#and she and her fiend just like. stared at us | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ckret2 · 2 months

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Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him?

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was.

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(*immediately edits post because i forgot the brick pattern on Bill's hoodie*)

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lxvvie · 4 months

Note

Hi there!

Can I just say that I love your blog so much!! I literally had no idea who any of the MWII guys were when your posts popped up on my feed and now, I've spent the last week of my life watching gameplay videos of the new games and the OG trilogy. Like, I love Simon so much and everything you write for him makes me love him more, especially when you talk about his eye contact. I'm a fiend for that stuff!!

Like imagine Simon with a s/o that also makes a lot of eye contact, and he just knows what she's thinking because her eyes are so expressive. They're just having whole conversations with their eyes only and when she's had a bad day, she just hits him with the sad eye/eyebrow scrunch combo like Kate from Bridgerton.

(Also, I imagine with all that eye contact the sex is bound to be hella intense and intimate. Like, stare into my soul while you cum, Simon...)

I'm so sorry for this, lol

Please don't be because this is so damn beautiful.

Just... the way that Simon stares at you, the way he uses his gaze to convey everything and then some.

The way he knows you feel the same when you look at him, too.

The way his stare is so intense sometimes that it causes you to avert your eyes bashfully but before you know it, he's got a hand under your chin and he's lifting your face to his.

"Look at me, sweetheart..."

#2queued4u.#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #call of duty x reader #x black reader #call of duty x black reader #task force 141 #cod x you #cod x black reader #cod mwii #cod mw3

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dadsbongos · 2 months

Note

CAN U PLSSSS WRITE A CUTE DENJI FIC OR HEADCANON/DRABBLE?? honestly idrc care which it is (obvi longer is preferred but i understand and am open to whatevs u give)

like about reader (fem) has a journal and in it she wrote about her dream dude, but like perfectly described denji and accidentally left it out and while they were hanging out or something cuz they besties he sees it and realized like "dude, that's me!" or something and then like a fluffy confession or something IDK that's just what i have sprinting through my brain rn 🤓

also maybe a lil kiss 🙏

thank you for giving me a denji idea... been fiending to write for him and just had 0 ideas

