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kikiiswashere · 4 months ago

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Children of Zaun - Chapter 32

Loners

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Kat's busy, so Viktor's goes out by himself to take his boat for a spin.

Author's Note: Bright Yule, all! Hello again to all the new followers of this little blog of mine, and thank you for being here. My holiday gift is this next chunky chapter 💗

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 7.8K

When Kat’s eyes cracked open, she saw the dim, orange glow of light outlining the jamb of Silco’s bedroom door. Signaling that Enyd was already up. If she had managed to sleep at all. Several nights over the past few weeks, the ferocity of her coughing and retching hadn’t allowed for more than a couple hours of rest at a time. It left the already haggard woman exhausted, her throat raw, and her voice the soft crackle of a dwindling fire. Weak and smokey.

Kat shifted beneath Silco’s arm, and he grunted, muscles flexing and drawing her in closer.

“It’s time to get up, Silco.”

He mumbled something into her hair that she’d since learned was ‘Not yet’.

“There is going to be a delivery of supplies to the clinic today. I need to be there to receive it.”

His body stilled in consideration. Finally, his arm relaxed and she sat up, twisting to face him. In the shadows of the dark room, the angles of his face appeared sharper. They cut against the softness of the pillow beneath his head, hair an ink spill over the light color of the case’s fabric. She reached down and brushed some strands away from his eyes. It was getting so long.

A blue eye cracked open and squinted up at her.

“What?”

Kat smiled sleepily, and dipped down to kiss the summit of his cheekbone.

“Nothing. You’re just handsome.”

There was something about the mornings, when it was just them and a tangled-up sheet. Before they had to open that door and march into the world. Ready to live, lead, and fight. For a few brief, waking moments nothing else existed.

Silco shifted his head against the pillow, setting both eyes upon her. Even in the dark of the bedroom, she saw the color on his cheeks shift, and a careful-not-to-be-too-pleased smile on the edges of his mouth. Kat leaned down and pressed a kiss to it, before suddenly slipping away as his arms attempted to ensnare her and draw her back into the covers. Kat laughed quietly as his arms flopped on to the bed, heavy in defeat. She gently padded toward the dresser her clothes were left on, and began changing out of her pajamas.

Silco unraveled himself from the sheets, grabbed his cigarette tin from the bedside table, and shuffled to the window. The light that filled the bedroom as he drew back the ratty curtain was grey and watery. Soft enough that the brightness did not sting, clear enough that Kat could easily thumb the buttons of her trousers through their eyelets.

Silco cracked the window open, the sounds and smells of Zaun gently wafting into the room. He struck a match against the sandpaper within the tin of the case, and lit a cigarette. With a sleepy sigh, he leaned out the window.

Kat shrugged into her blouse, fingers making quick work of the button-front. Her vest was next, the chain of her papa’s pocket watch catching the light in a joyful twinkle. Tying her hair up in a ponytail, she crossed over to Silco.

“You are going to have to tie this back soon,” she said, tucking his hair behind an ear. Goose pimples rose on his skin as her fingers traced lightly down his neck and shoulder.

He hummed in response, sucking a long drag from the cigarette. The paper was eaten away by a wriggling orange line, and the ash blew away on a soft breeze.

“You don’t want to get it caught in any of the machinery at work.”

Silco lifted his eyebrows in a ‘that’s true’ fashion. Leaning farther out the window, he blew a mouthful of smoke into the air, and crushed the end of the cigarette against the bricks of the building. Standing back into the room, he pulled the window shut and turned to Kat.

“Any spares, perhaps?” he asked, reaching out and running his fingers through the thick waves of her ponytail.

“In my coat, probably. I’ll get you one before we leave.”

Kat left Silco in his bedroom to change, and ventured into the apartment. She heard Enyd before she saw her. A steady, wheezing drone whistling from the living room. She dipped her fingers into the pockets of her coat, searching for a spare elastic, before continuing.

The older woman was propped up in her rocking chair, pillow wedged behind her head, a large drop cloth spread over her lap. She held a section of the fabric up to the light at her side, stitching a long, red swatch to it with aching precision. Her eyes flicked over to Kat as she stepped into the room, a smile stretching her face.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Enyd.”

Kat’s eyes gave a cursory glance around Enyd’s immediate space. A water glass on the end table, her medicine (woefully low) next to it; no signs of bloody rags or a sick bucket. Then she looked at the project in Enyd’s lap. A flag. Zaun’s flag. She’d been working on it for a few weeks, desperate to keep herself busy as her ability to consistently leave the apartment lessened. Enyd had presented the idea to Kat and Silco one evening, along with a few rough sketches of a design and emblem.

“Every nation needs a flag,” she’d insisted.

And she wasn’t wrong. Kat couldn’t decide whether to inspect the drawings Enyd was showing them, or to stare at Silco’s utterly entranced face as he took in his mother’s work. Enyd had come such a long way from initially scolding him that one night at Vander’s, to creating the crest of their nation. He’d excitedly taken her sketches to The Last Drop the next day to confer with Vander.

The two men talked for hours, mulling over the scraps of paper, piecing together different facets of the drawings until the final draft emerged. The emblem for the Nation of Zaun: A ‘N’ and ‘Z’ artfully combined in a strong tower, against a backdrop of blue and red whorls meant to pay homage to Oshra Va’Zaun and Lady Janna.

“Did you sleep?” Kat asked, taking a step closer. It didn’t seem like Enyd had made much progress from where she had stopped the night prior. Hopefully meaning –

“Yes. Better than I have the past few nights.”

“How long have you been up?”

Enyd blinked, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Only about an hour. Is Silco up?”

“He is getting dressed. I’ll make you some tea and breakfast.”

“Oh, Kat. You don’t have to do that. I can – “

Enyd slipped her needle through the flag to keep from losing it, and began to carefully gather the fabric up.

“No, no,” Kat insisted. She placed a hand on Enyd’s shoulder. “Really, I got it.”

The older woman looked up at her, eyes simultaneously grateful and abashed. She settled into the pillow behind her head, and lifted up her sewing again as Kat went to the kitchen.

Enyd’s kitchen had become as familiar as her own. She moved swiftly between either side of the galley. The kettle went on the top right burner, as it was the one that got hottest most quickly. Tea was tucked away in the cupboard above the hood. Mugs were in the second cupboard that faced the stove, along with the plates. Bread was kept in the box below those cupboards. The bread knife and other silverware were tucked in the middle drawer beneath the butcher block counter. The drawer stuck if one did not lift the handle first and give it a gentle, but firm, yank. The marmalade was in the icebox door, next to the yeast.

Like seeing her and Silco’s clothes drying next to one another, the way Kat easily moved about the kitchen was honey-sweet comfort. A warm blanket that wrapped around her heart.

She heard Silco enter the living room as she began slicing bread. Then, gentle and loving ‘good mornings’ shared between mother and son, before he appeared in the kitchen, Enyd’s water glass in hand. He went to the sink and filled it. The kettle began to warble. Silco reached over and turned the flame beneath down.

“Go ahead and take the bread over,” he said. “I’ll make the tea.”

“I’ll take the water, too.”

Silco handed her the fresh glass before turning his attention to the box of tea and mugs, and Kat walked over to the kitchen table, placing the bread and water glass down.

Enyd knotted off the thread, and slid her needle snugly into the drop cloth’s weave for safekeeping. Gently setting her work on the floor, she gripped the arms of her chair and pressed up to her feet. Kat watched her carefully, body tightening like a spring. Ready to leap forward should Enyd look at all unsteady. But the older woman managed to the table just fine, though the plop into her seat was a little graceless. Kat slathered a slice of bread with marmalade, set it on a plate, and handed it to Enyd. She murmured her thanks as Kat went to prepare her own breakfast. Silco appeared, placing mugs of tea in front of his mother and Kat, before returning to the kitchen to grab his own.

As he took his own seat, Kat frowned as she scraped the sides of the marmalade jar with a knife.

“Do you - “

“You can finish it up,” he said, sipping at his tea.

Enyd watched as Kat slid the scant amount over her bread, lips pursing.

“I can go to the market today to see if I can find more.”

“Don’t, mum. The marketplaces barely have staples, muchless condiments.” Silco gave her a reassuring smile as he tore a piece of bread from his slice and popped it in his mouth. “We’ll be able to get marmalade soon enough. And butter. And cheese.”

Enyd returned the smile weakly, before tucking her head into the crook of her elbow and coughing. It passed quickly, and she waved Kat off before the young woman could assist her in any way.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” With a quivering hand, Enyd grabbed for her water glass. She took careful sips, her face softening with each one.

“There is a delivery coming to the clinic today,” Kat said. “I will grab another bottle of decongestant. We - we could also try some anti-inflammatories, too. See if that helps at all.”

Enyd’s knee-jerk reaction was to turn down the offer. Out of humbleness, out of fear. But she’d since learned to not fight against Kat’s insistence. Especially when Silco backed her up. Even if Enyd said ‘no’, she knew Kat would bring them to her anyway.

Kat’s eyes lifted to the wall clock, and she grunted, biting her bread. She took a few large gulps of tea and made to stand.

“That delivery will be there shortly. I should head out. Oh, here.”

She held out her wrist to Silco, presenting the black elastic wrapped around it. He blinked, then was jolted back to what she had said in the bedroom.

He peeled it off her arm. “Thank you.”

Smoothing his wavy hair across his skull, and gathering its bulk at the nape of his neck, he tied it off. Kat’s eyes were warm as she took him in. Sighing, she folded the rest of her bread and took it up in one hand, as the other went to gently rest on the side of Silco’s neck. She used the contact as a counter-balance to hold her upright as she dipped to kiss him. She rounded the table and kissed Enyd’s head.

“Be safe,” Enyd called as Kat walked toward the door.

“I will be.” She twirled her coat over her shoulders, and opened the door. “See you both tonight.”

The delivery arrived. Kat had the crates stacked and lined up against the wall across from the reception desk. She attached two invoices to a clipboard: the one that accurately reflected the amount of goods in the crates, and the one she’d forged to represent what would be stocked in the clinic’s stores. It was a strategy she’d never done before these last few orders, instead just sneakily slipping bottles and bandages here and there. But with this large of a job, the hard copies of paperwork would help shield her from any suspicion.

She hoped that no miners would come by. The only face she wanted to see peek through the clinic door was Sevika, who would arrive about an hour before Will was due to start. She would tuck a large portion of the confiscated goods in a hollow-bottomed trash bin, and wheel it out of the mine. She would meet Brothers and Sisters near the mine’s refuse trenches and divvy up the supplies among them to take to The Last Drop.

She’d had the foresight after Snowdown to convince the board to stock up on medicine and materials, arguing that the previous cold season they’d been woefully short on supplies. They had ended up being unable to contend with a flare of Fissure Fever that had broken out in the barracks. And subsequently spread to the tunnels. Sixty-two children, twenty-two men, and forty-five women died by the time the Cold broke.

Of course, the loss of life meant little to the Piltovan Board and Rynweaver. So, Kat spun the clinic’s need for preemptive supplies to the tune of the bottom line. If less miners got sick, more miners could work. If more miners could work, the more business the mine could do. A simple deflection, but a successful one. The board greenlit Kat to triple the order of supplies for the cold season. However, due to the intensity of the weather this past cold season and with the continued scrutiny over goods entering the Undercity, the shipments had been parsed out and delayed. Only two of the three orders arrived during the cold months; this was the last one.

Luckily, there had been no major illness outbreak this past Snowdown. And, luckily, that was not the reason Kat had requested the large orders.

More and more weapons were coming in from black market dealers, pirates, and morally dubious traders. Mek and several other augmenteers kept their forges burning bright at all hours, crafting weapons from metal scraps. Creating domed bullet heads and chrome-colored casings.

In very, very small amounts, the Brothers and Sisters who had access to it were carefully smuggling gunpowder out of the mine. They’d scoop it up in random glass vials and jars, small enough that it wasn’t apparent on their person, and whisk it away to Augmentation Alley. There, blacksmiths became munitioners and assembled bullets.

To compensate for the minimal amounts of prepared gunpowder, Brothers and Sisters began assembling the ingredients Enyd had listed weeks ago. Those who happened to be chimney sweeps gathered crusts of saltpeter in their satchels while they worked. Everyone who had access to a wood burning stove saved the charred remains left in their hearths. Kat showed Annie and Beckett where the Springs were, and the pair had been leading small crews to the caves to collect chunks of sulphur.

The collected hodge-podge of materials were brought to the Drop. The days Enyd was well enough to venture from her home, she taught the Children how to combine the trinity together, and oversaw the process. Never once did she think being a Slipper would be anything but a killing curse. Using the skills that had been forced upon her by Piltover to rend their own misfortune allowed her to remember what sweetness tasted like.

And in preparing for the inevitable fight, Kat spent Piltovan coin on supplies that would help heal and protect Zaunites injured in the fray. She’d nearly cackled and kissed Rynweaver’s signature at the bottom of the permit when it arrived in her hands. Instead, she folded it up and kept it in her coat as a keepsake.

Kat’s shift was blessedly quiet. Allowing her all the time to intake and craftily organize supplies. Most new items would stay in the clinic. The ‘extras’ she set aside, using empty boxes to hold them. She also stuffed a few items in her coat. Most of it would go to the stocks in the Drop’s walls. The rest she would bring to her clients.

Just as she closed the lid on the final box that was destined for The Last Drop, Sevika showed up with the trash bin. Together, they shoved the supplies snugly into the bin’s hollow bottom. The door snapped shut with a quick tug. Any sign of the door’s outline was hidden beneath the coarse texture of rust. Corroded metal barely received a first-glance, muchless a second one, in Zaun.

“Be careful.”

“‘Course.” Sevika winked and beamed her endearingly cocky smile.

Kat watched her friend go until she turned the corner and headed for the lift.

The rest of Kat’s time passed quietly. She was grateful for that. The absence of hubbub, sirens, and Enforcers meant Sevika had pulled her job off successfully.

It also gave her more time to finish stocking the storeroom. To make it seem fuller than it actually was. Like the window dressers that tended to the boutiques in Main Spring Crescent, Kat placed items in the cabinets and drawers just so. Absolutely no suspicion would be roused.

A few minutes before the shift bell sounded, Silco swaggered into the clinic. Kat popped her head out from the supply closet, mouth drawing into a bright smile at the sight of him.

“That time already?”

“Already? Were you just having so much fun pilfering Topside that you lost track of time?” Silco cheekily asked.

Kat laughed, and stepped out of the closet, clipboard in hand. She set it on the reception desk, and sauntered over to him.

“I do love taking from them,” she cooed. Placing a hand on his chest, she lifted onto the toes of her boots. Mouth but a scant couple inches in front of his, she said, “It is a nice change of pace.”

There was a grin on Silco’s lips. It existed only for a moment. The tease of Kat so close to him too strong of a thing to keep from kissing her. She met him half-way with a small tug on his shirt. Her other hand wove its way up into his hair. Still in its knot from the morning.

Silco’s tongue appeared in her mouth, his arms around her hips. His fingertips grazing the top of her ass. She welcomed him with a tilt of her head and a firmer press of her lips. He responded in kind, until it was difficult to know where he stopped and she began.

The kiss slowed before it grew irrevocably frenzied. Kat loosened the grip on his shirt, and dropped back onto her feet. He grinned down at her, expression ever so slightly dazed.

“Let me grab the medicine. I left it in the closet. Then I’ll grab my coat and we’ll go.”

She patted his chest, went back to the supply closet, and pulled a brown glass bottle of decongestant and a tin of anti-inflammatories from the shelves. Closing the door behind her, Kat handed Silco the two medicines before going to grab her coat off the rack.

“Excuse me?”

Silco started and spun around. He’d forgotten to shut the clinic door upon arriving, allowing Will to appear with no announcing sounds.

Will’s face dropped into an expression one might make when discovering shit on their shoe.

“Silco.”

Kat had finally given them a perfunctory introduction after the eighth time he had come to pick her up after work. Will had eyed him suspiciously, like he always had. Silco regarded him with a disdainful eye; Kat had told him about Will cautioning her about the Children. Silco had no time and little respect for someone trying to convince the fight out of someone.

“Will.”

“Hello, Will,” Katya said as she stepped over, gently adjusting her coat as she went. “I did the intake of the supplies. Could you call someone to come get the crates?”

