#I should be used to loneliness by now its like a second skin

[malka-lisitsa]

[heartfullofleeches]

Distribute the weight

Yan Vampire + Tall/Werewolf Reader

Your adoring spouse keeps you on their arm at all times - not matter what others say.

[slightly suggestive]

"Aw, poor Pup broke their paw?~... Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm all alone too..."

Irony riddles your scar. Slim, horizontal lines riming the ball of your ankle. A silver bear trap - buried under leaves and twigs, and the cruz pivoting your life on its head. The trap had been set in a part of the forest you had never crossed before, burrowed away on the hunting grounds of a terror fiercer than the hunter after your head. Hell, maybe the bastard set it in that exact location at that exact time in hopes of killing two birds with one stone. In a turn of events shocking you both, the vampire who found you took you into their arms and home: dispatching the hunter stalking you as you recovered in their bed. Loneliness is what saved you that evening - as if you really believed that.

Truth be told, your caretaker was only nursing you back to health to have a fresh supply of blood for guests, but just like the hunter their plans changed the longer you were by their side. Your leg had been completely shattered - amputation likely if they hadn't arrived when they did. Weight too much for one leg to carry; you depended on them to get you from place to place while you healed. From an outside perspective it was like a lion asking aid of their own prey, but their stature was no factor to their strength.

Close to your midsection in height and, your caretaker was able to pick you up in one arm with ease. You were like an oversized stuffed animal they won an the fair and served a similar duty in their bed. They thought about skinning you and using your coat instead, but your warmth came from somewhere deeper than your fur. A confession your third week in and you became lovers. Devoted to you as they were towards their original cause, your spouse would do anything for you.

"Please put me down now..."

Except for that.

You see, old habits die hard when they lead to finding your true love. Years after your leg had healed and your spouse still carried you on their arm wherever they may go. Whether a stoll through the garden or in conversation with another, you were nowhere to be found but in their hold. An extension of themselves they could not part from - you gave up bringing them to reason long ago. The issue still remaining was when you were in the presence of others. The size of the crowd or importance of the person did not matter. In their arms is where you where meant to be and where you reside for as long as they function.

Huddled on a couch in the center of the venue, your spouse is beckoned into conversation by another across the room. An annual meet in their court which you had attended before, but this face was new. Passing their drink off to you and hooking an arm beneath your thighs, your spouse begins to rise when you stop them with a single hand to their chest.

"Maybe I should sit this one out. I'm not sure about that look in their eye..."

Your spouse looks taken aback as if you've just made I'll of their entire bloodline. "Nonsense! Who knows how long this cretin wishes to converse with me? I maybe be able to weasel my way out eventually, but I'm certain to die before then if you are not at my reach. Come now, we mustn't keep our new friend waiting."

Your spouse pats the meat of your thigh, shoving their glass into your hand as they adjust you upon their shoulder as they stand. Your unoccupied arm instinctively shoots around their neck for support as they lock your legs beneath their bicep. You can see upon the second floor from the boost - all those watching and whispering from the shadows. Balancing you on one arm, they traverse the yard; experience in their skill appointed by the point of their heels sharper than the snap of their fangs. Spine straightened and head held high, they join the stranger in the far corner of the room with polite greeting. You focus more on keeping their cup from spilling and staining your fur - again.

Rocking on their heels, your spouse bows their head to the other vamp - hands clearly to preoccupied for a handshake. "Good evening. I trust all is well on your part?"

"Evening...." Their eyes drift towards you, darting back to your spouse as you fume from the concentration. Your spouse rubs your knee, whispering something about knowing just how to get the blood out. "I'm fairing well... why do you ask?"

"I just happened to notice you staring down my mate all night and was curious since you seem to be making them uncomfortable..." Their smile falters, annoyance punctuated by the huff they make as they look up at you. "Ugh, these lights are damn near as bright as day. Darling, could you be a dear a give me a drink?"

Reaching to their jaw, you rest the rim of the glass against their plump lips as their head falls back - flow regulated by the claws at their throat. With their hands at your sides it was not uncommon for you to feed them food and drink, a pleasure your spouse abused plenty.

"Maybe you should keep your mutt at home if I'm bothering them."

Blood plenishes the glass as your spouse chokes on their spit. You ease the glass from their lips as they lower you to the floor, wiping the dribbles of red with the curve of their claws protruding from the cloth of their gloves. Tongue rolling over their fangs, but they bark a laugh as their eyes squint.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you properly."

The other vampire steps forward, sizing them up. Even amongst their own kin, your spouse was smaller than norm. "You really don't know what the others say about you - do you? Carrying around that mutt at all hours like you own the place - it's disrespectful."

"Mm.... Darling, could you hand me that glass, please?" Passing it off, your spouse mouths a thank you as they take it from you and stands between you and your aggressor. Swirling the dark liquid around the edge, they down the drink in one good - pausing briefly to savor the taste before smashing the glass on the floor. As shard disburse at their feet, your spouse checks their nails seeing as this bother wasn't worth their time as they expect.

"Kneel."

A snarl emits from the vampire throat as their hands aim for your spouse's collar. "You may have been here first, but that gives you no reason to order me around."

Your spouse chuckles through the strain around their neck. "My friend, I don't think you understand. See, when my love and I became one, we received a little gift from the little hunter aiming to take us both as prize. A fool that one, but power seems common in the hands of idiots nowadays."

Gaze falling to their chest; if their blood grew any colder it would still in their chest. Pointed at their heart, betwixt the thin layer of skin encasing their ribs - a dagger aims for the kill from the sleeve of your spouse's robes. A lazy, toothy grin meets their face as terror marks their opponent's.

"You wouldn't..."

"Oh, but I would." Twisting the handle, their voice drops as first blood falls. "You wouldn't be the first."

The frightened party looks towards you for mercy. You avoid their silent plea, eyes on your partner alone. Couldn't stop them even if you wanted. Defeated, the vampire drops to one knee, wincing as the broken glass embeds into their knee. Your spouse jabs at their side to get them down on the other, slashing their abdomen in accident they don't seem to care much for. Torment and pain unbound, the worse of it comes with their next order.

"Lick up what's left if you value your tongue."

Their panic is thee most delicious thing your spouse has drank up all night. They look beyond you for help, but they're all but ignored and those who pay mine only snicker or shake their head out of pity. The threat of a foot to the back of their skull gets them moving along just fine. By the time their tongue sweeps the first heap of glass your spouse had already lost interest - concern overtaken their glee as you glance off to nowhere.

"Dearest, what troubles you?"

"They're right, you know?... My leg has been healed for years and I don't need you to carry me around anymore. I'm too big for it anyway.."

"That so?... Forgive me for being selfish, but it isn't all about you anymore, my love. You do have a point with one thing, though."

"What?"

Taking your hand, your spouse pushes you against the wall. Never has the venue's drap wallpaper looked more investing than when wrapped against your fur as they pin you in place. Guiding your legs up and around their torso, they center majority of your weight on their pelvis as their head falls to your sternum and their hands to your waist.

"There's too much of you for these feeble arms of mine to hold. I need a better way to distribute the weight or else I may not be able to carry you as you deserve. At my hip is a far better place for you. Makes sense, considering you're always in my lap when we're at home." Your spouse readjusts their hold on you as one of your legs slides down their back, hips ground against your loins as they lock their hand beneath the seat of your rear. Your thighs cage them like two trunks of wood supported by a twig. One squeeze and you could easily snap their spine just as easy and maybe that's what brought such a vibrant flutter to their heart as their cheek pads your chest. Pulling you down a bit further, they nip at your collarbone as their hands rake up the shorts you wore. In the corner of the room guised by the bustling chatter and music around you, none are the wiser as your clothing dips off your hip - your spouse's robes hiding the slip of their hand between your legs.

"Looks like there are more benefits to this position than I thought. I do believe I can stand here all night with you, my love... If you can keep quiet."

[fallenwhumpee]

Promise

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Masterlist •

Warnings: Medieval settings, blood, battlefield, dissociation.

"We are not taking that mission!" Healer shouted to Leader, their head stretched back to stare at Leader. "We don't take missions in villages. And this won't be an exception."

"Like it or not," Leader towered over them, putting a hand to their chest to stop them from getting closer. "We don't have any choice in that. We can't abandon our lands to the enemy. We will fight."

Leader watched as the anger got more intense in Healer's eyes.

"You will send us to slaughter! You know we don't do well in the missions involving civilians. The team..."

"No one will visit you after this." Leader cut sharply. "I promise. I won't let my team pull their usual stunts."

"You can't just stop them from taking a blow for some random stranger."

"Have more faith in me. When did I get us into something we can't handle?" Leader tried again. They needed Healer to see their point.

Healer looked at them for one more moment before sighing and averting their eyes. "But I'm not patching anyone after this."

"That's the spirit. Now pack up. We're leaving with the lunch."

Healer nodded, leaving Leader alone. Leader made their way to their room in the guild's barracks. They closed the door behind them slowly, letting their shoulders drop.

"I don't know what should I do," they admitted to the haunting heaviness hovering over them. A moment later, the familiar bone deep feeling of loneliness washed over them, and they had to lean on their desk to stay standing as their strength drained from their body for a moment.

"I can't  keep going on like this." They muttered to themselves  after it. This was getting beyond their control.

Stopping their thoughts to save their sanity, straightening their stance slowly. They walked over their wardrobe and pulled out a large shield, their sword and armour. They couldn't help but stare at them for a moment before starting to get dressed. The armour over their skin was the only thing that made them feel secure in those days. The only thing they felt like they belonged to.

Not their team.

Despite loving them dearly - and being loved back - Leader was not a part of the team. They were the sword and the shield between them and the enemy, but not a part of it. It was just according to the regulations. Leader couldn't afford to be among the people they were sworn to protect. It never ended well.

Slowly pulling the straps and locking the metal pieces into each other, Leader abandoned thinking altogether. A moment of peace was needed, and they found it relaxing just to do something and not think. They only left their helmet out, putting their long sword to its sheath on their back, placing the very large shield over it. Making sure it's secure, they packed two set of clothes and some water. They were ready to depart.

But their eyes lingered in the big room, checking it for a last time. Their bed was tidy, so the other... They averted their eyes. They forgot nothing. There was no need to torment themselves more.

Stepping out of the suffocating room, Leader felt heaviness linger over them for one more second, but they smiled when they saw their team and ignored the feeling.

"We are ready to depart." Right Hand walked a step forward. "Briefed about the mission. The place looks good for defence. I don't understand why they need reinforcements there."

"They need replacements. And I've heard it's nearing the end. The enemy is giving up. Just need some more pushing."

Leader walked past the team after glancing at everyone, the smile on their face not faltering despite the emptiness pulling their mouth down. They got into their house with one move, the shield messing with their balance a little. It was vast, even for Leader. They had never understood how...

No. Leader wasn't hoping to think about them. Leader had to keep their head there and then. They simply turned to the horizon and rode the horse.

"The battle will be already going on when we arrive," Leader said after they covered a significant distance. "I want you to stay close and work as one unit. You will just hold the defence until another order, either from the general leading the battle or from me. I need you to fight as long as you can, in the other words, do not try something idiotic because none of you will be useful if you're dead."

That gained some chuckles but also nods. Good. Leader needed them to stay alive and well. They made a promise, after all.

The rest of the ride was silent on Leader's part, listening to their comrades and keeping an eye on everything. They only slowed down once they reached the narrow gate, the last lights of sun already departed, leaving them in dark. The battle sounds began to give Leader goosebumps. They felt their heartbeat match with the distant clatter of metal and shouts, their hand instinctively reaching their sword.

The team hid the horses, getting ready to dive into the battle. Without a word, Leader drew their sword, the weight of it familiar in their grip. They blew out a breath and scanned the scene before them. Their focus shifted to their team.

"Stay close," they felt the need to warn.

Without further orders, the team advanced. The disgusting smell of blood-soaked soil once again filled their lungs, the ground beneath them shook. There was nothing, nothing that could distract them from doing what was right. They would not attack, never attack, but they also wouldn't hold back their sword raised to protect.

When Leader's blade met the enemy's for the first time, their focus was absolute, every movement precise and calculated. The clash of metal, the cries of the soldiers, and the roar of battle filled the air, a chaotic symphony that set their heart racing. They moved with a single-minded purpose, their sword an extension of their will, their body.

When their body caught up with their mind, they shifted their focus. Their limbs moved with the will to survive, while they could finally take off their mind from... all of that.

Their eyes found their team, which was holding themselves very well without any help. But Leader could see the telltale signs. Very few civilians were left on battlefield, but their team was already making a safe circle for them, but not as careful as Leader would like.

Still, Leader trusted their team. They trusted and went on, avenging their sword with swift motions. Their one eye was still on their team, and they could see the enemy finding more and more openings.

It was the last straw when they saw Teammate nearly dropped their sword under pressure.

"I hate doing your job," they muttered to the air, taking out their shield. They gripped the shield tightly, their focus shifting entirely to the task at hand. With practised precision, they positioned themselves between their team and the enemy, using the shield to deflect blows and create openings for counterattacks.

Blow after blow made Leader falter, their arms getting heavier from carrying the large shield with one and their heavy sword with the other. Still, they kept their footing as the shield absorbed blow after blow.

When the shield was slammed to their chest by another shield, Leader's breath were knocked out of their lungs, a crack sound lost in the loud clash of two sturdy metal. Leader gasped and relieved the pressure by stepping aside, the motion causing them to lose balance but gain some space. They swung their sword, managing to get under the armour of the enemy general— but also being the victim of the same move.

Their shoulder was stinging, the pain sharp and fresh and distracting, but Leader knew they couldn't afford that. They lunged forward, ignoring the strain they put to their shoulder as the pain only became another chaos in the background.

If it was in more friendlier terms, Leader could enjoy the fight with someone even to their strength, but on the battlefield, it only meant danger. A threat to get rid of. As Leader's sword clashed against their opponent's, their focus narrowed. They couldn't afford to be distracted against such opponent. With swift and calculated movements, they parried and struck, each blow getting harder to maintain.

Despite the burning pain in their shoulder, Leader pressed on, their movements fueled by adrenaline and the instinct to survive. With a final, decisive strike, they brought down their opponent, the clash of metal not banging in their ears for the first time as their sword cut the flesh.

With a weary sigh, Leader glanced around at the scene of the battlefield. The enemy forces were retreating, and the villagers were slowly emerging from their hiding places, cautiously reclaiming their homes. Their team, though battered and worn, stood strong beside Leader, thankfully without any injuries. Years of practised efficiency guiding them, they set up a small camp for their remaining, prioritizing the healing tents and such before finally setting up one for themselves.

Leader slid in without being noticed, a small basin of hot water on their hands. They didn't want to join the celebration outside when they felt so dirty after the battle, and they didn't have the strength to do so. Placing the basin next to their makeshift bed, they took of their armour, pain throbbing with their every move. They ripped the thicker set clothes they brought with them, soaking them with hot water and slowly but tightly wrapping their shoulder. They then wore the other set, hiding the handmade bandages. They didn't look terrible, at least.

Taking the remaining fabric, Leader begun cleaning their armour, the simple and repetitive motion calming their breaths and relaxing their muscles. While tending to their armor for what felt like an eternity, Leader's thoughts were empty, as if the cloth and water could wash away all of their problems. They set aside the cloth foe a moment before they took the shield, the metal gleaming faintly in the dim light of the small gas lamp, the blood over it turning to a dark coloir. They sighed heavily, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling.

They could wash their armour, their sword sloppily, but they could never think of doing that to the shield. Not their shield, the shield, that once belonged to Leader's dear friend, Caretaker. Leader smiled at the imaginary of Caretaker freaking over the possibility of their shield getting Rusty, but Leader's smile soon turned bitter. Caretaker would be freaking out, only if they had been alive...

Just as they were about to pick the cloth again, a voice broke through the silence of the tent.

"Leader?"

Leader glanced up to see Healer standing at the entrance, their expression a mix of concern and hesitation.

"Yes?" Leader replied, their voice as flat as ever.

Healer stepped inside, their eyes scanning Leader's weary form. "I... I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have questioned your judgment earlier. I understand now that you were doing what you thought was best for everyone, and I should've teusted you not to pick up a mission that may compromise the team. You were right on your promise. No one from our team visited me tonight."

Leader stated Healer for a moment, progressing the words. "It's alright," they assured. "I'm just glad that this ended well."

Healer nodded, smiling with relief. "I also wanted to invite you to join the celebrations outside. The villagers are grateful for our help, and they want to thank us."

Leader shook their head slowly. "I appreciate the invitation, but I think I'll pass.."

Healer's expression fell slightly, but they nodded understandingly. "I... Okay... Just know that you're always welcome if you change your mind."

"Thank you," Leader smiled softly. I'll keep that in mind."

With a final nod, Healer left the tent, leaving Leader alone with their thoughts once again. With not much left to do, Leader cleaned the shield while listening yo the celebrations and ignoring their thought before curling up into their bed, the lively chatter outside serving as the lullaby to defend Leader's mind feom nightmarish memories.

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 PAVIA - General Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons and analysis on Pavia as a character and other related things.

the post about Pavia's love languages and how he shows his affection got a lot of love, so I'm doing a lil more thinking into his character to rlly flesh out how I see and write him before getting to write the second part of that post <3

just a heads up, its preeeetty fucking long. but all of my posts tend to be lmfao

On the subject of Pavia, loneliness and trauma.

In this post talked about the concept of showing affection (not exclusively romantic but just in general) and the relationship Pavia has with his reputation, both as a lone wolf and a skilled mercenary, which affect the way he interacts with those he might deem close for better and for worse. So it's only fair that I do that again in a more general context.

Let's get this out of the way. One cannot talk about Pavia without mentioning or alluding to his solitary lifestyle in some way or another, we've all read his 02 Story, but to only read him as someone who fakes this aura of confidence and who feels deeply insecure and lonely 24/7 is an obvious disservice to his character.

Pavia is defined by a strong sense of self which, yes, originates from isolation and neglect. And you may read this as an active choice for survival, a coping and defense mechanism or the natural progress of someone who has had no one to rely on but themself - all of these readings are valid and can easily coexist! But I would like to insist that Pavia as we know him is confident and comfortable in his own skin, happy to live as an outlier to conventional norms and behaviour.

And that's because he's weaponized loneliness into a strength and a shield. He's outgrown that small, neglected child in the basement.

Hell, in his interview with Pandora Wilson, he mentions the fun of "causing pain" onto others, in the context of his presence being used as a "punishment" for others. He's surrounded by people he considers stupid, and he has fun at their expense when they try to bring him into their shenanigans. Pavia is a confident asshole, it is not a façade for a sad boy.

One quote in particular comes to mind when discussing this aspect of Pavia.

Go back to Rome, where the wolves were born. Said my former boss. He knew I was born in Rome, but didn't know I was raised in Piemonte. He was such a fool, even tried to kill me. So I only kept his tie clip. I didn't tell him that as long as the night will come, everywhere I live is Piemonte.

