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[skyward-floored]

Whumptober day 25 - Surgery

Hello and welcome to: me handwaving away potential plot issues, the fic. Renado can do surgery because I say so. Wild sees Time as a father-figure but doesn't realize it because I say so. appendicitis is known and able to be treated because I say so!!! and I don't really love how this turned out but. 'tis what it 'tis.

Warnings: appendicitis, symptoms from that, off-screen surgery

ao3 link

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Something was up with Time.

They were in Twilight’s lands, a few hours from the castle, and been dumped on opposite sides of a ravine the moment they'd gotten here. Luckily nobody had fallen in said ravine, but the group had been split in two, and they were now making their ways to castle town separately. Normally Wild would be interested in seeing Twilight’s home, but he had been too busy keeping an eye on Time, certain there was something up with him.

The older hero had been acting funny their entire walk, barely talking, gaze distant, his steps slowed just enough to be suspicious. Time may have been weird, but his mood today was weird weird, and based on the frequent looks the others in his half of the group gave him, Wild wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

“You see it too huh?” Warriors said as he came up beside him, and Wild nodded, watching as Time casually rested a hand over his middle.

“How could I not? He’s been acting weird all day,” Wild replied, watching as Sky talked about everything and nothing as he walked beside Time, obviously trying to provoke a response. Time nodded along, but it was obvious he wasn’t paying much attention. “Do you think he’s sick?”

“I don’t know,” Warriors murmured, eyes narrowed. “But I don’t like it.”

“Maybe... he’s hiding an injury?” Wild suggested with a shrug. “That one peahat did come pretty close to him this morning. Maybe he got hit.” And that’s probably how I’d act if I was hiding an injury.

“True,” Warriors agreed, and his face grew determined. “Either way, this has gone on long enough. Enough ignoring the problem.”

Warriors abruptly strode ahead to block Time’s path, and Wild followed, worried and curious about the confrontation. Time blinked as they stood in front of him, and then raised an eyebrow.

“Do you need something?” Time asked mildly, and Wild couldn’t help his snort.

“Well we were about to ask you the same thing,” he said dryly, and Time’s eyebrow stayed raised.

“If I need anything? No, I’m fine,” he said, and Sky frowned beside him.

“You’re sure? You’ve been a little... off today, old man,” he said hesitantly. “We’re a bit...”

“Worried?” Time finished for him with a slight upturn of his mouth. Wild thought it looked strained. “Well there’s no need. I believe breakfast just didn’t sit very well with me.”

“And that’s why you keep holding your side?” Warriors asked with his arms crossed.

“Yes. Indigestion.”

“So it won’t hurt if I do this?” Wild asked, before shooting out a hand and lightly punching Time where he’d been holding his side.

He hadn’t expected anything except maybe a wince—Time was wearing full armor after all—but when Time gasped and curled protectively over his side, Wild nearly jumped backwards in surprise.

Warriors grabbed Time’s arm to steady him, and Wild exchanged looks with Sky as Time quickly tried to straighten back up. But the damage had been done. They’d all seen that.

“So, indigestion?” Warriors asked flatly, and Time frowned, looking at him.

“Yes. I’m not injured,” he insisted. “It’s just... intense.” Warriors hummed disbelievingly, and pulled him to the side, pushing him down to sit on a log.

“Then you won’t mind if we make sure,” he said firmly. Time sighed, but carefully began pulling his armor off piece by piece. Wild moved to sit beside him, and Sky stood next to them, fiddling with his sailcloth while he watched. Time’s hands faltered a little as he removed the pieces at his chest, and Warriors had to help him out of the biggest pieces, a hiss coming from between Time’s teeth as he lifted his arms up.

But finally it was all removed, and Warriors lifted up Time’s shirt, studying the skin beneath.

All three of them leaned forward to look, expecting any number of grisly sights, but... there was nothing there. Time’s side looked perfectly normal, and Wild raised a confused eyebrow.

“See?” Time said with a sigh. “I’m not hiding anything from you boys. I really do just think breakfast didn’t agree with me.”

Sky looked convinced, but Warriors’ expression had creased, and he leaned closer to Time’s waist with a frown.

“Where’s the pain concentrated?” Warriors asked him, and Time gestured to his side, a place between his bellybutton and right hip.

For some reason, Wild's heart skipped a beat.

Warriors face creased further.

“Time. How much pain are you in?” he asked seriously. “I need you to be honest.”

“I’ve had worse,” Time said slowly, and Warriors gave him a look. “...But it’s definitely up there.”

Warriors nodded, and set his hand on Time’s side. He lightly felt at it, then gave his skin a gentle prod with his fingers. Time sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hand jerking down to bat Warriors’ away, and Wild was certain his face paled. Warriors pulled back, then stood and felt Time’s forehead, a grim look settling on his face.

“This isn’t indigestion,” he said, and Wild felt his heart beat a little faster as a heavy silence fell over their group.

“...Well, what is it?” Time asked finally, looking uncomfortable.

Warriors swallowed. “It’s... well, we always called it phantom knife, since when it gets worse it feels like you’re got a knife in your gut, but it has a technical name. Appen-something.”

“Appendicitis.”

Wild wasn’t sure how he knew the word, but it came out anyway, and the other heroes looked at him in surprise. Wild swallowed. Where had that come from?

“Yes. That’s it. You know of it?” Warriors asked, and Wild gave a helpless shrug.

“I... no? Must be from before,” he said a little awkwardly.

“Hm. Well the point is,” Warriors said quickly, beginning to gather up Time’s armor, “Time needs a doctor. As soon as possible.”

“What?!” Sky said in alarm, and a cold feeling ran through Wild’s chest as he stared at Time.

...For some reason he wasn’t surprised, though.

“He needs a doctor, basically there’s a small organ in his middle that’s not working right, and needs to be taken out,” Warriors explained quickly, and grimaced. “I can't do it. I’ve only seen it happen once, I just know the symptoms. We need a doctor, which means we’ll have to make it to castle town.”

“Wait, he’ll need surgery?” Sky asked, and Warriors gave him a tense nod, standing up again.

“Captain,” Time said, his face still pale. “How serious is this?”

Warriors breathed out, and paused in his frantic movements. “It could be worse. But you need a doctor,” he said, and gave Time’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “You’ll be all right old man. Twilight’s kingdom is pretty advanced, I’m sure they deal with this all the time.”

“He’ll really need surgery?” Sky asked again, looking a little green, and Warriors nodded.

“It’s minor, honestly not all that worse then taking out an arrow,” Warriors said, then offered his hand to Time. “But we need to get moving, it’ll only get worse if it’s not treated.”

Time nodded, and Wild’s heart clenched at the way Time’s face carefully hid his pain, the older hero trying to stay calm. Something felt familiar about the expression, weirdly familiar, but it was gone before he could try and grab at it.

“I’m going to ask Twilight where the closest doctor in castle town is,” Wild said as Warriors carefully helped Time stand, the older hero wincing. Warriors nodded at him, and Wild pulled out his slate, quickly contacting Wind. The sailor picked up after only a minute or two, and Wild rapidly explained what they knew about the situation.

“Rancher? Did you hear all that?” Wind asked behind him, and Twilight’s face appeared in the slate, blatantly worried.

“Yeah, I did. But you all shouldn’t go to castle town,” Twilight said quickly. “Kakariko is much closer, and the doctor in castle town is a jerk anyway. There’s a shaman in Kakariko, he knows medicine, and he’s patched me up more times than I can count. I’m sure he can do this.”

“Sure enough for him to give your ancestor potentially lifesaving surgery?” Warriors questioned, and Twilight gave a sharp nod.

“Yes. I trust him.”

“Okay, then guess we’re headed to Kakariko,” Sky said with a tense exhale. “Where do we go?”

“Head for death mountain, if you see red rocks you’re in the right place,” Twilight explained. “We’ll head that way as well and meet you there.”

Wild nodded, giving Twilight a nervous smile, and cut the connection.

“You ready old man?” Sky asked worriedly, giving Time a quick look over.

“Yes, I’m ready. You all don’t have to treat me like glass,” Time said with a smile. None of them missed how strained it was though, and Wild swallowed, fastening his slate back to his belt.

Would Time really be okay?

And why do I feel like this has happened before?

“Let’s go,” Warriors said in a sharp voice, and they got moving without further ado, Wild and Sky giving each other one last worried look before following.

(...)

The trip wasn’t long, but Wild spent all of it consumed by a horrible anxiety he couldn’t shake.

They were nearly carrying Time by the time they made it to Kakariko, the older hero’s face flushed and sweaty with fever, a hand clasped shakily over his middle. He’d thrown up twice on the trip here, and Wild was restless and shaky as they hurried into town and asked for directions.

They definitely wouldn’t have made it to castle town, not with Time’s condition, and Wild tried not to worry too much as they helped Time through the street and to a building near a spring.

More than just Time’s condition was bothering him though. Wild had no clue how he knew the name of what was affecting Time, and whenever he looked at him too long, something felt like it pressed in on his head, something important.

But nothing else had come to mind, so Wild was left fidgety and nervous and feeling like he might throw up as Warriors knocked sharply on the door. A few moments passed, and then the door was opened, a tall man with dark hair and tanned skin looking down at them.

“Hello, how may I help you?” he greeted, and Sky stepped forward.

“Are you Renado? Link sent us here, our friend needs help,” he said, gesturing back to Time.

The man opened the door further, and looked at Time, a frown creasing his face. “Any friend of Link’s is welcome here. I’m Renado, bring your friend here, I’ll see what I can do for him. Do you know what’s wrong?”

“Phantom knife, if you’re familiar,” Warriors replied grimly, and Renado’s eyes widened as he hurriedly gestured them in.

“Yes, I am. Set him there,” he instructed, and they carefully set Time on a cot in the corner, Time groaning as they moved him. Renado hurried over, and checked his heartbeat and pulse, and did a few other things Wild wasn’t sure were for. “...Yes, this is phantom knife, for certain. Luda?" he called, and a girl appeared, haircut a bit like Four's. "Phantom knife. Well on its way. We'll need to act now."

Warriors began asking questions as Sky’s face turned green again, and Wild stared down at Time, watching as he held a hand protectively over his side, face screwed up in pain.

Wild swallowed and went to his side, and Time looked up at him with a shaky smile.

“I’ll be fine, Champion,” he managed to whisper, and the tight feeling came back to Wild’s head again, familiarity pressing in on him.

Wild stared, heart thudding, words sticking in his throat. Time’s expression tensed with pain, he heard Warriors’ voice ask him what was wrong, and then—

...

“Your highness, are you all right?”

Sunshine cast a glow on the tiled floor, bright curtains drawn back to let the light in. It caught on Zelda’s dress, making the gold trim even brighter, and Link made sure to stand in a spot where it wouldn’t potentially obstruct his vision.

“Perfectly fine,” Zelda assured the servant who’d asked, and Link’s ears pricked at the fake-cheerful tone. “Just a bit tired from my morning prayers, I believe.”

The servant nodded, then stepped away, Zelda’s smile immediately dropping from her face as they were left alone again. She glanced at Link, and he wordlessly tilted his head, a silent question.

