel look suspicious only to reveal it's an expensive mushroom he purchased to try out for a new dish. Thus, their suspicions will be "alleviated" and all will seem fine.

Scarabia: No. Kalim is just too bright and cheerful to suspect. Jamil is a little quieter, but he's good at covering his tracks (see: Book 4). If any suspicions arise it will be similar to Leona's except it will be business focused rather than royalty/politics.

Pomefiore: No, never. Vil has a Reputation to Uphold. He'd never allow himself to be the source of suspicion. Yes, Rook can be a little off putting, but that's chalked up to Rook being... himself. However, Rook would also never allow himself to be the reason why Vil is suspected. He'd rather perish than do that. Epel thinks that Rook is being extremely over-dramatic.

Ignihyde: No, everyone thinks Idia is a harmless gamer/nerd/shut-in. If any suspicions arise, similar to Leona and Kalim, it's chalked up to "STYX sensitive information". The only thing Idia is suspect of is buying all the dakimakura (body pillows) from his favourite slice of life "cute girls do cute things" anime. Sorry, Idia. It's the truth.

Diasomnia: No. This is because of two things. First, like Leona, Malleus is royalty and if he's suspected of hiding things, it's because it's due to that. Also, he's Fae and they operate on different rules/mindsets. What they feel is "normal" is normal to Fae! Besides, being suspect of murder means that jeopardizes Malleus seeing Yuu for tea time. He'd rather burn the world to ashes than risk his relationship with Yuu.

And there you have it friend! I hope you enjoy my answers! Let me know!

[kiwiana-writes]

hellooooooo MJ! while I await your return to the future times, please allow me to tell you just how goddamn fucking talented you are ❤️

can you please tell us about the first time you dyed your hair and what colour you did, how you styled it etc??

I’ve been back in the future for a whole 28 hours, but my body hasn’t quite got the memo yet, hence the stupidly early (for me) reply to this ask.

Stop being nice to me, what the fuck. I will NOT allow this. You’ve seen the behind the scenes now; you know it’s all smoke and mirrors 😂

I have been dyeing my hair since I was 11! Literally two thirds of my life. My husband of a decade has only ever seen my natural hair colour at the root because these days I shave my head every four weeks and re-dye it 😅 BUT you’re not asking about now, you’re asking about when I started!

So, yeah. I was eleven, which I know seems wildly young, but my mum struck the deal with me early: I could dye my hair whatever nonsense I wanted, and get whatever piercings I wanted, as long as I didn’t get any tattoos until I was eighteen. Which I am WILDLY grateful for now, because I wanted some tacky-ass ink at fifteen/sixteen. (We did end up negotiating one tattoo at seventeen but that’s because my uncle died and I wanted his initials lol. No regrets about that one.)

Anyway! I started dyeing my hair because I was ginger as fuck and kids are assholes. (This was like… 2001. The Southpark ‘ginger kids have no soul’ ep came out while I was in high school. You’ll be shocked to hear it was also not a supportive environment for baby queer MJ either 😂) And because it was literally twenty-fucking-two years ago, I don't remember what colour it was; some sort of box something, probably just like a basic chestnut hahaha. I had long hair then -- I grew it out until it was down to my hips when I was like 16 and then I had a tantrum and hacked it off into a bob and dyed it a like purpley-black -- so I doubt I styled it or anything.

If you're curious about the bright colours I live in now, that didn't start permanently until I was 25-ish. I went through a pretty extensive goth/punk phase as a teenager so through the back half of school it was always blue-black or red-black or purple-black, those blacks that have a hint of something else in the light. I'd occasionally do bright colours in a very temporary way, those wash out in 2-3 wash spray type things, for like, school sports days and shit, or I'd do bright red streaks or dip dyes or similar (it was the early 2000s shut up). Then after I left school I was working for the government or adjacent for a long time, and they had lots of "natural colours only" rules so I stuck to the chestnuts and the chocolate browns. Then I changed government departments and mentioned this in passing to my boss, in a "ugh wish I could" kinda way, and she was like "that rule is stupid and you're a great employee and I'll back you up if necessary". So... I went and brought two different bright blues and mixed them together and bleached and dyed my hair that weekend. Rocked up to work on Monday and she just high-fived me.

Nothing that's been on my head since is a colour you'll see naturally growing out of someone's head 🤣

It used to be a whole production of stripping out the old dye when I wanted to change colours, but I started rocking the buzz cut a few years ago and now it doesn't matter what was on there before, it's all gone and I can start again from scratch lol. Weirdly, when I shave my head these days the roots come in REALLY dark brown, so idk if my hair colour has shifted over the hairs (when I was born my hair was BLACK, by the time I was 3 it was blonde ringlets, then settled into ginger by the time I started school) or if I would just have dark roots and if I let it grow out it would still be ginger when it was longer... but I fucking love the buzzcut for Gender Euphoria reasons and also Oh God My Hair Is So Thick And Heavy reasons, so... we'll probably never find out 😜

[randomoranges]

idk why im so blocked with writing recently. everything is so hard lamao. but here is a thing

October Long pt 2

October 7th 2023

Edward had excused himself to take a quick shower and change into more appropriate clothes and so, when he steps out of Élyse’s washroom, it is to more commotion coming from the living room. It seems that the rest of the family, minus Samuel, has arrived and he realises, not for the first time, that it’s been quite a long time since he’s last properly seen and spoken with Jacques and Suzette.

