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blixains · 16 days ago

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Public Parkings and Private Sins (Sylus R18)

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content (NSFW, 18+), Public Sex, Filthy Vaginal Sex and Creampie, Cumplay, Fingering and Oral Sex, Dirty Talk and Degradation, Sex While Driving, Profanity and Graphic Language, Third Person POV, Self-insert Fic

This is inspired by the car chase scene from the most recent main story updates.

Note: This is also available on AO3 as part of a series of car sex scenario featuring all lads love interests.

Written by: @blixains on AO3, TikTok, and X

The tires screamed as they ripped around the tight curve of a dimly lit street, your heart slamming against your ribs, half from adrenaline, half from the half-glass-too-many you’d downed at that underground bar with Sylus an hour ago. Neon lights blurred past the windows. Bullets pinged off the back of the sleek black car too.

“Shit—” you hissed, glancing at Sylus, who sat behind the wheel, unbothered, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel while the other flicked his gun’s safety off. His blazer hung open, his dress shirt partially unbuttoned from earlier carelessness, and his smirk? That thing should be criminal.

“They’re getting bolder.” His voice was calm, low, almost bored. “Or more suicidal.”

“You’re drunk.”

He scoffed. “Tipsy. Like you. Don’t insult my reflexes.”

Another shot cracked behind you. You cursed and leaned forward.

“I’m taking the wheel. You need both hands if you’re gonna shoot.”

Sylus gave you a look, the one that usually meant, ‘You’re lucky I like you’. “Try not to crash. I hate cleaning blood off leather.”

You scrambled over the center console with a bit more ass than grace, and Sylus didn’t miss the view, you felt it in the heat of his gaze on your thighs as your dress rode up. You slipped into the driver’s seat, grabbed the wheel, and pressed the pedal down like a woman possessed.

He didn’t even buckle in.

Outside, the enemy car was still behind, but you took a hard right through traffic, weaving between taxis and unaware civilians like you had a death wish. Sylus leaned out of the window, one knee on the seat, unholstering a sleek matte pistol. When he fired, it was smooth and precise. A window shattered in the black SUV tailing you.

“That’s one,” he muttered, settling back inside.

“Could you shoot faster?” You snapped, swerving around a truck.

“Could you drive less like a civilian?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Later,” he said smoothly, that crooked smirk curving his lips. “When we’re not being shot at.”

It was insane how calm he was. The more chaos erupted around him, the more at ease he seemed to be. You caught his reflection in the rearview mirror, silver hair tousled by the wind, pupils still blown from the drinks, and the faint glow of red blooming in one eye.

You hated how hot that was.

Eventually, you lost the tail. You ducked into a sea of thick, congested traffic near the bridge, horns blaring, and every car around you crawling at a snail’s pace. You stopped in the middle lane, catching your breath, the heat between you almost worse than the gunfire.

Sylus sprawled back into his seat, rolling his neck.

You turned to look at him. Really look.

“…Have you always been this fucking jacked?” Your eyes dragged slowly across his chest, lingering on the tight stretch of his shirt, where buttons fought to contain his chest and abs. “I swear to god, you’ve grown an entire new muscle group.”

He gave a low chuckle, tilting his head at you, cocky as ever.

“You’ve been ogling me this whole time, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been driving,” you said, though your gaze hadn’t moved from his chest. “But I’ve got peripheral vision. And it’s telling me you’ve been doing something in that gym when I wasn’t looking.”

Sylus reached up lazily to loosen another button. You watched the next sliver of skin appear, your mouth suddenly dry. His voice dropped lower, just enough to scrape your nerves.

“You sure it’s the gym, sweetheart?”

You blinked. “What, did you evolve into this out of spite?”

“I adapt quickly.” His smirk widened. “Unlike you, apparently. You’re still drooling.”

“I am not—”

He leaned closer. The crowded traffic outside disappeared from your awareness completely. His hand slid over to your thigh, warm and steady.

“Say it,” he murmured, “Say you want to fuck me right here with your foot still on the brake.”

Your breath hitched.

Traffic crawled, and the sun had started to lower behind the skyline, slanting a burnished gold across the dashboard. You were sweating, not from the heat, but from him.

You glanced over at him. His smirk hadn’t moved.

“You don’t get to look like that after a gunfight.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re still talking about my arms?”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Your everything looks suspicious right now. Like a fucking cheat code.”

Sylus hummed lazily.

Then his hand… moved.

Slow at first. Not even touching you. Just hovering near your thigh like he was testing the air pressure, like he had all the time in the goddamn world and knew you didn’t.

Your pulse jumped.

He didn’t touch.. no, not yet. His knuckles ghosted close, brushing the hem of your dress. His fingers dragged slow arcs against the fabric. Not even skin yet, and it was already lighting your nerves on fire.

“Sylus…” you warned under your breath, though you didn’t really mean it.

He tilted his head just enough for his hair to shift over his forehead. “You’re driving. I’m not doing anything.”

His fingers slipped a little higher. Not quite between your legs. Just to the edge of your inner thigh, where heat pooled and your panties were already damp with how long you’d been thinking about this smug bastard.

“You’re stalling,” he murmured, red eyes on the road ahead, not even looking at you. “You want me to touch you, but you’re trying to pretend you don’t.”

“I just escaped death by car chase.”

“So you’re still alive,” he said coolly, dragging a single finger along your thigh. “Might as well feel like it.”

You cursed under your breath. His hand hovered again, then this time… finally pressed down.

His fingers slid beneath your dress slowly. There was no rush in him. His touch was deliberate and teasing. He brushed the thin line of your inner thigh, fingers spreading slightly, your breath catching as the pads of his fingertips skimmed the edge of your panties.

Then he paused.

He didn’t speak.

Just let that charged silence stretch between you while his fingers rested there, firm but unmoving. As if waiting for you to beg.

You gripped the wheel tighter. “Sylus—”

“Shh.”

With no more warning, he slid two fingers against the center of your panties. Right where it was wet. You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The fabric was no protection at all. He dragged his fingers up, slow as sin, letting the soaked material cling to you as he stroked lightly. He was still looking at the windshield.

You felt like you were going to combust.

“That’s soaked,” he said, voice low. “You’ve been like this since I pulled the trigger, haven’t you?”

“Damn you.”

He chuckled.

“I think I’ll take my time.” his fingers hooked into your panties and pushed them aside in one smooth, practiced motion, knuckles brushing hot skin.

The cool air of the car hit your soaked folds, and you gasped. His fingers slid between your slick pussy lips. He groaned, low and almost to himself. You tried to keep your foot steady on the brake as he slipped a finger inside you.

Then another.

Fucking hell.

His fingers curled just right, slow and deliberate. He moved like he was trying to memorize the way your walls clutched around him. The heel of his palm dragged against your clit, subtle and devastating.

“I should stop,” he said. “Traffic’s moving again.”

You glanced out the windshield. Three whole cars had moved ahead. You hadn’t even noticed. “Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

He leaned over just slightly, mouth at your ear now, voice a shade darker.

“Then drive,” he murmured. “Let’s see how well you multitask with your pussy squeezing my fingers.”

You tried to breathe evenly as traffic inched forward again. Foot off the brake, hands on the wheel. Your thighs tense, your pulse thudding through every nerve ending. You were driving… technically. The car was moving. But your brain? Your brain had been hijacked by Sylus’s fingers buried inside your soaking cunt.

He sat reclined in the passenger seat like he wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, like he wasn’t curling his fingers inside you just right while you attempted to operate heavy machinery. Every slow stroke made your hips shift involuntarily. Every time he pressed his palm up against your clit, your foot twitched on the gas.

“You’re gripping the wheel so tight, sweetie,” Sylus muttered, eyes lazily half-lidded as he watched you. His voice dripped with smug satisfaction. “Should I be jealous of that poor steering wheel?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t. Not when he crooked his fingers inside you. Like he knew exactly where your sweet spot lived and wanted to make you crash the damn car just to prove a point.

Your mouth dropped open in a soundless gasp. Your hips jerked forward slightly, legs spreading more, instinctively trying to chase the friction his fingers offered.

“Oh… fuck, Sylus—”

That earned you a grin.

“I love when you say my name like that.” His thumb moved to brush your clit now, the movement lazy and circular. Not fast enough to finish you. Just enough to drive you insane. “You know how many enemies I’ve shot in the face today and didn’t blink? But this—” he curled his fingers again, dragging them out and back in with obscene squelches that made your cheeks burn, “—this is the part I enjoy.”

You couldn’t look at him. If you looked at him, you were going to fall apart right there in traffic.

“I swear to god, if I crash this car—”

“Crash, and I’ll finger you harder,” he muttered against your neck, suddenly leaning in to kiss the skin just under your ear. “Maybe I’ll even fuck you over the hood while the city watches.”

Your foot pressed down on the gas a little too fast. The engine growled.

His fingers pumped into you with more confidence now, the rhythm slick and steady, the heel of his hand rocking against your clit just enough to keep you wet and shaking. Then, you felt it building tight in your abdomen. You gritted your teeth.

“Sylus, fuck—don’t stop.”

He chuckled darkly. “Oh, you’re close already? What happened to all that mouth, sweetheart?”

Your thighs were trembling. You tried to keep your hands steady, tried to keep the car moving straight, but it was so fucking hard when his fingers were fucking into you like that, massaging your inner walls like he’d studied the blueprints of your body.

Then he leaned in again, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Come for me,” he murmured, breath hot and filthy. “While you’re driving. Come on, sweetie.”

That did it.

Your foot stuttered on the gas again as the orgasm hit violently. Your mouth parted in a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering half-shut as your hips rocked forward, riding his fingers through it, the pleasure rippling out in waves you barely controlled.

Sylus didn’t pull away.

He kept those fingers deep, feeling every clench around them, letting you squeeze and shake and twitch under his hand. You swore the bastard moaned, low in his throat.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice molten with amusement and arousal. “You drive like a goddess when you’re dripping all over my hand.”

You swallowed hard. You were still panting, still twitching around him.

“You’re a fucking menace,” you muttered.

“I know,” he said, smug as ever.

The second your legs stopped trembling enough to trust the brakes, you swerved into the nearest public parking lot with no intention of making it subtle. The tires crunched over gravel as you pulled into a far-off space beneath a flickering light pole, half-hidden behind a dirty white delivery van.

You threw the car into park and exhaled hard, still flushed, panties still shoved to the side, Sylus’s fingers soaked with your release and still resting between your thighs like he had no plans of moving them. The bastard looked too smug for someone who nearly made you get off in traffic.

But you weren’t done either.

Your eyes flicked to the backseat. “Move.”

Sylus raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I said move, Sylus.”

There was a glint in his red eyes, hungry and amused. He slid out of the passenger seat with that unhurried elegance of his and slipped into the back like a fucking panther claiming his territory. You followed, crawling between the front seats without a second thought, the heat between your thighs only getting worse the second your legs were free again.

You didn’t waste time. The moment you turned and dropped back into the middle of the car, your spine curved over the edge of the front seat, arms bracing against it as you spread your legs wide, one heel pressed against the left rear door, the other hooked awkwardly behind the front passenger seat.

Your panties were still crooked and soaked. Your slick glistened in the low light, and Sylus’s eyes dropped to it like gravity pulled them there.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, silver hair falling over his brow.

“Well,” he murmured, sinking to his knees between your spread thighs, one hand bracing your knee open. “You do know how to beg without speaking.”

You glared. “If you’re not gonna eat it, I’ll find someone who will.”

He chuckled. “You always get this bratty when you’re desperate?”

Then he didn’t wait anymore.

He leaned in.

His mouth met your pussy like he meant it. No teasing now. No fingers hovering, no mocking. His tongue licked a wide, slow stripe from the bottom of your slit to the aching bundle of nerves at the top. He groaned into you like it fed something in him.

“Fucking—” your hips jerked. “God, Sylus—”

He didn’t answer. Just locked his arms under your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer, your ass nearly off the seat now, suspended by his grip and your folded spine over the front seat.

Then he got filthy with it.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking hard enough to make your whole vision white out for a second. His tongue flicked, slow and steady, circling you, then flattening out to press fully against your soaked folds. He moaned again, like he liked the taste of you way more than he should.

And you?

You were wrecked.

Your fingers clawed at the front seat, breathing heavy, chest heaving. Your thighs quivered from how wide he kept them spread. His tongue slid inside you now, curling just like his fingers had minutes ago.

“Sylus—fuck, right there, a-ah—!”

He pulled back just a little to speak, lips slick, red eyes glowing faintly under the dim parking lot lights. “Louder,” he said. “Let’s make sure the whole damn lot hears how sweet you sound.”

He dove back in before you could snap something back.

His tongue flicked your clit with ruthless rhythm now, while one hand moved and slid two fingers deep into your slick cunt. He pumped them in time with his mouth, moaning against you, nose brushing your clit as he devoured you.

You were shaking again. You couldn’t stay quiet. The slap of his fingers and the obscene sounds of his mouth on you echoed in the car.

“Ah—I’m gonna—!”

You shattered.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, brutal and hot. You gasped, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his arms held you wide, kept you open for him as he kept licking through it, dragging out every twitch and cry and soaked ripple of pleasure.

Your whole body sagged back, boneless and fucked-out, still twitching with aftershocks. You barely realized he’d slowed his fingers, dragging them out so painfully slow, coated in your cum, lips brushing your inner thigh like a closing kiss.

When he finally looked up, he wiped his mouth, then licked the fingers he’d pulled out of you like you were the first real meal he’d had in weeks.

“Now that was better than killing people,” he muttered.

The windows were fogged. Your inner thighs glistened under the low, flickering light. Your chest still rose and fell in uneven pulls of breath, but Sylus wasn’t even winded. He rose from between your legs with the same easy grace he always carried, like he hadn’t just buried his face between your thighs and ruined your ability to think.

But your eyes weren’t on his face anymore.

They dropped, immediately, to the sharp ridge in his slacks.

He noticed.

“Oh?” He said, head tilting with deliberate mockery. His voice was silk over steel, taunting as hell. “Didn’t even touch me and I’m already hard as a fucking rock. Look what you’ve done.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes were too busy staying locked on the shape in his pants, the obvious, mouth-watering bulge that had your throat drying up fast. His hand brushed over it absently, fingers slow like he wasn’t just adjusting, he was posing for you. And you were falling for it.

He smirked, caught the way your thighs twitched again, how your gaze sharpened.

“You keep staring,” he said as he undid the belt. “You’ll have to deal with it.”

Then the zipper.

Then silence.

You blinked and he pulled his cock free.

Fuck.

Thick, fucking big. Long enough to stir something primal in your gut, your breath hitching instantly. It curved slightly upward, veins ridged and pronounced, tip flushed dark and already glistening with pre-cum. Even the way he held it, gripped lazily at the base, thumb stroking along the side like he was toying with your sanity was enough to make your mouth fall open.

“You gonna say something?” Sylus asked, voice smug and lazy. “Or are you just gonna keep eye-fucking it like you’ve forgotten how to speak?”

You swallowed.

“…you keep getting bigger,” you muttered, voice hoarse, low. Admitting it only made him grin wider.

He leaned forward slightly, cock in hand, brushing the flushed head against your inner thigh, not even on your clit, just there. Teasing. Letting it smear a trail of pre-cum across your skin.

“Sweetie,” he murmured, voice low, lips almost against your ear now, “you should’ve known from the attitude alone.”

You twitched.

He dragged the thick head down, slow and deliberate, nudging your slick folds just barely, just enough for you to feel how wide he’d stretch you, how deep he’d sit. But he didn’t push in. No. He just pressed his cock against your entrance and slid it upward, letting it glide through your pussy lips without ever giving you what you actually wanted.

“Still wet from my mouth,” he murmured against your neck. “Good.”

His cock rubbed along your clit again, making your hips twitch, chasing it. But he pulled back just a little, his hand gripping the base as he tapped it twice against your entrance with obscene little slaps.

“I should just make you beg for it,” he said, watching your face closely. “Should I?”

His cock was still in his hand.