word count - 1.5 K / warnings - fem reader, not proofread!!, au where makima dies and denji just gets to be happy with special division 4 and they are familycore

~~~

“And the point of this is…?”

“I dunno,” Himeno answers honestly, shrugging, “I read somewhere that you can tell a lot about someone from their partner.”

“None of us are dating,” Aki huffs, fingers itching over the protrusion of his lighter in his pocket.

“Their preference in a partner,” Himeno groans in annoyance, gesturing out to the collection of papers in front of each of you, “Besides, what else do we have to do right now?”

Fair question, no matter how junky the science behind Himeno's apparent reading, not one of you had anything better to do. A storm was raging outside the Hayakawa apartment, all of Special Division Four having pooled there before the clouds even rolled in. Before Kobeni could shyly crawl out from the rambunctious crowd, there was lightning and thunder and an ear-piercing flood warning blasting on the television.

So, Aki swallows the rest of his complaints and puts his head down with the rest of your division. His pencil sprawling over the paper Himeno slammed in front of him to describe his ideal significant other. A tedious task he's all too eager to bullshit through as soon as Himeno is finished staring down at him.

Denji is tapping the eraser of his pencil against the kitchen island, eyes straying around the living room. He worried his bottom lip between knifepoint teeth; only stopping when he tastes iron. Even Power has started writing.

Even you have begun writing. He wonders what you're writing. He wishes he could stretch his neck and take a peek without being obvious. He wishes he could read it at all.

Denji draws a stick figure that takes up a quarter of the page, dragging the lead back over the chest to add breasts. He glances at you through the side of his eye before adding hair and a small smile. And the black hair tie snug around your wrist even though he's only ever seen you lend it to Kobeni and Angel. Now he really can't avoid it: Denji has no idea how to write.

Hopefully he can just coast with a bland drawing and let everybody think he's as shallow as they probably already believe. But when he lifts his head to glimpse at everyone else's pages, Himeno is already freezing him solid with her icy glare. Denji tucks his chin to his chest and subtly twists in the island stool to look at your paper again.

Bullet points go five lines down the page; and the only thing he can make out is one of the few characters Aki’s taught Denji at his request:

愚か. Stupid.

Denji's eyes bounce back up to your face, eyes a little gooey and smile all soft. He knows that goofy look well, it's how he finds himself everytime he thinks about you. Before he can lose himself in that, he's jealous. You're making that lovestruck face over some stupid guy that Denji can't even write a strongly worded letter to.

Denji writes one of the other few things Aki has taught him. Your name with a bold arrow pointing down at the stick figure.

Then he erases it. He scrubs the pink bud over your name so hard he tears the paper in half. A loud shirrr dragging every eye to his hunched form, shoulders hiking higher over his face at the increased attention.

“Hark! The fool cannot even spell!” Power cackles, “Show me his words! Show me his mistake!”

“Power,” you chide, as though she's a fitful toddler and not a horrific Fiend, “Be nice. You can't write either.”

“Liar!” she points at you with a shaking finger.

Kobeni shyly taps Power on the shoulder before pointing at the paper overflowing with Power's manic ideals of a partner, “Anything else…?”

“Honesty!” she glares at you sharply, “And unwavering devotion!”

“Right…” Kobeni mutters unsurely, neglecting her own paper as she continues to scribble on Power's.

“Ignore her,” you scoot your stool closer to Denji and he manages to flip his page over before you can see the drawing, “Do you need help?”

He’s nodding before his mouth can even pop open, eventually he manages to sputter alongside it, “Yeah, yeah!” taking full advantage of his new opportunity to squish right against you at the island, “Can you write…”

Patiently, you await his request and he can feel his heart pumping in his throat every time you bat your lashes at him all sweetly. Your pen leaves jet black dots as it dips in your weak grasp, Denji has lots of words to describe you and all of them knot together on the tip of his tongue, tangled and lashing to fall from his lips at once.

Ultimately, he settles for the least descriptive, “Nice.”

“Someone nice,” you nod and scratch that onto his paper, “I like that.”

Denji feels his whole body go junky with sparks of electricity, blood boiling hot at how you feel comfortable enough to drag your paper into his full view. You point at your top bullet point, nail tacking loudly into the surface when his eyes don’t immediately stray from your face to the words below. Your bottom lip is sucked between your teeth as you study his reaction, leaning your face even closer to his.

Though you’re blurry and jumbled in his peripherals, Denji can still make out the upturn of your lips. He looks over the rest of the page, desperately searching for any other words he can make out and mold himself to. That, or cope and make up some ways in which he’s at least comparable to your dream man.

He can make out: Pretty.

Do you think Denji is pretty?

He sees another one he recognizes: 歯 -- teeth -- but there’s two characters before that he’s useless against.

Denji has teeth.

“Sharp,” you whisper into his ear, tingles raising along his pale flesh.

“Huh…?” Denji turns to look at you, heat rising far up to his ears.

An airy, almost delirious, giggle floats into his ears as you circle the two mysteries before teeth, “Sharp,” then you circle teeth, “Teeth. Sharp teeth.”

“You like guys with sharp teeth?”

“Love ‘em.”

Denji swallows harshly, shakily pointing to the next bullet point, “What’s that mean?”

農民を尊重する.

You press ever closer towards Denji, leaning your chin on his shoulder, “‘Respects farmers.’”

“I respect farmers…” he mutters dumbly, “I love their work.”

“I know you do.”

Denji blinks down at you, his thick lashes beating on his rosying cheeks and spiky teeth punching back into his lip. His breaths are short and hard, red overtaking his cheeks like a flustered little Kewpie doll. So precious and sweet, ready to crack beneath your palms. He’d trust you wholly, and you know you’d treat him well. He knows, too. You’re nice.

You laugh at his stunned face, posture rigid. The sudden shock making his shoulder jab up into your jaw uncomfortably -- you find it terribly charming.

“I like girls…” Denji sighs out in a tremble, eyes trailing down your face, “I like girls with soft lips.”

“Do you?” you inch closer, by now long forgetting the presence of your friends and colleagues in the apartment. Teasing is fun, but teasing Denji is just the best.

“Mhm.”

After an awkward pause, Denji follows the quiet hum with,

“Can I… kiss you?”

You nod against his shoulder, chin digging down into the bone. Denji stretches his neck to kiss you -- and your lips are even softer and more sugary than he imagined. His hands scratch out to cradle you to himself, continuously parched no matter how much of you he has to drink in. Warm hands and arms around you, clinging and wrapping and pulling. Wincing from the prickle of Denji’s teeth against your lip, you cinch a hand around the chest of his shirt and wrench it towards you -- pulling Denji closer along with it.

“You like me?” he utters against your lips.

Pulling back, you flip around your paper and sear your index nail around a very recognizable word, “My ideal partner. I was a little scared to share at first…”

Denji almost jumps right off the stool, ready to coop you in his arms and swing you around fully in front of his roommates and coworkers. Instead he laughs in full disbelief to himself, reaching down to squeeze your other hand in both of his. You’re briefly concerned he’s cutting off blood flow before the joy of his pure excitement overtakes that concern.

DENJI is big and plain over the very top of the page.

“What changed your mind?”

You snicker right into his ear and reach out to flip over Denji’s paper, torn at the top, “I could tell you felt the same, pretty boy.”

Denji squeezes your hand even tighter, giggling almost feverishly before he’s sliding off the stool, “Wanna go make out in my room?”

“Thanks for having the decency to move now,” an unpleasant sneer breaks Denji’s cloudy dream-turned-reality.

“Fuck you,” Denji hisses at Aki.

“I think it’s cute!” Himeno pushes at the back of Aki’s head, “Focus on yourself!”

You let Denji drag you from the kitchen island and towards his (and Power’s, not that she’ll be allowed in for the next however many hours) room.

“So, you really think ‘m pretty?” Denji’s voice teeters just on the edge of snarky, but his skittish, red frame speaks louder.

“Prettiest,” you coo, kissing his cheek.

The affection has him seconds away from blurting out an awkward, ill-timed: You’re really my dream girl.

#denji x reader #denji fluff #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #denji x you #denji x fem reader

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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

Note

Your Nasty Man™️ Johnny is fueling my freaky side, and I don't know how to handle it.

I must have more....(pretty please)

What would that smug, disgusting bastard of a man do if he found reader also had a nasty side?

Say she found out about his little video collection? She hacks into it, and to just one up his arrogant ass, posts it to OnlyFans and is now getting paid for it! (Realistically, don't ever do this. I'm just being hypothetically horny here)

OR.....

Car Salesman Johnny. She borrows Ghost's classic vehicular muscle baby, finds an abandoned parking lot, and straps herself into the front seat. Uses the vibrator Johnny bought her to overly pleasure herself, capturing the whole ordeal on her phone. But it's not Johnny's name she's moaning. It's Ghost's. And, of course, she sends it to both just to really stick that knife into that Nasty Man™️'s side.

I'm going down the Nasty Man™️ MacTavish drain here. Must cure it with SingleDad!Johnny before I become a complete fiend for that repulsively sexy, damaged man...

Hehehehe that Nasty Man™️… he’s going to have a heart attack because he’s just overheard you asking Simon if he’d be willing to lend you his car again, but not for another driving lesson.

As it turns out, Simon is pretty good with a camera. Has an eye for photography, at least where his car is concerned (He actually has a sizable following on insta and is pretty well known in the car scene) but what you weren’t expecting is how well he directs you as a model.

Knows exactly how to pose you, has learned the angles you look the best from in a matter of about 5 minutes. And the best part? He’s not creepy about it. He’s actually sort of unfazed by your skimpy clothing and the suggestive poses he’s snapping you in. Lets you wear the leather jacket he wears at meets with his name embroidered across the back of it between shots while you both look over the raw photos. And maybe, just maybe, when you have your back turned to him, adjusting an errant strand of hair or preening in the reflection of the tinted windows, he’s snapped a few shots of you in his jacket with his phone.

And oops! His thumb slipped. Accidentally sent them to Johnny.

And Gaz.

And Price.

When you get to the dealership on Monday there’s a shipment of office supplies that needs to be unboxed and put away. More paper, extra ink cartridges, pens and paper clips in bulk, and, because it’s the start of the new year, calendars for the office.

But wait… these… don’t look like the calendars ordered from the supply store? That looks an awful lot like Simons car on the front…

You chalk it up to coincidence, think maybe your manager wanted something a little less bland and more on theme to help liven the place up. It’s probably just some classic car calendar or something.

You don’t realize what it is until a few hours later when you walk by Johnny’s cubicle and something snags your attention. You backpedal, round his desk to look at the calendar pinned to the fabric-lined divider, and freeze, stomach leaping in your chest because that’s you.

That’s you on the hood of Simons car, laid out in your skimpy dress.

What the fuck?

“I think August is my favorite,” a heavily accented voice breathes from behind you. You whirl on him, back pressed to the divider, and stare up in shock at Johnny, grinning down at you impishly.

“Didnae ken they did custom calendars at the supply store. Think we’ll be doin’ these from now on.” He takes a step forward, cages you between him and the divider when he braces a hand on the metal frame. His breathing is heavy, eyes glazed, and the fabric of his button down pulled taught over the bunching muscles in his arms. “Next year though… I think next year should be ye, in that slutty dress, sittin’ pretty on my ride.”

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gentrychild · 4 months

Note

O great Owl and thou noble fic-finding rats I come because I have failed to find that which I need.

There is a work, apart of your Anyone universe, where Izuku is writing a Quirk Analysis Paper and he wakes AfO up so he can see a mutation quirk which enlarges AfO's arm. I have combed through all of Anyone and then through your side works that take place in this universe. But I found nothing.

The only thing I can think is that it was a tumblr post or a fanfic one of your blog mates wrote for you. But alas, I am still here.

In exchange I swear that if my firstborn ever starts stealing quirks I will buy all the therapists, and if that fails I will leave him to your fic-finders with no rivers in sight. And they may nibble on him for all of forever.

With reverence and sincerity, -me

I have some bad news and good news for you. The bad news is that his is something I wrote and posted on Tumblr, and you will never find it again even if you scroll through the entire Anyone tag. The good news is that you must be especially lucky as I found it by pure luck in a file I had forgotten.

----------

Izuku, sitting on his bed, books and notebooks opened on all of its surface, clicked his pen. Once, twice, thrice, the sound echoing in the silent apartment without doing anything to bring the answer the teenager desperately needed.

Usually, deadlines weren’t a problem for him. For some obscure reasons, the teachers in his high school were trusting him no matter what he did and forging his mom’s signatures to excuse his many absences had become the routine. However, he needed to finish this paper for tomorrow morning, so Hebisuga could read it and save her grade in Meta Analysis. That way, she would stop worrying so much about this subject, focus back on her Japanese, and write once again her ridiculously good flash cards that she always accepted to share with Yuuto and him.

But right now… Izuku’s brain just wasn’t cooperating.

He got up, his back protesting as he stopped hunching over for the first time in a couple of hours, and he left his bedroom. His notebook in hand, he walked past the bathroom and knocked at the door of the master bedroom, currently invaded by the bane of his existence while his blissfully ignorant mother was away.

The door opened in the second, All for One appearing in front of him, his hair messy and his face showing the trace of the pillow but no sign of sleepiness. The villain was one of those persons who immediately passed from sleep to alertness while Izuku needed three cups of coffee to be semi-conscious.

“What is it?” the villain asked. “Did you-“

“Show me your mutation quirks, please. Preferably the one that can offer some kind of protection.”

“What makes you think that-“

Izuku clicked his pen once again and just stared at the quirk-stealing-fiend.

All for One finally obliged, making his arm grow in size, muscles growing until it had gruesomely swollen up, and he even added some spear-like bones. Bewildered, he answered every questions Izuku had about the drawbacks, the weight, how much he could still move his arm, and so on.

Because if analyzing quirks was his passion and could become a job, words in a book didn’t mean anything to Izuku. He needed to ask questions, to make theories, to see them in action.

Once he was done and had all the elements he needed, he thanked All for One and walked back to his room without offering any explanation. But of course, his roommate didn’t need one.

“Did you just use me to finish your homework? At three AM?”

#anyone fic #anyone snippet #Thank you for doing your part in preventing the birth of a new AFO

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starrylothcat · 5 months

Note

2 and 11 from the most recent prompt list?

(Kisses down the neck underneath a high necked shirt (cough blacks cough)) (Kisses all over the face until.) With Crosshair? Man always is so sassy but I want a little sugar with him sometimes too.

Happily Ever After

Pairing: Crosshair x GenReader

Summary: You and Crosshair share a ‘lil cozy romantic moment.

Warnings: None? Cheesy drabble with kissing. Potential implied sexy times at the end but nothing is described or explicit. Can be read either way I think. Reader isn’t described. Established relationship.

WC: 1,000

A/N: I am filled with cheese (and sugar) after writing this. It’s getting colder where I live and I’m feeling cozy. I love writing ‘lil soft moments with this man. Also he’s totally a reader. Thanks so much for the ask! ❤️

You were curled up on the couch next to Crosshair, a small fire crackling in your fireplace.

Though Pabu was mostly tropical, the winter months dropped enough in temperature to warrant a small fire in the evenings.

Your legs were on his lap as you laid on the couch, Crosshair using them as an armrest.

You were absentmindedly watching a silly Holovid while Crosshair read on his datapad. Ever since being rescued from the Empire, Crosshair had taken up a few hobbies to keep him busy on Pabu. One of them was reading. He devoured literature, often finishing a novel in a day or two.

You were used to this routine, quiet evenings with just the two of you. You loved hearing him speak of the tales he finished, hearing his thoughts on characters and motivations.

