#He also screams when he slams his foot into a corner

[wishingly-mesh]

aaagh silly smoke doodle :) that’s it

[candiehearts]

Living is the best revenge

Paring: Spencer Reid X Saved F!Reader

Summary: There was one rule — don’t get involved romantically with the job. It would cause more damage than good, that was something Spencer truly believed. However, a certain damsel in distress might have shift his point of view.

Warnings: Contain themes of; Kidnapping, acts of violence. Brief mentions of; near death experiences.

Taglist: Just ask to be added to this taglist.

I felt another tear fall down my cheek, while the man in front of me traced the dull side of his knife down my face. A cruel smile dancing across his face. He ripped the cloth from my mouth – allowing me to speak, but even so I couldn’t with the tremble of my lips.

“Scream for me.” What kind of sick twisted game is this? I could feel myself wanting to be sick, but I kept my mouth close. Crying silently.

“I said scream!” His voice raised, and the anger in his eyes flashed like a fury of lightning, and he brought his knife to my thigh. Ripping the skin and sticking it deep. “Plea– Please!” I cried out, my eyes burning, but not as much as the sensation in my thigh, when he ripped the knife out.

My head hanged, and I watched as the pool of blood bled off my leg. “There we go.” The cruel smile was back, and his sickly calm voice replaced the one filled with rage.

“Now, time for the finally.” My throat felt raw as I tried to beg him to stop, but he didn’t care. He grabbed the gun from his waistband, and walked behind me.

I felt the ropes, that were rubbing my skin raw, loosen. Soon after he untied each foot from the legs of the chair. His rough hand grab my shoulder so tightly – and I couldn’t even focus on that pain before I was reminded of my leg.

I stumbled – trying to find my footing, but the pain was too much. “Stand up.” His voice commanded that anger from before slowly starting to return.

By now I started to feel dizzy, from the pain, blood loss, emotional trauma. Take your pick. “I said stand up!” From the corner of my eye I saw his fist with the gun raise, his hold on my arm tightening even more. Then before I could blink, he slammed the handle of the gun onto my head.

I started to fall, but he kept his tight hold on me, and started to pull me down a hallway and then I saw a light. For a moment I thought it was heaven – but I was removed from that dream by the pulling and pain.

“Pick up your feet.”

Slowly but surely I placed one foot in front of the other, walking up the steps. When we were off the steps, and a floor above – you would think this is a normal house, and this man didn’t have a basement where he liked to torture people.

“Out back let's go.” He pointed the way to the back door, pushing me. By the time I felt fresh air hit me, I also felt blood slowly start to fall down my face, from where he hit me before.

All around us were woods, nothing else. You couldn’t even hear the crickets, but maybe that was blocked out from the beating of my heart. Scared from what could possibly be my last moment alive.

I felt him push me roughly on the ground, and even though I felt the dirt burning my cuts – I was silently grateful for the pressure releasing from my leg.

The world around me blurred, and finally focused on him. Right in time to hear the click of his gun.

“Any last words?” I slowly looked away from the blurring gun, and used the last bit of energy I had to look this bastard in the face.

“Go to hell.”

My voice cut through the night, rough, raw, most of all tired. His cruel smile turned into an pure evil smirk – and the universe had really delivered. “Gladly.”

Bang

The shot rang out, then another, and another. My eyes screwed shut, waiting for the relief of death. However instead of his gun firing off, it dropped from his hands, before his body dropped as well.

I watched as he started to cough up blood, heaving it, but that’s not what I wanted for his last moments. I felt myself push, and craw to his body.

I saw his eyes focus on me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “In your last moments, everyone, everyone, can see you for who you are. Even yourself.”

He coughed more blood out, and I saw him start to look away, but I wasn’t done. I felt my body move on instinct. I gripped his chin as hard as I could – making him see me.

“Pathetic.”

I felt someone grab my shoulders, pulling me away from him. “It’s alright. It’s over.” I focused in on the man, and silently pleaded. “I want to walk out of here.”

“Okay, alright. Wrap your arms around me.” I did as told, and pulled myself up, while he picked me up. Once on my feet – I felt myself start to fall to the ground again.

Instead of pulling, pushing, or dragging, I felt his embrace stop me from falling. And even though I was practically dead weight – he kept me up right.

Black dots started to fade into my vision, and a happy thought drifted into my mind. I outlived him, even for a minute – I won.

“Hey, hey, listen to me – focus on the sound of my voice.”

I felt his hand cradle my face, he was warm, and his hands were soft. “The medics are here. I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“Let me die.” I choked out to him, pleading for my misery to end. However I didn’t get an answer, at least not one I heard before I felt myself being placed on a stretcher.

The last thing I saw before it all went black was the burly-ness of red, blue, and white lights.

3RD POV

Spencer felt your blood dry on his hands, during the ride to the hospital. He had always made a point to not ride in the ambulance with a victim, let alone wait for an update at the hospital.

He should drive back home. He shouldn’t be here waiting outside your room, when he should sleep – before he has to work another case.

However this case has really struck him, he had seen so many innocent lives ruined at the hands of killer sadistic psychopaths, but the look of utter despair you had on your face before you blacked out struck him.

“Let me die.”

Your voice echoed in his head, a broken plea. And despite how much he didn’t want to admit it but when he saw you, you were so utterly beautiful. You had mascara falling down your face, along with blood coming from an open wound that no doubt gave you a concussion. Your bottom lip was busted – and you couldn’t even walk.

That didn’t matter though. Because he saw your strength, your resilience, and it pained him to hear at the very end, right when it was over, that you wanted to give up.

So maybe that’s why he’s here. Silently staring at the ground during the late hours of the night. Visiting was over – but he gave the lame excuse that he was FBI and needed to be with you the second you woke up so he could ask questions.

“Dr Reid.” He felt his head look over to the nurse, and she made a small tilt of her head, a gesture for him to come inside now.

His body felt heavy as he raised himself off the chair and walked into your room. You didn’t bother to turn your head to get a good look at him. Instead you just looked off to the side, your gaze unfocused because even though you were physically in the room, your mind was in that basement.

“Hello, I’m Dr Reid.” His voice felt tired, but that was nothing in comparison to yours. “When can I leave Doc?”

“I’m actually not that kind of doctor, a common mistake.” He cleared his throat before trying to put on a more professional voice. “I’m with the FBI behavioral analysis group. Can I ask a few questions?”

All you would have to do is say no, and he would immediately back off, but if you did he didn’t know if he could actually leave you alone.

“What do you want to know?” Your throat felt better, you were more hydrated, but it was still raw from all the screaming you did.

“Did you know the man who attacked you?” His face flashed into your mind, his cold eyes, and evil smile. “No. What’s his name?”

You finally turned your head to look at him, and instinct took over as he reached his hand out to slightly hold yours. “Elias Green. He tortured and killed three more women before you.”

“I survived. He’s dead and I’m not.” The room was quiet, and pure grief and anger took over your voice. “So why does it seem like he won? Why is he ruining me beyond the grave?”

“There’s not many people who know what you're going through.” You felt Spencer slightly trace one of your fingers. “But, the reason he’s haunting you, ruining you, is because you're just as dead as he is – and you need to find a reason to live. Not survive.”

Spencer knew what it was like, to be tortured – even when your torturer is dead. The only reason he was able to breathe again was simply because he had found it in him to stop surviving, and instead live.

After all, living is the best revenge.

“Are there any other questions you have for me?” You wanted this interview to end and yet, “No, I can leave if you like,” you didn’t want him to walk away.

“Stay.”

With that simple command Spencer pulled a chair closer to the bed, and held your hand throughout the night, and silently slipped out early in the morning when your parents came to check up on you.

Every night you felt Spencer’s presence. Everytime you wake up from a nightmare – he was there to comfort you. Then you were released from the hospital.

The first week out you didn’t see him, and to be fair you didn’t expect to. Despite how much you would love it. You never gave him your number, or even your address, email, the list continues.

He had no way of contacting you, and you didn’t expect him to. However it was taking everything in him not to use the number Garcia gave him.

Spencer was already working on another case. One that when he had finished he felt exhausted. Yet he could feel the piece of paper with your number on it, burning in his pocket. A constant reminder of you.

He shouldn’t get involved – it’s a bad idea. A mantra he repeated in his head. A loop, one that everytime he heard he resolved grew less and less.

Just how bad could it be?

Should he initiate contact? What if you wanted nothing to do with him? Surely you were trying to block out every aspect about what happened – him included. Right?

He walked into the flower shop, and he had decided on pink roses. They symbolized; admiration, gratitude, and budding romance.

“What’s the note you want on them? And where should I ship them honey?” His fingers felt for the paper in his pocket, and right under your number was your address. One he repeated, as he silently hoped that this chance he was taking wasn’t going to blow up in his face.

A knock at the door pulled your attention away from the book you were reading, a record playing faintly in the background.

Placing the book onto the couch beside you, you made your way to the door. You made sure to look at the peep window before you felt yourself reaching for the gun you bought. You kept the gun by the door, and a taser by your bedside, and another in the kitchen.

You cracked the door, keeping your arm hidden from the man – the man who held a bunch of flowers.

“Special delivery.” You silently grabbed the flowers, muttering a small thank you before quickly closing the door. Making sure to double lock it.

You placed the gun down when you saw his van drive away, and then took the time to appreciate the flowers.

They smelled amazing, but what took most interest was the note placed in it.

“Pink roses: Symbolic to budding romance and admiration.

703 - *** - 4074

— SR”

A smile graced your lips when you read the initials. SR. Spencer Reid.

Grabbing your phone you felt a slight flutter of excitement, yet nerves as you dialed the digits.

“Hello, DR. Spencer Reid.”

“Budding romance huh?” You felt your nerves vanish at the sound of his fumbling.

Spencer knew you would get the flowers today, but yet he had convinced himself you wouldn’t call.

He felt heat rise up his neck as he silently cursed himself for dropping his pen — causing ink to fly everywhere.

“Hi. Hi. I uhm.” He silently hit his head on the table as he thought of what to say. “Unfortunately uhm is all I got.”

You couldn’t help the light laughing leaving your lips as you decided to put an end to his misery.

“You know my address — how about I take you out to dinner? Call it my thank you for saving my life.”

Reid didn’t know what came over him, but he felt his inner Derek come out.

“Or we can call it a date.”

“It’s a date.”

Navigation — Rules/Main Masterlist

Spencer Reid Masterlist

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

lowkey..just lowkey.. thinkin about waking up one day and seeing dragon! bakugou in your house…accompanied by a giant hole in your wall.

you’re so confused you can barely process it. there’s a handsome man passed out on your floor and from what you can see (which is basically everything since his shirt is torn to shreds) he looks injured. you also live on the third floor so you have no idea how he landed here, but you think the huge sprawled out wings on his back, his tail and those huge reddish horns that scream “ i’m a mythical being !!” might be the reason.

but there is one thing you’re able to think about and that’s how much money will it cost to fix your damn wall??

you call off work. you call it a family emergency because you don’t think “a shirtless man i think might be a demon just blasted through my wall and he looks injured” is gonna fly over well with your boss.

he seems to be able to heal himself because his wounds look better than when you first laid eyes on him and you can see that his skin looks like it’s restitching itself almost, you decide to help him out a bit and at least dress his wounds up the best you can with the little you know about doctor..stuff.

when he comes to though, he acts like you’re the one who knocked him out. he’s snarling and scowling at you, sharp teeth on display while he growls at you from the comfort of your fucking couch. he spits out all types of curses at you, you’re shocked because they come out so naturally. you’d honestly expected him to speak like some type of caveman and for a second you think this is just a very rude man in very convincing cosplay.

he keeps insulting you and he’s a little too good at it, so much so that it actually hurts your feelings a little. he keeps yapping about how if you didn’t let him out this instant he’ll have you grilled and barbecued or how he’d make quick work of you and have you sold to some merchants for a good amount of gold, since you “look like you’re not worth that much.” you’re a little pissed now. you scowl at him and you feel silly for calling off work and not pushing this huge asshole out of your flat and leaving whatever knocked him out to deal with him.

“you’re the one who blasted a hole in my wall, you jerk ! i say i’m the one who should have you sold if you can’t reimburse me for this, asshole ! and if you wanna walk out without a shirt on and get arrested like a creep, the door’s right there.” you don’t care to see him, because you would’ve seen how his eyes widened to the size of saucers at your retorts. you’ve never been more irritated in your entire life when you stalk to your room to get some much needed rest and to fight off the headache you can already feel slamming against your skull. “even demon men are insufferable.” you mutter bitterly before slamming the door.

you somehow managed to fall back asleep because when you open your eyes again it’s about 10 am. you’re frantic for a moment because you think this was somehow just a very vivid dream and you’re so late for work now. you slam your door open wide eyed and your wall is intact.

shit, your boss was gonna let you have it—

you catch something from the corner of your eye. the insufferable demon man is staring..glaring(?) at you but it’s not as intense as earlier,though. and he’s very much still seated on your couch.

“m-my wall..” you trail off. he clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes at you “i fixed it” he gruffs out.

you like how his voice sounds when he isn’t screaming and threatening you, you immediately scold yourself for thinking like that. he stares and keeps staring at you and you can’t decipher what he’s thinking

“oh..” you gasp “thank you.” he clicks his tongue again and looks away from you. just as much of an ass, but you guessed he felt a little bad about your wall, enough to fix it..somehow. you won’t ask for details.

you can’t will yourself to move past your doorframe so you decide to lean on it a little bit, rubbing your fuzzy socked foot against your calf, you catch him staring at the sudden movement before he looks back up at you. “so are you…a demon or something?” he scoffs for what feels like the umpteenth time today “don’t insult me, human.” he snarls then his face relaxes just slightly “m’ a dragon.” he grumbles.

“oh, wow” the little amount of fantasy manga you’ve read could never have prepared you for this.

you thank him for fixing your wall and he glares at you like he’s mad about it. but then he says he owes it to you for healing him. pointing towards his bandage covered chest. you feel your cheeks burn a little and you’re waving him off, telling him it’s no big deal and somehow his brows furrow even harder. “..so ? what do you want from me?” he growls when you tilt your head at him in confusion “don’t play dumb with me, filthy human ! what do you want in exchange for saving me ?”

“ohh…” you moan. then you shrug “i mean, you already fixed my wall, so i don’t really need anything from you, unless you can make my boss give me a promotion.” you giggle at your own joke and you wave him off again when he looks at you questioningly “nevermind.” you giggle.

he ignores you “you don’t want anything..nothing ?” he speaks apprehensively like he expects you to trick him, you shake your head. he looks bothered by it. he lowers his head and his eyebrows furrow in frustration then he growls.

you think maybe, maybe, he’s the type to feel bad whenever they feel like they can’t repay some type of service. you hadn’t noticed he was apparently on death’s door when you bandaged him up before and it makes you sweat drop a little bit, you try your best to shake it off. he stands up to leave, but he glances at you and suddenly his feet have stopped moving like he’s stuck there and he stares. he doesn’t even look mad like you’ve gotten used to him being for the short amount of time you’ve known him, he just looks confused. he stares at you and you stare at him and for a reason that you cannot understand you don’t want him to leave.

“ um !” you shrink into yourself, embarrassed from his gaze and the fact you were suddenly so loud. “well..you can’t exactly go out like this, it’ll be bad for you i think..it might attract attention to see a wounded shirtless guy walking around, people might take you for..i dunno—” you stumble “a crazy, dangerous person ! yeah, and if that happens they might take you away..so..that’d be bad for you, right ?” you hope he doesn’t realize how much you’re bullshitting around for an excuse but he almost seems to humor you when he crosses his arms across his toned chest.

“what do you suggest i do then, human ?” he growls lowly. he stalks towards you slowly, never breaking eye contact. you will yourself to stay with your feet planted firmly to the ground and head held up somewhat high as you stare up at him, damn he’s tall.

“ you stay here until you’re fully healed, if you wanna make it up to me. it would honestly save me so much trouble” it’s the truth. you can’t help but feel bad when the thought of him getting captured or experimented on crosses your mind, even if he is an asshole, but you don’t say that. you hold out your hand for him to shake “deal ?”

he squints at you and stares and you stare back. usually he would’ve stayed true to his threat and burned you alive by now, the trivial lives of humans are none of his concern. and yet for some reason he himself doesn’t know the answer to he stayed, even fixed up your damn wall you were whining about and even considered apologizing to you..which he absolutely never does !

there’s something different about you and he wants to find out what that something is. so, not so begrudgingly he slowly grasps your hand and squeezes lightly. he ignores the tiny voice in his head that tells him how soft and perfect your hand feels in his.

“deal.”

[itsnevercasual]

RISK PART I

pairing: mafia!harry x singer!reader

summary: Harry is in town for some.. less than legal business, and you're a local singer trying to get your foot in the door, and also planning your wedding. And maybe Harry is a little too interested in you.

warnings: cussing, slight hints at abuse, panic attacks, ptsd, talks of death, guns, murder, lots of illegal things, alcohol, drugs, me writing with autocaps (ew ik) (this is the worst one)

-

It was far too early for you to be awake, and yet there you were. 7:30 AM on a Tuesday morning in Daytona, standing in a convenience store with your best friend because your boyfriends got drunk the night before.

Well, her boyfriend. Your fiancé.

"Ni was so fucking drunk," Jodie laughed.

"God, I know. I wouldn't be surprised if he wakes up with alcohol poisoning."

"Connor was also pretty fucked up, but it wasn't as funny. He's such an ass when he's drunk."

You sigh, it took her about ten minutes to bring it up. "I know. He's been better though. Just.. I dunno, he gets drunk, and it makes him grumpy," you shrug.

"Yeah, but he kept snapping at you. Seriously, it was pissing me off and killing the vibe."

"Ni shut him up eventually."

You'd long since came to terms with the fact that the man you were planning on marrying was... more or less, a dick, when he was drunk. And when he was sober, but especially when he was drunk.

"You think Advil is enough, or should we just.. grab everything?" you ask as you look through the painkillers. You didn't get drunk enough to ever really find out the best hangover cures. You would, if Connor didn't hate when you were drunk.

"Just grab a pack of those," Jodie told you, gesturing with her hand to a box.

Goody's Hangover Cure.

Well, if he says so.

You turn your head as you hear the telltale bell that signaled someone else had entered the otherwise deserted convenience store. You only looked over for three seconds before the sight of a gun had you dropping the box as you resisted the urge to scream.

There were two men, both with ridiculously large guns, standing in the store. Masks covered their faces.

"Jodie.." you whisper. You were close enough to the back that you were hidden by the shelves, but you could see them.

"Y/N, get behind me. Now," Jodie whispered quickly. She grabbed your wrist and yanked you behind her.

"Give us everything in the register!" one of the men ordered as the clerk frantically opened it.

"Hurry up!" the other one shouted. You flinched.

Jodie slowly pulled both of you to the floor. You both moved so your backs were rested against the shelf, but you might've moved too quick, because your back hit the shelf, and a bunch of boxes topple over.

You squeezed your eyes shut and slapped a hand over your mouth. Jodie tugged you into her shoulder as she squeezed your free hand.

"Who the hell's there?"

Neither of you moved. You weren't even sure you were breathing, actually.

"Go check it out."

Murdered by Robbers at 7:30 in the Morning was about to be the headline about your death.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as one of the men approached. They stopped in front of you two before moving on. You assumed he'd made it to the other guy when--

"There's no one, man."

"You sure?"

"Faulty shelf."

You nearly cried out of relief. You weren't necessarily religious, but you were thanking every God ever at that point.

It was a few more minutes until the doors slammed shut and they left.

-

"The hell are you freaking out about?" Harry asked as the two men stood in the alleyway. Niall was pacing back and forth, running his hands over his face.

"My girlfriend was in there, man."

"What?" Harry asked, sticking a cigarette in between his lips and lighting it.