Heavy, flushed, soaked now in your slick as he dragged the head through your folds again and again, testing your limits. The veins along the shaft pulsed with every lazy stroke, and every brush over your clit made your thighs jolt. Your muscles were tense, your breathing uneven, and your whole body practically buzzed with the need to be filled.

But Sylus wasn’t done playing.

“Look at that,” he said, watching his cock slide up the length of your pussy without ever sinking in. “You’re soaked. You’ll take me easy, won’t you?”

You let out a frustrated breath through your nose. Your thighs trembled with every pass of his tip over your clit. Your hands had been gripping the front seat for support, but you snapped because he wasn’t going to stop until you did something about it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice shaking.

You moved without hesitation, one hand flying down, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, warm and twitching in your grip. His eyes widened slightly, not expecting the sudden move.

“Someone’s getting bold,” he murmured, but you didn’t answer. You shifted your hips, lined him up, panties already shoved to the side, cunt soaked and twitching for him, and pushed down.

The head stretched you instantly, thick and unrelenting. Your walls gripped him so tight, even the initial press in made your back arch, mouth parting in a strangled sound. You didn’t even wait, you sank further, gasping out a moan as the thick inches filled you slow, slow, deep—

“Fuck—!” you whimpered, nails digging into the seat.

Sylus groaned low under his breath, hips flexing forward instinctively at the heat of your pussy swallowing him.

You bottomed out with a broken cry.

He was all the way in. Every inch of him stuffed inside, and you could feel it, feel every twitch of his cock, feel the stretch, the fullness, the pressure so deep it made your toes curl. Your thighs trembled on either side of him, wide open, your ass just barely on the seat.

Sylus hissed a breath through his teeth, one hand gripping your waist tight. “Desperate little thing,” he growled against your ear. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”

“I’ve had enough of your teasing,” you snapped, but your voice cracked, wrecked from the feeling of him pulsing so deep inside you.

He chuckled, low. “Guess you do know how to beg. Just not with words.”

His hips shifted just enough to move inside you and your breath hitched again. You were still getting used to the size of him, how he seemed to stretch you in every direction, slow and unforgiving. You tried to lift your hips, adjust—

But his hand slammed down on your thigh, holding you in place.

“No,” Sylus said, mouth right by your neck. “You don’t get to move now. You made the choice.”

Then he pulled back just an inch, then slammed forward again, enough to make your whole body jolt.

Your moan echoed inside the car.

His cock dragged out of you slow, so slow it felt like your entire body clenched around the absence of him.

The thickness of it scraped along your inner walls like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. The veins, the curve, the stretch.. all of it made your breath choke in your throat.

Then he slammed back in.

“Ah!” You cried out, body jolting forward against the front seat, hands braced uselessly on the leather as he bottomed out again with that same unforgiving rhythm.

Sylus groaned, sharp and rough. One hand gripped your hip with bruising force, the other slid between your legs, palm flattening low on your belly just to feel the outline of himself moving inside you.

“You feel that?” He rasped. “That’s me all the way in. Fuck, you’re tight, sweetie.”

You could barely answer. The sheer stretch had your legs shaking, your pussy sucking him in greedily with every thrust. His cock was too thick, too deep, too much, and still…

Still it wasn’t enough.

You needed more. Needed him harder. Deeper.

“F-faster,” you begged, voice raw and wrecked. “Please, Sylus—deeper—just—fuck—don’t stop—!”

He chuckled low, teeth grazing the back of your shoulder. “Now you’re starting to sound like you need it.”

He pulled out again, slow and torturous, until only the thick, swollen head remained inside your dripping pussy, and then snapped his hips forward, hard. You gasped, body slamming against the seat, his cock plunging back into your soaked pussy with a filthy squelch that echoed in the car.

Your legs nearly gave out.

“You like this cock wrecking your little cunt, don’t you?” He hissed, picking up the pace, slamming in and out of you with raw, deliberate force. “Fucking dripping down my cock. Can’t believe how wet you got just from teasing.”

You were crying out now, sobbing his name between broken moans, your voice shaking every time he pounded into you. His cock curved just enough to hit your spot every single thrust, making your walls flutter tight around him like you were already about to come.

“S-Sylus—fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop—please,” you begged, voice high and desperate.

He reached forward, fisted your hair, pulled your head back with a groan in your ear. “Then say it right,” he growled, cock grinding deep, deeper, hitting your cervix with a bruising kiss.

Your knees buckled. “—please don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop!”

His grip on your hips tightened. He snarled under his breath, pace suddenly brutal now, slamming into you like a man possessed, fucking you with focused force. Your pussy clamped around him, loud wet sounds filling the car, your moans dissolving into gasps and incoherent cries as he hit that spot again, and again, and again.

“Good girl,” he hissed, hips slapping against your ass now. “You beg so fucking pretty.”

Every thrust drove you closer, while your walls clench around his cock with desperate hunger, each slam harder than the last. His free hand had found your clit again, fingers circling it in tight, furious spirals as his hips thrust deep and faster. You could feel every ridge of his cock, the way it stretched you, filled you, consumed you.

You were teetering on the edge, vision blurring. Your heart thundered in your ears.

“Sylus—please—!” you wailed, voice raw.

He groaned, a deep, animalistic sound, and pressed his thumb down hard on your clit. His thrusts became savage, pulling nearly all the way out, then slamming back in so fast your head slammed against the headrest. You could barely breathe as the overload of movement and friction set your nerves alight.

“Fuck—!” you screamed, profile pressed into the seat.

Then it happened.

Your climax ripped through you. Your back arched, thighs shaking as your pussy clenched violently around his cock. Your toes curled, your nails dug into the leather, and a hot, blinding wave of pleasure shattered you. You clamped down on him, panting, your cries echoing in the cramped car.

But Sylus didn’t stop.

He kept fucking you. Faster. Harder. His thumb rubbed your clit in maddening circles, drawing out every twitch, every ragged gasp. And as the overwhelming sensitivity made your body convulse, a warm gush of clear liquid spurted from you, wetness flooding his cock, running down, dripping off your thighs.

You couldn’t hold back. It sprayed in little jets, slick and astonishingly abundant, like you’d peed, only so much more intense, more urgent.

“Shit,” he breathed, slowing his pace only slightly, leaning forward to lap up the squelching wetness at your entrance before burying his cock all the way in again. Each stroke drove more of your release out, splattering the backseat carpet.

You hung on the edge of another orgasm, legs trembling.

He hammered into you, thumb still circling your clit, teasing the last shreds of your high.

Your second climax hit you like a punch, but no less explosive, igniting your drenched core again. You screamed, gripping the front seat so hard your knuckles went white.

He rode you through every spasm, thrusting until you were entirely spent, until your legs folded around him, until his cock felt like the only thing keeping you from collapsing completely.

Your breath came in sobs and shaky gasps as you collapsed back against the seat, utterly wrecked.

You barely had time to breathe.

Your legs were still twitching from your second orgasm, your pussy raw and soaked from everything he’d dragged out of you. But Sylus wasn’t done. His cock was still hard, still dripping with your juices, and the way he gripped your hips, it told you everything.

He was going to finish. And he was going to finish inside.

“Get back here,” he growled, dragging you by the waist again, positioning you over his lap now, your knees straddling the center console while his back leaned against the rear seat. “I’m not wasting a drop.”

Your arms trembled as you balanced on top of him. You barely managed to grab his cock, still soaked and twitching in your grip. The size of him never stopped being shocking thick, a vein running along the underside like a warning.

You didn’t ease him in. You sank down, hard.

“F-fuck—!” Your mouth dropped open as the stretch hit all over again, even more brutal now that you were overstimulated. Your pussy clenched around him immediately, too tight, too goddamn wet. He filled you up fast, his cockhead punching deep, and your walls locked around him like you didn’t want to let him go.

Sylus hissed between his teeth, jaw tight. “Sweetie, you’re still dripping. Still milking my cock like you need it.”

You could barely speak. He was buried deep. So deep you felt it in your gut. The angle made him hit everything, every nerve, every sweet spot, and you were already close again.

But he grabbed your waist, held you still.

“No,” he muttered, eyes burning red beneath his silver lashes. “I’m in control now.”

Then he slammed up into you.

Your moan shattered the air, loud and helpless. He started thrusting up into your pussy from below, forcing you to take it again, each stroke brutal and thick and fast. His grip on you tightened, one hand on your waist, the other grabbing your ass, pulling you down to meet every thrust.

Wet sounds echoed. Your arousal mixed with his precum, coating both of you in sticky heat.

“I’m close,” he growled, fucking up into you now in a punishing rhythm, teeth gritted. “You want it inside? Want me to ruin this pussy?”

You were already gone. “Yes—yes, inside—please—Sylus—fill me up—fill me—!”

That was all it took.

His entire body tensed. He shoved you down on his cock one last time and held you there, balls pressed tight against your skin.

That’s when he came.

Hot, thick ropes of cum flooded your insides, each pulse stronger than the last. His cock jerked inside you, every twitch coating your walls. You felt it filling you up, spreading deep, dripping out around his cock as your cunt clenched tight to milk every drop.

You gasped, eyes fluttering, as the sensation overwhelmed you. You could feel it leaking out already, a slow, sticky trickle down your thighs.

Sylus exhaled roughly, forehead dropping against your shoulder. “Fuck… you’re a mess,” he murmured, his voice ragged with satisfaction. “Look at you.”

You trembled against him, boneless, lips barely forming words. “I don’t care,” you breathed. “Just… keep it in.”

And he did. He kept you right there, cock still buried deep, cum still leaking slowly as the two of you sat in that ruined back seat.

He chuckled darkly in your ear.

You were still on top of him, his cock softening slowly inside you, the heat of his cum thick and unmistakable between your thighs. The windows were fogged. Your skin glistened with sweat. And neither of you had moved an inch.

You tried, feebly, to lift your hips, but Sylus just smirked and kept you there, one lazy hand sliding along the curve of your ass to make sure nothing spilled out.

“Don’t waste it,” he muttered, nipping at your shoulder with a sharpness that made you flinch. “I worked hard for that.”

You scoffed breathlessly. “You fucked like you were trying to breed me.”

“Was I successful?”

You rolled your eyes, head lolling back against the seat, until you heard it. A sound. Footsteps. Talking. A goddamn stroller squeaking by.

Your eyes shot open.

“…We’re still in a public parking lot,” you hissed, panic rushing back into your bloodstream. You tried to sit up again, but his grip was firm.

“Mmhm,” Sylus hummed, completely unbothered, eyes still half-lidded and smug. “And your legs are still open. You want them to see the mess I made of you?”

“Are you serious right now—”

A sharp tap tap hit the window.

You both froze.

Outside the passenger side window, blurred slightly by fog and cum-smear, stood an old security guard with a walkie-talkie in hand and a very pointed look on his face. He couldn’t see anything, thank fuck, but he clearly knew.

Sylus didn’t flinch. In fact, his only reaction was a slow, sideways grin.

You panicked, trying to sit up, trying to yank down your dress, but Sylus kept his hands where they were, still gripping your waist. His cock twitched once, inside you, still thick and warm.

He leaned toward the window, bare chest on full display through his open shirt.

The man outside raised a brow. Sylus raised one back.

Then? The window rolled down automatically. Sylus had pressed the button with one long finger, just for the hell of it.

“Problem?” He asked dryly.

You were dying. Dying. Hiding your face in his shoulder, wishing you could evaporate.

The security guard cleared his throat. “Sir. Ma’am. This is… not a private space.”

“I wasn’t aware she needed privacy to enjoy herself.” Sylus’s voice was velvet and violence.

The man blinked.

“I’ll give you five minutes,” he muttered finally, eyes looking everywhere except at you. “Then I expect this car out of the lot.”

As soon as the window rolled back up, you punched Sylus in the shoulder, hard.

“You’re insane! Are you proud of yourself?!”

“Immensely,” he said without missing a beat. “I made you squirt, came so deep I can feel it dripping, and now we have a witness to how shameless you are.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“…You’re a menace.”

He grinned, licking your shoulder once, slow and amused.

“I’m your menace.”

#lads x reader #lads #lads fanfic #lads smut #chav lads #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus smut #sylus x you #sylus #sylus qin #l&ds sylus

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souliebird · 4 months ago

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[[and then I met you || Ch. 33]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

|| Trigger Warning: Graphic Descriptions Body Horror & Death Regarding Unnamed Children ||

All your life you have heard that there is a beauty in chaos, and while you do agree with this, you also find there is a beauty in organization.

You like taking all the chaos and putting it into categories. You like sorting the details and finding the mysteries that need to be unraveled. You think it must be similar to how clever people feel when they solve a riddle or a puzzle, but you aren’t running in circles with philosophical thoughts - you are analyzing what is already available and coming to a conclusion.

It is still all chaos, because everything is always chaos, but it is organized into a way that makes sense.

And Matt’s stolen duffel bag, when first unzipped and inspected, was full of chaos.

You, Foggy, and Karen quickly got to work looking over the different papers and forming different stacks based upon agreed parameters.

It became clear Matt’s guess that he had found some sort of laboratory was correct. The papers all appeared to be results of different medical tests, though at first glance, the three of you could not decipher for what.

But deciphering wasn’t needed at that moment, so it didn’t matter, and once everything was spread neatly across the dining table, the next step of your beloved process began.

Foggy gave each pile a designation and then the three of you began labeling each paper in the top corner.

A1. A2. A3. A4.

B1. B2. B3. B4.

All your analyzing would be useless if you couldn’t source your data, and it was quickly clear your little group all shared the same brain cell when it came to this idea.

While you worked at the table, Matt and Jessica sat on the floor by the couches, marking up a map. You caught snippets of the conversation - this bit of evidence was heard in that alley, to get to a certain tunnel system you had to go through such and such warehouse. It was fascinating to know that Matt had memorized nearly every square inch of Hell’s Kitchen - even the parts you didn’t know existed - and it was equally amazing that Jessica knew just as much.

After hearing them talk, it left you wondering if Frank had the same knowledge, but you would leave that question for another time. He had been assigned to the two thumb drives that had been in the duffel bag. You had furiously taken mental notes as he had grumpily explained to Matt the little devices couldn’t just be plugged into a computer. They could have malware on them or trigger tracking or something equally devious and needed to be inserted into a clean laptop that couldn’t connect to the internet. That way, if the laptop tried to send a signal or became a brick, there would be nothing lost.

Since neither you nor Matt happened to have a spare laptop laying around, Frank went to go procure one.

That was about half an hour ago and now you are well into your third Foggy-assigned task - highlighting any identifying information in yellow. There’s nothing easy like names or addresses listed out, but you noticed a pattern for patient labels and have determined there are at least five.

As you jot down that Patient 031517DVA also appears on page D4 in your notebook, you find you are enjoying yourself. This isn’t exactly what you imagined when Matt talked about inviting everyone over to review what he had found, but you think it is nice. Knowing that Matt isn’t out there running around without any sort of plan soothes your nerves and seeing that he is putting in the time and thought into his next actions makes you trust he knows what he is doing.

No one wants a shady underground lab in their neighborhood, but you need to make sure they are actually shady first and not some weird fringe group researching an unknown breed of sewer rat.

The effort going into helping Matt with this task makes your fondness of Foggy, Karen, and Frank grow even more - and gives you a fondness for Jessica. Everyone is serious about their task, and extremely thorough, and you want them to see you in the same light. You know this is not a game and you refuse to let your part in the research be the weak link.

As you go to the next row of numbers to examine, you catch some movement in the corner of your eye. You turn your head and watch with a soft smile as your daughter emerges from Matt’s bedroom, clad in her mouse-onesie pajamas. Her sleep mask is pulled down around her neck and she looks upset, but she’s not crying, so you don’t jump to run to her. You let her make her own decisions as she sleepily looks between you and her father and you can’t help but to mentally crow a bit as she starts shuffling towards you, her little mouse-tail trailing behind her.

Everyone’s attention is on you as Minnie lifts up her arms to be picked up once she’s within a foot of you. You dutifully scoop her up and put her on your lap, fixing her hood and mouse-ears as you do.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart? Did something wake you up?”

