#hana writes

[cascader]

ten years later

for @jilymicrofics january day 2 prompt “grow”

“Maybe you’ve grown out of it,” Mary offers.

Lily sighs openly into the phone. “It wasn’t all me, Mary. In fact—”

“Maybe you both have, is what I meant, dear,” she clarifies. “We both know this is too good to pass up.”

She’s right: an A24 movie with a smart, grounded script and a female lead who isn’t the stoic asshole role she’s been pigeonholed into? It’s everything she’s had Mary looking out for all these years.

If only the male lead role hadn’t just gone to James Potter.

Maybe Mary’s right. It’s been ten years since their breakout role together and the infamous, nauseating, exhausting feud that accompanied it.

She can do this. They’ll have grown. Or at least she has.

Right?

[hanafubukki]

Malleus Draconia stop making everything I want to write for you sad in my head!! Stoooppp 🔥🔥🔥

I’m going to wrap you in a blanket and feed you ice cream you overgrown lizard!! Just you watch 🔥🔥🔥🍦🍦🍦

-why do I feel like I’m Lilia right now??-

[swevenne]

hiii I would like to request romantic kwite x reader fluff headcannons.

There's literally no good kwite x readers and that's very sad.

Fluffy Kwite HCS

A/n: I'm so so so sorry about how late I'm getting to back to all my requests, also this is pretty short.

Okay to start this off, they ADORE when you do their hair!! Plaits? Pigtails? Literally any hairstyle? Ofc!!!!

- You're often in their streams, like all the time. They beg you to judge Kwitetrap fanart, read chat confessions and much more on stream with her.

  Since they're y'know... short, you often steal eachothers clothes. 

Speaking of clothes, free merch? He will literally shower you in the Masked Up brand.

You two def have an array of playlists of songs that remind you of eachother, even if she doesn't like the same music as you they'll listen to it anyways, if it makes you happy she'll listen to whatever with you.

After making videos on the worst pickup lines, he definitely tried some of them on you as a joke.

While writing their silly little rap songs, they obviously ask for your opinions on certain lyrics and stuff. 

       "What do you mean 'Staying hydrated, pissing lasers like the Death Star' is a weird line?"

Makes jokes abt how you love Smoke more than them, all the time

Adorable nicknames!! Such as dent-head and idiot <3

[markyestapa]

lost without you-b.brisson

summary: y/n and brendan really like each other, but dating one of the most popular hockey players it’s not easy.

warnings: insecurities, anxiety thoughts, fem!reader, swearing?

a/n: again, english it’s not my first language so forgive me for any mistakes.

you and bren used to secretly hook up for a while - well, it would be more like an secret- open- relationship, because both of you were still single and could do whatever you wanted to, but when it was just you and him together, he treated you so naturally like his girlfriend that sometimes you’d forget that you weren’t. 

for as much as you liked him and he liked you, you both didn’t want to date because dating at umich was hard, people would gossip a lot, especially about the popular hockey players. 

this was just one of the reasons why you thought it was good to keep things under the covers with him. the others included the fact that you were very insecure about everything. brendan was the hockey player, he had quite a reputation as a manwhore, and you were just you. you actually didn't know how you got into this, how he ended up with you of all people. 

at first, bren was satisfied with what you had, he could live his best life and still be with you. but after some time, he got tired of hiding. he wanted to be able to hold your hand in public, to take you out on dates, to buy you flowers. he wanted you in his jersey on the bleachers yelling his name and him saying “that’s my girl”, he wanted it all. 

[flashback on]

“hey?”

“hm?”

“do you wanna be my girlfriend?” he said while running his hands through your hair

you looked up to him with wide open eyes.

“are you serious?”

“yeah”

“hmm i do, but-” 

“no buts” 

you sighed  “are you sure about this bren?” 

“i am. look, i’m tired of hiding, besides it's like we’re almost dating, i just can call you my girlfriend now, nothing has to change”

[flashback off] 

but it did, everything changed.

 the second you went public people started to talk, and mostly weren't good things. how you weren't pretty, cool or popular enough for him, how he wasn’t good for you, how you were so stupid to date him, how he for sure cheated on you, and the list goes on and on. 

despite some arguments about this stuff, your relationship was good. he was an amazing loving boyfriend, but he had never been in a relationship before, he didn’t know that some things had to be adjusted. he didn’t know what to do or how to act in certain situations because he didn't know how to differentiate some things from when he was single to now. 

which was just another reason why people would gossip, along with the fact that, he’s naturally sexy so he just draws the attention of people wherever he goes and he doesn’t even realize his effect on them.

at first you tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter, they could talk whatever they wanted to, he had chosen you and liked you for who you where. but things just kept getting worse and it came to the point that it did matter. 

your many fears, insecurities and trust issues made it even harder. he would say to you to not listen, to not care, but how could you when it was so constantly happening? how could you when he didn’t make it better by the way he acted, even if it wasn’t on purpose. 

you tried your best to trust him, always shutting down the thoughts that were spinning on your mind, but the more you kept pushing it aside, the more it consumed you. 

——————————————————————————

as it usually would happen, he was out for dinner with his teammates and after that they decided they wanted to go to some sorority party. 

he had let you know that he was out with his friends, but since the party was a last minute thing, he just texted you about it, not wanting to wake you up,  because it was late and he knew you were already sleeping since you had an exhausting day. 

you didn’t mind him doing this stuff without you, it was very normal and okay in your concept. the problem began when people started to use this to hurt you with mean comments. so, one by one they got stuck  in your head making you doubt everything.

 “poor y/n, it doesn't even look like brendan dates her”

“he must cheat on her for sure”

 “look at him, so drunk that he probably doesn’t even remember her” 

there was this girl, this very annoying girl, that was a huge pain in the ass and her job was to make you feel miserable about your relationship, although she wasn't the only one, she was the one who worked harder.  

she liked brendan and was constantly hitting up on him, like blatantly flirting, on his dms, at places, in front of you, she didn’t care. but he didn’t even notice because he was so clueless sometimes, and because he just had eyes for you, even if he didn’t know how to show it.

so, it was a typical party, he was just drinking and having fun with everybody, without even noticing how drunk he got. that girl saw this as the perfect opportunity to get you out of the picture for good.

she was trying to be seductive, dancing in front of brendan while approaching him sneakily. she continued to move her body very intimately and even tho she wasn’t actually touching his body, she was so close that from a certain angle it looked like it.

it took some time for brens drunk brain to see what was going on. it was just when she slowly ran her hand on his arm, that he noticed her intentions, quickly stopping her and walking away. 

what bren didn’t know was that her friend was recording it, because the girl had asked them to, and for as much as the situation happened in the blink of an eye, it was already too late. 

after the “incident”, he decided it was better to sober up. so, he got some bottles of water to drink and he went to find a bathroom because he wanted to wash his face. 

he entered some bedroom just because the only bathrooms that weren’t occupied were the ones inside it, but as he did, that same girl went inside the room after him. 

for those outside, the situation looked way more than what actually was, because as always, people would just assume they know brendan so well that they know exactly what would happen in there.

to make things worse than it already was, there was, again, someone recording just that moment when both got in the room. 

what actually happened was that bren took his time to just do his needs and wash his face. when he finished and left the bathroom, he saw her sitting on the bed waiting for him, but he  just pretended she wasn't there, ignoring her and leaving the room. 

what he didn’t expect was that the girl made up a whole story and told everyone a very different, twisted version of what happened in that room. and a lot of people believed in her. 

when you woke up the next morning there was a bunch of messages from your friends showing you the videos that were posted on someone's instagram stories, along with the texts saying how this person saw it happen, or how that person heard this and that, and how the girl confirmed herself. 

you watched the videos and you read the texts over and over trying to figure if it was some kind of bad joke. but no, it was real, it happened.

you felt your world crumble, starting to cry while beating yourself up because “of course this would happen” 

“of course it would be her, it makes so much sense”

 “how could you be so dumb to believe him? to believe that he would actually like you?” 

you saw brens messages still from last night and you just ignored, as you decided you didn't wanna talk, see or think about him. 

when he woke up that afternoon, he noticed that you didn't reply,  which wasn’t very common of you. that’s why he called you, but you hung up, he called again, you hung up again, and so that it wouldn’t have a third call, you blocked him. 

bren knew this wasn’t normal, you don’t ignore him like that, not even when you’re mad. you always say that it’s important to talk about the things that made you both upset or angry or whatever, and that’s how your relationship had worked so far, so this just wasn’t you.

he was so confused why, what was the reason for you to act like that. it was making him feel worried and he was getting edgy. that’s when bordy came into his room. 