“I wasn’t lying, I’m all right,” Zelda huffed, then rubbed at her eyes. “It’s just a stomachache. I’ll be fine, Link.”

Link raised an eyebrow, studying his charge and noting how she seemed pale under her makeup, her cheeks extra flushed. He knew she hadn’t eaten a thing all day either, and had a feeling she was hiding how bad she actually felt. Per usual.

He couldn’t really argue with her about it though, since she had several appointments this afternoon she couldn’t miss. And it wasn’t really his place to argue with the princess anyway, even if their relationship was a good bit better then it used to be.

And they both knew if she was seen taking a break, rumors would fly even worse then they already did.

So Link remained silent as Zelda stood, a hand braced on the table before she took a deep breath, and walked down the bustling hallway, him following a few paces behind.

They made it through two appointments, Link watching her like a hawk as she lost even more color. Zelda's hand constantly strayed to her middle, her expression growing tighter with held-back pain. Link was on the verge of insisting she skip her next commitment when her body made the decision for her.

Zelda turned a corner on their way to a meeting, and stumbled on seemingly nothing. Link rushed forward to catch her when her hand missed the wall, and as his hand bumped her side, she gasped, her face paling further.

She clutched at Link, but quickly released him, the hallway she'd tripped in an unfortunately bustling one.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” she hurriedly reassured as a small crowd of people stopped and stared, alarmed questions and gasps lobbed in their direction. “I-I’m—”

Zeldas knees gave out on her without Link's full support, and Link stopped her from toppling, alarm rising in his chest. Someone shouted for help, for a doctor, and the next several minutes were a bit of a blur, Impa appearing, helping Zelda to her bedroom, a doctor Link vaguely recognized showing up.

Link stayed outside to guard as an examination was had, and did the same later as Zelda, sickly and pale, was taken to the doctor’s clinic.

“Appendicitis,” Impa explained as the door was closed, and she and Link were left alone. She sighed, and clasped her hands behind her back. “You probably know it as phantom knife. We're lucky we caught it when we did. If it had been much longer..."

She sighed again, and shook her head.

"They're doing the procedure now."

Link gave her an alarmed look, and Impa patted his shoulder, despite the worry in her own eyes.

“The doctor has done this before, Link. Zelda will be fine. I know of several people who have needed their appendix removed, and they are all fine," she reassured.

Link breathed out, and kept his hands resting on the master sword as Impa strode away to deal with something else while they waited. Impa was right. She always was.

But he still didn’t move an inch from the door, keeping guard, and keeping an ear out.

And it wasn’t until Zelda came out of it, unconscious and pale, but perfectly fine, that he finally relaxed.

The memory ended as abruptly as it had come on, and Wild sucked in a gasp, his eyes shooting open.

“Whoa, whoa easy Wild,” someone said, and Wild swallowed as hands gently took his shoulders. Whoever had grabbed him didn’t speak further, letting Wild readjust to the present, and Wild blinked as his vision focused.

He was in what looked like an inn, a few cobwebs in the corners, a faint musty smell in the air. A few people were in the room, all looking at him, and Wild stared, then realized it was several of the other Links. He looked up, Twilight kneeling in front of him, and furrowed his brow.

“Oh. Hey,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

“Hey yourself. You were out a while,” Twilight replied, and Wild realized the light on the floor was moonlight. “You okay?”

“Mm. Yeah,” Wild said, resting his hands on his lap as his head gradually cleared. He was sitting on a bed, he realized, one with a pale blue quilt and flowers. The colors were nice.

Then memories of what he’d been doing before abruptly hit him, and Wild shot to his feet.

“Time—!”

“—Is fine,” Twilight quickly finished for him, squeezing Wild’s shoulder. “Renado finished a little while ago, said he would wake up soon.”

Wild froze, memories of Time’s pale face mixing with Zelda’s in his mind, and he blinked harshly. The situations had been so similar and the memory so sharp in his mind that they were mixing in his head, making it ache painfully.

“Hey, are you really okay?” Twilight asked more gently, and Wild nodded again, shrugging out of his hold.

“Yeah, yeah. How’s Time? Actually?” Wild asked, still feeling unsettled from the memory and the day’s earlier events..

“Well I wouldn’t say he’s doing great, but the main problem is gone,” Legend huffed from across the room. Wild heard an undercurrent of worry in it. “Leave it to the old man to have a medical emergency in the middle of nowhere.“

“I’m just relieved we didn’t have to be the ones to fix it,” Sky said with a faint smile, and a few of them chuckled.

“Can I see him?” Wild asked, and Sky nodded kindly.

“Sure, I’ll show you where he is.”

Wild brushed past Twilight’s still-concerned look, and followed Sky out of the room and down a flight of stairs. He was sure Twilight would pry further about the memory and Wild's mental state eventually, but Wild wasn’t in the mood for questions.

He just wanted to see that Time was okay for himself.

Sky opened a door on the ground floor, and Warriors looked up from a bedside, his face exhausted, but less worried than before.

“Hey champion,” he greeted, giving him a small smile. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Wild shrugged, tossing aside worried questions he was already saving up for Zelda when he got home, and focusing on the figure in the bed.

Time looked... not all that different from when Wild had last seen him. He was still pale, and his bangs looked rather sweaty, a damp cloth on his forehead. His face was smoothed of pain though, and Wild’s shoulders slowly relaxed the longer he watched him.

He looked okay.

Not great, but... okay.

“I can’t believe I spaced out through the whole thing,” Wild muttered, sitting heavily on a chair. What kind of hero just checks out like that when there’s trouble?

“You really didn’t miss much,” Sky said, setting a hand on his shoulder. “It was mostly a lot of waiting. And pacing.”

“I didn’t pace that much,” Warriors huffed, though there was a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “And besides, I wasn’t the only one.”

“I thought you and Twilight would wear a path in the ground with the way you were carrying on,” Sky teased.

Warriors and Sky kept up the light jabs, and Wild kept watching Time, his breathing slow and steady. Wild set his hand over Time’s clammy one, and exhaled, mind exhausted from stress and memories.

Time was fine. He would be fine.

A small movement caught his attention, and Wild startled, then watched as Time’s hand weakly twitched, then slowly turned and caught Wild’s fingers in his own.

Sky and Warriors both looked over, eyes going wide, and all three of them saw it when Time’s eye cracked open and a faint smile pulled at his lips.

“Old man,” Wild more exhaled than spoke, and Time gave his hand a weak squeeze.

Wild didn’t hear anything Sky and Warriors said after that, barely noticed when Renado came to check on Time, didn’t hear it when the others came in and greeted Time with relieved smiles and laughs.

All he was focused on was the pure relief of Time being okay, his hand in his.

[mc-lukanette]

Flip the Transcripts

Marinette sighed, pulling her hair tie free and shaking her head to let her bun go. It was a terrible, exhausting day, and she lingered around the main area of the building to take a breather while people filed out. There was still a faint scent of macarons in the air from all the ones she'd dropped on the floor and a (probably underpaid) worker was busy cleaning them up.

She'd gotten to sit next to Adrien during the movie, but she didn't actually feel accomplished about it. Her mind was still racing with thoughts of why she even bothered. It was high effort for little actual reward, and it felt embarrassing more than anything else.

Why did she do it anyway? There was always a weird correlation with everything going wrong for her on days when akuma happened, even if the akuma didn't directly cause it. Maybe she had a sixth sense for it and it made her stress out more?

So weird, she thought, idly running her fingers through her hair with one hand and dusting off her maid outfit with the other. In retrospect, that too was a weird choice; more "trying to catch the sight of a guy with certain interests" than "dressing for the occasion."

As she was mulling her own choices over to herself, a flash of white from the corner of her vision caught her attention. She looked over, seeing a large stack of papers near the entrance of the building as well as Thomas Astruc turning on the other side of the door to continue down the sidewalk. With a little urgency, she headed over to pick up the papers in both arms, noting that they appeared to be transcripts for something.

Her eyes zeroed in on the name Thomas Astruc and she hurried out, looking the way he'd gone as she called out to him.

Yet, he was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, Marinette looked back down, shuffling through the transcripts mindlessly.

Adrien probably knows him since he was in the movie, she thought. I can ask him to give them back—

She stopped before she'd finished the plan in her head, caught off-guard by how she'd wondered about Adrien so casually without having some crush-induced freak out in public. The day was just getting weirder by the second, and it became even more so when she took a better look at the transcripts in her hand.

It seemed obvious initially that it would've been the transcripts for the movie, or maybe a potential sequel, yet they were for a TV show called Miraculous Ladybug. She'd never heard of such a thing and found it even stranger that Thomas Astruc was listed as a writer, not a director.

Curiosity gnawed at her as she fidgeted with the pages. A little peek wouldn't hurt, right?

—————

Having dismissed Tikki after getting a scolding of looking into things she wasn't supposed to, Marinette dropped the transcripts onto her table and began to sort through them. It was perhaps petty to look into an unreleased series like this, but considering what happened with the movie and all the mutterings she heard from people who "didn't know Ladybug was afraid of cats," she would prefer to get ahead of whatever nonsense was going to be released in the future.

The transcripts were already in order of episode, so she started at the top, flipping the page to start reading.

It all went downhill from there.

It appeared innocent enough at the start, following akuma who already existed whose civilian selves may have given interviews on being akumatized, but the first double take of many began when Marinette saw her own name in the transcript. That may have been fine on its own, yet this Marinette lived where she lived, in a bakery with her parents Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng.

She swallowed, her hands crinkling the paper from their tight grip. Whoever wrote this knew that she had been Ladybug and somehow got down the events of the written days with precise accuracy. Was she being stalked somehow? How did they know all about her, and was this planned to be released to the public?

Despite her stomach churning at the implications, she continued reading.

—————

It was late into the night, Tikki already sound asleep up on Marinette's bed, when Marinette had decided to stop reading for the day. She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhausted yet wide awake at the same time.

Everything in the transcripts lined up with her memories and filled in gaps where she previously had nothing to work with. Written down when she'd transformed, what she'd done, who her friends were and what they did with her, and beyond that were things she'd either suspected or not known at all.

Adrien was Chat Noir, Gabriel was Hawk Moth, and it all made sense when put into a format like this.

It didn't appear like someone who knew too much had put pen to paper anymore. Rather, it felt like something written before it even happened: fate sitting behind a desk and planning out what was to be. There were even "episodes" of events that hadn't happened yet that Marinette felt could only be a matter of time.

She raked her fingers through her hair, clutching the strands tight as she tried to make sense of it all. Did it mean that she was just part of some show? Was she a character mindlessly following these scripts? How much was her and how far did her relationships with others go past what was written down for them to have?

Her mind spun, the chair underneath her feeling like it could collapse at any moment. Blood going cold, goosebumps formed along her arms as she looked around to see if she was being watched.

Everything added up and put into perspective things she'd never thought about before. All of the little inconsistencies that she hadn't given a single thought to were now staring at her right in the face, like the very fabric of the universe was broken and everyone went on like nothing was wrong.

And it was Chat Noir who caused Theo's akumatization, but he never told her and she was left in the dark. He'd planned in advance to ditch the search for Andre's ice cream to go set up the "date" with Ladybug that he passed off like it wasn't a big deal.