She nods, then flops herself against your chest, mumbling out, “There’s monsters.”

You begin to gently rub her back, hoping to soothe her worries as you confirm, “there’s monsters?”

Again, her head bobs up and down before she nuzzles into your neck, trying to hide herself. Across the room, Matt is up and making his way towards you, but it is Foggy who speaks up next.

“Are they silly monsters or scary monsters?”

You smile at the question as Minnie ponders it - her little lips purse against your neck and you feel her breath against your skin as she silently repeats the words. She decides on ‘scary’ - replying in a timid voice as Matt takes his place behind you, sliding his hands onto your shoulders.

“Do you want me to help you tell them to go away?” you ask, having packed your bottle of Monster Repellent for just this cause. Little fists clutch tightly at your shirt as Mouse shakes her head and you give a soft hum in thought. “Do you want Daddy to go scare them off?”

You are sure Matt would run outside to chase away a stray cat or hungry raccoon if his princess wished for it, but she shakes her head against you, so you guess Matt will be staying inside.

“How about we make the monsters silly instead of scary?” is Karen’s suggestion, and like the others, it falls flat.

You consider offering to read some stories, but Matt startles you from your thoughts by sliding his hands down your arms to get to his daughter. He gently urges her to let go of you before transferring her to his arms and bundling her close. She absolutely clings to him, looking so tiny against his broad shoulders.

“I got this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper before he turns and starts making his way back to the bedroom. As you watch him walk away, he buries his nose into her hood, and he begins to rock with each step. The itty bitty fist you can still see tightens around his t-shirt and your heart yearns to follow your family, but you know this is a Daddy-Daughter moment and you need to stay seated.

You were worried about Minnie getting scared over sleeping in a new place - there’s so many new and different noises but you trust Matt to help her interpet everything. He’s already done such an amazing job of it in day-to-day life and you know he’ll explain away all her monsters and let her know she is safe.

Considering the company she is starting to keep she is probably the safest little girl in New York. No monsters would dare to lurk in her shadows less they want to face the wrath of the Devil.

You know that this little group you are becoming a part of would join you in jumping in front of a bullet for your daughter and you are pretty sure even her newest best friend - Max the Dog - would not hesitate to bare his teeth if someone upset her.

She deserves nothing less and it makes your heart soar that she is so thoroughly adored.

Now that her research partner is on another important assignment, Jessica gets up off the floor and strolls over to the table, “anything interesting?”

“Maybe if we were scientists instead of lawyers,” Foggy replies warily, dropping his pink highlighter in favor of nursing his beer, “and knew what any of these numbers meant. We’re going to spend all night looking up these test numbers and hoping they are real. I mean, look at this,” he motions to the paper he is currently working on. “What the hell is D22S1045? And why is the result 15?”

Jessica takes one look at the paper before scrunching up her nose and blandly stating, “It’s a DNA marker. Haven’t you ever seen a paternity test?”

Foggy’s face goes slack for a moment before he is huffing, “Not since college when we had to study paternity suits, and they looked nothing like this! They were like dots we had to match, not numbers!” He uses his beer to point to you, “did yours look like this?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you duck your head, hating all the attention is on you with such a personal question. “No. No, mine didn’t…we just received a letter with the results. Not the data.”

“So, they are doing DNA and blood tests?” Karen asks, taking over the conversation and directing it back to Jessica. “And comparing them with each other. Could they be looking for relationships between them?”

“I’m not a fucking doctor,” is the reply she gets, but Jessica picks up the paper to examine it more closely either way. “But none of these match. The numbers have to be the same for a parental match, but that might not be what they are looking for. Just because it looks like a paternity test doesn’t mean it is one. DNA markers are used in a lot of shit.”

“It might not be human,” you add quietly. “Matt said the lab smelled of human blood, but we don’t know that these tests are on humans. There’s no dates on these, so they could be years old.”

Karen whips out her phone and is typing away before you are done talking, “What was that DNA marker, Fog?”

Foggy repeats the string of numbers and letters and you watch Karen’s eyes scan her screen.

“It’s human,” she states after a long, tense moment. The scowl Jessica gives is near legendary.

“Great, so we have a bunch of assholes in abandoned tunnels running tests on people.”

“That sounds both sanitary and humane,” Foggy grumbles before throwing back the rest of his beer.

“OSHA and FDA approved,” you add sarcastically and that earns you a smile from Karen. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she guides you all back on track.

“We still have no idea what they are looking for, though. This could be cancer research for all we know - we are still at square one.”

“One point five,” Foggy argues, “we confirmed it’s human.”

“We don’t know what the tests are looking for,” Karen repeats, ignoring him, “and I don’t think looking up the significance of each DNA marker is going to do us much good. Can you and Matt go back to the lab and look around?”

As the clear recipient of the question, Jessica huffs then turns away from the table and goes right to the bottle of Macallan Matt keeps on top of his fridge. She pops off the lid, taking a long drink of it before answering.

“That was the plan, but I’m betting it’s going to be sprayed with bleach after knowing Devil-boy was poking around. It’s not like we will get much, not that there was shit to get beforehand.”

“So, we have no who, no why, and no where,” Foggy points out. “We are doing great.”

The joy you had gotten from trying to organize the chaos of paperwork evaporates and you sink down into your chair a little. Would continuing to highlight and document be useful or was this all for naught? The rational part of your brain told you to keep going, because it was better to have it done and not need it then to need it later and it still be a mess of paperwork.

“We’ve just started, Fog, of course we have nothing,” Karen says, rolling her eyes a bit as she does. “Did you expect them to write their plans in gel pens and leave them lying around?”

“I mean, that would be useful.”

You roll your lip between your teeth, thinking that Karen is right. You don’t have much, and you’ve only just started - of course things look pessimistic. While Karen and Foggy begin to banter back and forth about the use of gel pens in a professional setting and Jessica finishes off Matt’s whisky, you let your mind wander around the facts of the case.

Someone is out there running medical tests in a gross underground lab, probably trying to hide what they are doing. To do a lot of tests, they probably needed lab equipment, and a few years ago you would have said to follow that trail, but with all the advancements in technology, a machine to run DNA tests on probably only cost a few hundred dollars and was compact enough to move easily. Generators could keep people off the grid and there were enough tunnels under the city that years could be spent exploring them. Everything they would need could be ordered offline, and thus, was untraceable to you.

The only solid clues you had were what Matt had come home with, so you needed to keep digging there and hope that the thumb drives would contain something more useful.

So, you pick yourself back up, grab your highlighter, and get back to work.

Soon enough, Foggy and Karen pick their highlighters back up as well, and Jessica takes up a spot on the couch, putting her feet up and getting out her phone to tap at. The mood is much more somber, but you feel the same determination to find answers that is in you coming off of everyone else as well.

You don’t pay attention to the passage of time, but it is not long after you grab the final stack of papers to comb through that Matt slips out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him.

He starts towards the dining table only to stop by the couch, tilting his head towards Jessica, “That bottle was a gift from Foggy’s dad.”

“Boo-hoo, cry me a fucking river, Murdock.”

Despite the venom in Jessica’s voice, Matt chuckles and finishes making his way to you.

His hands once again find your shoulders and he begins rubbing them, digging his thumbs into just the right spot as he begins his Minnie-update.

“Someone with a really nice sound system is having a horror movie marathon. She was actually hearing monsters.”

“My poor baby,” you instantly coo, your heart breaking for your little one. “Did you tell her it was just a movie?”

Matt hums in affirmation, “That doesn’t help with the noise, though. We walked through turning things off and found something to work as white noise. It’s still hard for her to do it with new sounds, especially so tired, but she’s a quick learner.”

“How long did it take you to learn all that stuff,” Foggy asks, interest clear in his eyes. Karen puts her pen down as well so she can get the gossip.

“I don’t know, years? It didn’t come naturally to me like it does with her - I would train for hours to be able to pinpoint something, but she can do it pretty easily. I mean, she can’t tell me exact distance because she’s four and doesn’t know what that means, but she can point and say if it’s close or far.” You can feel Matt practically puff up with Pride over his baby girl. “She’s learning inorganic versus organic sounds now. She can tell if a loud banging is someone hitting something or if something just fell over. The other day she told me it was the wind making the window shake, because she couldn’t hear any other noises around the window.”

You smile at the story, having a feeling Matt is going to start going on about all the declarations Minnie had made during the storm and you don’t mind at all.

“So, she’s as good as you?” Karen teases and you know Matt is just beaming.

“Better. She can actually read a sign.”

Foggy barks with laughter while you and Karen have to cover your mouths to not giggle.

Once it subsides, you tilt your head back so you can look up at your daughter’s oh so loving father, bumping against his abdomen as you do, “is she down?”

He gives another positive hum, “In a nice deep sleep. Frank’s on his way back up and I wanted her out before he got here.”

You don’t know if that is from Matt wanting to rejoin the group to know what is on the thumb drives or if it is from him not wanting Minnie to get excited over Frank, but you are thankful she’s conked out either way. The thought of her hearing all your discussions about what lurks in the darkness of the city makes your stomach turn.

She doesn’t need more monsters to imagine.

You thank Matt while reaching up to rub one of his arms - letting yourself give him a small bit of affection. You ignore the look Karen is giving you in favor of making sure Matt is all caught up.

“I take it you heard everything?”

He sighs deeply through his nose, and you take that as a ‘yes’. He confirms with his words.

“Human testing with government trained agents isn’t what I was hoping we would find.”

“I was personally hoping for research on the mutant alligators in the sewers,” Foggy says as he gets up to go towards the kitchen, probably for another beer. “You know the ones they flush down the toilets.”

“That’s a myth, Fog.”

“Look, with everything else that goes on in the world - weird aliens and giant green men - let me believe in my sewer gators, Murdock. They make me happy.”

“With everything that Stark and Roxon dumped in the waters, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Karen muses, resting her chin in her hand, “I mean, Matt got superpowers from something getting in his eyes. If a rat ate something that was contaminated, it could have gotten super senses as well.”

You raise your brows up at the idea, a smile coming to your face, “a crime fighting rat?”

“A crime fighting rat that is a ninja,” Foggy chimes, a wide grin on his face and it sends you into giggles.

“How would a rat even learn martial arts?” Matt counters, “There’s not a rodent karate school he could spy on.”

“I don’t know Matt, how did you learn ka-ra-te,” Foggy emphasizes the word to make it sound more mystical. “He would learn from a secret ninja rat clan.”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Jessica asks, looking over her shoulder at the dining table, disgust and confusion clear on her face.

You and Karen erupt into more laughter while Foggy just grins like he won the world cup as he returns to his seat. Matt gives your shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go and pulling away. He disappears into the narrow passage that is his hallway, and you hear the front door open. Heavy boots signal Frank’s reappearance, and when he and Matt come back around the corner, you offer a small smile.

The Punisher holds up a clunky looking laptop, straight from your middle school years, “Got it.”

“Does that thing even work?” Foggy asks, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. You trust Frank, but the question is valid - if you saw that in a Goodwill, you would doubt it would even turn on.

“Of course it works,” Frank scoffs as he delivers the device to Karen. She instantly opens it up to get it started. “Old body, new hardware. Got it built just for this type of shit.”

Foggy’s lips twitch and you wonder if he wants to say something but is holding his tongue. Jessica joins the table as Matt once again returns to standing behind you. His hands find your shoulders like they are drawn to them, and you wonder if he can’t help but want to touch you. It makes you feel special and wanted and your belly stirs with a certain type of warmth.

Everyone’s focus is on Karen as she works - the laptop boots up and she fiddles with the first thumb drive until it is ready to be inserted. It feels like you all are holding your breath as she finally plugs it in. You expect there to be a password, but apparently there is not, as she just clicks away.

“There’s two files,” she narrates. “One labeled 082616DUK and one labeled 121417BNY.”

You instantly recognize the first designation and push your notebook towards Karen, trying to not sound eager as you tell her, “The DUK one is in our files. Can we look at that first?”

Her face lights up at the prospect of a connection and selects the requested file, “There’s five pictures. Hold on, let me bring them u- Oh my God.”

The little color in her face drains as a horrified expression takes over and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. You and Froggy scramble up out of your seats while Frank and Jessica crowd around Karen to look at the screen. Matt stays where he is, tilting his head just slightly.

When you see what is in the file, you wish you had stayed under Matt’s hands.

The neatly severed head of a boy stares back at you with blank milky eyes, sitting on an examine table. His hair has been shaved away and there is an incision line around his skull that makes it clear someone has probably removed his brain. His mouth is open in a silent scream, showing off that he still had his baby teeth and that someone has taken his tongue.

You want to throw up and you want to turn away, but you can’t. You can’t look away from this poor child who someone has so thoroughly defiled. Who had done this to this boy and why? You wanted to shake them and scream and demand to know what could possibly possess someone to do this to a baby? Because this was someone’s baby - someone’s little boy - and someone had taken him and ruined him.

You don’t know how she manages it, but Karen brings up the next image and it fills you with just as much disgust and anger.

It is that of a tiny hand with its fingers forcibly splayed, stuck with pins to keep it that way. The tips are bulbous and round, different to anything you’ve seen on a human before, and between each digit, there was a thin stretch of skin connecting them, much like the webbing of a duck’s foot. Like the head, the hand has been surgically removed from the rest of the body, and it isn’t hard to determine they go to the same person.

The next image is of the head again but turned to be facing the left and pre-removal of the tongue, as the appendage is pulled and stretched from the mouth with a pair of forceps. The muscle is an odd shade of purple and coated with some sort of liquidy-white residue, but that is not what is unique about it. The boy’s tongue doesn’t just peek out of his mouth - it extends across the table almost three feet, if the tape measurer under it is to be believed.

You need to turn away after that and to no surprise, Matt is instantly by your side, wrapping you up in his arms and guiding your head to his neck. “He’s just a baby,” you whisper in horror as you cling to him, not understanding how someone could be so cruel. Even if he had died naturally, there was no reason to treat him like that in death.

“Did they…” Froggy starts, his voice low and quivering and you don’t know if it's from rage or grief, “Did they make him a frog? Did they mix this kid with a fucking frog?”

“No,” Frank replies, not hiding how he is feeling at all. The fury is clear in his voice. “They did it because he was like that.”

“What’s the other file?” Jessica demands and part of you doesn’t want to know. You bury yourself more into Matt and you listen to Karen click away at the track pad.

Matt’s arms tighten around you and you can’t imagine what he is thinking. No one has said out loud what the images show, and he has not asked - but he must know it isn’t good. He’s gone tense under you, like he’s ready to jump into action and rip someone apart with his hands.

And you want him to. You want Matt to find whoever did this and make them pay. You want him to punish those who hurt the child in the photos, the people who ran tests on him.

You want to help Matt find who did this and for him to make sure they can never hurt anyone ever again.

“She’s…she’s got a beak.” Karen says slowly after a few moments, and you can’t bear to look at another autopsy photo. You hide yourself more against Matt, not at all ashamed of your choice.

“She’s Enhanced,” is Jessica’s reply, almost blank with stifled emotion.

“She’s a kid. They are hunting Enhanced kids.”

“Why?” Foggy questions, sounding wet, like he’s starting to tear up. You don’t blame him in any way. “Why would they do that?”

Under you, the Devil finally speaks, his voice low and eerily calm, “it doesn’t matter why. We are going to find them, and we are going to stop them.”

---

:) :) :)

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #and then i met you #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you #R rated chapter be warned

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kaashyap · 1 month ago

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⁀➴𝐀 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐏𝐞𝐧 (Pt. 1)

╰┈➤The First Time I Saw Her

Author's note: This is not a love story. It’s a descent—into hunger, control, and the beauty of shared, irreversible ruin. It is not for everyone. Reader discretion is strongly advised throughout.

Pairings: Writer Dark!Pedro Pascal X ObsessedSerial Killer f! Reader

Summary: A reclusive writer and a surgical serial killer become entangled in a dark, obsessive relationship. Through blood and books they stalk, seduce, and rewrite each other—literally and psychologically. Reality blurs as violence becomes intimacy, and their love story unfolds like a novel destined to end in death.