“dude…. have you talked to y/n today?” he sat on brendans bed beside him.  

“why?- no, i’m trying to but she’s not answering or picking up my calls and-” he said while running his hands through his hair. 

“i think i know why….” 

“what? what do you mean?” 

so thomas showed him the videos, the texts he got from other people asking about it, the comments on social media, everything. bren was red in anger, he just couldn't understand why people were doing this to him and to you, why couldn't they mind their own business? 

“fuck fuck fuck! bordy this is not what it looks like i- i swear, this girl is fucking insane! ” he stood up in so much frustration  that he could feel his blood on his veins.

“briss i know, i know you wouldn’t do this to y/n, but i think she might not. i mean it looks pretty convincing….” 

“fuuuck” he repeated sitting on the bed placing his head on his hands and letting out a groan.

then he abruptly got up again, determined to go talk to you, dressing up in a hurry and storming out of his room. 

you stayed the entire day inside your dorm because you knew people were gossiping about this and you didn’t want to see or hear anything else. your eyes were swollen and your face was red from crying.  you felt like shit, you just wanted to disappear. that’s when you heard someone knocking on your door, and of course it was brendan. 

when you opened it and saw it was him you immediately tried to close it but he was so much faster and placed his foot between it. 

“go away brendan” you said as you still pushed the door trying to close it but obviously it wasn’t working because he was way stronger than you. 

“y/n please let me in”

“go away” you said with a shaky voice 

“baby you need to hear me please” 

eventually you got tired and felt weak of holding the door so you just let it go, walking back to your bedroom and leaving him alone in there.

he entered your dorm and followed you.

“i need you to listen to me” he said as he sat beside you on your bed. 

“do i? because i think everything i saw sums it up pretty well” you said wrapping your arms around your body like you were protecting yourself 

“please y/n, i know how it looks like, but nothing happened” 

“so you both just went to a room together to what? have a conversation?” 

“she followed me there, i was just going to use the bathroom, and thats exactly what happened, nothing else” 

“and before? you were having a p-pretty good time huh?” you were trying so hard not to cry again. 

 “babe, i’m sorry, i was so drunk i didn’t even realize she was doing that and when i did, i stopped her”

“oh of course you were drunk brendan! that’s pretty much all you do! do you actually remember this, what you’re saying?” you sarcastically laughed with your eyes full of tears again. 

“babe please - i do remember, and i’m telling you nothing happened, nothing.” 

“stop calling me babe” you exasperated as you swept away the tears now running down your face  

he sighed in frustration running his hands in his hair frenetically trying to figure out a way to make this right.

“ i swear to you y/n, i didn’t cheat, i would never do this to you” he tried to grab your cheek to clean a tear but you turned your face away 

“you don’t believe me?” he continued, feeling like he had a huge lump in his throat. 

“ i’m sorry bren” you said as you looked deeply into his eyes 

he felt like a train had just crashed him. the fact that you didn’t trust him and assumed the worst just broke his heart. could him blame you tho?

he knew that he would never, in a million years, do that to you, not even when he was drunk. but you didn’t.

he would never hurt you in that way, he liked you so much he thought maybe he was even loving you and all he could do in this case was give you his words, but it wasn't enough, your eyes said everything, you didn’t believe him. 

“yeah i’m sorry too” he got up also with tears in his eyes and left. 

and that was the last thing he told you. 

tagged: @erikports

[hanacantwrite]

twisted wonderland latina mc headcanons

best homies with azul

azul’s full name is azulenco christopher emilio de la rosa ashengrotto 

beaners that stay together get scammed by each other

you harass him for being a hwhite beaner 

you promote latin kings super junior 

you’re either a first generation american and can speak spanish or you speak spanish as a second language 

either way you never speak spanish bc why the fuck would you randomly speak spanish when nobody around you speaks the language

accuses crowley of being racist for making you do manual labor

[hanatsuki89]

Calling me home (like a ship that got wrecked)

Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy Ship: Female Shepard/ Jeff Joker Moreau Rating: T

Summary: A series of snippets featuring moments with Joker and Shepard (the same custom Shepard in my other Shakarian and Shryik fanfics). Spanning the whole trilogy, with a emphasis on ME3 and the post-ending (Destroy, Shepard lives). Every chapter will have its timeline marked because they won't always be in chronological order.

Joker slides back on the stool, tugging the brim of his cap. "I'm an expert at watching from the sidelines."

"And what would your analysis of me be?" Is that foot in your mouth tasty, Briar?

But the question doesn't faze her pilot much. "Well, we both know - who doesn't - that you're not the dancing type. So you'll hang around a while, make sure that your crew is as fine as it can be. But your face tells me that you'll soon go hit a few rounds at the firing range. That's how you get your kicks. Well, that or helping people."

Shepard blinks at Joker.

"Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. You also have the kind of face that says we're almost out of the good coffee and you're coming up with a master plan to get more."

She snorts against the rim of her glass. "Sure that's not your brain doing the talking? But... That was a bullseye. Your analysis is way more on point than the one Aria gave me earlier."

Read more on ao3!

[wtimetravelgentlemen]

this barbie makes nice tea :) hes just ren

[yuquinzel]

“what did you just call me?” rin asks, whipping his head faster than an owl turning to you.

“i asked if you wanna order pizza, or if you're in the mood for chinese?” you repeat.

“no, that's not what you said.” he raises an eyebrow.

“i did though? that's all i said.” you seem to be enjoying this, whatever you're trying to do. rin knows you're messing with him, with your amused little smile and the way you're tilting your head to the side to feign innocence tells him enough.

“i was sure i heard you call me something...” his voice trails off, gaze slowly going back to the tv screen.

you're trying not to snicker at the poor man, who was peacefully watching a soccer match until now when you called out to him.

“dunno what you're talking about... bro.” you say with a casual shrug and rin shoots you a look with eyes as wide as saucers, lips parting slightly with mild surprise and utter disbelief.

he's now fully turned to you, eyes narrowing with each word, “dont. call. me. that.”

“hmm? what do you mean?” you chuckle playfully, and rin's glare darkens ten times more.

“you know what i mean, y/n.”

you almost feel guilty, with the way he's frowning at you like a pouting child. it's cute really, because you know exactly what he's talking about.

“oh, you mean ‘bro’? you don't like that? why not?” you bring a hand to caress his cheeks.

“what if i called you ‘sis’ huh? then what? you wouldn't like it either,” he grumbles, grabbing your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“valid point,” you laugh, and it soothes rin's frown to a much softer stroke of his lips. he breathes against your hand, closing his eyes and pressing a few more kisses to the tips of your fingers.