Will didn’t answer her. His eyes were focused on Silco’s hands.

“What do you have there?”

The medic knew very well what Silco had. Decongestant and anti-inflammatories. But why did he have containers of each in his hands?

Will’s small eyes traveled over to Katya. He furrowed his brow, and used the knuckle of his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We don’t give patients entire bottles of medicine, Katya. You know that.”

It was Silco’s first instinct to tell the man to mind his own fucking business. But Kat pressed a hand to his shoulder, short-circuiting any hasty reaction. She fixed Will with a firm look.

“Yes, I know that. But a family member of his is very ill, and needs the help.”

“Over half of the Undercity needs help!” Will hissed in a harried voice. He closed the door behind him, and spun back to her. “And you can’t go giving away medicine that doesn’t belong to you. You could get into big trouble. We could get into big trouble!”

Katya frowned. “We won’t get into trouble. I’ll make sure of it. Silco’s mother suffers from the Lung Blight she developed working in these mines. This - “ she gestured to the medicine in Silco’s hands “ - is the least Topside can do.”

“Katya,” Will whined. “This isn’t going to end well - “

“She just told you that there’ll be no trouble,” Silco snapped. “So, unless you want there to be trouble, I suggest shutting your mouth.”

Will stared up at Silco, expression livid. His lips turned downward, as his eyebrows and nose pinched together. His hand lashed out, and pushed Silco’s shoulder.

“You’re a bad influence!”

Silco snarled and went to lunge forward. Kat jockeyed between the two men, a firm hand to Silco’s chest and a gentle elbow against Will’s collarbones.

“Just stop,” she demanded. “Drop it.” She focused her attention on Will. “I am giving him the medicine because it is the right thing to do. No one will know.”

Gently, Kat guided Silco around Will, toward the clinic door. Silco tucked the bottles into his shirt, and didn’t spare the other man a second glance as he and Kat disappeared into the hallway.

Viktor held tight to the clunky model boat tucked under his arm as he and Miss Ivy waited for Kat to pick him up. He’d finished this first proto-type earlier in the week, and could not wait to show her. Miss Ivy had already ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘aah-ed’ over it when she came to gather him at his dorm.

“It’s spectacular, Viktor,” she had said, gently tapping one of the paddle-wheels.

“I’m going to take it for a test-drive this weekend.”

“I’m sure it will go swimmingly.”

She winked at him. Viktor’s cheeks warmed, and he carefully placed his boat into the shelter of his free arm. Miss Ivy took up his rucksack, and together they traveled to the Bridge.

Kat was prompt per usual. Grinning at him as she walked up, her eyes widened at the machine in his arm. Viktor gnawed on the inside of his lower lip in anticipation. He limped forward once she was a few feet away, carefully adjusting the boat against his hip.

“Is this it?” Kat gasped excitedly. “The SS Viktor?”

She held out her hands, and Viktor allowed her to take up the boat. He bathed in the look of awe and pride on her face, in the small little exclamations that escaped her mouth as she turned the boat this way and that.

“I am not going to name it that,” he mumbled, a rosy tint on his cheeks, an awkward smile tugging his lips.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Ivy gushed.

The joy in Katya’s face melted into stony protectiveness as the aide stepped forward. Gingerly, she handed the boat back to her brother.

“It is.”

The agreement was cool. A small wince crinkled the corners of Ivy’s eyes. Katya held her hand out, and Ivy handed Viktor’s bag to her. Without a ‘thank you’, the brunette shouldered it, and encouraged her brother to begin the journey back home.

“Have a good weekend, Miss Ivy,” he called over his shoulder.

The discomfort on her face morphed quickly back into a kind expression.

“You too, Viktor. See you Monday!”

“See you Monday!”

“Come along, Viktor,” Katya murmured.

She softly grazed her fingers over his cheek to redirect his gaze away from Piltover, and toward the Undercity.

Once situated in the conveyor car, Viktor settled the boat on his lap, small hands wrapped securely around it. The other passengers eyed it and him curiously, but kept to themselves. Not that he would’ve noticed; the attention of his bright eyes and clever fingers held completely by his creation.

“Were you able to figure out the motor?”

His sister’s voice was the one thing that could draw him away from the boat. Viktor’s head snapped up to look at her. The interest in her eyes warmed him.

“Yes, and no,” he admitted, looking back at the boat. A finger pet agitatedly at a slot near the helm. His lips thinned. “The motor needs to be cranked. The key is in my bag. So, it is renewable energy in a sense. But not self-sustaining.”

Kat chuckled, and pet a hand over his head.

“That is still very good.”

“I want to test it out,” he said, eyes big and pleading. “Can we go to the Oases tomorrow? Please?”

Kat blinked, fingering the duck-tailed curls at the nape of his neck. The conveyor car’s engine rumbled to life, and the cab jerked as it began its descent. Viktor kept his eyes on her the whole time. Bright and hungry and deserving.

She smiled softly. “Yes. Alright.”

Viktor barely slept that night. His mind vibrating with images of his boat pleasantly chugging through water, formulas of acceleration and fluid mechanics dancing behind his eyelids. He leapt out of bed the moment he heard Kat shuffling about the apartment. He dressed in a whirlwind, particularly grateful that his brace was so much easier to slip on and set in place. Shirt only partially tucked in, he staggered excitedly into the hall, and shuffled toward the kitchen on clumsy socked feet.

“Careful,” Kat chuckled as he damn-near tumbled into the table.

Viktor sucked in an excited breath the way children do - one wet sounding around the edges, as if they’re about to salivate around their joy - and shoved himself into his seat. He’d left the boat and his notebook on the table the night before. He pulled the items closer, eyes sparkling, and flipped the notebook open.

He heard Kat chuckle beneath her breath before she stepped over from the stove, and placed a hot mug of tea at his side.

“Don’t spill.”

“I won’t!”

His sister returned to the stove, and continued preparing their bowls of oatmeal. Viktor continued pouring over his notes, periodically mumbling to himself, and looking up at his boat. His breakfast appeared before him with a sudden clunk, oats thickly sloshing about within the bowl. Kat took up her seat beside him, and carefully moved the boat back to the center of the table.

“Eat, Viktor.”

Reluctantly, he closed his notebook and set it aside, tugging the bowl in front of him. Internally, his mind tantrumed a bit from having to be pulled away from its preferred activity, but he knew the faster he dealt with breakfast, the faster he’d get to the Oases. That was motivation enough to keep him from grumbling. Kat knew this, and smiled to herself as her brother tore through his oats and tea.

When the bowl was empty, Viktor pushed it away, reached for his crutch, and hauled himself to his feet.

“I’m going to go brush my teeth!”

Kat glowed under his excitement, gathering their breakfast dishes, and bringing them to the sink.

Just as she finished washing them up, Viktor enthusiastically trundled back from the washroom. He made for the kitchen table to gather the boat, heart pattering excitedly at the thought of getting to test it out for the first time.

Then, Viktor was unfairly pulled from his boyish excitement by surprising, rapid knocks at the apartment door. He looked to Kat - whose own face conveyed her confusion - to the door, and back to his sister. The knocks started up again. Frowning, Kat set the dish towel in her hand on the counter, and made for the door. She peered through the peephole, and Viktor watched as the color drained from her face. Her eyes flicked to him before pulling the door chain loose and unlocking the deadbolt. Opening the door only enough so she could slip outside, Viktor saw the silhouette of the visitor slink back to make space for her. She pulled the door mostly closed behind her, and he heard her hurriedly whisper. There was concern in her tone, though he could not make out the words. A voice, a man who sounded distraught, answered. A pause. Then his sister murmured an answer.

She whisked back inside and closed the door. Turning to face him, Viktor felt his heart splatter to his feet. The heat of unfairness prickled his round cheeks.

Despite having some idea of what Katya was about to say, he still asked: “What’s going on?”

She sighed, stepping toward him. “I’m so sorry, Viktor. Something has happened, and I need to go help someone.”

Viktor’s eyes, burning with tears he refused to let form, flicked to the door. Then back to his sister.

“Who? What happened?”

“It’s not anything you need to worry yourself with. If I am back before it is dark, we will go to the Oases. If not today, tomorrow - “

“But - !”

“Viktor, please.” Katya crouched low and grabbed his shoulders. “A . . friend of mine who is sick had a fall. She needs someone to check on her. Please.”

Viktor’s lower lip jutted forward, and he averted his gaze. Waves of anger roiled in his body. Flotsam and jetsam of disappointment and hurt frothed under his skin. Stiltedly, he nodded. Katya’s hands softened in relief as she leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

Then she whisked away.

As she shrugged into her coat, she said, “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Do not leave the apartment. Yes?”

Viktor opened his mouth to respond, but his voice hitched in the back of his throat. His jaw snapped shut, and he nodded instead.

Katya’s shoulders slumped. Remorse bled over her face.

“I am sorry, Viktor. I will try to be back as soon as possible.”

Lips pulling into a tight, tight line, Viktor looked away and nodded again.

“I love you,” Katya promised.

He mumbled it back, and she stole out the door. In the brief moment before it shut, Viktor got a peek of a tall figure with black hair and pale skin.

Then he was alone.

Again.

Finally, the tears escaped his eyes, streaming in near-unstoppable rivers down his cheeks. He limped back to his seat, laid his head down on his notebook, and cried. And cried. He didn’t know what he was feeling. Anger, yes. Disappointment, for sure. But those emotions did not quite fit in the cracks of his heart. There was something deeper there. Something that wrenched at his gut and strained his bones.

Eventually, his anger became hotter; drying up the tears from his eyes and burning his face. He lifted his head up, and glared at the boat in front of him. It sat cock-eyed on the table, as if it were asking a question.

Viktor sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. His brain was beginning to buzz, an agitation fizzing under his skin. The insatiable need to do something. The strange, foreign sensation of defiance thrummed in his chest. He looked over at the clock, then the window. Then the boat. Then the door.

He knew how to get to the Oases. And he wasn’t nearly as fragile as his sister and teachers at school treated him. He knew how to move his body, he knew his home-city, and he was eleven. Twelve soon! Other fissure children scurried about on their own far earlier!

Viktor decided. He would go to the Oases himself. With any luck, he would be back before Katya. If not . . . Well, then, she’d know where to find him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Viktor shoved himself out of his chair, grabbed the boat and made sure its key was still in his pocket, and left the apartment.

While he knew the way to the Oases, it felt strange traveling there alone. An odd cocktail of sadness and excitement swirled inside him as he limped through the Lanes. Most did not even acknowledge him as they walked by. Those that did, did not look at him like they were wondering why he was alone.

Viktor’s chin lifted higher, and he pressed on.

His confidence wavered slightly as he descended the incomplete iron steps that led down to the tributaries and lagoons of the Oases. It wasn’t graceful, but he and his boat managed to clamber down in one piece.

As he carefully hobbled down the soft sandstone, high squeals and excited whoops echoed off the rocks and retention walls. Nerves dared to sully his feeling of independence, and he shuffled as quickly as he could past one of the larger lagoons. He glanced over his shoulder as he went, and spied four or five children splashing about in the oil-slicked water.

He followed the stream that led to the Springs down deeper into the small valley. Sidling up to the bank, Viktor sat down, placing his boat and crutch on either side of him. The water before him trickled pleasantly, softly lapping at the light beige stone. He fished the turnkey from his pocket, and pulled the boat into his lap. Nerves began to dance under his skin again, but this time in anticipation. It was time to see if his creation worked!

The small, metal key slid into the slot easily. Viktor turned it. The gears within clicked and clacked as they were supposed to, and Viktor’s concerns began shifting into careful elation. He turned it again. More lovely mechanized sounds issued from under the boat’s hull.

Viktor turned and turned and turned the key, winding up the mechanism that would spin the paddle wheels and propel the boat through the water.

Next to him, the shadow of the rock ledge above grew and shifted. Viktor saw it in his periphery, and glanced up. He half-expected to see Katya, but instead a young girl peered down at him. A slip of a thing with tan skin, dark, unruly hair pulled back into a ponytail, and green eyes that glittered with interest in the day’s sun.

She didn’t say anything, and nor did he. The girl eyed him and his boat curiously, and he found himself unable to look away. He didn’t have any friends his own age. His throat went dry and his heartbeat quickened under her scrutiny. Nervous she’d stay; nervous she’d leave.

Under his fingers, Viktor felt the motor fight the last turn of the key. Wrenching it out, the boat vibrated lightly and whirred. The paddle wheels began spinning. He glanced down, a thrill rippling up his arms. Aware that the girl was still watching him, Viktor looked back up at her. Was she going to say something?

“Sky!” A voice called from over the cliffs. One of the other children back by the lagoon.

Sky’s eyebrows lifted, and she turned to climb back towards her friends. She threw him one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing over the other side of the rocks. Viktor’s chest deflated a bit. Equal parts relief and disappointment.

The boat shook gently in his hands, like it was begging to be placed in the water. He gave it one last look over, checking for any gaps or cracks in the metal.

Holding his breath, Viktor delicately put the boat into the stream, and let go. Just as he had designed, the wheels pulled his creation smoothly through the water. He bit his bottom lip, and grinned, feeling very pleased with himself.

Viktor grabbed his crutch and hauled himself onto his feet. He walked along the bank, following the boat, the intoxicating sense of accomplishment welling up within him as he watched it chug along.

Readily, the boat cut through the water, heading further and further downstream. Going faster and faster. Viktor’s own pace quickened, his weak leg dragging behind him as he went. But he cared little about his scuffed shoe, his inability to keep pace with the boat. All that he could hear in his head was “I did it!”

Until the gap between him and his invention widened. And widened. Panic that he’d lose the boat began to drown out the happiness he felt. The dissonance between his spirit and physical body became frustratingly apparent as he willed his legs to move faster, and they simply would not.

After a few, sloppy, hurried steps, his legs tangled and he fell to the ground, crutch clattering out of his hand. And the boat kept paddling along, following the stream into a crack in a sandstone wall.

Embarrassment welled heavy in Viktor’s chest, threatening to keep him plastered to the dusty bank. He lifted his head, and glanced over his shoulder. Sky, nor any of her friends, were peering down at him.

He was alone.

Ignoring the stinging pain in his shins, Viktor gathered up his crutch, pressed himself up, and timidly followed the stream toward the gap in the rock. There was a tumble of gravel leading down into a cavern, the stream babbling next to it, his boat near the bottom of the slope. Gritting his teeth and crutch in determination, Viktor began down the rocks.

The stream fed into a large underground pond. Pockets of glowing purple flowers lit the cavern eerily. Viktor’s brow furrowed. He remembered Papa telling him and Katya about this subterranean flora. About its fickle nature, and how above ground its phenotypic state morphed into that of an algae-like substance. He also remembered Papa saying that there was no apparent use for the plant. It wasn’t edible, nor did it survive beyond its natural habitat.

As Viktor shuffled lower down, the air became cool and moist. It smelled of petrichor, aquatic funk, and . . . Something he could not put his finger on. A light, metallic sweetness. Something about it sent a shiver down his crooked spine.

So distracted by the environment, staying upright, and keeping an eye on his boat, Viktor hadn’t realized that there was someone seated on a boulder on the opposite bank of the pond. A man, Viktor could see. A great swath of daylight poured in from above where the cavern’s ceiling broke open. His heart stuttered in his chest. Looking from his boat, to the man, up to the opening in the rock from where he came, he steeled his resolve and crept closer.

When the boat gently bumped against the boulder the stranger sat on, the man reached down and scooped it out of the water. He moved as if he were unsurprised. Like he’d been expecting the little boat to arrive. Viktor hunkered behind a stone peppered with the strange purple flowers and watched.

Suddenly, a large pink and purple waverider slithered out from behind the boulder the man sat on. It moved like water, slipping and flowing easily around the rock until it perched itself atop it. Viktor let out an unstoppable, fearful gasp, and pushed himself to his feet. Despite having no apparent ears, the creature responded to the soft sound, bracing in a protective stance. Appendages on its back and around its head flared up defensively, a strange barking-trill bleating from its throat.

“Don’t be afraid,” the man said in a soft voice.

Viktor didn’t move. Nor did the waverider.

The man, gaunt and ghoulish-looking, held the boat up into the light and said, “You built this.”