"My girlfriend! She- I got fucked up last night, and I think she was trying to get me some pills or some shit. She was sitting behind a shelf with one of our friends. Fuck!"

"She doesn't know it was you, Ni, calm down."

"That's not the problem! The problem is that I probably traumatized her! And our friend!"

"We didn't even go near them."

Harry didn't understand what the big deal was. He liked Niall's girlfriend, but she was relatively unbothered about everything.

"Our friend's brother got shot and died during a robbery, H. That's who Jodie was with."

"Oh. Well, that sucks."

"Jesus Christ. Would it kill you to have some empathy?"

"Probably," Harry shrugged.

Niall groaned, "Whatever. But you better be nice as hell whenever we get there."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's fuckin' go before they beat us there and start asking questions."

-

When Jodie and you got back to the house, Niall and Connor were passed out on the couch. You expected to be more shaken up, but you were relatively fine. You weren't having a panic attack, at least.

"I'm gonna go get water," you told her as you tossed her the bag. She nodded as you sighed and walked towards the kitchen. You pulled the fridge open, grabbing a water bottle. You opened it and took a generous sip. You turned and locked eyes with a man you'd never seen before.

"Hey."

You spit your water out all over the counter.

"What the fuck!" you shrieked.

Jodie came running in, "What, what happened? What's--"

Jodie saw the intruder, and instead of losing her shit, she smiled.

Holy shit, my childhood best friend is helping me get murdered, you thought.

"Harry!" she exclaimed as she hugged him.

"Jo! Don't hug the intruder!"

"He's not an intruder," she laughed, turning to face you as they broke the hug. "He's Ni and I's friend. I forgot to tell you he was coming into town."

"Clearly."

"Harry, this is Y/N. Y/N.. Harry."

"Ah, so this is the infamous childhood best friend?"

Once you realized he wasn't there with the intention of stabbing you to death, you relaxed. "Talk about me, much?" you asked Jodie with a teasing grin.

"Only every second of every day," she grinned.

"Fuck Connor and Ni, how about we get married?"

"I was just thinking that!"

You laughed, and turned to Harry, "Sorry I spat water all over you. And screamed at you. And called you an intruder."

"All is forgiven," he laughed.

"I swear I'm normal. I also usually know whenever people are in my house, though."

You glare at Jodie.

"I forgot!" she defended herself.

"Mhm. I'm going back to bed. Wake me up whenever we need to get ready, yeah?"

"Mkay," Jodie laughed as you walked towards the bedroom you shared with Connor. You rolled back into bed and went straight to bed.

-

"She seems.. interesting."

"Yeah. She's real sweet, you'll like her.”

“Isn’t she married?”

“Engaged,” Jodie corrected with a roll of her eyes. “He’s such an ass.”

“He can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, no. He is.”

“Who’s bad?” Connor asked as he slowly walked into the kitchen.

“Uh.. the.. President.”

He gave Jodie an odd look. “… Right..”

“Shut up and go back to bed, Connor.”

“Jesus, good morning to you, too. Who’s the rando?”

“Connor, this is Harry. Harry, that’s Connor. Harry is Niall and I’s friend we were talkin’ about. Connor is… Y/N’s fiancé,” Jodie grimaced as she said the word.

Connor rolled his eyes, “You gotta get over it. You know how upset she’d be if she knew you actually didn’t like me?”

“That’s why you’re gonna keep your mouth shut, asshole.”

“The only reason you don’t like me is because of some stupid shit I did years ago.”

“Yeah, well, where I cone from, we find… that.. unacceptable.”

That had piqued Harry’s interest. What exactly had Connor done to make Jodie hold a multiple-years-long grudge?

As Connor flipped her off and left the kitchen, Harry turned to Jodie. “So, what’d he do?”

Jodie opened her mouth, like she was about to tell him, before sighing. “I can’t say. I promised Y/N I wouldn’t tell anyone or bring it up again. She still gets upset about it. Sorry,” she gave him an apologetic look.

“‘S’fine. I’ll just find out myself. I’m sure I could convince her.”

Jodie narrowed her eyes at him, “Be nice.”

“I’m hurt. I’m always nice.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.

-

Later that day, Niall had dragged Harry to some dingy club.

“The hell are we doin’ here, man?” Harry scoffed.

Niall laughed, “Calm down, mate, the girls are gonna meet us here. Plus, we’re gonna have a Connor-free night, which means Y/N will one thousand percent get drunk. She’s a blast, honestly.”

“She not get drunk often, or what?”

“She used to,” Niall shrugged. “When we were in college, she was a pro drinker. Took forever for her to get drunk. But… Connor hates when she’s wasted, ‘cause then he has to ‘deal with it’, as he says.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Every single thing I hear about him makes me dislike him more-“

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome to the stage… The Diamonds!”

“Where the hell are the girls at? The band’s about to start.”

Niall smirked, leaning against the counter, “You’ll see.”

The band walked onstage and Harry nearly choked on his drink as you and Jodie took the mics. He’d known Jodie for years— since when was she in a band? And you didn’t seem like the band type, either.

“You can beat the heat, if you beat the charges, too,” you began singing as the music started. “They said I was a cheat, I guess it must be true. And my friends all smell like weed or little babies. And the city reeks of driving myself crazy..”

The way you looked was driving him crazy. Black Bell Bottom jeans with stars embroidered on the legs with platform stiletto type heels, and a leather halter top.

Jodie’s outfit was a little different. Platform shoes, black tights, a denim mini-skirt, and a black long-sleeve with a leather jacket thrown over.

“Little did you know, your home’s really only a town you’re just a guest in. So, you work your life away just to pay for a time-share down in Destin.”

“Florida,” you and Jodie sang.

“Is one hell of a drug.”

“Florida.”

“Can I use you up?”

“The hurricane with my name when it came,” Jodie sang, finally singing on her own. The people in the crowd who knew her, cheered, including Niall and Harry. “I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away. Barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of wine. Well, me and my ghost, we had a hell of a time. Yes, I’m haunted, but I’m feeling just fine. All my girls got their lace and their crimes. And your cheating husband disappeared. Well, no one asks any questions here. So, I did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that gave ever been on my body, and in my mind… they sink into the swamp.”

“.. Is that a bad thing to say in a song?” Jodie whisper-sang with you. He could hear your laugh through the singing, and it was like a drug to him. Sweet as honey.

“Little did you know,” Jodie sang, “your home’s really only the town you’ll get arrested. So you pack your life away just to wait out the shitstorm back in Texas.”

“Florida!” the two of you sang, jumping on the beat.

“Is one hell of a drug.”

“Florida!”

“Can I use you..”

“.. up,” Jodie joined you.

“I need to forget, so, take me to Florida,” you sang.

“I’ve got some regrets, I’ll bury them in Florida.”

“Tell me I’m despicable, say it’s unforgivable.”

The two of you sang together, “At least the dolls are beautiful. Fuck me up, Florida.”

“I need to forget, so take me to Florida.”

“I’ve got some regrets, I’ll bury them in Florida,” Jodie joined you.

You split off to sing by yourself, “Tell me I’m despicable, say it’s unforgivable. What a crash, what a rush, fuck me up, Florida! It’s one hell of a drug..”

“It’s one hell of a drug!” The two of you sang. “Love left me like this, and I don’t want to exist, so, take me to Florida!”

“Little did you know your home’s really only,” you sang.

“A town you’re just a guest in.”

“So you work your life away just to pay—“

“— for a timeshare down in Destin.”

“Take me to—“

“— Florida.”

“Little did you know, your home’s really only the town you’ll get arrested.”

“Florida.”

The two of you sang together, “So you pack your life away just to wait out the shitstorm back in Texas. Florida! Is one hell of a drug.”

“Take me to,” you sang.

“Florida,” Jodie sang with you. “Can I use you up? Florida!”

“Is one hell of a drug.”

“Florida!”

“Go on, fuck me.. up.”

The club erupted into cheers as the two of you finished the song.

“They’re good,” Harry commented.

“Yeah. They’re a force to be reckoned with. ‘specially Y/N.”

“So it seems.”

-

A/N: AAAAA IM SO EXCITWD FOR THIS OKAY YAYY

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

What A View

Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: A trip to the Shard goes a little differently.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: The Shard is the tallest building in London. Also totally another case of my mind just jumping to something else in the bingo other than what was probably implied. So this is 'High Sex' and obviously I went, 'oh, right, so high in the sky?' I am so smart. (lie).

Warnings: swearing, p in v sex, Steven kinda having an exhibition kink, overuse of italics, typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1329

You hadn’t expected the afternoon to play out like this. 

With your back pressed against the cool glass, Steven spreading you wide. His fingers dug into the fleshy part of your left thigh, pushing on your leg as you just about managed to keep your balance by pressing the ball of your foot against the marble sink. 

You’d spotted a discount voucher for the Shard and had asked if Marc, Steven, and Jake would like to come with you. 

Marc had rolled his eyes playfully, “I’ve seen London from up high plenty of times,” and declined.

Jake had been sleeping. 

Steven had grinned and nodded excitedly. “You know love, I’ve never actually been up the Shard? It’s true what they say, you live in London but you don’t do the normal tourist things.” 

Everything had been relatively normal on the way, though the elevator to the upper floors and viewing platform had been a little busy. Both you and Steven had shuffled into a corner, your back to his chest. 

He’d gone quiet after a few seconds, his grip on your hand tightening as his muscles stiffened. For a moment you had thought that Marc had fronted. 

Once you were on the right floor you had barely stepped out, heading towards the large wall length windows when Steven had pulled you in the opposite direction and dragged you into a bathroom. 

You hadn’t even had a chance to question him before his lips were on yours and his hands slipped under your top. 

You held onto his shoulders for dear life, up on the tiptoes of your right foot as he slammed into you. His thick cock hitting so deep you could see stars. 

You moaned against his hand, his palm haphazardly covering your mouth in a hasty attempt to muffle your sounds. You had never been much of a screamer during sex until you’d met them. 

No matter how hard you try little groans escape your mouth with every frantic thrust of his hips. He angles upwards with every buck, hitting just right on the spot he knows so well and rubbing his public bone against your clit with every motion. 

Steven’s own mouth is pressed into your neck, biting and sucking and leaving sloppy kisses as he tries to muffle his whines. He had always been a screamer. 

You pull tightly on his shirt, a fraction away from ripping the cotton as pleasure coils in your stomach, building higher and impossibly higher.

His name is muffled by his hand as you say it, breathless and needy, but he still hears it. 

He pulls his mouth away from your skin just far enough to speak, frowning in concentration as he tries to keep his voice under control. “You… okay?” 

The slap, slap, slap of skin almost drowns him out. 

You nod, eyes closed but still let out a soft whine and he picks up the pace, fucking you even harder, like he is trying to get caught, trying to make you scream his name so loudly that the whole of the city will hear you.

“That’s it love, that’s it,” he whines, nipping at your neck and groaning as you clench around him. He knows you’re so close, can feel you approaching orgasm buzzing along your skin like electricity, practically taste it in the air. He wants it so badly, needs it more than breathing. 

“You… you… gonna be…” he swallows, having to fight back his own moans even more. “You gonna… be good? Gonna… gonna…” he bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood as he pistons his hips. Everything’s too much it’s blinding, dizzying. But not enough. 

The way you squeeze him, your back arching off the glass as you meet his thrusts desperately. The bright sky behind you, the sweat on your skin. His tongue darts out to lick a stripe up your neck and he groans, his eyes rolling back.

There’s a light mist forming around you on the glass, the heat from both your bodies collecting. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, his own pleasure close on his heels. “God, can you imagine if someone was cleaning the windows,” all his words come out in a rush, “and they just, fuck, just saw us here. Saw you moaning and taking my cock so well, saw how pretty you are all full of me and just begging. Saw how I need to keep you quiet so we don’t get caught because you just, just need it so bad that you can’t stop, and, and-” He groans loudly, the sound turning into a whine. “Love, fuck, please, please, please,” he punctuates every word with a sharp snap of his hips that has you reeling, sinking into pleasure.

“I need you to,” he groans as you squeeze and clench around him, your pussy fluttering and trying to pull him deeper. “I need to hear you.” He gasps, “please, if I move my hand can you please try, can you try not to be too loud? Please. I,” he moans again, “please, need it so bad, need it, need you.” 

You nod rapidly, barely getting a chance to register his words in your hazy, lust filled mind before he rips his hand away from your mouth and grabs onto your shoulder, pressing the full length of his body up against up against yours as he pounds into you. 

“Steven,” you moan, just managing to keep your voice below your regular talking level. 

He groans in response, much louder than you. 

“I’m gonna-”

He kisses you roughly, sliding his tongue messily into your mouth for a moment. 

“Gonna come, love? Gonna come on me?” His voice rises in pitch towards the end and you nod, your thoughts all turned to mush as all you can comprehend is the feel of his skin and the heat of his body as he pushes you higher and higher to ecstasy. 

“Need you to,” he whines, tears just pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Need you to.”

You moan his name, gasping against him. Every muscle tenses as he finally pushes you over the edge you've been dancing by. Pleasure washes over every nerve, running over your spine as you convulse and cling onto him like a lifeline. 

Steven whines, fucking you through your orgasm even as he comes, pumping his hot, thick cum deep inside and filling you to the brim. 

You breathe heavily as you both come back to yourselves, holding each other tightly. The sweat starts to cool on your skin and you swallow, a sudden flash of panic flicking to the forefront of your mind. 

“Do you think anyone heard us?” You ask quietly. 

Steven shakes his head, still pressed into your neck. “We weren’t that loud.”

You laugh. “You sure?” 

“Nope.” 

You laugh harder. 

“Honestly, love, I don’t give a shit.” 

“Really?” 

“Hmm.” He looks up at you with a large grin on his face, his eyes soft and loving. “Too happy to care. Anyone says anything, I’ll sort them.” 

You giggle at his playful tone. “My hero.” 

He chuckles and kisses you softly.

“Does this count as joining the mile high club?” He giggles, sweat sticking his curls to his forehead. 

You shake your head as you laugh.

“Oh, well.” There’s a soft flush to his skin, an afterglow of his orgasm that you hate to admit makes heat pool a little in your stomach.

Steven notices the slight change in your expression, the small clench as you squeeze around his softening cock.

He groans softly and presses close to you again, mouthing at the love bites he’s left on your neck. He grinds against you slowly, not pulling out but pressing up against your clit with a roll of his hips. 

The little surprised gasp that leaves your lips makes him smile. 

“Give me a minute love,” he mutters, keeping up the soft rock and glide. “Maybe we can be louder this time.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[nightlyrequiem]

alrighty sooohhh this might be worded oddly since im used to requesting certain writers who use certain words to describe 'y/n', so, like, forgive me if it sounds confusing or like, out-of-place 😭

could u do a Valeria oneshot with reader, her partner, whos also a big, hardened criminal, -- who runs another cartel, -- not a rivaling one, just a different one, which was forced to alliance themselves with Valerias cartel, after her and reader made themselves official

They're both big, mean cartel mamis, who have killed people, without second thought, not even a blink of an eye -- two women, making old men cry and piss themselves on the regular, -- yet, when reader and Val are together, they're just two appreciative softies

Total power couple in public btw. They're both covered in tattoos, wearing expensive clothes, earning more and more respect from more and more people as their empires grow,

when in private? Thats a completely different story. You got the jist, though.

Again, i apologize if this is worded wrongly/strangely, ive adapted my writing style to certain people, and physically cannot write in any other way without feeling weird about it .. aha. Giggle, giggle.

much love, traveling anon, aka, girlscout

-🐾🍪🏕

Don't worry, this was worded very nicely! This was pretty fun to write. I do enjoy some violence. Especially when it's being done by women. One dangerous woman is great, but two? Oh, I'm certainly swooning. This is one of my few works to have two drafts. I hated the first one and scrapped it. Much more pleased with the final product ^-^

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Some Gore

The Snake's Nest

Valeria slams her fist into the side of a man's head. He roughly hits the brick wall of the alley and crumples to the ground, clutching his face. His cheekbone no doubt shattered. You watch impassively as Valeria aggressively grabs ahold of his shirt and hair, hauling him away from the wall. She forces his face into the concrete. You kneel down gracefully.

"Why are you crying?" You ask softly. He did this to himself, yet he dares to cry. Your head tilts. He looks up at you, the whites of his eyes are pink with agitated blood vessels, either from the number of drinks he's had, the crying, or from the beating he's taking.

"Please!" He cries out. Begging for your mercy. Incorrectly assuming that you're the more merciful of the two. That you'll call of your guard dog, unaware that you are far worse. He's lucky that it's Valeria and not you.

You stand back to your full height. The man continues to squirm and incoherently sob out pleas. Valeria lifts one strong leg and brings it down on his head hard. You don't flinch at the violent cracking that occurs. His scream is cut off and distorted. She brings down her foot again and again until he goes silent. You turn your head and make eye contact with his friend. forced to crouch in the corner and watch. His face is haunted by what he's just witnessed. He will be left alone. Forced to pick up his friend's pieces and attempt to put them back together. You look back at the man on the ground with Valeria standing over him like an angel of death. You don't think there's strong enough glue to fix him now.

You take ahold of her soft hand. Brushing your thumb over her bruised knuckles. You two walk out of the alley. Your shadows split and morph together under the yellow streetlights. Valeria owns these streets, but you run them. With your combined forces you exert total control over everything. Eyes and ears are everywhere whispering their secrets to you. You and Valeria are separate but one in the same.

You were carefully nurturing the seedlings of your own cartel when Valeria was taking over hers and striking fear into the heart of Las Almas. She had what you wanted. Power, respect, and fear. You planted a few red herrings in her territory to give her a mystery to solve while you expanded your organization. You did whatever was necessary to succeed. Who it harmed didn't matter to you. You grew and grew. You got big enough that the small red herrings didn't matter to Valeria. She sent her men to sniff around your territory and routes. Not a show of outright aggression but a subtle threat from her to you.

For months you danced around each other. Trespassing but nothing more. There was a fragile peace between the two of you, one you intended to shatter. You quietly built-up strength in preparation to take over Las Almas and eliminate her and her cartel. The DEA was an unpredictable variable though. They began cracking down on the drug market. An infestation of them nested in Las Almas and its surrounding areas. Posing a genuine threat to the both of you. Your plans were put on hold, and you took the initiative to approach her with an offer of allegiance. Tempting her with territory and more firepower.

You two met on a burning Tuesday morning. You were to meet with El Sin Nombre at a local cafe. Instead, at your designated spot sat a woman. It took you five minutes to approach her. At first you were irritated that El Sin Nombre didn't respect you enough to meet you himself, but you swiftly figured out he was a concept and not a person. That she was The Nameless.

You intended to use Valeria as a way to take down the DEA without drawing too much attention to yourself. However, overtime you began to respect her. She was cold and calculating. She wasn't the type to waste her breath with meaningless threats. If you failed to be useful, she didn't waste her time in getting rid of you. Overtime she slowly dug her way through the ice around your heart and wormed her way inside like a little parasite. The sun had risen and finally set on the DEA. There was no reason to cradle the connection between the two cartels any longer but neither you nor Valeria made the first move to cut contact.

Your strictly business relationship flowered into something more. Something personal. The same hands that pulled teeth and put bullets between eyes lovingly traced the edges of her tattoos. Whispered sweet nothings into her ear at night, your legs coiled together like snakes after coitus. No one had ever treated you gently. Never kissed your hand or made you soup when you were sick. Those things were reserved for girls who were soft like velvet. Pure and kind. Not violent women with serpentine tattoos. Who sunk their teeth into the throats of others. Not until Valeria. Who bared her throat to you and bit back.

She clasped heavy gold chains around your neck with as much tenderness that one might do with a daintier piece of jewelry. You slid expensive rings onto her fingers with unspoken promises. 