“well then, what do you want for dinner babygirl? ”

it's hilarious— the way his eyes shot open, the slight twitch of his eyebrows and the look of pure horror on rin's face. he's puzzled, eyeing you up and down, “what the fuck?”

“c'mon, it's cute! it's full of affection and endearment,” rin's frown is returned with ten times more intensity, he's actually scowling now, “i mean look at you—” you bring you other hand to cup his cheeks, “you're so babygirl.”

“i. am. not.” he says, cheeks sweetly puffed against your palms in annoyance but there's also a faint glow of strawberries, “you're insufferable.”

“whatever you say babygirl” you kiss him.

and he kisses you back, “shut up.”

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

[pigdemonart]

Mi madre Hana 😤 i will kill everybody in this room for you!!!!!

Patreon | Ko-Fi

[soup-in-my-fly]

I just finished Fervent Care of Dying Things and BOYYYYY I am NOT ok

Also inspired some domestic ren x law fluff <3

(With accompanying lyrics from Dom andra by Kent)

Fic link

[after-witch]

Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One: The Last Day] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: Years ago, you were the captive of a serial killer named Strade. And you weren't the only one he kept. After Strade was killed by one of his victims, you ran away--and now your past is finally catching up with you. Chapter one is set during Boyfriend to Death.

Word count: 6352

Chapter notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, past noncon, graphic violence, descriptions of blood, violence and gore, descriptions of death (not reader)

AO3 LINK

She was crying again. Well, no wonder. There were holes in her feet, dotting the top of her thighs. Blood had dribbled down from the gored holes in her flesh like little streams, then dried out. 

The thin, wavy dried out trickles made you think, abruptly, of unfettered period blood, then of Carrie by Stephen King. The scene in the shower, where she gets her period and freaks out. The other girls threw tampons and sticky pads at her and shrieked, chanting, bonded by a morbid commiseration of the entrance to so-called womanhood: Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!

Plug it up, you thought.

But she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hands were bound behind her. Did he tie them back like that so that she couldn’t try to hurt him, or because it gave him easier access to her flesh? Maybe a bit of both.

She looked uglier when she cried. Snot bubbled out of her nose and joined a dried streak of blood that went from her nose down to her chin. Her nose was probably broken, hence the blood; the flesh of it was black and blue and an awful shade of green.

One part of you longed to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and hold it to the bruised, swollen flesh. Hush her cries. Give her an ounce of humanity that might carry her for another few hours, the way Ren once did to you. 

Another part of you, the new you forged under Strade’s knife (and boots and hammers and power drill) wished she’d just die already, so you wouldn’t have to hear her cry or be standing here obediently, waiting for Strade to come back down. You were probably going to have to participate in this next stream–why else would he call you down in the middle of one of his “projects”? 

Unless he was lonely. But even so, he could always kill two birds with one stone. You, here to give him company; and you, here to entertain his horrid audience. And himself, above all. Himself, always.

 The basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and you heard his heavy bootsteps–thump, thump, thump–before he called out jovially.

“Are you still there, Liebling? You didn’t run off, did you?” 

As if you were stupid enough to do that. You were many things now. Stressed. Afraid. Desperate. Tired. More selfish. Maybe a little bit masochistic, a trick of your brain to keep you from totally losing your mind as you were tortured. All these things and more besides, but stupid was not one of them. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” You called back, lightening your tone. It was important not to sound too scared. Strade wanted you scared, yes, but he didn’t want you to be some obedient, squeaky little mouse. That was too boring. It was best to act as normally as you could, considering the circumstances. That seemed to please him more, at least on most days. Some days nothing you did was right and you went to bed with a swollen eye and broken fingers, eased by frozen peas that Ren snuck you from the kitchen before he went to sleep. 

You’re not the only one who noticed him coming down. The woman in front of you began to tremble and sob more violently, pulling at her bound wrists. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did. How long did she have to live? How long did any of you in this house have to live? 

By the time Strade made it down the stairs, her cries were practically at a fever-pitch. You didn’t want to look to see what he’d run off to fetch, but he didn’t give you a choice.

He called your name. “Come here, darling, I need your help with this.” And oh, you kept your eyes downcast until all you could see was his boots. But then it was time to look up, and you did, and no matter how many times you witnessed him preparing to torture another person, it still made your stomach roil.

He’d brought down a p[ot of boiling water, which he carefully held by the handle with both hands. Tucked underneath his armpit was the bag of frozen peas. The bag, you thought, because for as long as you’d been here, no one ever cooked them. They got passed around between you and Ren under cover of night.

Here they were, in the light of day. You suspect you wouldn’t want to re-use them after this. 

“Be my Lamm and take the peas, won’t you?” The sensible part of you eyed him warily; it wouldn’t be below him to toss the pot of boiling water at you while you reached for them, just to fuck with you. But you didn’t disobey him, either. You carefully leaned over and slid the bag from underneath his armpit, and held it in your hand.

He smiled. Grinned, really, which was a bad sign for the sobbing woman tied to the pole. His good moods and bad moods were both equally shitty, but in your unfortunately well-experienced opinion, it was his good moods that produced the most painful scenarios.

“Now!” He crouched down in front of the crying woman and grabbed her chin. She shrieked and tried to jerk her face away, but he held her tight. “I’m sure your wounds are sore, aren’t they?” She sobbed out something–meaningless pleading that you’d long since lost the ability to discern–and he tsked.

“Oh, poor thing. I know just what might help!” He snapped his fingers and looked back at you. “My lovely friend here will give you some ice to help you feel better. Won’t you?” He grinned wider and you nodded, feeling both scared and numb in a confusingly equal measure, as you crouched down next to him.

She yelped when you placed the frozen bag on a group of puncture wounds on her thigh, but you held it fast. It probably hurt more than it soothed. An icy bag right up against wounded skin didn’t sound pleasant. But maybe it would numb it a little. That might be better than nothing. 

“Perfect! Now…” He reached over and picked up the steaming pot of water, still bubbling from its boil on the stove. “Hold still, my Lamm… wouldn’t want to splash you.” 

It was so strange, the way that your time with Strade had made it possible for you to actually keep your hand there, despite the fact that you knew he was about to pour boiling water on the skin of this poor woman. Pour it right where it would surely splash on you a little, if not a lot. Probably a lot. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

It didn’t matter if it was strange. Your fingers flexed and your muscles tensed as you saw him turn the pot over slowly, and steaming water came flying down, pouring over the woman’s wounds.

She screamed. It was loud. It hurt your ears. The irritation of it distracted you from seeing Strade move the pot around so that the water trailed over the frozen peas–and your hand keeping it pressed against her–as he covered her thigh in the water.

“Fuck!” You said, biting your cheek hard. Your fingers danced on the bag but you didn’t dare pull away. You could see your own skin turning a shade of red. Her thighs had taken the brunt of it, though. There were even blisters forming on her skin already as she sobbed and cried and begged for someone, anyone, to help her.

You were someone.  You were anyone.

You couldn’t help her.

“Language, liebchen,” Strade said, teasingly. You mumbled out an apology, although you doubt he actually cared. 

He sighed when the pot was emptied, and tossed it on the floor.

“I don’t know… I just don’t think it’s enough. Do you?” He grasped your burned hand and you couldn’t stifle the sound of yelping pain as he gripped it hard. Your skin would blister too–it was already peeling a little. 

“What…whatever you think is best,” you stammered. 