There was also Alya, who knew very well that she'd been willing to let Kagami be with Adrien when she'd agree to third wheel at the ice skating rink, only to then claim that she was jealous of Lila because of Adrien. Adding to that was Chloe, who Marinette herself was told to "be the bigger person for" and broke the identity rule for just to make her bully of multiple years Queen Bee again, which sounded reasonable at the time but crazy actually reading it.

Finally, there were her failures to get Adrien's attention and the inability to confess to him, whether to be rejected or otherwise, while Chat Noir skated by due to conveniently confessing his crush on Ladybug to Ladybug's civilian self. Why?

Because she was the punchline. She was constantly being set up to fail. The insane scenarios she was always roped into were the forces behind these transcripts twisting themselves into knots to ensure that she would be little more than a joke.

Tears formed in the corner of her eyes. Who could she even trust if everything involving them was made up in such convoluted fashion?

Furiously wiping at the tears, she decided on the only thing she could: she would test the transcripts and go from there. She could go off script, do things it didn't expect, and try to prevent what was predetermined. Clutching the papers to her chest, they were wrinkled with resolve rather than fear this time.

If it wasn't fate that put these in her hands, then maybe she could still do something. With these, she had power, she had control. More importantly, she could have an ally; someone she trusted, but often went ignored by the transcripts and thus was the least affected by them.

Setting the transcripts off to the side, she retrieved her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Most of her friends were dismissed almost immediately, having been around since the start of the series, and she couldn't trust Tikki either. After all, if there was any mouthpiece for the forces behind the transcripts - the "writers," she supposed - it was her.

Her thumb stopped skimming when she saw the black and blue hair: Juleka's brother, Luka, who she'd shared numbers with when she invited him out to the ice rink just in case plans changed. It was a reasonable concern at the time because of how often Adrien had to bail, but of course he was able to show up when it was written that she would make a fool out of herself in front of him, the one consistency throughout the entire series.

But Luka, he'd only been around starting in season 2 of the "show" and appeared prominently in a couple episodes at best. It made even more sense when she thought about that day at the ice rink, the akuma having conveniently started to attack while she was trying to sort out her feelings on him.

The show wanted him there, but didn't want her to think about him.

A burst of confidence snaked its way through her anxiety as she opened their messages to each other. Casting a glance at the transcripts, she thought, I don't have to play your game anymore.

Thus, she typed out a quick message to him.

Hey, are you free in a couple weeks for a meet up? Just the two of us? It's really important.

After hitting 'Send,' she brought the phone up to cover her mouth and attempted to take a steady breath through her nose. Two weeks was plenty of time to test the waters of what she'd seen, and anything else could be planned out after she met with him.

She could handle this. She wasn't the failure she was written as; she didn't have to be.

—————

Marinette had heard before about people so close that they could predict what the other would say. Others could be so in sync that they'd say things at the same time, even without trying.

It was an entirely different matter when she already knew what someone was going to say, not because she was close to them but because she'd read it before.

Three episodes - though it was strange to call them that - happened in the weeks leading up to seeing Luka: Bakerix, Backwarder, and Reflekdoll. The former came first and was the most unnerving of them all, being the one that put the transcripts set in the future to the test.

So long as Marinette followed the transcript, every line went exactly as intended. Her parents and grandmother spoke as if they had read it themselves, like actors in a play they weren't aware they were in. Even when Marinette didn't follow the script, she could feel the words trying to come up through her throat like an itching sensation before a cough.

Or, more accurately, bile building just before throwing up.

Almost unintentionally, she took a passive role by not going to see her grandfather, freshly disillusioned by the events and what they could mean for the people she knew and interacted with. He was, however, still akumatized, though without any action on her part. She didn't ask him why, already having the information she wanted most: that the world still tried to follow the transcript even if she fought it. It was proven further when her family saw the news, somehow recognizing the akuma as their relative, and rushed to see him when he was deakumatized.

They worked everything out from there, which on the surface sounded nice, yet Marinette was disturbed by the idea that it might've only happened because he was written into her future, likely for her own humiliation at some point.

At the very least, the world continued turning whenever she went off script as she'd planned. Her worst case scenario had been that everything would break apart or she would be unable to go against what was written.

She had little choice but to take action the day that Marianne was meant to be akumatized; Adrien was going away for a time and Master Fu had no one else to trust in delivering his letter to her.

According to the transcript, she would be humiliated in front of her friends after mixing up the letters, and Marianne would be akumatized when she too was given the wrong letter. With her thoughts dripping with sarcasm, Marinette supposed that was "her own fault" for expecting a magical yoyo to offer what she'd asked for when she reached inside. She could even imagine Thomas Astruc's face along other, faceless writers, hitting their desks laughing as they wrote down Adrien handing her constipation medicine.

Still, the solution was simple: she confirmed that it was Marianne's letter before handing it over. She could've given Adrien her own love letter as well, but had avoided him as much as possible since finding the transcripts. Her nature of spitting out word salad was there when they did see each other, yet became more manageable the more she refused to engage with him.

Him being Chat Noir made it all a bit easier. While she'd been sympathetic of his woes in being told nothing, the knowledge that he'd kept quiet about the grimoire while complaining to her about secrets and threatened to quit while Paris was underwater was, needless to say, quite the turn off.

Even when they weren't set to follow a plot, he was still as flirtatious as ever despite her rejection of his advances. It made sense as, though she may have hoped otherwise, she couldn't say she was a different person even after reading the transcripts; only one more aware of the world around her.

Juleka getting akumatized into Reflekdoll was something Marinette worked hard to prevent. Whether or not their friendship was "written to be," she still cared about people she felt close to and could relate to Juleka's anxiety.

Alya, of course, tried her hardest to fight back against her efforts to exclude Adrien, all with mixed results. Adrien still came along in the end, but Marinette managed to keep the photoshoot about Juleka, even if that meant ditching the group for a while to hide in the bathroom and talk her down from a potential panic attack.

Juleka taking the full spotlight was something she worked hard for, as not only would she not have wanted to ride off of Adrien's image to give her website any attention, but the idea that he would certainly have overshadowed Juleka in the eyes of the public disgusted her. She didn't need him, no matter how the forces "in charge" tried to convince her otherwise.

All in all, it was crisis successfully averted, and now she'd had multiple separate experiences to come to a few conclusions about the nature of her world.

The first was the obvious: that events were preventable, which was a relief given what she'd read about the season 3 finale. Sometimes things such as akumatization could still happen, but her actions as someone with knowledge of "the future" could reign in the worst of it.

Secondly, those around her could not stray from the transcript unless they were forced to by her or the changes she made, almost falling into loops of trying to make something occur unless they couldn't anymore. It was unnerving, seeing the double-edged sword of the power she held, but it was workable.

Thirdly, and perhaps even more important than the first, was that people could still be people. They acted similarly to what she might expect off script, but not always in a way that was bad. Juleka, for example, didn't blame her for anything that went wrong during the photoshoot as she had - rather nonsensically - in the transcript.

Marinette saw nothing less than her friend. She could still care about people without a nagging voice in her head telling her that it wasn't "real" or that she didn't actually mean anything to anyone. In the ideal scenario that came from everything she'd learned so far, there was a light to be found at the end of the tunnel: either the show's plot would end, or she would change it so drastically that no one could follow it any more.

Thinking back on it all, she let herself feel hope at the memory of Juleka's grateful smile, the light shining off the hair clip Luka had given her in just the right way.

It also gave her an idea.

—————

Marinette sat quietly on her chaise lounge as Luka pulled off his guitar case and settled it to the side of her room, so gently that she couldn't hear the sound of the case against the wall. She'd had two full weeks to process the transcripts and what they meant for her life, but it didn't mean that she wasn't still on edge when she thought about it.

It was one thing to have been given the knowledge herself. She was the one who picked up the transcripts, she chose to sit down and read them, and she continued looking into it even while knowing how stressful it would be.

It was an entirely different matter to inflict that on someone else. A few times, she'd debated with herself on excuses she could've made for their meeting in case she felt like backing out, but dismissed all of them in the end. She wondered how she could tell a person something so profoundly life-altering and how that would affect them emotionally, or if they'd even want to be told.

But how would one gauge that? Marinette could only use herself as a reference, knowing that she, at least, would want to know. The unknowns that revealed themselves to her throughout the experience - the things that were intentionally kept from her, Hawk Moth's identity, the future itself - had been nothing but beneficial to her, despite the horrors that came with them.

She wanted to share that; to know that she wasn't alone. She wanted—

"Marinette?"

She looked up, catching Luka's concern at what must've been a heavy expression on her face. She shook the thoughts away, offering him a gentle smile that she hoped conveyed, 'I'm glad you're here.'

"Juleka had so much fun at the photoshoot," she said, evading the topic of the current atmosphere. "It was sweet of you to put that hair clip on her. I bet it made her feel more confident."

His brows were still furrowed in worry, but he let it be for now and smiled back at her. "Thanks." He gestured at the spot next to her in a silent question and she accepted, shuffling to the side just enough to give him a comfortable amount of room to sit down. His weight sank into the cushion as he wondered aloud, "Did Jule tell you? She doesn't talk about me that much."

He stated it casually, clearly unbothered and of the opinion that Juleka wasn't obligated to talk about him in either a positive nor negative way. Marinette didn't say anything on it, but thought that of course Juleka didn't talk about him much, because how odd would it have been for someone's brother to just appear a whole season later and not be mentioned otherwise? Did he even exist before the day they met?

That was one thing she actively tried not to think about, having been too afraid to look up her grandfather's address before his mention in the transcripts. There was only so much she could take without imagining that Luka only came into existence a while ago.

Despite knowing that his question had, in all likelihood, been rhetorical, she answered it anyway, "...No. I didn't hear it from her."

She'd tried to be careful, giving him enough information to mull over but not anything that appeared outright supernatural. Technically, Juleka could've told Rose, who could've then told her at some point, which would've been far more normal compared to the truth.

But Luka, judging from the way he stared at her, eyes narrowed in contemplation, had caught onto the subtle implications in her tone.

Gripping her capris and taking a deep breath to steady her mind, Marinette pushed herself up to walk over to her computer chair. Nudging it aside with her leg, she turned to him and placed a hand atop the stack of transcripts, explaining, "I found these when I was at an event for the Ladybug movie everyone was talking about. There was a guy - Thomas Astruc - who directed it, but these call him a writer and I couldn't find out anything about it."

It all sounded irrelevant to what they were discussing, but Luka stood and came to stand alongside her, eyeing the stack and waiting for whatever she might say next.

In response, she held out three transcripts: Captain Hardrock, Frozer, and Reflekdoll. "You should read these first, but.... you might not like what you'll see."

It's all the warning she could give him without sounding like she was insane; his last way out before plunging under the depths with her. There would be no going back afterwards.

Luka, though puzzled, reached out for the papers, eyeing her face one last time before taking the transcripts in his hands to look at them properly. His eyes widened at what she imagined what the name of his mom's akuma, but he didn't comment on it as he went about reading.

Marinette stayed quiet the whole time, hands clasped tightly together to keep herself from making any movements. There would be time later for all of her discoveries and personal observations, but for now she let him piece it together himself.