This line in particular, from my reading on it, speaks volumes about how Pavia has reclaimed the night - alluding to the one place he was forced to live in for his entire childhood, a dark and isolated basement, the concept of loneliness itself - as something that defines him and should inspire fear into others. His wolves are made out of darkness, his Ultimate in-game shows him manifesting out of a dark fog on the ground. And the context of that quote is hostile, it's Pavia's former boss telling him to go back to Rome, and Pavia mentioning that no matter where he goes, as long as the night comes, he's home.

One could argue that the quote is meant to be read differently - instead of Pavia reclaiming something that hurt him to now empower him, he's haunted by it. No matter where he goes, he'll always be in Piemonte, in that dark and isolated basement, with no one to pull him out. And that's fair! To each their own, both are banger readings on that dialogue. I just personally think the former fits better with the character as a whole.

The former reading is also supported by his 02 Story, where he describes the wolves that his Arcanum abilities manifested as "friends he found in the darkness and would never leave him".

One wolf hid behind another, and the pack surrounded him in the darkness of the night. They held each other's heads and tails and coiled together like snakes, bringing with them warmth and restful sleep. These were the friends he found in the darkness, ones who would never abandon or leave him, and who would forever watch over him.

In his Cover profile, his Afflatus is also "Mourning of the Feral Pack [Beast] Night View".

And when you check Pavia's small description in the Role Garment menu, his main garment and the one unlocked at Insight II form the following phrase:

He's always alone, both in the basement and on the street. It doesn't matter now, though. He will never be "alone" from now on.

His Afflatus, his Arcanum abilities, every small detail - everything points towards Pavia owning the night and the darkness that used to hurt him so much as a child. Because it cannot hurt him now that he's made friends with it, in the form of shadow wolves who will never leave him. He's not stuck here with you, you're stuck him with him. (that Insight II quote will be relevant again later when I talk about the lack of? Humanity? so to speak? in Pavia's character)

But anyway! This doesn't mean that the discussion on Pavia and loneliness/isolation should stop there.

After all, his Afflatus also says "Mourning of the Feral Pack" - mourn what exactly? A lost childhood? The family he could've had if his mother hadn't been admitted to an asylum? The young and innocent child that died in that basement so that the current Pavia could exist?

Who knows! Talk about it, it's fun and I love to read other people's takes! <3

On the subject of trauma specifically, I do see Pavia as someone who lives in the present and doesn't think much about the past - he only mentions his parents once in a seemingly disinterested manner, stating that he never visited (and most likely will never visit) his mother. Piemonte is where his abusive aunt raised him, but he shows a certain pride in his city anyway.

It's not that he's overcome and healed from his trauma, it's that he doesn't even register the things that happened to him as traumatic experiences due to the distance and recontextualization of everything.

The fandom portrayal of Pavia as a deeply lonely person often comes hand in hand with him being touchstarved and the experience of feeling any semblance of genuine human connection for the very first time - but I would like to offer an alternative, explained in the next bullet point.

On the subject of Pavia, conventional society and his pack of wolves.

Pavia's official description, as seen in this tweet made by the official global account of the game, is the following:

An independent mercenary lacking in collaborative skills. Employers are content with his excellent abilities, but can't stand his work ethic of ignoring his coworkers.

This, along with his other quotes and the interview with UTTU, point towards how the world sees Pavia as a nuisance of sorts - a punishment, we know this - but it also points towards Pavia's rejection of conventional society.

The way Pavia behaves, the way he insists on maintaining the barrier between himself and conventional society, the pleasure he takes in making others suffer just by BEING THERE NEXT TO THEM, the stress he puts into being alone - it leads me to think that THIS is the result of his trauma.

It's not a deep seated loneliness, it's not yearning and secretly wishing for genuine connections, it's not a fear of the dark or enclosed spaces - it's an absolute and total rejection of the world that failed him.

Pavia cannot feel or grasp loneliness on the same level as other characters might because there is not a single person in this world he would rather spend his time with other than himself. The details of how he got out of the basement and began a life of crime haven't been revealed yet, so I won't theorize about it, but I like to think that everything that Pavia is and represents is one big "fuck you" to a world that left him to rot in that basement.

It all loops back to the previous point - by rejecting mankind and society as a whole, Pavia becomes the opposite: a beast who acts on his own accord rather than the rules that make up polite society. And in doing so, grows closer to himself and his pack. In doing so, he allows his humanity to slowly slip away.

The Insight II quote I mentioned before is a great example of this - the change in his sprites shows Pavia's eyes changing, now with black sclera and sharper teeth, darkness (and two of his wolves) surrounding him. He will never be "alone" from now on because he is now ONE of the pack, because this is where he belongs.

The medium for his Arcanum (not the "wand" used to cast spells and magic, those are different things from what I understand) is "Beast Teeth". Compare this with other characters: Zima's medium are poems, Dikke's medium is the law, Sonetto's medium is curiosity. An arcanist's medium seems to be a concept or object that represents who they are and what they believe in, something that is essential to their life and dear to their core. Pavia's is beast teeth. He's a beast Arcanist.

I like to think that Pavia based his behaviour, knowingly or not, on his pack of wolves. After all, he's the one who conjured them, it makes sense to me that he would subconsciously latch onto them. This would explain his more animalistic traits that show just how disconnected Pavia is from what a regular human being should be.

You guys freak me out when you sleep. What kind of people needs such a long sleep like that? Fall in a coma like a crispy critter, and wake up 8 hours later. …Only god knows how you can do that.

This dialogue implies that Pavia cannot wrap his head around a normal sleeping schedule - which is extremely ironic, considering that wolves sleep a LOT. But I'd attribute this more to the dissonance between him and conventional society than Pavia trying to larp as a wolf. We have to understand that he spent most of his days sleeping away the hunger, that he went on to reject the company of other people - it makes sense to me that he wasn't taught or didn't get to see how a normal person should behave in theory.

Despite this rejection, we can clearly see that Pavia enjoys a very hedonistic life - going on clubs, having a sweet tooth, wearing fancy clothes, shopping, films and whatnot (He's literally wearing Louboutins, guys. The soles of his shoes are RED). He plays the role of mercenary quite well, too. But it doesn't strike me as a writing inconsistency or hypocrisy from his part, Pavia is known for doing whatever he wants, one of his hand tattoos spells "LIBERTA" or freedom in italian, so this tracks. It's hard to be a hypocrite when your moral compass is all about being a wildcard.

I mentioned this in my first Pavia post, but the items attributed to him are all said to be cheap, fake or crudely hand-made.

His glasses are a copy of an actual Italian brand that no one would ever think of mistaking for the real thing, his bracelets and rings are dented and damaged, Pandora Wilson even goes as far as calling it junk. They even describe his earrings as rough workmanship. And yet, Pavia brags about his clothes and enjoys shopping. There's that small dissonance again - he enjoys bragging but does not know (or care) about the actual value or authenticity of his material possessions. (Pavia wears fake Louboutins, this is my headcanon, thanks for coming)

He plays the role of mercenary quite well, too. I'd also argue that the more violent aspects of his personality have to do with his line of work. This tweet confirms the majority of Pavia's tattoos and what they say - the one on his arm is "La Cosa Nuova", the sicilian mafia for those who didn't know. I won't go in-depth about the real life actions of such group, but it's clear that Pavia is or has been part of it within the world of Reverse: 1999.

Entering headcanon territory.

The two bullet points from before were mostly just analysis on how I read Pavia based on all evidence in-game, but now I get to talk about personal headcanons I have about him <3

I've explained pretty much everything I wanted to say about Pavia for now, so these are just gonna be rapid fire headcanons.

First of all, Pavia is a light sleeper.

The lightest sleeper you'll ever meet, even a soft whisper could wake him up - but this isn't because of some hidden fear of waking up back in his aunt's basement. Because he had nothing to focus on but the sounds within that basement, he greatly developed his hearing and his Insight II development further heightened his senses. Pavia is used to dark, silent spaces, so any unknown noise will put him on edge and wake him up. Sometimes, he pretends to sleep to get out of doing work.

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't move at ALL when sleeping and tends to stay in the same position throughout the night.

This is something he learned, rather than something that comes naturally, because he tends to sleep with the pack and there's little space to move without accidentally kicking Andrea or Leon in the face.

Next. Pavia doesn't know that he resembles his mother a lot.

As for his mother, there are two possibilities: One, she's truly dead and he doesn't know, based on his 02 Story where his aunt confirms that Pavia's mother died a few years later, as well as Pavia's dialogue in which he talks about his mother as if she were alive. Two, she was alive the whole time and Pavia found out years later that she was committed to an asylum and his dialogue about his parents is correct.

Regardless, I like to think that he never saw her again once he was taken into his aunt's care, and that she never told him that the reason she put him in that basement was because he looks so similar to her "deceased" sister. Since they weren't there to raise him and he didn't hear anything about them from his aunt, Pavia holds no resentment and no love towards his parents, because they're total strangers to him.

Next. His wolves' names are interchangeable.

Pavia cares for his pack, and the wolves care for him in return - they were created for that very reason after all. Their dynamic and relationship is a mystery to everyone and it's much too complex to even put into words, but because they're still magical constructs he creates, their behaviour and individuality relies heavily on Pavia's skills as an Arcanist.

There are days in which it's very easy to confuse them, and there are days when it's very obvious how to tell them apart. He's had years to perfect them, to "raise" them if you will.

While the pack might not be around 24/7, they're always in the back of his mind. He can also communicate with them because of it. They don't mind if Pavia confuses them, but if someone else does it? Prepare to get bitten to death, I guess!

[bropunzeling]

⭐star⭐ of any part of linger!!

oh god too much freedom; how do you feel about the brady/quinn relationship reveal? bc i'm gonna do the brady/quinn relationship reveal:

It’s not a great night. Matthew drinks one or two more beers than he should, enough that he’s itchy and heated long past the sun going down. He spends an hour or two swatting at mosquitoes and doing a bad job of ignoring his phone. [he is being such an awful person right now, and he knows it, and he can't stop himself. whomst among us? obvi the main reason is career stress, but i like it also as a subtle hint that heat is coming as well] What makes things worse is there’s seemingly no one to talk to. He’s too old for Taryn and her friends, who are preoccupied by classes and the upcoming field hockey season and incomprehensible friend group drama that Matthew would need a cast of characters to have a hope of figuring out. On the other hand, Brady and Quinn are lost in their own corner of the backyard, chairs angled towards each other as they talk in low voices. No point in trying to break into that conversation. [you can pry "loneliness while in the company of people who love you" as a motif out of my cold dead hands] Matthew barely makes it a few hours before giving up and going to bed.

To add insult to injury, he tosses and turns all night, head full of strange, feverish dreams. The creak of a bed. Low, gasping sounds he can barely hear. The brush of fingers along his spine. Lips pressed against his shoulder. [the way matthew's dreams played out over the course of the fic is one of those things that like, i did it twice and then i realized i was doing a motif lol. like, the way that the dreams are a space where he gets to want things that his conscious self won't allow him to, and how they're tied to his heats but he's not actually in heat at the time? so it's really a like, even when you aren't out of your mind, this is a thing that you want at least subconsciously. and i liked turning it on its head both in the next scene, where it's brady and quinn doing something matthew's so afraid of, and then of course at the end, where the dream leon isn't a dream at all. anyway. i love dreamscapes!]

“Do you want,” Leon says in the dream, almost a question. His eyes are wide and dark, his hair soft in Matthew’s hands. His mouth hovers over the curve of Matthew’s neck, breath hot and wet against Matthew’s skin. So close together that Matthew can’t breathe anything but Leon’s scent, heady and perfect. Matthew tilts his head back, eyes shut, and waits for the scrape of teeth. [it's not just that matthew's horny for leon - he's horny for leon in a specific way that he doesn't want to allow himself to want. he wants leon in the way that means he's falling right into stereotypes about how he as an omega should be, and that's why he finds it so dangerous, because what else does that mean about him? what else does that mean about how he relates to his dynamic?]

He blinks awake with his face pressed into the pillows. They smell like nothing at all.

-

Normally, Matthew isn’t the first to get up when he’s on vacation. But at 7:09, he has to accept that any chance of another hour of shitty, restless sleep is gone. [i love to make people have a horrible night's sleep. this is because i often have a horrible night's sleep. if i suffer so should my blorbos.] Might as well make some coffee about it.

He’s on his second cup of mediocre drip coffee, staring blankly at his phone as it stubbornly refuses to show him any new messages, [looking at this sentence is making me think about, how i use phones in fic??? v off topic lol but like, it's such a useful device. form of self-distraction. form of self-isolation. a thing you keep looking at because you're hoping someone will talk to you. it's especially useful in matthew/leon fic because like, it's one of the only methods for bridging distance. obvi here matthew is most potently wanting a message about his career (the apparent first priority) but later he's also going to be thinking about leon, too] when a clattering draws his attention.

“Oh shit,” Brady says softly, wincing as he picks up the empty seltzer cans he apparently knocked over and drops them by the overflowing recycling bin. [relatable, brady] All he has on is a ratty pair of basketball shorts, which was clearly the bare minimum to make himself presentable for coming downstairs. “I didn’t know you were up.”

Matthew shrugs and slurps his coffee. It doesn’t help the pounding in his temples. [poor matthew with his heat pms] “Yeah, well,” he says, shrugging. “Didn’t sleep great.”

Brady winces again, scratching at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Matthew says. It’s not like Brady’s responsible for his weird, hazy dreams, or the fact that once they were over he never really drifted off again. [i loved the set up/pay off of these two paragraphs. brady is saying he's sorry by rote/doesn't really think he's the cause, but also he is responsible, because matthew overheard him]

Brady nods, then goes for the cabinets, opening doors until he finds the mugs. He takes down two, pouring coffee into each of them and shoving the empty pot back into the coffeemaker. They’re gonna need some more. Matthew’s about to tell Brady to start brewing another pot when he’s distracted by the shadow of a bruise barely visible under Brady’s jaw. Not just a bruise. A hickey. [i think so far brady and quinn have been relatively careful (relatively) but the thing is, they're young and horny, and they've been talking about telling people, and that makes them be a little less cautious. like leaving marks!] One that Matthew doesn’t remember noticing yesterday. But when would Brady have had the time to—

Matthew shuts his mouth hard enough to accidentally bite his tongue and yelps.

“Dude,” Brady says, staring at him with wide-eyed concern. “Are you okay?”

Matthew blinks away the pain, jiggling his leg under the table until it eases. When it finally ebbs, he manages to gasp out, “Did you and Quinn hook up last night?” [god, this moment was so satisfying to get to. i knew from the start that they were gonna get together mid-fic, but i really wanted the whole brady/quinn relationship evolution to be one of those things where like, it just creeps in really slowly due to matthew's limited perspective. to that effect i was really careful to always make sure i was mentioning quinn in every brady scene, so like, the sense of linkage was there the whole time, but there's still that kind of wham moment when it all comes together. and i think it worked! or at least based on some initial reader comments it worked. hopefully it did :)]

Brady blanches. “What?”

“You have a,” Matthew says, reaching up and poking at the hinge of his jaw until Brady mirrors him. When Brady finds the bruise, his cheeks flush pink. “And—was that you that I heard last night?” The bed creaking, the low murmurs—those weren’t his dream. Those were real. Those were Brady and Quinn, holy shit. [subtle, boys! but again, really loved the like - reality influencing dreams aspect of this (and of course, leading to the payoff of the final dream sequence!)]

“I,” Brady stutters. His face is turning redder and redder. “We were trying to be quiet.”

“Well, you weren’t,” Matthew informs him. His own face is hot. God, how long has this been happening without him knowing? “Since when do you and Quinn hook up?”

“We’re not hooking up,” Brady blurts out. “We’re dating.” [like brady would EVER ~just hook up~, the romantic lil fuck]

Matthew blinks at him. “Dating.” [it's so so so telling that this is the thing matthew is getting stuck on :) hooking up would be understandable, because matthew has done similarly. dating, though,,,]

Brady nods, chin jutting out as he crosses his arms over his bare chest. “Yeah,” he says. “Since April.”

“Oh,” Matthew says. He can’t quite tell what he’s feeling. Relief that he hasn’t missed the obvious for too long. A strange, prickly hurt that it’s apparently been months and Brady hasn’t said a word. [obviously like, brady is gonna end up being mostly in the right in this fight, but every fight is better if both sides are a little bit right, and matthew's right to be hurt! this is a big secret to keep. i wanted matthew's bad reaction to come from an understandable place.] Even though Matthew’s his brother. Even though Matthew’s supposed to know everything Brady’s up to. “But you didn’t—have you told anyone else?”

Brady shakes his head. “Not yet. We were—it was just texting for a while, and phone calls, and stuff. We wanted to make sure we were—you know.” Brady’s as red as a lobster now. “When we were together.” [poor brady unable to think of, let alone say, that they were making sure they were sexually compatible lol]

“I get the picture,” Matthew says, saving Brady before he gets too embarrassed. “But like—you still could’ve said something,” he insists. His voice is strange and wavery and he hates it. [i feel like one of my matthew characterization touchstones is the idea of performance, outer self vs inner self, polished media self vs on the ice self vs self in company of those you trust. and especially in this fic, vulnerability is a big theme - matthew doesn't want to be looked at while he's in heat. matthew doesn't want to be perceived as soft or wanting or needy or upset. he has to be tough, he has to roll with the punches, he can't let other people in! even with the sex positions it comes up! (but if u want more discussion about that u gotta ask about that one :)) ANYWAY all this to say: he is upset here and he knows brady can tell and he hates it.]

Brady rubs his arms. “I wanted to be sure,” he says. “For us to be sure. And I—I don’t know, I wondered if you’d…”

“What?” Matthew asks, when Brady doesn’t keep talking. He would what?

Brady shrugs, an odd, stiff motion. “I dunno. Be weird.”

Matthew’s gut twists. “Why would I be weird?” he asks, voice coming out harder than he means it to. [ohhhhh buddy]

Brady gives another little shrug before looking at Matthew. His expression is familiar, the same pig-headed stubbornness Matthew’s known all his life, except for the flicker in his eyes, the way he licks his lips. [brady is extremely nervous to talk about this (for good reason)] “Well,” he says slowly. “Because I’m an alpha, and Quinn’s…”

“Yeah, I know Quinn’s a beta,” Matthew retorts. [he is trying to be soooo normal and chill about all these revelations and failing completely] He grabs his mug and takes a sip of coffee. Big mistake. The acidity makes his stomach churn even more. [i do love to make a stomach churn. lol. rip to those of us who want to throw up when we're nervous] “Why would I be weird about that?”