He was pale with beady, but intelligent, eyes. His mouse-brown hair was cut close to his head and receding. Mismatched, ill-fitting clothes draped over his slender frame. Despite having no idea who this person was, Viktor felt an inexplicable and strange pull towards him. He swallowed, and nodded.

One of the man’s long, spider-like fingers tapped one of the boat’s rearmost paddle wheels, and it gently spun.

“Why aren’t you playing with the others?”

Warm anger and embarrassment pricked at Viktor’s cheeks. But he held himself up as tall as he could, and stepped forward, letting the sparkling sunlight present his crutch and handicap. He kept his eyes on the ground, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. The waverider keened as he took a few more hobbled steps closer. The man did not seem to react to Viktor’s body, nor reveal.

Instead, he said: “Loneliness is often the byproduct of a gifted mind.”

He lifted the boat in emphasis. Viktor took a couple more steps forward, curiosity growing. The sense of alienation that had been building up for months in his chest receded a bit. His eyes shifted to the waverider. The creature slid down the rock to peer over the man’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Viktor asked.

As if trying to answer the question itself, the waverider opened its mouth and squealed, a multi-tipped tongue flashing in its pink maw.

“This is Rio. She’s a rare mutation that I cultivated.” The man stood, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He withdrew one glowing, purple flower and offered it to Viktor. “Here. Go on.”

Viktor’s eyes widened. The pull of curiosity was too strong, and he limped forward, stepping over the shallow, lapping water to the bank the stranger and Rio were on. He handed Viktor the flower. It felt strange. Warm, somehow. And spongy. It was unlike any plant he’d ever come into contact with.

Rio’s frills pulsed, her jaw smacking and head cocking as she eyed the plant in Viktor’s hand. He stiffened on instinct as she crept closer, but kept the flower held out. Her snout was cool and moist when it bumped against his fingers as she inspected the offering. Then, her mouth opened wide and that multi-tipped tongue slid out, and wrapped around his hand before pulling the treat in. Viktor giggled at the slippery sensation of the bifurcated muscle sliding over and around his fingers and palm. It left a viscous trail of saliva in its wake, and the smile on his face spun down in a grimace as the heavy ooze stuck between his fingers.

Pleased, Rio drew back, smacking her gums, and settled back against the stranger’s side. He placed a hand on her back, and gently stroked it.

“She’s dying,” he said suddenly.

Despite having just met her, Viktor felt sadness and grief wash over him. Rio let loose a low, shuddering vocalization.

“I am attempting to prevent that,” the stranger said, almost breezily. Then, more ominously: “The mutation must survive.”

Viktor watched the waverider, listened to the man. He sounded like a scientist, talking about mutations and cultivation. He’d discovered that Papa’s purple plant wasn’t so useless after all -

“Can I help?”

“You want to assist me?”

Viktor glanced down, thinking. He was so alone. And this man hadn’t looked at him pitifully, nor spoke to him like he was incapable. Or a child. He’d recognized Viktor as a burgeoning scientist, what with his boat and lack of friends. And in that recognition, he felt a small flicker of tantalizing belonging.

He looked back up at the man, and hid a nod in the shrug of his thin shoulders.

“Very well.”

The stranger stepped forward, and handed Viktor back his boat. He held it tightly against his chest as the man placed a large, cold hand on his shoulder and leaned in: “We can be loners together.”

With that, he glided away toward a rusted metal door set cockeyed between slabs of rock. Rio scuttled after him, looking back at Viktor once more - her nictating membrane flashing over her bulbous eyes - before disappearing behind the door with a flick of her tail.

Despite being left in the cavern, Viktor suddenly didn’t feel so alone. He held his boat tighter against his chest, and smiled.

When Viktor got home, Katya was not there. He wasn’t sure if she still wasn’t back yet, or if she’d returned, saw he was gone, and was now scouring the Undercity looking for him. His stomach swooped guiltily at the thought of the second scenario. Not only did he not actually want to worry her, he didn’t want to get in trouble. Heart thudding in his chest, Viktor set his boat back on the kitchen table, retrieved some homework from his school bag, and waited for Katya to come home.

It was another few hours before the apartment door’s locks rattled, and Katya stepped in. Viktor, still seated at the kitchen table, went very still over his assignments. Waiting, praying, not breathing.

Then Kat sighed heavily. She buried her face in her hands for a beat before running them back over her head. Her eyes landed on her brother, and she smiled weakly. Viktor’s muscles sagged in relief. She didn’t know he’d been gone.

Kat slipped off her coat and hung it on its peg.

“Is everything okay?”

She walked over, head bobbing heavily. Sliding into the seat next to him, she ran a hand through his hair. She looked tired, and a touch piqued, but glad to see him.

“Everything is fine,” she murmured. “My . . . friend is fine. She will need bed rest for a couple days - “

Her voice snagged in her throat. She cleared it, and then looked at Viktor’s boat. Her amber eyes grew bright and glossy.

“I am sorry we could not take your boat out today, Viktor.”

He squeezed the pencil between his fingers and chewed the inside of his lip.

Looking back down at his notes, he said, “It’s alright.”

“Perhaps we could try again tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “Sure. We can try.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kat’s smile tighten. Then she stood, and kissed his head.

“I am going to start supper.”

Viktor nodded, pretending to be absorbed in his homework. As she moved about the kitchen, he sketched purple flowers and thought about Rio the waverider. About how he was going to help save her. About how he now he had his own secret. And it made him happy.

Comments, reblogs, and recommendations keep me and other author's motiviational fires burning! I'd love hearing your thoughts <3

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Coming Up Next: Grayson and Bone meet up, and Viktor's goes missing.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #young silco #silco x oc #silco x katya #silkat #original characters #viktor #young vikto #singed #rio

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gorgon-goddess-of-chaos · 6 months ago

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Shadow

I might get yelled at for this one.

Ghost!Damien x GN!Reader, ft. Darkiplier, TW: kidnapping Words: 616

You approach the mayoral building with careful steps, on a call to help release a wandering spirit of one of the previous mayors. It’s not all that different from helping strays find a home, you just help spirits move onto the afterlife proper. You keep your cleansing kit close to you, resting against your thigh as the bag strap crosses your chest. The steps are rather short, so you watch your feet to make sure you don’t slip as you climb the stone steps.

The city hall welcomes you with a wash of warmth as you enter through the doors, far more pleasant than the chill outside. Your coat is taken by a member of staff, and hung up as they also take your umbrella. It’s not your usual haunted venue, making you wonder what in particular brought this old mayor back. Apparently he’s been missing for a hundred years, yet the hauntings only started a few days ago.

“He’s over in the west wing, he seems hesitant to leave it. We have tried to coax him into talking, or keeping him company, but he doesn’t seem interested in us. He keeps muttering about something, but anytime any of us try to get close enough to listen, he dissipates.”

“Oh, poor thing sounds lost. I’ll see what I can do. Oh, I didn’t catch your name.” “Entrik, but don’t worry about me too much. I’m sure he needs your help a lot more than you need to know anything about me.”

Weird, but alright. You step through the door to the west wing, and the air gets considerably colder. Part of you regrets taking off your coat, as it almost feels even colder than it did outside. But this should hopefully be a short job if all goes well, and you’ll be able to warm up again in just a little bit. You pull out your flashlight, searching around for any ghost orbs or electrical disturbances. Something creeps in the dark at the end of the hall and you stop in your tracks, staring at it with your light moving frantically around.

“Hello!? Is anyone there!?”

The only response you get is the rain against the panes of the windows, so you trek on. You cautiously open every door, searching inside for any sign of the ghost. Carefully toeing them open, not wanting to spook him more than you’ve already been spooked by the environment. You come across the last office, cautiously turning the handle of the door and peeking in. Inside, you spot a ghostly blue figure pacing back and forth, translucent and muttering to himself. He spots your light, looking up at you in terror.

“Hey! Hey it’s okay! I’m not here to hurt you, just trying to help. They called me in to help you move on.”

“Y- sh-n- -e -re…”

He continues to try and back up, holding his hands up to create a barrier.

“What? I’m sorry, I can’t understand you.”

You step closer, and he only continues to back up, increasing in speed. Your steps are larger, taking great effort to close the distance. You manage to corner him in the back of the room, trying to take his hand.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His ghostly blue turns black as you touch his hand, spreading across your body rapidly like a symbiote grabbing hold. You scream as you’re enveloped by the darkness, being pulled away as the two of you sink into the floor.

Entrik pulls the door closed, satisfied that his problem has been dealt with. It was good to reunite the two of you, perhaps this time he’ll have more time with his games before another mirror incident.

#damien #wkm damien #damien x reader #damien markiplier #wkm damien x reader #mayor damien x reader #wkm #who killed markiplier #meek mayor #paranormal egos #chaoswrites

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poetry-protest-pornography · 2 years ago

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Thinking about all the things that Kawi has already changed, even if he goes back to the future and finds that he's not living the life he thought he would be, he has done so much for the people around him.

-he's saved Pear and Pisaeng from a miserable marriage. Pear won't have her heart broken, Pisaeng won't be trapped in the closet to appease his family's expectations. Pisaeng knows himself now, and Pear was saved a decade of being uncertain about Pisaeng's real feelings, and from a marriage to someone who can't love her the way she needs.

-Kawi's dad is taking better care of his health, because Kawi took the time to connect with his dad and make it known that he cared about his health. Reestablishing a healthy relationship with his dad gave Kawi and his dad happiness, but it also gave a different weight to his dad's health concerns and how he took Kawi's opinion into consideration, and how he valued his health.

-Kawi is building confidence in himself, and branching out. He is not on track to be a lonely man in a job he doesn't enjoy anymore.

-Kwan and Pear calling out the seniors for their hazing and bullying has undoubtedly changed how those activities will continue going forward.

-Kwan being kind to Not is likely to create a ripple effect, though I am not particularly interested in a Not redemption arc that doesn't involve him being tossed out a window.

-Max! Max has not spent a decade thinking that his best friend pushed him away because of his sexuality! He's saved that pain, and the impact that it would have on his future relationships!

-Kawi is joining a band! His participation will change the band's story, but also his own, and their fans, and I can't wait to see what happens!

-Pisaeng isn't alone anymore. He has Kawi, he has a better understanding of his relationship with Pear, he has Max in his corner, and most importantly, he has himself. He understands himself in a way he didn't-- couldn't -- in the previous future. Think of all the self loathing and misery and denial and heartache that Pisaeng won't have to face now, and try not to get overwhelmed.

I'm sure there are a lot more things that we'll see in coming episodes, besides the romance with Pisaeng, and I can't wait. If you can see a change that I've missed, please add it!

#be my favorite

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goldenfox3 · 2 years ago

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I was watching a vid on Stewart's character and it did tell me some things I didn't know about his appearances in GPL (the game) and Climax but when they got to the anime section I was waiting for the commentary on his focus ep bc it was like surely they have to talk about that right. It's his one (1) ep. But they didn't mention it...I know the anime is its own beast with 51 wholeass eps and they mentioned cool stuff about Rob's more biological focus vs Clash's more mechanical focus despite both working with robotics. His more calm and cautious nature compared to his younger teammates and how he supports them. They even talk about him wanting to take responsibility for the creation of Blood by being the one to end him. I appreciated the vid!

But I wanted to see someone else talk about how that caution is completely thrown out the window in his feature ep. He weighs the risks and takes the objectively stupid and reckless path for once. He's driven by emotion to be stubborn and do something that is extremely unlikely to end well despite his teammates' protests. That's what gives it all the more significance—the fact that it seemingly goes against everything he's previously shown himself to be, except not. Because the core of what he is is that care that runs so deep that if he considers someone his responsibility, whether it's someone he needs to save (Roy) or someone he needs to kill (Blood), he'll throw other aspects of himself aside (caution, patience, logic) to fulfill that. I don't think he's driven to do these things impulsively the same way Ryu is for example—he still takes the time to weigh the options. It's the fact that after careful consideration, he still commits to the most dangerous option. He knows it's stupid! But he still considers it his life's duty, literally, to do it, rather than live with the guilt and regret that he failed his duty by not giving everything he had.

Also! In the ep where they're fixing the warp gate, Jody elects to bring herself (a cyborg), EAD (a robot), and...Robert, a fully fragile human (in the Golden Fox with its D rank body lmao) because! She trusted his experience. And he agreed to do it! To go try something all previous teams had failed at, had in fact returned badly damaged from. It's not as if all the team doesn't risk their life on a regular basis, but given that as vice commander Rob often takes the role of mission control it's cool to see the times he takes on a more active (and dangerous) role.

He doesn't have the same drive for danger that game Rob has. He's not addicted to the adrenaline rush like his game counterpart. It's simply that he has a strong sense of responsibility that overrides his natural caution and lets him run headlong into danger fully knowing the exact odds of his death, because he deemed the tiniest chance of success worth being paid for with his life.

#dusk rambling #dr stewart #falcon densetsu #fz musings

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alovesreading · 2 years ago

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Can we plssss get a sick and sleepy Matty trying to plan the perfect Valentine's night out with reader before she finally forces him home to down some Nyquil and catch some z's? I would dieeeeeeeeeee

You Go To My Head

Summary: The plans that Matty has arranged for you to celebrate your first Valentine's Day together are out the window when he becomes ill, but staying in to take care of him doesn't mean the day is ruined. And you assure him of it by saying those words he hasn't heard you say before.

Word count: 9.1k

A/N: Got this request a little after Valentine's Day and I've finally got the chance to come around giving it the proper time and attention to write it. The chance being me playing Billie Holiday to help me battle a sudden case of insomnia which ended up in too many ideas for this flooding every corner of my mind and staying up all night writing it. I hope you enjoy this one as it's pure fluff, unlike the previous Matty one shot I put out lol (sorry about that one), and thank you for reading! x

Masterlist

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You’ve known Matty for almost a year, four months of which you’ve been dating and after all that time, you have grown to know him like the back of your hand.

It’s the morning of February 14th, Valentine’s day, and it’s the first one you get to celebrate as a couple so Matty has been talking about making it the best night for ages.

There’s absolutely no complaints from your side, you find it absolutely adorable how much he has been taking different things you say into consideration for the day to end up being perfect.

For instance, one random day at the start of January when you had been drinking at your best friend’s house, Matty was sitting beside you with his hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles on your skin as the whole group of ten people sat around the living room engaged in conversation and you had asked which wine it was that you were drinking because you found it delicious.

Your best friend’s fiancé had stood up to get the empty bottle for you and once he handed it to you, you read it out loud a couple times to memorize it.

“This might be the best wine I’ve ever had. I love it.” Was all you had said, setting the bottle back down on the coffee table in front of you before going back to your conversation.

But you noticed the absence of Matty’s touch then and when you went to complain about it, you found him writing something down on the notes app of his phone.

“Babe? What are you doing?” You asked after letting out a little giggle.

You didn’t want to pry but the note seemed to be filled up with bullet points and you were curious to know what it was that he was so urgently writing.

It was a relief to your curiosity that he showed you his screen and quietly said, “Just writing down that wine so I can get it for us for Valentine’s day dinner.”

You quickly scanned through the rest of his bullet points and grinned hard at seeing written down multiple things you had casually mentioned weeks before, not only to him but to others in conversations where he was standing right beside you.

You chuckled reading one of them saying, ‘Green lingerie is her favorite.’ and not being able to hold yourself back, you cupped his jaw and gave him a quick kiss.

“You’re adorable aren’t you?”

His cheeks went the slightest bit pink as he rolled his eyes playfully. It didn’t take much from you for him to be putty in your hands.

But today you have woken up to sniffles and sneezing from him, a particularly loud one startles you out of sleep making you sit up against the headboard of his bed with a frown.

“You alright, honey?” You ask him, your eyes struggling to open up at the brightness of his bedside table light.

You can make Matty up to be standing right at the foot of the bed, putting his joggers on. He hums in response, and it sounds a bit groggy but he goes up to you, kisses your temple and gets you to lay back down.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” Your boyfriend apologizes, brushing some of your hair off your face, “Go back to sleep, alright? I’ll be right back.”

You frown with your eyes closed, still half asleep so you forget you can ask him why and where he’s going but his soft touch and the little kisses he’s leaving on your head have you falling back into slumber.