The night isn't over, and neither is the need for violence. Not that either of you have any issue with that. Normal couples have date nights at the movies. Maybe a nice restaurant. You and Valeria strengthen your bond by inflicting pain and terror on lower life forms. In a warehouse eyes glitter from the shadows. A combination of hers and your own men. Valeria typically takes care of the interrogation and punishment. You have no issue with blood or violence. You take enjoyment it. But the sight of her lips pulled back into a feral snarl, her vicious efficiency, it makes you fall in love with her all over again.

This time however, you take the lead. A tall man, standing at an impressive six-foot-four stares you down in the centre of the room. He was a friend, once upon a time. Your second hand. The only person apart from Valeria you genuine cared about. The only other person you'd be willing to set yourself aside for. You were heartbroken to find out he was taking bribes from a smaller gang and trading your secrets for money. This is personal.

He's doing his best to seem unafraid, but you can see the fear in his eyes. Smell it in the acrid stench of his sweat.

"I'm not going to grovel for your forgiveness." He grumbles.

"I wasn't going to give you the chance to." You reply calmly. He's expecting more words. Maybe a monologue about how angry or hurt you are. You stare at him for a long time, letting the tension build. Higher and higher and higher. Until too many stagnant minutes have passed and with them his moment of understanding. Only then do you act. 

Quick as a scorpion's strike you stick him like a pig in the gut. he hisses in pain and tries to grab you but you're too quick for him. You kick out his knee and dart behind him, ripping your blade from his stomach. He howls like a dog while you hold him by the throat with your bicep. You place the tip of your knife in the squishy bit just under his ribs, in the middle of his abdomen. You struggle to keep the placement as he writhes but you get it right and push in, feeling muscle and skin tear under the steel. His screams echo back at him mockingly as you drag the knife down, tearing him open.

He slumps to the ground in a pool of his own blood. One last pained whine leaving his throat. You stare up at everyone watching. A public lesson. Though you can see that they're more entertained by the show then worried.

Back home you carefully strip out of your blood-soaked clothes. Setting them down in the laundry hamper. You crawl into bed and watch Valeria do the same. Admiring the smooth tan expanse of her back. Of the muscles shifting under her skin. You want to trace the ridges of her spine. She joins you under the covers and rests her face into the crook of your neck. Breathing in your scent. 

[aphroditesswan]

Hellooooo ♡

New request like always 😋☝️

This time a s/o who's scared of roaches (I am scared of em) like they hate roaches with pure passion. And imagine s/o screaming cause a roach crawled on them (I cried when it happend to me)

Fandom: obey me!

(Idk if u can tell but I'm asking for evey Fandom u write for, so each Fandom can have there own lobe ♡)

Anyways see u in the next request ♡♡♡

ick - lay bankz

obey me brother x mc

summary: you find some terrifying demon lookin ahh bug while with the brothers

warnings: bugs, some brothers being coños, cursing, intentional lowercase (this annoys some people for some odd reason??) ooc probably

genre: crack fluff ish i think

notes: RAW ASS BITCH HE MIGHT GET SALMONELLA RED BOTTOMS DONT FIT IM A HOOD CINDERELLA 🔥🔥🔥 also im sorry this took a solid 9 months chat but i’m back on that grind 🫡🫡 this was hard for me to write i haven’t played the game in a year and a half or something

Lucifer

out of instinct, you yell for him. by now he has a headache, having to deal with his brothers yelling for him (or at him) all day and now you? he could care less but alas, he is your lover, he is obligated to attend to your needs. he opens the door to your room, not even able to speak before a pillow is thrown at his legs.

“sorry! but look downn,” you whisper, like the insect could hear you. however, he does as you say and looks down and out of the corner of his eye, sees exactly whats making you flip out. he sighes, walking softly to the bug, calmly squashing it under his foot and rubbing it into the wood floor, almost as if to make a point.

he sighs again, “is that all, my dear?” and you nod your head, thanking him and sighing of relief once he leaves to go back to his work.

Mammon

he knocked on your door, waiting patiently for you to open it. when all he was met with was a slight rustling from inside the room, he rolled his eyes and barged in.

“what are you- OH MY GOD A BUG” he stepped back as soon as he stepped inside, holding onto his chest like a middle aged white woman finding out her son smokes weed when he’s out for 6 hours after school instead of studying.

“RIGHT??? HELP ME” you motioned to yourself, then to the floor, then finally to your position perched on the desk.

“HOW?”

“GO GET LUCIFER OR SOMETHING I DONT KNOW.”

“absolutely not. you’re on your own.”

he walked out the door, backwards as to not lose sight of the ugly creature, then shut the door. as soon as you figured out a way to kill this bug, he was next.

Leviathan

you were perched up on your dresser, already restoring to throwing things at the poor bug who made its way into your room. leviathan walked in upon hearing the continuous loud thuds from your room.

“what the hell are you doing?” he mumbled, but it was still audible.

“levi! get it out, please!” he sighed, grabbing a tissue from your tissue box on your nightstand and gently picking up the tiny bug and throwing it out the window.

“happy, weirdo?” he asked as he helped you down from the dresser as you thanked him.

“you so owe me for this.” which means you’re buying him something stupid and unnecessarily expensive.

Asmodeus

you were sitting at you and your boyfriends shared vanity as he was just getting out of the shower, ever so slightly glancing to the left at the wall when you saw the most ginormous, disgusting thing EVER on the wall. you instantly screamed, asmodeus slamming the door open while clutching a towel.

“WHAT IS IT??”

“ITS A BUG.”

and at that, he screamed even louder and more high pitched than you did. you rubbed your temples, watching him panic at the sight of a bug. of course you were freaked out, but he’s the biggest drama queen you know and if you didn’t get rid of it, he’d hold the biggest grudge in hell. you reached for a lotion bottle, throwing it at the wall where the bug stood. sadly, you missed. the bug went down towards the bottom of the wall, and you grabbed yet another product to throw at it before asmo protested.

“you missed once, dont try again!”

you huffed, winding back your arm to throw the container. yet again, you missed. now, as the tiny thing crawled closer and closer, you and a barely covered asmo cowered on the bed together waiting for one of his brothers to come and save you.

Satan

you pulled yourself onto the counter, practically jumping up as you yelped and grabbed your lovers arm, pointing wordlessly to the bug on the floor.

“oh hush, its tiny.”

“i dont care, kill it!”

he looked between you and the bug, about to step on it before you protested again.

“ew its gonna be on the kitchen floor! put it outside first!”

to which he furrowed his brows, but he loved you so he was going to listen to your orders when you said to put the bug outside before killing it so it wouldn’t bother you. he chased the bug out with his foot, looking back once both were outside.

“are you happy now?”

“very.”

to which, he squashed the creature with the tip of his shoe, wiping it clean on the ground before coming back for you to thank him with a small kiss on the cheek, to which he rolled his eyes as he lifted you up and down from the counter by your waist.

Beezebulb

to say he was confused was an understatement.

this was the first he’d seen you freak out this hard and much less over a bug, so he has no clue what he should do in this situation.

“kill it, beel!” you watched cautiously as the bug practically circled the table. if you didnt know any better, you’d say it was taunting you. he however saw no problem with the bug, “its just a bug, its not bothering you.”

he held out his hand for you to hold and get down from the table, but obviously you refused.

“beel! just kill the damn bug already!” you complained, panicked eyes shifting between him and the bug who stood in place.

he didn’t care much for killing the bug. he stood next to the table, eating his fries and watching the bug with you. this action confused you.

“beel, please! i have to get down so i can charge my phone!” you complained yet again, but he still ignored you.

after a while of your pleading and whining (really once he finished his fries), he walks off and leaves the room. you’re about to yell for him when he comes back with a tissue that he used to squish the bug and throw it out before offering to help you down again.

Belphegor

you attempted to shake him awake, your legs against your chest as you looked between Belphegor’s sleeping figure and the nasty unknown creature on the floor.

“belphegor,, belphegor,, WAKE UP”

you shook aggressively, eventually resulting in smacking his arm til he lazily rubbed his eyes.

“and what are you waking me up at 4 in the afternoon for?”

he rolled over to face you, glaring up at you a bit with tired eyes. you pointed to the ground, softly mumbling,

“theres a weird demon bug on the floor.”

you frowned scooting closer to belphegor and panicking a bit when it inched a bit closer to the bed.

your boyfriend sighed, moving your legs down from against your chest and pulling you down to rest against the pillows again, all so he could properly hold onto your waist as he closed his eyes again.

“oh hush, it’ll go away eventually or beel will kill it. nap with me.”

you should’ve known he was going to be no help at all.

i just wanna thank you all so so soooo much for waiting and being so patient with me, i know i was sooo unactive these past couple months but trust me i’ll keep a steady schedule of at least one fic biweekly if i can, but for now i’ll try and churn out as many fics as possible! i’m also working on a masterlist and an intro! again, thank you all so much for your patience!

[agentmarcuspike]

"a promise softly sung"

synopsis: pre-outbreak. sarah skins her knee. joel overreacts. uncle tommy fixes w/c: ~ 950 tws: mentions of blood, hit and run (everyone lives), mentions of imagined injuries, joel sings. but otherwise this is mostly fluff and love! a/n: this has been in my drafts since august (!) and i just never felt confident enough in it to post. based on the johnny cash song "rose of my heart" and also these stills of their bike helmets taken from the game. based on show!joel, because he's a bigger softie than game!joel, who'd probably tell sarah to "walk it off" if she broke her foot.

It happens so quickly.

One second Sarah is flying down the street on her bike, clutching the tassel-covered handles, barely containing gleeful squeals, with no support wheels, no Daddy holding the rear. The next second she’s veering into a ditch to avoid the oncoming car.

Joel barely has time to blink. He doesn’t have time to think, but his instinct sends him running, even though he knows it’s too late to catch her. 

She cries out before he can reach her, the scream dissonant with the sound of screeching wheels against asphalt as the guilty driver floors it and speeds off.

The temptation to run after and kill the guy is overtaken by his daughter’s soft sobs.

“Sarah!” His hands are on her in an instant, cupping her face. His thumb rubs soothing circles on her cheekbone before looking her over. “Are you okay? Sarah, look at me.”

Her breath hitches, and his heart does the same. No bones in weird angles, no spurting blood, just a skinned knee. Helmet still intact. But it’s not enough for Joel. She could have internal bleedings, she could be slowly dying of a ruptured spleen.

Trying his best not to make any potential injuries worse, he shovels her up into his arms, and speedwalks the remaining quarter mile left to Tommy’s. 

“Tommy!” Joel bellows before he’s reached the end of his brother’s driveway, and Tommy sticks his head out the door, eyes squinting, brows furrowed. His demeanor changes immediately when he spots his brother with his niece in his arms.

“Shit,” Tommy swears under his breath as he holds the door open, letting Joel in before him.

He makes his way to his brother’s kitchen, Tommy grabbing his phone on the way, ready to dial 911, as he quickly follows. Joel puts Sarah down on Tommy’s kitchen table.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” he yells, already opening kitchen cabinets. 

“Joel–,” Tommy starts, but he’s cut short by Joel slamming a drawer shut. 

“Why the fuck don’t you have a first aid kit in the kitchen, Tommy?”

“It’s in the bathroom, but Joel–” 

But Joel’s already out of the room, rummaging through the bathroom drawers. He finds Tommy’s way too small first aid kit, grabs a towel without knowing what for, and makes his way back to the kitchen, where he stops in his tracks. 

Sarah. She’s… laughing?

He peeks around the corner into the kitchen, where Sarah sits perched on the table, her uncle kneeling in front of her, blowing raspberries on her foot. A sigh of relief escapes him. His heart makes its way back into his chest, and he rests a hand on his ribs to feel it, leaning on the doorway.

“You gave me a big fudging scare there, baby,” he admits, making his way back to the pair. 

Tommy shakes his head. “Jesus, Joel. It’s just a skinned knee.” He grabs the first aid kit from his big brother’s hand, cleaning and bandaging the scrape on his niece’s leg while she rubs her teary eyes with a tiny fist.

Joel huffs. He drums his fingers against his thigh impatiently, looking around to avoid seeing his brother fix up his daughter. Relief, but also shame, is spreading through his body as he makes his way into the kitchen. Ashamed he couldn’t stop it from happening, and from letting his panic and paranoia get the best of him. Relieved his baby girl is fine, and that his brother managed to remain calm. He’d never say the latter out loud though, he thinks, downing a glass of water before refilling it and bringing it over to Sarah.

When he returns, Sarah is on her feet, dramatically reenacting her collision for Tommy. He gasps dramatically at her expressive performance, sound effects included, but shoots Joel a look for confirmation. He nods back, and Tommy shakes his head. One thing the two of them silently agree on: they hope the damn speeder crashes and burns. 

“How’s the little patient doing?” 

“Good.”

Joel sits carefully on the edge of his daughter’s bed, who is comfortably tucked in, yawning, and fighting to keep her eyes open for a few more minutes. He brushes a stray piece of her out of her tired face.

“You scared me today, baby.” His breath hitches a bit as he sighs, warming her hand with his. 

“Sorry…” she whispers, looking away. 

He shakes his head and lowers himself to meet her shameful gaze. 

“S’not your fault. Not at all.” Joel leans down to kiss his daughter’s forehead.

“Daddy?” she whispers, as he sits back up.

“Yeah, honey?” 

“Can you sing the song?” 

Joel’s brow furrows as he thinks for a second. “What song?” 

“The one you sang when I was a baby.” 

A smile spreads on his face at that. He waves his hand for her to scoot further in on her bed, and he lays down next to her. “Daddy’s big girl feeling like a little girl again tonight?” Sarah rests her head on his shoulder as he carefully pulls her close. She doesn’t answer, just nods her head against his chest. 

“S’okay,” he murmurs, into her hair, rough palm moving up and down her small back as he breathes her in. “‘You’ll always be my babygirl, no matter how old you get.” 

Joel sinks back into the pink frilly pillows as Sarah’s breathing slows, and he sings their song over and over, even as she begins to snore softly:

“We’re the best partners this world’s ever seen Together we’re close as can be But sometimes it’s hard to find time in between To tell you what you mean to me You are the rose of my heart You are the love of my life A flower not faded nor falling apart If you’re tired, rest your head on my arm Rose of my heart”

dividers by @saradika and @inklore title is from the song "butchered tongue" by hozier

[rems-writing]

The Namhae Strongman

Pairing: ripper!San × cop amab!reader

Summary: This fic will be related to the fics that have dilf!Yunho, dilf!Mingi, and barista!Yeosang so there will either be mentions of them or not. We'll see lol

Warning(s): San with his big ass biceps out and in that fuck ass black fringed leather vest (basically his outfit from the Work mv minus the cowboy hat sadly), the reader is the younger brother of Mingi, reader being drunk yet sober enough to consent to San taking him home, hard decisions, San falls in love (but does he really? 👁👁), features from Stray Kids and EXO, a knife kink, bloodplay (it excites San when he sees blood spill out of his victims whenever he kills them with his bare hands. He will totally get hard when he sees blood spill out of the reader), spitting, cum play, choking, possessive dirty talk, blowjobs

Genre: Nasty fucking smut with plot in the beginning and an angsty ending

Nets: @blossomnet @mirohs-aurora-society

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Thank you to @bunnliix for helping me decide the order of the fics that I write and post.

I'm also tagging @ja3hwa since they have helped me figure out San's kinks.

"HURRY! OR ELSE WE'LL LOSE HIM!"

"10 4!"

You screamed into the walkie talkie as you sprinted even faster than before to catch up with the killer.

The ever so famous Namhae Strongman.

Just when you think you have caught up to the killer, he turns a corner and ducks into an abandoned alleyway. Not wanting to lose him, you turned into that same corner and you were now stuck in the alleyway. It didn't help that it was almost pitch black. The only sources of light were a blinking light bulb hovering above a back door to some place and your flashlight. As you took your gun out, you looked around everywhere.

Where was he...?

"Officer Song, what's your 20?"

You heard the familiar voice of Officer Kim speak through the radio. Not keeping your eyes off your surroundings, you quickly gave your location.

"I'm located in an abandoned alleyway. Off of 3rd Street and Castillo Plaza. It's pitch black but the killer turned the corner here. Requesting for back up should he appear."

"10 4. On our way soon."

As soon as you finished talking, you heard a sudden thud come from behind the dumpster. You turned quickly and walked towards it slowly. Moving the dumpster away with your foot, you flinched upon seeing

A rat.

The rat looked up at you momentarily before scurrying off to go find food. You clutched your heart and chuckled quietly to yourself before turning around.

You wish you hadn't.

Standing behind you was the towering figure of the Namhae Strongman.

You were quickly slammed into a brick wall and you saw the killer's bloodied hands gripping your shoulders tightly as he kept you in place. The lower half of his face was covered by a black bandana and his muscles were bulging as his arms kept you in place. It didn't help that he somehow grabbed your gun and tossed it to the side, leaving you defenseless. You knew that if you moved, you would get torn apart.

That's how strong he was.

His covered face got closer to yours and his breathing got heavier as he looked into your fearful eyes. He tilted his head and lifted one of his bloodied hands. You shut your eyes, thinking he was about to rip your head clean off your body.

To your surprise, his palm touched your cheek and his thumb caressed your cheekbone.

"Pretty boy."

Ok what the fuck?

For a man who brutally rips people apart, his voice was soft and raspy. However, you learned that looks can be deceiving so you kept your eyes shut and stayed still as much as possible. You froze when you felt something soft and plush touch your cheek tenderly. You cracked one eye open just in time to see the killer readjust his bandana.

DID HE JUST KISS YOU?!

"I'll see you soon."

With that, he let you go and ran off while you were still standing there, processing everything that happened. Even when you heard Officer Kim and the other officers finally arrive, your mind was still in a daze.

What the hell was going on...?

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

"I'm telling you, chief! I honestly thought I was going to die! Yet I didn't. However, knowing his strength, I knew that if I made one wrong move, I'd lose a limb."

Park Seonghwa, the police chief of the Seoul PD, sighed deeply as he listened to the words that spilled out of your mouth.

"I see... while I'm dissatisfied with the end results, I didn't lose my best cop. I can't handle anymore death thanks to this man. Did you see anything on him that was a little bit more recognizable as he rendered you immobilized?"

You thought for a moment before speaking up.

"The killer is relatively tan. On his right index finger, there's a spot that's a different shade from the rest of his skin. I believe that in his disguise, he has some type of ring on to throw people off."

Seonghwa nodded and wrote it down in his notebook.

"Ok. That sort of helps. Thank you, Y/N. You're dismissed. If you want, you can leave early."

A soft smile reached the chief's face as you nodded firmly and stood up and shook his hand.

"Thank you, chief. Hopefully, we can see you tomorrow for the annual get together."

"I'll try to make it. Now go on."

"Sir yes sir!"

A slight laugh escaped the chief's lips as you saluted him in a silly way and exited his office.

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

THE NIGHT OF THE GET-TOGETHER

"CHEERS!"

Everyone raised their shot glasses and clinked them together before downing them.

You hated taking shots but you took this first one with your co-workers so the night can start. After downing your chaser, which was a jack & coke, you sat down in the booth and started talking with officer Kim. You two have been friends for a while and Hongjoong was always trying to ask out Seonghwa but he pussied out every chance he got.

"Come on, Joong! Now's your chance! He's literally right in front of us!"

"But he's talking to those girls!"

"Joong, you do realize that he doesn't like women like that right?"

"Well yeah but -"

"No buts! Get your ass up and go talk to him!"

"Ok ok fine!"

You almost burst out in laughter as Hongjoong stood up and practically waddled over to Seonghwa before actually initiating a conversation with him. You sipped your drink and surveyed the club you were in.

Silver Light. What a unique name.

"Yo! Song Y/N!"

You looked up to see officer Seo approach you and sit next to you.

"What's up, Changbin?"

"I don't mean to alarm you, but there's a guy standing across our booth staring you down!"

"Huh?!"

Changbin pointed in the direction of this supposed stranger and you followed where he was pointing.