Warnings: Taboo Themes, Dark Romance, Graphic Violence Gore, Psychological Horror, Erotic Obsession, Power Play, Body Horror, Medical Imagery, Cannibalistic Themes, Stalking, Surveillance, Voyeurism, Self-Harm & Mutilation, Sexual Content with Violent Undertones, Distorted Relationship Dynamics, Degradation Mental Health Themes, Identity erasure through obsession.

Pedro Pascal, a reclusive writer, dwells in the shadows of his own mind, crafting sensually disturbing and taboo literature centered on dominant, morally complex women. Once lauded for his raw, transgressive storytelling, but the world moved on. Now, his books sit forgotten, gathering dust on shelves tucked away in corners—shelves no one looks at anymore. Pedro is not merely withdrawn; he is consumed. Every look he gives, every sentence he writes, feels like a quiet cry for someone to see him. Not through kindness, but through something rougher. Closer. Through the violence of intimacy. Pedro doesn’t want to be loved. He wants to be known. Completely. Even if it ruins him.

He was lost in his ritualistic solitude—until she appeared, the enigmatic woman below, waking a dark side in him he had never wanted to see.

1st Person (Pedro's POV)

The corridor smelled like old varnish and metal dust. That faint hospital-rot stench of a building too proud to collapse and too tired to stand. I’ve always hated this hour—too much light, too much breath in the air. The world’s too awake at noon. I’m not.

But the magazine had been delayed. Two weeks. Obsidian Nocturne—my favorite, my vice. It’s printed on thick matte pages just how I like it. All ink and erotic decay. I couldn’t wait any longer.

So I went down. Bare feet in sandals. Linen pants I hadn’t ironed since winter. My shirt buttoned wrong—one too high, one too low. I didn’t fix it. I don’t fix small things.

The stairwell creaked under me. It always does. It has arthritis in its bones, like the rest of this rotting place.

The box screeched when I opened it. I liked that sound. Dust fell from the hinge like skin powder. And there it was—wrapped in brown paper, taped twice, the words Obsidian Nocturne stamped. I tucked it under my arm.

And turned.

At first, I thought the afternoon air had become windy or so I thought.

But it was her.

Halfway up the stairs. Still. Holding a black coat and a stack of moving boxes like they were made of air. She was beautiful in the way knives gleamed in opera lighting. She didn’t move. She didn’t need to. The hallway bent around her.

Something inside me shifted. It wasn’t recognition. It wasn’t desire. It was interruption.

I didn’t stop. I didn’t ask who she was. I walked past her, because that’s what I do when something pierces too deep. I went up the stairs. But I felt her eyes.

I felt them the way you feel water just before it boils. (Just like water heats up and gets restless right before it boils, the feeling is tense, charged, and ready to burst.)

I didn’t pause. I didn’t greet. I didn’t even blink longer than a second. But as I passed her on the stairs, ascending while she stood unmoving, my eyes—dark and sunken—dragged over her like a scalpel dragged across warm flesh.

I reached my door. My key slid in. My hand didn’t shake.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

And then I just stood there. The magazine slid from under my arm and hit the floor like it no longer mattered.

I walked to the mirror. The hallway mirror. The one I avoid unless I’m sleepwalking or lost.

I stared. Not at myself—but at the idea of myself. My neck felt tight. My chest, hollowed.

“She’s not real,” I whispered. My voice didn’t sound like mine.

But the back of my neck was prickling like someone had breathed against it. I didn’t feel watched. I felt studied. Flayed. Touched in the mind.

And for the first time in months, maybe years, no maybe decades, I didn’t feel alone.

I smiled.

Just a little.

And not the kind of smile you see. The kind you taste like metal in your mouth. The kind you feel under the skin, just before you bleed.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

#pedro pascal #pedrito #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro x reader #pedrohub #pedropascaledit #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal character #pedroispunk #ppascaledit #dark romance #smut #pedro pascal gifs #pascalispunk #daddy pascal #papi pascal

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lilgarbitch · 4 months ago

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Jane Doe - Noah Sebastian

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: Car accident, death, suicide, hospital, very triggering if any of this hits close to home. Like imagine im blaring a horn, telling you to prepare yourself

Word Count: 4.5k

Author’s Note: Blame the Angst War ™ ft my love for Shakespeare

I will repeat. Heavy trigger warning‼️ PLEASE Do not read unless you have a clear head‼️I didn’t go too graphic, but i will not live with myself if this hurts any of you by reading it. If you do choose to continue to read, I hope you enjoy to the best of your ability, even though this broke my heart just to write it.

If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org. You can also reach Crisis Text Line by texting MHA to 741741.

quick plug for my co conspirator @blade-dressed-in-red who helped me with so much of this, keeping me sane and shooting ideas back and forth with me to make this the best I could. I’m extremely grateful❤️

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @chey-h @badomensgoodomens @bloody-spades @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @heyyoplayer

Noah

I stared at the TV, my phone still open in my hand to the text exchange between Matt and me. He had just mentioned seeing a warning that the main road was backed up from a car accident and checked the news to see what was up, then telling me that it was the most insane wreck he’s ever seen. My morbid curiosity got the better of me.

Right now I was watching the live feed of the wreck. It was a black Sedan flipped on its side, the entire front and side of the car looking as if it imploded with how indented and destroyed they were. It was the car that I had ordered for her since I was too busy to pick her up. Doing what? Nothing fucking important enough to risk her life over. I could barely hear the words coming out of the anchor’s mouth, seeing the plastic covered body with blood coated hair splayed out behind it, off to the left of the screen.

“One dead, one left in critical condition,” were the only words my ears picked up. One dead. One was dead. And the dead body had her hair color. Or what you could see of it.

I tried to calm myself down, telling myself that maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe I’ll get a call once Y/N reaches the hospital, being her emergency contact. But there was no way for me to look for myself. I couldn’t rush around hospitals calling her name. The world would see. People would take pictures of me in my worst moments. I just had to wait.

I didn’t even notice I was shaking until I finally forced my eyes back down towards my phone, which had turned off again while I was staring at the TV. I open it, immediately clicking on Matt’s contact and hitting call.

”What’s up?” He answered. I inhaled an overly shaky breath.

”That was Y/N’s uber…” I whispered into the receiver.

“What was that? I think our connection’s bad.”

”That…that’s Y/N’s uber…” I choked out louder, a full sob leaving my throat, “She was on her way here and…and…Why didn’t I just go pick her up?”

There was a moment of silence, the only sound being my heavy breaths as I felt my chest tightening, before I heard shuffling around on the other end.

“I’m texting Davis, Bryan, and Jesse to see if they can get to you. Unlock the door and don’t overthink.” I don’t respond, only nod, even though I know he can’t see it.

I stay on the phone with him, my occasional terrified sobs and the sound of him typing on his phone filling the silence as I drag my feet to the front door and back. Once he notifies me that Davis is on his way, he just talks to me, trying his best to help me ease my thoughts, but it’s not helping.

Sitting curled in on myself, sunken into the corner of the couch, all I can do is let my thoughts race until Davis finally walks in. He calls out to Matt that he’s here through my phone, and Matt hangs up the phone after telling me that he’ll try to find out what he can.

I don’t make eye contact with Davis, just staring at the floor as I imagine what her last moments may have felt like. He crouches down in front of me to try and get my attention, but I can’t stop picturing the horror that I saw on the TV. He does what he can, grabbing me a bottle of water and a snack while talking to me, but I don’t respond. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I don’t even know if I’m still crying. I can’t feel a thing. I just hope we can find her.

Noah

Matt calls Davis a few hours later, hoping he can soften the blow for me, to inform us that he’s called every hospital in the area for Y/N and every single one said that they don’t have a patient by that name. He even tried asking if anyone came in from a car accident today, but they told him that they couldn’t give them that kind of information. I immediately run to the bathroom when I’m told, expelling everything I’ve consumed today as pure fear and grief strike through my body. I’m gripping the bowl with shaky hands as Davis comes in after me and starts rubbing my back.

“We’ve talked to the boys and everyone’s going to fly out the second they can. Jesse can’t get a chance to come home until morning, but I’ll be here all night.”

I couldn’t respond with anything more than a sob. I appreciate them being here for me, even if we don’t know for sure if she’s gone, but all I want is her. I want her here, rubbing my back to soothe me. I don’t even want to have to be soothed at all. If I just fucking picked her up, we could be cuddling on the couch, watching Naruto together.

I fucking killed her. It’s all my fault. If I just made her more of a priority, she’d be here right now. She’d be safe and sound and none of this would’ve ever happened.

I don’t even realize that a panic attack started until I feel Davis’ arms wrap around me right, trying to calm my nervous system. All I could do was sob into his shoulder, shaking more than I ever have before. I feel cold. My chest felt tight. My mind is consumed by grief and guilt. Even if we haven’t lost her, she’s out there somewhere, alone and in pain. And it’s all my fault.

Noah

It’s been four days. I stayed up the first two, just waiting by my phone to get that call that she was okay. That someone was able to identify her and that she was fine. But I think I’ve lost hope.

Yesterday, I found her wallet here, instantly remembering her telling me that she couldn’t find it a few days before the accident, saying she may have dropped it outside of work or at my house. I told her I’d look. I didn’t look hard enough. I had her only piece of identification. All I could think about was her alone in a hospital room, losing her memory from the crash and unable to tell them her name. Or her cold body shoved into a morgue with a tag that just said “Jane Doe.”

Waking up another day without any new information about her was killing me. It was getting harder to tell myself she was okay. I know there were so many possibilities of what could’ve happened, but convincing myself that any of them were good was nearly impossible.

The boys had managed to fly in yesterday, and while I appreciated their support, it was getting overwhelming. Everyone was constantly watching me, trying to soothe me when my thoughts became too much, but I just needed to let my emotions out. I needed a minute to myself.

I slowly stood up from the couch, Matt, Jesse, and Folio’s eyes immediately following my every move. I don’t know what their deal was. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without being watched like a hawk. They even started making meals for me and talking to me like I was some child. I was grieving, not on bedrest.

“I’m gonna go for a walk. Need fresh air,” I rasp out, my voice scratchy from speaking in mostly sobs the last four days. Matt instantly stands up to join me, which makes me hold my hand out, “Alone. Please. Just let me have some space.”

He stares at me for a long moment before nodding and sitting back down. I go and grab my shoes and unlock the door. As I open it, I hear Jesse call out.

”Make sure you have your phone on you!” I pat my pockets, realizing I left it in my room after telling myself I needed to stop staring at it, waiting for news, and just leave anyway. It’ll help me clear my head not having them constantly texting me.

The cold air seems to ease my nerves slightly, so I take deep breaths as I walk. I have no idea where I’m going, but I need to get out of that damn house. Not only are the five extra bodies in there, always hovering over me and watching everything I did, but I couldn’t even look at my bed, seeing her shadow lying in her spot. I couldn’t look in the kitchen, seeing her bright smile and hearing her giggle after I smeared whipped cream on her nose. The backyard where we swam together on hot summer days. Where she’d make everyone laugh when the group came over.

I feel tears falling down my cheeks again, not knowing how the hell I had more to cry out. She was gone. There was no way in four days, they couldn’t recognize her. She had to be that Jane Doe.

The quick sound of screeching tires in the distance pulls me out of my thoughts momentarily, only for it to send me even deeper. God, what were her last moments like? How scared was she? Was she in pain for long? Did she die on impact? Where was she now?

My thoughts continue to spiral as I continue to walk, now coming up on a place Y/N and I used to visit all the time when taking this path. It was a smallish creek in the middle of the forest. The water wasn’t too deep, but deep enough that we could stand on the bridge and watch all the tiny fish go by.

I walk to the railing and try to watch the water pass by in the dark night, hoping that at least the sound could calm my racing thoughts. The bridge was about 10, maybe 12 feet high, so there wasn’t much to see when it was so late at night. But I could see so much. I could see Y/N standing beside me, staring over the edge with me. Her pointing out the groups of tadpoles or if a fish larger than normal swam by. I could hear myself talking her out of climbing down to catch a frog, knowing the steep incline on both sides of the creek was impossible to come back up from.

I could see the picture I had on my phone that I took of her in this exact spot, the sunset glowing between the trees, giving her the aura of an angel right before my eyes…Angel. She was my fucking angel. She always has been and now she truly was.

I’m staring at the darkness around me as the pain shoots through me once again. I fucking killed her. I ruined so many fucking lives, just by ordering her that goddamn uber. Her parents have called, tears equal to mine, and we couldn’t give them any information. Because we had none. She was gone. And I couldn’t even fucking say goodbye.

There was only one way. Only one way to see her again. I stared into the rushing water. There was no way to see how deep it was tonight. No light to give a reflection back. The only thing my senses could pick up was the feeling of the wood railing, the sound of the water and her distant voice in my head. Specifically her laugh that I’ll never hear again.

I pushed myself off the railing, eyes still stuck on complete darkness. I grabbed it, swiftly slinging one leg over, then the other. I could already feel that pit in my stomach as my body sensed that there was no resistance between me and the water below. I brought a foot under me, and then the other, lifting myself up before I was now standing on the wood.

I almost wish I brought my phone with me, just to tell everyone one last goodbye. That I loved them more than anything. That I was sorry. But the person I was most sorry for is on the other side already. And she needed to hear it most.

I feel the wind zip past me as my body sways on the edge. As I let memories play in my head, I let the wind take me.

But something about this didn’t feel right. The moment my feet lost ground and I felt gravity start to pull me down, I knew this was a mistake. Something…someone was telling me this wasn’t the choice I should have made. I do my best to wrap my arms around my head, but before I could do much, everything went black.

Y/N

My eyes feel like they’re glued shut and my throat is absolutely killing me. I clench my fists to try and stretch my tight muscles as I do my best to work my eyes open. Why is my room so cold? And smell so…chemically?

I hear footsteps walking into the room at the same time more of my senses come back. I hear an odd beeping in the background, and when I finally get my eyes to take in everything in front of me, I come face to face with a bright white room and a shocked doctor.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” He asks. I continue looking around the room, confused, before realizing his words. I spend a few seconds truly thinking how I felt, and that’s when all the pain rushes in.

”Like shit.” I croak out, my throat dryer than it ever has been before.

He comes over and starts asking me a bunch of questions, seeing what I remember and if my arms and legs are functioning well. That’s when I realize that my leg has a cast and I’m covered in bandages.

”Wha- What happened?” I cut him off.

”Well, you were in a pretty rough wreck about a week ago. Thankfully, you didn’t get too hurt, just a few broken bones, but you hit your head pretty hard and got a bad concussion, putting you in a coma.” I blink at him as I process everything.

“I…how…did..has anyone come to check up on me?” I ask, the fact that I was completely alone in the room being the most important to me right now.

“You didn’t have any form of identification on you, so we were unable to contact anyone, but now that you’ve told us your name, we can go ahead and reach out to the people on your file.”

”Can you please? I really need to see my boyfriend and make sure he knows I’m okay.” He nods and makes his way out of my room.

Matt

The boys and I were doing everything we could to make ourselves busy, not knowing how to handle everything. Nicholas and Folio were going through Noah’s things, picking out an outfit for his funeral, even though it’s most likely going to be a closed casket, and deciding on what we would send back to his family and what we wanted to keep for ourselves to remember him. We’ve all decided to leave his room how it was now for the time being, not wanting to mess with anything too much.

I heard a phone ringing on the kitchen island and made my way to see who it was, before realizing it was Noah’s phone. My stomach immediately dropped. Everyone knew what happened…No one would be calling his phone right now…unless…

I sprint to his phone, seeing that it was an unknown number and quickly answering.

“Hello?” I rush out.

”Hello. Is this Noah Davis?” A female voice on the other end asks.

“Uhh..He can’t come to the phone right now, but I can take a message?” I reply, trying to keep my voice stable.

“Um, okay. Well, this is Dr. Moore at St Francis Medical Center, I’m calling regarding Y/N Y/L/N.”

”She’s alive?” I almost yell into the phone.

“Yes, Sir. She just woke up from her coma and is asking for friends and family.”