“That’s right,” he said, grinning. He gave your hand a squeeze and you groaned. “I think I’ll work a little more on this project myself before dinner.” He let your fingers go, and you cradled your hand against your chest. “Have Ren take care of that. Come back down when it’s wrapped up.” his free hand grabbed the chin of the sobbing, bleeding, blistered woman again. “I think we’ll make a movie, and I need my prettiest co-star to help me out.”

“Of course.” You gave her one half-pitiful glance–the way her frightened, bloodshot eyes darted to you with a mixture of anger and pity made you want to hurl–and went up the stairs.

By the time you’d made it to the top, you already heard Strade pulling out his video equipment.

—

“It… doesn’t look too bad,” Ren said quietly. He held your hand underneath the sink, letting the cold water soothe your burn. But every time your hand trembled and the stream went just out of reach, it burned again, and you winced.

“Most of it hit her thigh,” you whispered. Though you didn’t need to, since both of you were well aware that Strade was busy in the basement. Old habits die hard, however. “She got it worse.”

Ren hummed. “They usually do.” He told you to keep your hand in place while he fumbled in the cabinet under the sink, looking for supplies. “I don’t know if he has–oh!” His ears twitched and perked up as he found what he’d been looking for.

It was a tube of burn relief ointment. He flipped it over and read the back, mumbling all the while. “It’s expired but…”

You smiled, just a little, and finished his sentence for him.

“Better than nothing, right?”

Ren smiled, and you caught sight of his tail curling behind him as he turned off the sink and told you to sit down on the toilet so she could wrap you up.

Was it wrong that some of the most pleasant moments in this house, if you could call them pleasant, were with Ren? Especially quiet moments like this, where he took care of you, or you took care of him. You were both well acquainted with fixing up the results of your time with Strade by now. 

He’d cleaned out deep cuts on your back, and you’d iced and splinted his broken toes. He let you curl up in his nest of a bed after a particularly awful night of torture, and you let him slide under your covers when he’d had an nightmare about the last time Strade made him kill someone.

It was transactional in some ways, you supposed. But when you saw his ears perk up or his tail swoosh or the way his eyes seemed to light with something genuine behind them while you talked with him, you realized it wasn’t all practical. It couldn’t be. Not when you were in this together.

Ren made quick work of bandaging your hand. The cream was smoothed over the reddened, flaking parts of your skin and he wrapped your hand up with a bandage. It hurt, still, but nothing to write home about. Hah! As if you’d ever be allowed to write home.

Hell, if by some miracle  you could write home, how would you even word the letter? 

“Dear mom and dad, last night my captor-who-also-fucks me made me keep my hand on a table while he hammered nails underneath my fingernails and asked me which one hurt the most. P.S. The milk in the fridge is expired and he’s threatening to make me or Ren drink it because of the waste.”

The thought made you snort. Ren looked up from his spot on the floor, where he’d taken to impromptu digging through the cabinet to look for some undisclosed item. 

“What’s funny?”

You mulled it over. Sometimes, you didn’t like to tell Ren what you were thinking. You trusted him, to an extent. You liked him, to an extent. You were friends, to an extent. How far did that extent go? It depended. 

He was here first, and sometimes, the tension between the two of you was too taut and fraught to ignore. There was always that underlying worry, an electric buzz you couldn’t turn off all the way: what if Strade decided he didn’t want two captives? Or what if he felt two was his limit, and he wanted to bring someone new in?

Which one of you would get the ax–literally?

But this was maybe not the type of thing that Ren might murmur to Strade in a moment of weakness. It was harmless, wasn’t it, to make a joke about writing home?

“I was just imagining what I might write home in a letter to my parents.” You flexed your bandaged hand. “I mean, if we were allowed to write home.”

“Like from a summer camp?” Ren asked. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them. 

“I guess,” you replied, smiling a little. “Although this would be one…” Fucked up, disgusting, hellish– “Specialty summer camp.”

Ren snorted a little. “Definitely not like the ones in movies.”

“Maybe horror movies,” you added with a grin. One of your front teeth–not from the center two, thank hell–was missing now, so you rarely grinned. But it felt different when it was just you and Ren alone. It was okay to let him see those imperfections, because he had them too. Maybe not missing teeth, but…

“Sleepaway Camp!” He blurted. “Or Friday the 13th…” 

You started to open your mouth, ready to tell him that you once saw a screening of the first Friday the 13th at a summer camp, when an all-too-familiar sound came wafting up from the cracked open basement door.

“Liebling! It doesn’t take that long to bandage a little burn! I hope I don't have to come get you.”

Ren’s tail went straight up at the sound of Strade’s voice. The sing-song nature of his words did not hide the danger in them. If you had a tail, yours would be standing stock straight too. But your body had to make do with your muscles tensing and your bowels clenching hard.

“I have to go,” you murmured, hopping off the toilet seat. 

You paused in the doorway. Ren had his knees hugged to his chest, his ears flat against his head. No doubt he was wondering if Strade would call him down, too. Or if he’d be pissed off about something and take it out on Ren later.

“Thanks for patching me up, Ren.” His ears twitched, and he glanced up at you. “Really, I mean it.” You smiled–grinned, showing off one of your missing teeth. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

His tail relaxed a little and he smiled back, an almost puppy-like grin crossing his expression for a moment, and it was enough to give you some vague emotional relief as you left the bathroom before Strade was forced to come up the stairs and retrieve you. 

–

She wouldn’t last another day. That much was clear. Her blood was everywhere now. On the floor. Smeared on her skin. On Strade’s hands–on yours.

Of course he’d made you participate. You were his lovely assistant, after all. Although he always said Ren was better at the work, when it came down to it. You were too prone to trembling and hesitation. To say nothing of your occasional habit of vomiting at the sight of anything more than blood–guts, in particular, were your weakness. 

Hers, too, by the way she quivered at the sight of the large hunting knife Strade twirled in his hands.

“I think this has gone on long enough. Don’t you, Schatz?” He looked back at you with a thoughtful smile. “Shall we end it?”

Without thinking much, you nodded. Yes, it had gone on long enough. Yes, you wanted her to just die already. Yes, you wanted to go over to the sink and scrub your hands until they were pruney and wrinkled and there was no trace of her visceral fluids on your skin.

“Go on,” he told you, gesturing at the trembling woman. Covered in cuts and gouges and burns. Where there had been dried blood earlier today, there were now smears of fresh gore. From Strade’s boots and the knife. Strade had even taken a blow torch to the burns caused by the boiling water, making them go from peeling and red to a series of gouged, pus-like craters in her flesh.

Cold seeped into your socks from the floor as you walked over to her. She regarded you with dull, dying eyes. She opened her mouth, maybe to say something, but whatever word she might have come up with wouldn’t come. Her swollen, bruised lip trembled as blood dribbled out of it. 

One of the handcuff keys was taped to the back of the poll. Strade always liked to keep extras around, in case he lost the original but still wanted to uncuff someone. He usually didn’t uncuff people unless they were being bound in some other way (usually not a good sign) or he was just about finished with them (definitely a bad sign); and in this case, you knew she was being released only to make killing her a little more fun.

Her hands flopped forward as soon as the cuffs were undone. There was a brief moment where you saw her regard her wrists, all reddened and cut from where the metal handcuffs dug into them. 

But the moment was over as soon as Strade stepped forward and pulled her close with a decisive yank of her hair. She yelped–you were surprised she had the yelp in her, her voice should have been shot from all the screaming–and he twisted her hair tight to keep her still.

“It’s been fun, but it’s time to go now. Don’t take this personally, hm? Or do, actually, it might make you feel better.”

She didn’t have time to respond. He rarely wanted them to say anything, you thought. It was just part of his internal script, a set of syllables that gave him extra pleasure as he snuffed out someone’s internal light. 