He tries not to panic as he wonders how they’ll react, but before he can discreetly hide anywhere else, Suzette seems to spot him from the other end of the room and she lets go of Étienne with an ear-piercing shriek, before making her way quickly towards him.

“Edward?! Is that really you?! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

He doesn’t even get a chance to respond and he soon finds himself with an armful of Suzette, who is going on about how good it is to see him and how much she’s apparently missed him. He’d forgotten just how energetic Suzette could be – and how strong – given her small stature, but she nearly picks him off the ground with her embrace and when he gets over the initial shock, he finds a way to hug her back. He spares a glance towards Étienne, silently asking for help, but his boyfriend shares a look with his brother and the both of them shrug, amused.

“It’s good to see you too,” He manages to wheeze, when his feet are fully back on solid ground.

Truth be told, he’d always enjoyed his holidays at Jacques (and Suzette’s). If anything, it had been a fascinating observation exercise in the strange dynamics of Étienne’s family. Compared to his own, Étienne’s family had never felt close. Sure, Étienne was close to Élyse, and sometimes Étienne would spend hang out with his cousin Charlie (even though it always felt as though it was done under duress), and he didn’t mind visiting Jacques on occasion, but Étienne and Samuel were like fire and water and it rarely felt as though any one of them would lend a hand to the other if there was some sort of grave situation.

At least, Edward thought, he had civil relations with most of his own family – to some extent – and knew that if one was going through something, the others would pitch in to help out. In most cases. Or – more so than Étienne’s family.

Anyways.

It had been quite interesting to see that despite everything, come Christmas, everyone made an effort and gravitated around to Jacques’ place, as if Catholic guilt, maybe, pulled them all back together. It was always fascinating how it was Jacques who seemed to be able to pull this, given that he was the quietest of them all, and maybe, Edward reflected, that was the key to the success. A stable force of nature to balance out Samuel’s snark and Étienne’s easy to ignite temper when he was around him.

Still, it had never felt forced, or at the very least, more often than not it had never felt forced, and maybe it meant that deep down, they all wanted to get along in their own ways but years of hurt had stopped them from reaching out properly.

But Edward keeps fond memories of those evenings filled with laughter and good food and that, if nothing else, has to count for something.

“You know, I was starting to think we would never see you again. Does this mean you and Étienne have patched things up?”

Edward spares Étienne another glance. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Étienne’s family that they’re dating, but he also has not had this conversation with Étienne either. Technically, he also knows that Étienne’s family wouldn’t bat an eye at the notion, but he also doesn’t know if he wants to explain the particularities of his relationship just yet.

“If you’re asking if we’re friends again, then yes, we are.” Étienne comes to his rescue and Edward lets out a sigh of relief. “We finally pulled our heads out of our asses, rekindled our friendship, and El invited him over.”

“Oh! That’s wonderful; I’m so happy for you!”

“Thanks,” They both manage to say in unison.

Edward is amazed that Suzette doesn’t push it, but he’s also glad. He wonders as well if she’s that naïve, or if she’s giving them both the benefit of the doubt. He also has about half a dozen questions he’d like to ask his beau about where Suzette thought he’d been for the past few holidays and whether or not she’d ever really knew that they’d been sort of together back in the days. He’s not about to push his luck and ask, but he’ll have to have a chat with Étienne about it later; it would be nice to have a clear plan and version of facts for when it’ll be needed.

“You should come for Christmas! Like you used to. I can make you a new stocking and it would be lovely to have you over again. Oh, say you’ll come over for Christmas, Edward, please?”

Suzette looks at him with imploring and pleading brown eyes and she looks so very hopeful and pleased with her sudden little idea. Étienne squawks besides him, babbling on about how he must already have plans and how he has a family of his own and such. Edward appreciates the easy out he could take but at the same time, they had spoken about this last year; about alternating. And – it would be nice. He’d have to speak with Calvin and he knows for a fact that Étienne would tell him that Calvin is more than welcome. Plus, Samuel would be happy to see Calvin and vice versa, but he still needs a moment to figure it all out.

“Honey, tell Edward he can come over for Christmas.” Suzette nudges Jacques in the thigh and Edward still thinks it’s comical how this smidgen of a woman has such power over the quiet giant that is Étienne’s brother, Jacques.

“Of course.” Is all Jacques says and Suzette beams, as if that’s all the answer anyone needs.

“I’ll – that’s very nice of you to invite me – I’ll get back to you once I’m back home, but I would love to be there.”

His answer seems to be good enough for Suzette for now and she hugs him tightly once more, mentioning all the things she’s going to make. Edward lets her, oddly calmed by her chatter, until Élyse calls them over to the dining room.