Luka didn't say anything either, so she could only infer how he was feeling based on facial expressions and body language: the twitch of his eyebrows, the way his eyes flicked back up to reread something he found particularly unbelievable, and the sudden exhales he made that would ruffle the paper...

She could imagine that he was having a similar experience to her own, but what she couldn't was how it must've felt to realize the role he played.

Without question, he could've been invited to the photoshoot; he should've been invited and they could’ve easily made the time work out for him. After all, what better way to keep Juleka's anxiety at bay than to have the brother who knew it best along for the ride? She had men's clothes too and he could've easily modeled alongside his sister, the only reason Marinette hadn't invited him at the time being that she feared tampering with the plot with additional variables.

But she knew why it wasn't written into the original, at least. He was second place to someone else, so rarely thought about even with his role of being the "main character's" other crush. In the eyes of the plot, his feelings were written to be discarded, and it didn't matter how sweet he was or how compatible they might've been otherwise.

He would fail no matter what, tripping at the word 'go' without a chance of getting back up. She couldn't fathom why anyone would think to do that: to write a character who only served as a stone to be stepped on in order to get the person he liked with someone else.

She shuddered just thinking about it.

Luka's movements were unsteady - unlike himself - as he tore his gaze away from the transcripts in his hands to the ones on the table, his hip awkwardly bumping against the edge. He set the ones she'd given him aside to start reading from the others, leaning against the table with his back turned to it for support.

Marinette bit her bottom lip, sympathetic. The stack contained a majority of the transcripts she'd picked up and, while he may've intended try to pour through all of them, she did keep a choice few tucked away: specifically, the ones from the future that had him in them. It wasn't that she was ashamed of what she was written to do or wanted to keep him in the dark, but she'd wanted to mull things over herself first.

In more direct terms, her feelings for him. She would never deny that their first meeting had been "staged," written in such a way for them to start crushing on each other. She'd spent the full two weeks questioning her own emotions, sorting through them to see which felt real and which felt manufactured. It wasn't easy, and even now it was hard to gauge exactly what she felt that day.

So on some level, she looked forward to this: seeing Luka in front of her after reading something that treated him as someone to set aside. He still felt real, she'd still been aware of his body heat when they'd sat next to each other, and she couldn't help watching how he tilted his head just slightly when his bangs got in the way of reading a line or two.

She brought her clasped hands to her chest, feeling her own heartbeat. Regardless of the past, she knew the quickened thumping wasn't only from nerves, but what she couldn't know were his feelings.

Withholding those few transcripts for just a little longer played into that.

Marinette noticed the papers quiver in Luka's hands, looking down to see a tight grip that was all too familiar to her. Unable to stand aside any longer, she stepped towards him and unclasped her hands. Her fingers were stiff from gripping herself so tight, but she reached out anyway, delicately sliding her hand over his.

Luka's haunted gaze broke as he made eye contact with her, searching for something she couldn't quite place. Before she could say anything, he moved, both arms going around her and pulling her into a tight squeeze. The air left her lungs in a gasp, and her next breath took in his scent, so very close to her.

"Haaa—" He stopped for a moment, wavering, then tried again. "H-have you been dealing with this all by yourself?"

Her vision started to blur, tears coming to her eyes unbidden. He was the heavier of the two of them and she could feel it in his embrace, but the weight coming off her shoulders made it feel like nothing. She hadn't given a thought to what she may have liked to hear herself after what she'd been through, yet his words struck her in the heart in every right way.

It was an unspoken 'You're not alone anymore.' She hugged him back just as tightly, burying her face into his shoulder as she cherished the moment.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, having little else to say after keeping it a secret for what felt like so long. She might not have needed to apologize for it, but it clearly hurt him to know that she had been hurting.

And now he'd be with her through all of this; he'd shown her as much. Whether that involved helping her figure out what to do about Hawk Moth or how to break away fully from the plot, he'd be there.

That meant there was only one more thing to check.

Slowly, Marinette loosened her grip on the back of his jacket, giving him a sign that he could let go. His hands dropped back down to his sides, one hand still clutching the transcripts he'd been reading, but before he could step away from her, she reached up to take his face in her hands. His mouth dropped open without a sound, the hair in front of his ears tickling her fingers as she slid her palms against his cheeks.

His face was paler than usual from everything that'd been revealed to him, but colored at her featherlight touch. She tried to communicate everything with her eyes, giving him every opportunity to pull away from her.

The plots consistently tried to keep the events in place. Her grandfather still got akumatized, she'd put back and pulled out the wrong letter multiple times before giving up and keeping it between her teeth while she reached inside her yoyo, and Adrien still came along to the photoshoot no matter what she did. She could almost feel the world resisting her at every turn.

It wasn't safe to let her guard down when she knew one of the transcripts were taking place. It was already hard enough trying to make changes while the threat of the "destined" outcomes loomed over her, and there were other outcomes that were clearly avoided, such as her and Chat learning each other's identities.

When she first learned - read - that Adrien was Chat, there were a few days where she struggled to remember it. Maybe it was because of so much information being piled onto her at once, or something was fighting knowledge that she wasn't supposed to have.

And now, right there with her, was someone she wasn't supposed to have.

"Luka," she whispered, then closed her eyes and kissed him.

It was purposeful. It was delightful. It was terrifying. If there were only an external force causing his feelings for her, this is where it would all come undone. She kept her eyes shut tight, trying to feel out any sign that he didn't want this.

Instead, she heard the fluttering of papers, the transcripts falling at her feet as Luka held her again. He returned the kiss just as passionately, the stiffness and nerves from before fading away while he let himself drown in the comfort of the contact.

Faintly, she could recall her first kiss - the one demanded of her if she wanted to take out the akuma - but memories associated with anything written before she'd read the transcripts had slowly drifted to the back of her mind. They detached themselves from all else, as if she'd only experienced them in someone else's body.

Kissing Luka, meanwhile, felt vivid, her body shuddering in a mixture of joy and relief. Even when the kiss broke, he didn't step back from her, pressing their foreheads together. His eyes were half-lidded and appeared almost more blue than usual, a color she was quickly associating with hope.

Both at a loss for words, they accepted it and left talk of the future for the future. As for right then and there, they could write their own story just for themselves.

[dreamy-pill]

I’ve become somewhat immersed in a headcanon about Stan Pine that has opened up a whole load of possibilities. That includes angst and peril. My vision is simple. If I remember correctly, Stan Pines didn’t exactly have a car with him when he drove up to Oregon, Gravity Falls. There’s no clip of him actually driving into Gravity Falls. We just see him walking up to his brother’s front door with a duffel bag. I didn’t see any distinct impression that Stan Pines had a car with him. I was just thinking: what if Stan Pines didn’t drive the Stanleymobile to Gravity Falls? That could possibly be explained by one thing or another. Now, I’m just here thinking that what if he also hijacked a car when his own vehicle couldn’t make the drive? Like, somewhere in the middle of his drive. There’s also something a little interesting in that. What if that car wasn’t fully operational?

You could see him, driving up to this winding path in the neck of the woods, intensely staring ahead, everything he owns sitting in bag next to his car seat. Just imagine that Stan had to push the breaks for something. And they don’t work? That’s where the headcanon lies, see. Stan Pines barely got out of that scrap. The car having plummeted down a cliff or whatever. And Stan here? He. Just. Keeps. Going. He doesn’t let that little setback stop him. Oh, no. He’s determined as heck. He’s seeing his brother. And then Stan just so happens to be picked up by law enforcement and they think he’s all shady and Stan thinks he’s going to be locked up and you would think that’s the end of that. Instead, Stan is picked up by the police so he could be dropped off to his brother’s property. It leaves zero distractions for Stan to get to know the people of Gravity Falls. Stan gets to know how the law stands in Gravity Falls. The whole time, as a matter of fact, Stan is in shock. Yep, no denying it now. His near death experience, when he looked down over that cliff where he could’ve met his fate, he just closes up. I think the police also realized how Stan was in some sort of shock, too. If you look at it this way, Stan was trying not to fall apart for the sake of his brother. He doesn’t even realize he’s in shock. Or entirely, anyway. I just think he would’ve been more concerned over the well-being of his brother because that gives him something to focus on. Can you imagine? This also takes care of the whole dilemma with the fake car crash because the car Stan Pines clearly hijacked, he nearly almost met his fate at the edge of a cliff where it lays in ruins. In any case scenario this way, Stan Pines would always be declared dead because of the fact he stole the car in the first place. Or, you know, he took this inopportune event that nearly ended his life and saw a potential way to get rid of his name and slapped a sticker on it, in his own way, that clearly states in newspaper font “Stanley Pines Dead.” So, you see, Stan Pines could’ve either took charge how his story ended so he could get his brother back. Thus, his name being declared on the headline because of him. Or just let the law run it’s course and eventually declare him dead anyway. So far, I’d think Stanley would see it as a a gray area for him to dive into mentally since clearly he didn’t die, so that’s a bonus. That’s what I’d imagine he’d think anyway. Regardless, just think of all the pondering thoughts Stan would think about like —what if Stan was never even able to make it to Ford’s front porch? He only made it there because of sheer determination. What if he didn’t escape the car in time? Stan could’ve died before ever seeing his brother again. Or he could’ve been detained for all we know. This is a headcanon. Or probably an AU at this point? Wait, hold on a minute. Guess what? In the show, just hear how Stan brushes off faking his death in a car crash just to convince people he’s dead. It’s only a footnote from the story he tells to the kids. And imagine that Stan could’ve very well been in that exact same car at the time that the newspaper was published. And Stan just brushed. It. Off. Like. It. Was. Nothing.

And, do you think, maybe Stan went down state to retrieve his car wherever he hid it after gaining enough money from the Mystery Shack, and that’s where he passed those other tourist traps? Sorry just some last minute things to get out.

I do hope this isn’t a mess. Clearly it’s in due for repairs. I just thought if I workshopped a little bit of the headcanon here, someone might literate this idea into more sensible words. I do hope I didn’t fumble too much with this idea. It just gives too much opportunities to open up for. Like, what if Stan was a hitchhiker after the car is flung over the cliff? I just see characters from other fandoms being able to intact with Stan this way and slowly realizing Stan is clearly not in the right headspace at the moment. Honestly, I do feel bad because I do not know what is regulated to help bring someone out of shock. I’m running on an educated guess. Maybe a character can be experienced in that sort of thing? That would be cool and almost heartwarming.

[faorism]

as much as i am mourning my white guy villain dad hc, im just really excited for thinking through what it means to have eliots canon background because it does mean i will have to think deeper and richer which! a pain for me, but hopefully yall will reap the benefits of it?

[t-u-i-t-c]

Shinobi 4: It's Here! Paonmaru

[aviiarie]

please... i need more platonic ranpo fics.... platonic bsd fics in general.....

[alister312]

wah

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: What your future self wants to tell you

Hello and welcome to this new post of mine! In here I will give you a reading on what your future self wants to tell you. I hope you guys enjoy and find this useful!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Subliminal Channel > Giveaway [NEW]

~pick a card~

Pile 1:

Your future self wants you to know that they are proud of you. They see that you are trying and that you are doing your best. They know how hard things sometimes are, but they know that you will pull through it; and that peaceful and comfortable mental space you have been wanting is right around the corner. They want to tell you to not give up, because it will be as if you quit the marathon seconds before finishing it.