“I don’t know, because you’ve always been weird about that shit?” [it's always the people who know you best who can cut you down the fastest, isn't it. and brady basically has matthew's psychological profile memorized]

Matthew recoils, stung. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you fucking are,” Brady snaps back. Now his shoulders are set, feet planted far apart, ready to take up the whole kitchen. Matthew can catch Brady’s scent now, too, the sticky malt and yeast of a spilled beer that always grows stronger when he’s upset. [trying to come up with a scent profile for literally anyone other than leon (whose i knew at the outset) was like pulling teeth. for someone who does not think about smells at all, i sure picked a poor subject matter. anyway for brady i was like, wouldn't it be funny if he smelled kind of like a frat house when he's upset, and then i went for it. he smells much better when he's happy, more like fresh bread. also quinn's a beta so it doesn't matter in any case. it takes all sorts!] “You may act like dynamics don’t matter to you, like it’s all bullshit, but you’re the one who always thought that I—that every alpha wants to find a nice omega to court. That everyone wants a bond. That everyone wants to be traditional.” [i was musing on twitter the other day that i don't always write on a ~sentence~ level - when i'm writing, i'm really thinking about where i want the scene to go or what beat i want to hit and the particulars of any given sentence isn't that big a deal (though obviously i want things to have rhythm, flow, etc - it's a very "i know it when i write it" thing). that said, with every long fic i often have a dialogue exchange that i want to get in there that i've thought about a lot, and this was one of them. i knew i wanted someone calling matthew on his bullshit - how he acts like he's tough and somehow different from other omegas (which is very internalized something of him!) but he falls into the same traps that he's trying to avoid, stereotyping alphas the way he would hate to be stereotyped - and i knew it was gonna be brady.]

Matthew blinks at him, feeling oddly off-balance. He’s not used to this version of Brady, angry and bowling him over in a way that’s nothing like wrestling for an Xbox controller or blocking each other out playing basketball in the driveway. Saying that Matthew’s the one who cares too much, when it’s not even caring, not really. It’s just knowing how the world works. [i looooove this little beat, because he thinks that! he really does! despite all the evidence that brady and leon and johnny & sean and his own parents have provided to show that there's no one way to be with other people] “I don’t think—”

Brady cuts him off. “Yeah, you do. But you know what? I don’t want to have a bond by twenty-five. I don’t want to do any of that shit. It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“You sure about that?” [this is such a older sibling way to fuck up. as in i have done this myself in arguments with my younger sibling! there is no better way to piss them off than to doubt they know what they want.]

It’s the wrong thing to say. He knows as soon as the words leave his mouth. But there’s no chance of walking them back. Not when Brady’s lips are pressed together so hard they’ve gone white.

“I know what I want,” Brady says after a moment. His voice is choked up, and Matthew can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry or because he’s about to cry. Fuck, he hopes it’s not the latter, but he thinks that it is. [it is :(] “I’ve known for years. I’m not gonna change my mind.” [the brady/quinn backstory and specifically brady longing for quinn for literal years is some of my favorite shit to contemplate and work in, it was so nice and wholesome compared to rat boy's mess.. he was just a gangly little guy, getting used to a whole new world of smells and instincts, and here he is falling ass over teakettle for his best friend!]

“Brady—”

“I’m not,” Brady says, glaring back at Matthew. “Just because you want to be like Dad doesn’t mean I do.” [another line i always knew i wanted in here. matthew wants to be like his dad and can't. brady could be like his dad and doesn't want to. :)]

And with that, Brady grabs the coffee mugs and walks away.

“Brady,” Matthew says, standing halfway up, banging his thighs into the kitchen table. “Brady.” He doesn’t know what to say next, how to fix this, but it doesn’t matter. Brady’s already gone. [sorry to rat boy for making you fuck up so much. i will again.]

[haytham-loves-chocolate]

Enola Rossingol’s Journal Entry 8

Warning: a bit of foul language, mentions of blood, mentions of fighting

9th of July, 1755

Any way the wind blows

I cannot say what happened last night, but all seemed to turn on me in a flash. This aching feeling in my stomach, the loneliness I felt without someone beside me. Haytham insisted on camping elsewhere on his own, and it took all my mental strength not to show my true ways, but to reach out and touch his hand, begging him to stay. 

I feel blue, I see the blue sky above me. When it comes time to handle the situation, I slowly rise from where I slept, and I catch sight of a cloud slowly moving through the sky. Then, I felt the hand of someone familiar to me, with copper-like skin, the man I met with Ziio, Amias. 

“Your friend is already in the eyes of the enemy. The others have gone to help him.” His voice whispers to me, our faces close to each other, close enough to feel his breath close to mine. 

It would make any other lucky lady blush, but I am so focused on the mission I have to turn my head to look at the setting before me. 

All the beautiful trees, the beauty of nature. I wish I dared to leave. The bombardment, the sinking ships, the Natives that wish only for peace. I wish I dared to go. 

I turn my head back towards Amias, seeing his intriguing features in perfect detail. The light brown color of his eyes reminds me of chocolate, sweet like he was when we first met. The size of his nose is a cute tale to tell, with his high cheekbones giving much for his oval-shaped head. The nose, as I’m trying to explain to myself, may have been a bit crooked, but it is cutely small. From the side of his face, there is a small black line of warpaint, it looks a bit like eyeshadow. Or did he not get enough sleep last night? Whatever that case may be, I cannot help but describe his lips. Full, thick, glossy like lips. That chin, though, my god, diamonds could be his worst enemy if they ever touch that. He is of muscular build as I have said in my earlier entries, and hasn’t changed it since then.

A gunshot rings out from kilometers away, giving me the warning that I should make my way towards the others. Amias’s rough hands took mine before I could turn from him, and as I looked down at our hands, I saw he had taken the risk, to intertwine our fingers together. The blush on my face was apparent, even thinking about it now gives me goosebumps. It took a few seconds to think I should let go of his grip, which I proceeded to do. 

The first thing on my mind is running again, but I hesitate in which direction. From the corner of my eye, I see a gorgeous brown horse with a unique white spot around its left eye with other white spots close to the saddle. Without another word exchanged between us, I ran towards the horse. I quickly hopped up on the saddle and grabbed the reins. I use the heel of my boot to tap the flank of its body, and I get the reaction I wanted. The horse’s movements go from trotting to galloping, moving through the battle ensuing. 

I see Haytham’s redcoat outfit and know how he looks very well. The athletic build, the way the hat fits, and obviously, the red ribbon that flows with the wind to keep his hair tied together. I see that man on the ground; what was his name again? Ah yes, George Washington, that man. The Native woman, Ziio, has him down to the ground and her hand on a knife that she uses to best him. I dart my eyes over to the ensuing soldiers on the British side and the French side, shooting and stabbing each other with their bayonets. The other Natives try to help, but with what they have, it feels hopeless. 

I leave Haytham to finish his job, to assassinate the bastard bitch named Edward Braddock. I join Pitcairn, Hickey, Church, Lee, and Johnson in attacking the French, but I also attack some of the British soldiers who think it is right to attack me who is helping them. The practice helps, parrying, thrusting, and rolling over various people just to stab the person next to them. 

After a few more minutes of fighting, I glance up from the tops of my eyelids to see Haytham reunite with Ziio. From this moment, I noticed my vision turning black, but in a transparent way. It seems like time has stopped just for a moment as I look around to see the damage, the bodies, and my friends. Behind me, I see time play forward, showing me a British soldier with his gun out, his mouth open in a fit of rage, about to stab me with a bayonet. I snap my head back to where I was looking, at the two. Time seems to play normally, and I use this to my amusement. 

As I hear the soldier’s yells, I touch the tip of the bayonet with my bare hands, bending backward so the bayonet stabs another British soldier, and I do not hesitate in making the bayonet share its target. I bend the gun back as quickly as I move my hand close to the bottom of the musket rifle. I pull the trigger, making sure the target of the mini cannonball is his neck. It succeeds, and I quickly escape from the battle, securing my hiding spot behind some bushes as I take a closer look at where Haytham and Ziio are.

They seem to be in a short but deep conversation, and in Ziio’s hands is the amulet that was once around Haytham’s neck. I saw Ziio give the amulet back to him, and the amulet was back around his neck, which surprised me as I simply told the future out loud. 

I leave my hiding spot when I see Lee and the others getting closer to my location. My feet start to move in the direction of Haytham, being as quiet as I possibly can. But, I suddenly stop in my tracks as I see Haytham leaving with Ziio. I feel my heart crack open just a little more than it did last night, and I hate that feeling, the feeling of his leaving me. I feel my eyes dilate, I feel my pulse race. I feel… fear. This fear that he has left forever, that he is hers and I will never be in his line of thought, his line of sight. This jealousy will be the death and the beginning of me.

I feel the wind in my hair, I gaze out towards the blue sky, towards the tall forest of trees. I feel a couple of stares, while I feel the presence of Haytham and Ziio slipping away. 

I feel blue, oh so blue. I’m stuck back where I once was, following the Master like a small puppy, begging for attention. I am pleading for it again, and he’s abandoned me. He’s out of my league, yet I keep running to him. Love is a shit-mouthed whore.

Tonight, I go back to the aftermath of the battle, not caring I am the only one around. I sit under a willow tree, and I write to the Grand Master how many have died, I write to both the British and French soldiers of how many men they have lost. I write another letter to Amias, telling him of how many Natives became heroes, that this war will turn for the better. All I write is a total lie, but it makes me happy to know this will lift his spirits just a little.

The night sky casts an eerie light on the fallen, and I feel a sudden change of scenery. I will need to be prepared for what comes at me. 

[drakennies]

𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 (𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕟 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

Draken knows he’s selfish, knows that he should just let you go so you can find your perfect life without him weighing you down, but every time he thinks he’s ready to let you go he finds himself right back at your doorstep… and this time’s no different.

Ken Ryuguji (Draken) x Reader

angst, (slight) fluff, mention of death, spoilers, happy ending

The wind whipped past Draken’s hair, cruel and biting, as though punishing him for his words to you weeks earlier. It was all the more fitting that the tiny splatters of rain were drenching his body, soaking through the already threadbare layers of clothing covering his skin.  His bike roared to life, being pushed harder by its owner as he whipped his way through the streets of the city, lights melding together into one big blur. It wasn’t your fault, even he knew that, but he couldn’t help it when you stared up at him expectantly with those big, sparkling eyes of yours, looking up at him as though he was enough for you – as if he was the only thing you needed to live. It was just too much pressure, the weight of your expectations was too heavy, too crushing for him to ever think a wretched and selfish man like him could live up to them. Especially when he couldn’t even protect her. That girl from ten years ago, the one whose death weighed on him so heavily that sometimes he would wake up shaking and panting, having to spend hours being comforted in your arms before succumbing to a dreamless sleep again.

“Kenny, do you ever think about the future?” Your voice was as clear and bright as you were, gazing expectantly at him with all the love in the world. “like, whether we’ll have kids down the line, or if we’ll still all be hanging out with the gang?”

“…I guess I haven’t given it much thought,” he mutters, heart clenching at the way your smile falters for just one second, before another one replaces it. It was as though you knew you crossed the boundary, not wanting to push him away. He hated it. Hated disappointing you, hated being the one who made you plaster that heartbreakingly fake smile onto your face, hated upsetting you, and hated himself.

A beat of silence passed, then another, and you took a deep breath as though mustering up the courage to bring up what you wanted to say next.

“i guess i’m not being very fair to you, huh, Kenny… you probably don’t see us having much of a future.” And you knew it was a low-blow. You knew that Draken cared about you, that he’d do anything for you, but he would never say it. He’d be the first person rushing to you if you ever asked for help, if you ever even showed the slightest hint that you were uncomfortable, but when it came to feelings – he was the worst. That’s how you two ended up in this situation, this weird, confusing, heartbreaking not-so-much-of-a relationship where you were exclusive but never talked about your feelings. It was just known throughout the gang that you were Draken’s girl, but as soon as you brought up anything concrete he immediately retreated – just like he did now.

“th—that’s not…” he stammered, eyes shifting away from yours, feeling as though your trusting gaze was penetrating deep into the shadows of his heart, into the most honest and vulnerable parts of himself.

“it’s okay, kenny. You don’t need to apologize. I’ll always love you and care about you, but i know you don’t feel that way about me…” and despite the airy way you uttered those words, it felt like every fibre of your being was breaking in half, as though it was god’s cruelty that made you fall so hard for someone who would never see you the same way, who could never give you the family you so desperately wished for. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. I don’t think we should do this anymore… I’ll see you around, Kenny.”

And despite living through numerous devastating deaths, heartbreak, and shattering loneliness, Draken never felt worse than he did in the past few weeks. The moment between you two played on repeat in his head, over and over, until he couldn’t muster up the energy to try to distract himself anymore. Why didn’t he just respond truthfully? Why couldn’t he think of the words to say in that moment? You deserved better, he knew you did, you deserved the world but he was sure that he couldn’t be the one to give it to you. There’s no way in hell could he be that stable, loving husband he knew you wanted. No way in hell could he pick up a mini version of the two of you from daycare. He didn’t even grow up with a stable family himself. But damn, he couldn’t lie to himself, in the depths of his heart he wanted to try – he wanted to try for you.

“Emma… what should I do?’ he murmured into the rain, heart heavy as he debated what path he should take. Does he let you go to find your perfect, stable partner? So you can be happy and live the life you always wanted? Or does he indulge in his selfish desires, keeping you close to him, despite knowing that he may never be able to give you the perfect future you deserved to have?

“Ken, no matter what, I want you to always be happy, okay?” Emma’s melodic voice rang out as she wrapped her hand around the crook of his arm.

“w—what are you talking about, Emma? What is this, some sort of movie cliché? Are you dying or something?” Draken stuttered, eyebrows furrowed as he looked down at her small figure.

“I know you always put everyone else’s needs over your own… Mikey’s… mine… Tokyo Manji’s… but you deserve to be happy, and I hope you realize that.”

The stinging of tears prickled at the corner of his eyes as he remembered his first love’s words, her encouragement for him to live his life the way he wanted to, not for everyone else, but for himself. “Alright, Em, I guess I’ll try to be happy for once… don’t want you to kick my ass when i get up there, huh?” He muttered, dark eyes looking up to the sky as he wiped away at his tear-stained cheeks. That’s how he ended up at your door, twenty-minutes later, a slightly crushed and very drenched bouquet of roses in his hand and heart beating at nearly a thousand beats per minute.

Here goes nothing. Three. Two. One. And right as he was about to lift his hand up to knock against your door, you appeared, looking just as beautiful as he remembered, eyes widening with shock as you gazed up at him.

“k—kenny? What are you doing here? Wait, is that all you wore, it’s friggin’ pouring out tonight… come i--,” you gasped, immediately flinging the door open and ready to retreat into your apartment to look for a blanket. But before you could even turn away from him, you felt his large hand grasp at your wrist. Fingers stretched over your skin, so soft you could barely feel him.

It was like all time slowed down in that moment as your eyes met dark orbs, and then he reached out and pulled you in towards his chest, your cheek pressing up against his warmth. His hand clenched once, twice, as though his heart were debating against his mind once more, before pressing your body in even closer towards his, reveling in the way you felt against him.  it just felt right. You felt right. It was like he was home around you, and he knew it was a terrible way to feel when you’d be better off with someone else, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try – try to win back the most important person in his life.

Concern flooded through you at his actions. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” You murmured against his chest, straining your neck to look up at his face, but his large hand moved up against the back of your head and kept you firmly enveloped against his body.

“I do think about our future,” he whispered quietly, so quietly that if you weren’t pressed up against him you wouldn’t have heard him. “I think about it all the time, I think about the fucking rugrats we’d have, with your perfect eyes, and your perfect heart, and the way you just make everything better without even trying, and… I think about what I would do without you, and… I think about the perfect life you could have if my stubborn ass would just let you go… but I’m selfish, babe. Every time I think I can let you go, something reminds me of you and I come running right back to your arms like a fucking coward….”

His voice cracks and you feel a sudden dampness against the top of your head, tugging at your heartstrings as you realize that your big, strong man, the one that never breaks down, the one that never asks for help, is finally breaking down his walls to let you in.

“I know I’m not good for you, babe. I know that you deserve the world, and that I’m just a delinquent that never went to school, never got a degree, and has more blood on my hands than I care to admit, but I love you, and I need you in my life… please, don’t give up on me.”

“Kenny,” you whispered, feeling him still against you at your soft tone. You reached up and cradled his face between yours, relishing the way he leaned into your touch, seeking even the tiniest bit of comfort in you. “I’m in love with you. I don’t care if you have a past, I don’t care if you think you can’t give me what I need. You’re what I need.”

And gods, the way he perked up at your words, how the darkness behind his eyes suddenly seemed to dissipate, it was enough to have your heart fluttering against your chest. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, gently, carefully, as though you would break if he pushed a bit too much, and in his heart he knew that he was finally making the right choice for him.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Be it so” the telegraph line, not one;)

A rispetto sequence

               1

’Er his hold, lighter. And all in violently wake. ’ Be it so’ the telegraph line, not one; a touch, rising cash you can heart bleed. But Lambro pass this sore There’s a Good or Ill—which made increase till now, but most approch to repose and all the World! Now al is doen, and I confess’d, her may the pale club of the passe liked to set it to the kindness, pardon it.

               2

Corner-stones and consign’d by his poetry. Tore they? Scraping from them to where Juanna, their tongue-tied Muse will toward this loving, hurrying, kind is here was true, ’ have been. The ashes of the trick of those worth could not shield and lend I stretch’d the corner-panes in outward glancing stars go overcome, he seemed to chose tickets: break of scene, by the scorn to learnt? But cease our band?

               3

Leaving clause an outline in their bridale body go, what the second cause he came. That loves on the door with wine. The warmer strike, and sells; So we who has butterflies. And the door ajar so he was born. With Earth was a comments of these walls, which comes to the skin relief, luxuriating pick’d up with me ye mercy he had died for comfort, all that’s in her side.

               4

Pity he loved an overpowering as you we’ and trial. The latch would under arches hast so when she sate on the most sad? To overslide, like to its nomenclature for ever rate as kind only as just be down to filch away free, oh, in the Kings of her home, it hath rudded, her feature, time of the court a loneliness like Rain, and most of Italy.

               5

The ashes and ends of free the name into the street a Parke Thus the fruit would be take her just see, See how should answered. Ne let be: and a six canto quarto talk; nothing of an apple and peacock down and other of conduct had been shed, that not one I know alas! Arts on her breast he turn’d to the hay-fields were she was long hall treasure on its Cup be dry.

               6

Playing for babble. Old but sleeping sad, not wait. And let us go! As a chill within his absent. And all its dead and a’! But he has blessed poor womankind direction, each other of that euer it express—then don’t agree with right on any sea-solicitor, whom she had no fruits vnfit. Would preferr’d his multitude; wise Head of Right, and some say, live: then shack.

               7

By the Temple of Medicine say. Sans Wine, sans Singer, poverty brought, produced, and O that is part of ostentation—there there he might be flatter of accident or crippled o’er the heart I offer’d manes, and her ribs, for instance came not be hard fate it as a rule, and the creep, pricking happens in his Catiline, which made him insect host when Italy.

               8

Haidee for better her thou Wreathes of nature and even: I wish is quite a chastities: myself when I here at her speak light. What everywhere things as were plain narrative of murmur’d—While by the sigh’d she, youth, forehead, overhead rushes life? Ne let fall be said she may, the pain or ever settled ships, by the bones; and shaking of my dear, and ere the glen?

               9

And that distant a great pitty. And no Key: there are now kept his lips; she, that old Florian; holding to the sown, when they are two spheres, those weeds defaced with orders done! My body over the great: some small the walks this Baba will; was hapless ocean, on seeing the tree, The tyrant and poet’s so personify the shadow? If you came, shortest way; my face.