He stuck the hunting knife into her gut and twisted. She didn’t scream. She barely shouted. The sound, instead, was one of strangled horror. Like she couldn’t believe what was happening to her. He twisted again, and she grunted and gasped, a sound that was almost like a deep, gaping hiccup.

“Shh,” he murmured, a sick grin splitting his face. His eyes darted over her face, and you got a front-row view of how his expression was gleefully illuminated by the sight of her own life fading away. He enjoyed it so much, he even let go of the knife handle so that he could grasp her face with both hands and keep her dying gaze in his sights.

Who was she? What had she been, before the basement? Was she thinking about her friends, her family? Did she have children that were going to be left behind? Maybe she was in college, maybe she’d been studying for exams that would never happen. There would be uneaten prepared lunches in her fridge, a bookmark that would never move past a certain page. 

Her hands went tremblingly to the handle of the knife sticking out of her. She held the handle tenderly with bruised, bloody hands. Didn’t Strade see it? No, he was too focused on her face. But he didn’t even see the way her expression shifted. 

No, he saw it. But maybe he didn’t know what it meant, because he’d never been on the other end. The way she went from looking confused and horrified to determined. 

She didn’t act right away. 

You could have said something. You could have called out a warning. 

But instead you watched as the dying woman yanked the knife out of her gut, viscera and blood coming out with it, and stabbed it right into Strade’s neck.

He gasped now. A gaping, strangled sound. His hands went instinctively to his neck and it took him a few slow, trembling tries to pull it out. You saw the blood arch and spurt–an artery–and he fell to his knees.

The woman stepped away with what must have been her last ounce of energy. She had only enough life left in her to turn to you and smile–she was missing teeth, too–before she collapsed on the ground. She was still alive, but her shock would come soon after.

It wasn’t her you were watching, anyway. It was Strade.

His eyes darted to and fro until they landed on you. He had his hand pressed against the wound now, but it wasn’t doing much good. He would need a proper compress… an ambulance… surgery of some kind. 

You don’t know why you called him. To help Strade? To help you? 

“Ren.”

Not loud enough.

“Ren.”

Still not loud enough.

“Ren!” 

Before you knew it,  you were simply screaming his name, filling the basement with a different pitch of scream than it was used to. Your own voice was barely recognizable.

The basement door slammed open and you heard frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs. You saw Ren, only a blur of orange in your shock, take in the scene. His own mouth slowly gaped open, but unlike Strade and the unfortunate woman on the floor and your own panting lips, no sound came out.

Ren said your name. You think it was Ren, because Strade was surely in no position to talk. It shook you out of your stupor and you ran to him, clinging to his arm, crying fitfully. He wrapped one arm around you and the two of you stood, together, watching Strade bleed.

“What do we do?” The inside of your elbow pressed hard against Ren’s back as you held him. You wanted to snuggle, like the way you did on good nights. You wanted him to make it all go away. 

Maybe he sensed this. Because while the two of you had clung together in so many occasions, this time, he stood up taller. He held you tighter. And then he assessed the situation.

Ren watched Strade quietly for a long moment. Strade gazed up at him–at you, too, but mostly Ren–with wide-eyed helplessness. The look didn’t suit him at all. He seemed to know it. 

“Help me,” Strade managed. It almost didn’t feel like speech. Maybe the knife had grazed his vocal chords. 

Neither of you moved at first. There was a long moment in which either of you could have sprung into action; could have ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed thick gauze to press against the wound, while the other could have bounded up the stairs to call an ambulance.

But you didn’t. And Ren didn’t. 

And then Ren looked at you, and took a step backward. He pulled you with him, and you went willingly, taking another step, and another, until the two of you were standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“You…” Strade gurgled out the word, and blood came bubbling out in between the fingers pressed against his neck with it. “You…”

He didn’t get to finish. His eyes widened and you saw the light leave them before he collapsed on the floor. 

For the first time since you’d been brought here, the basement was truly silent. 

Strade was dead.

Neither of you moved for a while. And then you felt a hoarse sob coming on. Relief, terror, and shock coursed through you, fighting for the surface in a way that could only result in tears. 

Ren regarded you with an unreadable expression and slowly removed his arm from your shoulder. You whimpered–don’t leave me, you wanted to say–and he smiled, a soft, little thing. 

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to make sure he’s dead.”

Oh. That was a good idea. But what if he wasn’t? What if Strade got to his feet and oh, the two of you would be in for it. He’d probably kill both of you–or at least you–and it would be slow and awful and you’d beg, beg, for death.

“Ren,” you said, almost stammering, swallowing a thick lump in your throat.

He turned back towards you, curious.

You pointed to the table of tools at Strade’s disposal. “Take something. Just in case.”

Ren stared at the weapons that had been used to kill countless people. At the blades and torches and nails that had been used to hurt him, and you. Then he grabbed a heavy hammer and slowly approached the bleeding corpse (please let it be a corpse) of Strade.

Strade didn’t move as Ren approached him. Or when Ren knelt down, hammer at the ready. Or when Ren’s fingers slowly reached out and pressed against his neck, his wrist. 

“No pulse,” said Ren.

Ren set the hammer down and used both hands to shove Strade’s body until it was fully on his back. His eyes, dull and dead, stared up at the ceiling without seeing anything.

He was dead. Truly dead. 

Really most sincerely dead, your thoughts echoed in a half-mimic of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.

You barely registered Ren digging around in Strade’s pocket before he returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he began to lead you upstairs.

“Let’s not stay down here,” he said. He gave Strade’s corpse one last look before staring ahead at the basement door. How many times had the two of you gone up and down these stairs at Strade’s whim? It always meant you would get hurt, or you would help Strade hurt others. It was never willing, going up these stairs. Never a choice.

And now the two of you were going up them together, Ren leading you, of your own free will.

Free will! What a concept. One you thought you’d lost forever. And yet here it is, given by the hands of a woman whose last days were filled with unnecessary, unfair agony. You wish you knew her name, so you could thank her properly.

Ren shut the basement door. It sounded louder than it ever had before. Or was it because the house was so quiet now? 

“Come here,” Ren said. And you didn’t know why he said it–shock, confusion, uncertainty still reigned–until you saw what was in his hand. 

His collar. It was… off. But how and–

Ren held up the key he’d taken from Strade’s pocket and shook it back and forth, like a well-earned prize. That’s what it was, in some ways. 

You stepped towards Ren and turned around, breathing heavily at the thought of being truly free from the collar. Strade only took them off the pair of you when you were showering and, once you had learned to behave well enough, when you slept. But they always went back on first thing in the morning, and their threat was an ever-constant presence in your mind, just like the metal was ever-constant around your neck.

Ren’s fingers brushed the back of your shoulder. You heard him breathing just as heavily. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Wasn’t he going to…?

“Ren?” You asked, voice quivering. The air felt suddenly too heavy, your collar weighing you down more than normal. There was an awful thought, then: What if he doesn’t take your collar off? What if Ren is… what if, what if…

But then you felt the pressure from him sticking the key into the back of the metal contraption, heard it twist, and felt cool relief on your neck as Ren lifted the collar away from your neck and set it down on the coffee table. 

Both hands went to your neck. The skin was sensitive, bruised. A few days ago, Strade had come into your room at night for a session of “fun,” which ended with you being choked into unconsciousness. You’d woken up to Ren splashing cold water on your face. “Thought I’d lost you,” he’d said. 

The bruises Strade gave you would fade away in time. At least the ones on the outside.