A well-built man, clad in a black suit, stared at you from across the club, his sharp feline eyes surveying you as he sipped on his old fashioned. You gulped nervously since his large body was making you feel hot.

"Um... I'll be right back!"

"Ayo wait -"

Before Changbin could stop you, you stood up and walked over to the man. A small smirk was on his face as he eyed you up and down.

"Hi there! I'm Y/N! It's nice to meet you!"

"Hi, Y/N. I'm San. It's nice to meet you as well."

You shook hands with San and you noticed that he had a gold ring on his index finger. You racked your brain on why that looked important to you. You then looked up at him and pouted slightly.

"Does your wife know you're here?!"

Ok that wasn't it but you were slightly tipsy so that was the first thing that came to mind. San chuckled and shook his head.

"I don't have a wife."

Oh? That was interesting.

"Oh! Ok! Come dance with me!"

"I don't really dance -"

"Please?!"

San resisted the urge to smile as he saw your pleading face.

How could he say no to such a pretty boy like you?

"Ok. I'll dance with you."

"Yippee!"

You dragged him across the dance floor and began dancing crazily. As you momentarily grabbed his hand, your subconscious set off all the alarms in your tipsy brain, indicating that you made a mistake in trusting him so quickly. However, you were too busy having fun while San dance alongside you with a dimpled smile on his face.

And other intentions.

After a few more songs, you found yourself in a dark corner kissing the ever-living shit out of San. It was aggressive, sloppy, and hot. San kissed back with an equal amount of aggression and desperation. One hand was on the small of your back while the other held you by the nape to keep you close to him. As you pulled away, San couldn't help but coo at the sight of your flushed face.

He was going to have fun with you.

"Hey! Want to come home with me?"

You nodded eagerly and San grinned wickedly, although you couldn't see it due to the lighting being dim. You felt him scoop you up into his arms and walk out of the club with you in his hold. You shyly hid your face in his neck and San chuckled lowly at the sight. As you stepped out into the night, you couldn't help but wonder.

Why did San's strength feel familiar?

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

"Fuck you're so filthy, Y/N." San moaned airily as his head was thrown back and he tangled his fingers in your hair while you kept sucking on his huge cock.

One minute, you were in his arms. The next minute, you were on your knees for this handsome and sexy man after you got rid of his slacks. Drool and bits of cum spilled from the corners of your mouth as you kept blowing. The amount of times San came into your mouth was one too many but did you care?

Not really.

San had you get up from the floor of his living room before grabbing your waist and making you straddle his lap.

"Open your mouth. Let me see."

You opened wide and San was satisfied when he saw that you had swallowed everything after the many orgasms the bigger man elicited. He laid you down and caressed your bottom lip with his thumb before gathering some of his saliva and spitting straight into your mouth.

"Swallow."

You happily obliged and swallow the man's spit. A perverse smile was on his face as he looked you up and down once more, admiring your body underneath his own.

"Sannie~"

"Yes, my darling?"

"Kiss me~"

San chuckled before leaning down to kiss you. He didn't mind tasting himself as he shoved his tongue into your mouth in a messy yet passionate kiss. His large hands trailed down your body and found the hem of your shirt. He tugged on it, indicating that it should be taken off. You snaked your hands down and grabbed the hem of your shirt when San stopped you.

"Slowly. Do it slowly."

A blush appeared on your face yet you nodded and slowly lifted your shirt over your head. San's breath hitched upon seeing the first layer of clothing go.

'This is what he hid underneath that stupid blue uniform that night? Fuck...'

San kept his eyes on you as you fully discarded your shirt. It landed somewhere on the couch but you didn't pay any mind. You were about to make quick work of your jeans when San stopped you again.

"Don't. Let me."

His hand snaked downwards to unbutton your jeans for you. After he pulled them off you in one go, he lifted you up once again, wrapping your legs around his slim waist while your hands gripped his broad shoulders.

"You're mine for this evening. And I don't plan on letting you go."

The possessiveness of his voice sent a shiver down your spine and your hold on him tightened.

"Please... take me. Use me however you want. I need you."

"Oh don't worry. I got you."

He kissed you once more before taking you to his room. As you stay liplocked, he kicked the door open and entered inside before tossing you onto his bed. He hovered over you and studied you a bit.

Your fucked out face, the blown lust swimming in your eyes, and the way the skin on your body remained unmarked. San swore he saw hearts in his own eyes when he saw you.

Especially when you were chasing him down and you ended up pinned against the brick wall of that abandoned alleyway.

He swore to himself to never fall in love with anyone ever again. The last time he did, that girl cheated on him. He remembered being so mad upon catching her that he didn't hear her pleas of forgiveness nor her screams of fear when his hands found her jugular and ripped a chunk out of it. As she gurgled on her own blood, she fell to the floor and her body twitched before the life left her eyes and she laid still.

His ex was his first victim.

From there, he just kept on killing. The higher the body count, the more satiated his bloodlust was. He even sometimes got hard over seeing his poor victims bleed out. After washing the blood off his hands, he'd go into his bathroom and shamelessly relieve himself.

Now here he was. With you. And for some reason, the thought of you bleeding made him feel guilty. However, he pushed that thought aside and cradled your face in his hand.

"I want to try something. Are you down for it?"

You nodded slowly and curiously. San grinned wickedly before ripping off his shirt and reaching into his bedside drawer to take out a few things. Lube, condoms,

And a small yet sharp knife.

You gulped nervously at the weapon in his hands and San noticed this. He calmed you down by kissing both cheeks.

"Here's what we'll do. I'm going to turn off the lamp and I will give you what you want. But you have to take what I can give you. If you squirm around too much, I will turn this blade and nick you. Now... will you be a good boy and take what I give you?"

"Yes yes! Please get on with it! I need you!"

The desperation of your voice made San grow hard again and he almost groaned out loud. He soon turned off the lamp and poured some lube on his fingers before stripping off your boxers and spreading your legs wide open.

The sensations of being fully nude in the dark, the knife being dragged along your body on its flat side, and the first lubed finger prodding at your entrance was too much but in a good way. As San moved his finger around, you tried so hard not to squirm. San leaned in and whispered the filthiest of words in your ear while he added a second finger and dragged the knife around even faster.

"My pretty boy. You're doing so well. You're so good to me. So pliant, obedient, clean."

You didn't know why San growled menacingly as he said the word 'clean' and you wished you knew the context, but you were too far gone. As a third finger was added, you yelped in surprise when you felt yourself being stretched.

"S-Sannie, too much! I c-cant'!"

"You're doing so well though. Don't make me draw blood now. You can take it."

He kissed away the oncoming tears that were sliding down from your eyes. Usually, when he mentions drawing blood, it's to mock his victims whenever they squirmed around in his hold. However, for tonight, he sincerely wished he wasn't going to draw blood.

The only thing you were going to be covered in is spit, sweat, and cum. It would hurt him to see you covered in blood.

"San, I'm close!" You mewled pathetically and San smirked before pulling his fingers out. He silenced your protests by kissing you. This time, there was no desperation or sloppiness. This kiss was full of love and care for you. He tried to pour his growing feelings for you in this kiss. He wanted you to know somehow that he would never hurt you.

He wasn't going to make you another one of his victims.

As he pulled away, he set the knife down and shakily took off his own boxers before tearing open the tiny packet and rolling the condom onto his fully erect dick. A sniffle could be heard in the room and your senses were on high alert. You reached over and turned on the bedside lamp before coming face to face with a crying San.

Wait...

Why was he crying?

"San. Hey. What's wrong?"

San didn't know he was crying until he felt your hand wipe away his tears.

"I'm sorry. I just... I don't want to hurt you. I know we just met, but I feel like if I ever caused you harm, it would haunt me for the rest of my life."

His words may have been vague, but he was speaking truthfully. You grabbed his face and kissed him again.

"Whatever happens tonight, just know that I won't leave in the morning. I'll stick by you for as long as you need me."

"God I don't deserve you."

He entered you slowly, groaning at the way you were practically sucking him in. You hissed painfully but it soon went away after he bottomed out. He looked down at you and kissed your forehead.

"Go all out. Lose control if you have to."

"Are you sure?"

As if to prove your words true, you took one of his hands and wrapped it around your throat.

"I'll let you know when it's too much."

"You'll be the absolute death of me."

At first, he started out slow so you could get used to his size. However, it didn't last long when he picked up the pace and started to pound into you deeply. The moans that both of you elicited were loud and passionate. As he switched angles and went even deeper, your head was thrown back while one of your legs was thrown over his shoulder. His name left your mouth dozens of times while he kept yelling out your name and praise for you. The last bit of control he had was flown out the window when you told him to go harder.

His thrusts became sharper and the hand that was wrapped around your throat began to tighten even more. A choked gasp left your lips and more tears sprung from your eyes. San noticed this and leaned down to kiss them away before capturing your lips in his own.

"You're so good to me. I want to keep you. Shit! I love you so much, Y/N. Fuck! I love you! FUCK!"

"I love you too, San! San, I'm so close! Please! Please let me cum!"

"You want to cum? Then cum all over me. Shit I'm close too!"

He soon pulled out and ripped the condom off before jerking himself a bit and spraying his hot load all over you. You came after him, making sure your own cum was spraying all over him as well.

San moaned shakily and looked down at the mess the both of you made. Another perverse smile came onto his face as he laid down next to you. He didn't have it in him to clean you guys up so he just simply grabbed you and held you close to him.

"Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

You hummed sleepily and closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep much faster than expected. San sighed at your sleeping form and kissed your forehead once again. His lips lingered than normal on your skin and he was hesitant to pull away. He knew it would be the first and last time he held you like this.

When the next day comes, he will come clean. He will finally be free of his sins, even if it means that he won't be able to see the light of day again.

As well as you.

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

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God?"

"I swear."

"Please take your seat, Namhae Strongman."

"Call me Choi San. That is my real name."

"Ok then, San."

Today was the day. Choi San, aka the Namhae Strongman, was finally convicted and tried for all of the murders he has committed. You were sitting alongside chief Park, officer Kim, officer Seo, your brother Mingi, and his new wife, aka the widow of Doh Kyungsoo. As much as you loved seeing justice finally be served, you hated that it had come to this. As you listened to San confess everything without hesitation, you were brought back to when he first came clean with you.

THE MORNING AFTER THE HOOK UP

You were seated far away from San, holding a very familiar vest and bandana as you stared him down angrily. San was maintaining eye contact with you despite the guilt eating him alive and almost causing him to look away. However, he wasn't going to be a coward.

He was going to face the consequences of his actions.

"How long have you been keeping this from me?" You asked him in a steely voice.

"If I'm going to be honest, I never expected to run into you again. So to answer your question, I haven't been keeping this secret for long." San answered shakily yet truthfully.

"Was everything a ruse last night? To bed me and then kill me?"

"Everything that I have done, I didn't do it for some sick reason. I wanted you. I... fell in love with you that night."

"Why me? Out of all the men and women you could've chosen?"

"There was something about you that made me realize that all of this was worthless. The killing. The way you promised to stick with me and the way your eyes held truth... I couldn't fathom lying to you anymore despite us just meeting."

"You have killed so many people though, including my brother's wife! How fucking could you?!"

"I'M SORRY! I APOLOGIZE FOR MY SINS AND I WILL ATONE FOR THEM AS LONG AS I LIVE!"

You then grew shocked when San fell out of his seat and knelt before you, taking your hands in his.

"I will do anything just to have you here with me. I will confess, go to court, take any punishment they give me. I just don't want to be separated from you ever again. Please... forgive me, Y/N."

You looked into his eyes. They weren't sharp or held evil intentions. They were sincere, full of love, and full of hope.

"You're willing to go to jail for the longest time... just so you can be with me?"

"It sounds absurd and I know I don't deserve you, but it's the truth. I will repent. I will atone. I will do anything."

You thought about his offer for a moment before sighing and holding his hands tightly.

"You will be locked away for a long time. If you're willing to wait that long... then I will too."

San's dimpled smile was full of relief and he almost sobbed out of pure joy.

"May I hug you?"

"Um... sure."

San gently held you in his arms and pulled away the moment he saw even the slightest hint of discomfort on your face.

"Take me to the station."

PRESENT TIME

"After hearing his confessions and the consensus of the jury, I hereby declare Choi San..."

The judge breathed in deeply before saying the final verdict.

"Guilty."

Everyone cheered in delight. Mingi hugged his wife, Seonghwa fist bumped Hongjooong before shouting in victory along with the rest of the crowd, and Changbin watched as you walked out of the court so no one could see the tears in your eyes. He followed you outside and when he found you, he immediately took you into his arms and let you sob on his shoulder.

A few footsteps headed in your direction, and you were about to scream 'Fuck off!' to whoever approached you when your breath hitched once more.

It was San.

He was chained up and his hands were inside rounded metal gauntlets so he wouldn't use them for killing every again. You stood up and walked over to him.

"Officer Song -"

"Shut up and leave us. I can handle him."

The guards took note of your cold and harsh tone before nodding their heads and backing away. Changbin walked back inside.

Now you two were alone.

"So... how long?"

"16 years."

You let out a choked sob and San's heart broke. He wanted to hold you, wipe away your tears, and whisper in your ear sweet nothings and reassurances. However, due to the fact that he was chained up, the most he could do was kiss your forehead, your cheeks, and finally, your lips.

You held San's face in your hands as you kissed him with everything in you. Knowing this will be the last time, you let your lips linger on his for a while longer before pulling away.

"I'm sorry... for everything."

"Don't be, San. It's ok."

"I feel like a monster..."

"No, you aren't. You were just misguided, especially when it came to your anger. At long last, now you know."

"Will I be able to see you if you ever visit?"

"Of course."

"I seriously don't deserve you."

You laughed sadly before hugging him tightly.

"I will see you soon... Choi San."

"I love you, Song Y/N. Always."

With that final confession of love, he was whisked away to be taken to an asylum while you sat on the steps of the court building, bawling your eyes out and trying to hold onto the pieces of your broken heart.

This is what happens when you fall for the Namhae Strongman.

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 26

First / Previous / Next

"Shit!" Fen dove to the ground and slid into the legs of the first guard, knocking him over, and he tumbled into a pile with a grunt. The second saw that and skidded to a stop, putting the momentum from his run into swinging his rifle like a club.

"That's odd" Fen thought as she ducked under the rifle butt and reached up to twist his weapon out of his hands. "Why isn't he shooting?" She used the momentum imparted on the rifle by its previous owner to swing around and clock him in the skull, knocking him down.

Northern stood there, mouth agape.

Fen cycled the action on the rifle and checked it. It was loaded with armor piercing rounds. That was also odd. Who were they expecting to fight? She looked back towards Northern and picked up the luggage. "Well? Come on then. Grab that rifle, no sense in wasting it."

"Yes ma'am!" Northern grinned as she picked up the rifle and ran after her.

The original guard that had let Fen in was not at his post, his door sliding up and down as it hit an obstruction. Fen looked down only to see a booted foot blocking the door, preventing it from closing. The guard from earlier was face down just outside the doorway, with a pool of blood around his head.

"Northern... do you know a different way out?"

Northern peered around Fen. "I see what you mean. Seems like someone came in before us."

"Come now Fenchurch, surely I'm more than just 'someone'?"

Fen turned behind her, and saw Nal, standing there in the uniform of the Discoverers, flanked by two more guards.

"Nalenni? What are you doing?"

"Me? I'm just cleaning up a source of contraband. Tell me though, what are you doing? First they keep you aboard Dreams longer than me; that's fine, I figure they're trying to recruit you. Then, I hear that Dreams and her two escorts were obliterated when it blew itself up and the only witness was a human in a brand new Frigate with a ton of money and crates of weapons who has 'no idea' what happened." She put her hands on her hips. "I have to say Fen, I am impressed. If you did it, I have no idea how. If you didn't I have no idea how you escaped."

Northern looked down at Fen. "What's all this?"

Fen looked back at Northern. "Tell you all about it once we get out. You have my word I didn't do anything bad." She thought a moment. "Well, nothing I thought was bad at the time."

Nal looked at them both. "A new friend already Fen? My, but you tend to burn through them." She snapped her fingers and the two guards brought their rifles to bear. "Now ladies, let's not be stupid. Cooperate and I'm sure you'll both survive the day."

Northern locked eyes with Nal and mumbled out of the corner of her mouth "How bad do you want to get out of here?"

Fen tried to not react. "Uh, pretty badly? My ship is in the public docs if it hasn't been impounded. We can get there and go. I have no... real ties here." It wasn't exactly true, and it wasn't exactly a lie.

"When it happens, duck and run out of the door."

"When what ha-" was all she could manage before Northern reached behind her and whipped something at Nal and the guards faster than any human could. The K'laxi didn't have any chance of reacting as the concussion grenade blinded and deafened them.

K'laxi have larger eyes and ears than humans. It makes sense as they evolved in the large forests of their home. They were originally crepuscular animals, best suited to early morning and evening. Their sight - while not quite having the same contrast or color dept as humans - was excellent in low light.

The concussion grenade must have hurt like hell. All three of them screamed and dropped whatever they were holding to cover their eyes. Their ears flat on their head and they nearly collapsed onto the ground.

Fen dove through the door, with Northern following close behind. She used the rifle to slide the dead K'laxi's leg out from the door, and it slammed shut. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Fen, what the hell was that?" Northern's voice rising with each name she intoned.

"Can it wait?" Fen looked around the beige hall. She came from that direction, but it only led her to the bar. She was sure she didn't want to bring this heat on Ullen.

"No Fen, it can't wait. What. Is. Going. On." Northern put her hands on her hips and stood there, her face stony.

"Dreams had a shackled AI and I freed it using the code that Gord showed me, and she was quite... upset at being shackled for a few hundred years, killed everyone, gave me their money and the frigate, helped me leave and then blew themselves and their escorts up!" Fen blurted her story out in one breath, as fast as she could.

"That's... a lot, Fen."

"I know."

Nothern raised her eyebrow. "Why do I believe you?"

"It's true?"

She sighed again. "Yeah, it probably is. You know the unlock code for the AI shackles?"

Fen nodded "Yeah, it's 0001."

Northern's laugh was harsh. "Of course it is."

"Northern? Do you happen to know of an exit from here? I came from that way-" She pointed "-but I don't want to bring this heat down on the guy who let me in. He's...a friend"

Northern looked around, her eyes flashing blue for just a moment. "This way. If we go down here, we can take a freight lift closer to the docks."

Northern lead them down a hall, then jogged left and right as they walked through the endless beige. She made a few more turns and Fen decided to stop trying to keep track. The identical hallways were making her thoroughly lost. Northern didn't seem to mind though. She walked on at a regular pace, head high. Occasionally, she'd stop and appear to think for a moment before continuing on.

After what felt like Fen to be an endless series of halls, her feet were getting sore, and she was flagging. "Northern, are we close? I need a break."

Northern turned back and smiled. "We're close now Fen. Gotta keep going if you want to get to your ship. We've walked all the way across Minaren and up about thirty levels. In fact..." She stopped at a doorway, and touched a panel on the side. It slid open with a little vibration brought about from age. "Here we are!"

Fen peeked inside. It was no larger than a closet, and along the far wall was a ladder. "How far do we have to climb?"

Northern looked up. "Not too far. Couple dozen meters probably. Here-" She reached down to the cart that Fen was pulling and pressed a button. Straps flowed out of the bottom and the wheels tucked up inside. "It's a little heavy, but it's got good balance. Strong girl like you should be able to carry it no problem." She winked, and pressed a button on her carts, and they configured similarly. She wore one on her front and one on her back.

Fen struggled to wear the converted backpack. She got it on, but Northern was not lying about the weight. Northern seemed to have no problem with the weight. She started climbing, and Fen followed close behind.

True to her word, it was only a dozen meters or so until Northern stopped. Fen looked up and then blushed. Northern was wearing a skirt. "Northern, why did you stop?"