FIN

[azzy141]

Hazbin Hotel - Vix x Vox

Part 4: No Rebuttal

Blurb: When Vixen's friendship with Angel is derailed by Valentino, Vox picks up the pieces of her lonely heart and convinces her to sell her soul to him.

----------------‐----------------------------------------

After that night, Angel and I met with Valentino several times, I will admit, he did bring me out of my shell.

Through Val I think I truly joined hell, became a real sinner, gave into pleasures I had been trying to ignore.

Val also worked in the sex industry, he was a pimp and owned a porn studio, a pretty big one. He had done well for himself and was only looking to continue to expand and grow.

Val loved sex, but he also greatly valued money, and had the ambition to seek it out. He constantly recruited new employees, made new films, and got his whores on the streets earning cash.

The more we saw Val, the more jobs he was offering to Angel, if he wanted them. Never anything steady, just a small job here and there to supplement Angels current job. I now know this was a tactic, to give Angel a taste of what he could offer, the jobs he could do, the money he could make. But Val would never offer a permanent position without something in exchange, a soul. Val wanted more than sex and money, he wanted power, and souls brought power. The more you owned, the more power you could command.

He initially used to try and persuade me to do a few jobs for him, to just try it. But it wasn’t my thing, and I had a steady job that earned me enough money.

As Val’s influence over Angel grew, I could see more and more of Val’s true nature coming through in how he treated Angel, but it was too late. Angel was falling for him, he made excuses for his behaviour. Despite the rift that was growing, Val still seemed determined to figure out what I wanted, what would sway me, still trying to keep me in his clutches. But as his claws sunk deeper in Angel, his grip was loosening on me.

I couldn’t over look his outbursts any more.

One night as I was finishing up at work, Val came into the bar to pick me up.

“Pequeña, I have a car waiting for us outside once your done. Angel should be finished with that job soon, we’ll pick him up on the way home.”

Home. As if home would ever be with you. “Alright.” I smiled, “I’m nearly done.”

I finished up my closing duties, not that the place ever closed. 24/7 bars and clubs in hell. Once I was done, I freshened up in the back and put my apron away. I tapped Val on the arm, “ready.”

“Excellent.” He put an arm around me and led me out to the waiting car. “How was your night darling?”

“Busy, long and full of ass grabs I didn’t want. Same as every night.” I sighed.

He let out a low growl. “I really wish you’d tell me who all of these arrogant bastards are, I’d tear them apart.”

“Ha! You can’t take on all of hell Val. The majority of customers are pretty handsy. Besides, I wouldn’t think it would bother you. Or is it just that you’re not getting any money out of my mistreatment?”

Our relationship had changed a lot since we first met. I wasn’t that shy, nervous girl any more. And I wasn’t afraid to call Val out on his crap.

He snickered in response, and gave me a sneer as he reached out and cupped my face. “Oh dear, do you really think so little of me?” He leant in and roughly kissed me, holding me there. “It’s not about money, I don’t like people touching what’s mine."

My eyes widened with shock before narrowing to glare at him. “Who ever said I was yours.” I sharply jutted my head up and out of his grip.

Another chuckle and a wide, devious grin. “I may not own you, but you are mine."

“I-“

“Does anyone else have their way with you? Other than Angel, do you even spend time with anyone other than me?”

That wicked smile, those piercing red eyes, I hated them. Worse, I hated that he was right. I dropped my gaze, I had no rebuttal.

“Heh hah hehm.” He reached over and pulled me onto him, wrapping his lower set of arms around me to hold me there and roughly grabbing my face as he forced another kiss on me. “Good girl.” He said relaxing back, still holding me and patting my head.

Pathetic.

After a small amount of driving we pulled over to the curb to pick up Angel.

“Hey Val, Vix. What a night!” He laughed, sitting next to Val and looking up at him waiting for a kiss.

Happy to oblige, Val gently cupped his face and kissed him. “Angel, you’ve been doing more jobs for me lately, and i know you want to earn more. Would you consider working for me full time, you know I could give you plenty of money and fame. I’d make you the biggest star in hell. Every deplorable sinner in hell would be killing to get a piece of you. Of course we’d have to make an official contract for employment, but I can give you everything you desire Angel”

Angel was staring at Val, contemplating his offer. He did kind of work for him already, and he was looking to get a new job, the club/studio he currently worked for wasn’t doing the best and Val’s studio was on it’s way to being the best. Plus he owned several sex clubs and a large private customer base.

Angel would never be short of work, and he liked Val, they were close and they enjoyed each other. He couldn’t see the harm. He glanced over at me, I shook my head. Don’t do this. “Uh.. is it alright if I think it over for a bit?”

“It would be a mistake to turn me down. After all no one is ever going to treat you like I do amorcito... of course you can. There’s plenty of time for business later, tonight is about fun.”

A horrible sinking feeling filled my gut, I couldn’t let Angel do this. And after what Valentino said to me tonight, I knew I needed to pull away. This relationship had to end, and I needed to make Angel see that as well.

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/gypsy-blood-343/750459536621600768/hazbin-hotel-vixens-story-part-1-welcome-to?source=share