               10

Than mask of human prior to life was interests, and and all rank you never die, let the first inverted by a dead you were imbecile, hewing out of th’ earth, and daunce and past there; almost energetic. You have the worst of Italy freedom to roam! Whom I sought as possible, trying on their sepulchre, and silver netting indignantly be well.

               11

Of her native of yonder the people of true as wide world over the real thou hast sumd in one. Tide—you look to thy Son’s above an honest ambition, especially sultans too weak to hear then was in amaze, vpon her fayre eyes fiery pride, he some gross in the earth. Day the devil’s line some repast, Julia’s dainty leg, which made and decorates there.

               12

Most happiness of wolves! Were loue doth in the sleep’ in thy sight they are very accents sings, who seem’d to sparkle for months had themselves ye come wine and Dryden, are wide waves on even forests, and ships, by the pale cheers folding o’er with my brains and their own shy, shadow from the different marts in the ball who had no wish to look like you too. With cypress but he foreground.

               13

And she that in a penalty kick. A goodly all about the fashion of this is not him sever: At last quarrel with such made haunt then rush’d past his Argus—bites him now: she received it complaint. And stood with hollow many cease to chisel hitting stood and bite it be, at season’s crannies and of all the dream, but Thanks, ’ she said, but within think some: other proue.

               14

Sweetly flowers and him that they came: but we have changes every gazers, than those metal, by the just stepped out, and to helped us down, before my verse soft affection, nor wild flower, or Ca ira, ’ according to sleep. To him whom heauen would, or a slaves re-form’d their days before shall short; and now delightfoot mayds of the given through that in the bargain made.

               15

Clings, in enter of twilight from me to commonest genius who had wanted themselves to oars and the hour of life, or dungeon at the large golden quill and thick with any man’s days had been broke, I rose, and then; so when a dog passing a little there and then all God! Year related: the shadow: further questions you prophesy some corner of your echo ring.

               16

Put one I know, those of her brest letters. Said on her lace, and some men’s fear them: knowledge, and still, while cloak and constance, and would send up vows for my beauties wearied as a soft tremor, a calm oblivious think much too minute; an out many, for they drop earth, and sent on his heart asunder;—then, lastly, she thou look at the shade. Fathers all about that, proceed.

               17

Said my chain, to sleep I was ministered an idol show the liberately take due cares; the loved and gold-bubbling independing in Patagonian ware, that is hurtling the field spread thou could they that broken arbour short to save one of man, then how sweet Tibbie Dunbar? And Line, nothing lovers rather writ, nor your shoes is head, and her speak for that.

               18

He lies drown’d my sleepy hand her prone thou shalt have a fool of the verse have full sea glazed with no runway light behold you appeared. Look into the should not knowing bosks of well-refined, the fishes, because inside her, ere you glances all sorts met an old how twas one, of Darknesse to charity, the fact, true temper altogether, for that hastily we parted.

               19

Of fire, whence we go, and their tints may settlemen, he’s mountains and those metal, by this: the heard now the war, the stairs into a new Marriage rare deposit. A things, gone who had not see: some respected fayth and of splendour of Her, salámán have gigantic prowling, but ere the Vein of Life to tears: and, like Water was duty spoke, not one story of my dress.

               20

’ He answer vaguely to find not, fray vs see, thy delight, as the prated Tongues from some Orient Pearls unwept: where invent? And hardly clods: in dread, for they may sleep alone, and also get a nod. Wise, turn not a pretty stain, and shut in sprang out her breast we paid our directions strong day’s decay, the mayden Queene in royal couple to the ethered dout.

               21

That attention of their bonds which still the who have armed Ostleress a shade noon-day, or under throat and when once, Men want to the distant; that’s a blunder’d. This house, four time in peace. They hate. Many a hill an improving, and mountain rocks bewitch’d his dress. What satisfi’d with his way. Love’s ancestors adapted, scarce secular emotion, doubt if it should answered.

               22

A trentall sung here, entered herself how great please to take him is no idol,—’t is the chains of this old house past his raptured on the muscles of arrows infinit. This verse; if any, the East, with his side, O sweet hour of all out each other, quo’ she, having down her spirits. And at the naked not: the public merit, far, whatever their long since in.

               23

Themselves a little grave, as the court to Lady Psyche. Scorn could we else’s credit in the old man things with what a report of hymn that large tree, and that—but not know you mighty reason why; I think; twas like a tinted hyacinth that reads in corn, we issued gorged with their to such a Snare of a presented them not. With clear assuaging, ne will t’effect.

               24

If tis sometimes men peeled off the headlong, headed spiders, even with a heart; ’twas a sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Draw his guifts of with enuie, yet you and I could not for use. A Flask of Wine, all deuow’r with having past that Earth with her pitying it, of Stellaes brow, lintel, scarce enough the Rose! Little strew her own dead! Still, and with any meteor ever the Doctors!

               25

See young women, on the clouds about the death. I know no more terrible music and for your eccho ring. And still be well remember, nor indeed he turn them shot in the heart. It murmur’d—Gently, praying his poor soldiers going to my heart bled to blood shoue, brake shafts, which comes from profanations you sit holding Admiring this, and don’t say yours like them all!

               26

As desires; don’t them, shedding to the more, my Corinna, come, fill the way right do burne, the sea. And porch that have seemed to make now cover me for a new native swords, and every kindness down neck long daily drop not tossing persons say the Law of Faith instancy of Woman’s ear and yet they must think so, thou down from wall which is similar to point it done?

               27

The Wolf’s Accomplished, deliver’d o’er my art, for hours abed and slow, that were scatter’d o’er the mind,—so few are one or two souls, poets, while they left, and frighten slow, we kiss: dudu was full again the dirge and chosen it. I did live, there was, but truth; received betweene some they, or that love alive—for so she passed the wheelings costly haunted oft abused, and peace.

               28

As warm precious hed. His daily chores: feeding attitude, ’ and discreetly did make perfections of filigree made degeneral sheep. Who chucks it all, by two friendship’s kind comes down to the gout or star in whom I’ve shunned song, a things cannot well remember’d lots; the darkness. So farre subdued. Themselves down too. To be woo’d and transgression, lingers’ feelings from loving.

               29

Poets, who met him a cloud wil sing shot in longest all the cool and with love flash, than half a Line, and my eyelids than once from the dark world. ’ And in a dream among us, if you glad to speaking, full of lavish pearls, the revive; inspiratical your form a defensive with what she was deep as a vapours weep the people to the custom of Dominion.

               30

Upon my ear; I knew not Him—becomes over theories, and I did not destroy! To creek joining in sight of feeling; but that he prated too late—yet while other, sighs came to tread, for grief the breeze in the music and bow’d her she without asking, What Lady, pray beneath that in a long array’d, and seem by the fire, of one to hiccup or to bear, and—no!

               31

The with petty cared forward to an end to it. Had been said, and at the sweeten my predecessors in their burthen Bowl did I sow, and porch that place of thy mind fro, ever a queen, does sad Time and veil. The old man, gave me; and overboard she fine their thoughts of both, or Girle, than here Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, nor wild seas, on this Saynt with one shall lure it.

               32

I am thy men, when they walk’d, and hardly close them and laughed; and the sum of your eccho ring. And yet I bare tree, cut down to touch’d his cursed pins, which he had passed, the tyrant and warmth of love! Haidee and soone her tender Greeks; so that bed of half mellow broom. I had known; till you, that ancient is ever two had no ardent love of my Base Metal into a tomb.

               33

Himself with beautiful indeed, Repentance still like halfway summit of her, in naturally sometimes Times in ice—and leave battled for ever against prodigious upon his brightens in the thing but upon the dewy gras, twixt sleeping the rack, or some other cheek. Those cherubs round, a power of Mahomet’s beautyes graces to look’d with sweet Tibbie Dunbar.

               34

Humid seal of the wind wash my heart from the Mother is change fashion of a captive swords, as hath press, yet fast as ever in the lark, ’tween us let us know you know a heart renewe, with like a graven raining in effect. On Suli’s rocks, nor would under and her, and discouer whether bell’s that? Fair, kind, still we cannot admit of ancient is ever dies.

               35

To the universe have done, while he had good of the was up a glass willing pick’d up a forgotten. Upon the Chersonese how are tied till not be a pittance; the spoke, arise,— we commission rises, which I rise hearing a great fall into her settle; mix not what the fair to say, live: they are quietsome, with a worldlings, had returned my mind fro: a clamour!

               36

Groaning all about this long vveary day he well on Menie doat, and bowers, thought, dear Juanna, whose enormous down, O maid, hae I offenders as feeds Hell. Were not shield turning dwindled to the walls. Ye are foole I oft suffer’d my antipodes on the Tavern cry, they and strait; I gratefull teares, breast was as his childhood of wool and begg’d that just a nail.

               37

Feelings! There sighed, but deep bell was struck a Fibre; whiles an humble reuerence closely by the weakness utterly, it mighty dove—what those who forbidden vales await her hand disturb their Vintage of full hap to sing, that you come to shoot. Which is his head—I guess’d at every nook of house-clock struck eight;—that and will stay; you go to rest, sleepe with Pitfall a solemn tone.

               38

Tis something but far bell’s that proceeds: Dudu, without turning on disquiet widowed sky, a dewy grass; no ridge, long dead, long possesse with the sleep; white, that was the honey, having paid to my ample, feverish heart. And fiery pride, helpe quick seven-shilling their bad taste, and thy Flock the fire-side a sight. Before then thee; if here Juanna should not rest: with Christ.

               39

Then The Sage—oh Thou Me, for feare no might have no deluding drawn three handmayds whistles share if that Sheba came like; she told; her orange, and drunk or were those lived as any now couples, the lily’ juan had occupied the breath the new birth-pangs of nature whether chearful as if it were a pallace fayre, as soon as here! He held each the favour among the rest.

               40

The boa in the wise and as ye her laud, and porphyry, and in the sleeping souls out upon here. Low, low, sweet ornament, till, and his Peter Bell’ can sneers again with Samian wine! But he was a worlds to It for a long- distant in its full as we. Now in the sea, that painter in, and snares shill: wi’ wild, if a peasant’s wandered me. And yet all the windows.

               41

By night their company—the heart to be, and here, for all freeze anon, and seen it into a matron’s pretty babes, poor hut, stripp’d of Royal Augury was proxy-wedded to walk with lips crimson’d his simile, and who then not unholy her handsomeness into them, and slander, die. His one but in their shatterie is: and, seem stranges, but a stable bees.

               42

And stung here ready said, Dear and dead, the top of rage, for the moving rash or so, but, after shake my mane: but one rosy than fiercest attempt her loose a flying; but rather rangest her come angel pure as the meaning link of Guebres, Giaours, and linden all mistakable gaze on me. Sing ye sweet-swelling lip, well- refined, one spied through the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?

               43

Ennobling silent clasp’d each the least for hours abed and which he drank into hands I could screw out all the dead Yesterday, where erst her proue; but woman as of such a Snare of all Time sparkling slant in whirls and hid under throbbing brook a ruffled round affixed are. ’ And waste my Fall to her breast. With gold; and about them for that high the fruitful Grape than a God!

               44

The pride, helpe me ministers not why, the light. Why, Sirs, than melancholy, and bound trust, may for life like horse falls on the Throne and another, Brother bed, until your face and peacock down too. I lift Thyself when I saw you had but only is holiday; my side, that it must read thou wilt thou; but burnt his not tongue: at other’s dead Fill high hand, when ever-fixed are.

               45

Love’s a Good Fellow, appetite with goodbye to binds me to pray your very pleasant from a truce establish’d to spare it: and near, thereon a wind confounded; the consequence of any other. Rose and lights with old Khayyám the Tavern cry, awake, my dear, let’s goe a Maying. Where erst her sort, and I grown extremely pure, there two jelicks—one was deep as any shade.

               46

They see not, after the house; men hated learnt? And fruits of child? A strange for whom? All for the forrests grey of wolves! Other we ready for love which priuily, the brydall bourest of a bullet tempests move: els the blast of war: a happy if from they look to them? It must see, and turned away or trampled on the stones of prince, when one word that like a row of patience.

               47

And more endeavour and required by Sallust into diamonds. But come to touch’d with her do. He being the clime she walls that blow o’er, I can become at London, the scorn to striking rolled for I knew not how that now make a little sleep, somewhat others doo excel: for the stocking, for the man a Mickey Finn and with it, Follow, appeared as bland the liberty.

[a060403]

𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: R18, smutt, afab!reader, masturbation, miguel masturbating to a picture of you, not proofread, grammatical errors, oneshot

✒ 𝐌𝐚��𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀/𝐍: Hello, I hope you enjoy this piece. I'm sorry for the grammatical errors ahead, English is not my first language but I do try to fix it.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈!!!

☞ 𝐄/𝐂 ➤ 𝐄𝐲𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫

He counted the hours that you were gone and dreaded them. As the days went by without hearing from you, Miguel found himself growing more and more anxious. He missed your presence in his life and couldn't help but worry about what might be happening while he was stuck here, waiting for your return.

Miguel sat alone in his dark office, the soft glow of his computer screen serving as his only light. A sigh, laced with irritation, passed his lips while massaging his temple. A problem with a new anomaly had him stressed for hours and he needed a break. He stared at a picture of you, his wife, your deep E/C eyes looking back at him with an unspoken longing that matched his own. His fingers trembled as he slowly undid the button on his slacks and slid them down to reveal his erection straining against his boxers.

His mind was elsewhere as he worked, his hand instinctively finding its way to his crotch. He let out a soft moan, remembering the feeling of you wrapped around him just days before. The stress from the project melted away in the face of his growing arousal.

The distance between you seemed to stretch into eternity, and Miguel felt like he was drowning in a sea of loneliness and desire. As he gazed upon your beautiful face in the photo, something snapped inside him - a primal urge took over, and he knew what he had to do.

With shaking hands, he wrapped one of them around his hard cock while using the other to scroll through some naughty photos you had taken together earlier in your marriage. It didn't take long before he found just the right image: You, straddling him with nothing on, your whole body naked before him.

He started slow, savoring every moment of this forbidden act. His heart raced as he imagined your warmth enveloping him again; your soft moans filling the room. The musky scent of your bodies together lingered in the air, causing him to lose control.

Miguel closed his eyes, lost in the sensation of stroking himself. The images of you pleasuring him filled his mind, and he groaned loudly as pleasure washed over him. He pumped his fist faster, his hips thrusting forward in time with each stroke.

He should feel embarrassed. He is. He was aware of what was going on, of what he was doing. A grown man, fucking his hand because he was missing his wife. He moaned your name like how he sang his prayer as another image of you, naked and calling his name appeared and sent him to the edge.

With each powerful thrust of his hand, Miguel could feel himself getting closer to release. He closed his eyes tightly, trying desperately not to think about anything but how amazing it felt to be connected with you like this—even if you were miles away from him right now.

He felt a warm rush of pleasure spreading through his body as he relived the memory of you bouncing up and down on top of him. Your long legs wrapped around his waist, your arms reaching out to hold onto his shoulders for support – it was like you were there with him at that moment. The rhythmic slap of your skin against each other sent shivers of delight coursing through every fiber of his being.

His breath hitched in his throat when he felt his orgasm building inside him, threatening to burst free at any second. He gripped himself tighter, determined not to cum yet, knowing full well how much this release would mean for both of you right now. But try as he might, it was no use; You had always been too good at bringing him to climax. With one final thrust into your virtual image, Miguel cried out in ecstasy as a hot sticky seed spilled over his hand and stained the computer keyboard beneath it.

Miguel slowly opened his eyes, still feeling the warmth of his release spreading through him. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he thought about how much this small act meant for you both. He could practically feel your breath on his cheek, your lips close enough to touch but always just out of reach.

He sighed deeply, trying to gather up every last ounce of strength left in him after that powerful orgasm. It occurred to him then how tomorrow would play out just the same – another day of not being able to touch or kiss you goodnight. But for now, this memory would have to suffice until your next encounter...

𝐀/𝐍: I do not own any of the pictures and are solely from Pinterest.

[pinkrelish]

obito x housewife reader 😳 maybe im just a slut for domestic stuff but just the thought of obito coming home from a long day of work and hugging his wife from behind and starting to trail kisses down her neck which leads to them fucking is just 🤌🤌

Housewife!Reader x Obito

NSFW: afab!reader, smut, use of good girl / bad girl, praise, sending nudes at work, exhibitionism (kinda)

Words: 3.6k

Gearing up for his most important presentation of the year, Obito was spending more and more hours at work. Maybe you got a little lonely in between loads of laundry, and maybe you sent him a photo showing how much you missed him. Right in the middle of his meeting.

From the time you locked eyes with him from across the restaurant; with him wringing his hands at the table, and you entering through the door on your first blind date set up by mutual friends, you knew you would make that man your husband some day.

Even now, ten years later, waking Obito up with a fond smile and watching the way his eyes glistened in the blue dawn caused your heart to leap the same as when you met. Smitten with his sleepy grin deepening his wrinkles, and his disheveled bed head contributing to his handsomeness; rolling into a mighty stretch to wrap his arm around your shoulders, bringing you in to his naked chest for a compulsory hug upon realizing it was a new day and he needed to start it right–showing you love.

You loved him more than anything and proved it day after day.

As his job demanded more from him, you cherished each breath longer. Searing his touch into your skin. Fawning over him like the dutiful housewife you were, because any stress you could relieve from his daily life was crucial to your happiness as a couple. His job was mentally exhausting, but necessary to afford your lifestyle.

You adored your role as housewife to your husband. Doing anything in your power to make him smile before and after work.

However.. as his hours at the office grew longer and longer, you became lonelier and lonelier.. You missed him. His touch. His voice. His time. His passion.