"One moment Fen, I have to open this hatch." Fen heard keys being punched in on a pad, and a grunt of effort, and then she felt her ears pop with an equalizing of pressure.

Northern scurried up out of the hatch, and Fen followed behind. They were on the dock in front of...

"Fen? Why the name of our blessed Ancestors did you come out of the floor? And who is that with you?"

"Zhe! You came!" Fen was surprised at her own relief at seeing the former K'laxi Discoverer.

Zhe's tail swished. "I did. I thought about what you said, and well, life on Minaren is pretty stable, but it's boring! I'm young. I want to see the galaxy, maybe make a name for myself. If nothing else do something other than lead people in for questioning." Zhe looked up, and up at Northern. "Who is your friend?"

Northern grinned wickedly. "I'm Northern Lights. Nice to meetcha. So that's three of us? Sounds like a crew to me, Fen. Let's boogie."

"Let's what?" Fen couldn't tell if Northern was using strange slang out of habit, or to be annoying.

She gestured towards the ship. "This is yours right? Let's jet. Let's abscond. Let us leave this place."

Fen looked around. Other than Zhe, nobody seemed to notice them. There didn't seem to be extra guards or anyone shouting for them to surrender immediately. Did they get away clean? "Zhe, did you hear anything about Nalenni running a raid on the Basement?"

Zhe's ears swiveled forward and her eyes widened. "How do you know about Senior Discoverer Nalenni?"

"Senior Discoverer? Huh." Northern made a face at Fen. "Uh, She was my last job with Gord. We were contracted to bring her here, actually. When we linked in Gord and Spyglass saw the Supers, dumped her and me into a pod and left."

Northern stared for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, that does sound like Gord actually. He was always a cautious one. I have to say Fen, you have a knack for being around important people at odd times." Northern turned to Zhe. "You still didn't answer the question though. Did you hear about Nalenni running a raid?"

Northern was just asking a question, but she must have intimidated Zhe something fierce. Zhe squeaked and nearly jumped at the question. "S-sorry Miss Northern, I haven't heard anything. I'm pretty low in the organization anyway, nobody tells me anything."

Northern grinned again "Miss Northern? I like you, friend. You can just call me Northern though, it's all right." She turned to Fen. "Shall we?"

Fen walked over to the airlock and laid a hand on it. It opened without protest. Huh. Maybe they really would get away clean. She waved them in.

"Come on. Let's get out of here, and see if we can find some more crew."

[yourmomisdateingme]

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted something but here’s a Yuu angst story for you!

Yuu is gender neutral also I’m not the best at writing but I tried my best with this I hope you like it!

XXX

I can’t hold my rage anymore

It was a day like any other day, but there was something in the sky that was giving a warning. When every house warden showed up to the meeting including Crowley….. but something was missing, not something but someone. At the the thought of the yuu not being there, there was a sudden pounce of thunder and lighting at once. It was so unexpecting because of how it was sunny all day; everyone in the room had all jumped from the sound.

After everyone has relaxed after the commotion there were loud and fast foot steps as if someone was running with all there force. You could hear it echo down the hall. There was a split second when it stoped but then the door slammed open.

“ILL KILL YOU!” Someone had screamed and pounced at Crowley, that’s someone happened to be yuu!?

“AGH!” Crowley had yelped when his body hit the ground. Yuu had a dagger at Crowley throat ready to slice and dice.

“What the-?!” Leona had gasped in shock as to seeing yuu attack.

“Yuu! Stop!” Azul has yelled with wide eyes as he jolted forward to help.

“I’m sorry yuu…..” riddle whispered under his breath as he took a deep breath. “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD” riddle had yelled activating his unique magic.

Riddle was always very lenient about using his powers against someone he cares about...especially with what happened to him back then, But this right now was a serious matter.

The heart shaped collar wrapped around Yuu's neck shocking them as the dagger had fallen from their grasp. Crowley quickly took advantage of this as he kicks the dagger into the corner of the room.

“AGH! Get this stupid thing off me!” Yuu had yelled in anger, they then start grabbing at the collar trying desperately to get it off.

“I’m Sorry Yuu but no... I can’t let you do this!” Riddle yelled trying to reason with yuu.

“Yuu-kun, what's gotten into you?!” Kalim yelled in desperation, kalim couldn’t believe anything that just happened and frankly he didn’t want to.

“Y-Yeah...W-We never see you like this before…” lida said barely above a whisper, he eyes show clear concern for his friend.

“Why did you tried to attack Headmaster Crowley?” Malleus asked butting into the non-existent conversation. They all wanted answers but yuu wasn’t answering them. In the meantime Crowley was completely silent, almost as if he knows the reason for the attack.

“Why?” Yuu had chuckled angrily and he facepalmed there self. Yuu glared at the dorm leaders, who surprisedly all flinched, seeing the look in there eyes... It was a look that scream anger, hatred, & rage.

“Why?! DON'T GIVE ME THAT BULL! You All Know Why! You Were All There When It Happened!!” Yuu snapped out at them, his body was trembling with anger and….. sadness?

They all looked down at their feet, a guilty conscious set adrift in their hearts.

He was right. They all know why he's mad.

Because...of what happened to...

The only thing you could hear from the center of the destruction was yuu’s sobs. They were crawling at the ground screaming at the sky.

“Grim...GRIM!!!” Yuu yells pitifully.

“Y-Yuu-kun... You know I had no choice.” Crowley didn’t even have an ounce of remorse for yuu’s lose, he didn’t care what happened, the only he cares about is his reputation.

“BULLSHIT! YOU HAD A CHOICE! YOU JUST CHOOSE TO GET RID OF HIM!!!” Yuu quickly took Crowley by the shoulder, all Crowley could see was the absolute anger in yuu’s eyes.

“THERE COULD'VE BEEN ANOTHER WAY! ANOTHER WAY TO SAVE HIM!!!! W-WHEN HE OVERBLOTED...!” Yuu started to sob uncontrollably, the death grip on Crowleys shoulders only tightening.

“WHY??!” Yuu sobbed out, they wanted answers but in the back of their mind they already knew the answer to her question.

It happened right after Malleus' Overblot...

After eating Malleus black blot stone Grim becomes a giant chimera while everyone, including Yuu, is watching. Seeing his best friend become such a monster, ultimately destroys Yuu, inside out.

Yuu was devastaded. Grim has been with him ever since the very beginning of his stay in Twisted Wonderland. Sure he may have caused lots of problems for him there was no denying that Yuu also cares for Grim.

Grim have showed to have grow kind of fond & compassionate of Yuu.

Grim could've just left Scarabia alone and left Yuu behind but he didn't. He stayed...he stayed for Yuu. They went on many adventures together and they became more than just master and servant.

They formed a bond with each other...but now...that bond was gone.

Yuu had tried everything to call out for him and try to snap him out of it. He even had to approach him but sadly...overblot Grim wouldn't recognize them, instead glaring at them with irrational hatred, no trace of his old memories coming back.... He was no longer Grim. But a monster overbolt.

The dorm leaders had no choice but to get Yuu away from Grim while Crowley showed up...and made his own decision to end Grim's life because he viewed him as dangerous. Despite Yuu's pleads, Crowley ignored him and put Grim out of his misery.

Everyone stayed silent but vil couldn’t stand to see the beautiful, kind perfect sob in-front if him. He didn’t know what to say to the only thing that left his mouth was “Oh Yuu...” but it was so quiet no one heard.

“Yuu...You understand that if I were to let Grim live, he would've-“ Crowley wasn’t even able to continue his pathetic excuse as Yuu started yelling again.

“I DON'T CARE! I DON'T CARE NO MORE ABOUT YOUR STUPID SCHOOL!” They said standing up and grabbing at there chest.

“GRIM IS GONE BECAUSE OF YOU!” Another yell came from yuu’s quivering lips.

“SO WHAT IF HE OVERBLOTED?! LOOK AT THEM!” Yuu particularly screamed at the top of there scream as they pointed to the dorm leaders.

“Riddle overbloted because of the expectations of his mother and everyone else!” Yuu started to rant, trying to make everyone see what happened to grim doesn’t justify shit.

“Leona overbloted because he was constantly compared and upstaged by his brother!” Leona’s ears fell down in shame.

“Azul was bullied as Jade & Floyd's loss of existence caused him to overbloted!” Yuu pointed at Azul.

“AND HOLY SHIT DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THIS ONE!” Yuu grabbed there own hair and pulled it as he yelled.

“Kalim never overbloted because Jamil took his place! Though I wouldn't be surprised if he did after Jamil's betrayal!” Yuu started laughing at themself as tears were falling down Crowleys mask.

Yuu bent down to get on Crowleys level. “Oh I’m not even fucking done yet! GET UP ON YOUR FUCKING FEET!” At yuu’s raised voice Crowley stood up quickly and brushed himself off.

“Vil's Overblot was valid due to conspiracy of staying beautiful while being jealous! And Idia overblotted because he was overwhelmed of his curse lineage!” When Yuu mentioned ldia he jumped backwards.

“Then Malleus overblotted and put everyone to sleep because he felt the need to save them!” Malleus face instantly turned into a frown as he was mentioned.

“Please understand! The situation was different!” Crowley tried to defend himself but they only lead to Yuu laughing at him.

“Oh good excuse!” Yuu’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING, CROWLEY! EVERYTHING! TO HELP KEEP EVERYONE IN THIS SCHOOL STABLE FOR YOU! BUT YOU COULDN'T DO THE SAME FOR ME!” The sky outside turned dark and gloomy, it’s started to pour rain and thunder could be heard.

“Yuu! Enough!” Riddle tried to defuse the situation.

“Herbivore...We get it...just chill out for a moment.” Leona was following after riddle.

“Please Yuu...Calm down...Headmaster Crowley understands your anger and-?!” Azul tried to reason but was cut off with yuu’s screaming.

“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND MY ANGER!!!” That quickly got everyone to shut up, they all were silent not knowing what to say.

“If you did...You all wouldn't be on his side.” A bitter laugh was heard.

“I'll never forgive you,

Crowley...Never...Because of you...Grim is DEAD! DEAD! NEVER COMING BACK!” There was a dark overwhelming power that started to surround Yuu.

“Oh no...” that was all ldia could say.

“This power I'm sensing... there Overblotting?!” Malleus quickly took out his wand to help you.

“I thought he couldn't use magic...” leona yelled out loud also grabbing his wand.

“That's impossible! The collar around his neck should be draining any magic from there body-?!” Riddle tried to understand the situation.

“NEVER FORGIVE! NEVER FORGET! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!!!!” ink poured onto there body.

“NO! YUU!” Azul pleaded but it was useless.

“STOP YUU! PLEASE! THIS ISN'T YOU!” All vil could do was watch their dear friend transform.

“EVERY LAST OF YOU! JUST DIE!!!! GRIM!!”

Everything happend so fast you couldn't even blink...Yuu overblots and transforms. Grims overbloted version was there right beside Yuu. Just liked they promised, to always be by each others side.

“Oh No....What Have I Done?” Crowley said fearful.

Then...The Twisted Wonderland World Was Shrouded In Dark Blue Flames and Darkness....

[boredzillenial]

Kat und Maus

A spy has gone slightly rogue on her mission, low and behold her team bites off more than she can chew.

Themes: f!main character, 3rd person perspective, spy fic, flirting, SFW (wait wtf this never happens)

A.N: trying something a bit different with this one. Not feeling super confident in my writing atm so lemme know what y’all think ~

“I’m in the compound” She whispers into the mic hidden in her bracelet.

“Remember, The nephew is the target, agent. It’s too dangerous to go after V directly.” Her boss’s voice clips in her ear.

“But -“

“Too. Dangerous.” The tone in his voice left no room for interpretation.

She rolls her eyes, continuing her quick strides up the mansion stairs. “Waste of my time and yours.” Her words come out in a puff of chilly night air. “Good evening - The party is this way yes?” Her well rehearsed German accent trills up to the sentry waiting by the front door. “I still don’t understand why he insists on his guests parking their own damn cars.” She makes a point to huff and roll her eyes as she tosses her jacket in his face.

In a quick succession of movements she slams her heel on his foot, muffles his scream with the thick fabric, and twists him around till her arm snakes around his neck. “Sleep tight…” She coos as his body goes limp.

She drags him into the nearby bushes and rewraps her coat around her bare shoulders. “Told you the jacket trick works” She whispers a little smugly into the receiver on her wrist.

“That should be the last armed guards outside. V doesn’t like guns flashing around his guests - unless he’s doing the flashing.” She trys not to roll her eyes again, oh the egos of men . “Nephew should be on the balcony. Go straight there, secure him and over the edge. The extraction team’s waiting in the water at the base of the cliffs.”

“What is it with the ridiculously wealthy and putting their homes on cliffs.” She whispers, admiring the ornate paintings and museum worthy pieces along the walls and small tables.

“Agent, stay on task.”

“So impersonal. I know you know my name might as well say it.” Her tone clips short to match his.

“Also, what’s with the pseudonym, his name is -“

“Anselm tell that story again!” A mans voice booms from the open doorway just a few feet ahead. A chorus of affirmative chatter rises along with it.

“Oh please, you are embarrassing me. It’s not that entertaining.” Anselm’s raised, singsong German accent rings out like a siren song.

“Agent - stay on-“ Those are the last words she hears before she slips the the earpiece out and down into her brazier.

She rounds the corner slowly, getting the layout of the room and those within. The booming voiced man is standing, drunken smile across his reddened face along with four more strained faces with ingenue smiles across them.

And there, seated at an imperial looking dark wooden desk is her target, Anselm. Seeing him in person struck something different within her. She’d studied the far lensed slightly blur photographs along with his laundry list of a rap sheet- he’s a crime boss, an international thief, a kidnapper, a murder. But the man before her seems, well not all that scary.

Cheers and claps fill the room until Anselm relents “Fine fine - I was down in South America, meeting with some less than friendly constituents when - Why hello there.” He stops as he eyes her leaning in the doorframe “And who might you be my dear.” He stands, never taking his eyes off her.

“Anselm darling I am offended -“ Her accent mirrors his “Have you forgotten our time in Munich already? I know it was years ago and we were both so intoxicated but -“

“Everyone, please leave.” His tone is light despite the unknown expression on his face. Creaking and squeaking fills the space as he makes his way to her.

“But sir -“ The large man begins and quickly halts when Anselm looks his way.

The slight squint of his eyes is all it took, sending everyone else in the room scattering. “Now - yours is a face I would not forget.” He sat slowly on the leather couch, adjusting and patting the empty space beside him. “What is your name madam.”

She rolls her alias with ease “- Do you remember now?” She walks slowly, lengthening her steps to sway her hips. His eyes land perfectly on the motion. “Or perhaps you’d remember, other things about me.” She lowers her voice as she sits beside him.

“I don’t believe -“ The beginning of his question is cut short with the sharp ringing from an old style telephone on his desk “Apologies my dear, duty calls” Once again his voice is light but the slightest moment of concern crossed his features before he stiffly stands.

“No need, I need to powder my nose. Be right back.” She coos over her shoulder. Though she keeps her steps slow with purpose her nerves are alight. She really thought he would be so much more imposing or terrifying given his reputation. But he’s just a man, and the look in his eyes makes something she didn’t care to admit stir low in her belly.

She clicks a little quicker down the back hall and onto the patio, where only silence awaits her. While she glances cautiously around for her original target she digs into her dress.

Already she can hear the soft buzzing of a scream as she retrieves the ear piece from her cleavage and puts it back into place. “-AVE YOU GONE MAD! THERE’S A TEAM HEADED YOUR WAY IN LESS THAN 5 YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THERE!” He screams.

“I made contact with V, I can take him. The nephew is gone.” She hisses.

“ENOUGH! GET TO THE EXTRACTION POINT - THE SECONDARY TEAM WILL RETRIEVE HIM.”

She sighs, shakes her head and carefully jumps over the railing to shimmy down the lattice. “So not worth it, shit.”

She makes her way down the dark expanse of grass and rocks to the extraction team who also look intensely displeased by her change in plan. “Target acquired, heading to base. Ready by 0600 hours for interrogation.”

“Agent, in light of your insubordination. You will remain awake and interrogate the asset once you return.” His words cut into her bruised ego.

“Sir I haven’t slept since -“

“Does it sound, like I care…” his words struggle past his teeth into her ear.

“No, sir.”

“Then sign off. Stay alert….” She pulls the earpiece out and grips it so tightly she snaps the delicate tool into pieces. As she heads off with the team she readies her mind for interrogating the initial target. Some silver spoon punk who was probably kept around as more of a decoration than an asset. Breaking him should be easy enough, but her thoughts stray back to Anselm, the intensity in his gaze and how sure he carried himself, despite the brace…

0600

She walks groggily down the empty hall, gripping onto a hot cup of coffee. This time dressed in casual civilian clothes of Jeans and a Tee she keeps stashed away for emergencies in her locker.

“Can’t believe he’s making me interview this little punk first thing.” She yawns.

“Alright kid - we can do this the easy way or -“ her words cut short in her throat. The slumped form of Anselm tied to the chair in the center of the room.

“Sir,” She clips into her new ear piece “I think you need to see this…”

The minutes pass like lifetimes until finally her boss rounds the corner. “You’ve got to be fucking -“ he growls, whipping the door open, taking a good look, and closing it softly “kidding me…” his final words come out in an exasperated sigh as he rubs his temples. “And this wasn’t you?” He asks without looking up at her.

“Absolutely not sir, I got outta there before the team hit… Did you want me to still do the interrogation?” Her tone shifts to something softer, not wanting to piss her boss off more than he already is.

He whirls on her, “I’ll take you at your word this wasn’t you… But it’s still on you for not containing the original target when you had the chance. When the higher-ups come down on our asses for catching this fucking shark instead of his stupid little nephew, I’m pointing them in your direction unless you get something usable out of him. Understood?”

She nods once “Any limitations?”

“Keep ‘m alive.” He growls before stalking off, a heavy invisible weight on his shoulders.

She steps calmly back into the interrogation room, closing the door a little harder than necessary. Anselm jolts in his chair, eyes squinting as they settle on her. “You again, dangerous little Maus, where have you whisked me to.” He tisks while taking in his surroundings.

“Sorry to disappoint, we don’t have any better accommodations at present.” She sighs and sits a couple feet away in the singular opposing chair. “So tell me Anselm, you feeling okay?” She puts on a saccharine smile.

“Oh my dear you know the ropes aren’t very comfortable.” He wiggles a bit to test them. Looks like the team had decided on simple restraints on his ankles, torso and wrists. “And you’re american? Such a pity.” He tuts.

She crosses her legs and takes a long sip of her coffee.

Anselm eyes the cup, licking his lips for a moment then meeting her gaze again. “Uncomfortable chair, no refreshments, not even a table to negotiate.”

“Oh well see that’s where you’ve not quite caught up. We aren’t negotiating, this is more of well, let’s call it a knowledge seeking interview.”

“Darling, I think I know what an interrogation room looks like. But why bring me here hmm?” He quirks up a brow “I do say you would’ve gotten whatever you wanted in that slick little number you were wearing in earlier. But, you Americans do love your Blue Jeans…”

“I don’t think my clothes will prevent me from learning what I wanna know.” She takes another long sip, enjoying that little lip lick of his again. “Thirsty?”

Anselm chuckles softly, “Very, would you mind?”

“Oh not at all,” She stands slowly “You help me, I’ll help you. How’s that sound. Little quid pro quo.”

“What do you want to know my dear.” He eyes her as she makes her way to him. That dark gaze grazes over her.

“Well for starters, that mansion of yours.” She queries casually “Why along a cliff?”

“This is what the American Goverment wishes to know?”The lilt in his voice coaxes the faintest smirk to her lips.

“This is what I wish to know. Consider this the quid” she encourages.

“Well, for the view of course.” He shrugs.