That hard-earned future is ahead of you, and just like how your future self knows it, you know it deep-down as well. Keep your head up.

Pile 2:

Be strong, be vocal, voice your opinions of no one else around you is voicing theirs. You have gotten a mouth to speak about your feeling of unjust, about your morals and values. There are things going on around you and in the world of which you do not agree; and your future self wants you to speak up about it. Don’t let anyone talk over you, or belittle you in any sort of way.

Speak up about your thoughts, rid yourself from the people around you that are toxic or there for the wrong reasons. Only when speaking harsh truths will you be able to recognize the discomfort in people’s eyes, and the true beliefs and intentions of people.

Pile 3:

Your future self wants you to know how many more exciting things are ahead of you; how many beautiful memories, how many fascinating adventures and funny moments you will see. They want you to know that you should keep going because there is beauty in what is to come, there is peace and happiness, fascination and interest.

You have so much more to do, so much more growth in you, so much more potential that can come out if you simply give it time. Your life isn’t done yet, it won’t stay like this nor end anytime soon. You are just at the beginning of all what is ahead of you, all that is about to come to you.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Unlucky Night ~ BC

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅WORD COUNT: 3.1K 

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅GENRE: strangers to friends, to potential lovers, cute, fluffy, chan acting like a protector - we stan a king - 

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅PAIRING: Chan x GN!Reader 

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅MASTERLIST

You sat at the bar, your fingers gripping the cool glass of your drink as you stared ahead, trying to ignore the man next to you. His presence was almost suffocating and you'd been doing your best to ignore him and pretend he wasn't there but it was becoming increasingly more difficult with each passing moment.

He had sidled up to you over an hour ago, and despite your polite rejections, he persisted like a shadow you couldn’t shake off. Even the barman had attempted to make the guy leave you alone but he was persistent in staying right where he was. Claiming he was a 'paying' customer and it was a 'free country'. You started to grab your things trying to move away from him, you'd come out for a nice relaxing night and so far you hadn't gotten that.

"Come on, sweetheart. I’m just trying to have a good time," the man said, his voice slurred from one too many drinks, he stunk of vodka and the smell made you want to vomit. You clenched your jaw, keeping your eyes fixed on the shelves of liquor behind the bar.

"I already told you, I'm not interested," you replied, your voice sharp but measured. You didn’t want to escalate the situation, but every time he spoke, your patience wore thinner. You'd been taught to always politely decline since you never knew what someone was capable of, but right now you wanted to smack the guy over the head with the glass he was nursing his drink from.

He leaned closer, invading your space, and you had to force yourself not to recoil.

"You’re playing hard to get, huh?" He chuckled, the sound grating. His breath was catching on your head as he moved closer to you, your hands clenching into fists.

"I like a challenge," he whispers, you can hear him licking his lips and it finally pushes you past your limit. You took a deep breath, glancing around the bar for an escape, but none seemed available. The bartender was busy, and no one else seemed to notice the tension between you and the man.

"I’m not playing anything," you said, your tone firmer now. "I came here for some quiet, and you’re making it difficult." He raised an eyebrow, clearly not getting the message—or choosing not to, whatever his small mind could come up with.

"Quiet? In a bar? You don’t look like the quiet type to me." He moved closer, his shoulder brushing yours, making your skin crawl and your stomach churn. If this was what he was like in public you didn't want to imagine what it would be like if you'd run into him in a dark alleyway on the way home.

"Let me buy you another drink, and maybe we can go somewhere else after." You finally turned to face him, your gaze hard and unflinching. You wanted him to finally get the point through his tiny brain,

"I said no." Each word was laced with frustration. You were at the end of your rope with him and you were two seconds away from insulting him,

"I don’t want a drink. I don’t want to go anywhere with you." you figured he would finally understand that you meant no but of course not. He didn’t back down. Instead, he smirked! Smirking as if this was all part of some game you were both playing and that you were just trying to test him.

"You’re being feisty. I like that." He placed a hand on the bar, trapping you on one side.

"Don’t be like that, babe. Let’s just—"

"Stop calling me 'babe,'" you snapped, your voice rising slightly. "I’m not interested. Leave me alone." You snapped a little harsher at him this time, earning the attention of the couple on the other side of the bar from you.

The man’s smile faltered for a brief moment, but he quickly regained his composure, leaning even closer. He shrugged his shoulders and smirked at you, his eyes looking you up and down as he drank in your appearance.

"I think you just need to loosen up." That was it. Your heart pounded with a mix of anger and anxiety, and you could feel the adrenaline kicking in. You had to get out of this situation before it escalated any further. Your eyes scanned the room again, desperate for a way out, and that’s when you spotted a guy sitting alone. You weren't sure he was going to be any better than the arsehole beside you but he seemed nice enough, his eyes were on his laptop,

Without another thought, you stood abruptly, pushing the bar stool back and making a beeline for his table, hoping that this stranger could help you where words had failed.

Your heart raced as you made your way toward the table at the back of the pub, weaving through the crowd while trying to appear as calm as possible. This was your one shot of getting away from the creep and you didn't want to blow it, you could still feel the man’s gaze following you, his presence still heavy on your back, but you forced yourself to focus on your next step. You didn’t know this guy at the table but you hoped he was as nice as he appeared to be,

He was sitting alone, his attention on his laptop when you reached his table, you bit your lip a little. Hesitation washed over you as you stood there for a moment, unsure how to begin or how to even ask him for his help but here you were. He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to concern as he noticed the panic flickering in your eyes.

“Excuse me…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed, forcing yourself to speak louder, more confidently, you didn't want to come across as creepy like the guy from the bar.

“I—I know this is weird, but… there’s a guy over there who’s been following me all night. He won’t leave me alone. Can you… Can you help me?” The man blinked once, taking in your words, his gaze briefly flicking past you toward the bar where the man still lingered. His jaw clenched so hard you could see it from where you were standing, and without hesitation, he slid to the side, making space on the bench next to him.

“Sit down,” he said softly, his voice calm but authoritative. You didn’t waste a second before slipping into the seat beside him, your heart hammering against your chest. The second you sat down, you felt an immediate sense of relief, though the anxiety still churned in your stomach.

"I'm Chan," he introduced himself quietly as you nodded along with him, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him. It was now that you realised he had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen in your life.

"yn." You whispered back to him, a shy smile forming on your lips as your chest began to flutter. He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours as he spoke in a low voice meant only for you.

“I’m going to play along, okay? But I need to ask—can I put my arm around you? It’ll make this look more believable...but only if you're comfortable," Your breath caught in your throat. You were grateful he even asked, considering the situation, but the way his voice was so gentle and steady like he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, made you nod almost instantly.

“Yeah,” you whispered, still feeling nervous but trusting him. Without missing a beat, Chan slid his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close in a way that felt protective rather than invasive. He let his fingers rest lightly on your shoulder, not gripping too tightly but enough to make it seem like a natural gesture. His body was warm against yours, and for the first time that night, you didn’t feel as vulnerable.

His free hand found yours on the table, his fingers gently intertwining with yours and you were sure your heart was about ready to throw itself at him now.

“There,” he murmured, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “How’s that? He still watching?” You dared a glance toward the bar, where the man was glaring in your direction, clearly displeased by the sudden shift in your attention.

“Yeah, he is,” you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly. You were worried he would be there all night and Chan would eventually have to leave you alone.

“Don’t worry,” Chan said, his voice soothing. “I’ve got you. Just follow my lead.” Then, to sell the act even further, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to make it seem real. The warmth of the gesture spread through you, and though your heart was still racing, it wasn’t from fear anymore.

“Babe, you okay?” he said louder, for anyone watching to hear. His thumb stroked your hand as he continued to play the part effortlessly.

“I didn’t think you’d make it tonight.” You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Yeah, I just… got held up,” you mumbled, trying to match his tone. Chan squeezed your hand gently, leaning closer again, his voice dropping back to a whisper.

“We’ll leave in a few minutes. I’ll walk you out, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t follow.” You nodded again, your pulse slowly calming with every second that passed by his side.

"I hate that he's made you panic, I can feel how hard your heart is racing," He whispered to you, but little did he know your heart wasn't racing because of the creep - well, maybe at first - but now it was all for him.

"So what brings you to the bar?" You asked with a smile, and he smirked turning his laptop screen around to show you what it was he was working on but you couldn't make sense of it.

"Music, I come here to focus sometimes when I can't do with the silence of my studio," He smiled at you as you stared at the screen, his eyes lingering on yours as you scanned over the screen,

"What about you, beautiful?" He asked with a smile, your eyes slowly looked back at him and you felt your body heating up from the attention,

"Long day, I wanted some quiet after work but I guess I was unlucky...but it's improving," You whispered, his cheeks turning pink as you flirted back with him,

"Well, I'm glad I could make your unlucky night that much better." He winked at you.

What was meant to be just a few minutes of pretending stretched into something much longer between the two of you? You and Chan settled into an easy rhythm of conversation, your initial nerves melting away as you found yourself drawn into his warmth, both literally and figuratively. His arm was still draped casually over your shoulders, felt natural now, and his presence put you at ease. At first, you kept sneaking glances toward the bar, checking to see if the man was still watching, but after a while, you stopped looking, forgetting he was there altogether. Chan had a way of making you forget about the unease from earlier, all of it melting away into nothing.

His laugh was infectious, and the stories he shared with you made you feel like you'd known him longer than just a couple of hours now. He had a talent for making you feel like the only person in the room, even as the pub bustled around you.

“So, you’ve never been to Australia?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes. You shook your head, laughing lightly.

“Nope. Never. The farthest I’ve travelled is from home to Korea.”

“Well, you’re missing out,” he said with a grin.

“When you do go, I’ll give you all the recommendations. Best beaches, places to eat... And don’t worry, no kangaroos in the cities. Everyone always asks about the kangaroos.” You giggled, holding your hand over your mouth as you tried not to get too loud.

“I wasn’t even thinking about the kangaroos.” Chan leaned back slightly, his hand still resting comfortably on your shoulder as he continued.

“Good, ‘cause they’re honestly a bit terrifying up close.” He shuddered playfully before you giggled at him.

This whole thing had started as a tense situation and had suddenly turned into something that felt more like a spontaneous first date. You found yourself telling him things you didn’t expect to share, laughing at his jokes, and learning about the person behind the calm, cool exterior.

At some point, the pub began to thin out, the bustling energy of the night slowly quieting down. You glanced at your phone and blinked, surprised.

"Wow, it’s already past midnight.” Chan raised his eyebrows, looking genuinely surprised.

“Really? We were supposed to leave a few minutes ago, right?” His lips curled into a small smile. “Guess we got a little carried away.” He laughed softly as you joined in, realizing that you hadn’t even thought about the man who’d been following you. Turning to look toward the bar, you saw that he was long gone. You hadn’t noticed when he’d left, but now it felt like a distant memory, something insignificant compared to the night you’d spent talking with Chan.