I’m already rushing around the house, grabbing my shoes, keys, and wallet as I tell her that we will be on our way. The guys hear me sprinting around the house and come out to see what I was doing or if I’ve lost my mind again.

“SHE’S ALIVE! Y/N’S ALIVE!” I yell out as I speed towards the front door.

I hear them scrambling behind me, trying to get everything they need before they join me in the car. We’re all packed tight, but no one cares. I try my best to stay close to the speed limit, as getting pulled over is the last thing I could handle right now. We thankfully make it there in record time and all rush in through the doors and up to the desk.

“We’re here to see Y/N Y/L/N,” I tell the lady at the front desk, almost out of breath. She looks unfazed by all of us rushing in and starts typing on her keyboard, searching for her room.

“She is in room 213. Now, we only allow two family members at a time, but I’ll let you all go as long as you promise not to disturb anyone or cause her any discomfort.” We’re already nodding and rushing past her desk before she can even finish speaking.

Speed walking down the hallway, all of us are reading the room numbers, watching them rise until we finally see 213, with her doctor standing outside.

“I do need to inform you all that she’s gotten a pretty severe concussion, so please be cautious around her,” He tells us.

We all stand there and nod like we were being scolded before he finally waves his arm towards the door and we make our way in. Seeing her so hurt broke my heart, but at least she was alive. Folio was the first to rush to her side, already sobbing as he gave her a gentle hug. She softly laughs and hugs him back.

“I promise I’m okay, guys. I’m sorry for giving you all a scare. They said I should be going home in a few days as long as everything’s alright with my head,” she says with a soft yet raspy voice.

“We’ve just been so scared. It’s just…Fuck. This week has been hell,” I whisper as I walk towards her, patting the bed to make sure there was room to sit before taking her hand in mine, “We’re so glad you’re okay.”

She gives us all a sad smile, looking between all of us, before her face morphs into confusion. Fuck.

“Where’s Noah?” she asks.

I stare at her for a few moments before looking at the rest of the boys. All of them just stared back, silently telling me that this was my burden to take.

“What’s going on? Why won’t you answer? Where is he?” she continued. I sign and turn to her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Noah…He thought you passed, Honey. Your driver ended up looking a lot like you, and when we couldn’t find you, most of us assumed that it was you who died, not her.”

“Okay. But what does that have to do with him?” I take a deep breath, tears already pricking my eyes as I stared straight into hers.

“Noah… took his life two days ago.”

She stared at me dumbfounded, the words slowly processing in her mind one at a time, before her face shifted to horror.

“H-he what?” I bring her hand to my face, pressing the back of it to my forehead as a sob shakes my body.

“No. No. He can’t- He can’t be dead. He can’t.” She starts her own sobs, causing the other boys to come in closer, surrounding her bed as we all try to comfort her and each other.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Y/N

Once the hospital allowed me to leave, I make the boys drop me off at my apartment to take a real shower. They say they’ll be back soon, bringing me real food. Folio almost begged to stay with me, already not trusting to leave anyone alone after everything, but I promised all of them that I was okay and that I’ll see them soon. And thankfully it worked, because I really needed a moment alone to process all of this.

I was numb. Between the pain medication and the grief, I couldn’t feel anything. His funeral was in a few days and I’ve barely been able to accept the fact that he’s gone. This all feels like a dream, the concussion not making any of it better. Before I let myself dive deep into the pits of grief and sorrow, I needed to find something to distract myself with.

The boys thankfully helped me get a new phone, as mine got crushed in the wreck, so I decided to work on setting that up. I take what remained of my old phone and remove the sim card, putting it in the new one. Once I finally get it set up, I’m absolutely bombarded with notifications. A few from my parents, a few texts and calls from the guys…and 30+ text messages from Noah.

My heart breaks even more. He thought I was dead. He thought he’d never see me again. He ended his life feeling only guilt and regret. Then I see that I have a few voicemails… I press play with a shaky finger, and his sorrowful voice fills the room.

”Y/N…please be okay..Fuck. It’s all my fault…I should’ve just picked you up. I have no idea where you are. The girl on the road…that fucking girl had your hair. You can’t be gone. I need you…” All I can hear is him sobbing for a minute before he continues, “You should be home with me. If we find you and you’re okay, I’m fucking moving you in. I don’t care. I can’t do this. I can’t take not knowing where you are. If you’re even still here.”

The voicemail cuts off, so I play the next one.

”The guys are trying to give me hope, but it’s been two days with no news of you. The news said the girl who died was unrecognizable. Baby…Baby, please answer and tell me that wasn’t you. Please be in some hospital somewhere, waiting for me. Please…Please come back to me.”

And then the next one, sent early in the morning five days ago…The day he died.

“Baby, I’m losing hope. I can’t do this without you. It’s officially been four days of complete silence. I know I should wait longer, but every second without hearing your voice is fucking hell. Something inside of me is telling me that you’re still here, but it’s not enough to convince me,” he starts crying again, then continues with a shaky voice, “ I don’t know what I’ll do if you’re gone. My life is nothing without you. Please, baby,” Another sob, “Please wait for me…”

I can barely see my phone screen when that one finally ends, tears streaming down my face. That’s the last words I’ll hear him say to me. Please wait for me. The last text telling me to come home. And oh how fucking much I wanted to come home.

I needed home. I needed its warm hugs. I need the laughs it’d give me. The bright smile that was all my doing. The feel of its skin against mine. Noah was my home. I need him.

Powerful sobs shake my body, even worse than the ones when I found out. No pain medication could fix the pain I feel in my chest at this moment. I’ll never see my home again.

I leave the voicemail app and open photos, scrolling through the folder I had of every picture and video of him and I. I watched the videos first, needing to hear his happy voice again. The one who would tell me he loved me in utter swoon. His laugh and smile as he looked at me past the camera. The videos Bryan took of us looking like the perfect couple, unable to be more than a few feet apart from each other, if not constantly touching.

He was gone. That’s all my brain was saying, on repeat. He was gone. Noah was gone. I’ll never see him again. I won’t even be able to see him at the funeral, now knowing how he chose to pass.

And then a new phrase began repeating in my head. His debilitatingly sad voice telling me to wait for him. I glance up from my phone to the kitchen counter, the one that held the small pharmacy bag.

You won’t have to wait long, my love.

Connecting my phone to my speaker, I start blasting our song as I walk towards the counter.

As we wake up in your room

Your face is the first thing I see

The first time I’ve seen love

And the last I’ll ever need

I rip open the paper bag, pulling out the small rattling container and just staring at it.

You remind her that your future

Will be nothing without her

Never lose her, I’m afraid

Better think of something good to say

I move to sit down in the middle of the living room floor, still staring at the bottle in my hands. “Please wait for me.” I hear him in my head once more.

I open the bottle and pour out the contents into my hand. “Please come home.” I see flash across my vision.

Without another thought, I throw them back, swallowing dry. I lean back, lying on the wooden floor as the music plays around me, vibrating underneath me.

She was always the one

I’ll repeat it again, the one

No such thing as too young

I feel them hit my stomach like a brick. Or maybe that's the grief and pain finally numbing down to the feeling of a pit deep inside me.

I let the memories of us pass by like my life before my eyes. I’ll be home to him soon. I’ll get to see him again.

My vision starts to blur. Suddenly, I see him. I turn my head to face the corner of the room, and I see his bright welcoming smile. I want to tell him that I’ll be there soon, but it’s hard to move my lips. But he’s there. He can see me ready to come home. Just give it a few more moments and you won’t have to wait any longer.

Cause there’s faith in love

If you kiss me goodnight

I’ll know everything is alright

Second chances won’t leave us alone

Won’t leave us alone

Cause there’s faith in love

As the song comes to an end, I flex my hand the best I could to reach out towards him. I can almost feel his hug already. The warmth I feel when he smiles down at me. Just a few more moments and I’ll be with him.

But when my eyes finally shut, a small smile now stuck on my face. I could no longer hear his voice in my head. All I can feel is cold. All I can see is black. All I can sense is darkness.

He wasn’t here.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian reader insert #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens x reader #Spotify #noah sebastian angst #noah sebastian one shot #bad omen angst #bad omen one shot

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sitkowski · 1 year ago

Text

just crash (it's our time now) - nicholas x ofc

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x cam (ofc) cw: ⚠️ 18+MDNI. warnings for angst, vaginal sex, fingering (f receiving), talk of birth control, praise kink of you squint. word count: 5.7k author's note: this is my first bad omens fic, hope ya'll enjoy! dedicated to all of the fantastic writers I've come to admire since starting back up with Tumblr again 🫶🏻 title comes from a You Me at Six song.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🧡

⇉ masterpost || taglist signups

According to the directions that the guy behind the counter had given her at the car rental place, she doesn’t have that far to go before she reaches the motel. The wipers squeak noisily against the windshield, and the hum of the radio can barely be heard above the steady downpour. She can just barely make out the red neon sign ahead of her.

Cam wonders, not for the first time, if this is the right thing to do.

Only she knows it is; he said the three magic words.Not I love you, but I need you. Three little words in a broken voice during a phone call she almost didn’t answer, and the next thing she knows she’s getting a plane ticket. She’s renting a car. She’s driving through the pouring rain in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming. Not just because he needs her but because she broke something and she needs to put it back together if she can.

The parking lot is surprisingly filled, but none of the vehicles look familiar to her. She parks in the first available spot, and pulls out her phone. Before she can even text him to let him know she’s there, a message pops into their chat chain, nothing but a room number. Cutting off the car, she realizes that she’s going to have to run through the rain. There’s a familiar hoodie in the passenger seat that she brought with her from home, faded and well worn and no longer smelling like the man who left it behind. She tugs it over her head before opening her door and getting out.

By the time she reaches the row of rooms on the other side of the stairwell, her clothes are soaked through. Her sneakers squelch with each step, and she ducks beneath the overhang and out of the rain. She raises her hand to knock on the door, but sees the curtains twitch. He knows she’s here, and she just stands there awkwardly until he opens the door.

She tries not to be moved by how exhausted he looks. But she always worries, it’s ingrained in her after such a long time. Even if she was the one who ended things, if she was the one who refused to bend. Beneath the exhaustion, she can see how grateful he is that she actually showed up.

“Where are the others?” she asks, in lieu of saying hello.

Nicholas steps aside to let her into the room, pressing the door closed again and Cam turns around to look at him, dripping water all over the carpet. He leans into the door. “Jolly and Folio are in a room upstairs, Matt and Noah are down the row.”

“Did you get a room by yourself just because I was coming? Optimistic of you, Nick.”

It’s mean and she knows it. She wants to take it back almost as soon as she’s said it.

“I’m the only one who didn’t catch the death flu,” he shrugs, seemingly unphased by her words. “We had to cancel two shows.”

Now Cam feels like even more of an asshole. She holds her arms out at her sides. “Shit Nicky, I’m so sorry. I—do you have, like a towel or something?”

He nods and slips around her into the bathroom. She takes off the hoodie and drapes it over one of the chairs at the small table, and toes off her shoes. They won’t be dry by morning. Movement beside her makes her turn, and Nicholas is there with a towel, as well as a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She almost goes into the bathroom to change, but figures that’s pointless. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. When she takes off her wet t-shirt and jeans, he takes them for her. While he’s hanging them in the bathroom to drip dry, she puts on the offered clothes, using the towel to dry her hair and trying not to bury her face in the fabric of the shirt because it still smells like him.

Cam sits on the edge of the bed, tucking her hands between her knees. After a minute, he comes back out and sits down beside her. Just being this close to him again after the past few months makes her feel on edge. It’s not entirely a bad feeling. She almost jumps up from the bed when Nicholas reaches over and pushes her damp hair behind her ear.

“Thank you for coming,” he murmurs and she can’t help but look over at him. “You didn’t have to.”

“You said you needed me. I wasn’t going to say no.”

“You could have. I’m not your problem anymore, Camille.”

She doesn’t have an argument, because she was the one who left. She was the one who couldn’t handle getting serious and dating someone who had been her friend for so long before. Ending it was supposed to be a way for her to be able to salvage their friendship, but even months later things weren’t the same. Because she was still in love with him, and she thought coming here was going to be a way for her to either get over it or talk it out. She hadn’t let him talk it out before, she just left.

“You’re always going to be my problem, Nicholas.” Cam tentatively rests a hand on his back. “When’s the last time you slept? Like more than just a quick nap? Because I know you, and I know the canceled shows are keeping you up.”

Nicholas sighs and rubs his eyes, shoulders hitching up in a shrug. “Yesterday, I think? The doctor cleared everyone but Matt still said we should take the weekend and rest instead of going out and doing stuff—”

“Lie back.” she insists.

When he looks at her in confusion, she rolls her eyes. It’s obvious that he needs to rest, and she isn’t going to take no for an answer. She watches as he finally relents and scoots back on the bed, practically falling back against the pillows in relief. Cam glances at the clock, it’s nearly midnight, and knowing that the others have been sick, she doesn’t want to text them just yet. She thinks that Nicholas has fallen asleep, but when she goes to turn off the bedside lamp for him, his hand reaches up to grasp her wrist.

“Where are you going? Lie down with me.”

Her original plan was just to get her own room for the night, but she stares down at him, and realizes that she can’t actually do that to him. Moving up the bed, she turns off the lamp and lays down beside him. Her body is taught with tension that melts away as the minutes pass. They lay in the darkness in silence, and Cam waits for him to speak again or try and hold her like he used to. She’d actually welcome that. But she hears his breathing even out beside her, and that’s what finally pulls her into sleep herself. She knows that this isn’t exactly what she came here for, but she promises herself she’ll tell him tomorrow.

Cam wakes up early enough that she can get her bag from her rental car and send a text to Matt before Nicholas wakes up. He’s still out cold, exhaustion taking its toll. She lets him sleep, but she’s barely put her phone down from texting Matt before another message comes through her phone. She sighs as she reads it, she knew it was coming. Putting on fresh clothes, she slips out of the motel room again and makes her way down the corridor.

Noah is waiting for her, because there was no way that she was just going to show up and not have to talk with him about this. In a way, Nicholas is his, and Cam broke his heart. If she wants to try to fix things with Nicholas, she has to go through him first.

“You don’t look like death at least,” she says with a smile, letting him pull her into a friendly hug. “How are you feeling?”

“Less like someone shoved a chainsaw down my throat.”

They walk around to the other side of the motel where there’s a little room off the office that’s meant to be a place to have breakfast. There’s a box of donuts, and a coffee machine. They get coffee, and go back outside to sit on a low brick wall nearby.

“So, he called you.”

Cam sips her coffee, lets it burn the top of her tongue. It’s bitter. “He said he needed me, Noah.”

The scoff that he lets out is disbelieving, and she gets that. He was the one who picked up the pieces after she and Nicholas broke up. He was the one who told her that she was making a mistake. He’d been right.

“He’s been running himself ragged trying to make sure none of us actually died since he was the only one not sick. Thank you for coming to look after him.”

Noah says it as if it’s the least that Cam could do. And it probably is. “Noah, I’m sorry—”

“Nah, you and I sorted our shit out. We’re good, Camille.”

It’s as close as she’s going to get to a warm welcome, and she accepts it. She and Noah were never as close as she and Nicholas, but they were still friendly with one another. She hurt his best friend, of course he wasn’t going to have the best reaction to seeing her months later. It’s not until they’re headed back around the motel that she drops the bomb on him.

“I’m going to tell Nick that I want to work things out.”

Noah whirls around and steps closer to her, and Cam actually stumbles back a step. It’s not like he’s going to hurt her, but any friendliness from earlier is gone. He’s the one she’s got to get past if she wants to fix things, after all. And right now, the look on his face says it all.

“Why, so you can crush his heart again in four months when you can’t handle him getting too close?”

That hurts, but she knows he isn’t wrong. She wraps her arms around herself, looking towards the room where hopefully Nicholas is still sleeping. She doesn’t even know how the conversation will go. She doesn’t know if he actually wants to get back together. She could have nothing to fix.

“I love him, Noah. I never should have left.” she says, unable to keep her emotions out of her voice.