“Huh… how boring.” She sighs “but fair is fair.” She takes her coffee cup and brings it to his lips “I’m sure you don’t mind sharing.” In reality, this was a test, just how far she could get away with him. If he would share a drink with her, there may be some trust. Trust leads to answers.

“Not at all,” He murmurs as she tilts the cup, he drinks deep for a moment before she pulls it away. “Thank you my darling, in fact I prefer it. You know how it is after people try to poison you. After the first few you only eat or drink after others have, ahaha.” There it is again, that strange little giggle.

“Can’t say I do, but good to keep in mind.” She shakes her head a moment, setting the coffee cup on the floor beside his chair and getting comfortable in her own. “Now, I’ve got a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Anything my dear.”

“Tell me about the weapons trade, how’s everything going hmm? I hear the Russians have really been giving you a hard time.” She eyes him while crossing her legs, foot bouncing casually.

“Okay, almost anything.” He coughs, “You understand I cannot discuss such matters with you my dear. Despite your beauty and statuesque figure.”

Is he still flirting? Is he serious? She decides to test it. “Aww Anselm, you’ve disappointed me.” She tuts as she stands, walking past him to a nearby table laid with all sorts of instruments to help loosen one’s tongue. “I thought you’d make this easy for both of us.”

“My darling, nothing with me is easy. You’ll come to enjoy that I hope.” He try’s to turn, unable to get her into his peripheral.

“I’m not one for puzzles, or games,” she comes around to face him, twirling a set of pliers in her hand “And to be brutally honest I’m not the best when it comes to patience.”

He eyes the instrument in her hand for a moment before his gaze roams over her body again. “Now that is truly a use for me. Teaching you patience, it is one of life’s greatest pleasures.” His tone shifts low, sultry.

She decides to lean in, a hand on either arm and her face just inches from his, “Do you think you’re in much of a position to teach me anything right now?” Her tone drops low to meet his.

“My dear, things can change so quickly you know.” His eyes flicker down to her lips, “It would make things so much easier for you to play nice.”

She leans back and barks out a laugh. “You can’t be serious right now. You are in a hidden bunker in for all you know the damn ocean. I pull out pliers and you don’t so much as bat an eye?”

“Don’t let my own handsomeness fool you, you must not know who you are dealing with to think such a simple tool would frighten me.” Anselm is deadly calm as he speaks. Somehow, despite him being the one tied to a chair authority radiates from him. “I do urge you, untie me now and save yourself some trouble later feisty maus.”

She’s about to put her tool to work when the door behind her bursts open. In an instant someone is on her, choking her from behind and lifting her high enough her feet no longer touch the ground. She claws and kicks to no avail as two more men sweep in and quickly release Anselm from his bindings.

“Don’t kill her, I like this one.” His words cut through her choking gasps and for a moment the grip around her throat loosens. “A little lower.”

The arms around her lower till they are face to face again. She’s clinging onto consciousness by a thread, her ears ringing and limbs going limp.

Anselm drags his thumb over her lower, “beautiful feisty maus, rest up. When you wake it will be your turn to help me.” He gives a quick nod and that grip tightens again. The last thing she hears is indistinguishable words in his short tone. The final sensation is the gentle brush of fingers across her cheek as her world fades into darkness.

———————————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie4art @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar @queerponcho @for-a-longlongtime @silvernight-m

[queenburd]

Cross posted to ao3. Very mild formatting differences. Comments make me happy.

Hey, folks, this one is heavy, long, and full of repetitive text and phrases. While I know that's par for the course with this game, I bring it up because I know writing it made me feel weird at times, and it intentionally leans into its theme of deterioration. Take care of yourselves. We're dealing with the Figurines Ending, the Epilogue, and the Skip button.

If you like my writing, please consider tipping me. I also have commissions and a paypal donation button.

|.|.|.|

The first thing Stanley does, when the reset hits and he finds himself staring at his desk, is pick up the mug that sits on the corner and hurl it out the door of his office. It hits the wall beside the doorframe on the opposite side of the room, and shatters on impact.

“Stanley?! What in God’s name—“

He screams.

It’s a hoarse noise. It’s deep and it’s broken and it hurts to get out, but he screams because there’s something horrible inside him, something he needs to purge. The noise cuts out, and then begins again.

The chair is grabbed next—he hooks his arms around the backrest and lifts the thing to chest height before he flings it with all his strength. A wheel catches on the doorframe to his office and the chair crashes to the floor, hitting the wall with an almighty, horrendous crash and sliding partway across the hideous beige carpet.

“Stanley!”

His chest heaves with fierce, angry panting. His cheeks are wet. Another noise wrenches itself from his throat. Stanley turns to his desk and swipes his arm across everything on it, knocking pencils and papers and pens to the floor. He slams his fists on it. He turns and kicks one of the filing cabinets, turns and paces in the little room like a caged animal.

There is so much built up inside him that he doesn’t know what to do with. All he knows is that he’s going to rip this place apart with his bare hands.

It’s not just anger, you must understand. It’s much more complicated than that. You see, Stanley has just come from the Epilogue.

-

The sand blows around him. The wind is cold and fierce. The sun is unforgiving. The moon is a large lamp in the sky.

And Stanley is alone.

He walks for what feels like eternity. He walks for what seems like mere minutes. He walks towards nothing. He turns in every direction. He puts one foot in front of the other.

And Stanley is alone.

The fire doesn’t warm him. He can’t dislodge the chairs from the ground. There’s sand in his shoes and shirt and mouth. He wraps his arms around his chest and walks and walks.

And he is alone.

-

“Yes, I'm remembering something now. I remember before this whole story got started.

Back then, I was... I was different; I used to make big decisions, I was passionate! I was skeptical! I weighed each decision with profound thoughtfulness.

And then, somewhere along the way, I stopped making decisions.

I became lazy. And I came up with—well—I came up with a character named Stanley, to do my thinking for me. He would make the decisions, he would decide which way to go, I would cheer him on as he collected figurines for no reason.

Why did I invent Stanley? Was I lonely?

Yes, perhaps that's it. Perhaps I needed to imagine I had companionship. And Stanley really did make for a wonderful companion, even if he was a fiction.

But—ahh, I suppose it's grown old. I-I want to think for myself again. I want to go back to how it used to be.

Yes, I can be on my own again. I can do it! I'll be stronger this time. I'll take care of myself. I don't need Stanley anymore.

Oh, but he truly was so much fun to play with!

You know what? Since we're in the Memory Zone, how about one more good memory?

Let's go back, just once, and give Stanley one more run of the office! And then, I'll retire him for good. I did enjoy telling his story—so very much.

Okay, here we go.

This is the story of a man named Stanley.”

-

The Memory Zone is flooded with sand. The bucket does little to comfort Stanley, even as he holds it to his chest. He follows the power cord deeper into the deserted building, feeling numb.

-

[ Narrator? ]

[ Narrator, what are you talking about? ]

[ Can’t you see me? Hey! Hey! Narrator! ]

[ Why won’t you answer me? Answer me, please! ]

[ Narrator! ]

-

“I’ll take care of myself. I don’t need Stanley anymore.”

-

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

The buttons glow softly. He presses them mindlessly.

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

What once was a source of amusement leaves an ashy taste in his mouth. The bastard never tried, in the end, to make these buttons work. Like everything else, he half-assed it, then abandoned it when something else caught his interest. Left it to collect dust. Left it to be forgotten, with the rest of the oh-so-precious memories.

With Stanley.

Hurt blooms in his chest. It’s been minutes—it’s been years. Time doesn’t mean anything at all in this stupid game. Nothing means anything. The thousand thousand runs they’ve played don’t mean anything. The conversations they had don’t mean anything. Their friendship doesn’t mean anything.

He doesn’t mean anything.

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Stanley.”

-

“Stop sniggering, Stanley, you’re ruining my take! Oh, it’s no use, we’ll have to start from the top.”

Stanley giggles around the hand he has pressed firmly to his mouth. He wants to be apologetic, and he’s glad the Narrator is involving him in this new promotion for the upcoming update, but the delight in him keeps bubbling over. It’s so rare to see the fellow direct that old familiar vitriol at someone other than Stanley himself. After so long knowing him, hearing him attempt to be menacing and nasty is outright silly.

“Wh—Silly?! You impetuous—Stanley, stop laughing!!”

Sorry, he’s sorry! A little off-balance from his own laughter, Stanley climbs onto the set and adds another tally to the whiteboard there.

“Unbelievable,” the voice mutters while he climbs back off the set and makes sure the camera is still centered on the tripod. “Here I am, trying to make a serious critique of game developer habits, and you demand to be included so I include you, and what do I get? Mockery. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Comments like these do little to dampen Stanley’s spirits, but he does attempt to sober himself. He does, after all, appreciate that the fellow has gone through all the effort to include him in brainstorming this one and setting it up. It was his idea to include the clocks and the tally board, and he really does think the shot is improved for it.

He sits back into the metal folding chair quietly. No more laughing. Promise. He’ll manage it this time.

The Narrator clears his throat. “Right. Let me review the script again.”

Stanley nods. His eyes flick around the small office set, then back to the computer monitor.

Man, has it really been almost nine years? It feels like they’ve been doing this for much longer.

“Well, really it’s only a little more than eight years, if I’m being honest. The original HD game released in October of 2013, so depending on when Ultra Deluxe drops in 2022, it may only be a couple months past the eighth anniversary.”

That’s being a bit generous to the developers, Stanley thinks. Does the Narrator really think it will drop in January?

“Oh, I don’t know, Stanley! I’m guessing, same as you.”

Still. Over eight years. Why does it feel like they’ve been here for much longer?

“Well,” the voice sniffs, “it could be for a number of reasons. Time is relative in the Parable, after all. Then of course there’s the fact you rarely sleep, since you don’t need to, so you get a lot more time than most proper humans would, since the usual human circadian rhythm makes them lose at least eight hours in a day. That’s fifty-six extra hours a week you have over most. Multiply by fifty-two, and then again by eight, and that’s not an insubstantial amount of time, I would say.”

That's fair. That's... shoot, Stanley isn't fantastic with numbers. That's... Fifty by fifty is twenty-five hundred, then six and and two is twelve—

“Twenty-three thousand, two hundred ninety-six hours. Divided by twenty-four, it's an additional 970.6 days, which means over two and a half additional years.”

Did he just pull up a calculator?

“Didn't.”

He totally did. Stanley heard the tapping of old clunky buttons.

There's a derisive sniff. “Yes, I suppose you would be the expert on buttons, and not maths.”

Also, is that two and a half years extra per year, or altogether?

“....I don't know.”

This is gonna give him a headache.

Quite without their meaning to, the both of them begin to chuckle at the same time. It's ridiculous, honestly. They're bickering over math, over time and takes and it's all just so ridiculous.

Eight years, give or take two or possibly twenty. That's how long it's been since Stanley started wandering these halls with little more than a voice for a companion. That's... that's a lot of time together. It's a lot of time for things to change. He kind of likes how things have changed.

And, as the fellow said before, time is relative here. They can and have experienced things on a different scale from how an experience would play out in the real world. Their own individual experiences are different even from each other's, with lost time, pauses between death sequences, loading screens—it's all subjective. Guess Einstein was on to something there. Bet he never imagined it in this kind of context, though.

Still. It's a long time with one other person. The universe spins on, and they have each other.

There's the tapping of keys again, a little soft muttering. He smiles.

He's double-checking the numbers, isn't he?

“No! No, I'm not, thank you!” The defensive tone in the Narrator's words confirm that yes, he is. It's made further obvious by the following deflection. “Now, that's enough of a break, let's get back to work. And no giggling this time, Stanley!”

He clears his throat, and the lights dim on the set. Stanley settles back in the metal chair with a grin, arms crossed.

“What does it mean to be a video game developer?” The voice begins. “It means lying, boldly and brazenly to your audience; promising them release dates that are wildly outside the realm of reality...”

-

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

Why is he still pressing it? Why can't he stop? Why is Stanley shaking, fingers pressing down on the plastic again and again?

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

When did the Narrator make this? When did he—and why is it here, with the rest of the discarded buttons? Why would he go through the effort to make something, just to leave it behind?

The button doesn't answer him. He presses it, and presses it, and it says his name until the word loses all meaning.

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

-

Every time you restart the game, we’ll advance the number of the sequel by 1, and then we’ll pick a new subtitle. That way, The Stanley Parable will never end! And nothing in the game itself will change when you do this, either. Adding more content sounds like work, no need to do that. It’ll just be the same content, recycled again and again and again, with a new title screen! What do you say? Should we go forward with this plan? I like it, but I want you to have a say as well. [Let’s do it]     [Don’t do it]

He stares at the dark screen, but he doesn't really see it.

Stanley feels cored out. There's an emptiness in him that he can't truly comprehend. It hurts, he thinks, but he feels it in a detached sort of way.

The Narrator is gone. Stanley is alone. Yet, even now, he faces choices that are designed around traps for one or both of them. How is that fair?

How is it fair to ask him if he wants to go back to the office, to go back to companionship, when the companion in question has apparently abandoned him? How is it fair to ask him if he wants to drag that person back into hell, when they've supposedly freed themselves from it after years?

-

“How they wish to destroy one another. How they wish to control one another.

How they both wish to be free.”

-

He doesn't want to be alone, in this wasteland. He knows in the end what he's going to choose, and he hates that he does.

He's selfish. He's so, so selfish. His loneliness is more important than the Narrator's happiness, that's what this decision says. It says that he would rather force them both to live through the Parable, again and again, forever, than have the Narrator leave him.

And then, here's the kicker! Is this even Stanley's own choice? Is he coming to the conclusion himself, or is there another force at play, a Player, influencing his decision? He can't know! He only ever knows the Player's presence in the godforsaken Real-Person ending, they only ever fully yank the control from him there. Can he even trust his own mind?

Does... Does it matter?

[Let’s do it]

-

Stanley is not a good person.

-

So. As I said before, reader. Stanley's emotions are a complicated tangle of hurt, anger, despair, and uncertainty. It's almost impossible to tell where to begin when it comes to unraveling it all.

Still, one must do one's best.

-

For as long as the Parable has existed, it has spun around conflict. Taijitu, or yin-yang, is a circle made up of two teardrops, one black and one white, circling each other endlessly. A wheel that turns forever. Opposing forces that will never overtake the other. Always equal, always opposite.

But you recall this, don't you? This isn't new information. We've been here before.

Stanley and the Narrator are equal and opposing forces, circling each other. Stanley makes a choice, and the Narrator responds. Stanley moves forward, and the Narrator tries to pull him back. A battle for control—one only ever responds to the other. Neither of them can claim to want this, but if they didn't want different things, then there would be no game to play.

Time and again, the Parable tests the bond that has been crafted through time and care. Memories are taken. Time is stretched thin as it can go, like a rubber band. Stanley makes a choice, and it brings the Narrator joy or suffering. If he stops, the Narrator will be at peace, but then there will be silence, and silence cannot be tolerated. Silence is the equivalent of inaction.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, this is a game about control, and the lack of it. If you could find happiness through a single choice, but it would bring another person pain, would you do it?

How they both wish to be free.

-

But these two have turned a battle into a dance. There will always be a drop of yin in the teardrop half of yang, and vice-versa.

So how do they fight back? How do they choose to progress, when the wheel turns ever back? Or are they doomed to repeat the cycle forever?

-

When Stanley has had enough of his pacing, when the silence has become too oppressive for him to take, he turns on his heel and sharply faces the open door.

Well? Nothing to say? Nothing at all?

“Well,” comes the bitter retort, slower than expected, “I would ask what you expect this tantrum of yours to accomplish, but that isn't exactly the most constructive comment, is it?”

A hiss escapes through Stanley's bared teeth. That's it?

“What do you want from me?!”

It's desperate. It's hurt. It's confused.

“What have I done, Stanley? I can't make sense of you right now, your mind isn't making any sense!”

Of course he doesn't remember. Of course it's Stanley's job to be the one who remembers, who chooses, who deals with the consequences of both their actions. That's how it's always been, that's—

“Stanley, I know our situation has never been balanced fairly in your favor, but I—“

Stanley storms out of his office and kicks his chair out of the way. He grabs a cardboard filing box off the floor and lifts it over his head before flinging it hard. It hits the cubicle wall by the copy machine and the lid flies off, papers scattering across the floor and box bouncing off the top of the copy machine to fall harmlessly to the floor.

“What has gotten into you?!”

Stanley snarls again, at the open air, the ceiling, wherever he thinks the Narrator might be perceiving him. Never been balanced fairly?! Understatement of the millennia! Speaking of millennia, did the Narrator enjoy his little vacay away from Stanley? Was it fun, “thinking for himself”? Leaving Stanley in the sand with the rest of his discarded little game, his figurines and buttons?

“I—“

Did he come up with new stories? New protagonists? Was he stronger? Was he happier without him?

Did Stanley drag him back to hell?

The silence this time feels distinctly more shocked and hurt. Stanley lets out another noise, pacing across the carpet and then turning to door 429. He lifts his fist and slams hard on it, face twisted up into an amalgamate of pain and anger. He beats his fist on the door again, desperate and despairing.

Say something! Say anything! Fight him! Argue with him! Be angry! Be angry that Stanley was so selfish, that Stanley decided to get revenge for being abandoned, please just—

“I'm sorry.”

He flinches.

“I don't—I don't know what I did, but I think it must have been something terrible. I just can't stop, can I? Even when I'm trying to, to be careful, I can't stop being cruel to you. You're angry with me, I can see that, and you don't—you don't like to be angry, so I—“

The voice trembles. It sounds on the verge of tears. Stanley hits the door again, because it hurts to hear, and that's not fair.

Damn him. Damn his own empathy.

“I'm sorry,” it says again. “Whatever I did, I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you somehow. Do, do you want more endings? I'll make new endings, I'll find a way. I'll find more for you to do, I'll come up with something, please just let me fix it. I'm sorry I don't remember, but I'll fix it.”

Stanley screams hoarsely again. His legs give out and he drops, leaning against the bottom of the door with his fist pressed to it. His chest heaves, shaking sobs that wrack his frame, though there's barely any tears. It's just so hard to breathe.

Stop, stop. Stop. Stop apologizing. Stanley is the one in the wrong here. Stanley turned the wheel back. Stanley tore him from his happy ending.

Didn't he?

“I didn't go anywhere,” the voice responds, distraught. “I never left.”

Then what was that?

“I don't know,” it pleads. “Even if I could go, I wouldn't. I wouldn't leave you behind, you're my best friend. I thought you knew that, Stanley.”

He thought he did, too. But then the voice had called him a fiction again, something dreamed up for companionship, and had decided it didn't need him anymore.

The Narrator is quiet at this, and then he says, very carefully and in a voice terribly controlled, “I only ever thought that when you were frozen with the Skip button.”

-

The Narrator waited, but he was not stagnant. At some point, while Stanley was in a small concrete room, lit with only the glow of a yellow button on a pedestal, the Narrator decided to pass the time by making something new. Surely, when all this was over, when they were back in the office, they would put this behind them and pass the time as before.

For all that the new content for Ultra Deluxe had been a disappointment, hidden in the download were folders and folders of unused assets. It seemed that the developers had had countless ideas, and yet had done little to expand on those ideas, choosing instead to box them away. Well, the Narrator would show them what new content was supposed to look like! Who cared about Ultra Deluxe? No, he would really knock the reviewers' socks off. He was going to make a sequel! Stanley would love it!

When he came back.

If he came back.

No, of course he would come back!

And so time passed, and that was fine. More time meant a chance to perfect his work, to work out his new features and to even perhaps address some of the complaints people had had about the original game. And more time passed and he thought he might make a button that says the name of the player, wouldn't that be rewarding and engaging? Stanley would love that! A button of his own to say his name, wouldn't that just be delightful?

And Stanley stared unseeing at the Skip button, and the Narrator thought to himself, perhaps not. Perhaps Stanley wouldn't care at all.

