momorek

[dindjarinbae]

The Scariest Thing (Din Djarin x reader)

MANDALORIAN SEASON 2 SPOILERS AHEAD!

alright so, this was supposed to be finished like 2 weeks ago but i got busy, lazy, and distracted, so im sorry for being late to the party. anyways, this is just a little drabble and i actually kinda like it. i have something else im gonna post tomorrow but until then, here’s this!

WC:  2738

WARNINGS: none, spiders, some language.

Your eye could’ve started twitching. You could’ve smacked the giant tin can of a Mandalorian right on the back of his helmeted head as the Razor Crest settled into the ice caves deep below the surface of the planet of Maldo Kreis. You stared at the back of his head until you were sure holes would melt through the Beskar, but they never came. Mr. Hero Complex himself stood up from his chair and assured the sweet little frog lady that he’d go find her eggs down in the hull, so down the ladder he went and you followed on his heels. You grabbed his shoulder once you were both on solid ground and spun him around to look at you. “Are you crazy Din Djarin?” You asked incredulously, a sharp shiver shooting up your spine from the new, bitter cold air that filtered into the ruined hull.

“What?” He asked gruffly, but he didn’t make any move to remove your hand from his shoulder as he stared down at you. You shook your head and you motioned around with your hand, “Din, you could’ve just told the stupid x-wings the truth! Or something! Now we’re stuck, and we’re gonna freeze and there’s no one around for... I don’t know how far! And the baby, and the eggs and the-“ you were cut off by his gloved finger settling over your lips. He wrapped an arm around your waist and sighed softly. “Please don’t worry. I’ll fix this, okay? Just help me find the eggs and the kid, and I can get to work trying to fix the ship.” Famous last words, because hours later, you sat behind him in the snow, passing him tools while he fixed the outside of the ship when the baby came around the corner to babble in that adorably ridiculous little voice of his. Din looked up from his work and you had to turn your attention that way as well as he spoke, “How ‘bout you come over here, give me a hand? Make yourself useful,” he said to the child who had a strange sense of urgency to his chattering. “I think he’s trying to tell you something,” you hummed and placed your chin against his shoulder while you looked over at the panel he was fixing, and the kid grunted frustratedly before waddling off. Your Mandalorian was not having this and sighed, “Hey, kid,” he tried to get the little green thing’s attention, but to no avail. He had rounded the side of the ship and you were sure if you could see Din’s face right now, he’d be rolling his eyes as he gently shrugged you off and stood up. He offered you his hand and you stood up with him while he called to the baby, “I said hey! Where are you going?” He asked and you took his arm gently, nodding toward the baby, “Come back here!” He called and grew exasperated. “He’s just a kid, Din. Go see what he wants,” you prompted softly and he sighed, once again, and then moved through the snow with you towards the baby. When he rounded the ship, the two of you could see the baby sitting down, facing a set of tracks. Little frog tracks. “When did she go?” Din asked, sinking to one knee next to the little green bundle of energy. He looked over the tracks and lifted the baby up and held his hand towards you, “Come on, Cyare. I don’t want you sitting by yourself back here,” he said, and you grabbed his hand gratefully. “You know, it might be worse in there. You don’t even know what’s living under the ice,” you murmured imagining strange serpents or monsters running around in these ice caves. He scoffed and squeezed your hand just once, “The scariest thing down here is me, lovely,” he stated confidently and walked through the snowy cave with you and the baby, undoubtedly following the frog’s tracks. You were dressed in some of his warmer clothes and wrapped within one of his old cloaks, yet the cold air still made you shiver, and the tip of your nose and fingers turned a bright pink. You pulled yourself closer to Din and looked around at the blue, icy walls around you. There was an eerie calmness to the caves around you and you dared not speak a word as snow crunched underneath your footsteps. You shivered ominously and then looked up at Din, “I don’t like it back here, Din. It’s too quiet,” you said anxiously and he squeezed your hand, yet again. “I always protect you. You know that. Don’t be afraid of an ice cave,” he murmured and you leaned into his side, and he protectively held you to him. The three of you walked through and underneath arches of ice, and the baby squeaked a few times while Din led you into an icy cavern. The frog’s voice echoed from inside of the cavern and Din gently dropped your hand, hurrying toward her, “There you are!” He exclaimed and you looked around the cavern and the strange icy bulbs that protruded from the ground. Your eyes settled on a steaming crater full of warm water where the little frog lady sat contently and you looked over to Din curiously. He moved toward her urgently, checking around himself and you, just in case. “You can’t leave the ship. It’s not safe out here,” he said firmly to the frog and you followed closed behind him, holding his cloak around yourself tightly. He set the mischievous little baby down at the side of the warm water and he began to coo, seeing the snack he was earlier reprimanded for eating. The frog tried to protest Din’s wishes, and even if she spoke the same language, he wouldn’t have budged. Her eggs floated around her in the water and Din told her to gather them, and he reached into the pool to help her, explaining that night was falling and it was becoming more dangerous just before having another go at scolding the child for trying to grab at the eggs bobbing in front of him. The baby whined as he was caught and he waddled towards you. You looked down at him and he held his hand up toward you, his little way of saying he wanted to hold onto your finger, to lead you somewhere. You bent at the waist uncomfortably and he wrapped his three, chubby fingers around your pointer finger and you both waddled along as he lead you to one of the strange oval shaped bulbs coming up from the ground. “Hey, now, buddy. Maybe we should leave that al-“ that suggestion was moot, because he had already dropped your finger to sniff, tap, and tear into the strange thing. A slimy sound echoed through the cave as he tore into the oval and you could’ve gagged watching him dig into the green sludge inside and yank out what looked like... a spider. You hated spiders. If presented with joining the empire or holding a spider, you would’ve joined the empire. If someone asked you to break your own arm or touch a spider... Yeah. You’d be breaking an arm. But if someone asked you to do what the little baby just did or jump out of a flying ship in the middle of space, you would do just that, because the baby stuffed the slimy arachnid into his mouth. You gasped and jumped back, shaking your head, “Ew! Spit that out now! You don’t even know if it’s poisonous or not!” You exclaimed loudly to the baby, who just giggled. The brat wasn’t giggling for very long. The ground began to subtly rumble and all of the little bulbs around you in the cave began to crack and tear, and thin, slimy legs began to rip themselves free. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head and you pushed the baby toward Din, while you ran after him, both of you screaming. Din turned to look at you two, and so did the sweet little frog lady, and that’s when the emerging ice spiders caught his eye. The frog chittered while Din scooped up the baby, and you were now in a full panic, looking around at all the spiders. You grabbed onto his arm and practically climbed up the side of him, making incoherent, terrified noises as you tried to pull him toward the exit. He wrapped an arm around your waist in an ironclad grip and he handed you the baby while he slung the now full canister of eggs over his shoulder. “They’re spiders, Din. Lots of.. Fucking spiders!” You shrieked and latched onto him as tight as you could, once again trying to climb him. He patted your waist and held you to the ground while the frog dressed herself and you watched more flood out of a deeper part of the cave. And as usual, bad went to worse, because out came a bunch of much larger spiders and you let out a piercing scream, pointing at them. And worse went to absolute hell nightmare emergency as a spider, as big as the Razor Crest, crawled out of the cave. “Can we fucking-“ you began to yell as Din cut you off, waving at the frog lady. “Go! Go! Back to the ship!” He commanded, and she wasted no time running that way. You stood frozen as the spider screeched and Din tried to run, but it was clear you weren’t moving. At least you now knew that in a fight or flight situation, you took the secret third action and froze. He grunted and threw you over his shoulder and began to run with you over one shoulder, the eggs over the other, and he had taken the baby back from your grip and tucked him underneath his arm. The baby squealed and you watched the spider open a mouth full of sharp teeth and you screamed as loud as your lungs allowed. “Din! Faster! Fuck, run faster!” You cried and slammed your fists into the back of his armor, and you shook your head as he ran as fast as he could considering the weight he was now carrying. “We’re gonna die we’re gonna die, we’re gonna fucking die!” You sobbed and closed your eyes, trying not to look at the tsunami of spiders following right behind you. Ice fell around all of you as the giant spider slammed holes through the icy ceilings with his legs and you shrieked again, wrapping your arms around Din’s midsection. “We aren’t going to die!” Din called back to you and you shook your head, still blubbering about how you were all going to- probably- die. Din shot at a handful of them with his blaster and you continued crying, clinging to him, “I never wanted to die like this! Because of... fucking spiders!” You cried and shook your head, “Din, please go faster!” You screamed and he growled gruffly in your direction. And that’s when the webs started shooting everywhere. At some point, you must have really just blacked out, because the next thing you knew, there was a blast of fire behind you, and Din was tearing through the snow to get you to the ship. He passed the baby to the frog lady, and she hurried him inside of the ship and he tossed you over his shoulder inside of the hull. You hit the ground with a painful thud and you scrambled backwards to get up, and you grabbed the baby and ushered the frog lady and her eggs up into the cockpit. You could hear the squealing spiders and their legs down below and you cried messily, holding the baby to your chest while you curled up in the pilot’s seat. As soon as Din barreled into the cockpit, the spiders crowded the door, making it impossible to climb. A spider landed on the baby’s head while he sat on your lap and you screamed louder than you ever had in your life, but you couldn’t even finish the scream before the frog was shooting it dead right off the baby’s head. Din shot fire at the remaining spiders until they moved away and the door closed, all the while you watched in absolute terror until he turned around. You heard the disgusting patter of spider legs on the glass above you and Din very gently lifted you from the chair onto the ground next to his chair, “Put your head between your knees, and please, cyare, breathe,” he instructed before pulling the baby into his lap. He turned to the frog lady and nodded once, getting all of the switches above his head turned on, “Strap yourselves in. This better work,” he commanded, and you tucked your head down between your knees and tried to focus on literally anything other than the sound of the spiders. “I’ve got limited visibility. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride,” Din said before the Crest shook to life, and he was not kidding about the bumpy part. You were now rising, up, up. And down. You looked up and saw that the giant spider had now pinned the ship completely down to the ground, and you nearly began to panic again, but Din yanked you up by your arm into his lap with the baby and he tucked your head under his chin, “keep your eyes closed,” he instructed you, and you happily obliged, gripping his arm tightly. Glass shattered from above and you didn’t dare look, you just stayed with your eyes screwed shut and you clenched your jaw, your teeth grinding together. The baby whined next to you, and you placed a hand against his side to calm him. You weren’t sure what was happening next, but you heard blaster fire, and you could see the bright red rays through your eyelids. Din stood up and placed you and the baby down on the chair and he slipped out of the cockpit. You were finally brave enough to open your eyes and you looked over at the frog lady, blinking in disbelief, “Are you okay?” You asked her and you assumed she said what meant yes because she gave you a little nod and she looked up out the window. You heard more blaster fire and some voices outside, including Din’s. There was a loud commotion, which sounded like ships, and within minutes, Din was back inside of the ship. You and the frog lady went down to greet him and he walked inside, sighing. “Alright. I’m gonna repair the cockpit enough for us to limp to Trask. There’s nothing I can do about the main hull’s integrity,” he said and you batted at the air above you to clear a web away from your face, “... so we’re going to have to get cozy in the cockpit. It’s the only thing I can pressurize,” he explained, “if you need to use the privy, do it now it’s gonna be a long ride,” he finished and then turned to you. He nodded toward the cockpit while the frog lady waited for some privacy and you slowly crawled up the ladder into the cockpit. He followed behind you and once you were both inside with the door shut, you heard him let out a loud snort and then his chest began to shake. He was fucking laughing at you. Your jaw dropped, “Din Djarin! Stop that!” You commanded but he didn’t stop. You crossed your arms indignantly and he grabbed your waist, pulling you against his chest, “We’re gonna die we’re gonna die!” He playfully mocked and laughed a bit more, silently. You slapped his chest and he pulled you into a tight hug, which you reluctantly returned. “You’re so mean,” you huffed and you could hear the smile in his voice. “And you’re so dramatic,” he countered and you raised your eyebrows, laying your head down on his chest plate. “‘The scariest thing down here is me,’” you mocked in return and he chucked, shaking his head. “Still is.” “Shut up, Mandalorian,” you mumbled and rolled your eyes, “you’re so lucky I love you,” you said dramatically as you sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” And for the record, he was never the scariest thing down there.

[breadoffoxy]

The D Box

Summary: What happens when you're moving and your friend accidentally unpacks your sex toy box? Chaos and advantageous situations.

Written for the BTS Ghostie Writers Bingo Bash. Prompt: "I’ve made a mistake.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f. Reader, Yoongi x f. Reader x Jin x Jungkook

Genre: Smut, NSFW

Warnings: NSFW, Angst, Smut, Foursome, FMMM, unsafe sex, oral sex, sex toys, language, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, anal sex, vaginal sex, animal tail butt plugs, vibrators, hair pulling, exhibitionism, sub!Jungkook, sub!Reader, Dom!Yoongi, Dom!Jin

Word Count: 6,318

A/N: Thanks @chelsea-chee​ for helping me figure out some of the logistics for this fic. Foursomes are hard.

"Remember we need toilet paper. Oh, and paper plates because we don't want to worry about dishes. Did we add dish soap to the list? Toilet paper..." You scratch your head trying to remember everything.  

Namjoon stands half way out your door. "Yep, we went over  it  y/n. Don't worry, I have it all memorized."  

Hoseok  waves his phone from where he stands behind your mutual friend, a list of all the supplies you need up on his screen. You nod at  Hoseok  reassuringly, but Namjoon thinks the nod is for himself.  

"Great!" He claps his hands. "Now that that's settled, we'll be going now." Your clumsy friend turns, nearly missing the small step at the end of your little porch, following a laughing  Hoseok  to  Hoseok's  bright yellow car parked in front of the street.  

You hide a snicker behind your hand, but it gets cut off into an indignant, "Hey!" when two excited bodies bump into you on their way out the door.  

"Sorry y/n!" Jimin and Taehyung exclaim at the same time, giggling as they head over to Jimin's  sleek  black car.   

"Don't forget the sauce this time!" You yell across the yard.  

Taehyung salutes you, shouting "Yes, boss!"  

Opening the car door, Jimin points at you with keys in hand. "You guys better have so many boxes unpacked by the time we are back, or I'm going to eat your tacos!"  

"Don't you dare touch my tacos Jimin!" You yell back aggressively.  

"YA, stop yelling! You're going to irritate your new neighbors!" Your friend  Jin  screams somewhere within the house.  

Yep, you were off to a great start.  

The sound of tires screeching fills the street as Jimin takes off with Taehyung to pick up your food order. You shut the door, screaming internally.   

"You ok?" Yoongi asks. He looks up from his phone from where he's sitting on your cheap futon surrounded by boxes. His form is swallowed by a large, comfy looking, bright hoodie.   

You walk over and slide down on the floor, leaning against a stack. Gazing around the room, you look at the boxes that fill up the tiny living room area. Pretty much your whole life right here.   

"Yeah, I'll be fine." You say, wiping a hand down your face tiredly.   

You haven't had a restful moment in  a while . You just escaped a crazy, toxic roommate. It was a struggle to find a place you could afford on your own, having to depend on roommates for years. It was liberating, but at the same time you were scared to be all alone.  

"Don't worry." Yoongi looks back at his phone. Shaking his head, his beautiful dark brown, nearly reddish bangs sways around his  forehead. "We'll  get you all set up and everything will be ok, trust me."  

" Thanks,  Yoongi." Your heart feels a little warmer, knowing your friends were with you, that  he  was here with you. Shyly, your fingers play with the ends of your sweater.  

"What do you mean ' we '." An agitated voice says, making you look up to see an irritated Jungkook carrying a heavy box labeled kitchen like it weighs nothing.   

Jungkook's cute strawberry red hair contrasts slightly with the serious face he is wearing and his bulging muscles. He's wearing an unbuttoned light blue shirt with a white shirt with a deep scoop underneath. You look away before you start admiring the sweat glistening on his chest.  

"I'm the only one moving things to their rooms." Jungkook huffs.  

"I'm doing my job." Yoongi leans further back into the uncomfortable piece of furniture, making it look anything but. "I'm the moral support. Good job, by the way."   

Jungkook's eyes widen at his elder's praise. "Aw, it's nothing really."  

"Way to carry the team, Kooky." You add, giving him a thumbs-up.  

"Find another box for me boss." He grins at you, smiling cutely at the nickname. He could never be mad at the two of you really.  

"Jungkook where is that box?"  Jin  peeks his blonde head around the corner where your minuscule hallway kitchen is. He waves his arms clad in a comfy looking sweater around in impatience.  

"Don't tell me what to do." Jungkook grumbles, making his way towards the kitchen.  

"Well then hurry it up." Fires back  Jin .   

You just shake your head from the muted bickering. Those two never stop. Standing up, you start circling the boxes, trying to find the labels you wrote in black marker. Slowly, you start organizing the boxes by room, making it easy for Jungkook to move them to the right places. Yoongi, true to his word, says words of encouragement from his spot on the couch as you work. The clattering of dishes can be heard in the kitchen,  Jin  taking over and organizing that space for you.   

"This should be the last bed room box,  Kookie ." You hand him a box with a 'D' labeled on the side. "Looks like it's a desk box, so I don't know if you want to start putting it out on my desk?"  

"For sure." He nods, taking the box from you, walking down the short distance to your bedroom.  

He took off his blue shirt long ago now, and you can't help but eye his back appreciatively as he leaves the room.  

"Don't make me jealous y/n." Yoongi warns behind you, not looking up from his phone.  

You sputter incoherently, staring at the dark-haired man with wide eyes. He looks up from his phone with a devious smirk.  

"I'm kidding." He chuckles and looks back at his phone, texting rapidly. "The kid has a nice back."  

Oh. Your heart falls a little bit at his teasing. Now you're the jealous one.  

"He does." You concede pitifully.  

Your  remark  makes Yoongi pause his texting. A confused and worried look crosses his face at your tone and he tries to catch your eyes with his. You already averted your gaze from the man, looking around the room for something to distract yourself with.   

"I'll take this one to the kitchen." You luckily find a box with a 'K' labeled on top of one of the remaining stacks. Sliding it off, you walk away quickly, and pretend you don't hear the questioning call of your name from the man sitting on the couch.  

Somewhat haphazardly, you put the box on your tiny counter. You see your tall, broad, blonde, handsome, plus the whole thesaurus on adjectives for beautiful, friend  Jin  unwrapping your assorted coffee mugs and organizing them in one of the small cabinets.   

"I hope there was nothing fragile in that one." He looks over a little concerned before continuing his task.   

You grab the scissors on the counter and cut the tape on the box. Silently, you open it and start unpacking its contents, unwrapping bundled silverware and utensils.   