“Looks like he’s gone,” you said with a relieved smile. Chan’s arm tightened slightly around your shoulders as he followed your gaze. Part of him was a little disappointed that this was over but he was relieved you weren't going to have some creep following you around.

“Good. I didn’t want to leave you alone until I was sure.” He looked back at you, his eyes softening. “Still, let me walk you out and get you a cab. Just to be safe.” You nodded, grateful once again for his thoughtfulness. He stood up, offering you his hand, and you took it as he helped you to your feet. His hand lingered in yours for a moment before he dropped it, guiding you toward the door with a protective closeness that hadn’t faded since you first approached him.

The cool night air hit you as you stepped outside, refreshing against your warm skin. Chan stayed beside you, his arm gently brushing yours as you stood at the path. He waved down a cab, making sure it stopped directly in front of you.

Before you stepped inside, he turned to you, that playful smile back on his face.

“So, I’m guessing we didn’t get to talk about everything yet.” You laughed softly and shook your head at him.

“No, I guess we didn’t.”

“Then how about we finish this conversation another time?” he suggested, pulling out his phone. He wasn't usually the type to pick up people in bars and ask for their number but with you, he'd felt something, a genuine connection that he didn't want to let go of.

“I think we owe ourselves a less stressful night.” He finished as you nodded at him.

“I’d like that, a lot.” You whispered before the two of you exchanged numbers, the glow from his phone illuminating his face as he saved your contact. After sending a quick message so you had his number too, he looked at you again.

“I’ll text you. We’ll set something up.” He suggested. You nodded, opening the door to the taxi and sliding into the backseat, Chan leaned down slightly, his hand resting on the doorframe as he looked at you. He didn't want you to go but it was getting too late now.

“Take care, alright? And text me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

“I will,” you promised, giving him one last grateful smile. “Thank you… for everything.”

He grinned, his dimples showing as he gave you a small wave. “Anytime.”

The cab pulled away, and as you watched him grow smaller in the distance, you couldn’t help but feel like tonight had turned out much differently than you’d expected but much, much, better than you'd expected.

You stared at Chan as the two of you sat in the same booth table you'd been in a year ago today,

“A whole year, huh?” Chan’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. He squeezed your hand, giving you that soft smile that still made your heart flutter, even after all this time.

“Yeah, hard to believe,” you said, grinning up at him. “Feels like it was just yesterday that I walked up to your table and asked you to save me from that creep.” He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Best decision you ever made.” He winked playfully, and you nudged him in the ribs.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not wrong,” you teased, squeezing his hand back as you found a familiar table toward the back—the same one where you’d sat with him that night.

As you both settled into the booth, the memories of that night played vividly in your mind. You remembered how nervous you’d been, approaching a stranger for help, how you’d ended up spending hours lost in conversation with him, and how he’d walked you out, making sure you were safe. It felt surreal to be sitting here again, but this time, things were different. This time, he wasn’t just playing the part of your boyfriend.

He was your boyfriend.

“So, how do you feel about this anniversary?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “One year of dealing with me. Not bad, right?” You laughed softly, resting your head on his shoulder as he squeezed you, softy, pressing his lips to your temple.

“One year of putting up with your terrible jokes, you mean?” His laughter joined yours, a deep, happy sound that you never got tired of hearing.

“Hey, you love my jokes.” he whined at you making you smirk,

“Debatable,” you teased, though the smile on your face made it clear just how much you adored him. “But really… this has been the best year.”

Chan tilted his head slightly, his eyes warm as he looked down at you.

“Same here. Best year of my life, actually.” Your heart swelled as you looked at him, slowly leaning in and kissing him softly.

"Happy anniversary baby," You whispered before he leant his forehead on yours,

"Happy Anniversary, stranger." He winked before you giggled, cuddling into his side again.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @s3ungm1nxxl0ve

[xoddxphilosophyx]

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[hells-wasabii]

can you write for Alastor x Doe! Reader? I absolutely adore this prompt, i just think it’s so cute for Alastor to have a fellow deer demon :)

A/N: sorry this one was shorter compared to the rest of my stuff so far, for this one i kinda imagined it leading into the general headcanons i did for Alastor and I didn't wanna be repetitive if i could help it. anywho, here ya go!

Part 1 | Part 2

Character: Alastor

Type: Headcanons (Alastor x Doe! reader, general)

When initially seeing you, he's pretty apprehensive to say the least, but definitely curious. He'd seen plenty of demons since his arrival to hell: big, small, humanoid, monstrous, you name it. But he'd never seen another deer, a doe especially.

You quickly become a point of interest for the radio demon. If you were a deer like him, how deep did your similarities run? Did you have a similar mindset? Perhaps you died a death like his? Or maybe, just maybe, you had the potential to grow your powers to be as great as his? By golly, he just had to know!

So, of course, he stuck around. He made a plan too. Get close and observe.

Your first official meeting was not a meet-cute moment. Admittedly he might've gotten a little too excited and gotten ahead of himself. Came on a little too strong and freaked you out. It wasn't anybody's fault per say, you were just fresh to hell AND there'd just been an extermination too.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't find your initially skittish nature amusing. It was rather fitting for a doe, after all.

Alastor found it even more entertaining when you grew comfortable, however. Things had a habit of getting interesting when you grew bold.

Before long, he found himself enjoying your company. As it turns out, you had also died a hunting-related death, hence the deer-like attributes. Truly, he finds you to be a joy to keep around.

While he might not have a running contract with you, he would for sure keep tabs on you when he's not around. Think Razzle and Dazzle for Charlie, but a full-on Sinner Demon. He does enjoy putting some of his contracts to use, after all.

[bloodiedrogue]

BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response. 

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.” 

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest. 

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.  

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face. 

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response. 

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes. 

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context. 

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes. 

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.” 

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles. 

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in. 

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over. 

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone. 

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you. 

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief. 

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food. 

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase. 

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are. 

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink. 

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.” 

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?” 

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.” 

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” 

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.” 

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”  

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line. 

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack. 

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open. 

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.” 

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies. 

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.” 

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.” 

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now. 

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly. 

“You fear me, don’t you?” 

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills. 

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.” 

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear. 

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire. 

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you. 

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in. 

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross. 

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold. 

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open. 

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull. 

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood. 

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare. 

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.” 

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?” 

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close. 

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code. 

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over. 

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought. 

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away. 

[moonstruckme]

“Wow,” Morgan sighs happily, “I don’t know which one of you is more whipped.” 

i'm so obsessed with this line from one of your recent spencer reid works and i would loooove to see more of this dynamic if you're interested in doing it 💗 maybe more moments of them being soft/whipped for each other and the team noticing it? thank youuu!!

Thank you lovely!

cw: mention of kidnapping (more a backdrop than anything)

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 1k words

Spencer really wishes he’d remembered his gloves. The air is biting, fresh powder glistening on the deep green spruces whose boughs stoop under its weight. It’s picturesque, and yet the snowfall couldn’t have come at a worse time. It’s impeded their search party by hours, potentially dooming the kidnapping victim they’re all braving the weather for. Spencer keeps his hands stowed in his coat pockets. 

“Hey.” 

He turns as you and Emily come up behind him. You’re both dressed better than he is, actual winter wear as opposed to the tweed coat he’d worn into the police station that morning. Even so, your cheek and nose are look chilled as you smile at him. You carry a disposable coffee cup in each hand. 

“Hi,” Spencer says, taking the one you extend to him. His numb fingers are grateful for the warmth of it. “I thought you guys were interviewing the uncle?” 

Emily’s shaking her head before he’s finished speaking, mouth pulling in discontent. “That was a dead end. He and his sister have been estranged for years. He doesn’t know anything.” 

A frown tugs at your features as Emily talks but you perk up quickly when you feel your boyfriend’s gaze. “We figured we’d be more helpful here,” you say brightly, “and also that you might want some liquid reinforcement.” 

“Thanks.” He does a little toast with his disposable cup and regrets it immediately, but thankfully you smile. Spencer isn’t sure how he got so lucky; it seems like he can get away with any number of weird things and you’ll find them endearing every time. “There hasn’t been much progress here either. If they left any sort of tracks, the snow covered it up. I’m not…” he lowers his voice, angling his head away from the others in his group. “I’m not sure we’ll find her alive in this.” 

“We’ve still got eight hours,” Emily points out. 

She’s right, he tells himself. There are eight hours left in the forty-eight hour window. But that’s also just a statistic. And as someone whose brain is packed full of statistics, Spencer knows that they’re not always reflective of reality. The eight hours his team has left might be more for hope than anything else. 

Emily drifts ahead of you in the group and you bump your shoulder lightly into his, forcibly derailing his train of thought. He looks over at you. Your lips are tipped up, just a little. Not faking anything, but understanding, a quiet promise that regardless of how today turns out, you’ll be in it together. He finds it easier than expected to return your smile. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Your hair curtains your face as you look down, unzipping your jacket to dig something out of the interior pocket. “You left your gloves at the station.” 

“Yes.” You laugh at his eagerness as he takes them from you. “I can’t believe I forgot them, thanks so much for bringing them.” 

“Of course, it was no problem.” Your eyes skim the trees. Spencer suspects that if your face weren’t already so pink it’d be coloring now. “I figured you might need them, so.” 

“You were right.” 

Your gaze flits to his as you grin, then falls to where he has his gloves held bunched with his coffee cup. “Oh, do you want me to take that so you can put them on?” 

“That’d be great,” he says, relieved. 

He holds the cup out to you. You reach for it, but when your fingers brush his in the transfer, you gasp, covering his hand with yours. 

“Spence,” you say softly, remonstrance gentled. “Your hands are freezing!” 

“They’re not as bad as they were before. What are you doing?” 

You’ve taken one of his hands in yours and appear to be inspecting it closely. “Checking if your fingernails are blue.” 

“They’re not,” he laughs, though he lets you finish your perusal until you’re satisfied. “I would know if I had frostbite. I’d be able to identify the symptoms early on.” 

“They’re just so cold,” you fret. “I’ve never felt skin that cold before.” 

The tops of his hands are still freezing, but his palms and the pads his fingers have warmed from the coffee cup. “I’m not sure they’re colder than your face,” he says, pressing his free hand to one of your cheeks. 

Unsurprisingly, your skin is cool to the touch, but you smile warmly as you push your cheek into his palm. 

“Okay, you two,” Emily says without turning around, “less fraternizing on the job. 

You straighten immediately. “We were just—”

“Being cute and coupley?” Uncannily, Morgan appears on Spencer’s other side. He has no idea when his nosiest coworker had drifted back from the front of the group. “We know. But could you save it for the hotel later? Even all the sparks flying off you two can’t melt all this snow, and I want to get out of here sometime before dark.” 

Spencer suspects his face is about as red as yours as he looks down to pull on his gloves. Morgan relishes in it, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“And don’t think I didn’t notice that you brought pretty boy here a coffee and not me.” He tsks. “I didn’t expect such blatant favoritism from you, sweetheart. I’m disappointed.” 

“I was carrying yours,” Emily says, her tone conveying an eyeroll so effectively she doesn’t need to follow through with the action. She pushes a disposable coffee cup into Morgan’s chest. 

