#i was alone and the doors were locked and there was a blinding white light coming from in front of me

[kruxton]

aphantasia not letting me dream at night most of the time but the only two dreams i remember having in all of my life were the scariest shit ever

[selarina]

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: college bf!gojo, fluff, smut, cunnilingus, mention of masturbation, established relationship, implied parental issues, nicknames (baby) Minors DNI

Tap

You were awoken by the insistent sounds of a sharp tap against your window.

It had been raining the past few days, so you didn't bother with the taps, dismissing it as part of the downpour. But now, half-awake, you're realised there was no rain. Not tonight.

Tap

Groggy, your eyes flickered open. Turning, you saw the digital clock on your bedside table blinking a mocking 1:01 am in glaring red numerals. Barely an hour had passed since you had found sleep.

Tap

You groan, a guttural sound that felt alien in the still silence of your room. Knowing how late into the night it was, you were filled with a slight sense of unease, a chill crept up your spine. You would be a bit insane not to feel this way, but you suspected the cause of this disturbance. So, you got up, and slowly made your way to the window.

The curtains were drawn, but you slowly pulled them aside, peering through. It was too dark. You pulled your window up, which you realised required a bit of strength. Maybe you were still feeling a bit dazed from the sleep.

You peered out of the open window, the chill air hitting your sleepy face.

And there he stood under the warm streetlight, Gojo in all his glory— clad in a snug white shirt and black jeans, a small black bag slung over one shoulder.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you hissed, careful to keep your voice low. You were hyper aware about the rumours that would spread all the way to your family if the neighbours caught the sight of this particular scene.

He grinned up at you, lifting a finger to point towards your front door— a silent request.

You sighed, backing away from the window, and reaching for the light switch. You searched for the nearest pair of shorts you could find in the blinding new light in your room, and made your way downstairs.

Click

His eyes met yours, blue and infinite, his grin unwavering. You noticed now that it had been raining outside, the remnants of a faint drizzle found themselves clinging to Satoru's drenched hair.

"You could've just called me," you frowned, crossing your arms, frustration evident in your tone.

“I did,” he retorted, stepping inside. “Four times. You weren’t kidding about being a heavy sleeper.”

"You scared the shit out of me, Satoru. You can’t just show up like this," you said, locking the door behind him, "Especially when I'm alone—"

A pout formed on his lips. Annoying. Salacious. "But I missed you," he confessed. Serious. Sincere.

And you melted away, as you often did with this nuisance of a boy. “And you couldn't wait one night?" you feigned irritation, the corners of your lips betraying you.

"Nope."

—

The two of you made it upstairs. Gojo had taken space on the swivel chair near your study desk. You felt a bit conscious about the mess on the desk, you had meant to clean up days earlier.

He was using your spare white towel to rub his hair dry, as you stepped into your room, balancing the full glass of water.

It had only been just a while seen you'd seen him, but you did miss him, admittedly.

You placed the glass beside him on the desk, then plopped onto your bed, sitting as you stared at him mussing his hair dry. His biceps flexing with each brisk movement.

He tilted up, noticing you staring in silence, and grinned, which made your cheeks heat up.

"How— How was the tournament then?" you inquired, genuine curiosity tingeing your words.

He set aside the damp towel, unzipping his bag to reveal a gleaming trophy. "Well, how do you think?" he quipped, his pride evident in his expression

You reached out, fingers grazing the cool metal that read “Man of the Match.”

"Did you really carry this just to show it off to me in the middle of the night?" you teased, though warmth joined your tone.

"Of course," he responded, unabashed. "Sorry, I want my girlfriend to feel pride in the man she chose."

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips.

"Well... congratulations stud. The pride is all mine," you said, kissing the trophy, the chill of the metal finding your lips. You set it beside you, hand brushing your now cold lips. "What else is in this bag then?"

"Mostly souvenirs. I got a book for you," he reached into the bag again, pulling out two books. “And a book for me,” he added, pressing one of the two to his chest.

And at that, your brows rise. You eyes immediately trailing down to scan the title of the book.

"You're reading The Second Sex?" You asked, amused, and surprised.

See, you give Gojo a lot of shit but he is smart, but you never took him for a reader, assuming he was more of a kinaesthetic learner.