You tried to keep up with him and read the same books, though his keen eyes were able to read and process words much faster than you.

The novels you could finish, you’d sometimes talk for hours about them with him.

You tried to focus on the Holovid, but you were distracted by his profile as he read. His sharp features have softened a bit in the time he’s been on Pabu, the delicate warmth of the fireplace adding a glow to his skin.

He looked peaceful, serene even. You knew the trials and tribulations he went through, the heartbreak and tragedy. You knew he still carried regret like stones in his heart, never quite forgiving himself for what he put his brothers through, though they have forgiven him.

You shifted, slowly sitting up. Crosshair didn’t budge, engrossed in the story. It wasn’t until you moved your legs off his lap and turned off the vid that he gave you a questioning look.

You stretched your arms above your head, readjusting yourself next to him.

You peeked at the words on his datapad, this story about a pirate who kidnaps a hot-headed princess for ransom, but ends up falling for her instead.

“Enjoying this one?” You asked, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Crosshair shrugged.

“It’s fine. Could use some more action and less romance, though.”

You snorted, flicking your eyes up to him.

“Too lovey dovey for you?”

A ghost of a smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

“The princess should kick the pirate’s ass instead of kissing them, is all I’m saying.”

You turned toward him more fully.

“But the pirate has a heart of gold and she sees straight through him! Tale old as time.”

“How do you know?” Crosshair asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I read the summary.” You replied, laughing.

Crosshair still stared at you.

“Okay, okay. I watched the Holofilm they made for this story!”

Crosshair let out a dry chuckle, setting the datapad down.

“Well, you can save me the time and just tell me the rest of the story. Let me guess, they live happily ever after?”

You snorted. “Is that so bad?”

You traced your hand over his, slowly moving up his arm.

Crosshair grunted as your hand made its way up to his shoulder, and up to his cheek. You cupped his face, gently moving his head to face you entirely.

“Is it so bad for the princess to fall for the handsome, roguish fiend?” You whispered, the fire now reflecting in his eyes as he focused on you.

You kissed his cheek, starting a slow path to his other cheek, over his nose and down to his chin.

Crosshair’s long fingers were now tracing up and down your back as you left featherlight pecks all over his face.

You felt him relax into the couch, his breath hitching slightly as you made your way from his stubbled jawline and under his ear, a highly sensitive spot only you knew about.

“It’s not so bad, I suppose.” Crosshair mumbled, his eyes closing, getting lost in the feeling of your lips on his skin.

You made your way down his neck, mentally making a note of how his breathing changed at certain spots.

You hooked a finger at the collar of his blacks, tugging them down to get more access to his skin. You took in his musky scent, how his hand was subtly pulling you closer to him as you continued your journey, relishing in this reserved moment of him letting you take control.

You left small nibbles, using your tongue to trace small patterns at the skin of his neck, which was now flushed with some color, pulling his blacks down further.

His slight grunts and labored breathing was music to your ears that you could listen to forever, his skin becoming hot under your ministrations. You finally lifted your head and topped it all off with a long, deep kiss on his lips.

Crosshair groaned as he lifted you into his lap, fully wrapping his arms around you, taking back some control as his mouth moved with yours.

His tongue danced across your lips, announcing his intention. You invited him in, letting your tongues slowly slide against one another, his hand cradling the back of your head. It was a languid kiss, perfectly matching the tone of the night.

When you finally pulled yourself away from him to catch a much-needed breath, his eyes held a mirthful glint.

“Do you really want me to tell you how the story ends?” You whispered, touching your forehead to his.

“Hmmm…” Crosshair hummed, beginning his own mission of leaving kisses on your cheeks, your forehead, your chin, and down to your neck, your own body heating up at his touch.

“I’ll have to decide that later.” Crosshair’s breath was hot on your skin, his kisses becoming more intense.

You let out a squeal as Crosshair quickly maneuvered you on your back, bouncing slightly on the plush cushions as his lithe body hovered over you.

You smiled as he continued on, leaving no part of your skin untouched by his lips.

By the time you were finished, the fire had burned to embers, and you lay entwined together, drifting off in one another’s arms enjoying the peace of the night.

Though Crosshair would never say it out loud, he did find his happily ever after, and that was in these moments with you.

Taglist: @crosshairlovebot @sev-on-kamino @kimiheartblade @wizardofrozz @clonemedickix @sunshinesdaydream @kashasenpai @freesia-writes @multi-fan-dom-madness @aconstructofamind @dreamie411 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @starqueensthings @idontgetanysleep @secretthegriffin @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @secondaryrealm @littlemissmanga @maybethatfanfictionwriter @pb-jellybeans @wanderer-six @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @dukeoftheblackstar @523rdrebel @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @sleepingsun501 @coraex @cw80831 @dangraccoon @mythical-illustrator @eternal-transcience @the-cantina @nahoney22 @moonlightwarriorqueen @skellymom

Divider by @dystopicjumpsuit

#crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #crosshair tbb #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #clone x reader #clone trooper crosshair #starrycatwrites #tbb crosshair x you #the bad batch x you #the bad batch fanfiction #Star Wars fanfiction

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sumeru-academy · 1 year

Text

Delivery girl.

synopsis: you’re the cute delivery girl they have a crush on.

character(s): hu tao, yae, ei (seperate).

warning(s): suggestive flirting (yae).

note(s): female reader, second POV, modern AU.

P.S: this prompt was inspired by my hunger and overwhelming desire to order food at 11 pm.

—mod angel 🎐

HU TAO

Hu Tao was one to order takeout often, however in all her years of ordering from this one specific chain, she had never met a delivery girl as pretty as you before.

Lounging around in her PJs while chatting idly with a phone lodged between her cheek, she made her way over to the door and was barely even paying attention when your voice short-circuited her brain.

“Delivery for Hu Tao!”

She nearly dropped her phone at your voice, body frozen stiff as she shakily ended her call to put her focus on you. ‘Holyyyy crap is this the new delivery girl??? I’ve never seen her before…!’ She was practically gawking at the sight, drool building up in her throat as she struggled to find her voice.

“Wow, I heard our food was pretty good but I didn’t expect you to salivate that much upon arrival,” you teased. “Do you…need a tissue?”

OH RIGHT SHE’S STILL STARING—

“No! It’s okay!” That was a lie, Hu Tao was in fact not okay. “I just— I’m just hungry!”

“(Chuckle) I can see…”

Hu Tao was internally cursing herself for wearing such unflattering PJs. Why in the everliving heavens did she decide to wear this of all things? Especially her ghost slippers! The ones that had the derpy looking faces on them! Agghhh what must you think of her now?!

‘She must think I look ridiculous!’ Hu Tao grimaced.

‘Cute slippers. I want them.’ You smiled and kept on staring.

‘She’s staring at them! Oh noooooo!’ Hu Tao screamed.

“As cute as you are staring at me, can you take these inside, please? They’re really hot and kind of burning my hands.” Hu Tao snapped out of her panic and realized that you were still holding the food she had ordered. Cursing herself even more as you must’ve stood there waiting for her to take them for god knows how long.

“Right, let me just get these off your hands…” Hu Tao shivered when her hand brushed against yours, noting how soft and warm they were as if you weren’t just scalding your hands moments ago. “This is everything, right?”

“Mhm! Everything you ordered is here.” You wiped away some sweat with the back of your hand and Hu Tao swears she saw god for a moment. “Now for the bill…”

“Oh, yeah! Let me just go grab my wallet.” Hu Tao stiffly walked back inside with the grace of a nutcracker and exhaled sharply once her back was turned to you. Has– Has the house always been so warm? Hu Tao pulled at the collar of her PJs and fanned herself as she went to go find her bag. Or was she cold? It feels like her heart is pounding right out of her chest! Good gods she must be possessed!

After paying you the bill –as well as a very generous tip may I add— Hu Tao shut the door with a quiet thud and practically raced to her upstairs bedroom. Launching face first into her pillow and screaming as loud as she could muffle without disturbing the neighbors.

‘AAAAAAAAAAAAA-’ She kicked her legs up and down and had long forgotten about the food she had left in the kitchen. Her mind instead flooded with thoughts of you, your pretty smile, your face, your whole…everything!

“She must be a fiend…” Hu Tao murmured, sinking her face into her pillow as heat began to pour from her cheeks. “What a devilish restaurant, using such a temptress to get me to order again next time…I’ve been bewitched…”

YAE MIKO

Miko in a modern setting would totally be a Starbucks kind of girl. Ordering it every chance she gets and even having her name spelled correctly as she was a frequent customer.

However, as frequent as she may be, there are times where she is simply too lazy to drive there herself. So, she settles for delivery whenever she couldn’t be bothered to.

Though, after this one occasion, it seems like Miko will now be ordering delivery every time she gets…

Halfway through with getting her nails painted, Miko’s ears perked up at the sound of the doorbell as she remembered that she had ordered drinks twenty minutes ago. Blowing profusely on her barely even dry nails, she struggled to even open her door as she didn’t want to ruin her tedious hard work. ‘I really should’ve thought this through…’ Miko seethed, fumbling with her elbows of all things to twist the knob open. ‘At least the only person seeing this would be the awkward little delivery boy—’

Girl.

Miko’s eyes widened when she saw a newer, cuter, more prettier face than the one she was already used to. Instead of some awkward teenage boy that could barely look her in the eye, a more attractive, pretty-faced woman stood in their place instead. “Starbucks delivery for Miss Miko?” you smiled sunnily.

Of course the one day Miko wasn’t looking her best, a hot girl decided to show up. Great.

“Yes, that is I,” Miko instinctively took up a flirtatious pose, even though it lost its effect as she was wearing pink fluffy sweatpants. “And who is the pretty lady if I may ask?”

“Oh, I’m just the delivery girl,” You chuckled bashfully. “Here’s your order by the way, Sorry for the wait, it appears that lots of people wanted to order from home.”

“D’awww, I’m not your first customer?” Miko jabbed playfully.

“No, I’ve actually been working as a delivery girl for a week now. So of course you wouldn’t be my first.” Miko frowned at your blunt response. “Here are your drinks. Better take them fast or else they’d melt.”

“Hmm. Fine. But can you be a dear and put them on the counter for me? My nails aren’t done drying you see,” she presented them to you proudly and gestured for you to follow her inside. “Wouldn’t want them to smear after all.”

“Of course!” You slipped off your shoes and stepped inside to set the tray on her countertop. “There you go. As for the bill…”

“Oh! The bill…” a devious smirk made its way onto Yae Miko’s lips as she had an excellent idea to make you blush. “I’m sorry dear, but I seemed to have misplaced my bag. Perhaps…I could pay you in other ways…?”

That sultry tone in her voice implied something seductive. However, you didn’t comprehend it as such as you only assumed she wanted a different payment method.

“Yeah we take Apple Pay.” You beamed innocently. “Would you like to–”

“No! That’s not what I meant…”

“...We take CashApp too.”

“No no no–!”

Miko groaned inwardly. Her attempts thwarted by your obliviousness as she turned to not spare you another thought. “I’ll…I’ll go find my bag…”

Sighing defeatedly, she paid you and sent you on your way. Plopping down at her kitchen counter and staring at her Starbucks drinks chilling in the tray in front of her. Damn, has her game been that bad lately? Miko wanted to bury herself in her hands in pity. In front of a pretty girl too…

She set her head against the cool countertop and thought about how she could woo you over to make you hers. Her drinks long forgotten about as they melted under the fiery blaze of her longing for you.

‘Looks like I’ll be ordering from home more often…’

RAIDEN EI

Since Ei can’t cook at all, takeout and delivery is basically all she eats. She’s a frequent customer of pretty much every fast food chain you could think of, yet the one chain she orders from the most is a certain bakery she loves for their sweets.

Most often than not, the delivery drivers for that certain bakery have all delivered to Ei’s place a numerous amount of times. However, since you were a new hire, this was the first time you’d be delivering to the well-known customer, and boy was it rough.

To put it short, you got lost.

Ei was getting impatient as she had ordered her boba and sweets over half an hour ago. What was the delivery driver doing? She was getting hungrier by the minute and her craving for sweets got much stronger with each passing minute. The moment the doorbell rang, Ei ran like lightning. Nearly tripping over a couch cushion as she stumbled to reach the doorknob in time.

‘Finally! I can see the person responsible for delaying me of my desserts–’ Ei flinched when she was greeted with a young woman breathing heavily while holding up a box of her delicious freshly-baked desserts. The smell wafted up to her nose and instantly calmed her down as she took in the appearance of the disheveled woman. Who, despite being completely out of breath, had a very pretty voice Ei noted.

“Your…Your order…miss…” you wheezed weakly. Clutching your stomach and presenting the box of goodies like it was the head of a monster you had just slayed. “Sorry for the delay. I got a little lost around the…the neighborhood.”

Your arms shook and Ei took it as a sign to grab the box before you could drop it. Watching as you picked yourself up painfully and analyzing your features as she had realized that she had never seen you before from the bakery.

‘So they hired a new girl to deliver to my house…’ Ei let her eyes wander across your face and took note of how oddly cute you were despite being all hot and sweaty. ‘Very pretty. Though punctuality is not her forte…’

“You were awfully late still.” Ei spoke bluntly.

“I know. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell my boss!” You winced.

“I won’t.” Ei murmured, grabbing the hilt of your chin and tilting it upwards to make you face her. “I quite like having you deliver to me, so I want you to keep your job.”

Unintentionally, the loser Raiden Ei had made you blush. Who would’ve thought?

“I-I…erm…” Ei watched as you fumbled over your words, heat radiating from your cheeks as she still hadn’t let go of your chin.

‘Not good with words either.’ Ei noted, ‘And her face is all warm. She really must be out of breath…’

“I will go grab my wallet,” she murmured quietly, letting go of your chin to go back inside the house. “I will be ordering from the bakery a plentiful amount of times. Expect to memorize my route by then, understood?”

“Yes ma’am…”

“Good.”

And as Ei sent you off with the bill and your tip, she sat back in her kitchen and pulled out a pastry from the box. Chewing on a mouthful and letting her thoughts drift to you once more. Thoughts wandering as a blush suddenly spread across her face.

‘Is it just me…or are these desserts even sweeter than before…’

#mod angel 🎐#hu tao x reader #yae miko x reader #raiden ei x reader #hu tao x you #yae miko x you #raiden ei x you #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin fluff

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im-his-druidess · 8 months

Note

Listen ok this might be a bit weird lol but omg

Thomas and any other slashers you'd like to write for this with a reader who has an oral fixation. And this doesn't even have to be sexual. Slasher notices that she's almost always nibbling, biting, sucking her fingers, jewelry, etc.

Are the slashers curious? Do they want her to suck on their fingers? Are they worried about the cleanliness? I've always had this little idea in the back of my mind lol

Definitely an interesting thought...

Bo Sinclair

His mind would immediately be in the gutter. He would catch on pretty quick and would gladly offer his...services. Would find great enjoyment in just watching you mouth at whatever is closest to you. Finds it erotic and slightly endearing (Although he would never admit that part out loud...unless it's to tease you)

Vincent Sinclair

Would be more curious than Bo, but his mind would also eventually go to what else he could put in your mouth. (I fully believe he is a touch-starved sex fiend and nothing will change my mind) Would spend more time staring at you as you nibble/suck/chew on whatever you find and he more than likely has a few sketches of you doing so.

Michael Myers

Doesn't seem to care, but some items he will rip out of your mouth because he deems it "unsafe". Will absolutely randomly shove his fingers inside your mouth curiously before getting riled up and shoving you to your knees while pawing at his pants.

Otis Driftwood

Absolutely makes fun of you. Calls you names, some are pretty creative, before offering to give you something to keep your mouth busy. Anytime he sees you start to nibble or suck on random things he's immediately palming himself through his pants and dragging you closer. Is perhaps trying to condition you to seek him out when you want something in your mouth.