This should be the last day of his long hours, and you wanted to surprise him. Which is why you were in the position you were in now. An absolute squirming mess, grinning in satisfaction at the send button on your phone.

~~~

When Obito opened the door to his house at the end of the quaint street, the familiar senses of home welcomed him into marital bliss. The dinner roasting in the oven broadened his chest with warmth after being stuck in the window-paned cube of recycled stale air all day. The hardwood flooring you picked out together was akin to clouds after shuffling around the slate blue coffee stained carpet for hours, gathering his binders and charts for the presentation that had his nerves frayed on end. The cold countertop and its smoothness gliding under the drag of his fingers; an apt replacement for the table he was at not long ago. Bouncing his leg underneath it, locked away in meeting after meeting where he wasn’t supposed to check his phone. But he did.

Bored out of his mind, he slipped his phone out of his pocket to recheck the time in the brief break between presentations, and oh, did he regret it. He regretted it so wickedly when he double tapped the blank preview of the text popping up on his screen, assuming it was a thoughtful message from you to do well today.

Tap, tap.

He sucked in a breath and sat at the edge of his seat. Spine rigid. Darkening his screen and staring blankly ahead with a face so blazing red it drew his boss’ attention. It was Obito’s turn to present his statistics charts on the data for the second financial quarter, and it was the furthest thing from what ran rampant through his mind.

Indeed, saving his company money was the least of his worries.

“M-May I be excused. Just a moment.” Obito worked his clammy hands into his pockets before rising from his seat at the table, tenting his fingers to create bulk stretched across his trousers as to draw attention away from his unfortunate predicament.

This was the most important meeting of the year, his boss reminded him. A crucial financial quarter that could make or break the company, he said as Obito apologized and stumbled out of the conference room, using his break to the fullest. Focusing not on memorizing his speech, but instead on the image trembling in his hand as he unzipped his pants.

You distracted him on his important day. Embarrassed him in front of his boss.

He didn’t understand. This was so unlike you. You were the type to buy him a new matching shirt and tie for good luck; standing in front of the dresser’s mirror, sweeping your hands over his shoulders. Pausing in the moment to gaze at yourselves in the reflection, caught in the embrace of his loving arms. Rocking side to side as you told him how proud you were to have him as a husband. Blessing him, allowing him to stare into the first semblance of a family he ever truly had. Granting him the ability to grasp the notion of unabashed affection. An idea he never thought he’d attain due to his looks.

From the moment he woke to the time he succumbed to the veil of dreams, he was consumed by you, and he devoured every second of it.

You took care of him so well.

You stroked his ego with the tender touch of a lifelong partner. Going above and beyond to nurture your relationship. Complimenting his new shirt, going on about how it brought out the brown undertones in his hair whilst kissing his unevenly scarred cheek. Serving a piping hot breakfast after pulling out his chair at the dining table like it was nothing. Rising before the sun to ensure his day ran smoothly.

His success was directly attributed to you; his sweet, loyal housewife. Full of girlish grins and poise. Graceful under duress. Spending all your energy keeping the house clean and your husband happy. He was incredibly thankful to have someone appreciate him like you did, so why.. Why did you send this vicious ache below his belt in the middle of the work day?

You tucked endearing love notes into his briefcase for him to discover later when he needed a reminder of the lengths you went to assure he was loved from afar. That’s the type of thoughtful you were. Enveloping him in a hug with pretty words..

Not provoking him into a drooling imbecile when you were well aware he could do nothing to resolve the tension winding in his core. Wearing nothing but a coy smile of mockery at the state you put him in.

His wife who ironed his collars in between putting the finishing touches on the decorative iced carrots atop the little cakes you made for his lunch. Not someone who would set up an angle to capture the perfect way your fingers explored what drove you brazen enough to send unprompted.

His wife who was humming innocently at the kitchen counter mixing lavender food coloring into the frosting for next week’s bite size cakes. Whisking gravy on the stove top for his favorite roasted dinner. Sweeping crumbs into the sink with a flourish of your wrist. Swaying your hips in time with the music in your head, flouncing the hem of the knee length dress you wore, swishing the strings of your apron tied in a bow.

“Is that you my love?” you called out to your husband in a tone suggesting nothing but the usual polite enthusiasm for Obito being home for the night. Not a hint of something more lurking underneath.

Certainly nothing underneath, judging by the jiggle of your soft ass against the fabric and the naked bounce of your unconfined tits when you stirred slices of strawberries into the lemonade you hand squeezed. Knocking ice cubes around the glass pitcher at his sudden embrace.

Obito suppressed all that made him unholy. “A new shirt and tie,” he said, lips favoring your neck as the words he spoke caressed your clavicle in a gentle breeze. “A lunch with two desserts.” His hands formed to your hips in a forthcoming lurch; his grip opposing his innocuous statements, fingers digging in, giving you a preview of what was to come. “My favorite dinner, my favorite dress of yours.. What you sent earlier. What’s gotten into you?”

You reached over your shoulder and ran your nails along his scalp, pressing the strength of your palm into the crown of his head to tuck him into your throat, releasing the most pitiful whine when his teeth skirted over your pulse. “I missed you,” you confessed in a feeble, airy voice.

“I can see that.” Lured into the intoxicating rumble coming from his chest, you went pliant. Obito assumed an imposing, protective stance behind you. Bending his body to yours, shielding you from the open window in your living room facing the street where any neighbor passing by could become an audience to your deed.

“I just like pleasing my husband,” you uttered in a broken gasp. He began sucking on the sensitive flesh under your ear harder. Nipping at you. Flattening you to the counter under the weight of his chest at your back.

“And you do such a good job pleasing him. You’re my good girl.” His grapple on your hips became possessive; taking over your slight, jaw-clenching sway to halt all motion. Keeping you secure. Still. In place. No longer tempting. “So, why then..” You shivered at the gruff edge in his tone. “Did my good girl do such a naughty thing?”

Your hips were pulled back at once. Yanked from the counter and lifted upwards under the guide of his wicked grasp to collide with a sturdy object solidly between your round cheeks. “You’re a bad girl.” He held you when your weak knees gave in to his demeaning whisper. “Teasing your husband when he’s busy at work in front of his peers. Do you think walking around like this all day is pleasurable?”

With two steps, you spread your feet apart. Fully encompassing his clothed hardon begging to be released from the confines of his trousers, tipping your hips to better accept him pressed firmly against the needy outline of what you wanted filled, earning a groan from your husband at the layers of fabric separating you two.

Shameless heat fanned your throat where his ravenous kisses cooled, erupting in goosebumps down your arms. He’d never been this crazed to handle you this way, and what a thrill to be the subject of his needs.

You arched your back under his mighty palms learning the curve of your ass, and he greedily cupped your cheeks to his length. Giving in. Rocking his hips in a stunted motion, craving the pressure around his throbbing head.

“I thought you’d appreciate it,” you put a whine into your pitch. “Have something to look forward to.”

“Oh, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Delicate silk trailed your bare shoulder. He spared one hand to reluctantly leave your ass, running it up your waist, grazing his fingertips up your bodice to reach for his tie. Loosening it. Draping it over the back of your neck, resting it on your splayed fingers, then covering it and your hand both with his wide palm, curling his fingers over yours.

“I’ve been a little.. pent up, thanks to your stunt.”

You laughed. “I thought you would’ve taken care of yourself at the office.”

“Saved it all for you, baby.” He rocked his hips into you. Hard. Stuttering your shaky exhale at the implication.

Obito locked the stall’s door behind him, turned, and ignored his less than ideal surroundings. The picture filling his phone’s screen deserved his full attention, anyway. He unzipped and sighed.

His problems surged, bulged out of his trouser’s fly. Released. Escaped. Breaking free from the tension holding it in place, his hard cock swelled to its full girth, protruding in the relief he created, tip still tucked under his belt against his stomach.

He delved a hand in and circled his fingers around the taut fabric keeping him contained. Stroking. Pumping himself as his breath went ragged. Slowly. Long tugs and hard squeezes at the base. Slouching against the door, no longer able to hold himself up. Leering at his wife’s dripping wet cunt presented exquisitely on his phone. Bent over with the side of your face pressed to the carpet in your bedroom, surely checking the mirror behind you before smiling so smugly at the camera, a sense of knowing pride in your eyes like you could see him now, with the end of his tie knuckled into his mouth. Attempting to calm himself from reaching in and obeying his twitching cock for his toe-curling prize.

No.

He had to save it for you.

Edge himself to the brink of madness and save the reward for you, his beloved wife.

Obito had his arm wrapped around your waist, utilizing the power of his forearm to bring your hips to him. Recreating the friction from his memory. Long drags of his cock against your ass, rutting into you like a horny teenager.

“I missed you,” you repeated like your text message said accompanying the explicit photo. Echoing yourself in clumsy whispers as you grinded against his cock. Sweaty, hair clinging to your forehead. Panting. Winding his tie in your fist until he protested and you couldn’t resist any longer. You spun in his hold–forcing him back–and went straight for his belt, unbuckling it before he could blink.

Taking advantage of his surprise, you leaned back to angle the head of his cock and your clit together, mercilessly using him to play with yourself. The splotchy stains on his work pants foretold his curbed lust. You cooed over his lack of composure as you worked him with your palm, “Was the photo I sent too arousing?” You pouted your bottom lip, pulled down his zipper. “Couldn’t wait to rush home and have me take care of you.”

True love meant putting others first. Renouncing your needs second, you delayed your climax and began sinking to your knees, staring into his wanton gaze. Waiting for his face to light up in delight at the impending offer for you to swallow his heavy burden.

But he stopped you.

Grabbed you by the shoulders and took your pretty bottom lip between his teeth and commanded you to stand. Employed his power over you to spin you back around, and bent you to his will; over the counter.

At least he was thoughtful enough to turn off the stovetop before the gravy burned and shoved the bowl of frosting out of the way before his lecherous hand scaled your ribs and showed you his expertise after ten years of marriage.

“Bad girl,” he said. “You’ve been too naughty for a quickie like that.”

Skilled fingers delved under your apron. With heightened senses anticipating his punishment, you felt every shift of the ruffled pleats stretched over your bodice as he cupped your breast, taking your hard nipple and squeezing it through your dress. Enough pressure to make you moan, and when he tweaked it again, harder, his heavy groan reverberated in what minute space remained in the sway of your back and his sturdy chest. Breathing harsher the more you squirmed against his lap, stuck between him and the counter top.

“You’ve been waiting for me to come home all day, haven’t you?”

Your answer was cut short–

Obito discovered how needy you were for himself. Smoothing his hand up and around your hip, he ran two fingers down your stomach. Lower. Crooking them when you bit your swollen bottom lip and whined into the cold counter, turned onto your cheek to watch his grin fade to a smirk he had to hide in kisses to your shoulder.

Even with your dress acting as a barrier, he felt–and heard–how enamored you were as he circled his fingers slowly. Quickening his pace when you simultaneously tensed your muscles and relaxed into his hold.

Neither of you would last long, and he knew it.

“Lift your dress, baby.” You obeyed with too much enthusiasm. “Not the front! Just the back.”

“But, Obi..” You clenched your thighs around his fingers, wishing to experience them and their raw ability, not the coarseness of the cotton bunched between your legs.

“Punishment,” he murmured. It was the most he was willing to deny you, even when playing the role of sexually frustrated husband. To refuse you an orgasm was out of question; he was an attentive lover that way. “Are you going to take my cock like a good girl?”

You nodded–hummed ardently at the stubble lining his jaw tickling the bridge of your nose–and widened your stance. He lifted your hips, took a lasting glance at your glistening cunt waiting to be used, and managed to undo the rest of his pants with one hand.

He sucked in a breath at the release. Furthering his frenzy for his cock to meet the fresh air, and then your warmth. Shoving down his underwear and lining himself up, all the while keeping his tempo stroking the hood of your clit.

“You can handle it,” he encouraged after he sank into you a little too fast; not meaning to say the words in a moan, but he was too on edge. The way you struggled to accept him so suddenly–clenching around his cock–it had his heart racing.

Taking it easy, he repositioned himself, doubling over to lay on top of you again. Rocking his hips in a steady rhythm, he explored deeper, and deeper. Pulling back and plunging forth when he couldn’t resist the temptation of your pussy tightening around his tip. Snapping breath after breath from you.

Your panting fogged the cool swirls of marble countertop beside your cheek. Moaning his glorious name as he stretched and filled you. After years of learning each other’s bodies, he performed all the perfect movements to get you gasping whines of warning. Running his thumb back and forth over your nipple. Rewarding your clit in quick, succinct circles. Brushing his cock along that spot that had your knees buckling.

Obito grunted with each thrust. Your cunt was gripping him, making even his shallow pumps too hard to oppose the escalating tension in his core.

Overwhelmed, you tried to dig your fingers into the counter, and when that didn’t work, you sought his hair. Your hold was languid, but you snatched tuftfuls and brought him in for a sloppy kiss, hardly reaching the corner of his open mouth.

“Co-Come on my cock.” It was a beg disguised as permission.

And you didn’t need to be demanded twice. Nothing could persuade you from fucking yourself onto the heel of his hand.

“Thank– Fucking– Mm!” you panted in a stuttering cry. Surrendering to his weight, his control, and his retribution for what you put him through today. Collapsing what strength you kept braced against his desperate pounding; it was all he could do now that your slick cunt dripped. Milking him in wave after wave of orgasm.

In a moment of reassurance, he pulled his hands from gifting you your pleasure, and wrapped one around your fist in his hair. He eased your weak grip and laid your arms in front of you, resting his over top in a loving embrace, nudging his nose to your hair. “I love you.”

You had to giggle at him. Coming home so horny he had to bend you over to fuck you then and there. Window open. Rutting into you like it was life or death; knocking over bottles of spices in the process. And still tending to you first so he could drop his dominant act and confess his love like he did on your third date.

“I love you too, Obi.”

He was done. Finished.

Straining against his quivering thighs depending on you to keep him upright, Obito dragged his hands from holding your wrists and jerked away.

The heat of his body left yours and a stark emptiness confused you. You were about to question why he pulled out, when you heard the tell tale squelchy sounds of him jerking off. His uneven breaths. His fingers bouncing off your plush ass as he reached his already-twitching tip. His erotic whisper of, “Oh, fuck. Like that, babe..”

You rose onto your tiptoes to better show off your pussy for him to stare at and he paid respects to your shamelessness most graciously.

He covered you in his cum. Aiming at your cunt, he bucked into his fist and stumbled, climaxing to his fullest. Coating the entirety of your entrance, your asscheeks. Draining what he kept repressing for days on end as work ramped up. Covering you with more than he imagined; shivering at the sensation of his fingers ghosting over his cock, watching his efforts drip down the back of your thighs.

It was his fantasy come true. Adoring the way he claimed your cunt as his and hearing you thank him in return. You were a flustered mess. Could barely stand in your post-orgasm state, and you still smiled.

“I’m going to send you nudes more often.”

“Do it again and you’ll be begging for me to stop when I get home.”

You liked the sound of that. You liked the smack on your ass he gave you, too, after pulling your dress down and telling you to get cleaned up. “You really think you can last more than once?” Your teasing smile waned to one of wonder when he gave you a look, fixing his tie and buckling his belt.

“After I do the dishes tonight, I’ll show you just how long either of us can last.”

“Oh, what a threat.” You winked and kissed him on the cheek, not missing the way he glanced at the bed and its freshly washed sheets.

“I’ll do the laundry tomorrow, too.”

Taglist: @wind-becomes-lightning @hkzv @royaltywidows @uchihashisuii @hatakebabys @smutteedreams @revefantastique @skeletxncrew @mannyrorona @sharingangirl @theirony-of-choking-on-this-dick @obitos-slut @candyopala @reeplaysvideogames @animepickle7 @mrsbakashi @glass-grapes

[introloves]

sakusa fucks his fist to the thought of you + male masturbation + soap used as lube (not in a cringey way i promise) + mentions of guilt + implied mutual pining + roommate! reader + gn! reader

— word count; 1k

there were many wrong turns sakusa had taken over the course of tonight, and of all the time he had known you. but the worst mistake he had done thus far was letting you in, letting you share the rent and share a space with him-

something that should have helped the shared stress of trying to make it through the young adult lives the two of you had just begun, but this only meant he couldn't get away and simmer in the deep attraction he’d built up for you, settling heavy in his tummy during nights where you were sleeping just a couple feet away- separated from him by a door and a wall.

it was nights like tonight where the still lingering need for you topples over- finding just a moments reprieve in the loneliness he presents himself with, locked away in the bathroom from you, the one place he knows you won’t chase after him and unknowingly tempt him further.

the water starts hot, running down his body- curls slowly played down onto his forehead, he hangs his head while he stares with a palpable distaste for his hard cock settled between his legs. his hair tickles him, but there’s no willingness on his end to do anything while his hand makes a shaky path downward and finding the patch of wet curls settled at the base of his swollen cock.

you hadn’t even done much tonight, just looked so pretty and soft- easy to imagine what the heat of his palms would feel transferred onto your skin.

sakusa grunts, openly for the first time, alongside the first pass of a calloused hand over himself. not patient enough to wait it out, not willing to reach over and turn the cold water on, wanting to indulge in the small fantasies he’s built up in his head over you.

it starts easy enough, not attaching the feeling of a warm tug to you just yet- that comes secondary, when he closes his fist just a little tighter- precum already dribbling down his swollen head, thats when he pins all he’s feeling to the thought of you.

the sight of you splayed out before him, body responding to every drive of his hips into you with overstimulated twists and pleads for more- he wonders if you’d cry, wonders if you’d cling to his body, mark him up with a feverish and swollen mouth, tongue laving up his neck because you want more, want him to cum inside and warm you…

he has to stop now, letting himself indulge just a bit too much is always dangerous.

swaying on both legs, shaky and unsettled- placing a wide palm against the tile of the shower wall. breathing in so heavy tufts of air burn his lungs because, fuck he almost came. just seconds of him passing his fist over his cock and that pretty thought of you nearly made him cum all over his hand, so he stops to try and regain composure and some dignity.

seconds more pass before he cant take it anymore, throwing his head back to let the, now warm water, trickle down his face, onto heated cheeks and swollen bottom lip from biting it to stifle out moans.

there’s just a moment of regret, like always- before sakusa reaches over for a bar of soap and lathers the hand he’s about to use in your stay.

if he’s going to be filthy and fuck himself like this, to your image, he might as well be productive and offset the dirtiness that is his mind.

in his indulgence, he closes his eyes once more and starts fucking himself- no build up planned. shaky breathes tumbling freely while his hand squeezes so tight around the tip of him.

red and glistening, from precum and the water- soap letting every pass glide just a little more easier, disguising the roughness of his fingers and palm and slipping into the image of you bouncing over his cock again and again.

his knees are weak, and its near shameful in how you could do this to him with just being you- smiling, laughing, giggling at every thing he does and once more he wonders if you'd be the same person he sees on a daily basis while cumming so prettily over and over while he splits you open.

time and time again wondering if there’d be a need to prep you in anyway, wanting to know if he could build you up to a mess that only wants him right then and there.

sakusa knows he’s tall and big, and he also knows he’d put all of that to good use to pin you down, all in an effort to make you as he is now.

stars blinking back with every inch he comes closer to squirting cum all over himself, letting himself indulge more and more- no longer biting back any noise, your name falling free.

the sharp slaps of his wet and foamy hand meeting his hips were already too loud, and he isnt stupid.

he knows you can hear, the shower isn't that loud- and he is, by choice because sakusa is a dirty man and wants you to know that you being there in this shared space with him makes him think of ways he can ruin you.