Not sure of how much time later, you wake up to his door opening and see him very carefully walking up to the bed. He’s carrying a tray filled with food, a small bouquet of your favorite flowers on his right hand as well, and it makes you coo as you sit up to get it from him.

“Awh babe, this is so cute!” You say as he takes the last few steps to get to you.

“Happy Valentine’s—“ Matty starts but, out of the blue, his face is scrunching up like he’s in pain and you take the tray and the flowers from him rather quickly and in a slight panic.

Seems like you made the right decision taking it from him when you could because he turns away from you fast and lets out a loud string of sneezes into his elbow.

You wait until he’s done, pressing your lips together to not laugh because even though you feel bad for him, it was funny.

He freezes for a few seconds until he’s sure he isn’t sneezing again and, sniffling, he turns around to face you again.

A big smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he resumes what he was saying before, “Happy Valentine’s day, babe.”

Pure happiness radiates off you then, you scrunch up your nose at him, looking down at your breakfast in bed and then back up at him.

“Happy Valentine’s day, honey.” You reciprocate, resting the tray beside you on the bed and reaching your arms out so he can give you a cuddle.

With fast strides the singer comes to you and crushes you in a tight hug, you relish in his hold until he’s pulling back to leave loads of kisses all over your face.

You giggle as he does so and the butterflies that erupt in your stomach have you filling up with warmth.

His lips fall all over your face and finish with a loud kiss on your lips, one which you both end up elongating and you would’ve ended up getting carried away if it wasn’t for another sneeze he feels coming which makes him suddenly get away from you again.

“Fucking hell.” Matty curses through his teeth, groaning lowly before he walks back up to bed and sits right beside you.

You’re just watching him as he comes to sit with you on his bed and you take note of the way he seems to plop down on it and his eyes automatically close for a fair few seconds before he forces them back open and sends a toothy smile your way.

You have to ask again despite knowing he’ll continue to say he’s fine, “You okay there babe? You look like you’re becoming ill.”

One of your hands comes up to check on how warm his face is, pressing the back of it on his forehead and you can feel he’s warm but not enough to say he’s got a fever, or at least you can’t tell because he barely gives you any time to check as he grabs your hand to kiss it multiple times and then intertwines your fingers.

Matty nods with a soft smile, “I’m okay babe, I think it’s just hay-fever.”

Your eyes narrow at him, because it’s not even hay-fever season but you’ll just give him the satisfaction of ‘believing’ him this time.

“Right, hay-fever.” You reply, a bit of amusement in your tone.

But he wants to distract you from his state so he squeezes your hand and points at your breakfast in between both of you. “I tried my best but it looks peng, doesn’t it?” He asks all proud of himself and it truly does look amazing.

Your mouth waters looking at everything he’s made for your full english breakfast, and you note that he’s made you your favorite tea as well and there’s a blueberry muffin on the side too.

“Looks amazing. Thank you so much, babe.” You turn to cup his jaw and peck his lips, but he steals a couple more kisses before you can turn back to your food.

You see there’s only food for you though, so you frown and ask him, “Have you eaten already?”

Your boyfriend shakes his head, “No, I’m not hungry yet.”

And that only makes your frown grow deeper, he’s always snacking on something and it’s late enough now for him to at least have had a piece of toast and a cup of coffee.

“We can share.” You state, diving right in for your beans and toast.

He waves you off saying, “It’s okay babe, I’m really not hungry.”

But you won’t have that so, taking a bite of your food and munching on it, you bring the toast with beans up to him. Your hand is cupped right under so it doesn’t spill, and you’re very careful as you take it closer to his mouth.

“Open up.” You tell him once you swallow, bringing the toast right up to his lips but he shakes his head like a little kid. “It’s gonna spill and you’re the one that’s gonna have to change the sheets.” You point out as you watch the toast getting more soaked by the beans and them slowly sliding to the sides.

Reluctantly, Matty opens up his mouth and takes a bite. You smile satisfied at him and kiss his cheek as if to reward him for listening to you.

That goes on with the rest of your breakfast, making him take bites of it with you and it’s when you’re halfway done with it that he gets his appetite back and he’s the one eating most of what is left. Not that you mind though, you happily let him eat the rest of it since you’re already feeling quite full and you still have a full cup of tea and your muffin left.

When you finish eating, he takes the tray away and comes back to lay with you. You end up watching some films, cuddled up in bed—his head hidden in your neck as you scratch his head and play with his curls. But turns out, an hour into the first one, sleep takes over him again and you’re left watching some horror movie on your own with his soft snoring as background noise.

You really adore moments like this and your heart grows in your chest when he clutches you a bit tighter in the middle of his sleep, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.

You have to bite your tongue to not let out a little screech, it’s honestly embarrassing how everything he does makes you want to react like a schoolgirl with a crush.

He’s your boyfriend, yet you always react like this and you’re learning to happily let yourself react to the feelings that overcome you rather than be embarrassed as he always likes to remind you those are the little things that made him become more infatuated with you.

It had been how genuine you always were about your feelings and opinions that made him feel so comfortable with you from the moment you met and it’s why he hadn’t felt like getting closer to you was a hardship.

Matty was one of those people to keep his old friends around rather than make new ones but with you it was so easy to welcome another person into his life and make you a priority like you’d known each other for ages.

That’s why there hadn’t even been a doubt in his mind to take you home with him for the holidays, despite you two only being together for two months. He knew regardless of anything, you’d be a constant in his life.

And you had never felt more right throwing yourself right into him, even if there had been some people warning you about stuff from his past, you had heard it all from him and you knew it wasn’t something to push him away for.

He was so special to you, you had grown fond of him so quickly and it had been scary at first but finding out he felt the same way as you did was such a relief. You still remember that day vividly and it’s mental to think how he manages to make your stomach flip and your chest tighten just the same as he did that day when he confessed he really liked you.

You fully have lost track of the film you’re now watching, too submerged in your thoughts and your feelings for the curly haired man that’s got his hold still around you, so when you snap back into reality and you see the graphic death that has just happened, you accidentally voice out loud your aversion for it.

“Ew, fucking disgusting.” You let out, a bit too loud which has Matty squirming in your arms.

“What?” he asks against your chest, his voice low and deep from sleep.

You curse under your breath and resume scratching his head, “Nothing, sorry babe. Go back to sleep.”

Your boyfriend hums in acknowledgment of what you’ve said but the sudden reminder of which day it is has him jolting awake. Your arms fall beside you as you watch him sit up and rub his eyes, you’re about to tell him once again that he should go back to sleep when he turns to look at you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” His nose is stuffy and you can hear it in his voice, his tone weak and nasal.

You snort at his apology, as if there was any need for one. “Why are you apologizing?” You rhetorically ask, “I always do that to you and you don’t like it when I apologize for it.”

His head falls to rest on your shoulder and he yawns before replying, “It’s Valentine’s day, I shouldn’t be falling asleep on you today when we have so much to do.”

You grin at his words, “Oh right, what’s all that we have to do?” He reaches out for your hand and intertwines your fingers then, humming when feeling your warm touch.

In his hazy mind, he’s about to tell you what he had been planning but he realizes just in time to keep the words from spilling out. He tuts at you, lifting his head off your shoulder and narrowing his eyes at you like he’s caught you red handed, “Oh you think you’re slick, don’t you?”

Using your intertwined hands, Matty wraps his and your arm around your front to pull you flush against him, his lips fall to your neck where he leaves a trail of loud open mouthed kisses that end up in you giggling from his curls tickling you.

“I’m just curious.” You correct him in between your laughter and that statement has him pulling away to look at you with a smirk on his face.

“Curiosity killed the cat.” He chats back, trying to tease you like he always does.

But you boop his nose, seeing straight through him, “Don’t act like you don’t want to tell me.”

And you get him there because he’s been biting his tongue far too long to not ruin the day he’s planned for you both. Yet he still tries to act like you’ve just made a wrong statement, making a mime of zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key.

You roll your eyes with a smile on your face, not surprised by his antics and then you’re unwrapping your arms from around your front so you can get out of bed.

He doesn’t let you at first, pulling you in impossibly closer and after chuckling at him, you tap his arm with your free hand to let him know, “If you’re not telling me what it is then at least let me bring your gift.”

The news of you having a present for him makes it easy for you to slip out of his hold and when he sees you take the first few steps towards the door of his room, he’s telling you, “Babe I told you not to get me anything.”

You shrug like you don’t really care for those words, “And since when should I listen to you?”

You’re out of his room in no time, not giving him the chance to respond but he’s there propped up against his headboard with a massive grin on his face.

Matty knows he fucking adores you, but he hasn’t had the courage to say it yet and despite being almost certain you feel the same way, there’s that nagging feeling in the back of his head that loves to remind him things like this are too good to be happening to him and they always get taken away from him when he least expects them.

He would’ve started spiraling if it wasn’t for your voice pulling him out of his awful train of thought. “Close your eyes!” You instruct him, poking your head through the door but keeping his gift away from his eyesight.

The singer does as you tell him and keeps his eyes shut until he feels the bed dipping in front of him and there’s a particular type of cold touching his knee.

The second he opens his eyes, he’s met with a gorgeous Fender acoustic guitar. The mahogany shines beautifully under the light coming through the half open curtains and he’s just admiring all of its details for a minute before he’s looking back up at you with a grin that’s hurting his cheeks but he can’t wipe off his face.

He pounces on your lips, kissing you sweetly but intently and you can feel the ‘thank you’ through it. You’re kissing in a slightly uncomfortable position since the guitar is still in between you both so it isn’t long after that you part from each other.

Matty makes sure to peck your lips as many times as he can before taking another full look at his new possession.

“D’you like it?” You ask shyly, like the spark in his eyes isn’t proof enough that he loves it.

He’s lifted the guitar now and positioned it against his chest to start strumming softly and tune it, “I fucking love it Y/N. Thank you babe.” He leans back in for another kiss and you meet him in the middle, cupping his jaw to kiss him properly.

You press the tip of your nose against his in a eskimo kiss before sitting back in your spot, and you watch him as he finds himself teasing melodies out of his neck guitar. He felt like something had shifted back to normal when having it in his arms, and it’s because his favorite acoustic guitar had gotten lost on the tour and he’d been putting off getting one to replace it because he still had hope of it appearing.

It was also because he had some sort of emotional connection to it that he hadn’t wanted to accept was a memory now but with you gifting him this one, he knew it wouldn’t be sad to let the other one be left in the past.

“Where was this?” He asks curiously when remembering it took you a couple of minutes to get it and he hadn’t seen you arrive with anything the day before other than your handbag.

You’re proud of yourself for finding the perfect spot to hide it days before, “I hid it away in the spare room’s wardrobe like a week ago.”

Matty cackles at your smug expression and gives you the win because he’s sure it happened the day you told him you were coming by to pick up something you had forgotten but he hadn’t been home. He hadn’t suspected a thing because you actually had taken something of yours with you, so it was a job well done.

Before he has the chance to compliment your intelligence, you are asking, “Can I now know what we’re gonna do?”

He narrows his eyes at you and you look at him innocently so he ends up nodding a few seconds later but before he can tell you a thing, the need to sneeze comes to him.

You chuckle as he sneezes continuously but hold your breath when he stops, you’re fully amused by the way he tries to act like nothing’s wrong as he ignores what’s just happened and rests the guitar on the floor by the bed to leave the room to get something.

He comes back five minutes later, his steps slow as he comes back to where you’re sitting but instead of sitting next to you, he rests the big box that has your name written on it and drops facedown on the bed.

Snorting out a laugh, you run your nails up and down his back a few times before taking your soft touch up his neck and to his head.

He moans in pleasure when you massage his scalp, softly tugging at the roots of his hair and your cheeks heat up at the memories of the night before when you were listening to those sweet sounds of his falling right down your ear.

You don’t mind giving him all of your attention but you’re so intrigued about what’s in the box, you break the silence with a quiet, “Can I open it?”

That question brings Matty back to reality, his head whipping up far too quickly for it not to have hurt and you are confirmed of it when he lets out a groan in pain but he doesn’t let you ask if you’re okay because he’s bringing your attention back to your present.

“‘Course and get excited, you’re gonna love it.”

He sounds so sure of it, your hands rush to rip open the box and it’s such an eager response that it has him cackling with his eyes half open.

Turning to look at him distracts you from getting a peek through a hole you just managed to rip through the box, but when you feel you have fully opened one of the lids your eyes are back on the gift.

You gasp the moment you catch the glimpse of the cover of a My Bloody Valentine rare vinyl you’ve been hunting down for so long. Your reaction only gets funnier when you lift it up and find a handful of the rare edition vinyl you have always wanted to get.

Sonic Youth, Bjork, Pink Floyd, Tears for Fears, Jeff Buckley, PJ Harvey, The Rolling Stones.

Music had been one of the things you’d bonded over since the very beginning, finding out you were an avid vinyl collector was interesting to him and when you shared your extensive knowledge about many limited and rare editions, he’d been blown away by your hobby.

It was a talent really, how much you knew and how easy it was for you to grasp all the information you managed to find. He’d gone record shopping with you many times and you’ve taught him many things about the world of pressed records.

Using your various tracking down tricks, he had managed to get friends in Japan to look for the records he remembered you’d mentioned times before, even when you were just friends, and that’s how he’d managed to find you the gems that were right in front of you now.

“Holy shit!” You say admiring your new records, your heart bursting in your chest just from knowing he listened and remembered the small things you say. “Thank you!” you almost shout, throwing yourself over him.

Cupping his jaw with one of your hands while the other keeps you hovering over him, you kiss him with pure gratefulness radiating through you. Your hand goes from his jaw to tangle in his hair and pulling on it softly makes the kiss grow needy.

Your hips come down to press over his, and slowly you start rolling them over his, the friction making you shudder over him. His hands go to get a hold of your hips, guiding your movements to match his as he starts meeting you in the middle.

But then he breaks the kiss, once again feeling the need to sneeze. You sit up, straddling him, waiting for the inevitable to happen. You bite your tongue as you watch him about to sneeze but then it’s like, after seconds of buildup, it goes away and all he lets out is a frustrated sigh.

His arm comes to rest over his eyes and you giggle at his defeat. Leaning down, you press a chaste kiss on his lips and get off him to continue looking through your box because you’re certain you caught a glimpse of something else underneath your new LPs.

And you’re right because you find a medium sized white box with a red ribbon tied around it that reads Valentino in big red letters and you know just what he’s done.

“Matthew!” You scold him loudly and it seems that he has been falling asleep because he gets startled and is quick to sit up.

He frowns when he sees the box in your hand but you don’t seem to want to open it, “What’s wrong?”

You look back down at the box and up at him, “If this is what I think it is, I can’t accept it.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” He asks confused, “You’ve been dying to get it babe, and if you weren’t buying it yourself then I was definitely gonna buy it for you.”

You whine at his words because you know what this is now, a dress you had fallen in love with a few months ago and you had ended up trying it on, sending him a bunch of pictures which he unfortunately had come around to see far too late for he was on stage when you sent them and when he’d said, Please tell me you got it, you look so stunning babe xx you had burst his bubble saying it was too much of a splurge for a dress you’d only get to wear a few times.

When you undo the ribbon and take the lid off, you’re met with the dress and it kills you how much you want to keep it but he’s already got you the records, and adding what you knew the dress costs was too much for you to accept.

“I can’t.” you say once more, putting the box down and away from your eyesight so it’s less sad to see it go again.

But your boyfriend will not have that, he knows just how much you love it from how pained you look when saying you can’t take it.

“Yes you can and you will.” He states, there’s no more arguing about it when he adds, “It’s never too much when it comes to you babe and I don’t care about the cost of things when it means I can make you happy.”

You sigh, your hands hesitating to grab the white box again but then you feel his hand come over your thigh, tracing figures on your skin and with his best puppy eyes, he says, “Try it on for me please?”

It’s a debate inside you that goes for longer than needed so he scoots a bit further down the bed to be right beside you. Both his hands go to brush your hair behind your ears and then cup your jaw, “I’m dying to see you wearing it in front of me babe, I’ve been thinking about this dress since the moment I saw those pictures. And you’ll have to know I got it for you as soon as I got back home, I was just keeping it so you could wear it tonight.”

Your eyes are staring right at his, taking in the honesty that shines through them in silence, but you let out some giggles when he adds, “Meaning it’s been a while too so I can’t really return it now.”