Luigi Largo

Secretly finds it endearing, but will gut anybody who hears him say it. Will buy you whatever fidget toys you want, numerous necklaces that you can safely put in your mouth, and will threaten Pavi when he starts making lewd comments. Although it does give him some ideas...

Thomas Hewitt

Is transfixed almost immediately by this habit of yours. Will poke at your lips or cheek when you spend a while gnawing on something, prompting you to give your mouth a break, and he will make all sorts of racket and threatening rumbles if Hoyt (or anyone else) says something inappropriate. Will awkwardly but earnestly massage your jaw if you complain about it being sore. Just finds it fascinating.

Brahms Heelshire

Is curious about your habit and will even try to chastise you for putting random things in your mouth. Chewing on your necklaces isn't "ladylike" and he will pout about it before you explain to him that it's something you really can't control. He then will start finding random things to gift you that you could use instead and will stare at you the entire time. Mind definitely goes to the gutter and he will eventually start shoving his fingers in your mouth hopefully.

Jason Voorhees

Is at a loss on what to do or act. Will snatch things away from you if he thinks it's dangerous or dirty, will stare at you for an almost uncomfortable amount of time, but will ultimately try to find things for you to keep you distracted that he deems "safe". His mind does go into the gutter but he won't act on his urges out of shame or embarrassment. Will bring you items from his victims to see if it's something that will help you. Will pat your head or nudge your shoulder if he finds you doing it without thought.

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bellaxgiornata · 10 months

Text

All These Years [Part 11: "Last to Know"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 6.9k

a/n: This is another longer installment that brings us through season 3 (I'm planning a different angsty fic to really focus on season 3) and begins to bring us closer to the end of angst...but we're not quite there yet. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine @harperdoodle @hollandorks

Sitting across the table from Foggy and Karen, you drew your steaming latte to your lips for a drink. You were partially listening to Karen discuss the new article she was working on for the Bulletin, the newspaper she'd inevitably started working for shortly after Matt had disappeared and Foggy had disbanded their law firm. He had taken a job over at Hogarth, Chao, & Benowitz so he could continue to pay his bills, unable to continue to afford to work at Nelson and Murdock with the other half gone. You had recently thrown yourself into your own work over the last few weeks, gaining a new position with a pay raise and the ability to work from home for your company. Which had proven too convenient because you usually rolled right out of bed and stayed in your pajamas all day, showering after work just to throw on another pair of pajamas.

It had been almost two weeks since you'd stopped going to Clinton Church now, too. You barely left your apartment anymore since you didn’t need to leave for work. Oftentimes you lost track of time and had been clocking in hours and hours of overtime at your computer. You’d had nothing else going on and you didn't want to think, so you’d found yourself hyperfocused on coding. Your boss had certainly been praising your initiative.

This morning was actually the first time you’d left your apartment in days. You hadn’t even left for groceries, having ordered them and had them delivered to your apartment a few days ago for convenience. Foggy and Karen had been worried about you, frequently telling you as much over texts lately. Which was why you'd eventually caved and met them for coffee this morning. But if you were being honest, you weren't mentally fully present with them.

Your attention had shifted outside the window as Karen continued on with her animated conversation, Foggy just as enthusiastic as she was with whatever they’d been talking about. You’d unintentionally lost your focus as you often did outside of work lately, your eyes absently lingering on the place outside the window just above Karen’s shoulder. The sidewalk outside the coffee shop was busy with the usual Saturday morning foot traffic and you blankly watched as a multitude of colors swam by. You weren’t sure how long you’d sat staring out the window like that before you realized Karen was snapping her fingers in front of your face. Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daze and focused back on her and Foggy. Worry was written clear across both of their faces as they stared back at you.

"What?" you asked.

"I was trying to ask you how you liked your new position," Karen said. "I asked you like four times now."

"Sorry, I uh, I was distracted," you replied, sitting up straighter in your chair as both of your hands wrapped around your warm coffee cup. "It's good. It's going good. Working at home is–is good."

Foggy leaned across the table towards you, concern still clear in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked gently. "Because you've been distant ever since…"

"I'm fine," you answered automatically, forcing a smile onto your face.

Foggy and Karen turned and exchanged a look with each other for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you watched. The strained smile on your face was quickly growing uncomfortable. When Foggy focused back on you, he shook his head slowly.

"No," he disagreed, "you're not. You haven't been fine for a long time. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," you replied defensively.

From across the table, Karen sent you a sympathetic look. You knew the one. You'd seen it plenty of times now.

"It's because of what's been popping up in the news, isn't it?" she asked. "The little rumors."

Your head tilted to the side as you eyed her curiously. "What little rumors?" you asked back.

Karen's gaze flickered to Foggy before it returned to you. Her fingers began drumming on her coffee cup nervously.

"About the man in black?" she said, voice lowered.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your back straightening further in the chair. Hope filled you instantly as your eyes searched Karen’s face for answers.

"Matt?" you whispered.

She opened her mouth to speak but Foggy raised a hand, waving it firmly in the air between the pair of you. The gesture instantly cut her off before she'd even begun.

"It's not Matt," Foggy stated sharply. "Hell’s Kitchen has become ground zero for all kinds of copycat vigilantes lately. It's not him, so don't go giving her false hope, Karen."

Your eyes further narrowed at Foggy. "How do you know it's not him?" you challenged.

Foggy’s expression softened, a hand running across his forehead. "Because," he answered softly, "if it was Matt, he'd have reached out. Told us he was alive. You know he would. It's been just over a couple of months now, he's had plenty of time to reach out to tell us he survived Midland Circle and he hasn't." He sighed deeply, shaking his head at you. "You need to accept it. He's gone."

"Foggy," Karen gently reprimanded, "that's not–"

"No," Foggy countered firmly, his focus shifting to Karen. "She needs to hear this. She needs to accept it and stop doing what she's been doing to herself! And whatever this bullshit in the news is–it's not Matt." Foggy’s attention returned to you, his eyes pleading. "You have to let this go. You need to accept the fact that Matt–” Foggy winced, “–he's dead.”

Your throat felt like it was closing up, tears welling in your eyes. How could Foggy just accept that as fact so easily? How could he just give up on Matt like that? He had been both of your best friends for so long. Wasn’t there any part of him that had hope?

“Foggy, that’s a little harsh,” Karen chastised. “You’re being really unsympathetic here.”

Foggy shook his head, once again rounding on Karen. “She’s been denying the facts for almost three months now!” he exclaimed. “And look at how she’s been doing! She’s clearly not handling it alright. It looks like she’s barely sleeping and taking care of herself. Every time we see her she’s barely present. And she’s been paying for his apartment for months now!”

His head spun in your direction, startling you at the abruptness. Your lips were quivering as you sat there, feeling like you were about to break down in the middle of the coffee shop with everything he was saying.

“You can't keep paying for his apartment and holding onto his things. It's not good for you," Foggy stated sharply. “It’s not sustainable for you to pay for two rents, either. You need to let this go!”

“Foggy–”

“ No !” Foggy growled at Karen. “I’ve already lost Matt, I’m not losing her, too!”

Sniffling loudly, you swiftly rose from the table and wiped the back of your hand across your tear stained cheeks. Both Foggy and Karen’s attention shifted to you instantly. Karen mouthed an apology as Foggy’s face fell beside her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” you croaked out.

Ignoring Foggy’s pleas to stay, you quickly turned and left the coffee shop with your coffee clutched between both hands. You did your best to duck your head, trying to hide your face as you silently cried the entire walk back to your apartment.

What a shitty past few days it had been.

While Matt had been out last night, he'd been stopped in his tracks the moment he realized his hearing had fully come back to him. He could hear the sirens of ambulances approaching where he’d just stepped out onto the street, the sounds of the city around him, the buzz of a neon sign nearby, and the commotion in front of the hospital he’d just exited. He had been stunned, a wave of gratefulness washing over him in that very moment because he could fully hear again . But what were the first words he’d heard in the commotion around him when God had finally decided to restore his hearing?

The FBI had let Wilson Fisk out of prison.

Could God have been laughing at him any more than he already had been? What a fucking cruel joke to restore his hearing just in time for him to hear that Fisk had been released. Matt had been furious . Even more furious at God than he had been lately. But despite his rage since that moment, he knew there was something he needed to do tonight.

If Fisk was free from prison, in any capacity, he knew he’d be seeking revenge on himself, Foggy, and Karen for having put him away. And while Matt Murdock was safe from his vengeance because he was supposed to be dead, Foggy wasn’t. And neither was Karen.

Which was why Matt had donned his winter coat, the baseball cap, and some sunglasses before making the long trek to the bar he knew Foggy frequented near his new place of work outside of Hell’s Kitchen. Despite wanting to have his friends continue to think he was dead, knowing it was safer for them, Matt had admittedly kept tabs on Foggy on and off for weeks now. He didn't let himself ponder the reasoning, though.

But it had only been Foggy he’d checked in on. He couldn’t bring himself to see what you were getting up to. He’d known you’d stopped visiting Clinton Church not too long ago. The last few times you’d visited he’d heard you from the church basement. You would always end up softly sobbing to yourself before you left. And each time you had, Matt had curled up on the basement floor just beneath the pew you’d been sitting in, just to feel some semblance of being near you again, and he cried with you. When night had fallen those nights, he’d immediately gone out as the man in the mask and let the Devil take over, not wanting to feel anything.

But he hadn’t gone anywhere near your apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to.

And now he was standing outside the bar Foggy was sitting inside at this exact moment. Matt could tell Foggy was upset by how much he’d already had to drink, having known the amount because he’d been standing outside in the alley from the moment Foggy had first showed up and stepped inside. He’d been struggling to get up the nerve to go inside and talk to him, to warn Foggy about staying away from Fisk and letting him deal with things. Because clearly the law wasn’t going to achieve anything on its own at keeping Fisk where he belonged, so it was up to Matt to make things right.

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy going inside and talking to him, though. Just standing in the alley and knowing he was about to go in there and reveal to Foggy that he wasn’t dead, that he’d been lying and would need Foggy to yet again lie for him–to people both Matt and Foggy cared about– hurt .

Matt needed to keep his distance to keep you all safe, though–now more than before. Fisk was dangerous, and he was certainly going to come after Foggy and Karen, so Matt needed to make sure both of them stayed out of Fisk’s way. He certainly didn’t need Karen to go chasing after him as the reporter she’d become and further put herself on Wilson Fisk’s radar. She didn’t need to end up like Ben Urich. And he didn’t want Foggy going after Blake Tower for signing off on the FBI’s decision to release Fisk for information–that would certainly garner Fisk’s attention.

But you–Fisk didn’t know about you. You weren’t a part of Nelson and Murdock. Fisk had no reason to know about you, which meant you needed to stay far away from Matt and the Devil so your name would never cross Fisk’s lips.

Which was why he could only go to Foggy. He knew he’d keep the secret in order to keep his friends safe, even if he would absolutely hate Matt for asking that of him.

And he also needed to steal Foggy’s wallet for his New York State Bar Association license for what he planned to do tomorrow.

With a sigh, he pushed off of the wall and forced himself to turn the corner and enter the bar. It wasn’t very busy for a Tuesday evening, so Matt easily made his way over near where Foggy was drinking at the counter. He paused when he was just a few feet behind him, nerves twisting in his gut. Foggy was entirely oblivious to Matt’s presence, though, still swirling the alcohol in his glass absently. Squaring his shoulders, Matt steeled himself for the emotional pain that he was about to inflict on both Foggy and himself.

“Fog,” he called out softly.

Matt heard the way Foggy’s head slowly turned towards him, his brows having drawn together in confusion. For a moment Foggy just stared at Matt in perplexed silence. Matt could practically hear the moment when Foggy realized who was standing before him in his slightly intoxicated state.

“This isn’t real,” Foggy said. "You're not really here."

Matt’s teeth ground together as he gave a single nod at him. “It’s real,” he said softly.

He could hear the way Foggy’s lips drew into a big smile, the only one that had been on his face in the hour that Matt had been standing outside. The bar stool Foggy had been sitting in slid back on the floor as Matt heard Foggy rise to his feet just moments before he felt his friend embrace him in a tight hug. Instinctively Matt’s hands flew up, hugging Foggy in return. He could smell the salt of his unshed tears in the air.

“Hey, Fog,” he greeted quietly.

“How?” Foggy asked in disbelief, still clutching Matt tight. “Where? We thought you were dead!”

Foggy abruptly pulled away from Matt, clearly taking a moment to scan him over. Matt’s hands returned to his cane, fidgeting nervously with it as he practically felt Foggy’s eyes roving him. Seconds later, Foggy said your name and Matt’s heart felt like it shattered instantly.

“Does she know you’re alive?" he asked. "Does Karen?”

Pressing his lips tight together to keep from crying, Matt reached a hand out and gently grabbed Foggy’s shoulder.

“Take a seat, Fog,” he ordered.

Foggy did as directed, returning to the bar stool he’d just been seated at. Matt slowly lowered into a stool near him. He braced himself for what he was about to have to say and do now.

“I’m not back,” Matt told him firmly.

Matt heard the smile once again spread across Foggy’s face and the joking tone when he spoke next.

“Well I know I’m not drunk enough to be hallucinating quite yet,” Foggy teased.

Matt shook his head once. “I’m not back,” he repeated. “Matt Murdock isn’t going to be a part of me anymore. I’m…leaving him behind. He isn’t who I am.”

The smile quickly fell from Foggy’s face. “What?” he asked.

Swallowing hard, Matt tried to keep the waver and emotion out of his voice. “The only reason I came here was to warn you and Karen about Fisk now that he’s out. You’re both in danger.”

“Dude–”

“I’m going after him, Foggy,” Matt continued briskly, cutting him off. “I’m going to bring Fisk down. But I can only do that if I know that you and Karen are safe.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Foggy said, waving a hand. “I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re here. Alive .”

“I know that you and Karen are going to want to get involved,” Matt told him, his foot tapping lightly on the bar floor. He needed to get out of here soon before he lost his resolve. “To try to fight him in some way, but I’m telling you that I need you both to stay out of it and leave it to me.”

There was a brief pause after his words. Matt heard the way Foggy slowly shook his head in response.

“No,” Foggy told him.

“No?” Matt asked in disbelief.

“No,” Foggy replied more forcefully. “You don’t get to show up after months of me–all of us–thinking you’re dead, say something like that to me, and then just–just expect me to be cool with it. You’re my best friend , asshole!”

Matt’s heart tightened in his chest at the hurt in his best friend’s voice. Foggy’s words stung despite how much Matt knew he deserved them–truthfully he deserved a bigger verbal lashing. But he needed to end this and get out of here. Now.

“I was wrong to become your friend, Foggy,” Matt told him, ignoring the way his own heart beat irregularly at the lie as it left his lips. In time he'd make himself believe it. “I put you in danger and it was selfish of me. While I can’t change the past, I can stop making the same mistake. We’re done, buddy,” Matt said, quickly rising from the bar stool. “It’s over.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Foggy snapped, his voice cracking.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt agreed, once again fighting the emotion from creeping into his words. "Just stay clear of Fisk. Tell Karen to do the same," he ordered. "And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her you saw me.”