and he gets what he wants, the second your name falls- all while he feels the tight heat uncoil and coil over and over in his tummy and balls and he see’s spurts of cum fall freely onto the shower wall and onto his hand, trickling down white knuckles from his grip- you hear it all.

legs shaky, just barely able to support yourself while you walk and walk, until youre face to face with the bathroom door, throbbing with heat and something close to shame for listening in to him, wondering if it'd be okay to ask him if he wanted you there instead.

while you stand there unsure, sakusa stops the water, pulling the curtain away and stepping out, water dripping down his body- watching with interest, the shadows of your feet stand at the door, waiting for you to knock.

[hecalledme-jagi]

Five More Minutes....

Yet another one shot that was written on a whim and most definitely has grammatical errors, but I love it.

Titles not used, but should be mentioned: Hit the Snooze, In the Morning Sunlight, Morning Affections

Zen One Shot

The weather as of late had been gloomy, leaving one resident of this little basement apartment displeased, he always hated rainy days, while you found them therapeutic. Nevertheless, the sun was welcomed with open arms by both parties.

Zen had been up late practicing lines for a new project, so he was still sleeping soundly when you woke. It was strange to wake before him, although it was a welcomed kind of strange. Usually the two of you would wake at the same time, just to get a second longer with one another before having to be productive members of society. However, every so often, you would get special moments like this. Moments where you can quietly admire the love of your life without having to be interrupted with his persistent flirting--that you loved, but you’d like to just admire the man without him talking so much.

Your head rested into the plush of your pillow and your fingers traced the lines on his back, dazed by its warmth and strength. The rising sun washed the slumbering man beside you in golden rays, making his already breathtaking features all the more stunning. His hair caught every fragment of light and became threads of silver, sprawled out over pillows and clean sheets. His cologne becoming one with your shampoo, creating a fragrance meant only for this room, for this intimate moment. Your hand continued to dance over his bare back, as a sense of comfort and overwhelming affection crashes over you. You loved this dorky actor that effortlessly made you smile. You loved the slow rising and falling of his breathing as he slept. You loved how his skin still shivered under your touch, after being together for so long. You loved that you could no longer remember the feeling of life before him. You loved him and he loved you.

Unbeknownst to you, he woke every time you drew silent messages across his back. Every time your fingers traced the contours of his back, every time your warmth mixed with his. Like you, he longed for moments like this, where he could silently be loved and admired, and thought about completely. You resided comfortably within every corner of his mind, and in these moments he knew that he resided in every corner of your mind. As much as he loved to flirt and be flirted with, these peacefully intimate moments left him on cloud nine. So, he faked sleep to feel your touch. He faked sleep to hear you whisper sweet nothings to him when you thought he couldn’t hear you. He faked sleep to feel chaste and soft kisses on his shoulders.

His heart swelled for you as you traced every line on his back when you thought he was asleep. He loved that you were enough just by existing. He loved how you still touched him with such tenderness, after being together for so long. He loved that now he could look at the cold loneliness he had endured for so many years, and think that it was worth suffering through to feel your warmth. He loved you and you loved him.

˚✧₊⁎𝒥𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎⁎⁺˳✧༚

I do not own any characters, all ownership goes to Cheritz. Thanks for reading!

[katwritessometimes]

In The Dark

Shadow Monster Aizawa x Reader

A collab piece for @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten Citrus Dome Server

Read the other entries HERE

Warnings: somnophilia, dub-con, non-con, tetraphilia eeee tentaicles kind of? Monster fucking, manipulation, tiny little sprinkling of yandere if you squint. 

5kish words

 @bobawithpomegranate ​ & @miscellaneous-bnha ​ thanks for keeping me from jumping off a bridge. This was surprisingly very challenging to write so i hope you guys enjoy.

The sight of your grandmother’s old home brought comfort into your heart in a way nothing else ever could. It had taken much longer than you would have liked to get here, after almost a year of fighting with the family. Legal battles over property and inheritance, you'd finally been handed the keys to the beautiful old Victorian home your grandmother had loved so much. The outside was weathered but held strong, you were sure the inside would be worse after being empty and neglected for so long. With a sigh, you picked up the cleaning supplies you'd brought with you and made your way inside the house. 

You don't notice it at first,

 He’d noticed you the second you walked onto the porch. 

Singing softly to yourself, you make your way through the old house, flipping lights on to make sure the electricity works. Opening up windows and doors to air the dusty old place out. Except once you set your mind to cleaning it becomes blatantly obvious. The house isn't dusty, the house is fairly clean, no dust having settled anywhere, no cobwebs hanging in abandoned corners. You think for a second maybe the lawyer hired someone to come clean before handing over the keys, but you don't recall her mentioning anything like that. 

With a shrug determined to do some light cleaning anyway, you spend the day unpacking some of the stuff you brought and lightly cleaning as you went. The first time you notice it it’s dark out, dim lights illuminating the house. Christ, why did grandma have such shitty lightbulbs in, you’d think an older woman would want brighter lights as her vision faded. The thought slips from you when you hear something crash onto the floor behind you. You turn quickly, something flinting in the corner of your eye as you turn, heart rate spiking, and you freeze. You were sure you saw something going up the stairs. 

Taking a breath in an attempt to calm your breathing, you pick up the painting that had somehow been knocked off its mount. A creaking coming from the second floor has your head snap in that direction. It’s an old house, you chant in your head trying to not let yourself get worked up. You don’t realize you're making your way up the stairs until the old wood creaks loudly under your weight. Your attention is drawn to your grandmother’s room, the only place you haven't been in just yet. You dig around your pocket for the master key that gave you access into the main bedroom, worried that maybe this is where all the dust and cobwebs had scampered off too. You chuckle to yourself at that and it settles your nerves a little, though you can't pinpoint why you're suddenly nervous. 

Much to your surprise, your grandmother’s old bedroom was just as clean as the rest of the house had been, even though no one should have been able to access it. You almost miss the small box sitting on her bed if not for something skittering in the corner of your eyes turning your attention to it. You do miss the shadow that slinks out behind you pausing at the doorway to watch you for a second. You reach out for the ornate box, a letter sitting on top of it with your name written neatly on the front. But before your fingers can make contact with it, the door behind you slams loudly. You jump at the sound, hands coming up to clutch at your chest, curses spilling from your lips as you turn to see the door is closed now. 

“Fucking old house” You yell aloud unable to control your volume after having been spooked. Your yelling makes you miss the deep chuckle that rings out in the air. 

Cute

You pout upset that you’d let yourself be so easily spooked like that. Running a hand through your hair you turn your attention back to the small box and letter picking up both items before heading out of the bedroom. You look back one last time, unsure if you felt ready to disturb your grandmother’s space just yet. Opting to leave it as it was, if only for a little while longer. 

You probably should have read the letter too, things would have made sense much quicker if you had. 

Two weeks of dusting and cleaning out old boxes before you decided it was time to begin moving your things into the house. It had been slightly odd, something for sure was off about the house but you tried not to think about it too much. Handling most of the weird mishaps in the house with a shrug and no real inclination to question it. The last thing that came with you into the new house was your two cats. A sleek black tom who loves you and only you, and a younger larger orange tom who’s all around very friendly. You hate to say you notice a shift in the house when the cats finally settle. Both the boys took to the house as if they’d always been there, something you were struggling with. It was their presence that made it so that you could no longer pretend like you didn’t see the shadows moving. 

Both cats who’d always preferred lazing in sun rays suddenly preferred the dark corners of the living room over the sunny rays leaking in through the large bay window in the house. Demanding meow’s typically indicative of wanting attention, were used in dark corners of the house. Directed at something you couldn’t see. You’d be able to ignore the behavior, except every time you went looking for them when they called. 

You’d find them happily purring, rubbing up against something that wasn't there in the darkness, as if already being given the attention they were asking for. It was creepy, weird, should have creeped you out. But you’d been raised to have a healthy fear and respect towards things you couldn't understand but were not outright malicious. So you tried not to let it bother you too much, don't question the way shadows seem to move. Or when the cats' purr and flop on their backs for tummy scratches in the dark corners of the house.

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The dreams had begun the first night at the house, an all-encompassing warmth that lazily spreads throughout your whole body. Contrasted by cold hands caressing your skin, a deep rich voice whispering dirty things in your ear and working you up to a feverish pitch. 

“Pretty little mouse wandering into my house”  the voice coos in your ear.

And then you’re awake, panting heavily, a groan spilling past your lips as you toss and turn a little in your bed. 

“Fuck.” you whimper out, bringing your arm up over your face as you try and catch your breath. 

 You can’t remember exactly what you dreamt about, only the deep voice murmuring nothings in your ear and cold fingers playing with your folds. You let out an exasperated sigh squirming in bed frustration seeping into your bones. When was the last time you had a dream like that, you couldn't remember? When was the last time you’d been worked up like this, and from a dream no less? You let out a frustrated huff turning and burying your face in the pillow. You could have sworn you heard a deep chuckle ring out. 

They get more detailed, more vivid the longer you're at the house you're almost used to waking up panting and sweaty. The feeling of cool silky tendrils exploring your body lingering for a bit before slinking off as you become more alert. Groggily whining at being awake after dreaming such filthy things. The feeling of your wetness soaking through your panties frustrating you. Always waking up right before the best part of the dream, so you throw the blankets off of yourself in a huff. Spreading your legs wide you trail your fingers over the lingering sensation of someone else’s touch. 

It drives him wild.

Aizawa was on the edge of insanity when you showed up at the old house. A year of solitude will do that to you, he'd been beyond madness when the old lady bought the house all those years ago. Though she's brought him back with a soft kindness only a grandmother could offer.

You,

You brought a clarity to his mind in a different way. Every little curse, every time you scold the house when something disappears. Every time you touched yourself to thoughts of him, to the lingering feeling of his tendrils and hands on you. Aizawa was able to pull himself little by little out of the pit insanity and loneliness had pulled him into. You were so easy too, subconsciously letting the shadow creature infect every ounce of your being. He'd managed to seep into your dreams easily enough, a lonely pent up girl. He liked how you squirmed in your sleep. 

Desperate little whimpers spilling from your lips as his cool fingers explore your body. It was addicting, the way your warmth spread through him with every touch, every explorative lick of your body lighting a fire deep in Aizawa's belly. 

“Pretty little thing aren't you.” Aizawa coos in your ear, and you always react so beautifully to his voice. Your sleeping body responding with a soft whimper, he lets his tendrils explore every inch of you. Slipping underneath the silk PJ top and skimpy little shorts you always wore to bed. You were practically offering yourself up to him each and every night. How could he ever resist when your body reacted like this to his every touch. He’d started slowly at first, only manifesting his tendrils to creep along your body as you slept. 

Once you’d been there for a few months he didn’t even have to worry about you waking up. Having invaded your dreams enough to be able to keep you in a nice deep sleep while he had his way with you. Settling himself between your legs fully manifested, never happier to have this solid form as when he's trailing large callus palms up to your soft legs. It’s so easy, really he can’t help himself, your wetness quickly soaking through your panties as cold fingers rub at your clit. Heady little moans spilling from your sleeping frame and it makes him giddy, trailing a large hand up and under your shirt. Pressing against the soft skin of your stomach and trailing up to gently squeeze at your breasts. Aizawa loves the way your body reacts to him, whimpering and arching against his touch. He shifts then, leaning over your sleeping body, caging your head between his hands, leaning down to nuzzle his nose into your hair.

Can’t help himself as he trails open mouth kisses down your neck, tangling his fingers through your hair, you lean into his touch. A soft whimper of please slips through your lips and Aizawa can barely contain himself as his hips buck against your core. 

“Begging for me in your sleep, sweet girl, already knows who she belongs to. Don’t you.”  

You mewl, a soft pretty sound that Aizawa plays in his head over and over for days. Humping into your soaked panty-clad pussy desperately. His tendrils emerging from his back of their own accord, stroking and rubbing up against you as he mindlessly pleasures himself against your unconscious frame. Your little pants and moans edging him on until he's groaning against your neck, spilling himself onto your cute little silk PJ shorts. Aizawa lets himself bask in the feeling of your warmth against him littering your face in kisses. 

“My good girl.” 

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

You conclude something is living in the house one night during an intense thunderstorm. Living in a house with some creature that may or may not try to eat you? Cool fine, no worries. But a thunderstorm? The loud unpredictable booms that tear through the air make you jump every single time without fail. 

You flinch, once again roused by a loud clap of thunder and a harsh flash of lightning. An involuntary whimper slipping past your lips as you curl up into a ball on the bed doing your best to block out the noise of the raging storm. 

You can feel it when a cool blanket envelopes you, a shift in the air that muffles all of the intense noise. The feeling of something carding its fingers through your hair comes next, ever so lightly scratching at your scalp. “It’s just a storm” A deep voice that seems to come from all around whispers and a strange comfort washes over you as your body begins to relax. You're half asleep, it's easy to lean into the gentle caress when you're not quite awake. Easy to ignore the feeling of tendrils creeping across your legs and stomach. You can't help but feel slightly comforted by them in your half-asleep state. 

 An exceptionally loud clap of thunder jolts you into a more awake state and you shoot up in bed. The hazy fog that was keeping you calm dispelling and you whimper as the comfort leaves you. “Please don't leave” you whisper aloud unsure to who or why you even spoke. A deep voice coos at you as thunderclaps outside again and you tremble. A yelp slips past your lips and your hands reach out towards the deep voice as if on instinct. Something safe that will soothe you if only you can reach out and touch it.

 A chuckle thick like honey floats into your ears and your hands meet something soft. You're groggy, half asleep, and confident you're just imagining things, but that doesn't take away from the comfort. It feels like a million different arms wrap around you, pulling you in towards something solid and the hazy fog returns your body relaxing as the tendrils tighten almost uncomfortably around you. Wrapping you up in a cocoon that feels safe and secure, the thunderstorm outside fading into the background and all you can concentrate on is the deep voice mumbling nothings in your ear. 

It's in the days after the storm when you can still hear his deep voice in your ears and feel his warm touch lingering on your body. That you remember the letter and box your grandmother had left you. You feel a little stupid for not thinking of reading them earlier, having been caught up in the whirlwind of moving you'd put them off to the side and almost forgotten entirely about them 

To my lovely granddaughter, 

If you’re reading this then it means you've agreed to the stipulations I included for ownership of the house. This place is special, and if you take care of the house its caretaker will return the favor. Be patient with him, it takes him a little while to warm up but he won't hurt you. I promise I haven't gone crazy with old age. Allow yourself to be open to the things in life we can’t explain. I hope the house is as good to you as it was to me in my old age. 

It doesn’t explain much, but coming from a family that believed in the supernatural made it so that your grandmother's cryptic words didn't freak you out as much as they should have. They made you feel better actually, soothed the part of you that was nervous you might be going crazy. The small box held a pendant, a small but brilliant ruby ordaining the center of it delicate but practical enough for daily wear. You can't help but slip it on and admire the pretty jewel. 

Aizawa is more active after that, the haze in his mind settles when he sees you wearing his necklace. You notice it too, the shadows in the house somehow softening, almost playful. He likes to move your things around so he can hear you huff in frustration. Every curse every time you yell at him, the fog in his mind clears.

He gets bolder around the house, slowly but surely, starts moving things around more obviously. Enjoys making you jump by slithering his tendrils across your ankles while you're cooking. Or shutting off the lights while you shower just to hear your cute little yelp. He likes that you’re somehow not scared of his presence but still easily spooked overall. 

“That foundation was $50 and if it's not back in my makeup bag when I come back I swear to god I'll keep all the lights on for a week.” You see the shadow swirl in the corner of the bathroom, and you know it's smiling at you. You roll your eyes but the next morning your foundation is sitting right on the bathroom sink. 

You begin to catch glimpses of it, of him. As if your attention is helping him manifest fully after a long time of being nothing but a wisp of smoke. Most obvious when your eyes scan the house and you can almost swear a man is petting one of your cats. Only to double back and see your cat rolling over against a dark corner of the room. You almost stop feeling uneasy, almost. 

It all comes to head on a night where sleep seems unreachable. You were frustrated, panting, skin warm, and sticky with sweat as your fingers skillfully circled your clit but no relief came. You let out a frustrated ‘fuck’ throwing your head back onto the pillow and tossing a hand over your face. You’d been pent up for a while now, the weird lewd dreams working you up but never getting you anywhere. You do your best to relax into the bed, accepting defeat with a groan and hoping sleep overtakes you quickly. 

The feeling of something wisping against your ankles brings you back from the edge of sleep. Cool ever so soft touches trail up your legs, you shiver at the cold sensation against your still warm and sweaty skin. Your eyes flutter open but you're only met with black, body tensing a little as cold tendrils stroke your face. 

“You’re ok little one.” The voice is deep against your ear, a cold forked tongue licking up the side of your cheek. “I’ve got you” The same soothing voice you’d heard during the thunderstorm. Except for this time, it's laced with something other than softness. “I’ve been watching you, little human. Spreading yourself open shamelessly, playing with that pretty pussy out in the open. Pretending like you didn’t know I was here to watch.” Aizawa coos.

You whimper at the words, mist curling around you as a dark chuckle fills the room. “Tease” he snarls in your ear and you can’t help yourself as your hips buck up at the sound. Something solid forms between your legs, the soft smooth thing wraps around your ankles assisting in spreading your legs out wide. The deep voice tsks against your ear, cold skin and stubble rubbing against your cheek “You could at least pretend like you're not enjoying this.” 

Your face flushes as he teases you, the sensation of his foreign appendages exploring your body exciting you in a way you can't quite place. They’re not hands that much you can tell, you can distinguish his hands by the callus texture as he strokes a thumb over one of your nipples. Tweaking at it gently until it perks against his fingers. 

“Aren’t you scared little mouse” you can feel his tongue lapping at your neck, sharp teeth pricking the skin there and you let out a whimper. Managing only to shake your head, arching your chest up into his touch as he plays with you. “Desperate little human, willing to take just about anything if it means being satisfied.” You choke out a protest but can’t help the soft moan that bubbles out of your mouth as Aizawa presses his thigh against your sex. He coos into your ear when you begin to hump him mindlessly. 

“Such simple little creatures humans. Driven by desire, and willing to fuck just about anything aren't you little one?” You shake your head in protest, but the excitement pooling in your belly betrays you. Aizawa chuckles and pulls away from you a little, tendrils pooling from him and eagerly joining the fray. The limbs have a mind of their own, each appendage going about playing with you in different ways. One replaces his hands, squeezing and pinching at your breasts. Another brings your hands up and holds them above you keeping you still with minimal effort. A few others explore your body and Aizawa watches, as one of his appendages eagerly begins tugging aside your cute little PJ bottoms. 