And Ren…

You turned around and gave him a fractured smile. You leaned in, and Ren leaned in, and you hugged each other tenderly. Not just because it was the nicest way to hug, but because Ren’s rib fracture was still healing, and your back hurt, and both of you were littered with scars and cuts and bumps and bruises.

After a while, Ren pulled away. “Let’s… sit down.” 

He sat down on the sofa, which was dotted with sprinkles of Ren’s orange fur; no matter how much you lint-rolled the furniture, you could never quite get all of it out. 

Well, that didn’t matter now. You’d never have to clean up this living room, or the kitchen, or the brain matter and blood stains in the basement, again. You could go home.

And Ren could go home. 

And the nightmare would be over.

For now, you sat, side by side, on a sofa that had never seemed more ordinary. The house had never seemed more ordinary. Its secrets were primarily down in the basement. The rest of the house was bland and boring by comparison. Unless you counted upstairs, as it was not unheard of for Strade to take his particular brand of “fun” into your respective rooms. 

And now? It was quiet. Still. There was no chance that Strade would come walking up the stairs. No chance that you’d be called down them to torture someone.

Certainly no chance that he’d call both of you down, which never ended well. He liked to see Ren hurt you, because it seemed to hurt Ren. But sometimes, sometimes, you thought… there was a glimmer of something in Ren’s eyes in those moments. 

Something that reminded you too much of pleasure to ignore. Just a spark of it, but that was enough, when you were bound to a table and he was clawing open your thighs at Strade’s behest.

“Ren?” You forced yourself to stop thinking like that. That was the past. This was now. No, more than that: this was the future. A future without Strade, without this house, without pain. 

Ren looked over at you, slowly. The realization of what had just happened, and what it meant, seemed to be catching up to him, too. “... Yeah?”

Your fingers scratched at some of Ren’s stray fur on the couch. Some of the orange fur had already started clinging to your bandage. 

“What do we do now?” A simple question for you to ask. Several plans rushed through your head but it was hard to make sense of them. What was the best course to take; which authorities did you appeal to, when there was a dead serial killer and one of his victims in the basement, but your hands were on the torture tools, yet the same tools had been used to hurt you? 

You swallowed hard, shaking your head, willing the dizzying thoughts to quiet down.  “Do we call the police first? Or… an ambulance? Or–or–” 

Ren gripped the hand that idly scratched the couch. He intertwined his fingers in yours, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were wide. And just a bit wild.

“We could stay here.”

Your heart thudded. Once, twice. A third time.

“What?” You shifted on the couch, facing Ren more clearly. “We… we can’t, it’s–”

Ren squeezed your hand, a little too hard–the burn–and you winced. He didn’t let up, but he didn’t know you were hurting, did he? It was all just a rush right now, confusing, scary.

“We can,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His mouth broke into an almost childish grin as he continued. “Strade’s got a lot of money, we can use that to keep up the bills. Buy whatever we want. We won’t have to worry about anything!” His tail swished behind him, thumping into your side. 

When you didn’t respond–words weren’t coming–his grin deflated a little. “I’m… I’m a good roommate,” he said, ears flattening. “I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed even tighter now. “We’ll do everything together, and we don’t have to worry about Strade getting mad about it. We’ll watch movies or-or play games or whatever you want.” He swallowed and you watched his throat bob. “And I promise I won’t leave fur everywhere.”

“Ren–” It was your turn to give his hand a squeeze, and you took his other in your free hand and clasped them both. “I’m not worried about your fur.”

His ears perked up and his smile came back.

“It’s… we can’t stay here,” you said, voice wobbling but gaining more firmness as you went on. “We need to leave. We need to call the police.”

Ren’s ears twitched. He looked thoughtful, opening his mouth, and shutting it. He was just confused, that’s all. Like you were. He needed to be reminded that if Strade was gone, the both of you were free. You’d go home, and he’d go home, and you could call or text or email or something but…

“Don’t be stupid.” 

The firmness in Ren’s voice shook you a little. More than that, it made you worry. He frowned at the sight of your tense shoulders, the quirk in your mouth. “Think about it,” he said, gently saying your name. “Remember all the people who watch his videos? Don’t you know who’s in those chats?”

The reminder of the chatrooms came hurtling straight into your guts. The chat… the people there paid money to watch people suffer. Watch them die. How many times had they encouraged Strade to indulge in some fucked up torture? Hell, they’d asked him countless times to string you up, cut you open, pull out your guts while you were still alive. Strade had danced away the requests with a teasing lilt, but the threat was never gone.

Ren let go of your bandaged hand and gently cupped your cheek. He spoke slowly, almost sweetly. “They’re rich. Important. Mayors. Politicians. Doctors. Police.” 

The anguish your stomach began to stretch. Ren didn’t stop talking.

“They know both our faces. Do you know what they’ll do to us, if they find us?” 

Tears pricked, unwanted and unbidden, at your eyes. He was right. You couldn’t go to the police. You couldn’t go to the media. This could never get out. But that didn’t mean you had to stay here. More than that: you couldn’t stay here. 

It would be another type of collar, to find yourself stuck here with Ren. And the collar might not be electric, but it would be just as dangerous. 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “No police.”

Ren grinned hopefully.

“But,” you continued. “We can’t stay here. I want to go home. And you–you get to go home now, too.” Ren had never talked much about his life before Strade, but surely he had friends. A family. An apartment or a house. A life. Just like you. 

“You want to leave–” His voice was thin and there was a fissure in it, ready to crack.

The hand on your cheek pressed harder, and you felt the thin press of his claws against your skin. Your eyes must have widened or perhaps you flinched, you don’t know, but Ren saw–and yanked away.

“S-Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was upset, he was scared, hell, you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry or start belting out show tunes right now. 

Freedom was confusing as hell. 

“I know,” you said, slowly. “It’s okay.”

Ren stared down at the ground. Then he stood up and fished Strade’s keyring out of his pocket and set it down on the coffee table with a jingling rattle. 

“I’m going to get us some water. And maybe a snack. We’ll… we’ll talk about this more. We can talk about it, and not make a decision right away. Okay?” He fumbled with both his hands in front of him, looking like the meek young man you’d met that first night, when he cleaned your wounds and gave you water to drink. 

You stared at him, perhaps for too long.

“Okay, Ren, we’ll talk about it,” you lied. 

You watched him walk into the kitchen, where Strade would never saunter in for a case of beer again. You heard him open the cabinet for an empty glass, none of which would ever again find themselves dashed into tiny shards that could be ground into your skin for fun. 

And then you leaned forward, grabbed the keyring off the countertop, pulled out the key to the front door, and softly padded your way to the threshold that neither of you had been able to cross in ages.

Your heart thudded. Your stomach heaved. But you unlocked the door and bolted, socked feet aching on the concrete sidewalk.

Ren said your name after the third step you took beyond the door of Strade’s house of horrors.

You could have kept running. Maybe you should have.

But instead, you turned around, to look at Ren standing in the doorway. There were no glasses of water in his hand–you don’t remember registering the sound of the sink at all, in fact. It was just Ren, with his hands at his sides, looking at you with an expression that was equally pitiful, agonizing, and worrying.

He said your name again.

You felt hot tears squeeze out of your eyes as you shook your head, turned around, and ran for your life.

[cascader]

Hana writing YES!!! I want to ask for so many but I will GLADLY take 6- tipsy kiss for Jily!

kelsey!!! <3 thank you for inspiring me to write the most I have in six months (!!!) have some canon-compliant, tipsy, pre-relationship jily <3

“Fuck.”

“Oh. Oops.” James weakly tries to right the suit of armor he’s just slammed against the wall. Lily winces at the sound of creaking metal as James fumbles it once, twice. 