He gives her a look that is less wary than before, and Cam feels something loosen in her chest. “If you hurt him again, there won’t be a third chance, you get that right? You’ll be done.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell him he doesn’t get to make that choice, but he still isn’t wrong. If she were to do something as stupid as run away again, none of them would ever speak to her again and she wouldn’t blame them one bit. But she doesn’t want to run.

“Look, if you want me to go because you don’t think I’m good enough for him—”

“Are you kidding? He’s been absolutely miserable without you, and he asked you to come here. I know you’re good enough for him, the two of you are just fucking stubborn. We don’t have to leave for two days, so fix your shit. I will get Matt to lock the two of you in that room if you don’t.”

Across the parking lot, the motel room door opens and Nicholas sticks his head out. Noah and Cam both look caught, and he rolls his eyes before ducking back inside.

Noah gives her a sympathetic look. “Have fun with that.”

“Go rest your voice, you still sound like shit.” she teases, giving him a little shove before turning and heading back towards the room.

Nicholas didn’t close the door all the way, and Cam pushes it open and steps inside, closing it back behind her.

“Nice chat with Noah?” he asks.

Coming over to the bed, she sits back down beside him. It’s hard to be this close to him and not think about the good times they had together. It’s hard not to think about the mistakes she made that put her here, feeling more awkward and shy than before they ever dated.

“I knew the minute I called you to come he was going to corner you—”

“He didn’t corner me, he’s concerned about his best friend. After what I did, it’s understandable.” Cam says.

He slumps back on the mattress, tossing his arm over his eyes. “I’m not seventeen anymore, I don’t need him fighting my battles.”

She wants to roll her eyes at his overdramatics, especially because she remembers him at seventeen. But instead she just shuffles down the bed and lays beside him.

“We have a battle to fight?” she asks lightly.

Nicholas lifts his arm and turns on his side to look at her. She wants to look away, escape his gaze, but she can’t. And when he reaches over and curls his hand around the edge of her jaw, she feels tears well in her eyes for some reason.

“I miss you,” he whispers, and she feels herself crumbling. “You’re right here and I still miss you.”

Biting her bottom lip, Cam scoots a little closer to him. He immediately wraps his arm around her, pulling her in as close as he possibly can. They don’t say anything else, not for a long while. The silence is heavy and sad, and as much as she wants to apologize and tell him how wrong she was, she just lets him hold her like this, as if he thinks it’s the last time he’s going to be able to do it.

They fall asleep like that, and when she wakes up, he’s the one who’s gone this time. It’s only been an hour or two. She has a brief moment of panic but she can hear the water in the bathroom and when she looks around the room she sees his cell phone still on the nightstand charging. She pulls herself up and leans back into the headboard, playing with her own phone until the bathroom door opens.

“Matt was gonna send out for takeout, do you know what you want?” Nicholas asks.

Cam looks up from her cell phone and just kind of stares at him for a moment. He’s fresh from the shower, hair hanging damply around his shoulders, droplets of water rolling down his chest. Her eyes drift down to the towel knotted haphazardly around his hips, and she blinks, realizing that he’s talking to her.

“Huh?”

The corner of his mouth tilts up, and he reaches up to push his hair out of his face. “Food, Camille.”

“Right, um, I’ll text Matt what I want. Why don’t you get dressed?”

Nicholas doesn’t laugh at her even though he looks like he wants to, and she blushes, turning her attention back to her phone. She doesn’t look up again, not until he’s sitting down beside her and pulling her phone from her hands.

“Okay, you have until the food arrives, start talking.” When she stares at him in confusion, he rolls his eyes at her impatiently. “Why did you come here, Camille?”

“You asked me to come, you said you needed me—”

“It’s more than that, and you know it.”

Cam sits up a little, trying to put some distance between the two of them, even though she doesn’t actually want it. “How much did Noah tell you?”

“I want to hear it from you.” he says, almost desperately.

Meddling band members aside, Cam knows this is what she came here for. Twisting her hands in her lap, she avoids his gaze for a few long moments. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting to see when she finally manages to look at him again.

“I fucked up,” she starts, immediately feeling a lump form in her throat when he reaches over to wrap a hand around hers. “I shouldn’t have left. It’s a stupid excuse but I was scared. Of getting closer, of falling in love with you. But that was kind of inevitable, I guess. I was probably always gonna fall in love with you, Nicky. I thought you asking me to come here was a sign—”

“Did I have to make you an actual neon sign or something?”

Cam blinks at him. “What?”

“I feel like it would be incredibly mean of me to call you dumb, but I asked you to come here for a reason. One that I hoped was a little more obvious than just me needing you here. Have you connected the dots yet?”

She ignores the undeniable need to smother him with a pillow for his sarcasm as much as the instinctual urge to kiss him. They need to talk this out. Her leaving without talking was what put them in this position in the first place. Rubbing her thumb back and forth over the back of his hand, she sighs and shakes her head.

“Connect them for me.”

Nicholas lets out an exasperated sigh, laughing at her. “I’m in love with you too, you dummy.”

“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to call me dumb—”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence; he grabs her and pulls her closer until she’s practically in his lap, pressing his mouth to hers and cutting off her words. Her surprise is brief, before she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back. And he doesn’t just kiss her, he devours her, as if he’s trying to make up for the months of not being able to do so. Cam can’t do much more than let him, balling her fists in his damp hair, opening her mouth beneath his.

His hands slide down around her hips, beneath the well worn cotton of her t-shirt, pressing hotly against the skin of her lower back. She feels the blunt press of his nails graze her sides as he tugs her as close as he possibly can.

“I need to know what you want, Camille,” he says, and it comes out as desperate as Cam feels right now.

She tugs on his hair, trying to get his mouth back to hers. “Nicky—”

“You gotta tell me you’re gonna stay,” he evades her, pulling back enough so that their eyes meet. “I’m serious. Say the word now and I’ll make sure you’ve got a ticket back home if you want it.”

“Don’t you get it by now? You are my home.”

Nicholas groans and kisses her again, teeth knocking against hers briefly before he pulls back just enough and she’s pretty sure that even if she actually wanted to, she can’t leave now. The kiss is tinged with a little bit of bittersweet feeling, because she could have had this months ago, had she not been so fucking stubborn. He pulls away just as she's needing to breathe, and his mouth wanders from hers down across her jaw and over to her neck. A breathy whine escapes her and she gives his hair another demanding tug.

The knock on the hotel room door startles them both. They pull apart and stare at the door as if it’s a foreign concept to them, before Nicholas realizes that it’s their food. Cam scoots back on the bed as he gets up, and she drags her hands through her hair, trying to get her heartbeat back under control. She watches as he opens the door, and she sees Matt on the other side.

“Good afternoon, children.” he greets, holding out a bag of food. “Getting along nicely, I see.”

Even Cam can see from her spot on the bed that Nicholas’ lips were red and a little swollen. She’s sure she’s no better off. But she still wiggles her fingers at Matt in a wave, before escaping to the bathroom. It might be a little dramatic, but she pushes the door closed and leans against it, touching her bottom lip and giggling to herself. It almost doesn’t feel real, but when she looks at her disheveled appearance in the bathroom mirror, it’s obvious. She fights to keep the dopey smile off of her face.

By the time she emerges, Matt is gone and Nicholas has straightened the bed, food containers on the duvet and one of the Star Wars movies playing on the television. They’ve been in this exact same position before back at home so many times that it makes Cam’s heart ache in a not entirely unpleasant way. Date nights, movie nights with the other guys. She didn’t think she’d have this again. She sits down beside him, automatically reaching for what she hopes is her food. She’s just opened the container of fries when Nicholas swoops in, snatching a few.

“Hey!” she laughs, twisting away with the container. “Just because I let you kiss me does not mean you get to steal my food.”

He smirks at her, popping the fries in his mouth. “Okay, Camille.”

She leans back into the space beside him, putting her attention on her food and the movie. That ache in her heart transforms to something more familiar and comfortable, and she rests her shoulder against his. This was something she’d wanted back more than anything, not just the feeling of Nicholas’ hands on her, or the taste of him on her tongue, but this. Just being here with him like this.

It’s everything.

Cam isn’t sure exactly what wakes her up. It takes a few moments for her eyes to adjust, and she can see the red glow of the cheap motel clock on the nightstand. The numbers are blinking and then she hears the wind and the rain. Lightning flashes on the other side of the curtains, and thunder rattles the windows. Another harsh storm, one that had obviously knocked out the power at one point. Tucked beneath the safety of Nicholas’ arm and the blankets, Cam reaches for her cell phone to check the time. It’s not even three yet.

But now that the storm has woken her, she’s awake in a wired way that she doesn’t think she can shake. Nicholas is still sleeping soundly behind her, so she tries to avoid tossing and turning. But she rolls over onto her side to face him, and immediately his hand tightens on her hip, pulling her closer. He lets out a sleepy noise, and Cam holds her breath. She doesn’t want to wake him, but the longer she stares at him, the more he comes into focus as the room isn’t entirely dark. Every spark of lightning illuminates him more; the way some of his hair falls over his face, the stretched out collar of his t-shirt. The dark smudges of the tattoos on his fingers where they rest curled against the pillow above his head.

She doesn’t realize at first that he’s not asleep anymore, not until the next flash of lightning when she can see him watching her sleepily.

“I missed this,” he says.

Cam brushes his hair from his face. “Me watching you like a creeper in the middle of the night?”

“You being the first thing I see when I open my eyes.”

If it weren’t the middle of the night, if it weren’t him saying it, she’d think it was ridiculously cliche. Instead, she nudges her nose against his and kisses him. What starts off as something soft and sweet quickly morphs into something else entirely. That wired feeling she has becomes nothing but need for him. Nicholas is obviously on the same page, he grasps her hips and pulls her up until she’s straddling his waist. Cam gets her fingers in his sleep mussed hair, tugging just a little bit to draw him even closer, and Nicholas groans needily. She chases the noise with her tongue, licking into his mouth with a single-minded determination. It’s almost unbearable how much she feels for him at this moment, and she tries desperately to pour it all into her kiss.

Outside, the rain starts to die down. Finally they pull apart, foreheads resting together as they struggle to breathe. Nicholas wraps his fingers around her wrist, and he brings Cam’s hand up to his face. He kisses her palm once, then again before slowly trailing his mouth across her forearm, over ink that he put there years ago. She presses her face into his chest, trying to remember how to breathe and failing, feeling a sharp throb between her thighs. His other hand slid down her back, over the curve of her hip, pulling her body flush against his.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pressing his mouth against the curve of her shoulder, and she can feel the heat of his breath through the fabric of her shirt. “I need you to say—”

“Nicky,” she gasps, looking up at him. “I love you for asking, but this is very much okay.”

He lets out a choked off noise that she doesn’t have time to enjoy before he’s rolling them, flipping her beneath his body and tugging at her clothes insistently. She manages to get her hands between them, shoving at the waistband of his sweats with her own impatience. For a few moments it’s nothing but a tangle of limbs and clothes, and breathless laughter. She gets his sweatpants and boxers halfway down his thighs, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking him slowly. He retaliates by leaving her shirt hanging off of one of her arms, curling over her and dips his head to suck one of her nipples into his mouth. Her back arches off the bed, her grasp on him loosening as she manages to wriggle out of the rest of her clothes, and she lets out a moan that only grows louder as he flicks his tongue back and forth.

He moves his mouth to her other breast, letting his teeth scrape over it before he lifts up to kiss her. A needy whine falls from his mouth into hers as she gives the base of his cock a squeeze, using her feet to shove his pants down the rest of the way.

“Would it be vain of me to say I missed this too?” she asks.

Nicholas lets out a breathy laugh, pulling back to look into her eyes. “Say it again.”

“What?” her brow furrows and she smirks. “That I missed your dick? Because I can tell you right now—”

His intense stare causes a fresh rush of want to hit her full force. It might have been embarrassing if not for their current situation. His hand cups her jaw, thumb pressing against her bottom lip. She fights the urge to open her mouth and pull the digit inside.

“Say that you love me, Camille.”

She thinks about uttering the words only hours ago, telling him that it was inevitable, her being in love with him, him saying that he was in love with her too. All she can think about is how much she loves him, how she needs him. How she wants him, right here and now in this motel in middle of nowhere, Wyoming in the middle of the night with the rain pouring down outside.

Cam must have said some of that out loud, because the next thing she knows his mouth is on hers again and he finally snakes a hand between her legs, touching her for the first time in months. No one else has touched her in months. His fingers are lithe and strong as they go right to her clit, circling mercilessly before dipping inside of her. She can practically hear how wet she is over her own breathing as she grasps his shoulders and arches up into his touch.

But just as soon as he’s started touching her, he pulls away. Her eyes fly open and a noise of protest falls from her mouth before he’s grabbing her hips and pulling her further down the bed beneath him. He kneels between her thighs, pulling her legs over his, and she watches avidly as he impatiently slides his cock between her folds.

“Please tell me you still have your IUD?”

Cam nods, and that’s all the permission he needs before he sinks inside of her. She doesn’t care if he’s been with anyone else since her, he’s with her now. The second he’s fully inside, they both go still, just staring into each other’s eyes. It’s impossible for it to be true, but immediately the ache that she’s been feeling for the past few months seems to disappear. No one could ever make her feel like this. She clings to him, pulling his mouth to hers and petting her fingers through his hair.

“God, I missed being inside of you,” Nicholas murmurs, nose nudging against her cheek. “Are you okay, can I move?”

Him asking permission unravels something in her chest. “Yes, yeah, Nicky―”

His hips roll against hers and he groans softly into her shoulder. Cam presses a kiss to his forehead, urging him on. She feels his calloused fingertips caress her thigh before wrapping around her knee, hitching it further up his ribcage. Pulling out almost completely, he thrusts back in deep and hard, and she quickly braces a hand against the headboard to keep from moving up the bed.

"Don't stop," she begs, and he takes her at her word.

She doesn't want him holding back with her, and he doesn't. His soft kisses and touches betrayed the rough way he took her body, but Cam doesn't want him to stop. She holds on to him tightly, nails scoring deep marks in his arms and her teeth leaving behind imprints on his chest. One of his hands tangles with hers against the headboard, and the other stays permanently curled around the nape of her neck, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Say it again,” he demands, each word punctuated by a roll of his hips. “C’mon, Camille, be a good girl and tell me.”

He knows what it does to her, hearing him call her that, even after this much time. It takes her more than one try to get the words out, but they fall between them nonetheless and once she stops talking she can’t seem to stop, “I love you Nicholas, so much. I never stopped—”

Her words are cut off when he reaches down between their bodies to tease his fingers over her clit, and her eyes roll back in her head. His breathless laughter echoes in her ear before she feels him bury his face against her shoulder, teeth scraping over her skin. She’s going to look as if she were mauled by morning, and she can’t bring herself to care.

Cam isn’t sure which one of them comes first, too lost in the euphoric feelings coursing through her. Afterwards, they cling to each other, trying to catch their breath without straying too far from each other. Nicholas rests his head on her chest, watching her through his sweat-dampened hair. She traces her fingers over the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheek. She knows eventually, they’ll have to move and clean up. She knows they’ll have to talk about what happens now, with a few weeks left on the tour and her having to get back home for work.

They’ll figure it out, but it doesn’t need to be right this minute.

Opening the back door of the rental car, Cam tosses her duffel in the backseat. Across the parking lot, the van meant to take the band back to the bus is idling, Jolly behind the wheel. Her flight back home arrived a lot sooner than she thought it would. She closes the door and turns to look at Nicholas, who looks more rested than when she arrived. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smile and she can’t help but return it.

They’d come up with the most obvious solution, she’d go back home and she’d be there when he made it home from the tour. As soon as she left the airport, she’d pick up his cats from his sister’s and stay at his place. It was something he was adamant about; he wanted her there when he got home, and she wouldn’t refuse him.

Stepping closer to her, Nicholas put his hand against the car and leaned in to kiss her softly. She curled her fingers in the sides of his jacket, holding on to him until Jolly honked the horn. They break apart with a laugh, and look towards where the rest of his band is waiting.