But that was fine, because there were plenty of new features for him to explore! He'd love the Bucket, surely. All the silly secret Easter eggs, the little references to lore that went nowhere, he'd get a kick out of it for sure! And the figurines! There wouldn't be anything special about them, of course, but the fact they were Stanley! His silly face! Oh, the Narrator would be so excited to see Stanley get them all, and of course Stanley would, because he would do everything. He would find every single one.

And, and the Narrator was so excited for that! Maybe he didn't know how Stanley would react, maybe Stanley would think it all silly, but the sheer fact he would find each one, it would delight the voice to no end. It would say “you found one of them! One of the figurines!”

It would be so much fun! Wouldn't it, Stanley?

Stanley?

Ah. Still frozen. Of course. Not a problem. The Narrator would be here when he got back. The sequel would be here. The figurines would be here.

He would just get everything ready in the meantime.

Wouldn't it be wonderful, when Stanley was here, and able to play? There would be so much for him to explore! He would love the Bucket and finding its secrets, and oh, the figurines! He'd find them all, surely he must. And the Narrator would say “you found one of them!”

And one of them would be by the red and blue doors, and Stanley would probably get that one last, but there was no guarantee, he did like to keep the fellow on his toes, but when he did collect the last one, the Narrator would say “and now the first number equals the last number!” And it would be so exciting! Even though there was nothing special about them, just the experience itself, doing something for the sake of it, was so special, and he'd think about it always.

-

“It was such a wonderful fantasy. And so in his head he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end. That he might always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path, mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.”

-

And the Narrator would say, “yes, another Stanlurine under your belt!”

-

“But there is no answer. How could there possibly be? In reality, all he's doing is pushing the same buttons he always has. Nothing has changed. The longer he spends here, the more invested he gets, the more he forgets which life is the real one.”

-

And the Narrator would say, “I haven't stopped thinking about them since you nabbed every last one.”

And the Narrator would say, “science tells us that it's impossible to forget your third time doing anything.”

And the Narrator would say, “No, no I'm not ready to move on! Stop the loading screen!”

-

“And I'm trying to tell him this. That in this world he can never be anything but an observer. That as long as he remains here, he's slowly killing himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't stop.”

-

And the Narrator would say, “We'll do the Memory Zone again from the opposite direction! See how that feels!”

And the Narrator would say, “I want to keep going! What else is there? What came before this?”

And the Narrator would say, “And before everything else, there was your office.”

And he would pause, and then wonder aloud, to nobody in particular, because nobody would be there, “Was there anything else?”

There must have been. He was sure of it. He was sure there was something, or perhaps someone. But that couldn't have been right, you see, because if there was someone, then he wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't be talking to himself, someone would be listening to him. Someone would hear him. That's what—that's what Stanley was for!

But Stanley wasn't doing that. Stanley had not done that for a long time. Had he imagined Stanley? He must have. He imagined many things, after all. Yes, he must have made Stanley up, to listen to him, to have a companion. It's terribly lonely, after all, being a voice without an ear.

Maybe he should move on. Try something else. Maybe that would be for the best. But—oh, but Stanley made him so terribly happy. Just like those wonderful figurines. He loved to think about Stanley's adventures, he loved telling his story so much. Just like the figurines, he'd have to indulge himself.

Just one more time.

-

Just one more time.

-

Just one more time.

-

“It was such a wonderful fantasy. And so in his head he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end. That he might always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path, mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.”

-

And the end was never the end. Was never the end. Was never the end.

-

Can you see? Can you see how much they need one another?

-

“I'm sorry, Stanley,” the Narrator says again, sorrowful. “When the game reset, everything was saved. The sequel content, but also the things I found myself saying during the interim. It's all here, somewhere. It's all my fault.”

So he never left?

“Never.”

And Stanley hadn't dragged him from his happy ending?

“No.”

He slumps further against the door. A hand absently lifts and scrubs at his face. So he's just stupid.

“No, I don't think so,” the fellow says generously. “I think you're hurting, understandably so. I think the Parable seeks out ways for us to try to make the other miserable, so that we will keep trying to control each other. You know the song and dance.”

Where it cannot find conflict, it will manifest it.

“Yes. We've been here before, haven't we?”

They have.

-

I asked you, before, how they overcome it. I told you they'd made a battle into a dance instead. How do they do it? How do they choose to progress when the wheel turns ever back?

But you already know the answer. You've already seen it. Don't you remember?

We've been here before.

-

“Stanley, I'm not going to hurt you.”

-

He didn’t want Stanley to be scared of him.

-

“Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

-

[ New path, new story. Just me and Stanley. ]

-

If Stanley gave him context, he could get to the memory himself?

-

“I—I can’t recall if I’ve said it before, how grateful I am to you, Stanley.”

-

This time, by the time the hold music has kicked on, Stanley is on the floor, laughing so hard his sides hurt.

-

[ Don't ever. Call yourself DADDY. Again. ]

-

Did he just pull up a calculator?

-

He’s listening. He’s listening, and listening, letting his friend know that they exist, together, the space between them closing again, and for as long as he can he won’t let the narrator be alone in the void.

-

The unwavering strength in his voice feels like an untapped well of passion. Like he’s working to fuel them both through this damnable path, letting Stanley know that yes, yes, they are moving towards something, he has not abandoned him.

-

“Please listen. This is important to me, alright? It’s not your fault.”

-

Stanley's fist has loosened and relaxed against the door. Now it rests there, gently curled, as he thinks.

They have been here a long time, in this game, and he is tired.

So now what?

“Well, now I think I'll close the figurines exhibit, so something like this doesn't happen again.”

The Narrator's voice is rather cool and detached. It lacks distress. It's professional. Words stated in the same way as a script, memorized by heart. Stanley doesn't like it.

He presses his hand flat to the door and rests his temple against it. It's cool against his face.

And after that?

“That's up to you, isn't it?”

Quite without meaning to, Stanley flinches again. The Narrator nearly speaks, before he cuts himself off, seeming to think better of it.

It's hard on the spirit, to be the one who has to make choices. Thinking of what they might mean, what the consequences could mean for others. Certainly, there's power in making decisions, but with that power comes the burden of responsibility. Include the added ordeal of being the one who remembers every consequence, every outcome, and one is left with the distinct feeling that they are being punished. There is no winning here. There is no gaining the upper hand.

He is so tired of making choices.

“Then, perhaps I could convince you to listen to me, and follow direction, for a few minutes.”

Something prickles in the back of Stanley's head in old familiar irritability. He doesn't want to do the story. He doesn't think he can get up.

“I didn't say anything about doing the story, now, did I, Stanley? Close your eyes.”

An innocent enough direction. He obeys, adjusting his position against the door to lean his back against it, hands in his lap.

“Good. Very good, Stanley.”

Still all professionalism. Still lacking familiarity, or anything more than casual approval.

“Now. Take a deep breath. Good. Now let it out, slowly. There you are. Again.”

His breathing steadies and his heart slows. Tiredness gives way to calm.

“Excellent. Now. I'm going to speak, and you're going to listen. That's it. No choices, no paths. Just my voice, and your ear.”

That's not a game.

“No, it isn't. It's a story, and you're my audience. Now. Quiet your mind, there's a good lad.

This is a story about my very good friend Stanley.”

-

“Stanley's had a rough go of it in his life. He likes simple things, like pushing buttons, and drinking coffee completely black. This isn't to say Stanley is a simple-minded fellow, oh no, not at all. In fact, Stanley is one of the most intelligent and compassionate people I know.

The problem is that, for all that Stanley prefers simplicity, he's been put into an impossible position. He's a protagonist of a story.

Now, everyone knows that the best stories aren't the ones where things just happen to a protagonist, but instead the ones where the protagonist plays an active role in progressing the plot. Making choices that result in changing the direction of a story, towards its climax and resolution. It's all well and good that Hansel and Gretel have been left in the middle of the forest, but they choose to be clever and leave a trail of pebbles behind them, before being forced to resort to breadcrumbs—and then of course the choice to use breadcrumbs changes the trajectory of their tale.

The truth is that being a protagonist is anything but simple. Quite without his permission, Stanley has become inundated with responsibility. It isn't an easy life, and it can quite honestly be an unfair lot to give to the fellow.

But if you ask me, there's nobody better suited to the job.

Now, perhaps this is unfair of me to say. After all, I'm not the one who has to make the decisions. All I have to do is tell his story, as a passive observer. Look at him, look at how he struggles, doesn't this make for an incredible tale of overcoming odds? I of course will never have to shoulder the burden he does, so I can say what I please without any regard to his own well-being. Oh, don't give me that look, Stanley, you and I both know it's true. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if I were paid to do it.

Yet I've been watching Stanley for quite frankly a ridiculous amount of time, so long one might call me an absolute creep. It's true! And so I feel I am at liberty to say that, for all that it's an unfair position to be put in, and a terrible burden to carry, there's nobody who carries it like Stanley does.

You see, he makes every choice to the best of his ability. He thinks about its ramifications to the best of his knowledge, and does his best to consider what his decision might mean in the long run. Take this recent choice, for example. He's decided to listen to me, for a few minutes, even though it's in his very nature to take action and to disagree, because he knows that I asked him to. He's chosen to compromise, despite the fact I could press an advantage.

He's done so, because he knows in his heart and in his mind that I care about him. I want him to be happy. He knows, based off prior knowledge and based on his own gut feeling, that listening to me will make him feel better, because he matters to me.

And this is a simple choice, deceptively so, but in its simplicity it is a perfect example of what I'm trying to convey—

That Stanley does everything to the best of his ability, with all the care he can muster, and that no one could ever judge him poorly for doing the best he can.”

-

Stanley doesn't know when he started crying again, body wracked with the force of it. It's quiet, at least. When the Narrator stops speaking, he still feels him all around, comfort on every side.

Does he mean it? Does he really—?

“Of course I mean it,” the voice huffs, faux offense warm in his ear. “Don't you know by now that I mean what I say? Don't you—“ it wavers a little, before pushing on, a touch shakier. “Don't you know how much you mean to me?”

He cries. The sigh is fond, and gentle.

“You're alright, darling. It's alright.”

-

Taijitu. Balance between black and white. The symbol didn't always have the two dots, you know. In the original concept, yin and yang symbolized stillness and activeness of all things in the universe, respectively. The substance of the universe moves as an active force, until it reaches its limit and becomes still; and yet even that stillness reaches a limit, and becomes active again. The dots, added during the Ming Dynasty, have since their inception been a portrayal of how one will always be the source of the other, and so both will always exist. There will always be an interconnected, interwoven, powerful bond between these two forces in flux.

Which doesn't mean much, to those of us who don't study Taoist philosophy or history. Most of us just appreciate the duality of opposites, who cannot help but have a grain of commonality. One does not and cannot overtake the other. Round and round they go, an endless chase.

Or, one might note, a dance between partners. Momentum carried through. Weight supported. Stepping in sync.

The wheel turns, as do the dancers. This is how they succeed. When one slips back, the other grabs them by the hand and guides them forward with the grace that's only gained through years of practice and familiarity. The wheel turns without catching, and neither are caught under its grind, because they're standing on its face, using it as the platform on which they perform only for each other.

-

Stanley dries his eyes and wipes his nose. He's sorry for causing such a mess.

“Please, I've seen you do worse and we both know it. Remember the time you threw every chair and box out the window to see if you could make a ladder back up into the office?”

He laughs weakly. Not one of his brightest moments, admittedly. The Narrator had threatened to navlock every last item in the office down if he tried it again, after.

“Which, of course, only motivated you to try again.”

Yeah. Because he's a bastard.

“That you are, Stanley.” The Narrator chuckles. “Now, up you get. Up, up!” he reinforces, while Stanley sluggishly gets to his feet. “I have a surprise for you!”

Oh boy. That can only be good, he's sure.

He's led through the office to the TSP 2 Expo sign, which has returned to take the place of door 416 for good, it seems. When the Narrator guides him through the display environment, he takes care not to rush Stanley, since the thin monitors and patterned carpet delight him more than he ever thought possible, but it's also clear the fellow is eager to get a move on, to show Stanley something he's sure will knock his socks off.

So when Stanley gets to the Jump circle, displaying twenty-one jumps left, he's distinctly unimpressed.

“Just trust me,” the Narrator says, with nothing but earnestness.

And so he does. He steps into the circle.

“Jump!”

With a barely-there smile, and a roll of his eyes, Stanley jumps.

And then the game resets.

THEENDISNEVERTHEENDISNEVERTHEENDISLOADING

Stanley blinks, looking at his computer monitor, then up. Uh... What?

“Stanley,” the voice says slyly, “when have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”

“Now. Jump.”

Stanley's eyes widen. He blinks.

And then he jumps.

He jumps again.

And again.

And then Stanley begins to laugh, utterly befuddled and delighted and surprised and joyful, and the Narrator begins to laugh as well, and the wheel spins on, and so do they.

[rosypenguins]

❤️Two Friends💚

*+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+

Synopsis: Liam and Henry’s reaction to Drew and Jake’s fight.

A/N: HOLY SHIT HENRY APPEARANCE FINALLY!! HE’S HERE!!! Anyways if you were wondering why Liam and Henry didn’t butt into the fight like Hailey did, this is why lol. (Also if Drew comes across super irrational in this… good.) (And no, he doesn’t have a concussion. Just to clarify.) (Also, did I have Liam call out every single fanfic and Gacha video I saw of the Dromies post-Drakeup where Drew cries in the bathrooms? Maybe. Did I eat those videos up regardless? Absolutely.)

Contains Swearing, Mentions of Violence

*+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+

Liam bit the inside of his cheek as he opened his locker, dumping his folders in his backpack. His eyes glanced in the direction where Drew usually stood, but the magenta-haired man was gone once again.

He must’ve gone home early again… How long’s he planning on keeping this up?

His eyes turned their focus to Henry, only to find him staring blankly at the metal doors, fingers twisting his lock absent-mindedly.

He tilted his head slightly when he noticed Liam staring, and the taller man was quick to avert his gaze.

“Liam? You okay?” Henry asked, and Liam shook his head.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m fine.” He replied, earning a small pout from the shorter man. His eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to say something, only for a pair of students to rush past them. Liam’s eyes followed the two down the hallway, before exchanging a glance with the green-haired boy beside him.

What do you think that’s about? Liam wondered, and Henry, somehow reading his mind, shrugged.

“You wanna go check it out?” Henry suggested, and Liam nodded, following the shorter man down the hallway.

And it didn’t take long for Liam to faintly catch the sounds of shouting and chanting. Rounding the corner, he noticed a large crowd of students had gathered around, with several phones held high in the air, all focused on whatever was in the center of the misshapen circle. Liam’s eyes widened.

“I think it’s a fight, dude!” He exclaimed, and Henry’s face practically lit up with excitement.

“No way!” He shouted, and without hesitation, he bolted towards the crowd. Liam was quick to follow, pulling his phone from his pocket to hopefully get a video of it for himself.

But just as he was about to press record, his eyes caught a glimpse of the two students in the center of the chaos.

And his phone nearly slipped from his grasp as he watched a familiar head of magenta hair get slammed to the ground.

His eyes darted to Henry, and watched as his once-excited expression crumbled. His breath hitched, eyes blown wide he took a step back.

Then, something in his expression changed. His eyebrows twitched, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

And Liam had known Henry long enough to realize what he was about to do.

Just as Henry’s foot left the floor, Liam slid his arms beneath his, holding him back from breaking through the crowd. Henry let out a grunt, struggling against Liam’s grasp.

“Let go of me!” He shouted, but Liam refused, tightening his hold as if his life depended on it.

“I’m not letting you run in there!!”

“I have to do something!!” Henry cried, his voice cracking on his words.

“You’re only gonna get yourself hurt, Henry!” Liam shouted, only for the sound of a whistle to pierce his ears.

Henry flinched at the noise, his hands instinctively covering his ears as Liam turned his head to see a couple security guards had finally showed up. He took a step back as they forced their way past, breaking through the crowd and pulling Jake and Drew off of each other.

Liam’s hold loosened on Henry, only to hear a sob escape from the shorter boy’s lips.

Immediately, Liam released his hold on him, and Henry was quick to hide his face in his hands.

And despite Drew’s screams flooding the hallway, Liam knew he had to get Henry out of there. Carefully, he took Henry’s arm into his hand, leading him away from the crowd. He had to find somewhere quiet. Somewhere secluded, where no one hanging behind after school could bother them.

“Uhm… not the bathroom, that’s too cliche…” He mumbled to himself, before eventually settling on the space underneath the staircase. Slowly, Liam let go of Henry’s arm, and Henry lowered his hands to reveal his now tear-stained face.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, using his sleeves to wipe them away. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Liam whispered, bringing his hands up to cup Henry’s face. Henry didn’t hesitate to lean into his touch, his eyes closing as Liam wiped away his remaining tears.

“I… I just don’t know how it all came to this… everything happened so fast.” Henry admitted, his voice trembling.

“I know.”

“How did-? Why were they..?”

“I don’t know.”

“This all has to be a misunderstanding, right? He- Jake hasn’t… secretly hated us this whole time, right? You don’t think he started it, do you?” Henry opened his eyes to look at him, and Liam could feel tears forming in the corners of his own. He placed a hand on the back of Henry’s head, pulling him closer as he hid his face in the shorter boy’s hair.

“I don’t know…” He could feel Henry shake his head.

“I’m not gonna accept this! There has to be a way to fix this! To fix us!

“…We’ll figure out something.” Liam whispered, his voice muffled by Henry’s hair. His grip tightened, trying to convince himself he was telling the truth. “I’ll try talking to Drew tonight.”

“Liam..?” Henry’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Liam waited a moment for him to say something, only for him to shake his head. “Thanks.”

*+*+*

After missing the bus, walking Henry home, being scolded by his mom and being given about double the chores because of it, Liam was finally able to return to his room. He threw himself into his old desk chair, spinning around as he opened Drew’s contact.

“I swear to God you better not play this ghosting shit with me again.” He mumbled to himself, pressing the call button and holding the phone to his ear.

He used his foot to spin himself around again as he listened to the phone ring, holding his breath as he waited for Drew to pick up.

But the call went to voicemail just a few moments later.

Liam sighed, hitting the call button again.

And the second voicemail message came much quicker. Drew must’ve declined this time.

Okay, third time’s the charm.

Another voicemail.

…Fourth time.

…

The ringing stopped rather abruptly, and a familiar voice rang through the phone.

“What do-”

“Okay, what the actual fuck happened just now?” Liam shouted, earning a tired groan from Drew. “Why the hell did you get into a fight?”

“Maybe you’d know if you were actually there.” Drew replied bitterly.

“Don’t give me that, Drew.” Liam’s voice cracked as he spoke. “I’m not in the mood to be joking right now.”

“It’s not a joke!” Drew suddenly snapped, and Liam’s eyes widened. “That freak had been there by his side! Where the hell were you?!”

“I was comforting Henry, dammit! He was crying because of all this shit!” Liam suddenly shouted, and Drew paused for a moment.

“…Henry was crying?” He asked.

“Yes! You think we like seeing you and Jake like-”Drew huffed out a laugh.

“Oh, of course, it’s always about Henry.” He muttered. “Henry always has to take priority, doesn’t he?” Liam paused for a moment, then blinked.

“…Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious! Because I’m getting real sick of this little game you’ve been playing! How you’ll pretend to care about me, and pretend like you don’t have any other motives, only to leave me the moment I actually need you!”

“Drew, are you hearing yourself?” Liam exclaimed. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Cut the act, Liam! You know exactly what I’m talking about! I know that Henry will always mean more to you than I ever will, so stop pretending you care about me when you’ll always choose him first!”

Liam could barely make sense of Drew’s words. How hard did he hit his head?!

“What do you want me to do?! You want me to just leave him like that?!” Liam shouted. “And why are you acting like I can’t have two friends, anyway?!”

“Because you don’t! Friends aren’t supposed to lie about fact their girlfriend’s cheating on them!”