Matt turned to go, desperate to get away and attempt to control his own emotions. He felt close to tears himself and was grateful for the sunglasses hiding his eyes. He managed two steps before he heard Foggy once again call your name after him. Matt winced at the sound of it, his feet inevitably coming to a stop as his back remained turned to Foggy.

“What about her, huh?” Foggy asked. “You know she’s been a mess since you’ve been gone? She refuses to believe you’re dead, Matt. Am I just supposed to let her continue thinking that now that I know it’s a lie?”

Behind the sunglasses, Matt’s eyes clamped shut. He felt a tear escape and he tried to hide wiping it away as he ran a hand over his mouth. Exhaling a shuddering breath, he tried to keep his voice steady when he answered.

“Yes,” Matt replied, voice softer. “She can’t know.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Foggy roared at his back. “You’re going to do that to her? Make me do that to her?”

Matt sighed, shaking his head but still refusing to turn around. “Fog, she can’t–”

“She’s paying your fucking rent, man,” Foggy spat bitterly. “For months now she’s been paying it. She thinks you’re still out there. Alive. That you’re too injured to find a way to reach out and that’s why it’s been months of us not hearing from you. But no,” he continued, anger clear in his voice, “you’ve been intentionally letting us think you’re dead all of this time.”

Matt couldn’t speak, his throat feeling like it was closing up on him. His hands gripped his cane even tighter. You were paying his rent?

“Why?” he managed, the word breaking.

“Why?” Foggy repeated in disbelief. “Because she cares about you, you idiot! She misses you! You’re one of her absolute best friends, man. She doesn’t want to believe you’re gone.”

Matt tried to swallow but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his own mouth, the gesture feeling near impossible. Fuck, he didn’t want to do this to you. He really didn’t. But he didn’t have a choice, he needed to keep you away from himself to keep you safe from Fisk. From whoever it was that came after Fisk if Matt survived this. It was for your own good.

“Tell her to stop paying for the rent,” Matt told him.

“ I have ,” Foggy ground out. “And you know what she did? She ran home crying and hasn’t answered my calls in days because of it.”

A grimace pulled at Matt’s face. Why were you holding on so tight to him like this? Why couldn’t you just let him go? He wasn’t that great of a friend. He was nothing special. Why couldn’t you just mourn him and move on?

“She–she can’t know,” Matt repeated. “She’ll find some way to get involved or Fisk will figure out she’s close to us and she’ll get hurt. Right now, Fisk doesn’t know who she is, Fog. She can’t know I’m alive.”

“So that’s it?” Foggy asked defeatedly. “I just continue to lie to her for you?”

Matt felt like he couldn’t stay here any longer, he could feel the dam holding his own emotions in check about to burst. He wanted to turn back around and embrace Fog, to apologize and tell him he was wrong for everything he’d done since Midland. He wanted to run to your apartment and beg your forgiveness on his knees for making you think he was dead. To feel you wrap him in your arms and tell him everything was okay and that you forgave him.

But that couldn’t happen.

“I–I have to go,” Matt muttered.

Without further hesitation, Matt made his way out of the bar, ignoring the way Foggy was shouting his name after him. He hurried down the alley he’d initially been hiding in, pausing at the end of it when he didn’t hear Foggy pursuing him.

Burying his face in his hands, he sank to the dirty ground and broke down in tears.

Opening the door to Matt’s apartment, you stepped inside and were instantly hit with a chill. You shivered as you shut the door behind yourself before bending down and picking up the stack of mail that had been shoved under the door for this week. You frowned when you saw a few more overdue bills. Even with the raise you’d received, you were starting to really struggle under the weight of two rents and all of your own bills.

With a sigh you made your way into the empty apartment, heading straight to the coffee table where you’d neatly organized Matt’s mail in separate piles. Taking a moment, you sorted the mail in your hands into the appropriate stack before you unbuttoned your coat. You slowly slipped it off of yourself before draping it over the arm of Matt’s leather couch.

The emptiness of Matt’s apartment was only further making you feel the weight of loneliness you’d been experiencing lately, your eyes dancing across his sparsely decorated and overly spacious apartment as your eyes watered. Foggy and Karen had been avoiding you lately, always too busy with something to make time for you. They’d been acting strange for the past few weeks and you didn’t understand why. And it had only added to the hurt you'd been experiencing after everything with Matt.

Foggy had suddenly decided to run for District Attorney, which you’d been shocked about but excited for him nevertheless. But he was always claiming he had something to attend and he’d get back with you later. Karen had been saying she was busy with some story she was following, never having time to even chat on the phone. Though recently you'd heard she had been fired after the attack from a fake Daredevil killing people at the Bulletin–and that in itself had further confused you, but both of them had said it was something to do with Fisk and wouldn’t tell you anything more.

You’d been so lonely you’d finally called Adam back up and eventually gotten together with him for drinks last week. He’d been understanding all those months ago when you’d ended things because of Matt’s supposed passing, claiming you just couldn’t focus on a relationship after the unexpected loss of one of your closest friends. Though now it felt like Adam was all you had left.

And Matt’s apartment. Empty as it always was.

You stepped around the leather couch, your fingers running along the red plaid blanket neatly folded over the back of it as you walked. Stomach sinking as your grief once again hit you, you continued your usual tour of Matt’s place, the same as you did when you stopped in every week to collect his mail and check on the bills you needed to pay for him.

You always started in the living room first, pausing to appreciate the obnoxious billboard you’d grown fond of outside of the windows. Then you’d make your way into the kitchen, marveling at how little he actually had in there. Though you supposed it made sense that he hadn’t cooked much with what he spent his evenings doing. Eventually you’d make your way to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway and wondering what it would be like to be standing there in your pajamas in the morning, a cup of coffee in each hand. One for you and one for Matt. Imagining him waking up in his bed, his hair a ruffled mess and a sleepy smile on his face just for you as morning light seeped in through the windows.

Your heart twisted at the thought and you quickly pushed the mental image away, continuing on. You made your way to his closet where his suits were still all neatly hanging, fingers running along the braille tags on each hanger. With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave the room, but your eyes fell on Matt’s dresser. Coming to a stop, you paused as you eyed it for a moment. As if your feet were moving on their own, you made your way over, pulling open one of the drawers. A handful of neatly stacked, neutral colored shirts met your eyes. Fighting back the tears threatening to spill over, you ran a hand over a worn, dark gray tee-shirt on top. It was incredibly soft.

You didn’t know what it was that came over you, but you found yourself pulling the shirt out of his drawer and bringing it up to your nose. It still smelled like him–that clean detergent scent you loved. A choked noise fell out of you as you buried your face further in the material, wishing it was on Matt’s body and not just crumpled between your desperate fingers.

It was a few minutes before you'd managed to regain your composure and collect yourself. But as you closed his dresser drawer, you still held onto the worn tee-shirt in your hands. And even as you slipped your coat back on in the living room before exiting his apartment, locking it up behind you, you never parted with it.

You'd spent so much time going back and forth on whether or not you would attend the mass for Father Lantom’s funeral this afternoon that you'd ended up showing up just as people were milling out of the church afterwards. You'd felt bad for having missed it, even if you'd only had a few conversations with him after Matt's memorial service before you'd stopped going to Clinton Church entirely. From your brief time with Father Lantom, and from what Matt had always said about him, he sounded like an amazing man. What had happened to him–whatever it was that had someone attacking a church –had been absolutely horrible.

But you knew there was a wake being held at Foggy’s family's butcher shop nearby from the announcement you had read in the paper. You hadn't spoken to Foggy or Karen in almost a week now, but you figured you'd end up at least running into one of them there. As you neared the shop, you wondered if they'd continue to ignore you like they'd been doing for weeks now.

Their silence had only opened a new wound for you, causing you even more pain in Matt's absence. You'd ended up growing closer to Adam over the weeks since they’d been avoiding you because of it, often spending a few evenings a week together. He didn't have answers for why your friends had been ghosting you and cutting you out of their life, but he at least offered the much needed comfort you'd been craving for months.

Outside of Nelson's, you spotted a few people lingering on the sidewalk talking in small groups. They were dressed in all black and had clearly just come from the mass for Father Lantom at the church. You slipped around a group outside, offering a soft apology as you reached for the door handle beside them. Pulling it open, you stepped inside and immediately side-stepped out of the way of a couple who sent you friendly smiles. As your eyes scanned the busy shop around you, you eventually spotted Karen and Foggy at a table nearby with drinks in their hands laughing with–

Eyes going wide, you swore your heart entirely stopped beating in your chest. You couldn't breathe. Even your brain felt like it hit reset at the sight before you.

Foggy and Karen had been sitting at the table laughing and having drinks with Matt as if he hadn't been missing and believed dead for the past few months.

Entirely frozen on the spot, all you could do for a moment was stare in shock at Matt laughing at something Karen had said. Mouth dropping open, you watched as all three of them raised their glasses as if in a toast before clinking them together.

That's when the tears came. Watching all three of them sitting there as if they'd known Matt had been alive for longer than five minutes. As if they were celebrating something.

And you'd been entirely left out of whatever it all was.

Heart beating harder in your chest, a small, strangled whimper fell out of you. At the table, Matt's head immediately darted in your direction, the smile falling from his lips as his focus landed on you. Karen and Foggy’s attention soon turned towards you next, curious as to what had caught Matt's attention. Abruptly you turned and pushed the door to the shop open, hurrying out onto the sidewalk.

Throwing a hand over your mouth, you felt the tears steadily falling as you darted away from the building. You ignored the groups of people outside curiously eyeing you as your breath came in fast and sharp. Vaguely you heard Foggy calling your name as you briskly walked down the sidewalk and headed away from Nelson's. Your pace didn't slow as he continued to call after you.

Matt was alive.

Matt was alive .

You had been right. All this time and you'd been right. But why the hell had Karen and Foggy been so adamant about him being dead–wanting you to let him go–when they knew he wasn't? How long had they known and not told you? How long had they known and just continued to let you grieve? To let you keep paying for his apartment? To keep scouring the news about the man in the mask? They’d been telling you it wasn’t Matt despite you noticing the strange fake Daredevil in the news in relation to Fisk’s prison release. They’d made you feel like you’d been going crazy.

And why had Matt not let you know he was alive? Why had he let you continue on thinking he was dead but not Foggy and Karen?

Did you mean so little to him?

Foggy’s voice loudly shouting your name broke through your thoughts and you stopped, spinning on the spot towards him as your tears continued to fall. Foggy caught up to you quickly, his own face filled with guilt and shame. Behind him, you could see Karen escorting Matt, the pair of them rapidly nearing where you'd both come to a stop.

"How long?" you asked Foggy, voice cracking. "How long did you know?"

Foggy winced at the question, his face growing even more solemn. "A few weeks now," he answered softly.

Your eyebrows rose up onto your forehead, eyes once again widening. Mouth opening and closing for a moment, you tried hard to search for words.

"You–you knew?" you breathed out. "You knew for weeks? And you just didn't tell me he wasn't dead?"

"I wanted to!" Foggy replied in a rush. "Believe me, I did! But it wasn't safe for you to know!"

"Are you–" you paused, pinching the bridge of your nose as a multitude of emotions fought to rise to the surface. Anger and relief were fighting at the forefront. "I don't fucking care if it wasn't safe!" you eventually roared at the three of them, Karen and Matt stopping beside Foggy now. "You let me think he was dead for weeks when you knew he wasn't! You both ignored me for weeks!" you yelled, fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. "Left me to grieve the loss of Matt and my friendship with the both of you on top of it!"

"I–"

"No!" you raged at Foggy. "Do you know how much that fucking hurt? To feel like I’d lost all of you? And then I come here and see you all just laughing and having fucking drinks and I'm still in the dark about everything ?"

"We were going to tell you today!" Karen cut in quickly, her voice catching your attention. "We were dealing with Fisk’s release. That was why we knew Matt was back–and he had been a very closed off asshole, too, for the record,” she told you, Matt frowning deeper beside her. “But we were trying to keep Fisk from learning that you were connected to any of us. To keep you safe from him."

"What?" you asked her.

"Fisk wanted revenge," Matt said.

Your eyes flew directly to him. His voice, after months of wondering if you'd ever hear it again, managed to slightly calm you. For a moment your eyes took in the sight of him standing there–something else you’d thought would never happen again. He was wearing one of his nice suits and his usual red glasses, which meant he must have stopped by his apartment at some point. The one you’d been paying the bills for him for. There were a few cuts bandaged along his face and his knuckles looked torn and bruised, but he was alive.

He was alive.

“He tried to kill me when he realized I wasn’t dead,” Matt explained. “Tried even harder when he learned who I was. He was trying to go after Foggy, too–which was why he ran for the D.A. position, to make him more of a public figure. And he went after Karen.”

“The Bulletin?” you asked, eyes darting to Karen. “That was…?”

Karen nodded. “And what happened at Clinton,” she told you.

“It wasn’t safe,” Matt said, taking another step towards you. “I only told Foggy because I wanted him and Karen to let me handle Fisk. But he didn’t listen to me and told Karen.”

“Because she was in danger and needed to know,” Foggy snapped at Matt.

Matt’s mouth twitched at Foggy’s words but he didn’t respond to him. Instead he kept his focus on you as he spoke.

“But you weren’t a part of Nelson and Murdock,” he continued, shaking his head. “Fisk never knew who you were. I wanted to keep it that way. Initially I wanted to let you all think Matt Murdock had died so I could go out and be Daredevil without worrying about putting any of you in any more danger. But…” he trailed off, sighing as his shoulders dropped. “I couldn’t do it. I–I need you all. As my friends. To keep me from losing myself to that other part of myself.”

Wiping the heels of your palms over your cheeks, you tried to wipe away the tears. A few were still falling as you stood there. Admittedly you were still pissed–at all of them. Karen and Foggy for keeping his secret even if it was to keep you safe, and you were pissed at Matt for letting you spend months wondering if he was dead or not.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said softly.

“I’m sorry, too,” Foggy added quickly. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I hated every second of it. You have to know that.”

Swallowing hard, your eyes flew over to Karen when she spoke up.

“I didn’t want to lie to you either,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, too. We really were going to tell you today. After Father Lantom’s wake. We just wanted to make sure the threat of Fisk had passed first.”

“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out,” Matt assured you.

Foggy’s arms raised, opening wide towards you as he shot you a hopeful look. “Can you forgive me, bestie?” he asked. “Hug it out?”

Chewing your lip, you took a step backwards. Collectively all three of their faces dropped at the gesture. Slowly, Foggy’s arms lowered to his sides.

“I just–just need a bit to process this,” you muttered. “I can try to understand why you did it but–but it still hurts.”

Both Foggy and Karen nodded, but between them, Matt’s frown somehow continued to deepen. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, committing the sight of him alive and breathing to your memory before you turned and made your way back down the sidewalk. You wanted to go home and cry before you tried to make sense of all of this. It didn’t help that your body’s reaction was confusing you. You were overjoyed and grateful, but also incredibly pissed and deeply hurt. You wanted to scream at Matt but you also wanted to hug him and never let him go.