Jin  stops what he is doing to turn and face you fully. "Ok, this is the part where you are supposed to be 'I know what I'm doing  Jin '." He changes the pitch of his voice to sound like yours at the end. "Seriously, what's up?"  

"I-" you start, but don't know how to continue. "Where should we put this silverware. The door next to the fridge, or this one here?"  

"That one makes better since with the organization I think."  Jin  suggests, trying not to push but the curiosity and worry is evident in his posture.  

You pull out the silverware holder at the bottom of the box and start mindlessly filling it with the now scattered silverware on the counter.  

"All this is so new, you know." You shrug, focusing on the task in front of you instead of the man beside you. "Guess I'm a little scared. Mainly just tired probably. I'll be ok."  

"I'll be right back."  Jin  pats you on the shoulder as he scoots around you in the narrow alley kitchen.  

Continuing your task, you don't notice when he returns until a picture frame of you and the rest of your friends helping you move is placed on the corner of the counter. He gives you a smile, angling it just right.  

"See, look. It feels homier in here already."  Jin  smiles at you, his hand comes up to rub your shoulder reassuringly. "We'll be here for you."  

"Thanks." A resemblance of a smile appears on your face, and you bump your hip into his.   

The blonde man's smile turns softer at the action. He grabs a handful of other utensils to put in a neighboring door. His eyebrows furrow suddenly. "Also, Yoongi looks  kinda  pitiful in there. Did he say something untactful and make you upset? I can make him beg for forgiveness."  

You let out a puff of air. "Nothing happened, we were just admiring Jungkook's backside and he made a joke. Nothing bad, I just..." you shrug, not really sure what you want to say anymore.  

"Ah I get it."  Jin  rests his hips on the counter, turning to face you with his arms crossed. "You want him to admire your backside, isn't that right?"  

" Wha - no  pshhhh ."   

You look away quickly, eyes falling on the picture next to  Jin  on the counter instead. Suddenly, a horrific realization strikes you.  

" Jin , if you talked to Yoongi, you got that picture from the living room, right?"   

"Yeah, got it from a box with a lower case 'd' on it. Should I not have?"  Jin  looks at you a little lost on why you are asking now about it.  

Everything seems to freeze as your mind hyper-processes everything. You only had one desk box, and if it was in the living room, then the box Jungkook was going through was definitely not your desk box.  

"I've made a mistake."  

With that, you dash out of the kitchen, leaving a very confused looking  Jin  behind. You nearly slam into the wall as you round the corner into the hallway, nearly scaring the life out of Yoongi. You skitter towards your room and stand in the door way frozen, much like the man giving you a deer in the headlights look as he holds a large, thick, silicone dildo in his hands.  

The box with the capital 'D' didn't stand for desk, but for dick. It sits opened in front of your friend, revealing a plethora of toys and you feel yourself die with shame a little on the inside.  

Jungkook gets over his shock at your sudden appearance, and he wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively while waving the dildo. Its flexible, curved build, makes the tip bounce at the motion.  

"So-" Jungkook can be a cocky ass and he knows it.  

"Jungkook, no." You try to cut off anything he's about to say.  

"-you have quite the collection here. How often do you use this." he points the dildo at you, and you glare at the rather generous sized head.  

"Put it back in the box, now." You demand.  

"Put what back in the box y/n?"  

"Don't be a brat Jungkook."  

"Oh, come on just say it." He raises an eye brow as a challenge, and his finger presses the button at the end of the device.   

The dildo hums lowly as it starts vibrating on different settings. You glare at him, hoping he would get bored and put it away, but instead he starts clicking through the different speed settings. He stares at the dildo in wonder at the highest setting, and that is when you make your move.  

You run, tackling the man on the bed. It feels like you hit a solid wall, and the air is knocked out of the both of you. Scurrying up his body, you try to grab the vibrating dildo before he recovers. The dick box becomes a victim to your scramble as your foot kicks it, knocking it off the bed and its contents clattering to the floor noisily.   

Just as your fingers graze the dildo, Jungkook recovers. The next thing you know, you're being flipped and now you are the one laying on the bed with Jungkook hovering over you. One of his hands easily encompasses both of yours and he holds them above your head. Both of you are panting heavily, his face too close to yours and his breath fans your face. Your eyes are lost in his and something about this atmosphere feels too heavy to just be a friendly game.   

Ever so slowly, the purple dildo comes closer to your face. You hear it more than see its approach as your eyes are glued onto the dilated eyes above you. The soft tip brushes against your lips, the vibrations making you jolt from pleasure and unexpected anticipation.  

"What-Jungkook, get off her right now!" Jin yells from the door way, shocked.  

The spell between the two of you is broken, and Jungkook flies off your body as if electrocuted. Jin stomps over and rips the dildo out of the younger man's hands and turns it off.  

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you avoid the worried glance of Jin, and become mortified when you see the figure silently standing in the door way. When your gaze meets his, Yoongi looks down and picks up something off the floor. He stands back up and you can now see him holding your magic wand.  

Just fucking great.  

You hide your face in your hands in shame and let out a mortified groan. "I made a mistake, I'm so sorry guys. Just please ignore all of this."  

"It's no big deal." Yoongi says, before turning the magic wand on experimentally. "It's just sex toys."  

"This is a lady's private collection." Jin says, trying to defend your honor.   

"Well, the lady does look like she needs to relax." Yoongi says as he approaches the bed.  

He sits on the edge of the bed and looks at you. You can't decipher the emotions in his eyes. Yoongi bites his bottom lip nervously, and Yoongi never does nervous. Not with you at least. The tip of the vibrating, silicone head touches your leg, making you jump.  

"I know this is a sex toy, but it's also a massager. You've been so uptight lately- sorry- I just want to help. Can I?" He asks sincerely.   

The look in his eye is one you can't refuse. Biting your own lip in return, you nod. He moves the wand up and down your leg gently, soothing your tired limb.  

"Give that here." Jin tosses the purple toy on the bed before snagging the magic wand from Yoongi.   

Your shocked that the man doesn't drop it in the box, but instead crawls on the bed behind you. Soothing vibrations massage the tired muscles on your back, making you moan in appreciation.  

"Y/n wants her backside taken care of, isn't that right love?"  Jin  says as if  it's  the most obvious thing.  

With your eyes now closed, you shift to make more of your back  accessible . You enjoy the impromptu massage while trying to dispel the sight of sex toys everywhere in the same room with your friends. In your blissful state, you completely miss the goading look  Jin  sends Yoongi over your shoulder, and the dark-haired man's scowl he throws back at the blonde.  

"Woah, y/n, are you a furry?" Jungkook calls out excitedly.   

This has your eyes open instantly, head whipping to the side to look at the youngest, ready to deny everything. In his hands are two tails. One a bright pink bunny tail and the other a red and black fox tail. Attached to the ends of both are flared, glass plugs.   

Will the shame ever  end?  

You slap a hand to your face, hoping to knock the embarrassment out. No point trying to convince the red head now. "It's more for aesthetic than anything, I think it looks cute. The fox one is easier to...ah nevermind."  

"What? I'm curious." Jungkook asks. You don't know if the appearance of his bambi eyes is genuine or if he's acting naive to make you explain embarrassingly.  

Yoongi leans over slightly and plucks the fox plug from Jungkook by pulling on the end of the tail.   

"I bet it makes it easier to masturbate." He says casually, eyeing the toy appreciatively.  

"Don't say it so casually!" You shriek.  

Leaning forward, you try to snag the tail from your friend. However, you don't make it far as a hand slaps on your shoulder, stopping you from lunging at Yoongi. The magic wand switches  rhythms  and moves lower down your back.  

"Y/n needs to relax, stop taunting her you two." Jin orders.   

Jin's about to say more but an alert goes off on his phone. He removes his hand from your shoulder and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Yoongi bushes the fox tail up and down your leg teasingly. The fur tickles your skin and you kick him. He grabs your ankle before it leaves his side, a dark warning in his eyes.  

"Looks like they are all stuck in traffic." Jin's voice cuts through the air. "Seems like they'll be awhile."  

"Perfect." Yoongi purrs, eyes never leaving yours.  

"I'm so hungry, why is that perfect?" Jungkook whines.   

"So, hear me out." Yoongi starts.  

"I don't think I like where this is going." Jin sighs disapprovingly.   

"Since we got extra time, why don't we really help y/n relax? We can cure Jungkook of his curiosity too." Yoongi proposes, completely ignoring his elder.  

Jungkook pauses his petting of the pink, fluffy anal plug. "uhhh-"  

Jin scoffs, "As if she would agree to th-"  

"Let's do it." You agree, shocking everyone into complete silence. The quiet humming of the magic wand now sounds deafening.  

"W-what really?" Jin asks completely astounded.  

You stare determinedly into Yoongi's shocked eyes, "Yeah, why not. Maybe a good orgasm could get me to chill. Are you up for it?"  

"Oh shit." Jungkook gapes at you. The bunny tail falls from his fingers and onto the bed.  

The magic wand's head disappears from your back, and an arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back into Jin's chest and away from Yoongi. Jin places the wand's head on your upper thigh, dangerously close to your core. "Are you sure?"  

Looking up at him, you plead, "Yes, please take care of me."  

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the wand is placed between your legs, pressing hard into you and making you whimper. The strong vibrations are nearly overwhelming, even over your jeans. You weren’t used to not being in control as you only used your toys on yourself, and it felt oh so different with your friend behind you running the show and the two others watching you with their jaws hanging open. It turned you on in a way you’ve never been before.  

“Jungkook, be useful and grab her leg would you.” Jin commands.   

The youngest snaps out of his daze and sits down on the side of the bed similarly to Yoongi. He grabs your leg and pulls it towards him. Yoongi also spreads your other leg out more, exposing you to them even further.  

You whine in frustration when the hand around your waist tightens, halting your hips from humping into the toy.  Jin  presses a button on the wand, making the speed increase even mroe.   

“ Oooh , f-fuck,  nnnngh ." You're a moaning mess, shaking at the unrelenting vibrations.  

Warm lips brush your ear, and Jin whispers. "That's it love, just ride it out. Why don't you look at him?"  

Not even realizing your eyes were closed, you open them and look with half lidded eyes at Yoongi. His grip tightens on your leg as he looks at you with blown out eyes.   

"Think of all the times you used this on yourself, you naughty girl. Did you think of him, hmmm?" Jin continues to whisper in your ear.  

"Mmmm, Yoongi." You gasp, as your mind falls into that head-space.   

Teeth tug on your ear, pulling until you look up at Jin. "Do you think of all of us?"  

"I-uggggh-y-yes." You admit, the shame of him knowing your secret turning you on even more.  

You feel the rumble in his chest more than you hear it. The pride rolls off of him in waves.  

"Show us the face when you come, go on, let go."   

His words make you snap, and you come, fluids immediately soaking your underwear and creating a visible wet patch through your jeans. Your eyes roll back into your head as your body shakes.  Jin  keeps the wand in-between your legs, forcing you to ride out your orgasm. He only turns it off when your hand pushes at the hand holding the toy.  

"Wow-that was..." Jungkook starts, words lost as he stares at your post orgasmic body.  

"Y-yeah that was something alright." You pant out.   

"Just something." Jin pouts, pushing you forward.  

You can't help but laugh as you fall sideways on the bed. You turn your head to look at his tall frame behind you. A happy expression is on his face as he finally sees you smile genuinely. " Thanks,   Jin ."  

"Anytime, wait errrrr, I-" He cuts himself off as you start laughing hysterically. That is until the fox tail gets thrown into your face.  

"What the hell Yoongi." You sit up, and are surprised to see Yoongi looking at you grumpily.  

"What did I tell you, don't make me jealous." Yoongi says firmly. He picks up the bunny tail off the bed and looks at Jungkook. "Strip."  

"R-really?" Jungkook's voice cracks. Quickly, he clears it and tries again, this time a lot deeper. "Really?"  

Yoongi looks back to you and asks gruffly, "Is this clean?"  

"Of course." You huff indignantly.   

"Is it ok with you?" Jin asks, still ever the gentleman despite the earlier scene.  

"Yeah." You lick your lips as you eye Jungkook. "That is, if you are ok with it Kookie."  

Jungkook gulps. "P-please take care of me." He quotes.   

Literally, how can the man be so cute and hot at the same fucking time. It is unfair.   

"Then strip, baby boy." Yoongi repeats.   

Jungkook stands up and quickly throws his shirt off. You can't help the "Fuck." that escapes your mouth at the sight of his chiseled chest. You want to lick it so bad. The red head continues to undress, stepping out of his pants to reveal strong thighs, but stops as his hands brush the band of his boxers.  

To make Jungkook not alone in his nudity and hopefully more comfortable, you grab the ends of your sweater and pull it over your head in one  fell  swoop. This brings the attention back to you, and you feel three sets of eyes bore into your skin. You shimmy out of your jeans, your soaked underwear not doing much to hide your wet, swollen folds. Rolling over to be on all fours, you start crawling across the bed and towards Jungkook, leaving your head directly level with his hard cock.   

"We can do it together Kookie, if you want?" You suggest. You shift your weight so you can move a hand up to trace his defined abs. The muscles ripple under your touch.  

"Can we?" His breath stutters as you lean forward and lick a trail up his stomach.  

" Of course,  Kookie. May I?" You trace the tops of his boxer.   

Jungkook nods vigorously. "Please touch me, all of me."  

"Now that's a good bunny." You tease, brushing your hand down across his straining member.   

Two hands appear on Jungkooks waist, and you finally notice Yoongi stood up and placed himself behind the red head. He pulls Jungkook's underwear down, leaving Jungkook completely bare.  

From your position,  it's  easy for you to rest your weight on your elbows and lean down to take Jungkook's cock into your mouth.   

"Ahhhh y/n." Jungkook whines, watching you bob your head up and down on his dick.   

You tilt your head to look up at him, his expression completely fucked out. You smile up at him as best as you can with his cock in your mouth as he brushes his hands through your hair softly.  

The bed dips next to you and you feel two hands deftly unhook your bra. Yoongi brings his hands around Jungkook to help slide it off completely, while  Jin's  hands skim your bare back before tugging your underwear down. You help him kick it off, leaving you and Jungkook completely naked between the fully clothed Jin and Yoongi.   

Your lips come off of Jungkook's cock with a pop. "Yoongi, there should be some lube in that box somewhere."   

Yoongi searches for the lube, and you try to see if you can peek around Jungkook to help spot it from your position. A smack on your rear makes you yelp, but you can't turn your head as Jungkook still has a needy grip on your hair.   

"Don't start neglecting little Kookie now y/n."  Jin  massages your ass with his hands, just to give it another spank. "Go on, give him some nice licks."  

You moan at Jin's dominance, liking his control over you. Wanting to please him, you stick out your tongue and start licking Jungkook's cock, making him moan in return. Just the tip though, to be a tease as you don't want him coming yet.  

"Good girl." Jin praises, still groping your ass. You arch your back, going lower on Jungkook with your mouth, so close to his balls, while your ass hangs higher in the air.   

"Found it." Yoongi exclaims, holding the lube in the air like a prize. He squirts a generous amount of lube on his finger before tossing the bottle over you to Jin. "This will probably be easier if you kneel on the bed."  

Familiar hands grab your waist and pull back, dragging you across the bed to make room for Jungkook mid-lick. You can't help moaning again when your hair gets pulled from the action. Jungkook kneels on the bed, soothing your hair back as he sits on his knees in front of you.   

Yoongi lifts his lubed finger and slowly circles Jungkook's hole, the dick in front of you twitching as a reaction. "How does this feel Jungkook?"  

"Different, but good I think." Jungkook answers shakily.   

It's your turn to feel a lubed finger circle your tight hole. You try to angle your hips so Jungkook and Yoongi have a better view of the finger dipping into you. When Jungkook's hips thrust forward, you assume a finger is slowly entering him as well.  

"A-aaah, Oh god." Having your mouth sucking his dick, and Yoongi's finger in his ass is becoming too much for the man. "I'm going to nnngh shit-"  

Your mouth leaves Jungkook's cock when Jin smacks your ass again. Yoongi's finger leaves Jungkook's asshole as well. "Well, we can't have that yet. Your still not a little rabbit yet." Yoongi smacks Jungkook's ass too before picking the rabbit tail up, covering the plug with a glob of lube.  

"Wait, wait I want to see." Jin exclaims, with his finger sliding into you further. Your pussy clenches around nothing in want.  

"You hear that, hands and knees, just like y/n." Yoongi commands.  

Wanting to please and be pleased, Jungkook has his hands on the bed with his ass in the air in a heartbeat. You nearly coo at the sight. The red head still looks slightly nervous so you reach a hand underneath you to gather up your slick juices. You hold your now glistening finger out to Jungkook and he looks at it with wide eyes.  

"Take a- nnnnngh" The finger in your ass pulls out, and the glass of your fox plug circles your hole teasingly. "a taste mmmmmh ahhhhhh."  

Jungkook  envelops  your finger in his hot mouth, sucking it clean. He moans around your wet digit as he watches the anal plug enter you slowly, red fox tail now sticking out of your ass. You wiggle your ass playfully, making  Jin  laugh before slapping your bruising ass.  

"We have a little vixen on our hands here." He chuckles. You feel a weight on the tail pulling at you as Jin plays with end of the toy. Your finger is nearly bit as the toy finishes being pushed into Jungkook's ass.   

Quickly, you pull your finger out of his mouth as he grits out. "Y-yoongi ugggh."   

"Looks like we have a little bunny here too." Yoongi chuckles at Jungkook's panting form, giving his firm butt a spank.  

" Mmm  such a pretty little bunny."  Jin  agrees. "Now go get him little fox."   

You lunge forward, tail swinging, and mouth going down on Jungkook's cock. He chokes out in surprise, making you almost choke as he accidentally thrust his hips forward.  

"Careful rabbit." Yoongi warns, pulling at the pink rabbit tail before stuffing it back in.   

"Ahhhh ah!" Jungkook is a mess, his hips rotating in a chaotic rhythm between your mouth and the toy Yoongi is thrusting in and out of his tight asshole.   

It doesn't take long until Jungkook comes, his hot, white cum squirts into your mouth. You swallow around his cock, milking him dry as Yoongi continues to thrust the toy in and out to carry out the young man's orgasm.  

The two of you stop your ministrations on the bunny man as he tries to squirm away from over stimulation. He collapses on the bed, panting heavily.  

"You ok there Jungkook?" Jin asks worriedly.   

Rubbing the young man's back, you try to help him calm down. Your hand reaches to take the tail out of him, but he wiggles his butt away from you.   