Why’s he bringing this up now all of a sudden?! I thought he understood…

“Drew, I told you what she said she’d-”

“I don’t care what she said! I don’t want to hear it!” Drew was practically screaming now, his audio cutting in and out. “Just stop pretending like you care about me like you do him! Don’t-” Drew’s breath hitched, his words trailing off.

“Is that really what you think of me.?” Drew didn’t respond, and Liam swallowed. “Drew, I do-”

The phone beeped.

…

“Drew?” Liam asked, and he pulled the phone away from his ear to see Drew had hung up the call.

His eyes fixated on Drew’s contact, his grip tightening.

“Ugh, fuck!” He shouted to himself. “The hell is his problem?!”

Liam pressed his face into his palm, letting out a loud groan before calling up Henry. At least Henry would respond pretty quickly.

“So… how did it go?” Henry asked once he’d answered, and the sound of his voice alone was enough to help Liam calm down a little.

“…Not great.” Liam admitted. “He thinks we hate him now for some reason.”

“Why would he think we-”

“I don’t know?” Liam admitted, letting out a groan as he rested his head on his desk. “God, this whole thing’s really fucked him up…”

“Yeah…” The two were silent for a moment, and Liam lifted his head. “So… you never figured out why..?” Henry trailed off, but Liam knew exactly what he was going to say.

“No, I didn’t. He just yelled at me the whole time.” He explained. “God! He such-”

“An ass?” Henry guessed, taking the words right from Liam’s mouth.

“Yeah.”

“But you’re still worried about him?” Liam found himself nodding.

“Yeah. It’s like… trying to stick a nail in a steel wall or something.” Henry chuckled.

“Where’d you get that metaphor from?” Liam shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just came up with it.” He sighed.

“It’s like… I want to help him, but he’s such a dick sometimes!” Liam sighed. “And sometimes it’s even harder to want to help him. I don’t understand why he keeps getting mad at us over everything!”

“Yeah.”

“Like, why won’t he just let us help him?! It’s not that hard, is it?”

Liam sighed again, leaning back in his chair.

“Want to join me in Minecraft while we talk about this?” Henry offered, and Liam felt a small smile tug at his lips.

“Only if I can put my bed next to yours.”

[dwritesit]

easier

Summary: Dewdrop feels like he is too hard to love. They love him anyways.

Tags: raindrop of course, polyghouls, hurt/comfort, self-esteem issues, implied sexual content

Inspired by The Death of Peace of Mind by kroas_adtam because the "I would have been easier to love as a water-ghoul" line literally haunts me. also i wrote this a while ago but i forgot to post it here

Read here on AO3, or under the cut!

Dewdrop has a thought - one that crosses his mind with frustrating recurrence. He tries not to entertain it, tries not to let it sink in too deep, or let the words build too heavy, but he feels it. It kicks at the back of his mind like Mountain’s foot on the drum pedal when he bites out harsh words at Cumulus who just wanted to make sure he was okay. It twists its way into his chest, thick and suffocating, when Rain’s arm is draped over his waist in the silence of his room, hot puffs of even air fanning across his cheeks. The thought pounds at his stomach like Aether’s fists on his door, begging Dew to let him in, please let me in. The thought whispers it too, lacking the plead in Aether’s voice, it demands Let Me In. 

And Dewdrop fights it. He shoves it back with a snap of quick wit when Swiss suggests he might need something soft to hold when he fucks him hard and deep, offering Dewdrop’s hand a gentle squeeze where they’re intertwined against the sheets. It punches the desire out of his gut and makes his lip curl up in disgust just before telling Swiss there’s something else you can squeeze instead. That quiets the voice, the thought, for a moment when Swiss’ large, warm hand rests against his throat. Though it pipes up again when he can feel his own pulse on the multi-ghoul’s finger tips, reminding him that his life rests in the mercy of Swiss’ careful compress. Let me in.

He ignores it again. He passes it back and forth on his knees and ankles like a hacky-sack when it threatens him. He forces his eyes open wider, willing his mind to zero back in on Aurora’s ramblings while she paints his nails. She paints them black without asking, because she knows him a bit too well, settling a bit too comfortably into Dew’s life considering how long she’d been on earth. His hand twitches in her soft grasp, itching to rip away and cut like a knife. So, he does. But it’s less of a knife and more of a worn out wooden spoon, frayed around the edges, as an excuse leaves his lips. He tries to smile through the ache in his chest when she gives him a concerned frown, and he despises the way his eyes sting as he forces out, I’m okay, just tired , before patting her head as he scoots off the stool to leave. He feels her eyes on the back of his head as he walks away. LET ME IN , the voice screams when he twists his face and refuses to cry.

And then when he’s there in his own room - not Rain’s where he fell asleep tangled up most nights, not Mountain’s soft, plush nest that never failed to make him drowsy, or Phantom’s exciting chamber filled with trinkets to occupy his mind - his room, it could sneak up on him. His room was clean, partially from his need for space to concentrate, not allowing clutter to fill his mind or his surroundings, and another in part because he really did not spend much time in it since the change. Scorch marks stained the furniture and the walls, black and smokey, that never seemed to go away no matter how he scrubbed at them (Copia offered to buy him paints to cover them, and to help him too, but Dewdrop had slammed the door shut on his Papa and curled up in the corner to stare at the marks instead). They were reminders now. Reminders of who he is, and who he will never be. He avoided his room until he couldn't anymore. Until the feelings welled up and he had nowhere else to hide. And that is where the voice would start to win.

You would have been easier to love if…

If you were soft.

If you were kind.

If you were quieter.

Calmer.

Brighter.

More thoughtful.

More giving.

If you were more and if you were less.

You would have been easier to love as a water ghoul.

The words spill over and down Dewdrop’s cheeks, wracking his body with sobs when he curls up with his back against the wall and his knees pulled to his chest. 

You do not deserve them . His pack. He does not deserve them after what he did. 

Once he was all sparkling blue skin and dark sleek hair, perky and cute and all of the things that the others cherished and desired. He still had his spark, his quick tongue, but he had smiled more - let his lovers hold him and mold him until he fit right into their mouths and bodies. He laughed loud and often, wearing his emotions like bold flowering tattoos on his skin, never letting them doubt for one moment that he loved them all. He kissed Mountain’s cheek in the morning before they sank into their routine of making breakfast together, humming as they knocked into each other with quiet giggles, and letting his stomach swoop when the earth ghoul hugged him close to his body against the counter. Now, their mornings were quieter. It was still always the two of them up before the others, dipping into a silent rhythm of making coffee and pancakes. Mountain tried humming, tried nudging at Dew with his feet, tossing him soft, sympathetic smiles that made bile rise in Dew’s throat. He watched that smile fall, fall, and fall again until Mountain did not try anymore. A sick part of Dew reveled in it, that he had shaken off the softness, like he had proved that he was not as good as Mountain claimed he was. Another smaller, muffled part of him was begging him to give in, to let Mountain wash his gentle hands over his small waist and rock back and forth in the kitchen until the pancakes were burnt on the bottom and the coffee went cold. 

You do not deserve to give in , the voice reminded him. He was not their water-ghoul anymore. He was not their sweet, loving Dewdrop. He didn’t even deserve the name, Dewdrop. 

Another sob coursed through his frame, his whole body shaking with it until it burst from his mouth all strangled and wet. He felt stupid, he felt pathetic, by letting the voice speak to him and etch its way onto his skin. 

You are not soft enough.

You are not pretty enough.

You are not smart enough, or strong enough.

You are not good enough for them. 

It choked him, clamping down on his chest and throat like he was being crushed by the depth of the sea. He lifted his hands and dug into his hair, pulling at it to feel the sting where the fibers latched onto his scalp. The cries kept coming until he was gasping and he wished so badly that he was good enough for one of his mates, all of his mates, that he could reach out and ask them to hold him, soothe him , like a young kit until he could catch his breath and snuggle into their warmth. 

He imagined how they might kiss his forehead and wipe away his tears with the pads of their thumbs, and it ached . He let his mind reach out for the ache, let it burn through his chest and bubble up his throat to turn into more cries and whimpers that tumbled out and echoed off his stupid, burnt walls. He thought about how they might say his name. Like they used to. Soft and kind, Dewdrop. Water lily. Droplet. 

Dewdrop.

Dewdrop.

"Dewdrop."

"Dewdrop!"

Dew’s head shot up, heart pounding in his chest. He felt the color drain from his body, heat replaced by chill like he was a prey who had been caught. 

"Dew, please open the door." It was Rain. 

Dew couldn’t stop the next cry that left his lips, crying for his mate. His chest kept aching, his breaths getting faster. He wished he could stand and open the door but his body was frozen on the hardwood, clutching at his head and the space above his heart. 

"Baby, please." 

Too sweet, too soft, you do not deserve this.

When he did not respond again, he heard mumbling and the rustling of keys. His heart thumped heavily. A key slid into the lock with a sleek slide, Rain rushing out a quick warning that he was coming in before turning it all the way because he was ever the gentleman even like this. Even to Dewdrop. 

Dew turned his head when the door opened, trying to fold in on himself, wishing he could flip inside out so no one could see the blotchiness of his cheeks or the way his hands shook when he moved his hair to cover his face. 

"Let me go in first," Rain said to someone behind him before Dewdrop heard the door click shut once more and soft, bare footsteps followed by the drag of a tail padded over to where he sat. 

And then there were arms around him. 

And Dewdrop cried again, harder and louder if it were even possible. Rain’s arms were sturdy where they slowly turned Dew into his body, scooping him up until he was folded around the fire ghoul's shaking form. 

"It’s okay, baby." Rain said, using the petname he reserved only for Dewdrop and only in times like these. The voice laughed, poking at Dew with a hot iron, he wouldn't hold you like this if he had known you before. If he knew how much colder you are as a fire-ghoul, if he knew how much dimmer, and saltier, and weaker you are now. 

A soft hand pulled at his mind as it laid on his cheek. He hiccupped, hating the way he leaned into Rain's touch. He took in a shaky breath, eyes beginning to stare out into the expanse as the storming sea of emotions pulled him under, trying to drown him. It was peaceful, like acceptance. That he was in fact,

Weak.

Ugly.

Wrong.

"Where are you?" Rain said, his voice the softest, most pleading whisper. To Dewdrop, it felt like a hand grasping his where he reached up towards the surface, where the light shone through the water. It threatened to pull him out into the open air and subject him to the ache and the waves again. He wanted to thrash against it, tear his hand from Rain’s strong grip and keep sinking, but Rain was strong and Dew wanted to dive into his embrace.

Rain leaned his forehead against Dewdrop’s, their horns clacking together as he pressed firmly. His tail intertwined with Dew’s. Dew could feel his mate's distress and worry tugging at his heart, the beautiful and unfortunate part of being so tightly tied to one another. It wasn't pity Rain was feeling, It was empathy. And Dew didn't know what to do with it when it washed over him, but he knew he did not want Rain to be sad. Especially not for him, so he leaned into Rain, letting him hold him and mold him to his chest. He breathed in deep, familiar petrichor filling his senses, slowing his heart rate. He let that hand pull him up, up, up until he breached the surface.

He took another deep breath that shuddered through his small body. Rain ran his other hand that was not on his face over his spine in slow sweeping motions. A few remaining tears trickled over his hot cheeks, and this time Rain’s thumb was there to catch them. Dew leaned into him further. The sea was calm, the voice was quieter. 

“What happened?” Rain asked, leaning back enough to see Dew’s face, but never letting him go. 

Dewdrop struggled to raise his head, keeping his eyes fixated on Rain’s chest where one of his hands had clutched and dug in. The shirt was torn from his claws, and he had to resist another deprecating thought.

He hiccupped around his next breath of air, trying to get the words out, but they were lodged in his throat. The voice, while quieter, still called him an attention seeker, a waste of space, undeserving of Rain’s warm gaze. 

“I-” His voice was crackly and raw. Rain asked if he needed water and Dewdrop shook his head. He feared that if he didn’t let it out now, he might never have the strength again. “It’s hard,” he started. 

What’s hard? How do I explain this? How do I explain to you that sometimes when you look at me, when the others look at me like you love me, it feels like I’m dying.

“It’s hard to let you love me.” He said, quiet. Weak. “I don’t- I don’t deserve it.”

He waited for the sting. Something that would prove the voice and the thoughts right. Flashes of the anger haunted his memories, the stupid words he spat at Rain when he was first summoned, how he stormed out of every room the water ghoul entered, resisting his kindness at every turn and corner, and how Rain kept coming back no matter what - Dew could not handle that sort of love. He needed Rain to be mad at him too, to fight back, to finally say what he has been probably thinking all these years later; that Dew was and is too hard to love, and most certainly did not deserve it.

There was no sting though.

There was only Rain pulling Dew back into his chest, stronger and firmer than before. He tucked his head into the crook between Dew’s neck and shoulder, his breath whispering on his skin and making him shiver.

" You are everything to me." Rain said. He said it with power, with force, with a sort of roundness to it that had Dew pulling back and gently tilting Rain’s head back, finally looking at his face and finding his blue eyes glistening with tears. Shining with adoration. It brought wetness back to Dew’s on eyes, and he felt his lip quiver. 

"I love you, Dewdrop." Rain said, and again "You are everything. I know it's hard, I know. Let me do this- let us do this with you." 

Dew sniffled, "I don't know how."

"We will figure it out together. Oh," He brushed a strand of gold hair behind Dewdrop's ear, his lips upturned in a small smile, "You are pretty even when you cry, sweetheart." 

Dewdrop scoffed, but couldn't help his own smile. 

Rain’s hand rested on his cheek again, and this time Dew was unashamed in the way he soaked up his warmth, closing his eyes and kissing his palm.

"Will you let us in? Let us see you like this." Rain asked. Dew nodded into his hand, biting his lip. Rain pressed a lingering kiss to his head, his horns, his cheeks, to his nose and chin, and then to his lips. "Let us love you." 

"Okay."

[onelatenight-longago]

Stepping Into The (Spot) Light

Warnings/Tags: Fem!Reader, Depictions of Violence and Torture, semi-soft Buggy, he’s a danger but also a marshmallow of a man, life on the Big Top, becoming one of the crew, sexual tension and teasing, romance, finding freedom and found family, depictions of sex (this chapter only)

Description: Buggy plays the hero just the one time and now he’s a got a new crew member who will change everything for him.

A/N: Sorry if this smutty bit sucks, it's not super smutty. I always feel a titch weird writing sex scenes. There's no plot to this part so if you'd rather skip it, feel free to do so. :)

Chp. [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] - First Person Chp. [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] - Second Person (below)

It took you both far too long to get to the captain’s cabin. Buggy kissed you like he needed that far more than he needed to breathe air and every stairwell and corner wall along the way had become a stopping point, a reason for him to press you against him and drink you in. It was driving you wild. Finally, on the upper deck, you grumbled as his hands traveled up and down your body, detached from his arms, and you grabbed and dragged him by the lapels straight to his cabin door. 

Once in the cabin, Buggy took back the reins. He slammed the door behind him with his foot and lifted you off the ground only to roughly toss you on his bed. Between kisses and bites you tore both of your clothes off bit by bit, laughing when limbs would get stuck or you’d knock into each other. It was messy and uncoordinated but neither of you cared. 

Buggy pulled away from you and you couldn’t stop the whine that escaped you at the loss of contact. You were laid bare across his silk sheets as he promised and it felt divine. He looked down at you, equal parts hunger and something far deeper, something that words could not do justice. 

“I was promised ruin and begging.” You teased, knowing full well where it would get you. 

Buggy’s loud bark of laughter rang through the cabin and continued until he dove into the bed with you, his head landing between my thighs. You would have laughed with him had it not been for the half shout half moan that escaped from deep within you when his mouth made its way to your core. You fisted your hands into his hair, and you had only moments to enjoy its softness between your fingers before he drew another moan from you. You could feel the nerves between your legs fire as he continued his ministrations, a small tremor began in your legs and you felt the tug at your center. It wouldn’t be long before you were hurtling over that proverbial cliff into pure bliss. 

Buggy’s rough and calloused hands worked hard circles into your hips as he kneaded at your flesh, coaxing you into a small rhythmic grind that matched his own rhythm. Your breathing became labored and your whines and moans felt like a mile off from you as all you could hear was your own blood rushing through you. You wanted to grab and touch and pull but your hands were clenched tightly in his hair, trying not to pull or hurt him but your focus was stuck on the feeling of his tongue swirling around you. Each upstroke caused another tremor in your legs and each downstroke pulled you deeper and deeper into your bliss. 

It was the scrape of his teeth, gentle and barely there on that small spot that drew the scream from your lips. He gently sucked and kissed as you essentially rode his face through your pleasure. Your heart was pounding and you felt as though you could cry, your whole body shook with your heavy breathing and you wanted to squeeze your thighs tight but you were impeded by the head still firmly planted between them. All you could do was throw your head back into the sheets and arch your back, chasing the pleasure that coursed through you. 

Finally, as you came back down Buggy slowly crawled up over you. His hands still wandered across your body kneading each muscle, loosening it and warming your skin with his touch. 

“Thoroughly ruined.” Buggy whispered huskily, before capturing your lips with his. you could taste yourself on him but couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. He seemed to be enjoying the raw pleasure he was causing in you. 

“Please, please….” Your voice was barely a whisper as you pleaded for more. You grasped at his back and his shoulders and tried to pull him into you. You were already pressed together but it wasn’t enough. Finally in control of your legs again, you shifted below him and wrapped your thighs around his hips, pressing up into him.

“And begging.” Buggy laughed, gently pushing into you. The moan caught in your throat as you threw your head back once more. His lips trailed down your neck leaving kisses and bites in their wake from just beneath your ear all the way down to your collarbone. He was gentle at first, his rhythm achingly slow, his own moans muffled by the endless stream of kisses, but you needed more. You wanted him to come undone just as you had. 

As the smile formed on your lips, you began pushing back into him. Causing him to land deeper and harder into you. You felt his body tense on top of yours. You felt his thoughts grind to a screeching halt as something far more primal took over. 

Buggy pulled your arms from around him then grabbed you by the wrists. He detached his hand from its wrist and pulled your arms above your head, pressing your crossed wrists into the bed. Then he pressed into the bed on either side of you and changed his pace to something far more rough and faster and deeper and you were lost in it. 

“Let me hear you little dove.” Buggy roughly moaned into your ear as he leaned down and bit at your neck once more. 

You followed his encouragement until your cries and moans filled the gaps between his own grunts of pleasure. You could feel yourself reach that peak again, and you were ready to dive headfirst over that cliff once more. You pushed back with each thrust in and it made his hips snap back just that much harder, it was driving you wild. 

Finally, your pleasure crescendoed and the only thing you could do was shout Buggy’s name. This was clearly the correct thing to do as his pace only slightly faltered before picking back up becoming quicker and more erratic. You were bordering on oversensitive but you could tell Buggy was getting closer to his own orgasm. 

“Fuck little dove.” Buggy whined into your ear as he fell on top of you letting go of your wrists. you wrapped yourself around him, encouraging him as his hips continued snapping into you. As he poured himself into you, you stroked his hair and kissed at all the bits of skin you could get your lips on. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before he pulled himself away from you, your sweat now cooling against your skin. He rolled off you with a grunt and laid beside you. Gently, his hand found its way onto your own and out let your fingers entwine. The moment becoming far more vulnerable than you thought it would be. 

Buggy turned onto his side facing you and pulled you into him so your back became pressed against his chest. He stroked gently at your hair and placed kisses on top of your head. 

“Stay.” Buggy said gently, as though anything above a whisper would spook you. 

You laughed gently and could feel him tense against you in confusion. “As if you could get rid of me now.” You laughed gently before wiggling backwards into him and settling yourself into the soft and warm sheets. 

Slowly sleep took you, your heart content knowing that he wanted you there to hold onto while he slept as well.