You’d barely made it a few steps before something had latched on to your wrist and you froze, head turning to glance down at what it was. Matt’s large and battered hand was encircling it firmly, clearly not about to let you go. Pressing your lips tight together, you tried hard to refrain from crying as your gaze slowly made its way up to his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. After that building fell on me and I somehow still woke up alive…I’d lost almost all of my senses. I was in a dark place. And when my senses came back, Fisk had been released and I found myself in an even darker place.” He sent you a sad, apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to lie to you. Didn’t want you to keep believing I was dead. I swear I didn’t. It was just to keep you safe.”

Your watery gaze tried to focus on Matt’s eyes behind the red lenses. You could feel the tears once again getting ready to spill over in your own eyes.

“I visited Clinton Church every day for weeks after you disappeared, Matt,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” he whispered, that sad smile still on his lips. “I was recovering in the church’s basement that whole time.”

You winced at his words. He’d known? He’d known you’d been there crying over him all this time? Day after day praying he’d come back to you? And he’d been there this whole time? Fresh hurt and anger burned in your veins, another wave of tears spilling out of you.

“You knew that too?” you breathed out. “You were right there and never said anything?”

He nodded slowly, shame and guilt written across his features. As the tears fell yet again, you finally gave in to the mix of emotions fighting inside of you to reach the surface. Your hand slipped out of Matt’s hold before you reached out and pushed against his chest roughly. For a moment he looked taken by surprise at the gesture, but his surprise quickly vanished as he stood there and allowed one of your fists to weakly slam onto his chest.

“Fuck you, Matt,” you cried out in a broken voice. “Fuck you for making me go through that knowing how hard it was on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his own voice breaking.

Your fist slammed onto his chest again. “Fuck you for hurting me like that,” you continued. “For making Foggy and Karen hurt me like that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“How could you?” you wailed. “I thought I mattered to you!”

Matt’s hands were on your shoulders, gripping them firmly as he tried to pull you towards him. You tried to shake him off, struggling against his hold, but he only held on tighter as your fist slammed down onto his chest again, tears endlessly streaming from your eyes.

“You do matter,” he croaked out. “More than you know. You do matter.”

“Fuck you,” you sobbed, your fingers grasping onto the lapels of his suit coat. “Fuck you, Matt.”

Matt’s hands released their hold on you, his arms swiftly wrapping around your shoulders as he drew you into himself. You didn’t fight him this time, burying your face into his dress shirt and tie and letting yourself break down against him. Relief and heartache and love and anger all poured out of you simultaneously as you clung to him, your body shaking with your sobs. Matt had buried his face against the top of your head, clearly crying himself as he clung to you just as tight. You could feel his tears dampening your hair and hear the muffled sounds of his own choked sobs filling your ears.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you begged, shaking your head against his chest. “Don’t make me go through that again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

[END NOTES]

I'm leaving end notes this time because I feel like they're needed (but if you read my fics over on AO3 I always give quite detailed end notes that I don't usually share on tumblr because it's just extra time I don't have trying to get two posts together).

So much happened in this installment though because we practically sprinted through season 3! This fic isn't meant to delve into that season though, but I wanted to include the angst of it in here (don't worry, I have another angsty fic planned for season 3 for another day). Reader was clearly struggling with the loss/absence of Matt for the months he'd been gone in this one. She was also the one paying for his apartment and his bills because she didn't believe he was dead. But she was also the last one to know he was alive--hence the title of this installment! And shit did that hurt when she didn't know why Foggy and Karen were pushing her away for weeks, which only led her back to the attractive vet tech, Adam (in case you didn't catch that). And then she didn't find out Matt was alive until she saw him at Father Lantom's wake at the Nelson's butcher shop. Despite being able to understand why they kept her in the dark, she's still pretty hurt and pissed. Especially at Matt. But clearly, Reader will never stop loving Matt.

I have a couple more angsty things up my sleeves that are getting closer to punching you in the gut next, so be prepared, friends! The angst isn't over even if the confession of feelings draws nearer... I currently don't have a title name to tease for the next installment yet either because this almost 7k beast of an installment took up all my brain space for two days, but I'll share a post about it when I do.

Feel free to scream at me now 🙃

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock #daredevil

399 notes · View notes

vemaro · 3 months

Text

how the tables have turned

Summary: “Are we seriously delaying our day so she can pleasure herself? Have you all lost your damn—”

He’s suddenly being yanked back by his shirt. On instinct, he pulls out a dagger, ready to attack, but Jaheira, the perpetrator, takes out her own and holds it at the ready. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Little Star,” she says cheekily.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav (female Tav)

Word count: ~1800

Notes: Here I am on my day off wanting to write fluff and I end up writing about the whole Haarlep ordeal. That situation is bizarre and uncomfy, but full of so much angst. As per usual, this is written with the context of my AU, so Astarion and Tav aren’t actually together (yet) and this takes place within the context of the game plot. The vampy boy just got back from the ditching the posse in a hissy fit and discovers some disturbing changes.

…

“Rendezvous back here at the Elfsong when we’re all through, got it?” The party converges on the door of their suite, Tav at the lead, but just as it opens, she freezes. A tingle runs down her spine and a flush comes over her cheeks. No no no. Not now. Not again. “Oh no,” she mumbles before shoving her way past her friends and running straight to her bedroom. The door shuts with a resounding thud and a loud silence follows.

Karlach grimaces. “Fucking Haarlep,” she says, spitting the fiend’s name.

Astarion, who was at the back of the group, looks between Tav’s door and the tiefling. “What … was that about?”

No one gives him an immediate answer, but something about their silence feels off. He’s the only one who appears lost. In other words, they know something and they don’t want to tell him. Most likely as payback from when he left their group. Even he has to admit it’s somewhat warranted, but he’s here now, damnit. Then again, it’s been less than 24 hours since he came back.

Gale, unofficial second in command, awkwardly steps into the center of things. “Tav requires a, er, moment of privacy.” He clears his throat. “We should allow her that by going out and doing as she asked of us. Supplies won’t collect themselves.”

Astarion stares at the door. “But is she alright?”

The wizard falls silent once more, pointedly looking down at his boots and clearly done talking. Okay … Astarion can’t tell if he’s more annoyed by the situation or concerned for the person locked in the room. Fine. If they’re not going to provide him any information, he might as well get it from the source.

His expression must’ve given away his intention because Wyll grabs his shoulder before he can move. “Don’t, Astarion. Leave her be.”

“Don’t touch me.” He shrugs off the warlock's hand and continues on his way. Just as he touches the door knob, a noise escapes the room. A moan. A moan? And he knows that moan. He’s made people do it before. This—this can’t be right. He must be delusional. But then there it is again, a sound of ecstasy passing through Tav’s lips. “What in the fucking Nine Hells is going on in there?” he demands out loud.

Gale's face is bright red and he’s white knuckling his quarterstaff. “I told you she needed a moment,” he mutters, eyes pleading. “Now please kindly step away from the door.”

Astarion does move away from the door and gets right in his face. “Are we seriously delaying our day so she can pleasure herself? Have you all lost your damn—”

As frustrated as he is, Astarion is in no mood to fight. Although he has apologized for his dramatic departure, he’s not so naive to believe everyone has entirely forgiven him. He stashes his knife and holds up his hands. “I yield.”

She snaps at the others. “You all have a job to do, don’t you? Shoo.” They all file out slowly, a couple of them tossing a final glance in Tav's direction. Once it’s just the Harper and the vampire, the former gestures signals for him to follow. “Come.”

He grits his teeth, but obeys. Jaheira leads him downstairs into the tavern. It’s still mid morning, so there’s not much business yet, only a handful of people sprinkled across the space. The pair bypass the bar entirely and find an empty table in a secluded corner. She sits down first then nods towards the empty seat. “Sit.”

Astarion doesn’t fancy being told what to do yet again. “Tell me now; are you actually going to explain or should I just walk away?”

In lieu of properly answering, Jaheira lets out a world weary sigh and instead asks, “You are aware that we now possess the Orphic Hanmer, yes?”

He rolls his eyes. Perhaps he should leave. “Yes, I’m aware. How is that relevant to this conversation?”

“You recall where it was being held?”

His patience is wearing thin. “The House of Hope; that devil, Raphael’s, domain. I was told you lot took care of him.”

“Indeed. Raphael was defeated by our hand when we tried to escape with the hammer,” Jaheira says plainly. “However, prior to that battle, there was an incubus, Haarlep. He agreed to help us, but it came with a steep price.”

He reaches for his dagger again. “Is he up there right now?”

She shakes her head. “No, fortunately not.”

“Then what are we even talking about?”

Jaheira has never been one to mince her words, something Astarion respected her for. So it isn’t a good sign if she hesitates before speaking. The elder woman clasps her hands together and rests them on top of the table. Still, she pauses first. “Haarlep gave us a code to a safe and the hammer in exchange for having his way with Tav.”

Astarion feels his stomach drop into the sewers. “What?” He bangs his fists on the table. “Why the hells didn’t you kill him?”

“Honestly, we weren’t around to stop it from happening,” she confesses. “Tav split off from the group at some point and by the time we found her, a deal was struck and the deed was done.”

He points towards the stairs. “That still doesn’t explain whatever that is.”

Again, she hesitates, which is very unsettling. “He is a shapeshifter, much like that bloodthirsty Orin girl. Whenever he uses Tav’s form to seduce someone, she can feel everything with her own body.” The High Harper scowls. “It seems he’s been using it quite frequently.”

Astarion comes to a horrific realization. He covers his face in shame for her and finally drops into the open seat. “So right now, he’s fucking somebody else as her?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. This is too much. This is too familiar. Cazador is dead. Cazador is gone. Astarion stabbed him himself. This isn’t even about him, it’s about her. That stupid, selfless woman. He always warned Tav that her acts of heroism and martyrdom would eventually bite her in the ass one day, but he never thought it would be something like this. This is so much worse. What was she thinking? Jaheira allows him some time to gather his thoughts. When he does, he lets his hands fall away. “And … how often does this happen?”

“If I had to guess, every few days.” She sighs yet again. “You know how she can be though. It could be more. It hasn’t happened during a fight.” There’s an implied yet that hangs heavily in the air.

By now, a few guests have started to trickle in. Their private conversation won’t be so private for much longer. “How is she? Really.”

Jaheira stands. “Well, with an incubus violating her body, a mind flayer invading her mind, and a vampire spawn who wished her dead, how do you think, Little Star?” She doesn’t give him the opportunity to answer. She just walks away and out the front door, leaving him to stew in his thoughts and emotions. Which can be perfectly summed up as what the fucking hells.

It doesn't take too long for the druid to descend the stairs. At the bottom, she scans the room and her eyes connect with a familiar red pair of eyes. For a split second, she breaks into the sunny smile she’s known for, but one look at his expression sours hers. Tav heads for the door.

“Tav!” Astarion scrambles up from the chair and chases her outside. “Wait!”

She does not wait. “They told you.” It’s not even a question.

He catches up and puts himself directly in front of her. “I was going to find out eventually.”

Tav starts stabbing him with her finger in the chest. “Hey, you don’t get to judge me. You weren't there and it was the only way that no one would get hurt and—”

He lets her do it. “Out of everyone here, I have the least right to judge you.”

She laughs, but the sound lacks any humor. “Out of everyone here, you’d have the most right to judge me.”

Astarion frowns at the accusation. “Why would I judge you at all?”

“Because I had a choice, and you didn’t.”

Technically, technically, she’s not wrong, but that doesn’t make this any less fucked up. “I’m not judging you, Tav.” Gods below, is this what it was like for her when she was trying to get him to open up? “Your body is being used in such a dirty, nefarious way against your will, the toll on your mind and body is unfathomable. I’m the only person here who truly understands that.”

“I’m fine.”

Her nonchalance on the subject is pissing him off, but a small voice (that sounds awfully close to hers) reminds him this isn’t about him. “No, you’re not.”

Tav crosses her arms. “You went through this for two hundred years. I’m not going to compare my tendays of discomfort to your literal centuries of torture.”

“By the Gods, Tav, it’s not a bloody pissing contest for trauma!” He wants to grab the druid and shake some sense into her. If the issue at hand was literally anything else, he would. “Whether it’s been happening for a day, a week, a month, or a thousand years, it’s a shit predicament for anyone.”

He notices her fists clenching and unclenching. She’s digging her nails into her palms. “I appreciate the concern, but it’s fine. I’m fine.”

That’s a lie, plain and simple, but he won’t push the subject any further. From his own experience being on the other side of things, specifically during their discussions, it made him dig his heels in the dirt and shut down. Ironic how the tables have turned. “Alright,” he concedes. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m willing to lend an ear.”

Tav closes her eyes, takes a very deep breath, and lets it out very slowly and loudly. When she looks back at him, she seems slightly less frazzled. “Thanks, but I’m—”

“Fine?” he says with a smirk.

She snorts. “I am.”

“Of course you are.”

With an unimpressed eye roll, she pushes him away in jest. “I am, for the millionth time. Now drop it and let’s go. We’re already running behind.”

“Coming, dear.”

As they walk side by side, Astarion can’t help but wonder when he became the emotionally mature one in their friendship. The one attempting to crack open the shell of the other person. Ugh, he fucking hates it. Being the petty and bitter one is much easier. And yet he wants to try to be supportive and open. For her.

The things you do for love, right?

…

Thanks for reading!

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #tav x astarion #tavstarion #tav bg3 #vemaro

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sawturn77 · 3 months

Text

𝑶𝑪𝑬𝑨𝑵 𝑬𝒀𝑬𝑺 (𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

05:

MASTERLIST.

05: what am i to you?

warning: y/n and megumi are awkward asf, nobara is a huge tease and the #1 wingwoman, y/n’s deeply in love and refuses to acknowledge it, kinda ooc megumi?

trap #1

the two of us stood behind nobara and yuji, watching as they competed for everything. who could get the most points, win the most prizes, and get an item from the claw machine before the other. part of me wishes that me and megumi could be that close, but the other part of me wishes me and him weren’t practically 4th wheeling. “ha! you’re such a loser, yuji!” “no way! you cheated! y/n, megumi, beat nobara at the zombie game, please!” the pink haired guy begged. i gave him a helpless look, while megumi just shrugged. before i knew it, a hand came to my back and pushed me towards the claw machines. it didn’t take me long to realize that nobara had pushed both me and megumi. “y/n’s much more interested in the claw machines, idiot! her and megumi should busy themselves with that!” she smirked triumphantly, sending me a wink and a thumbs up. i had no choice but to nod. i began to browse the claw machines as megumi followed suit. none of them really piqued my interest. well, in truth, all of them did, but i didn’t have enough tokens to even attempt at one. i was never very good at claw machines, but the excitement and anticipation that filled my sense as i hoped to get what i wanted was nice. i peer over my shoulder, noticing that megumi was staring at one machine in particular. a…hello kitty claw machine? “you like hello kitty, megumi?” he turns to me, looking a bit embarrassed.