"N-no, please, I want to keep it in. If that's ok?" Jungkook whines, turning to look at the toy.   

"Of course, it looks cute on you." You pat the pink puff ball, making him groan as the plug jostles in him slightly. You quickly take your hand away. "Ah, sorry."   

"S'all good." He slurs, smiling at you tiredly.  

You sit back down on your butt. The fox tail splays out behind you, while your legs are bent and spread open in front of you. Yoongi's eyes are glued to your wet pussy, and you bite your lip nervously. After all that's happened, there's really nothing left to be embarrassed about.  

"Yoongi." You call out, and his eyes shoot up to yours. "Do you want me to take care of you?"   

The  dark-haired  man bites his own lip as his eyes run up and down your body. With his big hoodie on, you can't tell how affected he is by the situation. You get back on your knees and pull the ends of his hoodie up, ready to remedy it. Yoongi raises his hands in response, giving you permission to lift it up over his head. You do the same with his shirt, and your fingers trail down his torso to rest at the tops of his jeans.  

Looking up, you want to get confirmation to continue, but before you can ask, soft lips are on your own, and your being pushed down against the bed. You gasp in surprise, allowing a hot tongue to enter your mouth and dominate your own. A moan from you echoes into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Using the element of surprise, you roll over, taking Yoongi with you. This leaves you straddling him, his hair fanned out against your bed. Yoongi bites at your lower lip and pulls, and you respond by grinding down on him, hard.  

"Ahh, fuck y/n." His hands fly to your waist, trying to stop your motions. He doesn't want to blow his load right away.   

Your teasing grin is wiped away when a bare knee comes onto the bed, right in front of you. Following the limb up, you see a huge dick, hard and red, straining up against a toned chest. The sight of bare broad shoulders nearly makes you choke.  

How can a man be built this handsome?   

Jin smirks down at you, as if he knows exactly what you are thinking. "I almost want to keep you."  

Before you can give a snarky reply, or even think of one, Yoongi's hips thrust into yours, making your breath hitch. He continues to dry hump you, making sure you don't forget the position you are in.  

"Y-yoongi mmmnnngh." you can't help that your hands start traveling over your own body, and fondling your bouncing breasts, delirious for more.  

"Not a chance" Yoongi talks over your moans, glaring at the man half kneeling on the bed.   

"Hmph, fine then. Hey, Jungkook."  Jin  calls out to the bunny watching from his  curled-up  spot. "Why don't you relieve Yoongi of his pants?"  

Jungkook springs to action, crawling over to Yoongi and reaching between Yoongi's and your bodies. Yoongi holds you up so you don't start humping Jungkook's hand as the younger man unbuttons and unzips Yoongi's jeans. Hopping off the bed, Jungkook grabs the ends of Yoongi's jeans and gives a solid pull, taking it off in one go. Everyone looks back at the youngest surprised.   

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" Jin interrogates.  

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Jungkook fires back smugly.  

"Yes, that's why I fucking asked you, idiot." Jin seethes, glaring at the man with the bunny smile, now reaching to pull off Yoongi's underwear. With a quick tug, every one of you is now completely naked.   

You take a moment to admire Yoongi's build as you rise up, positioning your pussy over his thick cock. Slowly, you slide down on him, taking your time. It's better than you ever fantasized and especially better than that purple dildo you own.  

Yoongi hisses when you bottom out all the way down to his hilt. His fingers grip into your sides, leaving indents in your flesh. You take a moment, getting used to the stretch before slowly swiveling your hips. The reaction you get is immediate, both of you moaning loudly, and unashamedly.  

A hand weaves through your hair, and pulls, using it as leverage to drag your head forward. You come face to face with a well-endowed cock. Jin guides it over your lips, and you open them obediently, allowing him to stuff his cock into your tight, little mouth. He uses the grip on your hair to control the speed in which you bob your head up and down.  

If all that wasn't enough, Jungkook starts playing with the tail sticking out of your ass. Waving the end of the tail excitedly, you groan around Jin's dick as the plug shifts inside you. Jungkook gets more adventures and quickly grabs the base of the tail, fucking the plug in and out of your asshole. Eyeing Yoongi's dick plunging in and out of your vagina, Jungkook sets the rythm to match his elder's pace.  

It's a sight to behold, that's for sure. Your riding Yoongi vigorously as your approaching your high, getting your face fucked by Jin, and a curious Jungkook probing at your ass with a fox plug. One of Yoongi's hands reaches up to fondle the balls smacking against your face, and Jungkook quickly follows Yoongi's example by fondling Yoongi's balls with a hand as well.   

While your moans are muffled from Jin's cocks, the three men's moans are music to your ears. Their grunts are soft, and blend in beautifully with their panting breaths. With each of your holes being fucked tirelessly, it doesn't take long for you to come undone again. It sets off a chain reaction, your pussy clenching around Yoongi makes him explode into you, cum filling you up. The sight of Yoongi and you orgasming underneath him has Jin cumming into your mouth. You do your best to swallow as you ride Yoongi through the both of your orgasms.   

"This is so fucking hot." Jungkook stares at awe at the scene before him. He's completely enchanted by the sounds of everyone's whines and moans, so desperate and needy, and stops fucking you with the fox tail.  

Jin lets go of your hair, allowing you to collapse on Yoongi. The tall man pats your head before leaving to find something to clean everyone up with. Yoongi helps you roll off of him and his dick, tucking your exhausted form into his side. A soft look crossing his features as he brushes your hair away from your face.  

"Hey." he says with a small smile.  

"Hey, you." you reply with a matching smile.   

"Hey, me." Jungkook adds in, feeling left out.  

You giggle, snuggling more into Yoongi as he kicks out at Jungkook.  

"Jungkook, I love you, but please leave." Yoongi says with a threatening tone.  

"Fine, I see how it is." The words he says doesn't match the bunny grin on his face. He walks out of your room to help Jin find something to clean up with, pink tail still in his ass.  

A finger comes up to your chin, tilting your face up. Your lips meet Yoongi's in a gentle kiss that makes you melt. He might have a hard time with telling you how he really feels, but this kiss tells you everything. So much so, you almost miss the sound of the front door banging open.  

"Tacos are here!" Jimin's voice cheers loudly.  

"Toilet paper too!" Sings��Hoseok.  

Yoongi scrambles up, the fastest you've ever seen him and he slams your bedroom door closed. He locks it and turns to look back at you completely exasperated.  

"Shouldn't we help them out?" You ask worriedly.   

"Ahhhhhhh why are you naked!?" Namjoon shrieks.  

"Why aren't you naked!?" Jin shrieks back to successfully confuse Namjoon.  

"Is that a rabbit tail Jungkook? Nice." Taehyung's deep voice echoes through the hall.  

"Uhhhh, y/n made a mistake?" Jungkook tries.  

"Nevermind." You grumble, making Yoongi smile at you deviously. "Let them suffer."  

[hamliet]

Pain, Fear, Death, and God: Fyodor and Gogol as Two Halves of Kirillov

God is the pain of the fear of death. Whoever conquers pain and fear will himself become God.

-Alexei Kirillov, Demons

So remember how when I first read Bungou Stray Dogs I started screeching incoherently and turned those screeches into a somewhat-coherent meta on how Fyodor in BSD was modeled after Alexei Kirillov from Dostoyesvky’s Demons? 

Well, here’s the follow up.

As I said in my previous meta, Demons is (tied with Crime and Punishment) my favorite novel of all time, and Alexei Kirillov is my very favorite character of all time, in any fictional medium, ever. He’s a walking bundle of paradoxes, existential angst and stunning compassion. But Demons is not necessarily a popular novel by Dostoyevsky standards and so Kirillov, despite being written about by literary critics and Camus, is somewhat obscure. That Asagiri is so clearly inspired by his character is shocking and thrilling for me; I’m pinching myself. 

The tl;dr version of Kirillov is that his whole schtick is that he wants to kill himself to prove that he is free and thereby can escape. It’s far more nuanced and complex, as I’ll go into, but essentially both Gogol and Fyodor’s philosophies and goals reflect this.

Gogol does not want to kill Fyodor because he hates Fyodor; rather, it’s because Gogol and Fyodor are two halves of a whole. They are a paradox together, embodying Kirillov’s complexity. Like Kirillov, they are suicidal, because killing one of them is like killing themselves. To achieve their goals, they both need to die. 

Fyodor reminds Gogol that he is human and can connect; therefore, Gogol wants to kill him to assert his free will, as he views connections as a cage. Similarly, while we haven’t gotten much insight into Fyodor’s thoughts on Gogol, I think it’s highly likely Fyodor allowed Gogol to kill himself (he thought) because he clings to his beliefs at the expense of his (very much there) empathy, and it’s better for his goals if people who provoke his empathy die. Basically: Fyodor allowed Gogol to “die” not because he doesn’t care about him, but because he does. 

For a brief background: Demons itself is an allegory about how people who become consumed by their ideas become possessed by said ideas; thus, they become devils or demons. The actual title of the novel, Бесы, is difficult to translate, hence why it has three different titles in English: The Possessed, The Devils, and Demons. The word “Бесы” in Russian refers to the ones doing the possessing, which is why the latter two are generally considered to be more accurate translations of the title. In particular, the novel demonstrates the tragic consequences of Russian nihilism and singles out moral nihilism. (It’s also looked to as a rather eerie novel, because almost everything it wrote about happening in a--then fictional--political revolution is exactly what happened in Russia a few decades later.) 

As I wrote in my previous meta, Fyodor, like Kirillov, is “consumed” by his ideas, something Kirillov laments in Demons. Fyodor’s consumption with his ideals means that he is willing to sacrifice everything for his goals. Gogol, too, shares this trait. 

Where they differ is in motivations for their respective plans, motives they share with Kirillov. Kirillov’s master plan is to commit suicide for two reasons: firstly, that he has free will and will thereby inspire society to live freely, and secondly, because he sees life as nonsensically painful and thereby not worth living. The first reflects Gogol’s personal aims, and the second Fyodor’s.

Let’s discuss Kirillov and Fyodor first. Kirillov believes that mankind invented God (keep in mind the context this was written in; God=Russian Orthodox Christianity) to go on living because of the absurdity of life. 

Listen: this man was the highest on all the earth, he constituted what it was to live for. Without this man the whole planet with everything on it is--madness only. There has not been one like Him before or since, not ever, even to the point of miracle. This is the miracle, that there has not been and never will be such a one. And if so, if the laws of nature did not pity even This One, did not pity even their own miracle, but made Him, too, live amidst a lie and die for a lie, then the whole planet is a lie, and stands upon a lie and a stupid mockery. Then the very laws of the planet are a lie and a devil's vaudeville. Why live then, answer me, if you're a man.”

Fyodor's disgust for the world and determination to save it from the sin of abilities reflects this same attitude. Life is wrong, so it should cease to exist. Abilities are wrong, so everyone with one should cease to exist. The reason is, most likely, strongly based in how painful Fyodor’s ability has been for him.

Kirillov laments:

“God is necessary and so must exist… But I know He doesn’t and can’t… Surely you must understand that a man with two such ideas can’t go on living?”

...

“If there is no God, then I am God.”

If Kirillov is god, then he is the ultimate master of his fate. Kirillov is very aware of his own limits, and so he thinks this absurd and life pointless. 

That conversation continues (Kirillov’s responses are bolded):

“There, I could never understand that point of yours: why are you God?”

“If God exists, all is His will and from His will I cannot escape. If not, it’s all my will and I am bound to show self-will.”

“Self-will? But why are you bound?”

“Because all will has become mine. Can it be that no one in the whole planet, after making an end of God and believing in his own will, will dare to express his self-will on the most vital point? It’s like a beggar inheriting a fortune and being afraid of it and not daring to approach the bag of gold, thinking himself too weak to own it. I want to manifest my self-will. I may be the only one, but I’ll do it.”

This very much reflects Gogol: killing his high moral power (connection and empathy) through the man who identifies himself as a god (Fyodor) to prove his independence and freedom. 

But we’ve kind of already seen where this ends:

Gogol you’ve literally shown yourself terrified of dying (which Kirillov is as well). I know Gogol was likely acting in this scene, but given the themes of BSD and Gogol’s character, plus the fact that he did, in fact, choose not to die, I think this is likely somewhat reflective of his true feelings.  

But again, Kirillov asserts:

“I am awfully unhappy, for I’m awfully afraid. Terror is the curse of man.… But I will assert my will, I am bound to believe that I don’t believe. I will begin and will make an end of it and open the door, and will save. That’s the only thing that will save mankind and will re-create the next generation physically; for with his present physical nature man can’t get on without his former God, I believe. For three years I’ve been seeking for the attribute of my godhead and I’ve found it; the attribute of my godhead is self-will! That’s all I can do to prove in the highest point my independence and my new terrible freedom. For it is very terrible. I am killing myself to prove my independence and my new terrible freedom.”

As Gogol outlined, what disrupted his plans was Fyodor’s empathy for him, and his empathy for Fyodor. Their connection literally saved his life (hence I kind of doubt their connection will kill them in the end). He cannot die without killing that connection. 

Two things almost disrupt Kirillov’s plans. Firstly, and chiefly, it’s his empathy for others. Kirillov is noted to be a character who is extremely kind, good with children, and unafraid to risk himself to help others. When Kirillov finds out his friend betrayed him and is planning to use Kirillov’s suicide to get away with the murder of a third friend, Kirillov is horrified. He refuses to go through with his suicide at first, screaming in horror that his friend is dead and that he unwittingly enabled his killer to end his life. When he does ultimately go through with it, he states that it is because “I want to kill myself now: all are scoundrels.” He goes through with it because his human connections are failing. 

Even the novel’s most villainous character concludes “I agree” when Kirillov is called “good.” Kirillov will stop at nothing to help his friends, and he believes all people are good and will become good if they are just told they are. However, the tragic irony of this scene is that the person speaking to Kirillov--Nikolai Stavrogin--is very much a literary example of a psychopath. (Those of you who follow me know I don’t use that word lightly.) However, Stavrogin does not want to be this way; he wants to feel, he wants to be bothered by the terrible sins he’s committed. What he’s asking Kirillov, essentially, is to understand this and call him wrong for what he did, which absolutely no one does in the novel:

“Everything’s good.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. Man is unhappy because he doesn’t know he’s happy. It’s only that. That’s all, that’s all! If anyone finds out he’ll become happy at once...

“And if anyone dies of hunger, and if anyone insults and outrages the little girl, is that good?”

“Yes! ...They’re bad because they don’t know they’re good. When they find out, they won’t outrage a little girl. They’ll find out that they’re good and they’ll all become good, every one of them.”

“Here you’ve found it out, so have you become good then?”

“I am good.”

“That I agree with, though,” Stavrogin muttered, frowning.

“He who teaches that all are good will end the world.”

“He who taught it was crucified.”

“He will come, and his name will be the man-god.”

“The god-man?”

“The man-god. That’s the difference.”

Stavrogin’s examples are based on things he’s done. Kirillov isn’t aware of these deeds, but he does know his friend’s mind better than most of their other friends. The problem is that Kirillov refuses to truly act on this empathy, to accept that men can be scoundrels and good, because he wants what he believes (that all are good) to be so. Kirillov’s too consumed with his desire to end the world (hello Fyodor) to save mankind via proving himself free to actually use his empathy to help his friends. In fact, the murderer points out to Kirillov that if he’d focused more on his friend, he might have been able to prevent the murder. 

A similar attitude is reflected in Fyodor’s desire to destroy ability-users (i.e. end the world) and in his interactions with people. He doesn’t put his empathy into forming actual connections, and those he has he deliberately does not invest in (such as when he kills the kid in his introductory chapter). He kills ability users paradoxically because he cares about them and about other people. I wrote about it a bit in this meta here:

Fyodor... lives very much in a world of black and white. He makes Goncharov happy all the time, unable to experience pain or negative emotions. He believes all ability users are a sin and should be destroyed. He’s an idealist in a lot of ways, believing in absolutes (which is also a hallmark of a childish perspective...).  he wants to... force every single ability user to feel his pain (that their abilities are a sin) by wiping them out. In short, Fyodor wants empathy despite refusing to listen to the feelings of others. (He understands their feelings; he just chooses to emphasize his pain over theirs.) 

Unlike Kirillov, however, whose last scene is renowned as “the most harrowing in all of literature” (I can’t even describe it; it has to be read) I think there’s pretty good reason to hope that Fyodor and Gogol will not end up taking each other out. Because the thing about Kirillov, the reason his character resonates so much with me, is the second reason his plans are almost disrupted: it’s how desperately he wants to live. He just wants to know that his life matters. The way Kirillov expresses these desires is absurd in a lot of ways and certainly hyperbolic, but it’s a desire reflected in most of BSD’s characters, and in, well, a lot of us in real life, too. 

Empathy and genuine human connection are the greatest powers in BSD’s world, as we saw recently through Atsushi getting the location of the page from empathizing with Sigma by telling him what he most wanted to know: that he mattered. 

Sigma now knows, to an extent, that he matters. At least, he’s been told as much.  

Gogol states that Sigma is key to his plans succeeding: Sigma’s ability can tell him Fyodor’s ability, which will enable Gogol to kill Fyodor. Except... Sigma’s ability might just work in an way that cultivates empathy post-connection with Atsushi. If Sigma can trust that he matters, despite having been created by the page and having been abused and subjected to all manner of lies and exploitation, he might be key to Fyodor and Gogol’s conflict resolution rather than to them actually killing each other.

Fyodor matters despite having an ability that seems to make him unable to touch people--because he can touch people with his empathy. (His empathy is, of course, literally what draws Gogol to want to kill him.) Fyodor’s empathy with Gogol has already physically saved Gogol.

Gogol matters even if he is understood by someone, because empathy is a strength and not a weakness. Someone understanding him doesn’t make him matter less, and being bound by feelings isn’t actually a bad thing. His connection with Fyodor has already saved his life.

Both Fyodor and Gogol have now saved Sigma at some point. Sigma’s design, of course, is literally split with two different colored halves of his hair, indicating that the artist likely means to symbolize the clash of two halves (see: Q, who represents how soukoku (Dazai and Chuuya) are two halves of a whole in terms of their best and worst traits). However, they exist in one person, and Sigma seems reasonably stable for someone with his situation. 

Additionally, Fyodor and Gogol both are also somewhat modeled after Rodion Raskolnikov, the protagonist of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, whose name literally means “split” in Russian. (Actually, Kirillov is very much a more internal, tragic version of Raskolnikov.) Like Kirillov, Raskolnikov is a paradox embodied: he’s stunningly empathetic and kind (rushing into a burning building to save orphans), but his philosophy is that it’s fine for him to kill others because he’s a “Napoleon” (special figure; “man-god,” to use Kirillov’s term). 