You press your lips against his before standing up and going to his ensuite because if you’re gonna try on a pretty dress then at least you want to look presentable. So ten minutes after you’ve done your skincare and freshened up—and heard Matty sneeze about three more times—, you walk out of the bathroom with the dress on and a smile that’s making you glow.

He gasps dramatically the second he sees you, somehow triggering another sneeze that makes him splay out on bed and stay staring at the ceiling for a long minute. You cackle so loud at him, not even being able to say ‘bless you’ to him from how amusing you find it.

“Right, don’t laugh at me woman,” He scorns you as he sits back up on the edge of his bed, “I was about to compliment you.”

You try to gather yourself, swallowing chuckles as you try and take a deep breath yet the entertained smirk doesn’t leave your face.

He ignores it to resume his dramatics, wolf whistling as you strut slowly towards him and spin around right in front of him.

His hands hold you by your hips and he rises to his feet to stand in front of you, “If you look like this right now, I think I might have a heart attack later tonight.” His hot breath hits your lips and you’re just begging for him to kiss you then.

Matty knows it so he goes to tease you by resting his forehead on yours, to make you beg for the kiss but the second you feel his skin on yours, you’re gasping and leaning back surprised.

“You’re burning up.” Your eyes are open wide and your hand goes instantly to feel how hot his face is. No wonder his eyes look glassy and his cheeks are pink.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer to his front by your waist and hiding in your neck, “I’m okay babe, just a bit tired.” He leaves a few soft kisses on your skin but you’re far too aware of how hot he feels against your skin and you need to help him get his temperature down.

“Yeah, no.” You reply disagreeing with his words, he’s trying to dismiss this now to be able to go through with your plans but that’ll only have him being miserable later and that’ll be worse for himself. “You need to take a warm shower right now.”

A warm shower when you were getting a fever was always something your mom had forced you to do, and it’s your holy grail whenever you feel yourself becoming ill.

Matty only groans in response to your instructions, he would rather sleep it off than get in the shower and end up shivering when coming out from under the water no matter how hot it could be.

And since you know your boyfriend so well, you add a little detail you’re completely sure he won’t turn down.

“I’ll join you,” You say, pulling on his hair softly so he comes out of his hiding place on your neck. “Deal?” You ask looking right into his eyes and you have to bite your bottom lip so you don’t laugh at the way his face lights up and he eagerly nods.

You make him go into his ensuite first, going to the kitchen to get him ibuprofen and a glass of water. Once you make it back to where he is, you find him languidly getting rid of his shirt and joggers.

He looks like he’s in pain just to be standing there in his boxers, hugging himself but when his eyes fall on your figure leaning on the doorway, he switches his pout for a soft smile that reaches his tired eyes.

Before you can wrap your arms around him, you put the glass and the pills out for him to grab, “Take this first please.”

The only thing that keeps him from complaining and putting it off is the fact that the sooner he takes the ibuprofen, the sooner you’d jump in the shower with him. So he quickly swallows back the medicine with a gulp of water, leaving the half full glass forgotten by the sink.

The shower doesn’t quite turn out like you would’ve liked on a day like today, the second he steps under the warm water it’s like he becomes aware of every single one of his achy muscles and he barely makes an effort to move.

You help him wash his hair, softly massaging his scalp and smiling at the noises he’s making from how good your touch feels. He tries to wash yours but he almost feels too sore to not groan when moving around, you laugh and tease him by telling him, “You’re a big baby.” but taking the task from his hands.

It ends up being a quiet and mindful shower, where every kiss that you share is one of appreciation and care. It’s a stark comparison to any other shower you’ve shared before but you both really quite like how it has turned out even if Matty was the one aching through it.

He dries himself up as quickly as he can, shivering once out of the glass walls of the shower and, despite the steam keeping the wet room warmer than his room, he’s feeling the change of temperature intensely.

You come back with new clothes for him, a pair of joggers and a knit sweater he stole from you, and you both get changed at the same time.

Coming back out to his bedroom, he makes a quick run for his bed but you tut him when he’s about to dive into his pillows with wet hair.

Getting a hold of his hand, you make him sit at the edge of the bed, “I need to dry your hair first babe. You’ll only get worse if you go to sleep with a wet head.”

He hums, letting his eyes close as you leave to get the hair dryer. You’re back in under a minute but it feels far too long for him so when you’re back standing in front of him, after plugging the dryer in, he lets his head fall on your stomach and his arms wrap around your waist.

Looking down at him, you coo and get to drying his hair so he can get the rest he so desperately needs. The constant hum of the hair dryer drowns your ears for a little over ten minutes, your fingers brush through his locks as the hot air blows and dries them up.

Whenever he sneezes, you feel him tremble in your arms but never does his hold on you falter, it only tightens and you truly feel so bad he’s gotten this ill in a matter of hours.

You make sure the hair at the nape of his neck is properly dry, and once you deem your work done, you leave a kiss on top of his head, your senses filling up with the scent of his shampoo and his curls tickling your face just the way you love.

Rubbing circles on his back, you let him know he can now properly get in bed, “All done now, honey.”

He turns his head to kiss your stomach over your—his—shirt and then lets himself fall back on the bed. As you unplug the dryer, you watch him shuffle under the covers, pulling them all the way up to his chin.

You shake your head, letting yourself get amused by how much he acts like a little kid when he’s ill. It’s not something you’ve gone through with him before so you find yourself memorizing every second of this new experience.

Picking up your box that’s still sat at the foot of the bed, you start cleaning up what you’ve left around the room: your clothes from the night before going to the laundry bin, hanging your coats up in his dresser and placing your forgotten shoes back in their place.

Your soft singing is suddenly interrupted by Matty’s voice when he says, “We have a reservation at seven.”

It honestly makes you laugh, firstly because he startled you and second because he’s been hating having to move an inch of his body and now he wants to continue with your plans. “Babe, we’re not going.”

“Why?” He asks all frustrated, propping himself up on his elbows to sit up but his own body gives him the answer when he sneezes again. Defeated, he lets out a sigh and lets himself fall back down over the pillows before proposing something else, “Just let me take a quick nap and I’ll be up just in time, I promise. I’ve already ruined the plan of taking you to Kew Gardens, I wanna go on our date babe.”

Walking up to him, you get in bed and he scoots to the side so there’s enough space for you to lay down and cuddle him. “You’ve not ruined anything.” You say first, not letting him blame himself for coming down with a cold, “You’re gonna rest and we’re gonna cuddle until you feel better plus I can order some food and we’ll just eat here.” Honestly, avoiding the trouble of getting ready to go out sounds amazing and it’s much better to know you’ll be staying in, in bed with him.

He almost lets himself get carried away by the feeling of your fingers brushing his hair back until he hears you hum and say a quiet, “There we go.” when his eyes start to close.

“But–” He tries to argue when he opens up his eyes to look up at you.

“Nothing.” Your index finger presses over his pink lips and you shake your head, “We’re staying in. Now close those pretty eyes of yours and get some sleep.”

Letting the compliment get to his head, he smirks and teases you by calling you, “Bossy.”

You’re glad he’s not poorly enough to stop teasing you and taking it as a good sign, you just go to tell him, “I’m gonna order some takeout okay? I’ll be right back.”

He hums in response and you leave his side with a kiss on his forehead which still feels hot under your touch. You make sure to bring the covers down a bit before you leave, not wanting him to stay too warm and allowing the fever to continue.

As you order, you keep your voice as quiet as possible to not disturb his sleep, though you’re so far away from his bedroom it’s almost impossible for you to wake him up by being on the phone for five minutes.

With the promise of your food being there in forty five minutes, you hang up and leave your phone there on the kitchen island.

When you come back to his room, you find him peacefully snoring away, now resting on his belly as he clutches your pillow. You turn right back around to get your phone, getting the strong urge to take a picture of him like that, and once the moment is captured and saved in your camera roll, you quietly walk over to his side and check on his temperature again.

You think about how there’s a pharmacy very close by and it would merely take you ten minutes to get there and back, and by the way his temperature seems to stay the same then you feel the need to get him stronger medicine.

So rushing out his house, you are basically power walking to the store. The second you step through the doors, you almost miss greeting the person behind the counter that says ‘hi’ to you and you make a beeline straight for the cold medicine.

When you have two packets, just in case, you walk past a display of Vicks Vaporub and in a quick decision, you take one of the little containers over to the counter with you.

In less than ten minutes you’re back at Matty’s, quickly shedding off your big coat and toeing off your shoes by the door making the least noise as possible.

You bite your tongue and try to keep your steps slow and quiet as you reach his bedroom and in concentration to keep the silence, you get completely startled by Matty’s voice when he asks, “Where’d you go?”

Cursing under your breath, you hold your hand over your heart, “Sorry, I went to get some medicine for you but I didn’t want to wake you up to tell you I was leaving.”

He has a pout on his face when he turns to rest on his side and looks at you standing by the door, “I thought I was having a nightmare.”

“I’m here babe.” You smile sweetly at him but then you raise the little bag you’ve got in your right hand, “I need you to take this right now.”

Your boyfriend watches as you take out the cold medicine, leaving one of the packets on top of his drawer along with the Vicks Vaporub, and opening the box you were gonna use as you approached him.

You pop two capsules on the palm of his hand and he downs them with the half full bottle of water that’s resting on his bedside table.

As he does that, you stand back up to get the mentholated ointment and you’re about to tell him to lay on his stomach so you can rub some on his back when he interrupts you with an inquiry of his own.

“Is the food here yet? I’m hungry.” He’s not really aware of how long he’s dozed off for but it did feel like it had been a long while since he remembered having had his eyes open.

Smiling down at him, because you’re glad his appetite is back, you check the time on your phone before giving him an answer, “Should be here soon, actually.” Maybe twenty more minutes until it arrived, “Got your favorite.” You wink down at him, making him blush.

“Best girlfriend ever.” He states, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head.

You snort out a laugh, “Right, your best girlfriend ever is gonna rub some of this on your back,” You say as you show him the small tub of the famous medicine and finish your instructions, “So take off your shirt for me please.”

He laughs messily, sitting up against the headboard and taking off his sweater over his head. “That you were meant to say tonight but in a totally different situation.”

Joining him in laughter, you watch as he slowly turns around to lay on his front, “Had it all planned out, babe?”

You were just teasing but he hums to confirm that’s exactly what he had done, “Check the last door of my wardrobe, there’s another gift for you.”

You’re fully intrigued then so you rise up to your feet instantly and search where he just told you to. It’s an Ann Summers bag which has a set of matching lace bra and thong and a lace body, the items all in your favorite jade green color.

You gasp, taking out the pieces of clothing, “Mattyyy!”

“What?” He asks aloud innocently, like he’s got nothing to do with it.

You open your mouth to say something but only a mumble of a mix of words comes out which makes him laugh loudly onto his pillow. Your brain is just going places now but you can’t get yourself too excited because nothing’s going to happen tonight anyway.

So you decide to tease him back with that, “It's a pity we won’t get to see it on tonight.”

And that’s enough for him to use all of his strength to pick himself up on his arms and look at you, “No,” He starts off strong and it makes you giggle how serious he looks, “I can see,” His finger points at himself, poking his own chest, “I might be ill but I can see.”

Letting the lace garments fall back inside the bag, you let it rest by the side of your bed. “If you’re so sure.” your words tease him once more and he nods to confirm he is indeed sure.

You let him continue his rambles on how he’s gonna be better in a few hours and that he’s sure some cardio will help him feel better, which has you cackling as you go over to the turntable on the corner of his room and choose to play your favorite Billie Holiday record, ‘Solitude’. Once the needle meets the vinyl, static noise fills the air and you feel in your element.

Sitting down at the edge of the bed you finally push him down on the bed facing down so you can finally get to rubbing the medicine on him. The menthol scent fills the air the second you open the small container and, like a little kid, Matty gags out loud.

Soon enough your hands are slowly but firmly massaging the cream on his back, every one of his muscles relaxing under your agile fingers. You’re not rushing to finish, actually you’d like to have him fall asleep like this so he can fully relax in his sleep and thinking that might help him even more to feel better the next morning.

Matty is relaxing alright, and if it isn’t the way his muscles seem to loosen up under your hands, it’s the loud moans and groans he lets out as you go on about your task.

You’re growing flustered as you keep it up, and long minutes go by when he’s fully soaking in every second of this attention.

“You’re the best.” He’s falling asleep now, his eyes closing against his will and he feels on cloud nine from the mix of your massage, the medicine he just took and your soft singing along to the music.

“I know.” You answer, remembering what he said only a few minutes ago.

He feels the need to emphasize it though, so he adds, “You really are.”

It makes you melt, grinning like an absolute idiot as you keep your hands moving up and down, in circles and zigzags, “Thank you, honey.”

“I really love it when you call me that.” Matty admits with a loopy smile on his face that’s partially hidden by his pillow.

You find that so fucking adorable, you feel like your heart is going to explode, “You do?”

A low, long hum is what your boyfriend gives you as an answer and it makes you smile even bigger, “I’m glad you like it.” you reply and then you’re back focusing on making him feel good.

‘You Go To My Head’ starts playing and, since it’s your favorite off the record, you sing it a little louder than the previous ones.

You go to my head

And you linger like a haunting refrain

And I find you spinning round in my brain

Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

“You have the prettiest voice I've ever heard.” is what Matty says next, because you truly sound angelic and there’s absolutely nobody else he’d rather hear sing than yourself.

You narrow your eyes at him, despite him not being able to see you, “I highly doubt that.” you chat back because he’s met so many amazing and mind-blowingly talented musicians that are far better than you, so you have a hard time believing his statement to be true.

But you see him shake his head, “I swear.”

You hum unsure of his promises, “Sounds like you’re sweet talking me now, Matthew.”

And like the cheeky little shit he is, he looks back at you to smirk and say, “Might be.”

You see the way his eyes are half open and if you weren’t none the wiser to the situation, you’d say he was high so you joke, “You’re so gone, aren’t you?”

He’s stubborn so he shakes his head with a frown and contradicts you by saying, “No, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Sure you are babe.” You answer sarcastically, going back to singing along with Billie to the last minute of the song, the jazz soothing your soul and filling your heart.

You go to my head

With a smile that makes my temperature rise

Like a summer with a thousand Julys

You intoxicate my soul with your eyes

Though I'm certain that this heart of mine

Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance

You go to my head

Though I'm certain that this heart of mine

Hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance

You go to my head

The song dies down but you’re stuck with how when you were singing along, all that you could think of was Matty and how he had completely bewitched you mind and soul. And maybe it was time to admit it out loud.

So deeming yourself done, you lean down to leave a kiss on his shoulder which becomes a trail of kisses up the side of his neck that ends up right under his jaw. Smirking, he turns to face you and being the menace that he is, he somehow manages to push you on the bed to end up on your back right beside him.

“What are you doing, naughty girl?” He hovers over you with barely any strength so he lowers himself until he’s pressed against you.

You know what he’s doing and you’d play a part in the game but all you can think of now is all that you’re feeling for him and you want to finally let him know so you smile and cup his jaw, rubbing the pads of your thumbs on his cheeks.

You pull him in and he thinks you’re gonna kiss him but you don’t, you miss his lips and your mouth comes near his ear but right before he can complain about getting pied off by his own girlfriend, you whisper the answer in his ear, “Nothing, I just really really love you.”

You see him freeze for a fair few seconds and you’re about to start panicking when he sighs in what seems relief and looks down at you with the biggest smile.

Before he can say anything else, he interrupts his own thoughts, “Wait— am I dreaming?” He asks in a quiet voice as if being too loud would shatter the moment.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s been charged with electricity when seeing him react like this. You want to know if he feels the same, explicitly, not trying to figure it out through his reactions so you ask, “Would you prefer to hear it in a dream?” subtly trying to steer the conversation in that direction.

“No?” He says first and it comes out as a question but then he thinks further and he actually would love to hear it in all of his dreams if possible, “I mean yes, but—“

You interrupt his confused rant by dragging your fingers softly over his features, “You’re not dreaming silly.” Your digits run over the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows, his cheekbones and his lips which are slightly parted in shock.

His mouth opens up further, he’s trying to gather his thoughts but also talk so he doesn’t leave you with pure silence.

You’re grateful for Billie’s voice still playing in the background since it helps you not to go insane asking too many questions but they’re catching up to you the more he takes, so you take it in your own hands to snap him out of the trance he seems to be in.