“not really…but you do, right?” my face heats up. of all things, i didn’t think he’d remember something as embarrassing as that. i can just imagine him remembering the posters, figures, and plushes that were in my room when i was just barely a teenager. i mean, i still have the merch. how could i get rid of something so cute. my eyes leave the ground, landing back on his figure. he glances at me, inserting a coin. gosh, i’d never hear the end of it if nobara and yuji found out. im sure my face was beet red the entire time. his slender fingers wrap around the stick. he looks focused, his stormy eyes fixed on a specific plush, and his lips pursed into a frown-wait, why am i thinking of him like that. it’s not like his lips look so soft…i think he might taste like blue raspberry lollipop he had earlier. snapping out of my thoughts, soft material was slowly pushed into my hands, careful not to startle me. they were cute, too cute. the mymelody and kuromi plushes were small, but bigger than my hand. my lips parted, but i couldn’t find it in me to say anything. i looked up at megumi, who was walking away. really?!

————

trap #2

after about thirty minutes, i had softened around megumi, and im sure he had loosened up too. we had played nearly every game, from racing to basketball to shooting games. we did it all. and to think i was overthinking for nothing! all i had to do was say, “maybe we should find something to do until yuji and nobara are ready to go” and it was basically a walk in the park from there! my eyes landed on the one game we hadn’t played yet. another racing game. two motorcycles were stationed in front of the screens, one pink and the other one red. i didn’t know if i should suggest playing that one, since the both of us were already pretty tired. i didn’t get the chance to ask megumi about it before yuji and nobara popped out from somewhere, jumping on the motorcycles and spitting cocky presumptions at each other. “you dare to still challenge me, you fiend!?” “i’ll win this time! prepare to lose, nobara!” the brunette turned towards me and megumi, who were standing behind the pair in embarrassment. “oh, y/n, megumi! i haven’t seen you guys at all! wanna play with us?” “there’s only two motorcycles..” megumi reminded. “well, yeah, but two of us can ride the same one while you two ride another one!” my cheeks came rosy. “the second person doesn’t have a purpose..” “who cares! it’s about teams!” nobara gets behind yuji on the motorcycle with a mischievous grin. why’s she so happy about this?! clutching the plushies that had been in my arms the entire time, i turn to megumi, who was standing behind me. with a sigh, megumi gets on the motorcycle and i follow suit. just when things weren’t as awkward anymore..

“y/n!” nobara whispers my name, wrapping her arms around yuji’s waist and resting her head on his back. she winked at me. i quickly made a ‘x’ with my fingers in response, only for her to hold her fist up to me.

awkwardly, my arms inch around megumi’s waist. he stiffens, but soon relaxes. i rest my head against his back, burying my face in his light cologne. i didn’t want to watch nobara and yuji giggle in my face. i’ll be sure to hit them.

————

and trap #3.

“oh, would you look at that! it’s so dark outside. a lovely lady like y/n should NEVER go home by herself at night.” my eyebrow twitches at her. she’s actually unbelievable.

“i was already planning on taking her home.”

i want to pass out. did i just hear him correctly?! THE megumi fushiguro said he was going to take me home. nobara gives him a quick nod and thumbs up, pushing yuji in the direction of their houses. yuji waves, but then it’s just the two of us again.

TAGLIST: @kasumitenbaz @morgyyyyyyy @fillmeup6969 @maya-maya-56 @sad-darksoul @jinxed-jk @liiwrites @we-loveebony (OPEN)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smau #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro x reader #gojo satoru

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violetarks · 3 months

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Kishibe x afab fiend?

can i get a kiss? and can you make it last forever?

anime: chainsaw man

character: kishibe

summary: unbeknownst to other devil hunters, kishibe was actually the first forced to house a fiend for work.

warnings: afab! reader, she/her pronouns, second person pov, reader is the theft devil, my first request in ages!!, but i dont really like how this turned out ;-;

the first one to find out about you, other than makima for obvious reasons, is kishibe's work partner.

"i just gotta' get something from inside before you go, 'kay?" kishibe says, looking to his work partner quanxi. the woman couldn't be more disinterested at the sight of kishibe's home. it was a simple apartment, on the third floor, with a 'welcome' mat and scratch marks on the key slot. when the door pushes open, kishibe clears his throat. "i'm home!"

quanxi raises a brow, wondering why he was announcing himself. as far as the office knew, he was a single man, and stayed so with the help of (or lack thereof from) quanxi. walking into the kitchen, kishibe puts his things down on the counter, heaving off his heavy overcoat. quanxi stands still beside him, analysing the room. it was well-kept, maybe a little mess here and there. but nothing too bad.

when she hears footsteps, she thinks 'daughter?', but then you round the corner, dressed in one of his hoodies and sleeping boxers. her eyes widen a little as you wipe yours, yawning.

"kishibe? why are you—..." you stop, staring at quanxi, and she the same to you. kishibe leans against the counter, knowing that you two were bound to meet at some point. "who's this?"

"y/n, this is quanxi, my work partner." kishibe says, crossing his arms over his chest, "quanxi, this is y/n, the theft devil."

in a split second, you and quanxi charge at each other, quanxi drawing her blades and you turning your hoodie into a sword by ripping it off your body. kishibe frowns, now knowing his hoodie was no longer his.

"leave this residence!" you shout, jabbing the handle of your sword into her stomach. quanxi blocks, gaining her footing. "don't ever return!"

"you've grown weak, since the last time i saw you." she replies, kicking your side and watching you tumble back a few paces. quanxi knocks you off your feet, getting on top of you and holding her blade to your throat whilst yours was pointed into her stomach.

"alright, stop that." kishibe huffs, clapping his hands. he rests one on quanxi's shoulder. "get off her."

"you're housing this fiend?" quanxi spits, staring down at you. you glare at her, opting to stick out your tongue and thrash a little around her. "does... makima know?"

"surrender your life and i'll make you into a pretty bow!" you scowl, kicking your legs beneath her. she tilts her head at your threats.

"you think i would willingly let the theft devil stay in my home?" kishibe mutters, tugging quanxi up. she brushes the dirt off her as you stand as well, trying to lunge at her when kishibe holds you back. "makima put her under my care a few months ago, since the last host we fought got away from us."

you frown, looking away and tossing your sword into the pile of clothes in the corner. "your partner is a hybrid, kishibe. i can smell the distasteful scent." you huff, tugging on his shirt that you wore, "you devil hunters are the strangest beings on earth, working with your enemies..."

"calm it, y/n." he says, standing in front of you. you roll your eyes, crossing your arms and turning away, marching to the balcony where you throw open the sliding door and lean against the railing. the wind blows the shirt gently and kishibe looks back at quanxi. "she's a bit possessive."

"the theft devil often is." quanxi responds, fixing her jacket, "it seems she's claimed you as hers."

"she's technically mine since she's living under my roof." kishibe defends, hands on his hips.

quanxi looks around the apartment. "it doesn't look like it." she grabs her blade, sheathing it, and walks to the exit. "i'm waiting in the car. do what you must."

as she leaves, shutting the door behind her, kishibe turns to you. you're still sulking, making it known by the way you cross your arms and glare at the buildings in front of you. kishibe walks in your direction, putting his weapons on the counter. he then stands behind you, hands bracing the railing to trap you between it and his chest. you lean further into the railing, almost squishing your ribs in a desperate plea to get away from him.

"you can't fight anyone i bring to this apartment, y/n." he tells you, making you frown.

"why are you bringing others to my home?" you counter, tugging on your collar, "i don't want anything that isn't mine to come here."

"alright, alright." kishibe says, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you into his chest. you squirm, trying to get out, when you feel his lips press a kiss to your neck. you stop moving, shivering at his touch. "i guess you just feel nervous meeting other people."

"hm." you grumble back, hands trapped against your chest as kishibe holds you. he leans back, leaning a chin on your shoulder. "i want her head."

"she won't let you have it." he tells you.

"i'll steal it myself. it's what i'm good for." you claim, remembering her scent. you can identify where she is, sitting in the backseat of the black car out front. you perk up a little, kishibe tilting his head. "she smells of other fiends."

"i never know what quanxi gets up to." kishibe responds, rubbing the back of his head. he pushes himself away from you, watching as you turn to face him. "i have a job to get to. i'll bring home some dinner, got it?"

"okay." you respond, holding his sleeve. he stops and stares at you. "come home soon."

"i will." he says, kissing your forehead, "as soon as possible."

"good." you mutter out, holding him in his place. kishibe lets out a small chuckle, watching as you purse your lips. he then dips towards you and connects lips, giving you the gentle treatment as you eagerly kissed him back.

it had only been a couple of months, but you had managed to gain feelings for kishibe. and with your nature as the theft devil, of course you'd become jealous when you saw something that wasn't yours. kishibe had assumed it was your power at work, but slowly began to warm up to your attitudes and eventually reciprocated them.

he didn't know whether makima had planned this to make sure he was always on the public safety division's side, as you were technically 'property' of makima and she could do whatever she pleased with you, or if makima had no idea of your feelings. but kishibe knew for sure that he wanted you all to himself as you wanted him.

the second group to meet you is a young himeno, who knocks on kishibe's apartment door in hopes of getting him to help her track down another fragment of the gun devil. but it's early in the morning and you're in the kitchen trying to make your own breakfast since kishibe came home late last night.

"he better answer... if he gets mad, he can argue with makima, she sent me here." himeno sighs, placing a hand on her hip. she begins to knock again. "kishibe! open up! c'mon, this won't take long!"

the door swings open and you chuck out your hand straight away, trying to grasp at himeno. your vision focuses on her, and you watch as she pulls away quickly, her widening her eyes and attempting to push your hand away.

you fail to make himeno one of your possessions, making you dodge her punch and step back into the apartment.

"a fiend? who the hell are you?" himeno mutters, fixing her collar. she steps forward with caution, not knowing if you were dangerous enough to call upon her contract. "i'm pretty sure this is kishibe's apartment."

"leave now." you say, backing up into the living room. your hands held up, ready to fight, tugging on the collar of your (kishibe's) shirt. "or i'll make you my own."

"oh?" himeno giggles, tilting her head at you, "that's sweet of you."

you rush forward, swiping your glass of water on the table and turning it into a clear dagger. you dash at her, ducking under himeno's punch to push her against the closed door, bringing an arm up to strike her in her shoulder. but himeno is quick to react, side-stepping and hooking her arm around your elbow and yanking you down to the ground.

the impact shakes the table beside you that holds kishibe's keys, rattling in the plate. as himeno readies another attack, you roll out of the way and kick her in her stomach, making her land against the door. you turn your dagger in your hand, reeling back and launching it towards her head. himeno, quick to think, ducks down to dodge. the dagger strikes the wooden door, half of it sticking through.

"it's too early for this..." himeno groans, tilting her head at you with a huff.

before you can charge again, kishibe enters in nothing but his sleeping shorts, covering his mouth with a yawn. "mornin', sweetheart. what's for breakfast?" he questions, walking directly to you and unknowingly ignoring the other woman.

"morning..." you drop your act, reaching out and grabbing his arm as he leans forward to land a kiss on your cheek. he wraps a loose arm around your shoulders, making you walk towards the kitchen where himeno stood, confused. "i was thinkin' we go out for lunch. as long as i can see you, it shouldn't be a problem."

"um... kishibe?" himeno says, blinking at the sight of her coworker and a stranger/fiend so close. "what is going on?"

the man almost looks annoyed, but he wipes his face and sighs loudly, "what are you doing here?"

"makima sent me to discuss the gun devil shard that has popped up around here." himeno speaks, watching as kishibe grabs some sweatpants from the folded laundry on the couch and puts them on, "she said you may have some intel."

"well i don't know jackshit about that, so you've wasted your time." he calls, opening the fridge and taking out two eggs. he saw your bowl of cereal on the counter and placed it in front of you with a spoon, watching you begin to eat with your eyes on the two strangers. "i see you've met y/n."

"that fiend?" himeno scoffs, crossing her arms as she watches you eat your breakfast. aki's eye twitched at how familiar you sat in the room of devil hunters. "how long has she been under your watch?"

"probably around half a year now. surprised nobody else has noticed, to be honest." kishibe says, watching as you sit in silence now, "you two should become friends."

"fuck off." himeno grunts, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

"no way!" you shout, slamming your half-empty bowl on the bench.

"fine." kishibe responds, shrugging his shoulders. he waits until you return to eating to speak to himeno. "you should get goin'."

"right..." she sighs, collecting herself, "you stay safe, kishibe."

"you too." he says, watching as she leaves the apartment. he then lets out a breath, ruffling your hair. "c'mon, y/n. you can't keep doin' that every time someone comes in, got it?"

"whatever!" you call, pushing his hand away, "stop bringing random people in here!"

your complaints are common, but kishibe can't help that. he only nods, like always, and kisses the side of your head.

"alright, sweetheart. i won't." he chuckles, sitting beside you.

he hears about the next time he goes into work. makima asks him to keep the secret of you quieter, even though she was the one who sent himeno to his place knowing full well you were there. he begrudgingly agrees.

he listens because he would rather die than lose you. there's no way he'd let you land in the hands of makima...

you stole his heart. and he knew you had no intention of giving it back or sharing.

#kishibe #kishibe x reader #chainsaw man #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man kishibe #chainsaw man kishibe x reader #csm #csm x reader

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whatdoyoumeanitsnotcanon · 1 year

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JUST MALE WIFE GHOSTLY THINGS

You find out that Shadow is his lock screen wallpaper. An incredibly minor conflict of epic proportions ensues. ("When did you change your lock screen?" "What?" "Why. Is. Shadow. Your. Lockscreen?" "...Fucking hell, are you jealous?" "...No..." "...Sure thing.")

Hearing the deep timbre of one of his rare chuckles as Shadow holds him hostage to prevent him from leaving the house, especially if he's on assignment. Atta girl, Shadow.

Him knowing the lines of your favorite movie word-for-word because you always make him watch it with you when you're not feeling your best.

Simon having a sweet tooth bigger than yours. And yours is big. You poke fun at him and he shrugs. You usually buy two pints of ice cream because he can eat one by himself. He is a chocolate fiend so anything with chocolate is *chef's kiss*. 😘

The look of resignation and pride on his face when he finds out you have him listed as Wifey ❤️ in your phone. ("Because you are." "..........")

Knowing the lines of his favorite movie word for word. Hell, just knowing he has a favorite movie. ("I didn't know you liked—" "Not. One. Fucking. Word." "Heh.")

He's a cuddle bug through and through. You thought it was all you until you decided to test your theory one night. You purposefully slept as far away from him in the bed as possible. The next morning you awoke and he was asleep on top of you because fuck that, you will not run away from his cuddles.

Getting Shadow a sibling because she needs someone else to wreck shit with. You're surprised that he even suggested it but you're all for it. ("Good. And they'll keep her occupied." "Sure you're not jealous?" "NO.") You expect something like a Doberman or German Shepard. Nope. He surprises you both with a cream long-haired miniature Dachshund puppy named Blondie and surprise, surprise, you're now competing with the damn dog (he's so damn cute, too) for his attention.

He nearly choked on his drink when you first used a pet name on him. You usually call him gorgeous, babycakes, baby boy, handsome, or some derivative of the names listed. If it's cute, it suits. Ghost denies that he's giddy like a schoolgirl when you use them. But he is. You know it, he knows it, and Soap and Price secretly know it.

Him secretly being a fan of your self-care routine after you made him participate by wearing a clay mask and relaxing the day away. May or may not have dozed off with his mask on. You also may or may not have taken a picture of him (Spoiler alert: you did).