But what is split is ultimately made whole in Crime and Punishment. Raskolnikov meditates on the raising of Lazarus from the dead and essentially resurrects himself, redeems himself. 

I highly doubt Gogol and Fyodor’s story will end with them dead because:

It’s BSD and nobody stays dead unless you’re Oda or a red shirt; 

Gogol and Sigma have already served us fake-out deaths, so it’s a lot to ask your audience to buy another death from the same character (killing Fyodor is essentially Gogol killing himself);

them surviving and having Fitzgerald-esque redemption arcs very much fits with the themes of Dostoyevsky’s works and specifically with the book after which Fyodor’s ability is named;

resurrection seems to be a motif with everything involving Fyodor, from Cannibalism to this current arc.

[langdons-little-witch-bitch]

In the dark of the night

(gif by @violadvis)

Summary: Gathered around the bonfire the creepy story being told scares you, but Xavier has his own way of comforting you.

A/N: Y’all can thank (or blame 😅) @itsmelunamoon for this. Our conversation about the gif above inspired this little OS.

Since the season didn’t aired yet this is nothing valid. The characterization is solely based on my imagination of how he’s gonna be like after seeing the 2 trailer. Idek if that’s really gonna be his name, but we’ll see. I can tell I already love this precious lil fuckboy 😄

Also I finished this around 5am so it’s probably not the best 🙈

(English is not my first language)

Pairing: Xavier Plympton x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, fingering, public sex, unprotected sex

Word count: 1499

————————————————————

The crackling of the fire held a comforting effect compared to the disquieting noises that echoed through the nightly wood. The screech of a distinct owl, rustling in the brush, branches snapping. A shiver run down your spine. From the upcoming cold or fear?

It was your free evening, but instead of just relaxing in your cabin your roommate convinced you to come to the bonfire with the other new counselors. You all gathered closely around the warm fire, grilled marshmallows, drank some booze that one of the guys had smuggled in the camp and now one of your co-counselors was telling a spooky story about some psychopath that was rumored to roam this forest and slay people with a huge knife. Just one of those classical bonfire stories to frighten people, nothing to worry about, you told yourself. But you couldn’t help feel a bit at unease.

Suddenly you felt someone sit down next to you on the big branch. Confused you looked to your left where you expected to discover your friend, but she was gone. You were so focused on the story and your own thoughts that you didn’t noticed her leaving. Instead of her small face, surrounded by hazelnut hair, you looked at the sharp features of Xavier. The blonde had propped himself on the wood casually, legs spread widely as he leant into you closely with a smug smile on his lips, his little earing glistening in the light of fire.

“Are you scared?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his deep voice.

“N-No. Why would I?” You didn’t wanted to admit that the whole situation, the scary story plus the surroundings do creeped you out a bit. You thought he would laugh at you.

“Mhh are you sure? You are shivering.” He leant in closer, his arm resting behind your back, not fully touching just brushing against it.

“It’s just getting cold, that’s all.” you tried to brush it off.

“How about I warm you up a bit then?”, his voice low and seductive, his hand suddenly on your thigh caressing your skin.

You swallowed hard, the whole situation overwhelming and confusing to you. He was so close, his arm now grapping around your waist, his lips close to your ear, his warm breath making goosebumps erupt on your neck running down your entire body. His nose brushed your cheek lightly, his smell intoxicating. You couldn’t think straight anymore. What the hell is happening here? you asked yourself.

Never would you’ve imagined of finding yourself in such a situation. You and Xavier weren’t close or anything, neither did you thought he would be interested in you. You shared a bit small talk about the work at Camp Redwood here and there, that’s it. He was loud and confident, always center of attention, a bit cocky. The complete opposite of you. Not to forget he was kind of a fuck boy, always flirting with practically everyone. Especially the camper were constantly gushing about him, throwing themselves at him. Not that you could blame them.

Xavier was incredibly handsome. Soft, fluffy, blonde hair with those cute little strands falling on his forehead. Dazzling blue eyes, that shimmered like the lake in the sunlight. Plump, pink lips that almost always held an  arrogant smirk. A sharp jawline that could cut through glass. And you couldn’t help but stare at his thick thighs and firm bottom whenever he wore those super short, tight shorts.

“What do you say, how about we get away from here?” his smooth voice abruptly pulled you out of your train of thoughts.

You looked at him slightly shocked to find him wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at you. The silly gesture made you laugh softly. Sneaking away in the middle of the night to god knows where probably wasn’t the best idea, but the liquor from earlier and Xavier’s proximity made your head spin so you couldn’t think straight. You just nodded your head, and he immediately snatched your hand, leading you away from the bonfire, further into the woods.

“Where are you going?” you asked concerned.

“Somewhere more quiet of course.”

“Why can’t we go back to our cabins, they’re all empty now.”

“Nah there are way too many people at camp. I’d rather be alone with you.”

He suddenly turned around and backed you up against a tree, his arms trapping you, making you gasp. You could barely make out his face in the dark, the only source of light was the moon shining through the branches of the trees.

“I just don’t think it’s really safe out here.”

He started laughing. “Why? Because of that silly story? Don’t worry sweetheart. I protect you from the big, bad serial killer.”, he grinned, leaning his head down to catch your lips with his.

The kiss was a bit sloppy but nice. His lips were soft and warm, and you could taste the faint peppermint flavor of the gum he was often chewing. His hands found your waist and yours wrapped around his neck while the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate. Tongues swirling together, teeth nibbling at bottom lips. Xavier released a low growl as he pulled you in even closer, rubbing his growing bulge against your covered core. You moaned softly, your hands gripping at the back of his hair.

“Fuck I want you so bad,” he whispered huskily in your ear, taking your top and bra off hastily. His eager hands roamed your upper body, groping the tender flesh of your breasts while he kissed and sucked at your neck. Soft whimpers and moans fell from your lips at the feeling of his lips and hands caressing your body. One of them made it’s way down your stomach past the waistband of your shorts and panties. A loud moan escaped you as he started rubbing your clit.

“So wet for me babe,” he stated with satisfaction, your arousal coating his hand. He slowly inserted one finger, thrusting at a slow pace at first until he felt you grind down on him, the feeling of his long, slender finger caressing your inner walls so good. But you needed more. As if he could read your mind Xavier added a second finger. His thrusts at a steady pace now, his thump circling your sensitive bundle of nerves, while his lips had started sucking at the swell of your breast, before paying attention to your hardened nipples. The sounds of your pleasure resounding through the forest. Thankfully you were far enough away from everyone else, so no one could hear you. As Xavier hit the right spot deep inside of you, you let out a small scream.

“Fuck, right there. Feels so good.”

Just when your body started trembling from the pleasure and you were about to reach your high, he retracted his hand.

“What the fuck?” you panted.

“Sorry babe, I can’t wait any longer.” He worked fastly at his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down to free his neglected and rock hard length. A relieved moan escaped his lips as he wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it. You bit your bottom lip at the marvelous sight, your heat throbbing with want and anticipation.

Xavier pulled your bottoms down and grabbed your thighs, hoisting you up against the tree. The hard bark grazing your skin, making you hiss slightly in pain. You wrapped your legs tightly around his hips. He rubbed his length against your core, moisturizing it with your juices before pushing inside. He groaned deeply at the feeling of being buried in your warmth. He started rocking his hips into yours at a rapid, eager pace. Your hands clawed at his shoulders as you meet his thrusts, trying to keep up with his rhythm.

Loud moans and pants echoed through the night.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good. So wet and warm.”

He hoisted you up higher against the tree, creating a new angle. The next deep thrust hitting your sweet spot. You moaned out his name.

“Do that again,” he growled, pumping his length in and out of you in a hard, fast pace now, trying to reach the same spot over and over again.

“Xavier,” you squealed loudly, “I’m so close.”

“Me, too baby girl.”

He started rubbing at your clit again and soon you felt warmth flood your entire body, your stomach tightened, your breathing turned into panting before that feeling of complete euphoria took over your entire body and you reached your high.

Xavier, lost in his own pleasure, watched you fall apart. The sight of you, eyes closed in pure bliss, head thrown back, moaning and whimpering incoherent expressions of pleasure accompanied by his name, triggered his own release. With a deep grunt he came hard, his head burrowed in your neck.

“Ah fuck, that was good.”

Just as you were about to reply your shrill scream filling the air as you spotted a dark figure right behind Xavier, a huge knife raised in his hand.

Tagging: @officialcodysfallenangels @hplotrfan @divinelittlelight @kalam22 @luthienshavenlove @stupidocupido @sojournmichael (hope it’s ok I tagged y’all)

*Usually I wouldn’t tag my work in tags where it doesn’t belong, but since the situation is a bit different here I’m gonna make an exception. 

[kayteewritessteve]

DT - Drunk Twitter 1/3

Description: One stupid drunken night leads to an uncomfortable week from hell. That only gets worse when you are forced to face the problems, that your drunken escapades caused, head on. Yeah, you are never going to drink ever again.

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 8,380 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Lots of curse words, awkward moments, and a slightly frustrated reader. Little angst here and there, but lots of stupid humour.

Requested: Nah, this just randomly popped into my head and I ran with it.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

You groan loudly as your hand flails out from under your duvet cocoon, blindly searching for the hellish contraption that currently insists on screaming at you. It is far too early for such an ungodly sound, and you are far too hungover for this shit right now.

Your hand finally makes contact with the screeching little asshole that is your alarm clock, causing a loud smash to echo through the room, just from the sheer force of your flailing limb alone. And then instantly your room falls back into silence once again. Though the constant ringing in your ears, both from the alarm and your hangover, makes that last fact slightly unknown to you in this moment.

You groan, grumbling incoherently as you pull your hand back into the warmth of the little blanket bundle that has now become your life. You plan to spend the rest of your days just hiding in this dark little cove, and then eventually one day dying here. Which from the aches and pains wreaking havoc on you currently, might be sooner, rather than later.

Why the hell did you drink so much?! Who let you polish off two bottles of wine last night?! Like, where the hell was your adult?! Clearly from this day forward you’d need someone to constantly make life choices for you, so that you never ended up in this position ever again.

You vow in this exact moment, that from this day on you will never ever drink again.

But then you remember your best friend's birthday is in 2 weeks, and you groan loudly. Okay, so you kinda have to drink for that, but mark your words now, that will be the very last time that you do!

Your phone buzzes on your bed beside you, lighting up the dark little fortress you’ve created around yourself. And whelp, looks like you never plugged it in last night. You’re honestly surprised it’s even still alive. You’d have to write a tweet to Apple about how their phone actually made it 24 hours on one charge. You’re sure that’s something they’d like to know about, as that was a highly uncommon thing to actually happen.

You reach over to grab your phone, picking it up and bringing it close to your face, before hissing at the brightness and yanking it away with such force you’re surprised you didn’t fling it across the room. You squint your eyes as you fumble to turn the brightness down, and once you successfully have you bring the screen back to you. Directly in front of your face so your blurry, dry eyes can actually read it.

And instantly you gasp loudly, your eyes watching as notification after notification pops up on your lock screen. Your twitter is blowing up right now and a cold sweat promptly rips through you. Because oh God, did you do it again?! Did you seriously post something while stupidly drunk again?!

Fuck. You groan, unlocking your phone quickly to check. Because for some ungodly reason, drunk you always insisted on posting the stupidest tweets. Normally you’d wake up the next morning, hungover and a little closer to death than the day before, and you’d open your twitter to find all the ridiculous shit you’d posted about, the previous night. Usually all of which only had maybe a retweet or two, a couple likes and usually at least one comment—thanks to your lovely best friend. Her comments normally consisting of both laughing at you and calling you out for being a crazy drunk tweeter. She just knew you and your quirks far too well. It was seriously a problem.

But this time, this time was clearly entirely different. However that was just an educated guess, due mainly to the hundreds of notifications that you now had, thanks to whatever your dumb drunk ass had posted, which had obviously blown up. And now you’d be lucky if you could sweep it under the rug like you’d always done in the past.

Oh God, please don’t let it be another praising tweet to some figure head or celebrity. That seemed to be your go to favourite thing to drunk-tweet. You had this weird need to cheer random strangers up when you were drunk. This insistent desire to support and appreciate the people you idolized. Oh please God say you didn’t tag the person the tweet was about this time.

Your shaky thumb clicks the iconic blue and white, Twitter app icon. Completely ignoring the ridiculous number in the little red circle on the icons top right corner, as you do. You haven’t even read the tweet yet and already you’re freaking the fuck out.

You quickly make your way to your profile and your eyes widen at the insanely large rant, that’s continued through multiple separate tweets, and is now sitting at the top of your page. Your eyes skim over them all, in order of posting, and you cringe, truly and utterly mortified now.

‘Do you ever just hear of someone in passing, or see them in the media, and have this instantaneous deep longing emotion within you. Not a longing in the sense of wanting them, but entirely due to hoping with everything inside you that they find their true happiness one day..’

‘..‪That they wake up in a few years and smile, like truly smile, because they are exactly where they wanted to be. Where they deserved to be. That they’d ended up with every desire they had yearned for. And I’m not talking about material objects. I’m talking life goals and accomplishments..’‬

‪‘..I’m talking about the true important aspects of life. The things that actually matter in the grand scheme of it all. Well, that is how I feel whenever someone brings up Steve Rogers. Or whenever I see an article or a news story about him. I instantly have this desperate want for him..’‬

‪‘..to be happy. Truly and utterly happy. The man deserves exactly that, and yet so much more. What with everything he has done for us and this planet. If anyone in this world has earned their happily ever after, it’s that man.’ ‬

‪Oh God. You groan, as your free hand comes up to cover your face in sheer horror and embarrassment. I mean, at least the silver lining here is you didn’t make any major spelling mistakes, and you also luckily, completely forget to actually tag him in it. So those are both small victories, in and of themselves. ‬

‪But the fact parts of that rant had blown up, regardless of you actually tagging him, is a little disheartening. You’re pretty sure he’s either seen it or been informed about it by now. And even if by the off chance he hasn’t, you know it’s only a matter of time before that changes. ‬

‪You scroll through the notifications and you feel your heart stop, as all the blood leaves your body and goes—honestly who knows where it goes, but it definitely doesn’t stick around to be apart of this train wreck of a situation. You abruptly sit up, the blankets falling from your upper body and pooling around your waist now.

‪Tony Stark retweeted your post. ‬

‪5 little words that make you want to delete every social media account you currently have, plus move to ‬Lesotho or something. Never heard of Lesotho? Well, that’s exactly why you’d picked to move there. Because most people don’t really know it even exists, nor where to find it on a map. So it would be the perfect place to hide away, and start a new life under a fake name.

Yup, it’s settled. Pack your bags, we’re moving to Lesotho!

You don’t even have it in you to read Mr. Starks response back to your tweets, nor dig any further into your notifications to see who else may have retweeted this whole mess. God, what is wrong with yo—

Your phone ringing scares the complete shit out of you, damn near chucking the metal brick across your room, for the second time this morning if anyone is keeping tabs, as your heart thumps loudly in your chest. However, you manage to keep a firm grip on your phone, but just barely. Effectively saving the thing from an untimely death, thanks to being forcefully introduced to your bedrooms brick wall.

Though come to think of it, maybe smashing it would be the best option here?

You sigh deeply as you finally notice it’s your best friend calling, a groan leaving your throat as you then instantly realize that she is probably calling thanks to your stupid Drunk Twitter rant. You contemplate not answering for a second, you could pretend you’re still asleep. But you know she’ll just keep calling until you answer, or worse, she’ll just show up at your house and let herself in with her spare key. Then you won’t have the luxury of hanging up on her if her teasing gets to be too much.

So as you click the answer button and hesitantly raise the phone to your ear, you prepare yourself for your incoming humiliation. I mean, more so than your already currently experiencing. Which is both surprising and frustrating, because who knew you could ever be this mortified in real life? You certainly didn’t, but yet here you are.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Lindsey’s loud voice mixed with her unabashed laughter rings out of the phones speaker, it’s so loud that you instantly yanked the phone away from your ear. Your headache coming back tenfold as you groan loudly and message the side of your skull.

“Giiiiirl!!” She hollers now, and so lustrously that you can hear her perfectly, even with the phone still being nowhere near your ear. “What the hell were you drinking last night? And where can I get me some!”

You grumble out a, “you need to lower your voice or I’m hanging up on you.”

“Awe, is someone a little hungover today?” She coos in a motherly voice, though at a much quieter level now, at least enough to warrant putting the phone back to your ear once again. However her voice may be softer now, but the playful and teasing edge to her tone is as loud as a freaking bomb.

“More like dead,” you mumble falling back down to lay on your bed and slinging your free arm over your eyes. “Or at least I wish I was.”

Her gleeful cackle rings out of the phones speaker now. “Girl, don’t say that! I’d miss you too much, and you’re fucking famous now!”

You just groan, not even remotely interested in what she means by that.

“Oh, and why am I famous now, Lindsey?” She says in a mocking tone, clearly trying to impersonate you, but in your opinion not coming anywhere close. “It’s so wonderful you should ask Y/N! Probably because your tweets are all over the news stations, social media and the internet. Even most of the Avengers have already retweeted it, most notably Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson AND Bucky Barnes. Ya know, all of Steve Roger’s best friends. But yet, no one has commented on whether the recipient of your beautiful drunken words has actually seen it or not. Buuuuut we can all assume he probably has.”

“Can we just not do this today?” You roll onto your side, your free hand now pulling the duvet up and over your head again. “I am in far too much pain and far too humiliated to be having this conversation right now. Can we please, for the love of all things that are holy, talk about something else? Anything else, I beg you!”

“Hell no!” She exclaims, you wincing at the abrupt volume change. “My best friend is famous! And all because she drank too much wine and tweeted a ridiculously sweet rant about thee Captain America! Honestly, this. Is. Just. Too. Damn. Good.” She squeals, “you can’t even write better shit than this!”

“Lindsey,” you groan, “I am way too hungover and under caffeinated for this right now. Seriously, I’m going to hang up now and hopefully fucking die.”

“Fine, fine,” she relents but you can still hear the humour in her voice, “I promise I’ll drop it, for now. But get your sexy ass out of that bed and meet me in the kitchen STAT.”

“Uuugh,” you drag the sound out. “You’re freaking in my house right now, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she says gleefully. “But before you flip shit, don’t. I brought coffee and bagels, so be a good girl and get your ass out here or I’m going to eat all of it myself.”

You don’t even respond as you hang up the phone, she had you at ‘coffee’. You quickly flip the blankets off yourself and roll out of bed. Not even bothering to check yourself out in the mirror because honestly, Lindsey has seen you at your worst. So she is entirely used to this from you.