In a quick motion, you flip both of you over so you’re now straddling him, “See? You’re very much awake.”

Like magic he’s back down on earth with you and with his mind finally processing what you’ve just told him a few moments before, Matty lets out a shaky breath that ends up in bubbly giggles.

His hands come up to cup your face, his eyes taking in every single detail of your face and finally reciprocates, “I love you so much.”

Your soul comes back to your body, hearing those words come from him are enough to make you feel like you’ve won everything in life. “I love you very much too.” You say once again and he knows right then that no matter how many times you say it, he’ll never grow tired of hearing you say it.

Only you. No one else saying those words would ever amount to how it felt when it came from you.

“Can I kiss you?” His question is desperate, impatience shines through his eyes.

Your brows furrow at the sudden inquiry, “You don’t even have to ask.”

“You’re gonna get ill.” He explains rather quickly, praying you’d say yes regardless.

He’s relieved when you roll your eyes and respond with a question that makes clear what your answer is, “Do you think I care?”

You seal the moment with an earnest kiss, your touch on each other’s faces is firm like you’re both afraid that one of you is gonna vanish suddenly.

Your tongues meet and it all grows hotter but you’re both aware that nothing further than this is gonna happen and you’re entirely fine with it. You’ll do with the teasing touches you’re leaving on each other when you both get carried away and are unable to keep your hands to yourselves.

Your hips roll down on his, making you both gasp into each other’s mouths but it isn’t until he’s grabbed your hips with his hands and intensified the friction that you let out a loud moan that ends the kiss.

You leave a peck on his lips, your chests heaving as you try to catch your breaths. You remember what he was worrying about before you kissed and say, “My defenses are much better than yours anyway.” to tease him.

He laughs at your comment, smirking up at you with eyebrows raised, almost like he wants you to bet on it. “We’ll see about that.”

You find out you overestimated your immune system when a few days later, you’re the one Matty has to care for as you’re stuck in bed with a tiring fever and an annoying stuffy nose.

“I still love you even though you got me ill.” You say out loud as you watch him walk out of his ensuite and into the bedroom.

A bright grin breaks on his face, he gets in bed and pulls you into his side. He leaves a bunch of kisses on your temple and your cheek before replying, “How kind of you.”

You hum and chat back, “The kindest.”

Neither of you consider this Valentine’s Day to be a failure, not even when you have to celebrate it a week after the actual day, it had all happened just as it was supposed to be.

And you’re so beyond grateful it is Matty who gets to claim your heart as his. There’s no other person you’d rather give all your love to, no one else you’d rather have plague your mind and take every one of your thoughts. Just him, only him.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧��✧✦✧

A/N: I tweaked the initial request a bit and I think it turned out too adorable for my single heart to handle lolll, I honestly cause myself so much pain writing cute shit like this but I somehow love it so don't worry, won't be stopping anytime soon. I really hope you guys liked it, let me know what you thought about it and if you have any requests or ideas send them my way, I loved creating this little story out of that request. Thank you so much for reading again, have a lovely week everyone! xx

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @red---moon @vinylandcoffeecollection @drinkurkombucha @better--oblivions @kennedy-brooke @faveficz @indierockgirrl @slutformattyhealy @eaglestar31 @kmsmedine

If you want to be added to the taglist for any future fics, let me know :) x

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outercrasis · 3 years ago

Text

The Distance - Ch 2

Pairing: Din Djarin x Pilot F!Reader (reader is petite/no other descriptors)

Word Count/Rating: 2.6k / T now, but will become E in later chapters

Warnings: There are two spoilers for TBOBF. Description of an injury (not reader's).

Summary: You end up with unexpected visitors.

A/N: 🚨Important announcement🚨 - I officially decided to make reader petite. I figured I would make this decision now before I'm partially through this fic and regretting my choices. There won't be any other descriptors used, but I get if height being described breaks any sort of immersion for you. That's all I've got to say on that, so if you decide to keep reading, please enjoy:)

Previous || Series Masterlist || Next

The sound of blaster fire from outside startles you awake. It has to be heavy for the sound to carry through the hull of your ship and you pray that no stray blasts come your way. You’ll get stuck paying for the repairs and have to delay your planned take off if they do.

Curious, you roll out of bed and slide down the ladder, rushing into the main hull to get a better look at what's going on. It sounds like the person being hunted down is going to need some serious luck to get out alive.

From where the Chimera is parked, you have a fairly good view of the entire shipyard. You're tucked in a corner which allows you to survey the area with relative privacy. Adrenaline is still pumping through your veins from the abrupt wake-up call, but the relative safety of your position makes it easy to scan the yard without worry.

Tex is just as interested, bumping up behind you for a better look. For a droid, he can be quite curious. You wonder if any of that is your own fault.

Looking out through the transparasteel, you can hardly believe your eyes. The Mandalorian is running full tilt, dodging and weaving over and around shipping crates, the child bouncing in the bag on his hip. Blaster fire follows behind him, bolts bouncing off the beskar as he runs. The fact that no one goes for the back of his legs is a miracle in and of itself.

He takes cover behind a nearby crate in front of the Chimera, pulling the kid around to look him over for injury. From the relieved slump of his shoulders, you're guessing the little guy is okay. You heave out a sigh, feeling relieved yourself.

Tex beeps, curious to know why you seem to care so much about the duo.

"I met them earlier today,” you explain. “Help me get the door."

Sensing the urgency, Tex wheels over to the ship's computer terminal. "You're going to open the side door on my signal okay? And you'll need to close it fast."

Tex offers a couple sharp beeps in reply to signal his understanding. You glance out the window again, Mando still pinned in place as the blaster fire draws closer.

"Now, Tex!" you yell, running through the ship to the side door.

The crate Mando chose isn't far away. If he’s fast enough his assailants might not see him scurry onto your ship. Once Tex has the door open enough you call out to him, keeping your voice low. “Mando! Over here!”

That fancy helmet has to have some sort of sonic detection tech with how quickly he turns his head towards you. You beckon him, urging him to get a move on. He casts a sparing glance back towards the origin of the blaster fire and makes a break for it. Briefly, you marvel at how fast he’s able to move under the heavy armor.

You're more than thankful to have a droid with more than the standard bolts and grease in his head, the ramp closing one step behind Mando's boots. Unless his attackers are closer than you thought, no one will ever know he's found refuge on your ship.

The door closes and a relative silence fills the air. It's never completely silent with the low thrum of power and the occasional electronic chirp. The lighting is dim, set to low power overnight to conserve fuel. That is a mod you're particularly proud of, typically more suited towards pleasure craft than a freighter like yours. It had taken a considerable amount of time and crawling around in the guts of the ship to get everything wired correctly.

You and Mando stare at one another in the low light. Both of you are waiting to see if his luck will hold out or if your ship is about to take on some heavy carbon scoring. You hope Tex is still at the terminal in case you need to get the shields up.

The kid is quiet too, sensing the tension in the air. He's blinking at you slowly, craning his head to look around. With the inky blackness of his eyes, it would otherwise be near impossible to tell where he was actually looking. Mando's hand rests on his blaster and you aren't sure if it's due to the threat outside or you. You hope it's the former.

Mando’s head is angled towards the door, all but confirming the sonic tech in his helmet. You don’t mind, as it gives you time to size him up.

His armor is less distracting out of the bright sun, making you realize just how large the man is underneath. He has more than a head on you, the broadness of his shoulders nearly as wide as the doorframe. Used to only seeing Tex around the ship, it’s more than a little jarring to see someone of his stature in your space.

You should probably be more afraid than you are. Your only other interaction with the man involved a threat on your life and now he's here, alone with you, in your ship. In a galaxy like this one there's no telling what could happen and yet, for some unknowable reason, you don't regret your decision.

Tex wheels over from the terminal, offering a melodic whistle to signal the all clear. Mando’s helmet whips around to face him, hand tightening on his blaster.

“Woah there big guy, it’s just Tex,” you say, holding a hand out to still him. As though that would stop him if he chose to start firing.

“Tex?” Mando asks, looking between you and the droid.

“R6-T3X, my astromech. He likes Tex better though, so if you want to stay on his good side I’d suggest calling him that.”

Tex wheels around in a quick circle, happy with the acknowledgement while doubling as a friendly gesture. It works on the kid well enough, gurgling with what you think is a laugh and reaching out towards your droid.

Mando's attention turns to his kid and apparently deciding Tex is safe, pulls him out of the bag and sets him on the ground. Suddenly the little sprite jumps, higher than you expected from someone his size, and lands gently on top of Tex. Beeps and nonsensical babble fills the air, making you laugh.

“I guess we don't need to worry about them getting along. Come on in."

You lead Mando through the circular doorway into the main hull of the ship. There's no telling how long he'll need to hide out and you have more seating options in there than your little side entryway.

He moves cautiously and although you can’t actually see his eyes you can feel him watching you as he follows. Clearly he doesn't trust you completely just yet. You don't take offense – you don't entirely trust him.

You take the stool in front of your workbench, another mod you made to the ship, allowing Mando a seat on the long bench in front of the main computer terminal. You try not to think too much about how cracked the upholstery is on it, but given the heaviness with which Mando sits down, you don't think he minds. It's been impossible to find the right fabric to replace it.

He doesn’t speak. Unsure of what to say to him yourself, you tinker with one of your many projects left on the workbench. You've been fiddling with a broken comm unit, trying to see if you can make adjustments to boost Tex's communications range or functionality. There's still a fair bit of conversion work to do with it.

As you keep your fingers busy, you try to figure out why you had offered them cover without so much as a moment’s hesitation. It wasn't the most logical choice to make. The Mandalorian himself threatened you that morning and his enemies wouldn’t have hesitated to attack you either. Maybe it was because of the little guy, seeing him in danger calling you to action. You can’t be sure – you just know that it felt right in the moment.

The sounds of Tex and the kid playing fill the hull. To the kid's credit, seems entirely unfazed by the ordeal that just occurred. You wonder if situations like those are normal with the Mandalorian as a guardian. It certainly doesn’t feel normal to you. Overwhelming feels like a better descriptor. Mando’s presence overtakes the entire room, his silence louder than words.

You sneak glances at him, not wanting to get caught staring, and find yourself wishing for any indication of what's happening beneath the helmet. Any hint to what the Mandalorian could be thinking about. Having him sit there in all his armor makes you feel horribly exposed. If he has any nefarious intentions, this would be over in a second.

Your feet are bare, dangling off the stool. Thankfully, you wore an oversized shirt and leggings to bed tonight, offering more modesty than your usual bra and sleep shorts – even if the shirt collar keeps slipping off your shoulder.

You're busy fiddling with a loose wire when you hear a sharp intake of breath from the bench. You drop the comm in surprise, expecting to turn around and see that something's happened to the child or Tex. Instead you find that Mando has slumped over slightly on the bench, hand pressed against his ribs.

“You okay, Mando?” you ask tentatively.

“No.” He moves his hand away from his side and even from this distance you can see blood covering his glove.

Processing the new information, you move quickly. You rush to the ‘fresher where you keep an emergency medpack. You hope that the injury isn’t too severe for the supplies you have. Medical supplies are shockingly expensive on this planet and you’ve been putting off restocking as a result. You usually don't need more than a few small bandages on hand.

Tossing the medpack on the bench beside Mando, you open it and account for everything you think you might need.

Mando looks between you and the medical supplies and grunts. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Don’t be stupid, you’re bleeding. Let me help,” you tell him. He doesn’t say anything, but he moves his hand away from the wound.

The durasteel floor is hard on your knees. It's the easiest position you can find to reach the wound comfortably, using the rest of the bench as a makeshift table. You reach out to move the torn edges of his flight suit out of the way and hesitate.

His armor has to stay on. You know that. Only a fool would try to remove any part of a Mandalorian’s armor. A new doubt creeps into your mind though. Can you touch him at all? Is that something that’s allowed? You realize you have no idea where Mandalorians draw the line. Grabbing some cleansing wipes, you try to find your confidence.

“Can I?” Your voice is small but sure. Mando doesn’t say anything. He gives you a curt nod and you get to work.

The wound actually isn’t as bad as you thought, the blood leaking out making it look worse than it is. A stray blast had managed to get between all the beskar, resulting in a healthy graze along his side. You imagine with the location of the injury it’s probably hurting him to breathe. Maybe that’s the reason for his prolonged silences.

You sterilize with the wipes first, careful not to irritate the wound further. A slow trickle of blood continues to ooze and you pull out some spare gauze. Applying pressure to the wound, you hope it’s enough to make the bleeding stop. Mando lets out a hiss of pain, coming out distorted through the helmet’s high pass filter.

"Sorry," you mumble.

You can feel him watching you intently as you work. It makes you nervous. You have no idea what he’s thinking under that shiny bucket. It makes it difficult to gauge the amount of pain he’s in, if some touches hurt more than others. He feels tense beneath your fingers but otherwise gives nothing away.

As nervous as you are, you can’t help but get a bit distracted by him as well. Any passing thought of him being the same species as his kid is immediately thrown out the window. You can see his unharmed skin around the edges of the wound, beautifully tanned, and you wonder how a person who wears so many layers could look so golden. He’s warm too, not feverishly so, but comfortable. Alive. A delicious contradiction to the cold armor he wears.

As the bleeding stops, you shake your head free from those errant thoughts. What are you thinking? Not only is he a kriffing Mandalorian, he’s wounded and probably incredibly uncomfortable with the situation. Letting you help him right now is just in his best interest. Maker, you need to get a grip.

You make quick work of the rest of it. After removing the gauze, you clean the area again just to be sure, spray it with bacta, and apply a bandage. You do your best to ignore the way his obliques feel under your fingertips as you gently stick the bandage to his skin.

“That should do it,” you say, knees groaning in protest as you stand. “I’d change out the bandages here and there, but you won’t die anytime soon.”

He still doesn’t speak. This is ridiculous now, chest pain or not, he can’t even say thank you? You scoff and walk back to the ‘fresher. His blood is all over your hands and it’s starting to gross you out.

Turning on the tap, your mysterious and now officially irksome guest envelops your thoughts. Who does he think he is? You found his kid earlier in the day, offered him a hideout, and dressed his wound. You didn’t have to do any of that for him, especially the last two. He can’t even muster up a measly thank you?

You dry your hands, deciding that if he won’t speak then you won’t either. You can just play with the kid and Tex or work more on the comm until Mando decides the coast is clear and leaves. That’s fine. You probably won’t see him again after this anyway.

You stop short when you step back into the main hull. Gone. He’s gone. In the time it took you to wash your hands, Mando had grabbed the kid and left. Seriously?

“Tex, what the hell?” you ask the droid. Occupied in the ‘fresher as you were, he’s the only one who could have opened the ship’s door.

Tex gives you hurried beeps that you wouldn’t even need to speak droid to understand. Big mean Mando said open the door or lose your central processing unit. What an absolute ass. It’s fine if he doesn’t like you, but Tex didn’t do anything. There’s no need to threaten an innocent droid.

Equally upsetting is that you missed your chance to say goodbye to the child. It was even less of a goodbye than you had earlier in the day. You like the little sprite with his oversized eyes and excited happy shrieks. It was nice to have them fill your ship for even a short period of time. From Tex’s low hums, he shares a similar opinion.

With nothing else to do, you turn off the overhead lights and return to bed. You lay awake for a while, staring at the ceiling. Your mind doesn’t want to rest. It’s too overcome by the day's events. You don’t know what to make of any of it. How are you supposed to process having your life threatened by a Mandalorian and ending the night by saving his? Your thoughts continue to swirl until exhaustion finally takes you over, forcing you into a dreamless sleep.

As a reminder for my taglist, if I cannot confirm that you are 18+ on your tumblr page (even if you said yes to being 18+) I will not be tagging you. If you have your age listed, an age range, something denoting 18+/mdni then that is fine. Or, feel free to send me a dm! Otherwise I do not feel comfortable including you. Sorry, but it's all I can do to ensure my works are being interacted with adults and adults only.

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the distance #crasis writes

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bye-bye-sunbird · 4 years ago

Text

Bloodlust | Yan!Tartaglia x Reader

Hi everyone! So here's the Tartaglia fic I teased about a few days ago. I got a LOT of requests on him, and many of them shared a similar theme, so I hope this satisfies some of them. But one thing led to another and... well, here is where we ended up hahaha.