His stare of abject disappointment when he finds out you started a show without him. Good luck getting him to watch those shitty romcoms with you next time.

Finding out he whines softly when you scratch his scalp. Oh? You tried again for good measure. Yep, he whined. No, Ghost will not admit to it. Yes, continued poking and prodding nets you a shut-up kiss that turns into a shut-up makeout session.

#ghost x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon 'ghost' riley #just ghostly things.

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beabeemu · 10 months

Text

All This Time Pt. 2

Itoshi Rin x Reader

SERIES!!!: Part 2 of All this time

Pt. 1 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt.5 Pt. 6

Uncle Osamu!! (From Haikyuu) Summary: After getting pregnant by Rin at the age of 16, deciding that not telling him about is the best thing you could do for him. Considering his soccer career, you would only get in the way I always imagined their red hair, the same shade as taylor swift from the all-too-well short film. It's such a beautiful shade!!! Rei's hair is also like that.

MASTER LIST; Taglist Form

join my Tag list so that you can be updated when the next part comes out!!!

“Mama! My teacher said to give you this” She handed me a flyer that said “Family day! Bring your family over for a planned picnic at kitsune park!! With games and a special program prepared by…”

It said more stuff on the bottom but I didn’t bother reading it because… well it wasn’t THAT important. But it did say it was a potluck kind of event, so we had to bring something.

“This looks fun! Right, rei?”

“Yeah!! I’m so excited!! I can’t wait!!”

“Well, that’s great!! What food do you wanna bring??”

“Can we please bring dango???”

“Ehh, We need to bring something that other families can eat during lunch love, dango wouldn’t be enough. But we can bring a dango if that’s what you want, we just need something more.”

“What about onigiri mama??? We can have Uncle Miya make them!!”

“That wouldn’t be bad, he does owe me some money. Ok! Then it’s settled, we’ll have uncle osamu make onigiri”

“Good afternoon everyone!! We would like to announce the opening of our (blah blah blah blah)

Now for everyone who brought food, please be guided to our long table over there”

He pointed towards the long ass table to the side, then the parents started making their move to get a good space, Rei and I had already laid our picnic blanket on the ground so I told her to stay there while I put the onigiri’s that Osamu made on the table.

“Oh! Hello Y/n! What do you have there? Onigiri? How cute!”

I looked at the woman beside me, she was smiling on the outside but I know all too well that it was all fake, ever since they found out that I got pregnant at 16, they’ve been making me feel like a goddamn fiend ever since. Just because I look pretty even after having a kid and you don’t doesn’t mean that you get to talk shit about me behind my back.

“Yeah! And I see you have some gyoza. How… cute”

I purposely made my voice sound like I was mocking her and she just smiled, obviously annoyed. I just turned my back and continued putting out the onigiri.

Then they started their programs, they had some kids from an upper grade perform. They played games and stuff. I took a lot of pictures of my cute af daughter.

After 2 hours, they told us that it was time for lunch. I held Rei’s hand as we made our way to the food table. She pointed out what she wanted to eat, and I was just holding her plate taking whatever she was telling me to get.

“I want that ma! And that too!! Get some dango too Mom!”

“Ok ok, jeez, we can go back for seconds you know?”

“Ehh, but it might all get eaten by then” she pouted at my suggestion, I just sighed and we continued walking down the table. Our onigiri was second to the last of the row, as we reached the end, I was already holding 2 plates of food.

“Ok, is this enough rei?”

“Yup!”

“Ok, then grab us some juice over there, and I’ll meet you back to our spot ok?”

“Ok, mama!”

I watch her run off to the drinks station, and as I was about to leave, I heard the moms behind me talk.

“Ooh! Onigiri, nice!! And they're made by that miya guy too!!”

I saw in my periphery as the woman was about to get an onigiri, the same mom from before stopped her.

“Don’t!! Those were brought by y/n. She’s related to the guy who owns that restaurant (Osamu)”

The woman stopped by the mention of my name, and her stare of excitement and pure delight was replaced by disgust and an annoyed look shadowed her whole face.

“Ugh? That sucks, I was hoping to have some onigiri, but if it’s brought by her? nevermind”

“Right?? I was looking forward to it too, then Mina told me that it was that whore who brought it in”

The three of them probably didn’t notice me leave because they didn’t stop gossiping about me, I felt hot tears pool in my eyes. I sat down on the blanket and wiped my eyes before Rei could see me cry. I put on my shade so that I could cover my already red eyes.

“Look, mama! I got your favorite!”

Rei handed me the pineapple-flavored drink, I took it and chuckled. No matter how much other people shame me for having her, I would never regret having her. Because she is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Your likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!!

Taglist: @kimura-uzuri, @10-jiku2, @briefparadisewonderland, @junephantom21, @noshitmyfriend, @decoraboix, @pwr3tties, @miyanaranagikenmal-intp, @vitaniangel-blog @coldteameowjesty, @yamikawa-blog7, @sirimiripetrichor

Taglist Form!!

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt.5Pt. 6

#anime #blue lock #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk headcanons #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin drabbles #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin imagines #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #blue lock anime #bllk #Blue Lock

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thecampjuicebox · 4 months

Note

If you're still interested in writing Raphael smut, then what about Tav purposely being a temptress and playing a slightly different game with Raphael. Tav just chips away at the fiend's composure throughout the day - a languid stretch and moan here, a faint brush against the cambion in passing there - all completely innocuous and innocent things to any observers so Raphael can't really do anything without undercutting his image. By the end of the day Raphael is left so tightly wound up he's ready to pin his little mouse down and ravage them the moment he gets them alone.

I love this! Raphael needing to keep his composure while being essentially tormented throughout the day.. Fuck dude. Let's do this mf thing

A Dangerous Game

Pairing: Raphael x Tav(f)

Rating: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI

POV: 3rd Person

Warnings: Angst, smut, teasing, choking, fingering, p in v sex, oral

A lavish spread of various meats, cheeses, fruits, and vegetables sits scattered about on silver platters at the dining table. Jewel encrusted goblets are placed at each seat, filled to the brim with centuries aged wine. A feast of kings and gods alike. Raphael circles the table like a hungry kobold, fixing silverware and napkins, straightening linens and plates alike. Raphael takes his meals seriously in the House of Hope, each one a orchestration of epic proportions. Music, exotic flavors and foods, all a work of art. A flurry of sulfur and weave crackles in the air as 4 cambions appear in the hall. Each one tall, muscular, and well dressed. Important magistrates of the Hells. Mouse peeks around the corner from the opposite end of the dining room. Her gaze falls on Raphael first, smiling at his cambion form. The sway of his wings, his four large horns, and the deep red color of his skin all nearly take her breath away. She adores her master. Loves him, even. She'd sit through a thousand boring negotiation meals if it meant being next to him like a trophy.

He always shows her off so proudly, too. Like she's a prize to be won. She feels like one when he places an arm around her waist to pull her close to him once he notices his guests staring. And they often do stare. Raphael dresses Mouse in nothing but the finest silks and velvets, for she's an extension of him after all. If he looks put together and beautiful, so must she. It's often times to his detriment, however. He'll regularly catch himself staring, damn near drooling, when Mouse emerges from their shared boudoir. Today is no different. He almost wishes she'd dressed more modestly for this particular crowd, even if he picked out the dress she has on. Her perky breasts sit high, pressed together to create mouth watering cleavage that shows just above the low-cut neckline of her form-hugging dress. It's one of his favorites. Handmade in the Hells, just for her. He'd asked her to wait behind to wall so he could fetch her, as he loves to make a show out of introducing her to his guests. It fills him with pride. So there she waits, tucked secretly behind a wall across the dining room, watching the guests make small talk with Raphael.

"Raphael. What a spread." One of the cambions booms, his deep voice startling Mouse enough to earn a gasp and the two turn toward her. "Shit." She mumbles, stepping out from behind the wall. She smooths her burgundy velvet dress down over the sides of her hips, eyeing Raphael carefully when she notices him staring with parted lips. "My apologies, Master." Her lips adorn a small grin. The devil pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, shaking his head as the cambion to his right chuckles earnestly. "Pretty little thing, she is." he remarks, and Raphael takes a deep breath to maintain his composure, holding a hand out to beckon Mouse closer. "Do join us." Raphael says kindly. "Lunch is ready, and there's much to discuss."

The group settles around the table, Raphael making sure that Mouse is seated at his side. A soft whisper makes Mouse's ears perk up as she crosses her legs under the table. "Behave yourself." he growls, and a quiet whimper slips past her lips, only audible enough for him to hear. It's just enough to make him shudder and he straightens in his seat, eyes locking with one of the cambions across the table. Conversation begins, talks of negotiations and contracts, painfully boring topics that nearly put Mouse to sleep. She pokes at the large piece of meat on her plate and chews her bottom lip, thinking. Pondering. Surely she could have some fun. Sneaky fingers dance across Raphael's across under the table and his words catch in his throat as Mouse traces featherlight circles down the front of his thigh.

Her fingers leave him as quickly as they came and she keeps her gaze down on her plate, shoving a piece of food into her mouth to stifle a giggle. Raphael keeps his eyes forward, continuing his wavering train of thought. A quiet moan escapes Mouse as she chews her food slowly, eyes rolling back into her head. She takes a quick swig of wine to wash it all down. "This is delicious, Master." she coos. His cock twitches in his leathers beneath the table, and Gods, he's grateful he's seated. Mouse takes another bite, another moan rumbling in her throat, and Raphael nearly falls apart. The other cambions seated just on the other side of the table are lost in their own meals, mumbling amongst themselves as they eat. Mouse pats her lips with her napkin and stands to excuse herself from the table with a quiet "Thank you for the meal".

Mouse lingers around the halls for the rest of the day, brushing past Raphael occasionally, always making sure to touch him in some way. Her ass sliding across his cock as she scoots past him in the doorway, fingers brushing over his sensitive wings while sitting idle, little moans and whimpers as she stretches. Each little thing a piece to a much bigger puzzle. All part of her favorite game. How long can she tease Raphael before he shoves her into the nearest room to relieve himself? He's been surprisingly resilient to her advances today, something Mouse is not entirely used to. Granted, he is incredibly busy. Many guests and contracts to deal with. She herself feels incredibly pent up.

The day comes to a close, and Mouse can't help but hurry herself out of her gown. The sweet relief of her corset hitting the floor earns a heavy sigh. She hunches her back forward to stretch, an involuntary moan slipping past her parted lips. Like a moth to a flame, Raphael rounds the corner, catching Mouse by surprise when he shoves her face first against the wall. One hand slides up her body to fondle her breast while the other circles firmly around her neck. His thumb and index finger press into the arteries there, earning a groan. "You've been incredibly disobedient today, little Mouse. What did I tell you?" His grip on her neck tightens and her eyes roll back into her skull. In an act of defiance, she presses her ass tightly to his crotch, swaying side to side to create a delicious amount of friction. "A dangerous game you're playing.." He growls into her ear, the hand keeping a grip on her breast traveling down further to the waistband of her thin silk underwear.

"Off." He demands, and Mouse obeys, sliding her thumbs into the top of the silk fabric and swiftly tugging them down, wiggling her hips to assist in lowering them. Hasty fingers find their way to Mouse's already soaked cunt, the fingers around her throat keeping a steady grasp on her to keep her still. "Such a good girl." Raphael mumbles as he probes her folds with only his index finger to gather her slick, coating his digit with the fluid and bringing it to his pet's lips. "Suck." His demand is spoken through grit teeth. Again she obeys. Her warm tongue lulls out of her mouth to accept the finger, eyes falling closed as she sucks the taste of herself away. The devil's cock throbs painfully in his leathers and he bucks his hips against Mouse's now bare ass. He removes the finger from her mouth with a wet pop, a thin strand of drool still connecting it to her lips. She grins at the filthy sight.

"Are you going to punish me?' Mouse asks sweetly, lids half open from the restrictive pressure against her neck. Her consciousness wavers for a moment. Trembling fingers find Raphael's wrist and give it a gentle tug, silently begging for mercy from his rough grasp. He's unusually rough today, not that Mouse is complaining. She must've really wound him up. Tortured him in all the right ways. Now he'll have his way with her. Raphael plunges two finger deep into Mouse's quivering hole, pressing firmly into the spongey spot just at her apex. She cries out at the burn, jaw falling slack as he works his thumb in slow circles over her clit. "Hands on the wall." he growls. Mouse flattens her palms to the wall, gasping as Raphael finally releases the death grip on her neck. Her vision momentarily blurs from the combination of pleasure and the blood rushing back to her brain. "F-Fuck.." she whines. Raphael's fingers continue their torturously slow work inside of her cunt and her knees grow weak. A familiar knot tightens considerably quick in her belly. She's close. So close.

And suddenly it's gone. Raphael pulls his fingers away, hand wrapping around his newly freed erection. Mouse keens from the emptiness. Her walls flutter. Her clit pulses with desperation. She needs him like she needs air. A rough hand presses to the small of her back, forcing her forward, ass sticking out in a submissive display. All the while her palms remain flat against the wall to keep her steady. Legs spread. Raphael waits for a moment to admire the sight. Her sopping wet cunt. Her tight little asshole. All on display just for him. Without warning, the tip of his cock probes at her entrance, the sharp sting of the stretch making Mouse hiss through grit teeth. The thrusts begin slow. Calculated. A careful rhythm allowing Raphael to bottom out with each push forward of his hips. His hands wander Mouse's back, ass, hips, and thighs, feeling every exposed inch of her body. Every piece of her that belongs to him.

Soft whimpers and moans grow louder and louder as Raphael's thrusts pick up speed. Eventually finding a bruising rhythm of quick and shallow bucks of his hips, he firmly grasps her shoulders. The fuckin continues. And continues. And continues. Each thrust pushing Raphael closer to his end. He tightens the muscles in his stomach to hold himself back. He's not finished yet. Not even close. In a swift motion, he spins Mouse around and lifts her into his arms, her back pressing tightly to the wall now as he resumes the soul crushing pounding into her cunt. Chests heave in intense pleasure. Nails dig into skin deep enough to leave cuts. Pain swirls with pleasure in a cocktail of ecstasy. "I'm s-so close.. P-Please.." Mouse whines.

Raphael is determined to deliver earth shattering pleasure to his little Mouse every chance he gets. This time is no different. He slides his cock out slowly, the soft squelching noises earning a primal groan from his raw throat. He lifts Mouse up further, legs swinging over his shoulders as he plunges his nose into her cunt. A delicious mix of precum and her sweet nectar coats his stubbly chin. Mouse squeals loudly at the sudden change of sensations. Fingers tangle into Raphael's sweaty hair as he devours his pet, hot tongue lapping furiously at her aching clit and hole. The trembling elf in his arms is near screaming, toes curled as electric waves of pleasure render her powerless. Without warning, her orgasm crashes over her like waves on the shore, and she falls apart in his arms. His tongue continues its circles, only slowing down slightly as Mouse begs and pleads for him to stop. She's overstimulated. Shaking. Exhausted.

The devil can't help but grin as he takes a step back from the wall to move Mouse to a more comfortable location. He tosses her small trembling body onto the mattress and crawls overtop of her, planting soft kisses along her sweaty skin as he ascends toward her lips. The kiss they share is sloppy and reckless, tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clacking together as they envelope each other in hot breaths and saliva. A momentary break in the kiss allows Raphael to whisper quietly "Take a deep breath, my dear. We're not finished here."

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #fic request #raphael x tav #raphael smut

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