He doesn’t look one bit sheepish as he takes it, though Spencer notices you trying to repress a grin that’s bordering upon smug. 

“This has lipstick on the lid.” 

Emily shrugs. “I finished mine in the car.” 

“So you started on mine?” 

“I sampled.” 

“You’re lucky I exhibit such blatant favoritism,” you say quietly to Spencer under their bickering. “I finished mine in the car too.” 

He raises his eyebrows, and you shake your empty cup as proof. Spencer takes your hand, wrapping it around his coffee cup. “We’ll share.”

[splatashahowlett]

Birthday Blues

logan howlett x reader

logan hated cake.

well, he hated this cake. the one rogue had spent her entire afternoon baking for your birthday. of course you would have wanted a cake portraying henry cavill out of anyone. even if it was horrifying to admit, logan came to the conclusion -after staring at the cake for twenty minutes- that what he felt may be, somewhat, probably, eventually, potentially close to what you call jealousy.

not because it wasn't his face on the cake, solely thinking about it sent him into a spiral of absurdity. but more because you weren't interested in him in the slightest, and that somehow upset him a little bit. he would live through it though. logan doesn't need anyone and the more people stay away from him the better. so no, he wasn't about to make a move or confess his feelings to you cause you couldn't even call those feelings... logan had never felt this foolish in a long time.

you were turning 28. you almost couldn't believe it. life hasn't been kind to you (read cruel and atrocious) and you were in peace with the fact that you weren't going to make it past 25. so celebrating your birthday, one more time, felt exhilarating. you weren't supposed to be alive still, so it felt like bonus time. and you wanted to make the most of it. "making the most of it" currently meant dancing on a table with your best friend, ororo. not caring if it could break under your sophisticated dance moves, if people love you or if you really did turn off the stove earlier.

in this moment, you couldn't care less. you felt truly happy.

and hot. you felt hot.

not in a "I feel cute" way -well, also in a "I feel cute" way- but burning hot.

you tried to scream over the music, telling ororo you were going outside. she clearly didn't hear you but you needed fresh air so you quickly gave up.

once you were outside you seated yourself on the stairs of the school. you ears were ringing and body sweating. you tried to enjoy the delicate breeze grazing over your cheeks but for some reason you couldn't relax. after a quick glance behind you, you figured your life long crush watching you might be the reason why.

"you startled me" you yelped, a hand flying to your chest.

"sorry kid" he answered, walking over to you. he sat down next to you, careful to leave lot of space between you two. you hated when he called you that. you didn't take it personally because he called everyone that but each time it felt like a sting in your heart reminding you that nothing will ever happen between the two of you, that it was impossible. you both stayed silent, not knowing what to say and how to say it.

"you looked like you were having fun back there" he said, lighting a cigar. you smiled and turned your head to look at him. you were leaving the school soon and this "ahead of time nostalgia" pushed you to do something stupid; you suddenly wanted to find out if there could be something between you. alcohol could also be a factor. so you kept your gaze on him, heart beating at an expeditious and maybe even unhealthy rate.

"I was" you nodded, "were you having fun?" you added.

"s'not really my thing" he sighed, not annoyed but more disappointed.

"having fun?" you joked, still looking at him, he glanced at you with a smile on his face. you were effortlessly soothing to him. you were his own personification of serenity.

"no, dancing and all..." he replied, still smiling.

you looked down, your smile slowly fading. "I'm gonna miss this. our nighttime conversations" you complained. logan's stare was still on you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"you're leaving?" he asked, urgently. you only nodded, saying it out loud would be heart-wrenching. you both fell silent again. you didn't know what to do, should you tell him you've been in love with him since you first saw him? should you tell him you hate him so leaving would be easier? should you stay? a thousands thoughts were rushing through your mind for what felt like an hour but really was only a long minute. this shattering turmoil was interrupted by logan standing up.

"teach me." he said, while holding out a hand. you looked up, confused.

"teach you what?" you said, though still taking his hand and following him on the grass.

"to dance, I want to learn to have fun. I want to have something left from you once you're gone" he said, straight into your eyes and you felt your breath stuck in your throat. so you took a step and captured his other hand in your free one.

"I'm no professional logan" you bantered.

"but you're more than passionate about it, it's all that matters" he answered, in all sincerity while you started guiding his steps into a slow dance. his hand was on your waist, keeping you close to his body.

"were you watching me?" you asked, feeling bold enough to flirt.

"how could I not? you seem to catch my attention in every room you walk in" he admitted, not showing how scared he was at the moment.

"why didn't you say anything sooner? why didn't you say anything when we had time?" you whimpered, on the edge of tears.

logan stopped dancing and pulled you to him. silently apologizing.

"my heart is so full of you I can hardly call it my own" you muttered, in a desperate attempt to fix whatever was to be fixed. logan closed his eyes, jubilating at your confession which also broke his heart considering you both acknowledged your feelings for each other once it was too late. "kiss me" he heard.

so he did, he did kiss you. he kissed you like it was the last thing he would ever do, because it was in a way. he knew he couldn't keep you from leaving, so he let you have a part of him with you: his heart, along with a promise of seeing each other again.

[beescake]

i am in love with your sollux i think

sollux love party :]

if you’re interested heres some of my personal fondness thoughts on him.. big warning for the mega long read ahead aye

as we alr know sollux's rejection of participation somewhat mirrors dave's rejection of heroism, but even without getting cooked to completion i still find sollux's character v compelling beyond the fourth wall

as someone who doesnt get a pinch of that Protagonist Sparkle to begin with, he can openly say he wants to leave anytime…. and unlike dave, he actually Can leave the scene anytime. but he can never be truly Free from the story via permanent character death like the other trolls.

his irrelevancy is indeed relevant - he’s there so u can point him out.

while his image is intended to be a relic of past internet subculture, his role is not only about hehehaha being a Chad or a 2000s cyberforum 2²chan haxxor ragequit gamebro.

his continued existence also happens to add a Bit to the overarching themes of homestuck! a Bit that gives him longer-lasting thematic relevance compared to the trolls who could’ve had more character potential but didnt get to survive beyond the main story.

the Bit in question:

his defiance contributes to the illusion of agency (treating characters = people with autonomy). he’s “aware” of it, and that recognition is worth noting enough to forcibly keep him alive as both reward and punishment.

considering how his personality & classpect is designed its definitely a very haha thing for hussie to do LOL. he’s made to be op asf so he's resigned to doing dirty work, gradually deteriorating along the way but never truly dying. as fans have mentioned before, him openly rejecting involvement after a while of grim tolerance is like if the sim u were controlling suddenly stopped, looked up and gave u the finger while u were step six into the walkthrough for Every Possible Sim Death Animation.

but since he’s just a sim… the more he hates it, the more you keep him around. if ur sim started complaining abt your whimsical household storyline you’d definitely keep that little fuck.

but yeah i like that sollux is just idling. the significance of his presence being that one dude who's always reliably Somewhere, root core Unchanged, no individual ambitions (possibly due to fear of consequence?), and design-wise: a staple representative product of his time.

compared to dirk's character, who has aged phenomenally well into the present (themes of control + AR + artificial intelligence, clearer exploration around navigating relationships/sexuality, infinite possibilities of self-splinterhood and trait inheritance), sollux's potential is really... contained. bitter. defeatist. limiting and frustrating in the way old tech is.

the world continues moving on to shinier, brighter, more advanced automated things - minimalist and metaverse or whatever but sollux is still here 🧍‍♂️ going woohoo redblue 3d. (tho personally i imagine his vibe similar to what the kids call cassette futurism on pinterest mixed w more grimy grunge insectoid influences eheh)

conceptually-speaking,

at the foundation of it all, the rapid pace of modern development was built off the understanding of ppl like sollux in the past, who were There actively at work while the dough was still beginning to rise

thats one of the cool things abt the idea of trolls preceding humans! the idea that trolls like sollux excelled back when lots of basic shit still needed to be discovered, building structures like networks and codes from scratch, and humans will eventually inherit and reinvent that knowledge in ways that become so optimized it makes the old manual effort seem archaic, slow, and labour-intensive.

but despite information/resources/shortcuts being more accessible now, much of the new highly-anticipated stuff released on trend still end up unfinished, inefficient, or expiring quickly due to cutting corners under severe capitalistic pressures

meanwhile, some of the old stuff frm past generations of thorough, exploratory and perfectionistic development still remains working, complete, and ever so sturdy.

those things continue to exist, just outside our periphery with either:

zero purpose left for modern needs (outdated/obsolete)

or

far too important to replace or destroy, bcs of its surprisingly essential and circumstantial usefulness in one niche specific area.

which are honestly? both points that sum up sollux pree well.

dramatic ending sorry. anw are u still on the fence or are u Sick abt him like me </3

[prettyboykatsuki]

on deaths door | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dark content ahead, afab + gender neutral reader, dark comedy / black comedy, attempts of suicide, the use of the word rapist in text, mentions of self-harm scars, penetration, intense but not rough, gojo is doting, no curses au, ceo!gojo 18+

note: this fic is mostly intended to be a dark comedy and have an unserious nature. it is very absurdist and it makes light of both suicide and assault. please proceed carefully if you find this might be triggering to you.

PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED.

✮ wc ; 2.6k

✮ a/n ; i actually really really enjoyed writing this and would love to expand on it potentially. KJSDFJSKD.

reader has been through a lot so they are super nonchalant about everything just as a precaution

"Uwah," A voice startles you from your place on the roof. You gasp, amidst tears and sobs from shock. "Are you about to kill yourself?"

You whip your head around to see who could be beside you at this hour. It's a deliberately obscure location, too so it's extra weird. You were hoping to die in peace in a place where it'd be hard to find you, after all.

But there's a strange man interrupting your plans. Very strange. He's speaking Japanese rather clearly but his hair is a shock of white and his eyes are blues as saphhires. Despite the situation, his voice is light and cheerful - almost amused.

You can't tell if he's just a figment of your imagination. He's so unusual it stuns you out of your tears. You can't find your voice to respond for a moment.

"Yes," You reply, unsure of what else to say. He smiles at you.

"Hm." He looks contemplative. "Well... if you don't want it, can I have it?"

You stare on, confused.

He grins. "Your life, I mean. Can I buy it off you?"

Starting to wonder if you've already died, you stretch your hands up to wipe the tears off of your face just to see if any of it is real. The touch makes it gasp. You're definitely still alive. So, that means this strange man is also real and asking to buy your life.

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not a cheapskate or anything, the price will be fair." He walks closer to you from where you've been standing all this time. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, picking you up and setting you down further away from the ledge with a harsh yank.

Like a kitten whose mother is dragging it by the nape, you fumble onto the rooftop concrete. As soon as you're moved, you drop down to your knees - unable to find anymore strength.

"Are you... trying to traffick me?" Your voice is coarse in your reply as you stare up. It's a genuine question. You aren't sure what else to call this. The strange, unusual man just laughs in your face.

"Mm, well - not really. Though, if you say yes I'll make good use of you in all ways." The last part makes your skin crawl a little. "You were weeping so pitifully when I came up here... super pathetic. I just thought it'd be a waste if you died since I got to see something interesting."