“You gotta go,” she tugs on his jacket and pulls him in again. She pecks him on the lips again. “Drive safe.”

“You too. You’ll text me when you get in?” he asks, brushing her hair back from her face.”

“I will even send you pictures of the cats as proof of life.”

They drift back together a third time, unable to help it. She wishes she’d thought to get more time off work before coming out here but she didn’t know how this was going to go. Jolly honks the horn a second time and she hears one of them wolf whistling at them. Nicholas flips them off before reluctantly letting her go.

“I’ll see you in two weeks,” he says. “I love you.”

Cam shoves her hands into the pocket of her hoodie—Nicholas’ hoodie she’d taken long ago—so she doesn’t pull him back again. “I love you too.”

She watches him walk across the parking lot, eventually opening the passenger seat and getting in. She waves them off, and they all wave and shout goodbyes to her. It was only fourteen days, she could do that. She’d gone months without him, and now that she has him back, two weeks felt like nothing. She doesn’t get behind the wheel to leave until the van is long out of sight.

Starting the car, she drives the opposite way as it begins to rain again.

#nicholas ruffilo x ofc #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fic #.ficbysitkowski #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic

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seenthroughmia · 2 months ago

Text

In Your Atmosphere

Chapter Five

Previous Chapter

Content Warning: Language, Alcohol, Joking about sex, Mentions of blood, Attempted sexual assault (not graphic/brief), Catcalling, Death (not graphic/brief), Nightmares

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Note: It took me forever to write this between school and work… I’m not 100% happy with it, but I wanted to get something out. We’ve got some girls night with Karen involved, Frankie saving the day, a HINT of fluff, and some angstttttt.

Delilah hadn’t seen Frank in three days. She’d like to think that maybe that meant he was staying out of trouble, but she knew that wasn’t the case. There were too many reports of deaths amongst the city piled up on her desk that had his name written all over them. She hadn’t seen him in three days because it must have meant that he wasn’t hurt enough to need her to help sew him back up.

She felt comfort in the fact that he likely didn’t have any major damage done to him. Having said that, there was a part of her that wished he would show up at her front door.

Everyday of the week, she heard interesting stories. Everyday of the week, she wrote interesting stories. But having Frank, the Big Bad Punisher, in her home gave her a wave of excitement she hadn’t felt since her college day rendezvous’ with a certain blind lawyer.

Everything about it was foolish. She was enthralled by a man that she had just met. A man that she didn’t even know the last name of. A man who was on the FBI’s top most wanted list.

It had gotten to the point that her job; her dream job… felt mundane. Her focus was no longer on that robbery on 34th street, or that building fire, or that heated political race. All that Delilah Lovett could think about was Frank.

So, in typical Delilah fashion she did what she always did when a man was taking over too much of her thoughts— call up a girlfriend and drink until she forgot.

That was how she ended up in a tight little red dress standing across from Karen Page at a very loud and very vibrant nightclub with two shots of rum coursing through her veins.

“This is… different.” Karen looked around the room as she clutched her drink in her hand.

“I just felt like I needed to go somewhere different than Josie’s… Somewhere more lively.” Delilah grabbed the shot glass that sat on the tabletop that divided her and Karen.

“It’s definitely lively.” A small giggle came from the blonde. Her eyes continued to wander, taking in the dozens of people dancing, vibrating speakers, and neon lights.

“Cheers!” Delilah downed the shot before flagging down a server for another one. “So… a little birdie told me that you went on a date with Matt.”

A tinge of pink could be seen creeping onto Karen’s face. “If by little birdie you mean Foggy, yes. Matt and I went on a date.”

“And?”

Karen could only muster out a smile.

“How did it go?” The second shot Delilah had ordered made its way to the table.

Karen took a small sip of her drink. “It went well. We went to this really fancy place Uptown, but then I think we both realized that we were trying too hard to impress each other. We ended up leaving, and going to this cute little Indian restaurant. He walked me home.”

“He walked you home.” A smirk worked its way onto Delilah’s face as she picked up the newly filled shot glass.

“He did.”

“Did you guys… you know…” She paused before turning her smirk into a big toothy grin. “Get to know each other in a biblical sense?”

Karen’s eyes widened with shock. “Delilah!”

“What? Come on, I need to live vicariously through you. My personal life is so boring right now.” She glanced at the glass in her hand before raising it up in the air. “To Karen Page and Matt Murdock!”

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.” Karen let out a breathy laugh at Delilah’s toast.

“No.” Delilah choked down the liquid that was in the glass before slamming it on the table. “Okay, now I’ve had enough.”

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

She had somehow convinced Karen, who was significantly less hammered than Delilah, that she was capable of getting home by herself. Well, she was sure Karen wasn’t entirely convinced, but a call she received from Matt asking to come over swayed her decision.

Her apartment wasn’t too far from the nightclub they had spent the last hour at, but it wasn’t right around the corner either. This wasn’t her first time walking home alone from a night of drinking, and it wouldn’t be her last.

The walk home wasn’t out of the ordinary. There were people on the streets whose night outings were extending way past hers. There were homeless people lingering around convenience stores. There was nothing for her to be concerned about; until there was.

Delilah had noticed a man rounding the corner of an alleyway as she passed by it about a block back. It was very possible that he could’ve just been on his way to wherever his destination was, but she had now been walking for two more blocks since, testing out different speeds of walking. Each time she switched paces he matched it. Her apartment was nearby, and coming to the conclusion that he was following her she didn’t want him to know where she lived.

“Okay, what do you want?” She turned around to face the man. “Is it my wallet or something because if that’s what you want you can have it.” Her hands started to dig into her purse.

She never claimed it was a smart idea, but with four shots of liquor in her system it was all she could think of to keep the location of her home a secret.

“Why don’t you come back to my place, sweet cheeks?” He started to approach her, closing the distance. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

“So you don’t want the wallet?” Delilah removed her hands from her purse. “Why don’t you turn around and leave me alone, cupcake.”

Mocking a stranger who was following her late at night was probably not the best idea, but her intoxicated state didn’t allow her brain to filter out words before she spoke them.

“Ah, she’s a feisty one.”

She felt a hand wrap around her wrist. The grip he had was strong, so strong that even with her using all of her force to move in the opposite direction he still pulled her into the dark corridor on the side of them.

“This dress is real pretty, but I think it would look much better on the floor.” His hand roamed up to her shoulder to slide the strap of her dress off.

That was enough for Delilah to use her free arm, the one that was holding her purse, to swing the handbag up against the side of his face.

“Bitch!” The hand that was on her shoulder pushed back against her with such force, slamming her into the brick wall in the alley.

A discernible wince came from her as her head took a good bit of the impact against the wall. Distracted by the pain pooled in the back of her head, she didn’t even notice she knife he had pulled out until she felt the cold metal against her collar bone.

“I tried to do this the nice and easy way, but you just had to be difficult, didn’t you?”

Her eyes shut in preparation for the worst, but it never came. The knife falling to the ground. The sound of bones cracking. A loud thud on the concrete. Those were all sounds that surrounded her in the alleyway. She kept her eyes closed until a gruff voice prompted her to open them.

“You wanna tell me what you’re doing out here alone at this hour dressed like that?”

It was Frank, the entire reason she had been out getting plastered in the first place. In front of him was the body of the hooded figure that was holding a knife near her throat seconds prior. His neck? Broken.

Delilah’s eyes focused on the man’s neck for a moment before bringing her attention to Frank. “What are you, my daddy? Did I break my curfew?”

His arms were crossed. He glared at her with such intensity, even more so than when she’d forgotten to lock her apartment door.

“I wasn’t alone. Karen… Well, I was with her.” She started to stumble forward. “But she had to leave to go do the devil’s dance with Matt, if you know what I mean.” A laugh broke free from her mouth, allowing Frank to catch a whiff of the alcohol smell that traveled from her breath.

“For fuck’s sake… How much have you had to drink?”

“Only a little.” She continued her pursuit forward towards Frank. However, she forgot about the body on the floor in front of her. Her foot caught onto the side of the man, sending her headfirst into Frank.

He didn’t wrap his arms around her, but his firm chest stopped her from going anywhere.

“Oops.” She blurted out, staying pressed against him. “Frank?”

“What?”

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“He ain’t breathin, ain’t he?”

Delilah looked back down at the body on the ground. It was then that Frank noticed a portion of her copper red hair had turned a crimson color.

“You’re bleeding.” He said pulling her away from him and directing her around the body. “The back of your head.”

“I am?” Her hands moved to touch her hair. When she brought them back in front of her they were covered in red. “It must’ve happened when he pushed me against the brick…” The adrenaline had kicked in once Frank had arrived, temporarily making her forget about her run in with the wall.

“Needs to be cleaned up.” Frank started walking towards the sidewalk. He turned around when he didn’t hear her heels clicking on the ground. “You gonna just stand there or what?”

She still didn’t move. “What about…” she pointed to the ground.

“I’ll take care of it later.”

Delilah made a shrugging gesture and started to move towards Frank. “Do I want to know what that means?”

“No.”

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

For the third time in the last week, Frank and Delilah had sat on the carpet in her living room with a first aid kit in reach. Only this time, it wasn’t Delilah patching up Frank. It was Frank patching up Delilah.

“What were you doing in that alleyway, anyway?”

“I was in the neighborhood.” Frank parted her hair to get a better look at the source of the bleeding.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You were in the neighborhood?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna know what I think?”

“No-“

“I think you were stalking me.” She felt a cold sharp sting on the back of her head. “Owww! Jesus, what are you doing?”

He held a blood stained cotton ball in front of her face.

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad. Doesn’t need stitches or anything.” Frank grabbed a bottle of diluted hydrogen peroxide from the first aid kit. “Just needs to be cleaned real good.”

Her face contorted in discomfort when the chemical compound collided with the gash on the back of her head, leaving her to deal with a burning sensation.

“Good thing you don’t need stitches.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Frank retorted back at her question.

“I most definitely could handle it!” She felt the peroxide soaked cotton ball press against her skin again. “Oww!”

He looked at her with an amused expression. It was an expression that said ‘thank you for proving my point.’

Delilah made a pout with her lips. “I liked it better when you were the one that needed fixing up.”

Her eyes scanned him for a brief moment. She didn’t believe what he said earlier; that he was just in the neighborhood. She could have believed that maybe he was in the area if he were wounded, but she couldn’t find any new marks on him.

“Are you…”

He made note of her eyes studying him. “No. I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” She nodded as she contemplated her next question. “You’re not hurt, so are you still sticking with your statement that you were just in the neighborhood?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Frank looked towards a black duffle bag to the side of him. “Truth is, I was coming to give you something.” He stood up, grabbing the bag from the floor and throwing it onto the coffee table.

“You got me a gift?”

This was unexpected. She had only known him a few days, but she didn’t peg him as the gift-giving type. Her mind wondered what he could’ve gotten her. Her curiosity was settled when he pulled out a worn out yellow hardcover book.

“Uh, thought I would help expand your collection.”

He handed her the book.

Dracula.

“Thank you.” She looked at the book for a moment before moving to her feet.

Frank gave her a small nod.

“Is it even worth asking if you want to stay?” Delilah motioned her head towards the plush couch that they were leaning against moments earlier.

Frank was conflicted. He was exhausted, practically running on empty. He didn’t sleep much these days, relying on exuberant amounts of black coffee to keep him going. Right now that couch looked like the most comfortable thing he had ever seen. In spite of that, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already in too deep with her.

“If you feel like you’re inconveniencing me, you’re not. I mean it.” The sincerity in her words shined through loud and clear.

Fuck it, he thought. He would fall asleep for a few hours, slip out before she even woke up, and that would be the end of it.

“Your pillows soft or firm?”

The question had garnered a laugh from Delilah. It prompted her to turn on her heels in the direction of her bedroom. She disappeared out of his view for a moment, but her footsteps were still able to be heard. When she reappeared she was clutching a pillow under one arm and a blanket in another.

“I prefer a stiffer pillow, so if that’s also your preference you’re in luck.” She dropped both of them on the couch.

Truth be told, Frank didn’t really care what type of pillow he was given. He had slept on cots in the desert, on the ground, and on a lone mattress with no bed frame or box.

“If you want anything from the kitchen feel free to take whatever. The only way to get to the bathroom is through my room, so I’ll just leave my door open.” Delilah thought about if there was anything she was missing. “The TV remote is right there, and you’ve already explored my bookshelf.”

Frank sat down on the couch and started to situate the firm pillow she had brought him against the left arm of the sofa. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you could give Twilight another shot while you have it at your disposal.”

“I’ll have to think about it.” He had shot her the same words that she said to him the last night he was there when he suggested she try Dracula.

A light scoff came from Delilah’s body. “Good night, Frank.”

“Good night.”

Delilah wandered into her bedroom, while Frank started to adjust his body onto the couch. The couch was small, making him unable to completely outstretch on it while laying. It wasn’t the most ideal place for him to sleep, but that wasn’t his biggest worry. Exhaustion had no longer been on the forefront of his mind. When Delilah left the room the gravity of what he had done set in. He had slipped up and gotten too close. It wasn’t something he could do again.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

A bloodcurdling scream filled the apartment, causing Delilah to shoot up from her bed. Any ounce of sleepiness she had was completely gone. She quickly grabbed her phone and ran into the living room where she had last left Frank.

The screams she had heard were coming from him, face up on the couch gripping the edges of the cushions tightly.

“Frank.” She called out to him as she rushed over to his side.

He was still bellowing out even after she had called his name.

“Frank…” Her hand reached to cover the one closest to her, but his grip never left the sofa. “Shh, it’s okay, Frank. It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe.”

Frank felt the touch of her small hand covering his. His eyes zigzagged around the room to check his surroundings. When he saw strands of her fiery copper hair reflecting in the little light the room had his screams lessened to heavy pants.

Delilah had learned a bit about his life as a Marine the last time she had stitched him up. She didn’t have much experience with people in the line of duty, but she thought PTSD was probably a common occurrence amongst members who served their time fighting wars like he did.

“Where did you go just now?” She asked quietly, not removing her hand from on top of his. Her free hand moved to caress the top of his head. He was sweating profusely and his body felt like a furnace. “Kandahar? Were you dreaming about Kandahar?”

“The carousel…” Frank mumbled out.

“The carousel? What carousel? Is that some sort of military code phrase?”

“In the park…” His eyes were focused on the ceiling. There was a sadness to them, one that Delilah had never seen before from him. It was almost as if he was fighting something internally.

“Frank… I’m not sure what you’re talking about… What park? Central Park?”

His hand flipped over resulting in his palm depositing right up against hers. “Maria…Lisa… Fr-Frank Jr.” The thing he was fighting inside of him were tears. They were threatening to leak through and Delilah could see it.

For the first time in her life, Delilah Lovett was speechless. The man that she had invited to stay on her couch was currently in a state of distress that she didn’t know how to ease. She had so many questions. While her natural predisposition was to ask as many as she could til she got to the bottom of things, she realized that it wouldn’t amount to a fix for the problem; at least for his sake.

The daze that Frank was in had suddenly broken when his brain had completely caught up to the fact that he was in the apartment he had spent three days in during the last week. Delilah had taken notice of this as well when he abruptly shunned away her hands that were placed on his body. The speed at which he discarded the contact surged her crouching frame back towards the floor.

“Shit.” He mumbled at a barely audible tone. He placed both of his hands onto his head, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“What did it mean?”

Frank was silent.

“The carousel. The park. Those people.”

“Go back to bed, Delilah.”

“Frank, what does it mean?”

“Damn it, Delilah, I said go back to bed!” He sat up when he spoke this time. The sadness in his eyes had now been taken over by darkness.

If looks could kill, she could’ve sworn she would be six feet under in a grave right now. She started to use her hands to move backwards in a crawling motion. The coffee table stopped her momentum, thwacking her in the back. A small groan came from her lips as she sheepishly stood up and retreated back into her bedroom, opting to close the store instead of leaving it open like she had previously.

Frank didn’t mean to do it, but he knew that he did; he had frightened her. For the first time in all of their encounters she was scared of him. He had acted like an asshole. He was an asshole, he thought to himself. Maybe, it was better that way. It was the opportunity he needed to distance himself.