Please read the tags and the warnings before you continue reading.

Warnings: NOT SFW, dub-con, manipulation, mentions of blood, blood-kink (I... think?), victim-blaming, mentions of past abuse, mentions of murder, this is NOT a healthy relationship, this one got a bit dark, so be aware of it.

Reader is female.

We are drawn to what we lack.

You would often ponder over how Childe seemed to love the idea of you more than he loved you. No matter what he did, how charming his smile was, everything about him screamed danger.

He could make you feel safe, but never at ease.

Could anyone really blame you for having moments of weakness such as this one? If he insisted on being a weapon, then you would use him as such.

You knew it was a mistake to tell him about your last relationship. No weight was lifted from your shoulders, but another type of guilt cemented in your thoughts, like venom poisoning your mind.

A part of you hoped they would end up killing each other, maybe then you could finally start over. You could lead a peaceful, quiet life in Qingce Village, devoting yourself to the care of your beloved grandmother. Your heart clutched at the uncertainty on whether she was still alive or not. After you managed to escape your ex-boyfriend you had cut ties with everyone, for their own safety.

And then... Childe came into your life. Almost as if he sensed your longing for protection, your fear. And he exploited every aspect of it to his advantage.

When you were with him, no one dared to look your way. After what felt like a lifetime of being reduced to nothing, he made you feel almost powerful. After being denied everything, he offered you the chance to have it all. You knew he was dangerous, but nevertheless, you fell for it.

After all, we really are drawn to what we lack.

You knew what you were doing asking him to free you from your past. You knew the implications it would have. No matter the result, you would end up with blood in your hands.

"It won't take me long, I think," he says with a boyish smile that, considering everything that was going to happen, was just plain sinister, "I'll be back in no time."

You don't tell him to be safe. You stay still as he tenderly places a kiss on your lips. He then grabs your jaw, forcing you to look directly at him, "So be a good girl and stay put."

And you do, you wait for what feels like an eternity.

You pace around your house, an uneasy feeling numbing you. Every so often you look up at the clock. You lay on your bed, placing a hand over your chest in an attempt to calm yourself. You stay there, forcing yourself to block every intrusive thought and, hours upon hours later, you fall asleep in sheer exhaustion.

That is until you feel a weight sinking the bed around your frame.

A metallic scent starts to flood your sense of smell. A single drop of... something falls on your cheek, and with that, you open your eyes.

Even in the dead of night, the sight of Childe's face almost completely covered in blood will haunt you forever.

"Angel, I'm home," he whispers as he lowers himself down to kiss your neck.

You remain speechless as he licks and nibbles, savoring every inch from your neck up to your ear lobe and down your clavicles. His gloved hand leaves a trace of blood in your clothes as he unbuttons your dress.

"It is done"

You let a hitched breath escape you when you feel the tip of his tongue hover over one of your breasts. He ministers shallow licks before gently biting your nipple.

"I thought about you the whole time" he confesses, a boyish grin emerging in his face as he leaves your breast to look at you. The way his eyes are clouded by a mix of feral desire and bloodlust sends shivers down your spine. "You were right to be afraid of him, he was strong" he adds, the words spilling over your skin, warm and breathless, as he slowly raises your skirt over your hips, "Just not enough".

You tense like a bowstring in his hands, in a mix of fear and arousal. You hate yourself for this.

"Oh?" you feel the curve of his smile forming on top of your skin, "Do you want to know how I did it?", you shake your head, and mutter a simple "No". He hums mockingly, "Afraid that is going to ruin the mood, huh?".

He presses his body an inch closer enough for you to feel the bulge in his pants rubbing against you. "I waited so long for this", he lowers his hand below your skirt. "I have quite the imagination, y'know?" he grabs your underwear, the cold, wet feel of the blood in his hand making you tremble. "You are so quiet most of the time", he tugs at the fabric, slowly pulling it down. He trails small kisses up your jaw. "I wonder how you'll sound when I fill you up."

He pulls away from your face, bitting his glove out of his hand and tossing it aside, a small stain of blood left on his smile as he easily sinks two of his fingers inside of you. The obscene, wet sound making him chuckle. You drop your head back onto the pillow, a whimpering and trembling mess. Your hands dig into his jacket as you let out a breathless moan.

A few seconds pass before he slowly starts to work his fingers inside you. He sets a pace that is meant for you to be overly conscious about everything that's happening between your legs. It's almost torture, and you can't fight the urge to start moving your hips, seeking a release. Guilt, fear, and pleasure become one as a single tear runs down your cheek.

He laughs hauntingly as he speeds up the pace. You bite your lip in an attempt to stay quiet, but a moan manages to escape as you grind desperately against his hand. But just before you come undone, he pulls his fingers out. You open your eyes to witness how he lasciviously licks his fingertips, a lovesick gaze clouding his blue eyes before he pins you against the mattress in a hungry, almost feral kiss. You hear the sound of his belt being sloppily unbuckled, after which one of his hands pushes your knee to the side.

He pulls away from the kiss, looking down to position himself. You feel the tip of his length rubbing your entrance, his hot breath starting to tremble against your skin in excited expectation.

"He wanted to see you again," he says suddenly, but you are too far gone to pay any attention to his words. "Maybe I should have brought him here, to witness how I fuck you."

A loud gasp rings in his ear as you feel your walls stretch. He enters slowly, allowing you to accommodate all of him. Your mind goes blank as he pushes himself up until he's completely sheathed inside of you.

"You are such a good girl, taking it all in" he grunts, gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust now, hard and fast. Because you are so tight, and the way you shiver beneath him puts him on the verge of insanity. Instead, he moves slowly, his breath coming in shallow, shaky sighs.

But once you catch your breath, all previous considerations are thrown out the window. His pace quickens, and soon he is thrusting into you hard enough to make the bedframe hit the wall, leaving shallow scuffs on the cement. You let out wordless cries, completely lost in nothing but the obscene sound of skin against skin, as you come close to your climax.

It doesn't take long before you let go, twitching, jerking, and grinding against him as you come, almost passing out. By the time you regain a sense of self, you look down as Childe is still pounding into you, seeking his own release in a mix of sweat and blood, a crazed expression drawn in his face.

His grip on the sheets strengthens as he begins fucking you with increased, almost animalistic intensity. And in no time, he comes inside of you with a final thrust, a strangled-sounding moan escaping him, filling you with his seed as he refuses to move as if making sure you receive all of him. That's when you notice the cuts all over his clothes that leak small streaks of blood.

He collapses on top of you, and then you feel the weight of everything that just went down upon your conscious. You feel disgusting, you are not better than him. Your lips tremble as you cry quietly.

You feel like mourning. Not over your past lover, but you, who will never be free.

You didn't just change the monster, you became one.

#not sfw #tw: dubcon #yandere tartaglia #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere #tw: yandere #tw: dark content #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #smut #tw manipulation #tw: victim blaming #please read the tags #tw: murder

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selfcarecap · 4 years ago

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Drunk [p.p]

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

summary: Drunk you isn’t as good at hiding your crush as sober you.

warning: alcohol, cringe that comes from drinking (although this is very much a glorified version of being drunk) which is why you shouldn‘t do it, not smut but alluding to it (no smut while drunk, but sexual references and touching), bit of angst I guess, the words "penis parker" make an appearance...

This is a fictional reader drinking for you so you don’t have to do it in rl :)))

word count: 3k

-this is a repost of an old fic-

It’s the sixth time that Peter’s interrupted his swinging tonight, only to see you’ve texted him another song that they’re playing at the party.

The party that he couldn’t go to.

He was supposed to be your plus-one to some celebration in the neighbourhood. Peter’d said yes originally, but in the past few days it’s like the crime rates have been going up exponentially. Going to a party when he should be saving the people of New York? Nope.

You’d been all pouty when Peter gave a rather lame excuse once again, but you weren’t mad at him.

Together with Ned and Betty, you’d still gone to the party and right now it feels like you’re deliberately trying to make Peter jealous.

You keep texting him, they’re playing this song, they’re playing that song, until Peter gets notifications so often that he thinks you must be texting him every single song they’re playing.

He would rather be singing all those songs with you together than anything else, but he couldn’t just leave the streets to the criminals with a clear conscience.

So when another message pops up, (they’re playing his favourite song. great.) he quickly types an answer.

I get that I’m missing out, you didn’t have to text me every single song

He quickly adds a laughing emoji, but the previous message still sounds as passive-aggressive as Peter felt when he typed it out.

You don’t reply immediately and Peter mutes his phone.

The silence is deafening. He pictures how you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, happy that Peter finally replied, only to see a message like that.

He concentrates on being Spider-Man fully, but as soon as he’s sure that he’s done for the night, he texts you to notify him when you’re home safe.

You don’t get the message and he assumes your battery must have run out.

He also sees the reply you sent him after his message earlier;

Sorry

When he’s the one who should apologise to you. For that, and also to make sure you’re home, Peter goes to your place, knocking on the window after he’s changed into his normal clothes.

You’re all glammed up, looking like you just came home. Absolutely gorgeous.

Your face lights up when you spot Peter, you open the window for him, letting out a loud, “Peter!” You shout, are you drunk?

He tries to calm you down, “Shh, your parents will kill me if they find out I’m here now.”

“They’re gone for the night, you can chill.”

“So you’re just here, drunk on your own?” he asks.

“I’m not drunk,” you declare, giggling, then giggling even more at your own laugh. Cute. You don’t seem too far gone, luckily. He’ll still gladly take care of you.

As you stretch down to your shoes, not reaching them from your sitting position on your bed, Peter sits down on the floor to help you get them off; not taking into consideration that you’re wearing a short skirt…

He tries to concentrate on opening your shoes and sliding them off, and he gets the first one without looking up.

But before he gets to the second one, you lie down on your back, your legs moving forward slightly and Peter can’t resist a quick glance.

He swallows when he sees the lace panties smiling back at him from between your thighs.

Wait is that the print of your p-

Someone up there is trying to torture Peter for sure, what did he do to them?

You sit up abruptly and Peter fears he’s been caught, but you talk about the exchange of texts earlier.

“Oh Peter! I‘m sorry that I annoyed you earlier, I didn‘t mean to,” you pout, regret in your eyes.

“What?” Maybe with the state you’re in, Peter can brush his earlier mood off.

“I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have been texting you every two minutes and disturbing you while you were helping May out,” your eyes start watering, unreasonably, and you might be drunker than Peter originally realised, “It’s just that they were playing all your and our favourite songs and it reminded me of you. I missed you so terribly and I wanted you to know that.”

Oh damn, that’s cute. Peter thought you’d been mad at him for not coming. But it’s the opposite.

These Instagram pages always say stuff like, get you someone who texts you even when they’re surrounded by other people, not just when they’re alone and bored. You did exactly that, and Peter still snapped at you.

You give him teary puppy eyes, your arms going around his shoulders, “Do you forgive me, Pete?”

“Of course I do,” he rubs your back, “Do you forgive me?”

You pull back, a soft smile on your face, “Always.”

He hugs you again, feeling your tears drop down on his shoulder.

“I was just missing you and not realising that you were just doing the same.”

“Yeah, I missed you,” you say once again, in your drunken stupor.

You wipe your tears away and squeeze Peter’s cheeks, placing a sloppy kiss right on his lips with an exaggerated mwah sound.

Peter freezes. That might’ve been the best moment of his life, but you’re drunk and don’t know what you’re doing.

Before he can comprehend what you’re doing now, you pull off your top clumsily, now only in your bra.

“Mh- oh god.” Peter doesn’t know what to do so he sits down on the floor, turning his back to you.

“Peterr, I need your help!”

“You can change on your own,” he says as calmly as possible.

He hears a huff from you and a clicking sound a few seconds later and you fling your bra through the room. Peter tries not to look at where it lands.

“Can you give me clothes?”

“Yeah, where from?”

“The dresser, dummy,” you giggle.

“Uh what do you need?”

“A t-shirt and more comfortable underwear.”

He hears you undo the zip of your skirt and he can guess what’s next. He ignores that the thin piece of lace lands right next to him.

Without paying much attention to your collection of lingerie, he just takes out the first cotton panties he sees. “Do you want shorts?”

“No, they’re uncomfortable. I’d usually sleep without a shirt too but since you’re too scared to see me naked, I’ll put on a shirt.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of you,” Peter says, trying not to go crazy with you being naked in the same room as him and all.

“I know, hey can I have my clothes now? My nipples are cold.”

Along with an oversized shirt, he scoots back on the floor, his back still to you, until he bumps against your legs.

He reaches out to pass you the clothes behind his back when he feels something soft, “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to touch your boob!”

“That was my leg,” you take his hand. Peter doesn’t realise what you’re doing until he clearly feels a nipple, “This is my boob.”

He stays lost in the new feeling for a split second, before pulling his hand back.

“See, you’re scared.”

“I’m not.” He’s not scared of seeing you naked or touching your boob. Okay, he’d be nervous. But you’re not sober and he’s scared that you wouldn’t want to do any of this if you were. He'd obviously want it.

Your knees knock against his back and he guesses you’re pulling your panties back up, Peter’s mind more focussed now that your most vulnerable part is covered again.

He feels your foot nudge the back of his jeans, “The last song they played before I went was Apple Bottom Jeans and that for sure made me think of your ass. If Captain America didn’t have that title already, I’m sure people would be calling your cake America’s Ass,” you giggle quietly and Peter blushes.

“My head is too big for this shirt,” you say after a few moments.

“I’m sorry but I can’t help you if you’re still half-naked.”

“I’ll cover up my boobs,” your voice is muffled by the shirt over your head.

Peter turns around reluctantly, your hands covering your nipples, and the sleeve-hole of the shirt laying atop of your head.

He helps you manoeuvre your shirt onto your body and he’s glad it’s long enough to at least cover your ass.

You lie down on your back, legs dangling off the bed while Peter goes to your bathroom, rummaging to find products to take your make up off with.

When he comes to your room, he thinks you’re asleep as he carefully sinks down on the bed next to you, make-up wipe ready in his hand.

You suddenly jump, “Launching attack!”, flipping Peter onto his back and straddling him, a playful smile gracing your features that’s wiped off your face when Peter says, “Could you get off me, please?” He’s just an innocent guy, why do you have to be a horny drunk?

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, are you mad at me again?”

“That’s not it, I’m just not sure if you’d be doing the same things if you were sober, so you can’t be sitting on my lap and stuff.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to do anything sexual with you, the opposite, actually. But he can’t like this.

He wonders if you only drank something because you were third-wheeling with Betty and Ned, and wanted a distraction. He really should’ve gone with you.

“Do you want me to remove your makeup?”

You nod and angle your face towards him, closing your eyes, looking calm again.

After about twenty minutes of you complaining that he’s either too rough or too gentle with the wipe and moisturiser, your face is glowing and clear again.

“Do you want to get something to eat? I once read this trick online to get rid of a hangover, I don‘t know if it works because I‘ve never been drunk but we could try.”

At the mention of food you jump up, running to the kitchen already.

Peter feeds you hydrating food, different fruits and makes you drink half a litre of water.

“You‘re such a good caretaker, can you always take care of me?” you ask, an extremely charming smile on your lips.

“Of course, I‘ll always take care of you.”

“Pinky promise me!”

“Pinky promise.”

You kiss his cheek lovingly, “Love you, Petey.”

And no matter how drunk you are, that was genuine.

“Love you more.”

When Peter’s tucked you in and said goodnight, he disappears into the living room, lying down on the sofa.

You follow him and lie down right on top of him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not sleeping alone,” you pout, “Please?”

“Okay, but I’ll sleep on your floor.”

“But I want to cuddle.”

Of course you get what you want and soon you’re spooning on your bed.

Even though you seem thoroughly tired now, you’re still not ready to go to bed.

Your ass keeps pushing back against Peter’s crotch and he’s scooted so far back that he’s pressed into the small gap between the wall and the mattress.

“Come here, Pete. I’m trying to thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that. Cuddling is enough.”

You turn around to face him, making room for him. “Okay, I’ll leave Penis Parker alone, then.” Peter turns red but you don’t notice, throwing your arm over his chest and pulling him close.

Within seconds, you’re out like a light and Peter’s thankful that you’ll be back to normal again soon.