She mutters a quick Silencio on James and the armor, which may or may not work, and grabs it from him. 

She leans the figure back onto its own two feet handily and surveys the corridor again quickly before casting him a side-long look. “I didn’t realize you were that drunk.”

He scowls. “I’m not. My hand-eye coordination is always the first to go.” 

“That’s… ironic.”

James narrows his eyes at her. They’re warm in the low light. Ever so slightly unfocused, but firmly on her.  “I didn’t realize you were this sober. What, were you tossing out your drinks?”

Before Lily can think: “Out of bed at this hour? I can hear you!”

Lily swears again as Filch’s voice seems to echo down the corridor. “Guess I’m not that sober. Come on, come on.” 

Lily hustles down the corridor, then breaks into a jog, only looking back for James as she turns the corner. He catches up to her easily. 

“We’re on the third floor, right?” James hisses. “He sounded a bit far away — we could probably make it to…”

“To?”

“I’m thinking!”

“Merlin, Potter, isn’t this your day job?”

“No one asked you to follow me out here. You were being nosy,” he accuses. 

“I was being helpful,” Lily huffs, cutting herself off to take a breath. She casts a glance to James, who’s smirking. “You were trying to break into the Hufflepuff common room drunk—”

“I’m not drunk — I’m not that much of a lightweight!”

“That’s what you object to? You’re not going to defend breaking and entering?”

“I need to know how they beat us! Their defense is bloody awful! It makes no sense.”

“Oh, bloody—” Lily jolts to stop as she rounds a corner and nearly tramples Mrs. Norris. 

The cat blinks at her, then yowls loudly. 

Lily hears a triumphant, responding shout from Filch, sounding somewhere nearby. 

“Okay, where now?” Lily whispers frantically. She holds a hand out like that will placate Mrs. Norris and backs up around the corner again. 

She turns to look up at James, who appears to be thinking more deeply than she’s ever seen him. 

He hesitates, then winces, then closes his eyes. “Where… are we?”

Lily blinks. She surveys the corridor around her. “I…”

“Where are you, my dear?!” Filch sounds far closer. 

“Fuck, he’s fast. I saw a… just come on,” James hisses, grabbing her wrist loosely and taking off back the way they came. Lily nearly trips to catch up with him and he rights her with a clumsy hand.

They round one corner, two — Lily can hear footsteps now, and she and James simultaneously break into a full sprint — before James lets out a little “aha!” and brings her careening to a stop by the shoulder. She feels the heat of his palm through her sleeve and it jerks feeling back into her body in one rush of a second — her legs are tired, her chest is tight, her cheeks are flushed. The air is cold, James is warm.

He jabs his wand against a door she now notices they’ve stopped in front of and grabs her by the hand to push her inside, ahead of him. 

Lily half stumbles into the broom closet he’s found, feels James press in behind her, and hears the door click shut — actually rather slowly, rather quietly. 

Her hip brushes James’s legs as she turns around to face him. Even he’s a little out of breath. His eyes are closed behind his glasses, and he’s leaning his head back against the closed door. 

Suddenly his eyes blink open. They’re quite dark now. He’s quite close. 

“Thank—” he starts.

“Sh!” Lily clamps a hand over his mouth, and mutters out a more focused Silencio. She feels its magic settle over them. 

James watches her, perfectly still. Lily hears movement outside — heavy footfall. Fast, and then slowing to a stop. 

Lily instinctively leans closer to James. She closes her eyes, tilts to the side, and hooks her chin over James’s shoulder. She turns her face toward him so her cheek and ear press into the wood, searching for what’s on the other side. The closet isn’t big enough for her to listen any other way.

“—bloody rats. Next time, next time…” is what she thinks she hears. One second, two seconds. Three. More footsteps, this time getting softer. A faint meow. She counts to twenty. 

“Gone?” James says on an exhale, still against her hand, so quietly she wouldn’t hear it if she weren’t inches from him. His lips feel... soft.

His breath filters through her fingers and fans over her ear, warm but still raising goosebumps along her forearms, and, once more, Lily’s brought back into her body. She realizes James has turned his head toward her, also listening against the door. His chin slots neatly above the top of her head. 

She realizes his right hand hovers over her hip, not touching her. She feels like the moment is coming to her in flashes, in stop motion. 

She looks down to where their chests and hips and legs don’t touch — Lily’s leaning forward, straining. 

She takes the last half-step toward him and removes her hand from his mouth. She hears his sharp inhale. He’s half-hard already. They’re almost hugging, in a weird sort of way. His hand finally settles on her hip. He’s so warm, everywhere. 

“Lily.”

She moves her face away from the door, tilts it up to look at him. His expression is inscrutable. His eyes are rather not. 

“Lily, I—”

She presses onto her toes, and she silences him again.

[hanafubukki]

Somehow I went from one fic idea for Malleus’ bday to now three fic ideas.😂😂

All of which are in varying degrees of completion.

One idea came to me last night, which I really like a lot! And the initial idea for it changed a little bit because I thought of a rather interesting twist to it that I also like as well.

And I subtly added the changes to fit this idea But ahhhh, I don’t know if I will be able to write it to the level of impact I would like 😭😭

Sometimes I want to shake myself, just write it, but the perfectionist in me just ajdnsjjshss

And then the right vocab or wording won’t come though I know exactly what I want to say and I want to shake myself even more.

And don’t get me started on dialogue struggles, I know what I want them to say, but how do I word or get them to say it?? And that’s another hurdle 🥲

Here’s hoping I get at least one of the three done 😭🙏

[swevenne]

YOOOOOO!!!! If you haven't seen the series of reblogs that have just happened, regarding a marauders AU Wilbur fic, pls if you have any ideas of hcs for this fic pls tell me. I beg, I plead.

[vetitiscripta]

some sfw and nsfw headcanons for tpof ren please🦊🙏🏻 instantly fell in love with your writing and craving the foxy dilf

oh anon you’re so sweet, i’m glad you like my writing! AND YOU MAY ABSOLUTELY HAVE DILF REN HEADCANONS I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES FOR THAT MAN I AM BARKING LIKE A DOG

sfw

he lets you run your fingers over his scars, tracing them. if he’s feeling up to it, he’ll even tell you the story behind them

still a big anime fan so on his days off he likes to just relax with you and do anime marathons

since ren lives in different apartments, of course go with him when he moves locations. he found an apartment by the bunker to stay in while you were recovering. traveling while you have multiple open wounds seems like a hassle so he figured it would just be easier to get a place nearby

YOU ARE SO SPOILED!! anything you want, its yours. you once mentioned how you miss all the games you had and you woke up the next morning to just about every new gaming console under the tv, already plugged in and games loaded on them. sometimes you have to be careful with what you offhandedly mention wanting because he will get it for you (he just likes seeing you happy, he lives for your smile)

once you are trusted with being outside (something that took quite a while for you to earn), he will absolutely take you out and about in town just to A) show you off and B) take you on shopping trips. he 100% has a black card. ANYTHING YOU WANT, YOU GET! that sweater is $1500? sure, get one in every color. you like the glass elephant that is made purely of crystal? it can be a decorative piece on the dining table

despite how spoiled you are, you are not free from being punished. you don’t get punished as much anymore, but at the beginning of your relationship, you defied him, hoping that you could get away (either running away or by death, you didn’t care at that point). ren has been through his fair share of punishments, he’s told you such; he knows how to leave a memorable punishment to help you understand. he’s also not above bringing out the shock collar in case the punishments aren’t enough

but after every punishment, he always cleans you up and cuddles with you, stroking your hair as you cry into his chest. depending on how far in the relationship it is, he can feel bad for punishing you but he knows that it’s to help you behave and understand