You trudge your way out to the kitchen, seeing your best friend pulling wrapped food from a brown bag and you groan again, but this time happily. Her eyes dart up to you and she gives you a once over, a small frown on her lips now.

“Oh boo thang, you look horrendous,” she says softly, sweetly, as you reach her, and she hands you the large to go cup of coffee. “Drink this. Then go jump in the shower, you stink like shame and poor life choices,” she scrunches up her nose playfully.

“I honestly don’t think a shower will remove those particular smells from my skin. I think that’s just my natural scent now,” you giggle as you take a deep waft of the glorious life juice’s warm aroma, a content sigh coming out on the exhale. You bring the drink to your lips and almost moan. Yes, you are this much of a coffee nut. You take a few generous gulps then stumble over to the counter stools and plop down. “But a shower does sounds like a good plan,” you nod, the cup staying close to your mouth for quick and easy access.

She hums in agreement, nodding as she hands you a wrapped up bagel. “So, should we talk about what caused you to want to get ‘Sappy Drunk Tweets’ wasted last night or?”

You sigh, “I just had a shit day at work. My boss was a raging asshole, yet again.” You shake your head, “but what’s new?”

“I can not stand that evil little man!” Your friend growls. “You seriously need to find a new job, Y/N. You can’t keep working for that piece of shit anymore. And I honestly don’t think your poor liver can take much more of these semi frequent beatings. Somethings gotta change.”

“I know, I know,” you nod, “I’ve been searching for something else, but there just isn’t many available jobs at the moment. But I’m hopeful I’ll find something soon.” You take another large gulp of the sweet, sweet liquid gold, feeling as the warmth radiates throughout your whole body, as your brain slowly begins to rejoin the land of the living.

It’s been a few days since your stupid drunken escapades on Twitter, and a few days since Lindsey visited. You both had enjoyed your coffee and bagels, talking about everything and nothing. Luckily she had kept the drunk tweet talk to a minimum, like she promised. And once you were all done that, Lindsey headed off to work and you hopped in the shower, before spending the entire day on your couch, watching movies and pointedly ignoring your phone. Or rather, the never ending string of notifications on said phone.

So now you’ve been basically hiding out since then, only leaving your house to go to work or to make a quick trip to the store down the block from your apartment. The stupid tweets are still blowing up, people are still retweeting them and talking about them.

You’d hoped this would have all blown over by now, that something else ridiculous would have come along and stolen everyone's attention. But alas, you aren’t that lucky. Because not a damn thing is going on in the world right now, obviously, as everyone is still very much hung up on your whole embarrassing sap fest.

So much so that you are being recognized now as the ‘Steve Tweet Woman’. Which is just fucking outstanding—ha! not!

News outlets, websites and talk shows have been blowing up your phone and email, asking for comments or to set up interviews. Wanting to know if anyone from Steve’s camp has reached out to you, or if you’ve been invited to the tower to meet the team. Also asking if you and the Avengers are now friends, or at the very least acquaintances. And those are just a few of the things they are asking you. Honestly, those are the least ridiculous questions—which is freaking sad.

So leaving your house has become a damn chore now, you have to wear a full disguise just in the hopes no one recognizes you. This is not what you wanted at all. Shit, you don’t even know what you wanted from making that tweet, but this for sure was not it. Not even close.

You’d avoided Twitter along with all your social media playforms since that dreadful morning, as well. You were just too overwhelmed with all the notifications and messages you’d been receiving ever since. Far too many to ever read, let alone even keep up with. Nor did you want to see what any of them actually said.

You sigh, trying to focus back on your computer monitor. You were currently at work, hiding out in your cubicle and keeping your head down.

At the moment you worked as a writer for a news and entertainment website, much like Buzzfeed but nowhere near as large or well known—And I know! Ironic right? Uuuugh! Your damn life was just such a joke.

Your cubicle neighbour, Tyler, springs up over your divider wall. His arms resting on the top as his chin sits on them, a small frown on his face. So this obviously isn’t going to be good.

“Do I even want to know?” You ask quietly before he can utter a word.

He sighs, “probably not. But sadly you kinda have to know.”

“Okay,” you spun slightly in your chair to face him fully. “I’m ready, lay it on me.”

“The boss saw your tweets,” he starts and you wince in embarrassment. “He messaged me as your email keeps sending his messages back undelivered. So you should probably check into that, but first, he wants to see you in his office.”

You groan, dropping your forehead onto your desk with a thud, “my email has been so swamped the last few days that I shut down the receiver.”

“Understandable,” he says quietly, and you can hear that the frown is still present on his face.

“Does he want to see me now?” You peek up at him.

He nods, “yeah, said it was urgent.”

“Shit,” you mumble and sit up, grabbing a notebook and pen quickly as you stand from your chair. “Well, wish me luck, hopefully he doesn’t just fire me the second I walk through the door.”

Tyler shakes his head, “he’d be an even bigger idiot than we all currently think he is, if he did that. Don’t sweat it, at worst he’ll probably just throw a tantrum and give you a slap on the wrist.”

“On second thought, I think I’ll just quit instead,” you say playfully as you walk out of your cubicle. Hearing Tyler’s deep chuckle behind you as you do.

“But then who will keep me entertained everyday?”

“You’ll find someone,” you giggle, shrugging. “My replacement, most likely. Though sadly they will never be as awesome as me!”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he agrees as he lowers back down into his chair and you continue on towards your bosses office.

A moment later you find yourself standing outside of his closed door, notepad clutched to your chest. You have no idea what this impromptu meeting will be about, but you can only assume it has something to do with your stupid drunken posts.

You take a deep breath in, raising your fist up to knock on the door. And a moment later hearing a muffled and authoritative, “enter.” God, he really was just such an entitled asshole.

You open the door and peek your head in, “you wanted to see me, Sir?”

He glances up and nods, “ah, Y/N. Yes, come in.”

You quickly open the door and make your way into his office, closing the door and then hastily moving to stand in front of him.

He interlocks his fingers together and rests his hands on his desk, just staring at you. “Why isn’t your email working?”

“Oh, uh,” you shift awkwardly in your spot. “I um, I shut it off for a bit.” You nod, “just till I could get caught up on the emails I already have.”

He raises a brow at you, “your email is being swamped with messages, I take it?”

You nod again, “ah yes, Sir.”

“Does that have anything to do with the tweets you sent out last week?”

You almost groan, almost, but manage to contain it. “It—it does, Sir.”

He nods, glancing to his monitor, “now normally, foolish shenanigans such as this would be grounds for termination. And I was going to fire you for the embarrassment you’ve brought on this company, but I had a change of heart. So you won’t be losing your position just yet.”

You nod slowly, wishing you could give this idiot a piece of your mind. But your need to pay bills and have a job forces you to bite your tongue. “Oh, um, thank you, Sir.”

“But,” he flicks his beady eyes back to you, “you will have to make this up to me.”

You almost gulp, what the hell does that even mean?! “Um, how,” you clear your throat, “how exactly would you like me to do that?”

He leans back in his chair, a smirk on his lips. One that instantly causes a chill to run down your spin, and this time you do gulp. “There is a press conference in 3 days. You are going to attend it on behalf of our website.”

You nod, following along so far, and honestly this doesn’t sound so bad. Getting to be at a conference first hand is a huge accomplishment. Being trusted enough to be the one present is a big deal in this company. Normally only seasoned writers get to attend such functions.

Yet, something about this feels...off. Like there is a shoe about to drop nearby and you can’t shake that thought. “Okay, um of course, Sir. But what is the press release for, exactly?”

His smirk grows into a full blown grin and your heart rate picks up instantly because of it. “I’m so glad you should ask,” he nods, “It's a press conference for the Avengers. They are opening their new facility and are holding a press junket to cut the rope and answer some questions.”

And instantly you choke on air, no joke, then coughing a few times to clear your airway. Because oh fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck fuck. Why you?! Why does life always do this to you?!

“Um, Sir,” you start quietly once you stop coughing. “I don’t um—this is not to say that I’m not completely honoured that you’d choose me for this job. But uh, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to send me to this. Not with everything currently going on, at least.” You swallow thickly, your hands turning clammy as your nerves pick up. “There, ah, there has to be someone more qualified to send to this event. Ya know, someone other than me.”

He shakes his head, “there isn’t. And even if there was, I can’t send anyone else. You were specifically asked for by name, we weren’t even originally supposed to attend this press release. Only larger media outlets were invited.” He opens his top drawer in his desk and pulls out an access pass on a lanyard, holding it out to you. You gingerly step forward to take it then take a few hasty steps back once it’s in your grasp. “You were the only one invited, and were given an all access pass for the whole event.”

You gaped at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as you glance between your boss and the press pass currently in your hand. “But ah,” you shake your head, “why me?”

He shrugs, “probably because of those silly posts you made. You clearly caught someone's attention. So get to work, you have a press conference to prepare for,” he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

But you just stay firmly planted in your spot, “Sir, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Oh but it is.” His eyes shoot to you and narrow, “so you either attend that conference or I’ll fire you. We are making the most out of your blunder here, don’t mess this up. You only have one shot at this, and I expect the article from this to not only be outstanding, but also on my desk Monday morning. This is the break our website needs, but if you aren’t willing to pull your weight and fix your mistakes, then we don’t have a place here for you anymore. So it’s your choice, Miss Y/L/N.”

You sigh defeatedly, and nod, “okay, I’ll do it.”

“I figured you would,” he nods once then turns back to his computer screen. “Close the door behind you.”

You nod, spinning on your heels and exit the room. Shutting the door softly behind you like he’d asked and then heading back to your desk to start preparing for this press conference.

But all you can think about is how truly mortifying this whole week has already been. And it’s clearly only going to get worse from here on out. How do you get yourself into these things? Now someone from the Avengers team has specifically requested that you be there. Great.

Were they planning to embarrass you further? Were they going to make a mockery of you because of a stupid drunken mistake? Were you going to regret accepting this article instead of just quitting?

You glance down at the press pass in your hand and sigh, there is no way to know currently just how this will all play out. But sadly, you’ll be finding out the answers to your questions soon enough. And in a little less than 3 days, at that.

You stand in front of your full length mirror—wearing the seventeenth outfit you’ve tried on so far this morning—and trying desperately to find faults with it. In all honesty, all the outfits you’ve tried on had looked perfectly fine and would have worked. But you were determined to stall, to waste as much time on pointless outfit changes as you could, so that you didn’t have to face your reality.

That reality being that today was the day, today was the Avengers press conference at the new facility. And oh God, how you really did not want to have to do this today.

I mean, the moon wasn’t in the right placement. Nor was Jupiter currently aligned. And your horoscope had warned you about ‘life changing events should you venture out of your box.’ And you could only assume said life changing events weren’t going to be good ones, and this was very much venturing outside of your box. Plus like, you just had this strange gut feeling, something deep inside you telling you that something was going to happen today—And one should always trust their gut in true times of crisis.

So really, that was all to say that this was a horrible idea, and you should probably just stay home. Yeah, it’s settled then, you’ll stay home. That was a much smarter plan for sure.

Your hired car pulls up to the large, intimidating steel and glass structure and you instantly feel like you’re going to puke. And if the hired car didn’t charge you your first born for doing just that, you’d gladly probably have puked in this exact moment. It comes to a stop and you thank the driver before collecting up your belongings and climbing out.

Glancing around you notice a bunch of people hanging about, some with large camera’s around their necks, others with microphones. But all are wearing various passes, some look similar to yours, however none match it entirely. Your hand grabs on to the pass around your neck and pulls it away from your body to examine it more closely.

Yeah, yours is the only one like it, that you can currently see. Which yeah, that’s extremely odd, for sure. You release the pass, letting it fall back to your chest and head towards the check in booth, just wanting to get this all over with so you can promptly go home and die of humiliation in your bed. Alone and away from the world.

You give one of the ladies at the table your full name and instantly notice a wicked smirk appear upon her lips as she hears it. Which honestly can’t be a good sign for what’s to come. No, this is a sign you should probably just leave now. The universe is clearly trying to warn you, but your dumb, job needing ass can’t leave. No matter how much you desperately want to.

She hands you a map, pointing to the location where you will be standing for the conference. Then she points behind herself, in the direction you are to head and you mumble a quick thank you before heading the way she showed you.

As you make your way to the location, you continuously glance between the map in your hands and the area around you. The last thing you need right now is to get lost on this insanely large property, and end up missing the press release all together. Oh God, your boss would pitch a fit if that happened.

Your heels click on the cement ground, thankful you aren’t trudging it through grass at the moment. Heels and grass do not mix, and with your luck you’d probably end up twisting an ankle or snapping a heel. And the last thing you want right now is to draw unwanted attention to yourself. Ya know, more so than you already have.

You glance down at the outfit you’d finally begrudgingly decided on, choosing to stick to basic shades to help you blend in a little better. No fancy or colourful prints or shades today. No, blacks and whites was what you went with. Hoping that most of the other press members would be dressed similarly. And with one glance around you, that hope actually came true.

You’d decided to go with a black pleather pencil skirt, that was form fitting but also flattering to all your softer areas. With a long sleeve white shirt tucked into it, and simple black pumps. It was a pretty basic look, but that’s exactly what you were going for. You wanted to blend in, praying none of the Avengers or press would even noticed you, let alone figured out you were the drunken Twitter tweeter.

God, doesn’t that just sound so stupid? The ‘Twitter tweeter’. Just ridiculous. And to think, this is your life now! This is who you are now. Seriously, the next time you drink, you are going to leave your phone at work. As you clearly can’t be trusted with it when you’re intoxicated.

As you make your way closer to the spot the nice lady had shown you, you realize that you are the only one in this location. All the other press are further down, in front of the stage, whereas your place is off to the side. It has a perfect view of the stage, but there is nothing and no one to hide behind.

You halt your steps, and even though it’s a beautiful sunny day, you feel a cold sweat come on. Are they segregating you? Are they going to make an example out of you? Or treat you like some circus clown?

You know these thoughts are ridiculous, these are world heroes we’re talking about here. Good people who put their lives on the line everyday for everyone else. But maybe they are going to force you into speaking to the press, maybe they are going to use you for good PR. Your stupid tweets are the hot topic at the moment, everyone is wanting the inside scoop on you, your life and your possible new affiliation with the mighty team.

But being in the spotlight isn’t your thing, you like to be unknown, anonymous. Just another face in the crowd. And if this is an ambush, then take you the fuck off that sign up list. You are not interested in this being spun around on you. Fuck that.

You turn on your heel and head back to the main press area, you’d just hide out there amongst all the other reporters and journalists. At least you could hang in the back and keep your head down while you take notes.

You might be overthinking this. Or be acting a little too irrational at the moment. But cut yourself some slack, this week has been hellish and overwhelming, to say the least. And your poor frazzled mind is in overdrive mode, overthinking the smallest things and making you a bit of a basket case. Clearly you don’t handle stressors like this very well. That’s obviously a flaw of yours, but one you very much do not plan on addressing today. Or ever, maybe. But definitely not here and now.

You reach the main press area and tuck yourself into a back row chair, lowering your large black purse onto the ground and digging through it to grab your notebook, recorder, pens and your phone. You’d record the whole press release, taking notes and photos here and there. Then when it was all over you planned to hightail it out of here, long before anyone noticed you. Hopefully. That was the plan anyways.

You glance around, noticing a few nearby press members staring intently at you. God, you hope none of them cause a scene and point you out. You quickly glance up at the stage, seeing that it is still empty and none of the team is up there yet. So you drop your eyes down and decide to just doodle in your notebook till the junket begins.

Time seems to be ticking along at an alarmingly slow pace. Probably just because you are so desperate for this to all be over, therefore it’s doing the opposite now. The minutes currently feeling like hours to you.

Finally, after weeks of waiting—at least you swear it’s been that long. You hear commotion up on the stage, and notice as everyone around you is seated now, taking photos. You grab your phone and flick your eyes up to the stage, seeing the mighty group of heroes slowly ascending the stairs and fanning out on the platform.

You snap a few shots and then prepare your recorder, hitting the button to start it once Tony Stark makes his way to the microphone. You balance the recorder on your left leg, your notebook open on your light and pen at the ready. Your phone sitting in between both legs, fully charged, set to silent and camera app open.

The conference starts with Tony doing a speech, thanking everyone for being here and just general PR stuff. You are sort of paying attention, but also not. You know that you can always listen to the recording later if you miss any part of this conference, so there isn’t a huge weight on you to be fully listening currently.

So instead, you get lost in your own mind, continuing to berate and chide yourself for your horrible life choices. Ya know, all the ones that led up to this very moment. You keep your eyes down for most of the event, only glancing up periodically to snap a few more photos here and there. But then they flick back down to continue doodling in your notebook.

On the plus side, the grassy, flowery meadow you have been drawing this whole time is looking wonderful. Even if it’s only in all blue and black pen ink. But focusing on this is better than possibly locking eyes with the poor victim of your latest drunk tweets. You know he is up there, because they all are. And the last thing you want is to look at him currently. Your immense guilt and humiliation preventing you from even entertaining the idea of ogling the handsome man right now. Not even a little bit, no matter how badly you want to. No matter how much you want to see just how attractive he is in person. You can’t allow yourself to.

You don’t even really deserve to be here right now, the only reason you are, is because drunk you is a sappy asshole. Had you not posted those stupid tweets, you wouldn’t have been invited here today. God, how you wish you had a time machine right now.

You’d made a bunch of mistakes throughout your life, I mean, who hasn’t? But this one was by far the worst, you were definitely paying for this one. Tenfold. Maybe this is the wake up call drunk-you needs though. Hopefully she will have learned her lesson from all of this. Buuuuuut knowing her, probably not.

You sigh, picking up your phone to take a few more photos as the time nears to the official opening of the facility. To the rope cutting, which is the true reason you are all here today. You keep your eyes on your phones screen, but movement off to the side of the stage catches your eyes and they snap from the screen to it.

They lock with a greyish blue set, and you see the owner of said eyes glance over your face momentarily, before a smirk breaks out on his lips. Bucky Barnes aka The Winter Soldier aka Steve Roger’s lifelong best friend. You are currently having a stare off with an ex hydra assassin, and an insanely good one at that.

You are just about to break the eye contact when you notice him elbow the blonde super soldier to his right. Leaning in once he has the other man's attention and whispering something in his ear, before his head nods in your direction. Oh God, this also can’t be fucking good.

The blonde furrows his brows for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd before they land on you. And the second your eyes meet, you are fucking trapped. Because, Jesus! This man is basically a human bear trap, and your ass just willing stepped right on to it.

Greeeeeat. Now you’re having a stare off with thee Steve Rogers. Just exceptional. Note the extreme sarcasm.