He couldn’t in good faith stay on Delilah’s couch any longer. He left the pillow where it was on the couch, but folded up the blanket neatly. He put on his boots, tied them up, and made sure to grab his duffle bag off of the table. He headed for the door, locking it from the inside, as he thought about the night's events.

#frank castle #daredevil #the punisher #frank castle fanfiction #marvel #frank castle x oc

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tawked · 2 months ago

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I'm now just over the half-way mark on Matt Wagner's Sandman Mystery Theatre, and it's kind of remarkable how a lot of what I've seen people saying that they want out of Batman for years is just... here.

It has:

supervillains but they're written like adventure novel pulpy mad scientists with coherent motives that often aren't "eeeheheh I am mentally ill and therefore of a fiendish nature!" None of them are dialed up to Joker levels where they're just doing genocides weekly.

an eccentric superhero detective with dead parents and The Traumas, where this is played in a way very distinct from "he does violence on criminals b/c cycle of abuse."

a thorough exploration of the contradiction of antifascism from a white billionaire perspective (the "why doesn't Bruce Wayne just buy everybody a house" criticism).

a superhero that doesn't beat up on the poor or marginalized, and in fact uses the most nonviolent method possible. His villains are never just some broke dude trying to jack a TV.

the best, most compelling woman co-lead - and she is sincerely a co-lead, not just a love interest - I've personally seen in a comic.

she's bi and flirting with her self-identity and the possibility of lezzing out with her weird friend.

Sandman remains outside of the police system at all times; there is no real Commissioner Gordon analogue. He builds some allies, namely the District Attorney, who doesn't know how to deal with him, and with Dr. Klein, a forensic coroner usually working for the police, but The Sandman remains outside of law for the majority of stories.

a healthier version of the Alfred & Julia Pennyworth narrative.

nazis getting fucked up.

What it does not have:

a small legion of kids running around the city fighting crime. Wesley does not remain a solitary hero for very long, in fact a handful of storylines feature him meeting and in some way teaming up with future Justice Society of America members, and Dian is always around, but the Robin Army has no analogue here.

gadgets. Outside of the gas gun it's pretty mild.

Barbara Gordon, but Dian is pretty close to what Barbara Gordon was in the 1960s, actually.

recurring villains. Most villains end the narrative perma-arrested or dead. Sometimes the deaths are kinda lame but that's a consciously invoked trope of pulp fiction.

While I am obviously recommending this series especially to Batman people who would find a remix interesting, I feel that it's the kind of series that needs to be recommended with trigger warnings:

sexual violence: there is a tone / threat of sexual violence throughout and sometimes it is very candidly portrayed. Especially The Brute, the story that spans #8 - #12, which includes a very graphic and imo debatably tasteless CSA scene.

racism: every single character is in some way a racist as a way of demonstrating the nature and threat of fascism in the United States, as well as flaws in policing and the cultural concept of crime.

clumsier racism: some of the attempts at anti-racist writing feel dated or a little clumsy. Asian Americans are broadly poorly written, imo - the intent of humanizing the characters is there but the Tong feels written as if out of "Oriental Tales to Shock and Delight" or whatever. There's one narrative about a German man getting radicalized into Nazism, and the twist is, the specific Jewish community he's targeting does run a corrupt union that is extorting the local businesses. The clasic mafia trope, but Jewish.

The series does have a diverse cast of Jewish characters, but it is worth noting the "Good Jews" are usually secular / reform, while this union is visibly Orthodox. I'm also a gentile from a country where like 0.4% of the population are Jewish lol, I am honestly not aware of the tropes and context to watch out for, so I might be accidentally recommending something gross in ignorance here. Still, the work doesn't seem to be actively attempting to vilify "Jews" so much as this one rabbi, his sons and their network of friends, who are humanized in that theyh are forced into crime due to the systemic realities of antisemitism. It seems to be aiming for, "okay, let's say a corrupt Jewish union exists - what might have led to them being corrupt?" and the answer is surviving in an antisemitic world.

#comics #dc comics #dc #batman #sandman #the sandman #sandman mystery theatre #wesley dodds

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pomegranate-belle · 4 months ago

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Saved

raggedyred

Summary:

Vladimir screams, writhing beneath him, his sounds filling the empty space like a rocket, too loud, too much, but Matt hisses through his teeth and bares through it. He’s had worse. He turns his focus outward, trusting his hands and nose to know exactly where the wound is and when to stop, but his hearing lets loose, escaping the confines of the warehouse and the screams and— Shit. Claire’s voice echoes through the speaker of the phone. “Did it stop the bleeding?” “Thanks, Claire. I gotta go.” “Matt?—” He hangs up. Drops the flare. Stands. Cocks his head and listens. *** In season 1, episode 6 — what if Brett had been the officer to come to the scene instead? Relevant episode info in context of fic

Ohhh man, this one is wild, folks! Red really did something amazing here - you have the bones of the original episode, and each deviation made seems so perfectly natural that you don't realize quite how far you've come from its original trajectory until you look back at it at the end. The POV alternates between several different characters throughout the night, and although the main focus is on Brett and Matt, if your fave is Claire or Foggy or Karen I don't think you'll be disappointed at all. This fic feels simultaneously like a fix-it and a break it worse - kinda like when they have to re-break a bone to make sure it sets right, lol!

The medical trauma is pretty serious without, in my opinion, being overly graphic, and poor Matt is Going Through It the entire night (and so is everyone else). It leaves off on a hopeful note, and was an all around fantastic fic to read - I was enraptured the entire way through. Brett kicks so much ass, as he deserves, and I'm praying he gets to take a long vacation after all this. XD

Tags under the cut!

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Daredevil (TV)

Relationships:

Brett Mahoney & Matt Murdock

Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson

Brett Mahoney & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson

Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page

Characters:

Matt Murdock

Brett Mahoney

Franklin "Foggy" Nelson

Claire Temple

Karen Page

Additional Tags:

Unreliable Narrator

Hospitalization

and hand-waving

Seizures

Head Injury

Episode: s01e06 Condemned

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Identity Reveal

Ableist Language

Panic Attacks

Minor Character Death

Ambiguous Relationships

Possibly Pre-Slash

Human Disaster Matt Murdock

Brett Mahoney Is Somehow Sane

Canon-Typical Violence

#fic recs #daredevil #brett mahoney #matt murdock

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melloneah · 1 year ago

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chapter 2 of SMOKESCREEN is out!!! so here, have sum smokescreen matt:***

for the high quality graphic -> click here

to read chap 2 -> click here

#can u tell i discovered the text warp function in photoshop #also ive been working on this singular graphic for like a full month non stop #soooo pls be kinddd <333 #btw i still feel the entire thing is a straight up mess but FUCK IT WE BALL #at least the fic's not a mess dhskhf #mail jeevas #death note #matt death note #sorry i have to tag this as #meronia #it IS a meronia fic after all #i hope no matt hater bites me #ok logging off now my sweeties #my fanart #death note fanart

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fictional-twink-bracket · 2 months ago

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Semifinals Poll 2

(PT: Semifinals Poll 2)

Propaganda

(PT: Propaganda)

Yami Bakura

Man's hot as hell. He's scrawny, but is probably capable of crushing your windpipe. He talks with an incredible amount of swag despite regularly getting his ass kicked by a high schooler. He is an ancient spirit possessing another high schooler. He has prominent canines.

Mello (More under the cut)

it would be really fucking funny to get the guy with 'inferiority complex' as his special stat to Specifically second place

After blowing himself up to escape the cops, he starts living together with his childhood best friend again. One of his main traits is that this 'best friend' is the only person he wholeheartedly cares about.

There's a very conventionally attractive woman in the series who flirts with him on a few occasions. Despite being very intelligent and charismatic, he doesn't seem to understand when women flirt with him

forgot to mention in jy Mello propaganda that his best friend is called Matt

Despite not being Christian, he wears two rosaries and a cross on his belt at all times and has a cross around his gun (the same gun as in Romeo and Juliet). He also has a wallet chain made out of fake skulls and a skull pattern on his belt because that bitch wants so badly to be scary when he's like 120 pounds.

[Correction: Mello is likely Christian, specifically Catholic. see here]

Mello's death was intentionally left ambiguous, but one of the strongest theories is that he was so busy apologising to his male "best friend"/roommate for getting him killed that the villain killed Mello while he was distracted.

Even when he's a millionaire who has the Los Angeles Mafia at his beck and call, he says himself that his primary goal is earning the respect and approval of a boy he hasn't seen in six years. Obsessed much?

When he loses his millions and all of the Mafia members except him die, leaving with nasty injuries, it takes him like a week to track down his childhood best friend Matt and they move in together.

He admittedly feels very guilty over ordering the death of beloved DILF Soichiro Yagami, with one of the main reasons cited being that he thought his grey hair was "just too cute".

Mello ends up literally dying for a boy he claims to hate.

LOOK AT THIS SHIT. HE WAS IN THE MOB WHEN THESE WERE TAKEN. MF WAS 18-19 AND HAD MAFIA MEMBERS WITH GUNS AND BLOODIED HANDS RUNNING AROUND SETTING HIM UP FOR THESE PHOTOS. The guy in white on the bottom left is Near, Mello's arch rival who he is absolutely obsessed with, so of course he's in the graphic. Look at this NONSENSE

My man was sluttily licking his fingers and shit and flirting with the US president whilst... threatening to start World War 3.

#fictional twink bracket #poll #semifinal #yami bakura #yugioh #ygo #yu gi oh #mello dn #mello #mello death note #death note #mihael keehl

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britt-kageryuu · 1 year ago

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A video uploaded to the VTurtles! Channel, titled 'Edited Until Dawn Play Through'

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

The video starts with Donnie, Mikey, and Leos models seated, in that order, on a couch, all dressed in color coded swim trunks, Hawaiian Shirts, and crocs. Shelldon in a bipedal body and River are seated on the arms rests. The game screen is above and to the left of them.

"Hey Balemates! Welcome to something a bit different! And if you didn't read the title, we're playing Until Dawn today!" Leo greets loudly, "We were originally going to stream this game, but them we hit a few snags. Stupid TOS, and Monetization based snags."

Donnie picks up from there, "Blue and I have played this before, and forgot that a number of elements are not really 'Family Friendly'. Like the very graphic death scenes, the 'bad language', the brief sexual implications and near nudity. So we have to prerecord this, and edit over a lot of the stuff that might trigger some TOS, or whatever." Donnie does air quotes, and sounds very exasperated and annoyed.

Mikey doesn't seem like he wants to be there, but is putting on a brave face, "And while I don't really like scary games, the Disaster Twins said there was a number of psychological elements to this game I might like. Though I think they just want me to be scared." He gives Donnie and Leo glares. The two are attempting to give innocent looks.

"Anyway, we are going for the Save Everyone route with Good Matt/Emily for a bit more difficulty, so this might take a while, and praying we don't mess up a QTE." Leo explains as he gets the game started.

~~~~

Mikey watches the opening scene in confusion, "What are they doing? Why play this kind of prank on their friend?"

"Because they're lead by a stereotypical mean girl who doesn't like the fact a female friend likes her boyfriend." Donnie answers in a deadpan tone.

Leo nods in agreement, "It's so hard to resist purposefully killing Emily, and annoying to get the full relationship end between her and Matt. Which we will also get for this run." He passes a notepad to Mikey, "Here's the route."

Mikey reads it over turning pages, and looking confused, "The butterfly effect stuff is kinda pretentious, and why is there a note that says 'Don't go that way you Dumb Dumb!', and nothing else for this one point?"

"Because Blue kept going the wrong way, and getting stuck in a bad end for one of the characters. Every! Time!" Donnie slightly glares at Leo.

"It's tough not to follow that direction!" Leo glares back at Donnie, "Are we getting the Death Totem again, or leaving it?"

"Leaving it. You collected it last time."

~~~~~

Mikey was clinging to Donnie during the entire part where Leo was playing Beth who's searching for Hannah in the woods. At least partly because Leo is purposefully going the opposite way to what Mikey is shouting.

Then when they get to the cliff scene, Mikey is freaked out by everything happening in the background, especially when they get to the cliff and the shadowy figure was approaching the girls. Then they fall, and it's time to choose.

Mikey is confused and panicked, "Why are those the choices?! Drop your sister, or let go?! Why?!"

Donnie very flatly answered, "It's not an actual choice."

"What?"

"Dropping Her."

"WHAT!?" Mikey watches as the scene plays, and Beth dies anyway. "What was the point of the choice if you kill both girls anyway?!"

"Moral pondery." "To mess with the player."

-------

The scene switches to a fancy looking office. Mikey had Leo pause so they didn't miss the dialogue.

"Is this a therapist office? One of the characters is in therapy?" He askes.

"Yup." "Affirmative."

"Is this why you wanted me to watch you play this game?"

"Yeah. Though these moments do effect minimal parts of the rest of the story." Leo answers.

"Okay. Continue please."

They, but mostly Mikey listen to the dialogue, "Really laying it on thick with the 'your choices will have a big impact' thing, huh? Also A gloved hand to hide who's in therapy, and how does this picture make me feel? This is kinda generic cliche therapy stuff!"

"And we're saying, happy, peaceful, yes, and scared. Right?" Leo asked Donnie.

"Yeah, those are theoretically the better choices for the scene." Donnie answers.

Then they watched the title sequence.

---------

"Isn't he the brother of the girls who died?"

"Yeah."

"He looks tired, and unhinged."

"Like Dee a week ago."

"L-Blue!"

"And now the first of probably many interesting edits!"

In the middle of Josh's final lines there was a set of deep chirps that sounded like Raph growling, and the subtitles were blurred.

--------

"These are some weird QTEs." Mikey says during the second part of the tutorial. Apparently!

"And the introduction to the 'Don't Move' events. And the totem collectables." Leo comments as he moves Sam to the next point, to meet Chris.

"Don't forget to Close the bag this time! Don't snoop. And don't shoot the Squirrel!" Donnie shouts at Leo.

"Yeah, yeah. I remember... you mess up a choice enough, and get yelled at about it forever." Leo muttered loud enough for the mic to pick up.

---------

"Mike's new girlfriend? What a title to have." Leo snarked.

"And quite the change, too." Mikey replied.

--------

"And this is likely why they broke up." 💙

"We need to keep these two is good standing for one of the good endings right?" 🧡

"Yes, disgusting isn't it?" 💜

--------

"How old is this game, and why are they using such dated slang?" Mikey askes.

"It was originally released in 2015, and while I can't remember these phrases being that popular then during that time, it's at least because of whoever wrote those lines." Donnie explains while Leo plays through the snowball fight.

"Wait! Do we need to kiss him, or can I just hit him with a snowball?" Leo asked after quickly pausing the game to grab the notes, and flip through them.

"Wait, why would this count towards the ending? It doesn't seem like that big of a choice." Mikey asked in confusion.

"Because the game devs really wanted to make you feel like every little choice could lead to a bad end, for sometimes the most stupid reasons. They said in frustration." Donnie replied with an annoyed tone to his voice.

Mikey looks even more confused, "What happened to make you this annoyed?" He asked while looking back and forth between his brothers.

Leo looks up from the Notes with an odd look, "Like I said. You make one supposedly wrong choice, and you get yelled at forever." He then goes through with the choice and continues the scene.

Mikey looked at the timer on the recording real quick, "How have we already spent an hour on this game? And how long is it?" He asked with a slight raise in his voice.

"If we keep a good pace. It should take about 7 hours, but it might be longer if we have to keep checking the notes." Donnie replies in exasperation. "Speaking of we're going to cut the recording here for the first episode at least!"

Leo goes to the title screen, and then joins in. "So stay tuned, and thanks for basking in the warmth of our presence."

"See you next time Balemates!" They all say at once waving bye to the camera. Then the screen then switches to the end card.

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

Masterpost

I decided to stop before the second therapy scene. It made sense, and really that is roughly 40 minutes into the game!!! Longer if you stop to go over notes, and judge if they are actually the right choices to make.

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