before you’re trusted to be left alone in the apartments, he’ll bring you with him to the bunker when he’s streaming. the first time you realized where you were, you almost threw up from the pure panic that spread through you. ren cupped your face and kissed you to help calm you down, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find how absolutely terrified you were adorable. while he’s streaming you are left in the hands of rhino and kangaroo, who you have come to enjoy and consider friends (or at least as close to friends as you can get in your now abnormal life)

ren once considered getting you a pet to keep you company when you’re alone but he quickly discarded the idea due to how jealous he would be. you are his and your full attention should be on him. he might consider something super low maintenance like a goldfish (you would have to beg him for it though because he would still be jealous what a loser)

i personally think that ren would want a family. its not an intense urge he has, not something he thinks about 24/7, but he thinks about it every so often and how nice it would be (he’s also not getting any younger). ren is very fucked up (from both trauma and who he is as a person now) and it might not happen, but he still thinks about it, especially with you. its very cheesy of him to say, but he knows you’re the one. when he’s really going through it and feeling down, he wonders if what you have is real, if you truly love him or if it’s all for show to just survive (you always tell him that if it was just for show you wouldn’t be so willing to be around him and probably would have killed yourself early on babe your stockholm syndrome is showing)

nsfw (under the cut)

cliché but ren likes to bite during sex. he gets rather caught up in the moment and tasting you really gets him going

his heats can be pretty intense. his more clingy side comes out when he’s in heat and he will not leave you alone. from the moment you wake up until you fall asleep for the night (if you sleep during his heat), he has you in different positions and his dick is always inside you. even if you have to get up for something, he is following you, basically piggybacking you with how close he is

while you probably don’t appear in streams anymore, ren will occasionally film you two fucking. he teases you by telling you that you’re live and everyone is watching or that he’ll upload it for his fans later (a lie, you’re for his eyes only now but he does love how flush you get and how you beg him to turn the camera off)

this is already canon but ren loves seeing you in cute, frilly lingerie. there is nothing he loves more than to buy you an expensive lingerie set and have you show it off to him, only for him to rip it off of you within seconds. if he really likes the piece he’ll fuck you in the lingerie and will have you wear it again

phone sex while he’s away. every night he’ll call you just to listen to you get yourself off while he talks you through it. he’s fisting his cock during it as well, but he loves guiding you through it more. he has to make sure you don’t miss him too much. sometimes he’ll cut the call short and will wait for the spam of calls and texts from you as you beg him to call you again so you can cum. if you don’t get to call, he’ll demand you send pictures/videos. anything will do: shirtless pics, videos of you fingering yourself. he keeps everything you send him in a special folder on his phone that he turns to when he needs a quick dose of you

loves teasing you in public. fancy restaurant on the nice end of town? ren has his hand in your pants while the two of you talk over a split dessert (well, he’s talking. you’re trying to not moan out loud in the middle of the restaurant). is not afraid to drag you into an alley and push you to your knees, cock springing out as he tells you to open your mouth. he’s not worried about anyone seeing but if they do he’ll either throw a smirk their way if you’re hidden from their sight or, if you’re not hidden, he’ll remember what they look like and will seek them out later for a ‘friendly chat’ (you are for his eyes only)

BREEDING KINK!!! following my whole ‘ren wants a family’ thing, he def has a breeding kink. even if his intention isn’t to knock you up, he talks like it is. talks about cumming inside you and how good you would look all round and full of his pups. you moan at his words, too drunk on his cock to reply or think about what he’s saying. you’d ask him to cum inside you, begging him to fill you with his cum. he’s also definitely the type to push his cum back into you as it leaks out. (for my ladies: he’ll definitely put a pillow beneath your hips to help the chances if he’s feeling spicy)

[lomltrentarnold]

i think you’re pretty — trent alexander-arnold ₊˚ෆ

🍓 hana’s notes: in ma feels again (shocker) haven’t written anything in a while so please be nice <3

disclaimers: lil drabble, cliffhanger (you have been warned!) reader is a little insecure, but reader can pull girls and guys, childhood bestfriends my beloved trope 🫶 || main masterlist

“Wait, actually? You don’t think people think you’re pretty?”

You don’t even know how the conversation ended up on this topic. Sitting at the balcony catching up with Trent after you moved away. Now, he’s a big shot footballer and you’re working to get your degree.

Fifteen year old you guys would be proud.

You shook your head, it's not a new thought for you, “Nah, but that’s okay though. I think I’m pretty, but I don’t know if I am someone’s hallway crush or people just look at me and think — Wow, pretty.”

This is the type of stuff that you only spill on your diary, but it’s Trent, and he knows more about you than you do yourself.

It’s not something new you have come to terms with, after seeing most of your friends' getting crushes, getting hit on, going on dates and having relationships except you, you have made peace with it.

Trent’s forehead creases, as if the statement offended him more than you, “That’s crazy, tha’” Trent could not believe what you just said. You? Not pretty? Are you insane?

Turning your head to face him, you warmly smiled, “Don’t pretend, T.” and when you look at Trent, taking in his features, now this is pretty. “You’re pretty. People think you’re pretty.”

You didn’t know why you decided to say that. Maybe because the moonlight illuminates his skin and eyes, making him shine a little bit brighter. Butterflies swarm your belly, as your hand sweats.

Trent’s cheeks went warm, he thinks he’s the luckiest person ever to get compliment from you. His heart aches for you, but he decided to focus on the task at hand first.

"That's stupid." he spat out, making your eyebrows shoot up.

You lightly chuckled, "Excuse you? I just gave you a compliment."

"Not that." he sighed, turning his body around so that it would be face to face with yours. You noticed the disturbed look in his eyes, as you straightened your back before meeting his gaze.

"It's not that serious T, I'm fine." you assured him, an awkward laugh bubbling out. This took a serious turn, and you have no idea why.

"Do you remember James? In 8th grade?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "The one that gave me chocolate? Yeah, what about him?"

He took a deep breath, "He said, and I quote, that when you laugh, he can honestly melt because you look so pretty.”

"We were kids, sometimes kids just say stuff-"

"And I agreed with him, and I said that making you laugh is probably one of the most rewarding things I can do because I love seeing you smile so much. You look so pretty when you laugh like nobody's around."

Your heart stuttered, but before you said anything else he continued, "And remember the girl that you worked with at the cafe down the road? The one with curly hair?"

You nodded your head.

"When I was waiting for you to finish your shift, she noticed how much I was looking at you, and she said that she gets it, and that it's sometimes hard to focus on making the drinks because you would look so pretty smiling while taking people's orders."

You cleared your throat, “That’s- That’s very nice of her.” avoiding the words that makes you question you and Trent’s friendship.

His tongue pokes out to lick his lips, making your eyes focus on it, “Sometimes I look at you and I go blank because of how pretty you are.”

What the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Your eyes searched for his, but he pointedly avoided it, choosing to stare down on his hands.

After finishing the story, Trent bellowed out a laugh, "You know how many people ask me for your number because they think that you're pretty?" he paused, "But they backed away because they 'know' that you're already someone's because of how I look at you."

Your mouth gaped open and close like a fish, slowly processing everything that he's telling you. "What?"

"They said that I look at you like I was smitten. Like I was in love." you were sure your pulse stopped for a second, hearing the guy that you had a crush on for years saying stuff you hear in songs.

Trent’s mouth was faster than his brain, he really should have stopped talking, but he couldn't. All of his words were all vomiting out of his mouth. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest.

"And then I said that if I was going to fall in love with anyone that I'd want it to be you."

hehe love yall <3