And then you notice as he frowns, most likely now realizing you are the crazy lady who tweeted about him. He snaps his eyes away from you, turning to glare at his best friend. Who only grins wider in return and then shrugs his shoulders before nodding his head to the billionaire at the podium. Mr. Roger’s heated gaze then flicks to the side of Mr. Stark’s head, narrowing a little more and honestly, if looks could kill, everyone here today would be witnesses to a murder. To the death of Iron Man, at the eyes of Captain America.

And oh fuck, this is not going well. So much for going unnoticed. You can’t do this, you can’t be here any longer. This is all just too much and you want to go home.

You quickly pack up your belongings, throwing them haphazardly into your large purse. As the tears of humiliation begin prickling in your eyes. What did you do to deserve any of this? Clearly you fucked up in a past life and now you were paying for it in this one.

Your eyes involuntarily glance back up to the stage, tears threatening to fall but you try to force them to hold off until you are away from this place. Away from all the prying eyes. The last thing you need is photos of you crying like a baby, at the Avengers new facility opening, to start circulating the internet and only adding fuel to the fire.

They’d probably play it up like you were this insanely huge fan, and just being here made your crazy come out to play. Bawling your eyes out for just being here, in the presence of the hero you so clearly had lady wood for. But yet, that wasn’t it at all. You know most of these people were probably too focused on Mr. Stark to even notice the moment between the super soldiers. You’re pretty sure you were the only one who actually did see it.

Your eyes lock once again on the intense pair of blue ones, finding yourself momentarily trapped all over again. Then his eyebrows furrowing snaps you out of it, thankfully, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek. You quickly wipe it away as you turn and hastily make for the press area exit.

You don’t look back, you can’t bare to see the relief probably on Mr. Rogers face now. He is probably thankful you are leaving early. He probably never wanted to actually see you in the flesh. He probably thinks you are just some ridiculous, crazed fan who went out of her way to either try to get noticed by him, or boost her career via the exposure.

God, how far from the truth that actually was. But not like you’d ever get the chance to prove that to anyone now. You vow in this exact moment to delete your twitter the second you get into the Uber. Like completely deactivate your whole account. Then you’d have no way to embarrass yourself ever again. At least not publicly, not in front of the entire world.

As you reach the spot where the hired car had dropped you off, you pull out your phone and open your Uber app. You had a hired car set up to pick you up later on, for when the press release was supposed to be over. But as it was still early and now only over for just you, you needed a ride and fast.

You begin filling out the order, hastily walking down the laneway towards the main road. Like hell were you going to stay standing on the facilities grounds any longer. Risking being seen or stopped by random press members. You’d just meet the car down the road a bit. That was the best plan here.

But as you are making your hasty get away, you hear fast footfalls coming up behind you. And you cringe slightly, too nervous to turn around and see who is coming towards you currently. You pray it’s just someone running to meet their car. Maybe one of the press people has an emergency and needs to leave early because of it?

“Hey, hold up,” a deep voice calls from behind you, effectively killing that last thought dead in its tracks. Much like you wish would happen to you right now. If you could just drop dead in this moment, you totally would. You didn’t have suicidal thoughts, ever, but in this exact moment, you’d take any out you could get. The sheer humiliation of this week finally crashing down on you.

You sigh, quickly wiping your cheeks of the few tears that refused to stay put in your eyes, and slowly turn around as the footsteps near you and come to a deafening halt. You know whoever it is, is now only a few feet away from you and there is no avoiding this awkward situation any longer.

You instantly realize the person now standing mere feet from you, is the very last person you want to be anywhere near right now. Even with keeping your eyes down, focused entirely on the ground so that whoever the person ended up being wouldn’t see the tears, now in your eyes. You still instantly know that it’s Steve Rogers, the newest and current victim of your drunken praise, and it now takes everything in you to not start rambling out a ridiculous apology, while also bawling your eyes out.

A heavy silence looms over you, starting to feel as if you are being crushed by it. You take a deep breath, keeping your eyes honed in on the cement ground. “I um, I’m really, really sorry,” you start, the words coming out raspy from your unused and tear tingled voice. The volume barely above a whisper so you quickly clear your throat, “I shouldn’t have come here today. I ah, I didn’t want to ever make you feel uncomfortable in any way. And I guess I just need to apologize to you for my ridiculous antics last week. And ah, and for stupidly agreeing to come to this junket. I’ll just um,” you glance over your shoulder momentarily. “I’ll just be going now,” you finally glanced up at him, as you gesture with your thumb over your shoulder and take a step back. “Sorry again, for um, for everything.”

But holy fuck, he is so much better looking than you could have ever imagined. Up close and personal he is a freaking dream boat—Argh! You have no right to ogle this man! Give your damn head a shake. You are the very last person on this planet who is allowed to fangirl over him right now.

You quickly turn and continue to hastily make your way towards the road, not even giving him a moment to respond to your words. You don’t need him to say anything back though, he doesn’t owe you a damn thing. You are the dick that brought this all on to not only in yourself, but this poor man as well.

You got the chance to apologize to him, which is more than you could have ever asked for. Now you just want this all to be over. You just want to go home and pretend like this entire week never happened. He can go back to his normal life, and you to yours.

God, you could really use a stiff drink right now, but that’s what got you into this whole mess in the first place. So that’s probably not the smartest idea at the moment. So instead you’ll settle for a giant tub of ice cream and a lengthy, tear filled, phone call with your bestie.

“Wait,” he says softly, probably so he doesn’t startle you any further, as you feel a large warm hand grasp your elbow, urging you to turn back around.

You clench your eyes shut, why can’t this just all be over already?! Why you?! You take a deep stuttering breath in then open your eyes and turn to face him again. He releases your elbow as you do and then you awkwardly lock eyes with him once again.

One of his large hands comes up to rub the back of his neck, the action almost looking sheepish. Clearly he also has a few words for you, and whatever they are you’ll totally deserve them. Even if they are chastising you for your stupid posts. So you quickly steel yourself for what’s about to come.

“I ah, I wasn’t—“ he pauses then quickly corrects himself, “I’m not uncomfortable about you being here,” he shakes his head, “not at all. I just—firstly, I just wanted to apologize to you, actually. I know they probably forced you to be here today, I don’t really know how, but judging by your reaction to all of this, I’m guessing you really had no say in being here.“ He sighs deeply, “I had no idea that they’d actually invited you, so I can only assume that Tony played a huge hand in all of this. He really likes to insert himself into other people's lives, so I apologize that you got dragged into this. He doesn’t really know when to butt out.”

You nod slowly as you glance down to the ground again, “it’s okay. You really don’t owe me anything, I honestly brought this all on myself. I um, I don’t blame anyone else for any of this, but thank you for saying all of that.” You look back up at him, “it really helps to hear. This week has just been—“ you cut yourself off with a deep sigh, as you wave a dismissive hand around, “sorry, that’s really not important. Um, just basically thank you, ya know, for easing my mind with all of this.”

He frowns a little, but quickly corrects it. And you still just honestly want this all to be done with. But he looks like he still has more to say, so looks like your hopes will go unanswered this time. And just as you suspected he speaks up again.

He shakes his head, “don’t mention it, but I should really be the one thanking you.”

Awe, isn’t that just so dang sweet of him—wait, what?! I’m sorry, come again?! Your eyes widen as your mouth falls open slightly. You imagine it’s a super attractive look—note the sarcasm again—but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care about that at the moment. Because what did he just say?

Your eyebrows furrow after far too long of a moment with you just gaping up at him. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but um, why exactly would you owe me a thank you?”

He smiles down at you, then quickly glances over his shoulder before looking back to you. “I’ll explain all that, but first, can I show you something?”

You find yourself nodding before you’ve even realized it. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, great. Just uh, just follow me then,” he says through a hesitant smile as he leads you off and away from the gathering. You aren’t sure where exactly he is taking you, but for the first time all week, you aren’t worried at all. Probably because this is Steve Rogers, the man out of time, and a true gentleman, in every sense of the word.

And maybe, just maybe, your hellish week that all began thanks to one stupid drunk moment, might just end on a way better note. Maybe your Drunk Twitter escapades weren’t all bad. Maybe they weren’t entirely horrible.

But honestly who really knows, you’d just have to wait and find out.

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

Part 2 of this, from Steve POV, will be coming sometime this week! So stay tuned for that!

@caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tfandtws @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @viarogers @pixieferry @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @capsicledoll @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @ivannagotthebeat @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @ivoryhazlewood @steverogersxreader @cjhorseback @jasminecalia @secondstar2disney @jessiedaeum @betsynodak @capricornprince118

[writingcuredmyfrown]

The Sign

It’s been a long time since I wrote something, so I present to you my latest story. A tale, inspired by H.P.Lovecraft. 

Words: 1,843 - It’s a long read, so brew some coffee or tea, close your window and kick back!

I have always had a keen interest in everything witchy, occult, magical, necromantic, mystical and supernatural. When I was a small boy I used to gather all kinds of stones, leaves, odd trinkets, twisted branches and other curiosities. Then I would take them to a small room, next to the attic of my father’s old house, where I would experiment with them, chant verses I had read in old poetry books, color them with different pigments, submerge them in water etc. Now that I look back on those years, I realize that I wasn’t looking for something, or expecting results, but that I just loved doing it. I was drawn to the process, to the interaction with the object. It pulled me, gripped me, at points I even felt enthralled by it. 

Naturally, when I saw the advert in the newspaper, I immediately boarded the first train for Akshalam. Lately, my life has consisted of endless travel from place to place, all across this wasteland of a country. I’ve found many things of suspicious origin, trinkets with questionable properties, and tomes upon tomes with knowledge, long forgotten and obsolete. You see, money would seem like a problem, but not here. Practically the whole country now deals in such goods, they’ve become the new commodity, the new big thing. Gradually everyone became if not interested in the mystical oddities, then at least interested in becoming rich off them. 

The train ride was silent. There was a nip in the air of the wagon, which left me uneasy. All around me were people just like me, treasure hunters, seekers of relics and knowledge freaks. At times, looking through the window, I felt as if this isn’t the world I used to live in. I went back in time, in my mind, and saw such things that do not exist anymore. I looked around the train and carefully scanned my fellow passengers. They were almost husks, dried out humans with no sense of place or time. I was wondering why the incidents at the docks were increasing, and why the police weren’t doing anything. It seems that slowly, over the years, this land has fallen from grace, drowned in some sort of dreadful slumber, which paralyzes the mind, but leaves the body untouched. I felt like I was on an island, surrounded by vast masses of ocean, with its deep and silent waters, ready to engulf me at any point. I kept staring out the window, I thought maybe, out there, lies something else.

When I arrived at Akshalam I sat down at a coffee shop to eat and get some coffee. The ride was almost nine hours, and I desperately needed to press on, I couldn’t allow myself to rest in one of those two-story hotels, with no windows and barely any staff members, apart from the person at the reception. I’ve stayed at such places once or twice, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never fall asleep. There was always some strange, ominous noise coming from within the walls. Screeching, scratching, twitching noises that wouldn’t leave my brain alone. When I had inquired about them, the only answer I received is that it’s natural now. It seems that most buildings in town have developed such an issue, and the residents say the only way to deal with it is to sing a verse from a book titled “A poet’s endless dream”, which calms the noises down, subdues them. 

After my little break, I went straight to the carriage station. I carried the newspaper with me, the advert was written informally, it appears the person behind it wanted the editors to not change anything. It said: 

“In the city of Akshalam, June Street, you will find me in my shop. I have for you a secret beyond your imagination. A scripture, found in a recent expedition in the Kaloma Steppes, which bears a mark of curious origin. Find me, and inquire about it. We shall speak in private.  Signed, Jazem Al-Hafar”

I showed it to the man, handling the wagons and he mumbled something inaudible. When I asked whether I could be shown the way, or carried there, he mumbled something again, and motioned me to climb on. 

The streets of Akshalam are narrow, with living quarters cramped close together. There are no sidewalks, only ditches and trenches, used for sewage and waste. Everyone uses the streets, be it on foot, on a bicycle, on horseback or in a carriage. Transportation and moving around is difficult, but at least you have ample time to see and observe your surroundings. As we were slowly making our way through puddles, mud and masses of faceless people, I felt many piercing gazes, fixated upon me. I turned around and saw children, many children with dark skin and sky-blue eyes staring at me as we passed through. Their eyes were cold, dead. I felt them sapping my life force, draining me of my energy, turning me into a husk. I quickly looked away and tapped my driver on the shoulder, so he would hurry up. He mumbled and kicked the horses, which ended up scaring a bunch of passersby, who then angrily shouted at us in a strange dialect. 

The long train ride, followed by this restless carriage ride had left me exhausted. I was now outside the shop. A small, crumbling building with clay ornaments at the front. It had a sign - “Jazem’s Sacred Grounds”. The door was wide open, the only thing between me and the inside of these sacred grounds was the fringe door curtain, a black and gold masterpiece of the oriental craft. No plastic, only the finest silk, adorned with precious jewelry and wooden figurines. I took a deep breath and headed inside. 

I stepped carefully inside, the scent of something burning, perhaps incense, immediately hit my nose. The inside was small, with barely any place to take a step. It was full of shelves, boxes, crates, barrels and drawers. Some of the were widely open, their contents protruding a bit. It was dark, the only sunshine coming from a small window on the left wall. It was so filthy, that there was barely any light, and the beams that did manage to go through, illuminated a bunch of bundles of herbs on the counter. I didn’t know what to do next, I felt overwhelmed. From every corner and every little nook and cranny, something caught my eye. Flasks and vials with colorful substances inside, rocks and ores with a faint glow, numerous mounted heads, upon whose horns hung tribal necklaces; a small bird cage, now empty, different plants with twisted-looking fruits, countless sheets of paper, scattered about, full of incoherent writing, a cat with one eye, slowly walking across the end of the room, paintings of people, possibly long one, paint brushes, canisters, trinkets, bottles, pouches, glass ornaments and silver cutlery, a long hooded cowl, hanging on a nail on the right wall, and many, many candles, now extinguished. I felt my blood pumping, my heart began racing. The child, which was locked away within me was getting excited, it felt drawn once again. That’s what I feared most, that I would be consumed if I took one more step inside this place, that my own self would capture and lead me to my end. I came so far for this, I couldn’t stop then. I had to do it, to trust. I saw a copper bell, covered in dust on the counter. I slowly made my way there, trying not to push over or break something, and pressed it. 

From behind the counter suddenly jumped a midget with a long beard and no hair. He smiled at me, caressed my hand gently and introduced himself. Jazem Al-Hafar. His teeth were all golden, his lower lip was burnt, and his eyes were dark green. I’ve dealt with such situations before, my visits have taken me far and wide, but this man was something different. His whole aura was different. I felt scared and alone, but I couldn’t resist. I felt enthralled once again. So I did as he told me, I followed him into the basement of the shop. We grabbed torches and went down a narrow corridor, which seemed endless. Soon, we arrived. There was nothing there but a table with two chairs, and a scripture. A few candlesticks gave the place an ambience of dread and decay. The scripture, I thought, it’s right there. He motioned me to sit, and he sat directly across. 

The scripture was now in his hands, the seal had come off, he unwrapped the paper and gave it to me in a ritualistic way. I took it with my shivering hands, looked at Jazem and then looked at the writing itself. I couldn’t understand a word, the letters were written in a language I’d never seen, and not only that, they were also moving across the page, shaking, twisting. They formed a circle and started spinning faster and faster. I felt the scripture wearing me down, it was too heavy for my hands, but I couldn’t let go, no matter how hard I tried. The circle kept increasing in speed, and within its boundaries something began emerging, another piece of writing, I thought. A sign. A sign resembling nothing at all, yet melting my mind the more I stared at it. I kept losing energy, the intensity of the moving letters kept increasing, and slowly the sign became a window into another world, or dimension. I saw many people through that window, the train passengers, the hotel owners, the coffee shop keeper, those children on the street, and they all had the same sign on their foreheads, glowing in bright yellow. I wanted desperately to break the scroll’s hold, but I couldn’t. The window suddenly became a mirror, and I could see myself in there. Eyes wide open, full of blood, swollen nerve endings, and an iris as black as night. Then, when I looked at my forehead, I saw the very same sign, in its bright yellow tone. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t. I couldn’t move anything, my mind was trapped inside a still body. 

And then, I woke up, head on the table. I leapt up and saw Jazem Al-Hafar right there, in front of me, holding the scripture, which was now sealed, in his hands. His golden teeth and burnt lip forming a sadistic smile, as he was stroking his beard. He took a candle and approached my face with it. 

“What do they call you, traveler?” he murmured.

I tried answering, but nothing came out. Nothing coherent, that is, only a mumble. A mumble, devoid of meaning and sense. His smile widened, he stood up and started climbing the stairs back to the shop. The wind was howling outside, and as it was making its way through the cavernous tunnel, it blew away all the candles. 

“Soon enough, traveler, all will kneel before the King in Yellow.”

[sherrybaby14]

Negan’s Angsty Girl

This is for @i-am-negan-trash fic exchange. Congrats on the followers Doll!  

I was paired with @youcanbreatheyoucanblink

Summary:  Negan causes you some angst. 

Pairings: Negan x reader

Warning: Smut, a bit of breed kink, name kink, 

Words: 1500 (it’s a short one)

Tags: @thecynicalnerd @marauderice @buckyscrystalqueen @mac5323 @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers @negan--is--god @kellyn1604 @roschelesworld @taintedgenre @screeching-pterodactyl-fangirl @purplemuse89 @blondesouthsquad @enchantingoblivion @jmackie1983 @jasoncrouse @theonethatgotaway213

All of Alexandria was running around.  You glanced out your window and saw the storm approaching.  Of course it wasn’t just the weather that had people riled up.  You sighed and got off your couch, walking out the front door to confirm what you already knew, Negan and the Saviors were back.  

What bothered you the most about Negan’s visits was the man himself, not his actions or the aftermath.  It always felt like he was watching you and it was hard not to stare at him.  The sexy lean and light stubble on his chin awoken feelings in you that you could not justify.  The man killed several of your people and was terrorizing your town.  In no way should you find him sexy.  

“Where are you going?” Rosita started walking next to you.

“Out.” You kept your eyes ahead of you, hoping to avoid seeing Negan today.  

“We have to defend ourselves.” Rosita grabbed your arm. “Fight back.”

“How?” You raised an eyebrow like she was crazy. “Throw rocks at them? We don’t have any weapons. They have no problem killing us.”  

You pulled your arm out of her grasp and leered at her before continuing your walk out of Alexandria.  It was hopeless.  When you made it to the gate whoever was on guard duty was too busy to notice you slide outside the wall.  