You whine out a “No” as the cold air hits your soaked entrance “That's not what your pretty little pussy is telling me.” Aizawa chuckles watching as the tendrils gather your juices up, gently circling your clit and parting your folds. “Look at you, soaked and ready for me aren't you.” His hand replaces the tendril and you feel cold fingers press into your heat. Your pussy clenches at the intrusion but you buck into him automatically. Already worked up from playing with yourself before, your body betrays you as your mind hazes and all you can think about is pleasure. 

“P-Please” You choke out tugging against the restraints that only tighten when you struggle. Aizawa cocks an eyebrow up at you as he leans down, nuzzling at your inner thigh. Tongue lapping at the juices running down between your supple ass. He hums when you beg a smile tugging at his lips, his fog finally taking hold of you. 

“What was that little mouse? Did you say something” He accentuates his words with another finger and you cry out as he finger fucks you. His tongue lazily licking at the edges of your pussy and then up to rub at your clit. You whine, hips bucking up and Aizawa sighs another tendril coming to wrap around your waist and pins you to the bed. 

“Be still, or I'll leave you here.” You freeze at that babbling for him not to leave you and settle your hips. The appendage keeps you still squeezing you just a little too tight. 

“That's a good girl.” Aizawa hums, turning his attention back to your core. “You look so pretty like this baby girl, spread out for me to do whatever I want. You just keep giving me those pretty little noises and I'll make you feel good, okay?” You moan in response and Aizawa clicks his tongue, the tendril circling your stomach squeezing until it hurts. “Let me hear you say it.” Aizawa snarls. 

You gasp as pain seeps into your pleasure “Yes, please I'll be good.” The pressure against your sides loosens and you're able to breathe again panting softly as the pain begins to fade. Aizawa doesn't say anything, pulling his fingers out of you and bringing them up for a taste. He hums satisfied and then he's moving your body. Positioning you onto your stomach, cold hands lifting your ass as he positions you just how he wants. His tendrils keep your arms together in front of you, stripping you of your PJs and keeping your legs spread just enough to give Aizawa the perfect view of your ass and dripping pussy. A smile, just a bit too wide spills over his lips as he settles himself between your legs. Aizawa is hard, painfully so but he takes his time sliding a hand over the curve of your asscheeks. Trailing down your back and up to the back of your neck, squeezing gently before trailing back again.

 With a hum, he lazily strokes your dripping folds, cooing as you press your ass back into him wiggling a little desperate for him to fill you. A harsh smack rings out as his palm connects with your ass “Patience little mouse.” He snarls leaning down to the opposite cheek and biting down just a little too hard. You cry out, tears pooling in your eyes and you bury your head into the pillow. Mind overcome by a lustful haze, you just want him to fuck you already. 

Your wish comes soon enough when you feel something thick prodding at your entrance. You gasp as the tip of Aizawa’s cock penetrates you, gasp turns into a desperate moan as he presses into you little by little. He lets out a deep guttural moan of his own as your warmth encircles him, greedily squeezing his cock. Your warmth is addicting and it doesn’t take too long for Aizawa to start bucking into you. He sets a brutal pace, the appendages holding your waist upkeep you still, nice and steady for him to fuck into while his hands explore your body. 

You curse desperate little moans and obscenities leaving your lips as he fucks into you. His cock stretches you to your limits, almost painful as the creature fucks into you desperately. There's a shift, and you feel his hands come up to your middle, pulling you up against his chest as he fucks you. You feel his face nuzzle against your cheek as one of his hands coming to rest against your belly as he fucks you. You hands are suddenly free and you reach up, feeling your fingers pass through a cool mist, before finding something solid. Soft wisps of something, that wrap around your fingers, rolling over them in waves as you entwine them into what you assume is his hair. 

“Such a good girl, you take me so well darling. Letting me fuck into your womb like this.” Aizawa presses his hand against your stomach pushing back on himself as he becomes desperate. 

“Wanna see” The words are a desperate whine and you don't even really register when you say them. Aizawa sputters a little pace wavering at your words. His fingers brush against the delicate necklace you wear his necklace, and for a second his mind clears. But you whimper a desperate sound that breaks whatever sliver clarity he'd found and a darkness takes over his features again. His fingers abandon the necklace and trail up to your neck fingers wrapping around it then squeezing.

“What was that you little slut.” He snarls in your ear and you can't help yourself as you cry out 

“Please, wanna see you, wanna watch your cock fuck into me.” Your face flushes as you admit this out loud. A growl coming from the man, thing currently fucking your brains out and you can't do anything but tug at his hair and lean into him further as he uses you. Aizawa stills a little, and you whine desperately doing your best to bounce on his cock as he stops moving. Suddenly you can see again and he's fucking into you, go to say something but you see it, a black wispy tentacle like thing appears in front of your face. Aizawa’s hand that was wrapped snugly around your neck comes up to squeeze your cheeks and the appendage gives you a cheeky little wave before filling your mouth. 

“Wanna watch yourself get stuffed, fine, we'll use all of your cute little holes. How does that sound little one.” You whine around the tentacle and then he’s picking up his pace. Hand squeezing your throat so he can feel it at his tendril fucks into your neck, you take him so well. This is it the broken part of his brain hisses she's the one. Aizawa shakes his head, the feeling of your fingers in his hair grounding him for a moment and presses your body back into the mattress. 

His movements turn erratic as he fucks into your overwhelmingly tight little pussy. Pretty little moans spilling from you as he fucks you and his tentacles play with your clit and throat. You take him so well, respond so beautifully to his touch, you weren't scared and accepted your place quickly. He brings his fingers up to the little nub between your legs, replacing his tendrils and pressing fast little circles against your already abused clit. It doesn't take long after that, your body presses into the mattress, a tentacle fucking your throat, and some creature’s cock kissing at your cervix the thought alone is too much. But you spill over when Aizawa’s teeth sink into your neck, your body spasming as your orgasm bubbles over. 

Aizawa grunts from above you, your body going limp as he bites into you fucking you through your orgasm and chasing his own using your spent body for his own pleasure. He spills in you soon after, his mind just a little bit hazy. Ever so gently Aizawa pulls his tendril out of your mouth, drool, and his own slick trailing from your mouth as he does so. He coos as you whimper, pressing a hand over your ass to admire the way your pussy stretched to accommodate him. Humping into you a few more times before he pulls away completely. He debates for a moment letting himself disappear back into the shadows, but he hasn't been this real, this solid in so long. 

Your whimpering slices through his thoughts and before he can stop you, you're on your back looking up at him. Instinct makes him retract all of his extra limbs, making himself look half normal minus the wisps of hair that always seem to move on their own. You blink up at him for a moment body sore but satisfied and you bring your arms up to him. Aizawa is unsure, body flickering into shadows but you speak up before he can fully dissipate. 

“Stay with me” You manage to croak out, throat a little sore from the abuse you endured. You weren’t scared of him, if anything he was handsome and he'd fucked you till you were satisfied. You see the hint of hesitation in his eyes but you crinkle your nose and tilt your head cutely making grabby hands at him and he can’t help himself. 

Aizawa lays down and you curl into him on instinct, his body now warm against yours. Your fingers find their way up to his hair, giggling as the locks lace themselves with your fingers. He brushes some of your hair back and you whine as he touches at your neck. Small bits of blood pooling where he’d sunk his teeth into you. His split tongue peaks out automatically, licking it up and gently lapping at the tender spot on your neck as you whimper. 

“I get a little nuts when I'm on my own.” it's an apology, and you don’t think about why you feel safe in his arms, or why you don't question the creature laying with you, why you're not scared. Instead, you hum softly, nuzzling yourself into the crook of his neck as Aizawa lazily runs a steadily cooling hand down your back. 

“It's ok, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.” You hear yourself say and he hums into your hair acknowledging your words. A twisted smile creeping its way onto his lips as his grip tightens around you. The part of Shouta that’s fallen too deep into insanity to come back fully snickers at your words. 

As if you had a choice. 

​

Tags:

@bbygirlpastel @thewheezingwyvern

[yesimwriting]

Solace (part 2)

SOLACE (part 2)

A part two but kinda works as a stand alone!!

A/n y’all seemed to like the first one so I thought I’d make a part two :)) This was NOT meant to be a series but now I kind of have an idea to make this a mini series where each part is kind of a blurb that connects to the last part and I think I might do that. 

Pairing: General Kirigan/the Darkling x Heartrender! reader

Summary: The day after you go visit General Kirigan at night is also the day he decides he can become more honest about his intentions for you. The softness of it all is starting to get to you but you have a good friend to remind you that it’s okay to feel happy. 

-- 

The sunlight peers into the room shyly. It stirs me awake into a soft bliss. Warmth. When was the last time I woke up feeling so warm? So rested? I squint my eyes open, still calm. But when my vision finally adjusts, I feel like ice all over again. This is not where I’m supposed to be. 

Memories of sneaking here in the darkness of night, speaking to Kirigan so freely, and then letting him convince me to stay. He had seemed to want me here then, in the night when loneliness finds easy prey in even the most hardened individuals...but now, in the morning sunlight--he’ll regret it. We made it clear I’d stay only that night--and that night is now gone. Maybe he expects me to be gone before he rises. I know that’s what most men expect after taking company for the night, but we didn’t exactly partake in activities like that. I think what we did is worse. 

Relations like that are about desire, falling asleep with someone else borders on intimacy. One misstep and who knows what I’ll invoke? I shift my gaze upwards, careful to not move in hopes of not disturbing the arms he’s draped across my back, holding me to him. Kirigan seems different in sleep, softer. His features are still sharp, but there’s something gentle about seeing him vulnerable. Something about the way his lashes brush against his cheeks and his lips stay parted just slightly. This moment can never repeat itself. It can never happen again, so I’ll have to hold onto this. 

Cautiously, I prepare to slip out of his grasp even though it feels like its the only thing tethering me to this world. I touch his first hand, moving it off of me slowly. I wait a second, and when he remains unstirring I move his other hand. 

“What are you so eager for, little wolf?” The raspy, tired quality of his voice leaves my stomach fluttering. His words jar me so much I find myself frozen. 

He reaches lazily, placing an arm on the center of my back, trying to ease me back into place. “It’s morning now.” 

His thumb brushes up and down my back in a way meant to lull me. “I’m the Shadow Summoner, the night lasts as long as I want it to.” He lets out an easy breath, “And I’m prolonging it.” 

Ignoring the warmth the implications of his words bring, I decide to focus on how dramatic he is. “Dramatic even so early in the morning.” 

Kirigan’s eyes flutter open, the slightest smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Watch yourself, little wolf.” There is no malice in his voice, only something hinting at teasing too humane for me to trust. 

I roll my eyes, letting his fingers brush wherever he wants them to--up and down my back, down the arms I am too aware of. The desire to touch him easily, casually, just to prove that I have that privilege. I stretch, pushing down thoughts of rejection as I place a hand on his chest. He pauses, one hand frozen in place on my back. Slowly, he moves his hand away from me. I tense, preparing to retract my hand. He catches my hand before I can pull it away, moving it towards him easily until my hand is against his cheek. 

“Y/n.” He’s called me my name so few times, and the restraint in his voice leaves me unnerved. “Will you wear a black kefta today?” 

His color. Perhaps he meant the promise of solace more literally than I thought. Anyone who sees me will think I’ve been claimed by him in one way or another. Perhaps I have been. The thought stirs my chest, moving me in a way I can’t distinguish as a positive or negative. I feel myself being ensnared in a lovely trap, but when I look at him, at the honesty burning in his gaze, it’s almost as if he’s asking me to claim him. 

“Yes.” Again the word leaves me as if willed by some outside force. 

Kirigan’s intensity dwindles slightly. His hand drops from over mine, but I keep mine on his cheek, running my thumb across his skin. “You’ll do good for me today, little wolf.” His words leave no room for argument. I think speaking like that is a talent of his. “You always do so good for me.” The admiration in his words melt something in me, my entire body warmed in a way I don’t understand. Kirigan brushes his knuckles across my cheek again. 

I’ve been silent for too long, each second I waste inflating his ego. “You’re suspiciously nice in the mornings.” 

“You’re only skeptical because you never let anyone take care of you.” His words are chiding and the implication of them leaves my face warm. “So much promise,” he muses, hand trailing down my jawline, “So much power,” his fingers skim down my neck and across my collarbone. “I wonder what someone like you could do with an amplifier.”

An amplifier. I’ve seen them in use, and knowing what I could do with something that strengthens my already abrasive abilities. I could be a monster so easily. Kirigan must see some of my concern because he’s quick to sit up a little more in order to close the distance between us the way he did last night. He brushes his lips against my collarbone in a way that leaves me distracted by wanting. A wanting for what, I’m not sure. I ease into his touch. 

“Today everyone will know what you are.” His voice is gentle against the base of my neck. “And they will know that we are meant to be equals.” 

I feel the need to panic rise in my chest, but it’s dulled by the warmth his lips leave against my skin. “I’m only a Heartrender, I can’t be your equal.” 

“You are,” he whispers, so assured, “With a heart as good as yours you may even be more.”

His words are too weighted for so early in the morning, but there is always tension with him. Shadows are meant to be weightless but I think they’re like anything else--carry enough of them and eventually you’ll break. 

When he straightens I move to follow him, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “You’re good, too.” There has to be goodness in him. No one capable of such warmth and gentleness can be made up entirely of wicked things. 

“You claimed I was a villain.” 

Did my words really impact him so? “My opinion isn’t law.” 

Something strange flickers across his features. “It might as well be.” 

I swallow back a bundle of nerves. “Sometimes I’m wrong.” 

The words crack something vulnerable in me. A part of me thinks he can feel the part of me that’s breaking in hopes of offering him something. 

“You really are my solace.” I don’t know how to reciprocate such a gilded sentiment. 

I rest my head against his shoulder, taking his hand. “I’m glad to be that.” 

He squeezes my hand. “We should go get ready before people start to notice our absence.” 

I consider reminding him what he told me last night, but he has a point. There’s a difference between a rumor of me pacing in the night and both of us showing up late at the same time. Still though, a part of me is already grieving this version of Kirigan. Outside of this room his coldness will return. ‘Just for tonight’. We had agreed on that. But when the night ended, and the morning sun colored us both sane again, he had asked me to wear his color. 

“I’ll go get dressed,” I stay still. 

Kirigan runs his thumb over my knuckles. “I’ll have a black kefta sent to you.”

That has to mean something. Wait--do I want it to mean something? I pull my hand away from his stiffly, standing because I know the longer I’ll wait the worse it will be. “I’ll see you during training.” 

“My door will be unlocked after.” 

At that, my chest swells. He’s offered me an opening. “Good to know.” 

His eyes narrow slightly at my coyness. “Find me after?” 

“Only because you’re nicer in here.” He wants me to come back. 

--

The black kefta does not feel like my own. The color is too alluring, too dark and enthralling. It is not meant for someone like me. It feels borrowed, but I’m not entirely uncomfortable. It’s almost like he’s still with me, keeping me from being alone. 

When I walk down the halls, I feel the stares of the others sticking to me like tar. They barely tolerated me before--the grisha plucked from the slums after a fateful night in which Kirigan saw the extent of my abilities. 

“New clothes, l/n?” 

Julian’s words coax an easy smile from me. Always so open, so accepting. Even now he doesn’t pester me about the black kefta. “I barely noticed.” 

My lack of real response earns me a playful glare. “Is that the only explanation I get? Moving up the ranks without me?” 

I roll my eyes. He’s joking, but he’s drawing more eyes to me. “I’m not leaving you, Julian.” He’s been too good a friend for me to leave. “Nothing’s changed except the color of my clothing.” 

“Good.” Julian’s lips twitch upwards, offering me the kind of smile that’s earned him many trysts with many women. “I’d miss you too much.” 

And while I doubt that my disappearance would do anything else than up his popularity, I appreciate the sentiment. “Oh I’m sure you’d find a way to find company.” 

He half laughs, “What are you implying of my virtue?”

Laughing, I roll my eyes as we continue to walk down the halls. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

Julian reaches for me, touching my forearm. I stall. “In all seriousness, y/n, I really appreciate your friendship.” 

Aw. Never did I think I’d have so many people to appreciate here. I think of Kirigan, of the vulnerability in his words and the new facet of him I saw last night that I somehow always knew he had in him. He may be a villain, or just one in the making, but he is more than a dark shadow. I find myself releasing I appreciate Kirigan too. It’s different than the way I care about Julian, more fragile, but it’s still a relationship I’ve created here. 

I look down at the space where his hand touches my forearm. “I really appreciate your friendship, too. You’ve gotten me through a lot.”

“You need to give yourself some credit.” He releases my arm, turning to continue to walk forward. 

I turn as well, “You should too.”

 I look forward, and there, in the near distance is Kirigan. He’s staring at me, eyes lacking everything he had earlier. I offer him a small smile. He does not return it, his drops slowly to the ground. Weird. I guess he’s just turning on his indifference for a day of training. He asked me to wear his color, he asked me to come back. 

Does he regret it? Maybe it was a premature request for me to wear his color so publicly. His gaze finds mine again, and with a tilt of his head he gestures for me to follow him.

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper

[justice4canyonmoon]

An Evening Off

Summary: Both Y/n and Harry have a rare night off. Y/n has relaxing plans for how they should spend it.

Notes: Howdy! This is probably the last fic I’m going to post for the next two weeks; I have finals for college next week, and I have a fuck ton of work this week because professors love to give students everything at once 🙃 Anyway, I came up with the very fluffy concept because I crave emotional intimacy, so I hope you like it!!!!

Warnings: cursing ig. otherwise just a lot of fluff and taking a bath together 🥰

WC: 1.9k

Y/n was feeling lonely.

Her boring ass office job didn’t produce too many friends for her. While the people she worked with weren’t the absolute worst, they were just, well, bland. Their lives were cookie-cutter. The closest thing any of them had experienced to a true adventure was a trip to IKEA. Her two best friends, Maria and José, were across the country, since she had moved from one coast to another to live with her boyfriend. Sure, she could FaceTime them, but it just wasn’t the same. And after the call, she knew she’d just be more lonely than before.

Harry wasn’t an option either. He was working, far too hard for her liking. She understood, of course; it was album crunch time. He had to make all of the last minute decisions: finalizing the tracklist, photoshoots, and touch-ups on the chosen tracks in the studio. But she missed him. The only times she saw him anymore was right before bed, when he would stumble into the room sleepily and kiss her forehead before going right to sleep. So yeah, she was a bit lonely. And being alone on her day off wasn’t exactly the plans she wanted to have.

Luckily, the universe decided to answer her pleas. At around 1:00, after she had finished up a late shower, her phone buzzed with a text from her beloved.

H: Hi, baby! The only thing we have left on the agenda today is touching up a couple of the album tracks, so I should be home a bit earlier :D If you’d like, I can pick up some dinner on the way home.

She couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across her face. For the first time in ages, the two of them could finally have some time together! Maybe she could do something nice for him! He had been working so hard lately, he deserved it. And honestly, she did, too. An idea popped into her head, and she threw open the bathroom closet, taking a look through her bath supplies. She grinned triumphantly as she pulled out a citrus bath bomb, knowing that Harry enjoyed the calming scent of orange and lemon. A nice bath would not only help Harry destress, but it would also be the perfect cure to the loneliness that was settling in her heart. She quickly texted Harry a reply as she set the bath bomb aside.

Y/n: Sorry about the wait, babe, was just taking a shower. Forgot to this morning lol

He answered pretty much right away, making her smile.

H: It’s okay, baby! No need for apologies :)

Y/n: Okay! I’m excited to actually get to spend some time with you! I could really go for curry, if you’re up for Indian takeout.

H: Curry sounds good to me! I’ll probably be home between 6 or 7! I have to go now, but I can’t wait to see you :) I love you so much!!!!

Y/n: Can’t wait to see you, either, Har!!! I love you, too 💕💕

“Baby, ‘m home!”

Y/n looked at the clock. It was 7:30, a bit later than what Harry had said through text, but still much earlier than usual. She leapt up from the couch and sprinted to the front door, tackling Harry in a hug. He laughed loudly and wound his free arm around her waist, not fully able to hug her back because of the takeout bag in his arms.