You wake up, limbs tangled with Peter’s. You know better than to worry that you slept with him. But it takes a few more moments of fully awakening to remember what happened last night.

Oh God.

Peter stirs when you try to get up and you pretend to sleep again.

Whatever he says, deny deny deny.

You wait a few more minutes, but all he’s done is hog the blanket and gently started snoring, looking like an angel.

He was also an angel to you yesterday, so you don’t want him to see your presumably messy hair and hungover state.

Climbing out of bed and into the shower, you freshen up quickly. You make breakfast, lucky that you have the ingredients for Peter’s favourite recipe.

You want to thank him for putting up with you yesterday and taking care of you so well.

You remember going to that fun party with Ned and Betty. How the only thing it was missing was Peter. They had plenty of good music and good drinks that were so good that you didn’t even notice how much alcohol was in them. Your head is only now starting to hurt as you remember how much you actually had.

You remember how you texted Peter and he was annoyed, but he came to your place through the window - wait, your memory must be weird here - anyway, Peter came to apologise and look after you. You’d for sure been a handful, so a nice breakfast is the least you can do to thank him.

Not too stable on your feet with that hangover, you decide not to risk it all by bringing the food in on a tray. As you walk back to your room, you see Peter rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, looking tired, but he still asks you first.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m good actually, nothing major, thanks to you feeding me,” you smile, sitting down with him.

“Oh you remember?” he smiles back at you sleepily.

“I told you I wasn’t that drunk! I remember how you came here, helped me change, remove my make-up and fed me,” you summarise, hoping he won’t go in on the details.

“Yeah, that’s it really.”

“So to thank you for all that, there’s a really delicious breakfast waiting-” he jumps up, already in the kitchen before you can even stand up to follow him.

It’s been a few days since that all happened and Peter’s back at your place.

He’s been thinking about all the things you said, and did, when you were drunk. And everyone knows drunken words are sober thoughts.

But since it happened, nothing has happened between you two. You’re friends, like before. Even though Peter was aware that you were being influenced by alcohol, there had been a little hope blooming in him all night, that you’d continue to openly show your affection towards him, but that was not the case.

Now he needs clarity.

“Hey, so, I know you said you remembered everything that happened the other night, but.. there are some things that you did that you didn’t mention, and I wanted to ask you about that. So first you-”

“I remember everything. I know I gave a very sparse summary, but that was just so neither of us would be embarrassed. But you’re right, we should talk about it. So sorry for… corrupting you?”

He chuckles, “That was not the problem, it’s just I didn’t know much effect the alcohol had on you and if those were your real thoughts or not..”

“The feelings I showed towards you were real, but if I’d had the guts to confess that I like you earlier, I would’ve approached it differently. Guess drunk me didn’t really give a fuck.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Peter says and leans forward to press an unexpected kiss to your lips.

You’re too surprised to kiss him back and he stops, readjusting himself, coughing awkwardly, “Sorry did you not- I uh,”

“No, no I’m sorry. I know that you were really nice to me when I was drunk, but I thought you were just saying that stuff to not hurt my feelings. So.. you like me too?” You haven’t comprehended the situation fully yet, but a smile blooms across your face anyway.

“Yes. How could I not?”

You take it in fully now, feeling drunk again because... is this real?

Finally both understanding that yes, you fucking like each other, you inch closer to each other again, both grinning like crazy.

Straddling him, with both of your valid consent this time, you start kissing him like you’ve wanted to all your life.

He kisses you back eagerly, his hands wandering under your hoodie, but politely staying at your waist. That’s before he pulls away, hair messy from you grabbing at it and even after your ten-minute make-out session he seems nervous.

“Tell me if I’m like making you uncomfortable or something but I have a question. That night you were very,” he scratches the back of his head, “Sexual. Was that just cause you were drunk or...?”

“I don’t remember every single thing I said or did so if I did something embarrassing then it was just cause I was drunk. But otherwise... I’ve had a crush on you for ages so…”

“So?” he asks.

“I’ve thought about having sex... or generally doing anything sexual with you a lot.”

“R-really?”

“It’s not just guys who think about it.” You shrug, going to kiss at his neck while he lets that information sink in. “What about you?” you wonder.

“Every day for about 4 years- I mean not every day. Not four years. But yeah definitely, I have.” He’s red as hell and can’t quite look you in the eyes.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about that... it’s hot, you’re hot.”

”You’re hotter,” he says, starting to kiss you again.

“What do you wanna do about it? Like, no pressure, never, but if you wanna do something sexual, I’m down.�� Peter says, trying to sound more confident.

“Honestly, I really want to have sex with you right now but I think we should wait just a bit. I don’t wanna make that decision when I’m horny.”

“You’re horny right now?”

(He can be oblivious at times.)

“Yes, Peter.” You don’t have to ask him if he is, as you can feel his hard-on pressing into your thigh. You don’t mind it, as you know he’d never make you do anything you don’t want.

“Maybe for today we can just enjoy finally being with each other and go with the flow?” you suggest and he nods eagerly.

For that day you do nothing but kiss for hours, exploring each other with hands and mouths, comfortable the whole time because there’s no pressure. There never is with Peter.

You go to sleep that night, excited about your future together.

#Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker fluff #Peter Parker x you #for the person who asked about the fic!#peter parker #tw alcohol #kinda love this and also kinda hate this idk idk #fem!reader #selfcarecap

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delicrieux · 4 years ago

Text

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results).

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be.

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children.

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim.

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do.

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point!

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus.

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping.

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex.

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him.

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red.

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!!

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling.

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you.

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage.

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her.

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement.

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.”

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

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sunkcost · 3 years ago

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still barely processed what’s happened and maybe i’m just delusional but i really don’t see this episode as confirmation that jimmy can’t change or he’ll only ever get worse. the fact that the title of the episode is “breaking bad” actually makes me more confident in that. clearly it’s drawing parallels between walt and jimmy, but like i’ve said before, i think they use walt parallels more like a foil. jimmy isn’t walt and better call saul isn’t breaking bad. they’re not telling the same story over again. clearly this is his rock bottom, but it’s also not hard to see how he got there.

he’s just empty. there’s nothing in his life he cares about. there’s nothing to make him want to keep going. conning is the only lifeline he has to the person he was and it’s the only thing that used to make him happy in any way that he still has access to. he has no incentive to stop or ‘stay clean’ because he has nothing to lose. he’s clearly becoming more morally bankrupt but he’s also becoming more reckless. i really think it’s just pure desperation. the only thing that was keeping him from it was the desire to keep a low profile and i think he’s just given up on that. that’s why we got that scene in the previous episode. he’s realizing, like, what’s the point? what is it for? why do i care about keeping this life i have when it’s so empty and meaningless? who even am i anymore? i think that whatever happened with the phone call with kim just reinforced that. i think it goes beyond hurt at this point. he’s just depressed. he has nothing. he has no one. his life is empty. he has no identity, no history, no future. that’s where this is coming from. conning is enjoyment, identity, control, self-esteem, and a million other things he needs so badly he’ll do anything to get them. that’s not a justification, it’s just an explanation. he seems to care less about the consequences of his actions overall. not just how they impact other people, but how they impact him as well. he doesn’t really care about getting caught, which tells me this is less about cruelty or exploiting power over people and more that he needs it so badly all other considerations have gone out the window.

clearly something has to change, but the idea of him “breaking bad” and having walter white’s downfall in the span of 3 episodes when that was the entire 5 seasons of breaking bad makes no sense whatsoever to me. that isn’t his story, it just resembles it for the moment, which is why they made the reference in the episode title, but i have a really hard time believing they’d end it the same way. fact is, it’s not the end of the show. he was never going to turn things around with his life as it was. nothing had really changed. it’s the conditions that created saul times a million. it had to reach this point before it could go anywhere else. if anything it just draws another distinction between him and walt because i really don’t think they’re saying this is who he’s been all along. walt did what he did because he wanted power. for jimmy any power or control or victory he’s getting from cons is just filling a vacuum. it’s standing in for what he really wants which is love and approval and not having to be alone.

#better call saul #*#i know i reek of apologism but i am who i am dlfajskl #honestly very little has changed for me things are still going the way i was anticipating #idk i guess i just... feel bad for him #yeah he's here as the consequences of his own actions but i just don't know how he'd ever get back to where he was in these circumstances #and i don't think it was ever realistic to expect him to

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songmingisthighs · 4 years ago

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[4.11] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ you thought he didn't care, he was sure he doesn't, he had said it so himself to you. that was, until he almost lost the chance of being able to care for you.

⇁ tw : running away, mafia life (criminal/illegal acts)

⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

At first, Wooyoung thought you had really ran away from him. After the fight you had the previous night, how could he not ?

"All I ask is a little bit of attention! I know you could spare some for me," you exclaimed, following after Wooyoung into the home office in his mansion. Yes, his, he never once said it was yours too so you treat it as such.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes at you, "and I ask you shut that big trap you called your mouth before I shut it for you, but we can't all get what we wanted now, can we ?" He spat.

You're used to his aggressive words, it used to hurt but now the pain just comes and goes. But you're at your wit's end, he was distant when you both were first forced into engagement but he was still polite so you thought that was just the shock, but now that you're married, things got worse.

"Wooyoung," you called, leaning both of your hands on his desk aa he sit on his office chair, "it's been 8 months since we got married," he glared at you when you said that, so you sighed and change your choice of words, "since we were force into marriage... But I've been trying so hard to make this less of a chore for both of us, I don't know what else I could do! You're not even bothering to hide the fact that you hate my guts to your very core even though it wasn't my fault that we got into this! Heck, you don't even bother to acknowledge that I exist!"

Wooyoung slammed his hands down on the table, standing face to face with you, "that's right," he chuckled darkly, "I don't even bother, you know why? Because you're nothing in my life, I never ask for you, I never wanted you, you're still here because your dad's business fell through with my dad and he used you as mean of escaping because that's all you are, princess," he leaned closer to your face and spoke through gritted teeth, "a worthless burden that people toss around,"

It would've been a lie if you said that his words doesn't affect you whatsoever. Because it does.

Maybe deep down that was one of your biggest fear and having someone confirmed that made you feel sick to your stomach. You recoiled from the table, as if having been struck across your face.

Though Wooyoung had a satisfied smirk on his face, "you should know I've been planning your assasination ever since you said 'I do', I would've made it look like an accident so that my dad wouldn't be up in my ass talking about losing his insurance of control over your dad, maybe I should move the schedule up so I can get rid of you quicker,"

You stared at him for a while, not knowing that he actually hated you that much. All this time you thought it was just petty reluctance of being tied to you, but this just brought things to a whole new level.

"No..." you choked out, trying to hold back tears, "I'll take care of it myself," and with that, you ran out of his office to pack all your belongings with tears streaming down your face.

And that was the last time Wooyoung had seen you. He had heard from one of his butlers that he had seen you running around the house retrieving your things where it supposedly was earlier, you looked frantic and you hadn't even taken a second to take a break.

"And did she got out of the house today?" Wooyoung asked from his position on the couch, loosening all of the buttons on his shirt. "No, master, not that any of us know of," said butler then leaned close to Wooyoung's ears, "the cctv has been cut off, her bodyguards are dismissed, no one has tended to her nor got close to her, and I personally see to it that all windows and doors are unlocked just as you had requested,"

Wooyoung couldn't believe that he's probably a free man now, that YOU had left him so that he wouldn't be in hot water with his father.

With a glass of whiskey in his hand, he decided to look around to see whether or not you had really left while telling his maid to prepare dinner for him.

True to what he expected, he made two laps around the mansion but not once did he find you. Not even in his office with a divorce paper, as dramatic as it sound.

He finally step into his shared bedroom with you to make his final confirmation.

At first he knocked on the door, not really knowing why he did that, but when no sound came from the room he simply opened the door and walked in. He hadn't returned the night before, spending half of his night in his home office before going out with San to a bar, not realizing that it was his guilt that drove him out to drink his memory away.

Looking around the room, he couldn't really tell whether or not you had ran away. The room looked like it had been slept in the night before, he could see the spot where you laid in comparison to his side that's perfectly neat.

When he stepped into the walk-in closet, he was quite surprised at the sheer contrast to the bedroom. Your clothes thrown haphazardly, it seems like you were urgently looking for things to pack, and the more he analyze the items on the floor, the more he realized that you hadn't taken anything that was bought with his money.

But that wasn't the thing that got his attention.

It was your wedding dress that had been taken out of its garment bag, across from it, an empty bottle of wine and a box of tissues with crumpled tissues surrounding it. It looked straight out of a movie.

He walked closer to the dress and trailed a hand down it.

He remembered seeing you wear it on your wedding day. He remembered being too pissed at his father to be able to fully appreciate how ethereal you looked. He remembered how when you looked at him, he could see the redness in your eyes, indicating that you had been crying.

But over all, he remembered how his heart skipped a beat when he saw you walking closer to him. Of course, he would never admit it outwardly.

His train of thought was broken when his butler knocked on his bedroom door, "master, dinner is served," he said.

Wooyoung cleared his throat and straighten out his posture, "yes, of course, I'll be there soon," he called out.

As the footsteps of his butler fade, he carefully zip your wedding dress back into its garment bag, making sure that the dress is stored perfectly.

After that, he went to the dining room to have his dinner.

Usually, you'd be seated in your seat, across from him at the other end of the table that seats 10 people. He'd have to admit that it feels weird not seeing you smile at him after a long day of working, but he forced himself to believe that it was a good kind of weird.

Strangely, as he eat his food he felt that it doesn't match his palate, that something feels off. So he called for his head butler and asked him about it.

"Did we change cooks? Why does today's dinner taste so bland?"

His butler seemed hesitant to answer him, looking at the head maid for a bit. The middle-aged woman stepped forward from her spot, bowing slightly to avoid Wooyoung's eyes, "we did not have any change in staffs, sir, it's just that the mistress used to prepare all of your meals and considering... the circumstances, she had not prepared anything for you," she said, not even bothering to hide her bitterness that he had drove you away.

Considerably, he was shocked that you had never brought the fact up to him. But as usual, he masked his true feelings and just nod at her, continuing with his meal even though he can't seem to enjoy it.

The shock didn't stop there, though.

Over the course of the first 5 days of you leaving him, he began noticing the things that indicate your presence in his house. Or used to indicate your presence.

He never knew that you were the one who always put flowers around the mansion. He noticed this when he passed by a vase of wilting aconite. It almost broke him when he see the maids cleared all flowers, leaving an empty vase that he now associate with your absence.

He never knew that you kept tabs on food he likes and dislikes. After 3 days, he gave up on eating the food his cook made for him, firing the poor man on the spot and resorting to take outs.

He never knew that you were the one who personally arrange his wardrobe. Usually, every morning he'd find his favorite shirts or favorite sets of clothes on the front, ready for him to pick out and wear. Now that you're not here, he had to spend extra time deciding what to wear.

And lastly, he was surprised at the fact that you had never made it to your hometown.

"What do you mean she's not with her parents?" He growled at his henchmen, making them visibly scared. "W-we tried looking for her, even asking around, but no one had seen her," he explained.

All Wooyoung wanted was to hear about how you're happier without him, how you've settled back to your life without him, how he'd be assured with the fact that you leaving him was the best thing that could ever happen to you two.

Feeling that he owed this for the sake of his own closure, he ordered everyone under him to find out your whereabouts.

The desperation suffocated him, he hated the feeling.

So he ran out of his office to his garden, going to the furthest side where it is practically abandoned so that he'd be all alone to calm his mind.

What he hadn't expect to see though, was several pieces of clothes on the ground. At first he just thought that the laundry might have flown away due to the wind, but when he inspected them closer, he recognized them as yours.

"Why would these be here?" He muttered to himself as he began picking up the scattered pieces of clothes one by one. When he picked up the last piece, he noticed your suitcase by the corner of the tall wall that surround his house for protection.

The sight that made his stomach drop was a rather huge hole that could fit a person.

Wooyoung's brain put 2 and 2 together and the only reasonable conclusion made him feel like blowing up.

You had been kidnapped.

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez scenario #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #wooyoung #jung wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #ateez au #ateez story #kpop scenario #kpop imagine #kpop imagines #ateez x reader #timestamp #ateez timestamp #kpop timestamps #smt timestamp

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