Not that it mattered, they wouldn’t stop you even if they spotted you.  It was a known thing you snuck out whenever the Saviors arrived.  Everyone assumed it was because you couldn’t stand watching what was happening to your people.  You cringed, wondering what they would think of you if they only knew the truth.  

You stalked through the woods, hand gripping the base of your knife, not expecting to have to use it, but being prepared either way. Your feet moved without instructions from your brain, the path engraved in your head at this point.  

The clearing appeared and you felt that well of guilt start to form in your stomach.  It was never ending, but you couldn’t find the courage to let it dry up.  No, courage wasn’t the right word.  Want. You didn’t want to stop what you were doing, no matter how wrong you knew it was.  

The sound of leaves crunching broke you from your trance. Instincts kicked in and you unsheathed your knife, turning around to stab the walker in the eye.  A hand grabbed your wrist, stopping it mid air.  The blade inches away from your intended victim’s face.

“Easy Doll.” Negan squeezed your wrist. “Don’t want you taking my eye out.”

“What are you doing here?” You pulled away, but he countered and your body pressed against his chest.  

“What sort of question is that?” He dipped his chin to look down at you as you cranked your neck to look up at him.  Those eyes would be the death of you.  

“Did anyone see you? Aren’t you supposed to be terrorizing?” You gritted your teeth.  

“It was a short visit.”  Negan lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours.

They were so soft and inviting you melted into him.  He dropped your wrist and the knife cluttered on the forest floor.  He put his hands underneath your ass and lifted you in the air as you placed your arms around his shoulders.  Your lips parted and your kiss deepened.  Negan walked forward until your back was against the tree.  You wrapped your legs around his waist for support as his hands came up to your shirt, pulling it over your head.

“This isn’t part of our arrangement.”  The bark scratched at your back as the man’s hands fiddled with your bra clasp.

“This is exactly part of our arrangement.”  He kissed your collar bone as his fingers undid the back of your bra, before throwing it down on the ground with your shirt.

You ran your hands through his hair as he palmed your mounds, his fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples until they formed stiff peaks, eager for his attention.  You let out a moan, forgetting what you were complaining about for a moment.   “They’ll notice you’re missing.”  You tried to push his shoulders away, but he responded by taking one of your buds into his mouth and making you squeal.  

“I don’t give a fuck if they notice I’m missing.”  Negan ran his teeth lightly back and forth over your nipple. “You’re the only one who wants to keep this private.”

You winced and wiggled against him, unsure if you wanted to pull away or wanted more attention.  His hand slid up your back and pulled you away from the tree, setting you on your feet.  His body was gone from yours and your question was answered.  More attention.  

He pulled off his white t-shirt and you kicked off your shoes.  Both of you undid your pants in a matter of seconds and his mouth found your lips again as the rest of your clothes littered the grass underneath the tree.  

Once you were nude Negan broke the kiss again and spun your around so your back was towards him.  He placed a hand on your shoulder and bent you over so you had to reach out and grab the tree to sturdy yourself.

“How about you make so much noise all of Alexandria comes running Doll?”  Negan slid his hand from your shoulder and wrapped it into your hair. Then he pulled back making you gasp as you arched your neck. “Do you think Rick would like to see his soldier? Bent over and screaming for the enemy?”

“Please.” It was the only word you could think of.

“Always such a good girl for me.” Negan lined up behind you and started to sink in between your folds. You let out a deep moan as he filled you, so slick and ready for him. “So polite, knows when to beg, knows good behavior gets rewarded.”

He pulled your hair harder making you cry out and force your ass against his pelvis.  He wasted no time using your hair as leverage, pulling out and slamming back into you on repeat.   All the guilt you were feeling vanished, just like it had every time before.  You whined and tried to buck your hips against his, chasing the intense orgasm only he could bring you.  

“Have you been good Y/N?”  Negan’s free hand snaked around your hips and he cupped your sex from the front. “Have you played with anyone else?”

“No. Only you.” You forced your eyes shut and tried to push yourself into his hand, wanting to feel his fingers work their magic on your clit. “You leave Alexandria so early, and then don’t expect me to follow?”  His fingertips pushed against your bundle of nerves and you cried out. “Try to tell me I’m not following the plan?  You weren’t supposed to leave for another hour at least, my greedy little girl.”

You know what he is saying is the truth, but you want to block it out, only caring about the feeling of fullness his is bringing you and the dance of his fingertips as they roll and rub against you in all the right spots.  

“So what is it? Are you my good girl who gets a reward?” Negan pushed down even harder on your clit.  “Or are you my greedy little girl who gets it all?”  He yanked your hair even harder.  

Your hand almost came off the tree.  As his cock rammed in and out of you at an excruciating pace.

“Don’t lie to me.” Negan lessened his grip on your hair and the pressure from his fingers making you whimper.

“Greedy!” You grabbed his hand and forced it back against your sex. “I’m your greedy little girl.”

He let out a growl and started stroking your clit, tugging on your hair, and slamming in and out of you, making your feet bounce forward and move closer towards the tree.  You started to straighten as your face met the bark.  

“Cum for me.”  His breath was on your shoulder.  “Now.”

He bit down right where your neck met your collarbone and the orgasm ripped right through you.  You fell forward with a sob of incoherence as both of his hands moved to your hips.  He pulled you down hard on his shaft and you felt his seed coat your tunnel.  

“Nooo.”  You tried to scoot away. “You can’t cum inside me.”

If you got pregnant that would be a whole norther issue to explain.  The situation was already bad enough.  He pushed his fingertips into your waist, keeping you in place.  He straightened up and rested his head against the trunk on top of yours.

“Like I said, my greedy little girl gets it all.” Negan kept himself buried inside of you and you tried to keep the smile off of your face.  

The guilt would return again, but right now it was as satiated as you were.  If this man was the devil you were earning a one way ticket to hell.

[franklyshipping]

Fuckin' Nicknames ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Fanfic

Based off a BEAUTIFUL prompt by @amazingmsme which has got me v excited to write more of my *ahem*GLITCH BITCH*ahem* SO LET’S DO IT!

Anti likes to think he’s self-sufficient, that he doesn’t need anyone else or anything else. That ain’t true. He liked to talk to people, he especially liked talking to people who had things in common with him. Said man was currently traipsing about looking for some such people, namely Dark and Wilford. Anti wouldn’t admit it, like ever, but it always made him better to talk to people who were like him. Y'know?

The bouncy man skipped through to a small kitchen area, where lo and behold he found Wilford and Dark stood at the counter looking at a laptop screen enthusiastically.

‘Heya, whatcha guys doin?’

Dark and Wilford looked up, Wilford snickered as Dark donned a gentle grin as he spoke slowly.

‘Ah Anti…how are you?’

Anti furrowed his eyebrows, the corners of Wilford lips were twitching and Dark’s demeanour seemed a little…off. He stepped forward and tilted his head curiously.

‘I’m…okay. Are you guys alright?’

Wilford giggled as Dark’s smile widened a little, Anti was getting more and more confused every second.

‘Yehes, we were just uhm….’

Wilford stammered and Anti’s eyes immediatly locked onto the open laptop that was open beside them, he stepped closer and Dark side stepped in front of him. Anti smiled a little at their suspicious actions.

‘What are you two hiding?’

Dark cleared his throat a little as Wilford grinned a little.

'I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Anti hummed disbelievingly before grinning and glitching away in front of the laptop, giggling at Wilford’s surprised yelp. His eyes scanned the screen, and his face immediatly fell into a light frown. Wilford snickered at Anti’s expression.

'What’s wrong? Glitch bitch isn’t that bad of a nickname!’

Anti’s frame jumped and wavered as he narrowed his eyes at Wilford who folded his arms, the green haired man grimaced and frowned furthur when a train of deep chuckling emanated from behind him.

'Wilford’s right, glitch bitch is practically a compliment.’

Anti turned, bristling heavily as Dark’s eyes shone with amusement.

'Yeah well that’s not how I see it!’

Anti slammed the lid of laptop down, fighting a harsh snarl. Wilford smirked lightly as he rested a hand on top of the laptop with faked offense.

'God glitch bitch be careful! You might break something!’

Dark let out a light laugh as Anti glared at the moustached man before swivelling and walking away.

'I don’t have to fucking listen to this…’

Anti paced away from them but Wilford only pouted and shuffled after him, wailing childishly. Dark followed too, but at his own pace.

'Awww c'mon we’re only messing!’

Anti pursed his lips and continued pacing away, intently ignoring Wilford’s whiny voice as he reached the carpeted living area. Anti folded his arms and kept his gaze averted from the two men who had pursued him, he heard footsteps behind him before a hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

'You know full well we wouldn’t insult you in earnest.’

Dark’s cool voice trickled over him and he sighed, well of course he knew that. However, another thing that was key to Anti’s personality was his determined pettiness. Anti wasn’t actually angry at them, but that only meant he was going to enjoy dragging it out a little. He tightened his folded arms across his chest as he kept silent.

'Anti…buddy….’

Wilford frowned dejectedly as he and Dark moved to stand in front of the silent man, Anti looked down at his feet and tried to keep his expression nochalant. Anti flicked his eyes up to Dark whose hand was still resting on his shoulder, the latter was peering at him carefully. Anti felt the corners of his lips twitch under his analytical stare and flicked his eyes back down to the floor; Dark smiled lightly and turned to Wilford.

'I wouldn’t go feeling guilty just yet Wilford….’

Anti froze as Wilford looked at Dark confusedly before looking back to Anti, whose lips were quivering properly now as he fought back a smile. Wilford raised his eyebrows and leant forward.

'Oh so you were gonna let me feel bad were ya?’

Anti turned his head away as a faint smile spread across his lips, keeping composure wasn’t one of his main talents.

'So you’re going with the silent treatment…’

Anti shivered at Dark’s low tone, Dark looked to Wilford with a mischievous glint in his eyes which made Wilford grin excitedly as Dark continued to speak slowly.

'Hmm, but I think we can fix that. Don’t you Wilford?’

Anti gulped, and despite his averted gaze he could still feel their grins bearing down on him.

'Definitely.’

Wilford smirked heavily as he lunged forward and tackled Anti to the floor, Dark stood and watched as Wilford wrestled Anti to the ground. Anti fought valiantly and managed to stay silent, but he was grinning nervously as Wilford sat on his thighs and grasped his wrists. Wilford smirked and looked to Dark who had knelt down beside Anti’s head, Dark gave the green haired man an innocent smile.

'Now, are you going to talk?’

Anti nibbled on his bottom lip as he shook his head, he shivered when Dark sighed and suddenly took his wrists from Wilford and yanked his arms up so he could pin them under his knees. Anti looked between them fearfully as Wilford cracked his knuckles with a menacing grin.

'No? In that case…it seems some more drastic methods are in order.’

Dark smirked as Wilford’s fingers suddenly dug into Anti’s ribcage, making the owner jump and writhe heavily as Wilford chuckled gleefully.

'MHMPH!’

Anti clamped his mouth shut as he tried to keep his silence, quivering even more under Dark’s teasing gaze as ticklish bolts surged through him. Dark narrowed his eyes at the determined man and spoke slyly.

'You know you can’t hold back…you know you want to laugh.’

Anti flushed heavily and yelped loudly as new teasing fingers scratched in the hollows of his underarms as Wilford still massaged his ribs.

'Ahahahaha nahahaha!’

Anti giggled heavily as he thrashed under their playful torture, Dark’s delicacy was maddening and Wilford cackled triumphantly.

'Awww look at the ticklish lil glitch bitch!’

Anti tried to glare but his mirth consumed him as he protested.

'Shuhuhuhuhut uhuhuhup dihihihihick!’

Anti yelped as Wilford’s hands moved to scribble at his tummy, his hands shooting under his t-shirt to dance over the wonderfully sensitive area. Dark chuckled at Anti’s broken composure as he hardened his touch in Anti’s hollows, relishing in the man's new, desperate cackles.

'So rude, I think you need to be taught a lesson…’

'NOHOHOHOHOHO WAHAHAHAHAIT!’

Anti’s eyes widened as he felt Wilford’s hands moved to scratch at his sides, but his senses were focused on one side in particular. Anti jerked and shook as Dark and Wilford grinned gleefully above him, he tried to send Wilford an imploring look; but the moustached man wasn’t swayed.

'Sorry Anti, but to be honest this has been coming for a while.’

Wilford spoke matter-of-factly as Anti’s cheeks ached with his wide grin, Dark chuckled and decided to flutter his fingers round Anti’s neck which made him snort and squeak loudly.

'DOHOHOHOHOHON’T! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!’

Anti tried to scrunch his neck forcefully, but Dark was no novice when it came to torture. Said man smiled down at his victim as he kept up his ruthless, taunting assault on his nervous system.

'So ticklish, and so vulnerable…’

Anti flushed as Dark’s words brought more colour to Anti’s cheeks than had probably ever been there before, Dark experimentally flicked over the shells of Anti’s ears which made him snort and yelp harshly.

'NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHERE!!’

Wilford sneered and leant over the hysterical man as he whispered teasingly.

'Uh oh, looks like someone’s caught in our ticklish trap!’

Anti screeched as Wilford's right hand began to slowly crawled across his tummy to join its companion, where it paused as Anti shook his head frantically. Wilford was smirking excitedly and Dark meanwhile was shaking his head a little at Wilford’s childish giddiness, Dark flicked his eyes down to Anti’s breathless visage as he spoke slowly.

'Why? Can’t you handle it?’

Anti shuddered before a high pitched scream pierced the air, Wilford was using both hands to squeeze and knead the flesh of Anti’s right side. His death spot.

'AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA FAHAHAHAHAHAHACK!!!’

Anti bucked and laughed like the true maniac that he was as his nerve bundles were tormented, on top of that Dark’s fluttering and flicking at his ears just meant that he was in complete ticklish agony. His tormentors rather enjoyed reminding him of that fact too.

'Look how blushy you are! Tickle tickle glitchy boy!’

Anti only blushed harder as Wilford embarrassed him with amazing effectiveness.

'SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUT UHUHUHUHUHUP!!!’

Dark rolled his eyes at Wilford and raised his eyebrow.

'Really Wilford?’

Wilford looked at him defensively as Dark snickered.

'What? He is blushy, look at him it’s fucking adorable!’

Dark let out a barking laugh as Anti screeched and cackled beneath him, emerald tears were rolling down his cheeks as he begged incoherently.

'STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!’

Dark hummed before sighing, he kept his own fingers trailing gently as he nodded at Wilford. The latter pouted before withdrawing carefully, folding his arms across his chest as he watched Anti recover. Anti gasped as he filled his lungs with oxygen, but the odd giggle still jumped out as Dark’s fingertips traced his hairline at the back of his neck. Wilford grinned and leant over him.

'Are ya gonna talk to us now?’

Anti grinned widely and nodded his head rapidly.

'Yehes yes I’m sohorry!’

Wilford hummed and pursed his lips, he looked across to Dark who returned his expression with a hint of amusement.

'Do we believe him?’

Dark chuckled and looked down at him with glittering eyes as he moved his knees so as to release Anti’s arms, Anti hugged his limbs close as Dark helped him sit up.

'Yes I think so.’

Wilford grinned and shuffled off Anti’s legs, Anti brought them close and hugged them to his chest as Dark and Wilford examined him a little. Wilford narrowed his eyes and gave his shoulder a sharp nudge which made him jump and glare at him with a light grin.

'You’re both fuckin assholes.’

Wilford stuck his tongue with a childish sneer as Dark chuckled gently.

'And you’re a giggly glitch bitch so suck it up!’

Anti growled and narrowed his eyes at the boyish moustached man.

'Yeah well as far as I can make out you’re a bubble-gum bitch!’

Wilford puffed his chest out in a prideful way.

'Hell yeah! And I’m damn proud of it!’

Anti furrowed his eyebrows a little as Wilford stood and offered his hand, Anti took it and stood. He ran a hand through his hair as he turned to Dark who was fiddling with his cuffs gently, he looked to Anti with a slight grin and stepped towards him as he spoke.

'By the way, Wilford has another addition to his blade collection-’

'Oh yeah! C'mon you’ll love it, it’s super awesome!’

Anti grinned as Wilford went on a rant about this new Pudao blade that he’d 'acquired’, he spared a glance at Dark who gave him a kindly smile as he was dragged away by the bombastic man. Names are strange but they have power, like magic spells. Right now, Anti felt more power than he’d ever felt before…the power of belonging.

I HOPE U LIKE THE GLITCHY BOI GETTIN DEM GIGGLES i luv writing it cuz he’s adorable and i wanna squoosh his lil face, luv yous xx

[firesidevisions]

Lucy For Ever - Prologue

He lifted the baby’s legs with one hand and slipped the nappy beneath her. She gurgled softly, obviously relaxed despite the power of his large, rough and callused hands. He gently dropped her down and pulled the nappy straps each side. The child smiled as he lightly tickled her soft, vulnerable belly. As he did so, he hummed softly. It was a tune as old as time, the lyrics lost from his memory,  

He gently lifted his charge and held her close to him; her bare skin, her soft baby fat, her helplessness seemed incongruous in these enormous, life and death toughened, hands. Yet he held her delicately and with practised efficiency.   

He moved from the table, ensuring it was clean and tidy, crossed over to the settee and sat, holding her close, rocking her softly to sleep. His voice was low, and she could feel the vibrations through his chest. It was just what she needed, he thought watching her as her eyelids grew heavy and she succumb to sleep. She looked tranquil, secure in the assurance that no harm could befall her.  

He sat with her for a while, enjoying the closeness. His role, he saw it, was of protector. His strength was for her, to keep her safe; this defenceless child had a defender, and defend her he would. He wanted no harm to come to this meagre frame or the soul that resided within.  

After a while, he stood and reached to turn off the small lamp that had provided them with their only illumination. The room was dark, but darkness was his friend. Besides, even with his eyes closed, he knew it all well enough to navigate. Every chair was where it always was; the table to his left, the small cabinet with the lamp and a vase to his right. There was a rug beneath his feet, and long, heavy curtains over the windows and the ornate light fixtures on the wall. They all spoke of familiarity and security. But mostly, it was the child in his arms. This small bundle of life, of hope and of the future.  

He picked up the soiled nappy and crossed the room to the kitchen. The room was illuminated solely by the glow of the full moon, the silver light shining through the windows. He stood on the lever at the foot of the bin and dropped the nappy inside.   

The child adjusted herself slightly, moving in his muscular arm. Her skin was pallid in this light and it glowed spectrally.  

He waited for her to settle once more before returning to the living room. He looked around, careful not to disturb her further, then he crossed the room, slowly and delicately opening the door and stepped out into the hallway. He stopped momentarily listening for any sounds of disturbance.   