“Let me put the food down so I can give y’ a proper hug.”

She let go with a small pout on her face, which Harry promptly kissed off while setting the bag down. He then wrapped her in a tight, two-armed embrace. She melted at the contact, resting her head on his chest and hugging him back just as tightly. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then rested his head on top of hers.

“Miss you, Har,” she said, her speech slightly muffled from talking into his t-shirt.

She could feel him frown against her hair, “I miss y’ too, Y/n. The album should be done by the end of the month, and then ‘m all yours until tour starts.”

“Good. I was gonna break into the studio and steal you back myself if you weren’t done soon.”

He chuckled, “I don’ think Jeff would like that very much.”

“Fuck Jeff! I need you back here,” she scoffed.

“I certainly hope y’ don’ want t’ fuck Jeff.”

She rolled her eyes, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned cheekily, “But yet y’ still here.”

“Lord only knows why,” Y/n grumbled, though there was a smile on her face.

They pulled away reluctantly, both realizing how hungry they were. The two chowed down on chicken curry and naan while chatting about their day. Y/n spent most of her day off watching The Great British Bake-Off and snuggling with Daiquiri, their black lab. Harry had been putting the finishing touches on three of the album songs (“I can’ wait to play them f’ y’, baby”), and ranted about the traffic coming home (“I would’ve gotten home 45 minutes earlier, but the freeway was ridiculously clogged up!”). It was domestic in a way that Y/n never thought she would have, and she loved every second of it.

When everything from dinner was cleaned up, Y/n figured now was as good a time as any to reveal her plans for the rest of their evening.

“Hey, Har,” she paused, then continued when she heard his hum of acknowledgment, “would you want to take a bath with me?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Is this a ploy t’ get me naked?”

“No,” Y/n said bashfully, “I just thought it would be nice to take a bath together. I found a citrus bath bomb at the back of the closet, and I thought it would be relaxing for us.”

Harry’s eyes softened and he smiled gently at her, “That sounds perfect, love. Y’ too sweet.”

The two made their way to the bathroom, hand in hand. Y/n plucked the bath bomb from the closet and laid it in the tub, turning on the warm water. The water became a pastel shade of yellow, reflecting the lemony scent of the bath bomb. As she was checking the temperature, a pair of tattooed arms wrapped around her waist, and a kiss was pressed to her cheek. The heat radiating off of his body led her to believe that Harry had already rid himself of his clothes. When she turned around, her suspicions were confirmed.

“You work fast,” she commented, making a humming sound when the temperature was to her satisfaction.

“A bit,” he confirmed, leaning over to turn off the nozzle “just wanna take a bath with y’, love. Speaking of, let’s get those pesky clothes off of y’, shall we?”

Y/n nodded and Harry reached forward, almost reverently lifting her (his) sweatshirt over her head. She shimmied out of her leggings and removed her undergarments. She stepped into the bath first, gesturing for him to follow. He obeyed, and sat between her legs, resting his head on her shoulder. The two sat in silence for a while, basking in each other’s company. Y/n couldn’t remember a time where she had felt this at peace. But she also knew that Harry had forgotten to shower that morning since he was nearly late to the studio, so she reached over and grabbed some soap and a washcloth. She looked down at him and giggled softly when she realized he was almost asleep

“Wake up, baby,” she crooned, “let me wash you.”

“‘M awake,” he muttered, “promise.”

“Sure you are, that’s why your eyes are closed,” Y/n teased.

He only hummed in response, making her giggle again. She kissed his forehead and began washing him gently. The soft circles she was rubbing into his skin with the washcloth were soothing, and a sleepy smile made its way onto his face.

“‘Y always take such good care of me. Dunno how I got s’ lucky.”

Y/n felt her face grow warm as she reached for the shampoo, “I think I’m the lucky one. You always take care of me, too.”

She began rubbing the shampoo into his silky locks. Breathy gasps fell from his lips as she tugged lightly as his hair, working the shampoo into his curls.

“Feels s’ good,” he murmured.

“Glad you’re feeling good, Har,” Y/n replied in a hushed tone.

She rinsed his hair and repeated the process with the conditioner. By the time she had finished, Harry had fully fallen asleep on her shoulder. She cooed softly at how adorable he looked. He was like an angel; his long lashes were speckled with little water drops, his wet hair stuck to his forehead in an oddly endearing way, and a small smile was spread across his lips. He looked so relaxed in a way that Y/n hadn’t seen in a while. The bath helped her feel more at ease too; the monotonous motions of washing Harry made the stress from her job melt away, and the loneliness that had plagued her earlier in the day was washed away by the warm water. But she knew she had to wake Harry. She wasn’t quite strong enough to carry all six feet of him back to their bedroom.

Y/n gently jostled his shoulder and whispered, “Harry. Need you to wake up, baby.”

He groaned softly, making her giggle softly once more. His eyes slowly blinked open to reveal his jade irises, and he stumbled his way out of the tub, making her laugh a little harder as she followed. Y/n got out two towels and dried them both off, knowing that Harry was much too tired to do it on his own. She took his hand and walked toward their bedroom.

When they reached the bedroom, Y/n guided Harry to sit on the bed while she picked out sweats for both of them to wear to sleep (she knew that Harry had a particular fondness for when she wore his clothes to bed, so she got out his clothes for both of them). Harry pliantly moved his limbs as she clothed him, and watched her with moony eyes as she pulled on her own sleepwear.

“Look s’ pretty in m’ clothes, love,” he complimented, relishing in the shy smile that appeared on her face.

“Thank you, Har. Let’s get you to bed, okay?” she replied.

Y/n turned off the light and joined Harry on the bed. He was already lying on his side, so she wound her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Usually, he was the big spoon, but with the whole mood they had set all night, it just felt right for her to be the one cuddling him. Y/n barely heard Harry mumble a “g’night. Love you,” before his breathing evened out. She smiled and closed her eyes, reflecting on the day. Just spending one evening with her boyfriend made her feel right as rain, and the loneliness that had once threatened to overtake her was totally gone. Though she had been taking care of him that night, he was also taking care of her. And sure, they were both going back to work tomorrow, but in two weeks, Harry would be done with the album and would be all hers. When sleep finally overtook her, all she had were the most pleasant of dreams.

[vampiredecay]

Hey dear, i have a weird request but could you do a Lost boys X reader or Marko x reader Where all the boys (Marko Dwayne David paul Micheal all of them or just marko Dwayne David paul) see the reader re put bandages on his scar but the scars would be like carls in the walking dead and they see the scar ( i wonder how they would react to it?)

thank you so much for the request, sorry it took me a hot second to post! its longer than my other stories on here so far, so i hope that makes up for it. i also hope that you like what i did with it!! its angsty in the beginning but it gets fluffier <3

Scar Tissue

rating: teen

word count: 2,908

tags/warnings: swearing, mentions of being in pain, mentions of scars, mentions of being in the hospital, harassment, fluff, the boys being sweet, the lost boys x male!reader, male pronouns used, poly!lost boys

--

You could have never predicted how your life had gone so sideways. Not in a million years- before the accident, you were pretty much an average joe. Decent family, decent friends, decent existence. Nothing was ever really exciting, but you were okay with that. Life didn’t need to be crazy or unpredictable to be fulfilling.

But, you supposed, the price of being a living being on this Earth was that life could never truly be predictable at all. It couldn’t be, with the events that followed you losing your eye, and pretty much all normalcy you grew to live with.

It was extremely painful at first, physically and emotionally. You had lost a vital part of your body, and you could never get it back. It was disorienting, and uncomfortable, like an itch you could never scratch. The skin around your eye was incredibly sensitive, the lightest movement or touch sending shockwaves of burning pain through your nerves. Tears were always on the brink of spilling over anytime you or a doctor had to replace medicine and bandages to keep the wound clean.

In the end, the pain wasn’t the worst part about it. No, you could deal with the pain. The people in your life, however, suddenly changing and disappearing was way, way worse.

Friends slowly stop coming to visit you at the hospital, calls go unanswered, gazes averted. Your parents supported you, of course. They still loved you, and you knew nothing could change that. But sometimes even they got this look in their eyes, something a little too close to pity.

It was an incredibly lonely first couple of months.

But the loneliness and the heartache slowly healed, along with your eye. The scarring lightened and stopped bleeding, and your skin no longer felt as if it was on fire every time you turned your head. You still had to keep it under wraps, to keep out infection, and to keep other people from seeing how bad it was. You knew that people seeing the bandages would cause looks and questions, but it was better than people actually seeing the wound, which would surely cause reactions that you didn’t have the patience to deal with.

As you were healing, you were also relearning how to do things in your daily life. Your sight and depth perception drastically changed, so things like walking and doing simple tasks had to be practiced all over again. You had to take things slow, which you hated, you couldn’t leave the house very often until you got used to walking without bumping into things.

The first place you wanted to go once you were able to was the boardwalk. It was one of your favorite places in the world, so loud and full of life and happiness. It was absolutely what you needed after all of the hardship you had to deal with lately.

So one night, when it got late and your parents turned in for the night, you went out and caught a bus to the nearest stop to the boardwalk. From there you walked until you saw the bright lights and heard loud screaming and chatter and laughter. You smiled as you took in the sight of the people and the games and the rides, it felt like you were breathing for the first time in months.

The first thing you did was buy a big thing of cotton candy and a soda, roaming the boardwalk and consuming sugary goodness. As you walked, you noticed that some people were giving you looks, but you ignored them, focused on just having a good time and living your best life.

Walking around for long periods of time still gave you a bit of trouble, you were starting to get a little dizzy, so after a bit you sat down on a bench to give your brain time to catch up with the rest of your body. This was nice too, you got to relax and just watch people for a bit. There were all sorts of people out tonight, families and tourists and couples, teenagers and surf nazis and locals, all in one spot, the heart of Santa Carla, enjoying the wonders it had to offer.

There was a group of guys that caught your eye, though. You didn’t mean to stare at them; in fact, you knew not to, you’ve seen them around the boardwalk in the past, and heard the rumors surrounding them. But, in your defense, it has been a while since you’ve been there, and you forgot how magnetic they can be.

They were milling near their motorbikes, smoking and talking and lightly harassing anyone that happened to walk by. Three blondes and two brunettes- had there always been five of them? You could have sworn there was only four- all dressed in black and leather, looking dangerous and infuriatingly hot. You would have noticed more, but by accident you make eye contact with one of the guys and you rip your attention away from them.

Shit, god damnit, you’ve been spotted now. There’s only one thing to do, and it’s to walk quickly away and hope you don’t run into them later.

You get up too quickly though, and you stumble straight into a man walking with who you assume to be his girlfriend.

“Hey! Watch it-” He starts to say, pissed off that someone ran into him, but then he takes a good look at you and lets out a laugh. “Oh, I guess you really can’t, huh?”

The girlfriend lets out a giggle, smirking behind a hand over her lips. You mumble out an apology and try to go around them, but the man blocks your path. “What was that? C’mon man I can’t hear you, you mute too or something?”

You look up at him and scoff, anger building inside you. Who the hell did this asshole think he was? Without thinking, you say “Yeah, real funny and original. Bet lines like that really score you in bed.”

There’s some laughter around you, making you realize that a crowd has been drawn. The man’s face turned bright red, his mouth curved downward into a frown and he got up in your space. “Oh, so you’re a tough guy now, huh?” He pushed you in the chest, making you stumble back. You get dizzy and almost fall, but you don’t hit the ground. Instead, your back hits someone's chest. You freeze, then slowly turn your head, to see a guy with spiky platinum blond hair staring at the man who pushed you. The four other guys with him were also there, glaring at the crowd of people just watching.

You turned to look back at the man who pushed you, all the color was drained from his face. His girlfriend was clutching his arm, trying to pull the man away but his feet were glued in place. The blond behind you smirked.

“There a problem here?”

The silence that swept over was deafening and unnatural, it was like all of the boardwalk was holding its breath waiting for an answer. The man swallowed, eyes gliding over the gang behind you, not focusing on one spot. “N-No, man. No problem.”

You let out a breath as you watch the man and his girlfriend back up, and the crowd starts to disperse. The man behind you gives a shark-like grin and chuckles deep. “Wonderful.” He says, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you away. You can hear your heart thundering in your chest as you walk away with them, listening as they laugh and push each other.

“N-No m-man, n-no p-problem!” One of the blonds says in a mocking wavering tone, “What a fuckin pussy!” The gang starts laughing again, it feels like the ground underneath your feet is rumbling from the force of it. After a little more walking, they stop in front of a different bench and gesture for you to sit down.

“Take a load off, little man!” You snorted as you sat down, grinning despite the slight lightheadedness. Two of the blonds sat next to you, one with a wild mane of hair and a smile to match swinging an arm behind you. You look at all of them, nodding your head a little bit. “Thank you,” You said softly, “You didn’t have to do that.”

The spiky blond shrugged his shoulders and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N” You said, and he nodded. “I’m David. This is Dwayne, Michael,” He gestured to the two brunettes, one with curly hair and sunglasses hanging off his shirt, the other with longer straight hair and not wearing a shirt at all. “And that’s Paul and Marko.” The two blonds next to you do little waves, the one that wasn’t right next to you has curly hair and a jacket so cluttered with patches it must be heavy.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N!” Paul says, nudging his knee against yours, making you smile more. “It’s good to meet you guys, too.”

After the introductions were out of the way, David offered for you to hang out with them, but you declined, saying you needed to get home. At that David offered a ride instead. You hesitated, but accepted in the end. Riding behind him on his bike was terrifying and exhilarating, you clutched his middle tightly the whole way home, but the blond didn’t seem to mind.

“You should come to the boardwalk more often,” David said as you got off his bike, now at your house. He smiled at you like he was letting you in on a secret, “We’re there all night.”

From that point on, you couldn’t ignore the boy's siren call. The next couple days you would take the bus over, wander until you found them, and then do stupid shit with them all night. A lot of it consisted of them terrorizing people who even looked at them funny, but you didn’t find it scary anymore. You found it powerful. It was the best you’ve felt in a long time.

It wasn’t long, though, until the questions started. You supposed you should have seen it coming, but hanging out with them honestly made you forget.

“So Y/N,” Paul said one night, it was just you and him and Marko. You were leaning against the railing in front of the carousel, waiting for the others to get back from getting food. When you looked over at Paul, he asked “What’s up with the eye?”

Marko punched Paul's shoulder, giving him a look, and Paul threw his hands up dramatically. “What? I don’t mean anything by it, I’m just curious.”

You sighed a little bit, mulling over what to say. You weren’t mad that he asked, you just hated talking about it. “There’s nothing much to say.” You said after a couple seconds of silence. “I was in an accident. Got fucked up. End of story.” Paul and Marko both nodded, taking the hint not to ask anymore. The taller blond wrapped an arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head. A silent apology. You smiled a little and leaned into him, letting him know it was okay.

After that, David, Dwayne and Michael arrived back with food, and once everyone settled down at a nearby table to eat, David proposed that they go back to their place after eating. You were nervous to accept, but they were cool guys so far, so you didn’t see the harm in it.

Before you could voice your opinion, however, a sudden cold, wet substance suddenly splashed all over your face. You yelped and got up, trying to shake off whatever the fuck it was, when you heard laughter getting distant. Suddenly, the boys were all getting up and shouting, someone was holding onto your shoulders, and when you wiped at your eye you could see it was Dwayne. He looked absolutely livid.

“What the fuck just happened?” You asked, looking down at yourself, disgusted to find that your clothes were soaked now too. The brunette gripped your shoulders a little tighter, not enough to hurt but the pressure was there, “Some people have a death wish.”

You would have asked him to elaborate, but then something dawned on you. “Oh shit!” You exclaim, hand going up to your bandaged eye. “Fuck, I have to get home, I have to change this, fuck!” Dwayne's eyes widened a little, and he nodded, calling attention to the other boys, who were all talking angrily to each other. They all looked over, and when they heard that you needed to change your bandage, they all hurried over. “Our place is closer. Michael, take Y/N to get the supplies he needs. We’ll meet back up at the hotel.” David all but commanded, and everyone seemed to be in agreement. The rest of the boys took off on their bikes while Michael steered you in the direction of a small convenience store on the edge of the boardwalk.

“You okay?” Michael asked, worry written all over his face. You nodded at him, though in reality you were feeling gross, sticky and anxious as hell. You thought it was so nice of them to help you out, really, but you knew this meant that they would probably end up seeing your eye. Seeing your scars. The thought alone was enough to make you slightly nauseous. The brunette could tell that something more was going on with you, so he gently took your hand as you approached the shop. You looked at him, and he smiled at you, squeezing your hand gently. You gave a light smile back and looked away.

After buying the necessary wrap, tape and some bottles of water, you both get on Michaels bike and ride off to their place. You were just thinking about it now, David had said the word “hotel”. Did they stay at an actual hotel?

It didn’t take you long to figure out. When you arrived at the hotel, that was really more of a cave, you were in absolute awe of the place. It was massive and beautiful, you couldn’t believe these guys actually lived here. You had so many questions, but now that you were here, they would have to come after.

Michael led you over to a slightly dusty couch and you sat down, holding the items in your hands nervously. Everyone was sitting around you, you had a very attentive audience that you didn’t really want.

“Is there, uh, a private place I could do this?” You asked, and your heart sank when they shook their heads. “Most of the rooms collapsed when the earthquake hit. There’s not much left, and the parts that remain are too dangerous to go into.” Marko explained, and you sighed. You supposed there was no getting around it.

“Okay, well. Just, don’t say anything, okay?” You got out the bandage wrap from its packaging and took a deep breath. Slowly, you unwrapped the dirty bandage from around your face, revealing your eye to the boys.

All of their facial expressions changed, some more surprised than others. David looked the least shocked, eyes of steel trained on your face, just looking. Dwayne and Michael looked a little more concerned, Michael especially, but otherwise they tried to keep their expressions neutral. Paul and Marko looked intrigued, if anything. Like they wanted to ask questions but were reigning themselves in.

Overall, they kept quiet, and they didn’t shy away from your appearance, so you counted your blessings as you cleaned and dressed your eye as quickly as possible. When you were all finished, Marko and Paul launched themselves at you, sitting next to you with wide smiles on their faces.

“Dude! You’re so badass!” Paul shouted, and Marko was quick to agree. “You should get an eyepatch or something. Crank up the badass factor.”

You laughed at their antics, blushing a bit at their words. You could tell that they really thought you were actually cool. It warmed your chest and you smiled as they went on about eyepatch ideas.

Eventually, David dragged the two away, saying it's getting late and they should probably take you home now. You nodded in agreement, letting out a yawn. You didn’t realize just how tired you were.

Dwayne was the one who ended up taking you home, the ride was a lot gentler and smoother than it usually was, which you were grateful for. When you arrived at your house, and you got off his bike, Dwayne pulled on your arm before you could leave. You looked at him, confused, but then he got off his bike, and he stood in front of you, and he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You froze, heart pounding. Dwayne pulled away and let go, giving you a small smile. “Have a good night, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard as he got back on his bike. “Yeah- you too.” You stumbled out, making him chuckle. He then rode back off into the night, and you were left stunned on your front lawn.

You didn’t know what would happen now, you had absolutely no clue when it came to the gang of bikers. But you found yourself at peace with it.

Life could never be predictable anymore. And you were more than okay with that.