There's something really wrong with this guy, you think. But this is such a common thing in your life, you aren't sure how shocked you should be.

There's also something equally wrong with you, because you're so fucked up - you're considering it. If he paid you enough to cover all of your debts, you could cut ties with all the bullshit your fathers debt has put you through. You could run away. Not there's anywhere for you, even after that. But at least you'd be unshackled from what makes you most miserable.

You don't want your life, but if this guy wants it so bad then...

"...How much will you pay me?"

His eyes light up when you ask this and it unsettles you further. "As much as you want. And you'd have to live with me at my beck and call."

"Like a pet." You reply easily.

Instead of denying it, he snaps his fingers and grins. "Exactly! Or maybe more like a plush toy that I take every where?"

Either way, you're not any kind of human. You're barely human now though with how much you work, so you aren't sure it makes a difference. You stare at him. And he looks back at you with a smile - all pearly white pristine teeth.

Who cares anymore, anyway? Even if he were to mistreat you, you're not sure you'd even feel it. It's all numb. He can have your life if it means you can escape what you're running from.

He looks rich, so maybe.

"Don't worry," He hums, and he reaches over to pat your head while your face is covered in tears. You don't flinch for some reason. "I don't like breaking things I've bought unnecessarily."

Something is wrong with you. Your self preservation is in total fucking tatters. But still, you want to say so you do. Maybe it's the absurdity, or the fact you truly don't have anything to lose. Nothing could make your misfortune any worse.

You sniffle and shake your head. He's dangerous and weird, but at least you could pay off your debts.

"Okay," You say weakly.

His smile gets impossibly wide.

You're wonder if you'll regret your decision.

__

He's filthy rich.

You should've expected that. You did, kinda. Because only rich people would think to do or ask something so absurd like ask to buy another persons life. Still, he had a driver waiting for him downstairs and his car is definitely a sports care. A McLaren, you think. One of the places you catered for ages ago was full of rich people with flashy cars and you remembered some of them.

He sits with you uncomfortably close in the back seat but doesn't speak to you at all during the ride. Not until you arrive at the destination, which is a giant building where the strange man certainly lives.

The driver (named Ichiji) calls the strange man Gojo-sama, which makes you feel extremely on edge. They whisper about something when you're out of ear shot, and Ichiji gives you a sorrowful look that you can't place.

The name Gojo is familiar to you, but you aren't sure where you've heard it.

After taking a long elevator ride to one of the upper floors, you end up in the strange mans condo. When you get there, he tells you take off your shoes and gives you nice slippers.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says, still frivolous and speaking to you in what feels like a foreign tongue. "And also yours. I'll set you up in the guest room later, but you'll be keeping my bed warm mostly so keep that in mind."

The size of the place is absurd and so is the decor. What have you gotten yourself into? You must've gone insane. You're too afraid to touch anything.

"Am I like... a sex slave?" You ask curiously.

He frowns at you. "You make me sound like some kind of rapist. I guess now that I own you....it might make me one... but you agreed to come here so don't be like that!!" He huffs, childishly.

His response is somewhat incomprehensible to you. He's stranger by the minute and completely tactless - but for some reason, it's hard to distrust him. He doesn't raise any immediate red flags aside from being unusual.

You almost want to say it wouldn't matter if he was, as long as he pays you but decide not too.

"Okay. Do you want me to take my clothes off?" You reply, nonchalant. He stares at you.

"...I know your heads pretty fucked up, but don't you think you're being too blase about all this?"

Your brow furrows. A weird response for a guy who willingly understands this is a less than ethical situation "Would... you prefer I struggle and refuse you? Is that your fetish?"

"No! Well..." You look at him flatly as he thinks on it, almost blushing at the thought. You make a face of disgust "Not in this case, alright! It's just too pitiful and I'm not that type really.... Be more cautious."

"But you were planning to fuck me from the start, right? Or something."

He nods. "Well, yes. As a way to earn your living and for me get my urges out whenever. Finding people to have sex with is a hassle."

You shrug.

"Right. I can cook and clean too. I've done pretty much every job you can think of it,"

He waves a hand at you. "We can discuss it later." He puts a hand in his necktie and pulls on with a small smile. "Right now, I want to test out my new toy so..."

You should feel more disgusted by how he refers to you, but you don't have it in yourself.

"Can I shower first?"

He looks surprised but nods. "Uh-huh. Just wear one of my shirts when you come out. Everything else is in the bathroom. It's upstairs, first door on your left."

You stand to your feet, nodding.

__

It takes you ten minutes to figure out how the shower works.

His shower is nice. The whole place is nice. Nicer than any shithole you've ever lived in. He has a lot of nice bath products, though you aren't sure how you feel about smelling like him since you're borrowing his.

You examine your body a bit in the shower, looking at old scars as you wash and rub yourself clean. Thankfully, you gave yourself a trim downstairs not long ago.

It's embarrassing in retrospect but you've not had much of a choice in the first place. You're sensitive, unsure of the last time you've touched yourself given how much you work. You think of your job and feel guilty for how you're going to miss it. But you recall that you were preparing to die not even two hours ago and feel less bad.

You whimper a little as you finger yourself open under the water - getting wet easier than you thought. You have to lean against the wall, but with enough coaxing you get three fingers in. You're still horny when you shut the water off and step out.

You dry yourself and put on lotion - staring in the mirror. As told you borrow one of his shirts, but it's too big on you and you can see your nipples too clearly which makes you embarrassed.

You reason you're about to go fuck a stranger anyway, and decide to step out right after.

__

You decide against wearing underwear since his shirt fits on you like a dress, but regret when you come back down stairs feeling aware of the breeze on your went cunt.

He's sitting on the couch with his legs spread, dress shirt unbuttoned but still in his clothes. He hears you before he sees you, eyes widening. You suddenly get self-conscious under the weight of his stare.

"Better than I thought," Is his only assessment. Your skin grows hot.

He beckons you over to him and you go, unsure of what to do until he pulls you into his lap. Forcing you to straddle him, he wastes no time in feeling you up. His hands at your waist and chest. His face lights up in pure amusement when he sees you bare underneath.

He stares at your pussy for a long time.

"It's good," He hums, his hands brushing against it. Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal, a pathetic moan leaving your lips that makes him laugh. "Pretty."

You don't have anything to say to that so you keep quiet. Gojo slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt to asses your wetness, surprised surely by how wet it is. Without warning, he plunges a finger in. He looks up at your face, your hand covering your mouth so you don't moan.

"So wet," His voice can't contain his amusement. "What's this?"

"I was," You shiver half-way through as he plunges in another finger and it goes in smoothly. "I p-prepared in the shower and masturbated. I thought you'd just want to stick it in and I didn't want it to hurt.

"Haah," His voice is sharp, suddenly breathy. Something hard and big presses up against your leg. "You're talented in seducing me. I'm not so ungentlemanly, but I'll let it go this time, alright?"

You nod. He uses a sticky hand to unbutton his slacks and push his boxers away. You gasp at the size of his cock. You're not a virgin exactly, but you haven't had sex with anyone this big ever. He chuckles a little, pressing the head of his cock against your stomach and cunt as if measuring it up to you.

More wetness pulses, shame filling you - because you're almost excited to be fucking this strange man you've only met today. Weirdly, you don't feel unsafe around him. Your eyes glass over from lust.

He sticks his fingers in your mouth and you suck automatically, instinctively. His smile is predatory all of a sudden, teeth glimmering.

"So obedient," He says, sharply. "Ah, I have a good eye. It really would've been such a waste."

You're content to throw yourself at him, chasing the pleasure. His fingers taste of salt and skin, making you want something else entirely. It's not long before he pulls away though, wrapping his hand around his shaft and making it shiny. You blink down at where he fists his cock - your spine tingling at the sight.

"Look at you," He mutters, amused. "Do you always get this excited? Is it normal for you to fuck strange men or am I special?"

You shake your head. "It's only been two people."

"Then I am special," He replies. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his cock pressing against your hole - fluttering. "We have good compatibility."

Before you can say a word, you feel his length push inside of you in one swift motion and gasp. It's so big, so impossibly big - and even with how much you stretched, there's a touch of resistance that's making your entire lower half feel like it's jelly. Almost numb from the sensation. Buzzing from adrenaline and want.

You feel full. In your stomach, in your chest - your whole body feel complete. When you manage to open your eyes, you look at Gojo and find yourself taken aback. His hair is pushed back from his hand and he looks... different. He's handsome now that you realize. His face looks...pleased.

You talk before you can think about it.

"Do I feel good?"

He laughs sweetly, before pressing a kiss to your temple that feels to affectionate for people who barely know each other.

"Uh-huh," He says. His hands are strong, tight on your ass as he bucks up into you - causing you to collapse forward. The pleasure makes you shake, sensitivity through the roof. "Feel so good. Hahaha, how lucky."

You cling onto Gojo's shoulder and bury your face into his neck. He doesn't stop you. A large hand comes around the back of your head - the other one at your hips as he thrusts up into you with alarming force and precision. He feels so good it's a little scary, and you can't keep the noises from slipping out. You moan and whine each time the tip rubs against you inside, soft walls barely able to accommodate the size.

Your body feels hot everywhere he touches. It's been so long and Gojo is so careful but so intense. His expensive dress shirt rubs up against your nipples each time he moves. It's so good, so good - makes you want to cry.

"You're so sensitive." He laughs against your shoulder. "Gripping so tight every time I move. Do you want to cum so bad?"

"Yes," The words are a sob. Just a little more.

"Uh-huh. Tell me where to touch you. How should I make you cum."

You're too shamelessly pent up to feel shy anymore. "Touch my c-clit, please, please."

"Got it, got it - don't cry."

Gojo listens to you well. Thick fingers and an angled hand find your clit with ease as he bounces you on his cock with no regard. Your eyes roll back instantly, immediately - as an orgasm washes over your entire body. Back arching, you cum hard around the base of his cock - but Gojo just keeps fucking you through it. He doesn't stop even when you come down, only moves you both so you're laying on the couch on your back.

He kisses you then, and you meet his mouth with sloppy tears running down your face from the pleasure.

"Let's see what your stamina is like, yeah? See if you can keep up with me."

__

He fucks you unconscious.

Essentially. Though you take with enthusiasm even during your exhaustion because the sex is phenomenal - you have no idea when you stop.

You wake up in a bed, and you wake up completely clean. You don't know whose bed, but there's a large figure besides you. Half-asleep and fully exhausted, you feel shy thinking about the fact he probably bathed and dressed you while you were out.

What a strange man, you think - to do that.

He's talking to someone on the phone. You don't really make out much of the words, though you do hear your name in bits and pieces.

"...A college student.......- young then -...... open a bank account for.... - debt...- pay it all off before it becomes annoying.... look into -."

You shift under your blankets half asleep. A hand comes up on top of your head on the pillow, pushing hair from your face.

"Did I wake you?" His expression is hard to read in the dark with your eyes barely open. "Sorry. Almost done. Go back to sleep."

So you do, because you can't find strength to do much else.

The bed is warm, but your sure the heat you feel is from the strong, gentle head petting your head as you rest.