There was a creak; nothing much, just a very slight rasp from the floorboards. The man froze for a moment, warily listening for something else. Was there someone there? or was it just the settling of the house?  

He waited but all he could hear was his own breathing. Presently, he began to climb the stairs, the child in one arm, the other using the bannister for guidance. It was time for the child to go to bed. He was almost to the top when he heard the voice: 

‘Who the hell are you?’  

The voice was accompanied by the light, turned on by a man who had just stepped out of the bedroom and was now standing at the top of the stairs.  

He was of average height, weight and appearance. A nobody. He wore a tee-shirt and large baggy shorts; his thin legs and his feet were bare.  

The big man just sneered, staring at this opponent. His malevolence oozing from every pore.   

‘Get out of my house now or I’m calling the pol-’ The small man stopped mid-sentence as he noticed the baby cradled in the muscular arms.  

‘Lucy…?’ he whispered hesitantly.  

The big man looked down at the baby. He had wondered what her name was but had been content to merely call her ‘the baby’. Now he knew, 'Lucy' he whispered only to her. He knew then why he was here, and he smiled with the knowledge.  

A door opened, and a woman appeared squinting in the light. She wore a small nightie and the big man was drawn to her; to her legs, to her rounded breasts that were prominent beneath it, to the slender neck. He could see the curvature of her hips and the slight hint of yellow panties. He took a deep breath. He wasn't here for the woman despite the movement he felt in his loins. All that mattered was the child.   

The small man stepped in front of the woman, shielding her. His eyes were both panicked and feral. He was obviously not a worthy contender although his protection instinct was admirable, as it should be for a father.  

‘What are you are doing with my daughter?’ the man hissed, his voice laced with panic. He was becoming frantic, a shrill tone was creeping in. He spread his arms wide and held his palms flat, trying to give an impression of calm.  

‘Put her down, please.'   

The woman wiped her eyes. ‘What’s going on, Paul?  

The man was amused at this question. Were the lights so bright to her unadjusted eyes that she could not see the truth as it stood before her? Was she really so stupid?  

It didn't last long. As awareness dawned on her, as her eyes adjusted to the light, she began to scream. At first, it was a howl, a screeching wail that seemed to put her whole body into convulsions. Then slowly a word emerged in spasms:

 ‘LUCY, LUCY, LUCY’  

The bellowing caused the child to stir in his arms. He looked down as she started to cry, joining her mother in an incoherent moan. He felt anger roiling in his guts. How dare they make this child cry! How dare they cause these tears, this sorrow in his Lucy!  

‘Please,’ the father was saying. ‘Put my daughter down, just go. We won’t tell anyone, we won’t call the police. Just leave’.  

The man looked back and fore between the crying child and her father. His heart ached to see her like this. He felt hatred for this small weak man who couldn't really protect his own child, but he also realised there was nothing he could do right now. He had no other choice. He felt a tide of impotence collide with resentment and enmity, which he had to fight to control. The agitation was palpable, but his self-control was great. 

He bent down slowly, putting the child delicately onto the floor, away from the danger of the stairs. 

Then he turned to the two frantic parents and sneered. He said nothing but the rancour he felt for them burned in his eyes. Yet, as he turned one last time to look at the child, those same eyes shone with tenderness and warmth.  

He backed slowly away from the child, one step at a time, cautiously receding into the darkness below. The woman pushed passed her husband and rushed to take charge of her daughter. She picked Lucy up quickly and took her into her arms, holding her tightly. She backed herself into the bedroom, her eyes not leaving his as he disappeared into the shadows. 

 ***

Paul stepped tentatively forward, his eyes searching the dark shadows. He saw nothing, heard nothing. There was no sound of doors opening or closing, no sound of footsteps.  All he could hear were Lucy's cries. 

Is he still here? he wondered. 

Angela pushed passed him again as she took Lucy into their bedroom, but he didn’t see her. He stood there staring, waiting for some sign that it might not yet be all over.  

Finally, he made up his mind and backed up into the bedroom. He quickly crossed the room and reached for the phone on the nightstand. He didn't take his eyes off the door, expecting the devilish beast to return at any moment.

Angela sat at the edge of the bed, rocking Lucy, trying to get her to calm down. The child’s cries had lessened, replaced by convulsive sobs.  

Paul glanced down quickly and pressed the call button. Then, with his heart pounding loudly in his ears, he dialled 999.  

  ***

'What happened then?' DCI Mann looked tired. His suit was rumpled as if he had been sleeping in it for a few days. His eyes were dark, and a dirty grey beard covered half his face. Yet, Paul noticed, his tie was immaculate. It seemed odd, out of place. It should have been loose and rumpled as the suit, but it was perfectly clean, pressed and knotted.

'Nothing, ' Paul replied. He also felt tired, the weight of the night pressing down on him. He thought he knew tension and stress at work, but tonight he realised he didn't have a clue. 'I stayed on the phone with the operator until I heard the doorbell. The operator confirmed it was the two officers, so I went downstairs to let them in.'  

Mann wrote this in his notebook. Paul could see the sprawling, unruly penmanship which seemed to mirror the man's shirt, but he couldn't make out what it said.

'You didn't hear the intruder leave?'  

'No, although Lucy was still crying so we couldn't hear much.'  

The DCI nodded, then slumped back on to the settee. He seemed to hum to himself for a few seconds, a tune that Paul felt he recognised yet could not place. 

'Well we've checked the house and it is secure. No windows broken, no doors unlocked, and everything locked from the inside.'  

'So how did the bastard get in, then!'  

Paul threw up his arms in frustration. He could feel the panic rising again and hated the thought of not being in control. His life was ordered, it had reason and purpose. He didn't like surprises at the best of times and this certainly wasn't one of those. 

Mann leaned forward again and held out his hands in a placating manner. His nails had obviously been bitten and he wore a large wedding band on his muscular, rough hands. 

'Have you noticed anything unusual recently? Anything out of place? Anything that just didn't sit right?  

'No,' Paul sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. 'No, I dunno, like what? What type....' He stopped, and his eyes widen as the realisation and the panic hit him like a wave. 'What are you saying? That he has been here before?'  

Mann shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'We're just trying to think of all possibilities...'  

Paul stood up and started pacing.

'He's been here before? In this house, while we were sleeping...?' His voice was starting to become frantic and his breathing more erratic. 

Mann stood up. 'Mr Downs, please...'  

'I will not calm down,' Paul shouted. 'How can I calm down? This fucking stranger was in my house.' He crossed over to the window and stared out. 'Oh shit,' he whispered. 'Oh shit, shit, shit.'  

Mann reached for him just as his legs gave way. Another officer, watching for the doorway, ran across to help. They led him to the sofa and slowly helped him down. Paul whispered under his breath, but they couldn't make out what was being said.  

'Get some water.' Mann said to the officer. 'Paul?'  

Paul looked up at him, his face was a picture of dread and horror.

'The nappies,' he whispered gruffly. 

Mann crouched down in front of Paul. He tilted his head so he could look at this broken man in the eyes.  

'What about the nappies?' he asked.  

The officer returned with a glass of cold water. Mann took it off him and held it in front of Paul, who took it off the detective, his hands trembling.   

'What about the nappies, Paul?' Mann repeated.  

Paul breathed deeply.

'We were only talking a few days ago that Lucy never needs changing at night. Every morning she is completely dry. She's only four months old, this shouldn't happen, should it? Surely a four-month-old child would pee at night? Are you a father?' he asked Mann.

The DCI shook his head.  

'Go on.' 

Paul took another deep breath, tears fell from his eyes.  

'A few times we have noticed nappies in the bin when we thought we had emptied it. I assumed that Angela had done it without telling me, and she assumed I did the same. We've even argued about it.' He sniffed a laugh, 'She said I was getting old if I couldn't remember changing my own baby. What else could it be? Why would we think otherwise?'  

His body shook as he spoke, and new tears started to fall down his cheek.  

'You don't think...?' he asked the DCI.  

Mann looked up to the officer.  

'Check the bin,' he said. 'If you find anything - bag it.'  

'Yes, sir.' The officer left the room leaving the two men alone.

'I'm going to post a couple of officers here tonight. They'll be in a car out front and will do regular checks. In the meantime, we'll catch this bastard. You have my word. OK?'  

Paul closed his eyes. 'You make sure you do,' he grunted.  

 ***  

Hours later, as the nightmare spilt over into another night, Paul finished putting a sheet on the baby's mattress. He had moved the cot into their bedroom so it was next to their bed.  Angela held onto Lucy. She had not put her down all day, fearful of letting her daughter go for even a moment. Paul lay the little quilt tidily in the cot. He stretched his back trying to get the long day’s knots out of his muscles.   

With heavy legs, he crossed to his wife and sat down next to her. Putting his arm around her shoulder he said, 'Let me hold her for a while, go have a shower.'

'I'll be ok,' she said; her grip on Lucy tightened.  

'No,' he persisted. 'She'll be ok. I'll hold her. You need to clean the crap of today off you. You'll feel much better.'  

Angela sighed heavily. 'I suppose you are right but...'  

'No buts,' Paul reached over and carefully pried Lucy from his wife's hands. She slowly relinquished the child, her eyes fixed on this tiny, precious jewel.  

Go,' Paul said. 'You'll feel better.'  

  ***  

The bathroom door was open and steam hung in the air. He could hear the shower and the movement of the woman as she bathed. He stepped out of the shadow and moved closer to the door. He could see her behind a steam misted window. The outline of her naked body, her round breasts. He smiled as he watched her and could feel himself getting aroused. She was washing her legs and although he couldn't see anything behind the misted glass, he could imagine. He closed his eyes and could smell the soap and the shampoo. It filled his nostrils and he held his breath momentarily so he could taste it on his tongue.  

He wanted to go in there, to open the shower door and grab hold of her. To hold her breasts, to kiss those lips, to pierce her and to rid himself of this lust. He could do it, he knew. It would be silent, although he wasn't sure he could control his passion. He could feel the pulse of blood in his groin, a beat that extended to his temples.  

He stepped back suddenly, back into the shadow. This was not why he was here, he had to remind himself; it was for the girl, not his own ecstasy. She was all that mattered.  

'Paul?' Angela called.  

'Yes, sweetheart?' Paul called back from the bedroom across the hall.

'Everything ok?'  

'Everything's fine, don't worry and enjoy your shower.'  

Had she heard him? Had he dropped his guard too much? Let his passion and lust control him? He stayed in the shadow and though he could see her get out of the shower he closed his eyes. He was safe here; the shadow was his patron; it gave him comfort and protection. Everything that he wanted to give to the child, the darkness gave him. It allowed him to move without fear of being seen, to enter and exit swiftly. Time and distance had no hold on him. He was the Spirit of Darkness, the Father of Despair and the Lord of Grief. As he had breathed in the shampoo, he now imbibed the dark and he felt something greater than passion.

He felt power  

He opened his eyes once more, knowing what mattered. The child. He needed the child, an innocence to corrupt so his master's power could flourish. He needed to cultivate the righteousness of virtue and feed on its annihilation. This child had been chosen and he was the bringer of her soul.  

Tonight.  

The woman passed him, oblivious to his presence. He knew he was safe and he knew what he had to do.  

   ***

Angela looked down on Lucy who slept peacefully in the cot. Her brow was knotted in that way that only happened when she was under a lot of stress. Paul hadn't seen it often, thankfully, but he recognised it when he saw it.  It caused the knot he felt at the pit of his stomach to tighten further. He loved that woman and even though he had not been the best of husbands, he knew he would always stick by her.   

He felt his face flush red with shame and guilt as he thought of Megan, the woman he had had an affair with for about six months. It was over now, cut short not by Paul but by Megan herself. She had found someone who would commit to her fully, not just on the occasional Friday night when he told Angela he was out with the boys from work. He had resented her, told her she was a bitch for dumping him like that, ignoring the irony of the situation.  

Angela never found out, he was confident of that. She had been pregnant at the time and loving it. A natural mother, a natural wife and naturally trusting. And he loved her for it, even though he had looked elsewhere for something she couldn't give him. She was quite sexually conservative, liked to keep it simple. He wanted someone to excite him, to take charge, to seduce him. Angela would even get embarrassed at the suggestion, but Megan was exactly what he wanted and did it all to please him.  

'You ok?' Angela asked him. He had been staring at her without really seeing her. He nodded slowly.  

She smiled and crossed over to him and put her arm around his shoulder. She sighed deeply and rested her head on him. She didn't say anything and didn't need to. He knew she loved him.  

The guilt welled up in him again, this time attached to it was another, more terrifying thought. What if it was my fault?  

It was so powerful an accusation he could feel his heart beat harder. What if this was because of what he had done? What if this whole episode, the confrontation with that beast of a man, was punishment for his sins?   

He believed in God and knew that this wasn't how sin and punishment worked. As a Christian, he knew, in theory, that his sins were forgiven. However, doubt occasionally plagued him, gorging on his humanity. This was a natural way to feel, he knew that. Believer or not, doubt was a constant in many people's lives, but today the sting was so acute he felt it in the marrow of his bones, as relentless and unforgiving as cancer. 

Angela sighed deeply, he put his arms around her, closed his eyes and silently prayed for this nightmare to be over.  

   ***

Paul's eyes felt very heavy. The day had been catching up on him for a while now. He sat up in bed, Angela lay beside him finally succumb to a light sleep. Lucy was in the cot next to their bed, they had moved the chest of drawers in front of the door for extra protection. There was a police car parked out front and he had checked a couple of times to make sure they were still there.  

They had decided to try to rest and had taken comfort from their precautions. As they got into bed Paul had reached over and kissed his wife passionately. She had received it and returned it. She had not complained as he held her breast and squeezed it intensely. Yet, when he had reached below the bedclothes and tried to pull down her panties, she had resisted him.  

'Not tonight, I can't' she said, almost dreamily.  

He tried to kiss her, to show her how much he needed it, but she pulled away.  

'Tomorrow, I promise. I'm too tired and stressed tonight. I would have thought you were too.'  

He felt a slight flush of anger, then that guilt again. He sighed deeply, knowing that she was right, so he pulled away from her and forced a smile.  

'Go to sleep,' she whispered. 'Let’s just get through tonight first.'  

He nodded and lay on is back facing the ceiling.

'OK,' he said finally. She manoeuvred herself until she leaned on his chest and kissed him on the cheek.

'I love you,' she said.  

He lay there for a while until she was asleep. He thought of Megan, what she would have done and felt a momentary resentment towards his wife. He had needs too and at times like this it may be a good thing; it could relieve the tension, to get closer and forget, however briefly, the horrors they were going through.

He sighed heavily, the pendulum swung back again to guilt and he started to feel selfish and careless. This is not who he should be. Angela needed him as much as Lucy did.  

So, he just sat there, occasionally looking over to the two women in his life. As he watched Lucy sleep he thought of that beast again. Was he a man? a demon? death itself? He shivered as he thought of those huge, monstrous hands holding his baby. She was defenceless, and he remembered how helpless he had felt when he had confronted the man who he knew would haunt his thoughts for the remainder of his life. He looked over to the chest of drawers, happy that they would be safe that night.  

Eventually, he lost the fight and slowly drifted into sleep.  

 *** 

The man stepped out of the shadow and looked at the sleeping figures before him. He glanced back to the chest of drawers and snorted in derision. Who did they think they were dealing with? Did they not understand?  

Silently, he crossed the room and looked out the window to the street outside. A policeman leaned on the car looking up and down the street. He looked like he was talking to someone, probably his partner who was still in the car.  

Another snort.  

He returned to the bed and the cot. The child was so beautiful, so innocent, so perfect. He loved her completely and knew she would give to him so much more than her parents could expect. The cot was pulled up next to the bed where the mother slept. He leaned over the woman and smelled her hair, the freshness of the shampoo, her skin cream. He wanted her again, to hold that smooth skin and take her. He wanted to make the husband watch as his weakness was exposed. He would be dealt a lesson about the fragility of his role and the vulnerability of all he thought was his. This puny man would be punished for allowing his family to suffer as they were.  

The woman grunted in her sleep and seemed to say a few words, but he could not make out what they were. He could have reached into her dreams and turned them to nightmares, but it would serve no purpose. 

Standing full height again, he walked to the side of the cot and reached down and lightly touched the baby's cheek. Lucy smiled, as did he. She made him very happy and he would love her and protect her. She would feel special, a princess, right up to the moment he would crush her innocence and his master would feed on her destruction.  

He felt good, the eternity was his.  

Silently he reached down and deftly lifted the child into his arms. She gurgled slightly and he pulled her closer. The parents did not move. The pathetic mortals. They thought they could provide all this child needed yet they slept as their child was taken. He wanted to destroy them as they slept but knew the worse punishment he could give them was to leave them live with the guilt of their folly.  

With Lucy snuggled in his huge arms he walked into the shadows and was gone.  

  The next morning Paul was awoken by his wife's screams. 

[ryukogo]

(If you are still taking prompts): "Tweek, you are going to the doctor whether you like it or not, you have the flu!"

Prompt: Leave the first sentence of a fic in my askbox and i will write the next five.

[ this one made me laugh ]

"Tweek, you are going to the doctor whether you like it or not, you have the flu!"

Tweek’s stubborn cries were nearly incoherent, haphazardly meshing with the ear-grating sounds that, to Stan and Craig, sounded suspiciously enough like a pterodactyl’s screeching, but that didn’t stop any of the three from trying to lunge at the ill blond, who was, disturbingly enough, more nimble when he was delirious with fever.

“This is for your own good-!” Craig went over and tried to pluck the blond out from under the thick covers, but Tweek managed to shimmy in deeper, his grip on the sheets tight enough to rival that of a vice grip’s in order to shield him from Craig’s advances, making him groan, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration - a habit he picked up from Stan.

Stan noticed, of course, but the priority was Tweek - Mrs. Tweak had politely asked them to help her wrangle Tweek out of his bed to go to the doctor because Tweek, quite frankly, disliked going to the doctor, and having illnesses like the flu only made it worse, morphing the dislike into utter hate, which made their job much, much harder, with Tweek being even more paranoid when sick.

“YOU C-CAN’T MAKE ME!” Tweek screeched, only to scream as Stan took the opportunity to jump on the bed and wriggle his hands under the lump that was Tweek, effectively bundling him up in the blanket and scooping him off with little to no effort, flashing a grin at Craig, who pulled back some of the folds to reveal Tweek’s shock of blond hair.

“This is for your own good,” He reminded him again, and with a childishly grumpy snort, Tweek resigned his red-faced self to a kiss on the forehead from both noirettes as they took him to the car, where Kyle and Mrs. Tweak had been waiting.