“Well,” he said, moving to sit beside you. The bed dipped under his weight, his hand finding your waist as he leaned in, “I much prefer doing it,” he murmured, lips brushing your neck.

You chuckled, your body tingling beneath the sensation of his warm lips. "You know that's not quite the essence of de Beauvoir's work."

His lips curve into a struggling pout. "Oh, really?" he mused, brows engaged.

Times like this left you a bit baffled — the fact that he knows what the book is actually about, but also, the fact that he feigns being stupid about it. You wonder how many times you haven't clocked it, instead falling for the act.

You smiled. “You're such an idiot, Gojo Satoru.”

"Well, I'm your idiot," he smiled back. "Your mum isn't home? You haven’t nagged me enough about being quiet tonight."

"Yeah, she's gone."

“Gone?” He raised his brows.

"For a few days," you said, half-breathless, acutely aware of his hand trailing up and down your thigh, caressing your skin. “For work.”

Your entire body tensed beneath his touch because this is new — Gojo touching you. You had only recently started dating, and it wasn't like he hadn't touched you before. He had— in this way and so much more, but even so, he always managed to get your heart rapping at a pace your breathing could not support.

He reached closer with his mouth. You help by doing the same. He presses it against your cheek — a soft kiss, before he backs up to linger only a few centimetres away from your lips. His warm breath fanning against your lips.

But this time, you found yourself impatient, reaching for his lips with your own, as his hand moved upward, now sitting snug against your cunt as you kissed. He could feel the heat of your skin singing to him through the thin material of your underwear.

Your limp hands find their purpose — trailing to find the warmth of his skin, one of them finding his hair, as the other hand reaches for Satoru's free hand trailing against the skin of your waist. He turns his hand to help you reach for it and spreads his fingers, so you could hold him — your fingers interlace in union.

“I missed you so much, baby,” he whispered as you parted, noses touching.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, your lips meeting his again, your tongues intertwining. His tongue felt so so warm, and soft against your own. You wonder if yours feel like sandpaper in comparison.

You can hear the faint clacking of your lips, which is when you pull away to huff out a “sorry” before he silences your apology with another kiss.

His fingers unlace with yours as they move to hold your head, pulling you fully into him, trying to get more and more of you with every kiss.

His other hand, trails upwards, finding the waistband of your shorts. He plays with it a little, flicking it as he continues kissing you. His lips moving from your lips to your jaw now, peppering kisses, as he nibbles his way toward your ear.

At that your breath catches, you've always been sensitive there.

"Did you think of me, baby?" he asked, his breath hot against your ear. "Because I thought of you. Got off to you right after we hung up that night."

Your breath catches again, and he takes this as an opportunity to lay you down on the bed, as his hand slipped inside your shorts, finding you where you seemed to need him most.

He starts at your entrance, the boundary of your shorts restricting his movements. He gathers your wetness with the tip of his middle finger as he slathering them around your clit, moving it up and down as you attempt to move your hips forward, towards him, hoping that his finger will accidentally knock faster against your clit.

But if there's one thing Satoru liked— it was frustrating you. He loved to drag things out when you wanted a quick release. You were always grateful for it at the end but it didn't make the process any less frustrating.

You could hear the squelching between your thighs, and felt your cheeks heat up as he pulled away to look at you. His eyes peering into your own, and you swear you'd never felt more vulnerable than in his arms like this.

You felt his palm press flat against your abdomen, pinning you down against the cushion, as he moved with more vigour.

“Tell me,” he urged again, kissing your jaw. “Did you think of me?”

“Yeah,” you said, breathless and sweaty. “Every night.”

“Every night?” His eyes widened in surprise. “Tell me more.”

"Hah— Please..."

“Go on,” he urged again. “I’ll let you come only if you tell me, baby.”

“Every night, I thought of you as I got off—” You bit your lip. “It’s embarrassing, Satoru please.”

“You're adorable,” he chuckled softly. “You stroke my ego.”

"Satoru, please. I-I need..."

“Need to come, baby?” he coos—ever so irritating. You could hear the delight in his voice, and it fucking irked you, but you also wanted to kiss him stupid for it.

You nodded rapidly, giving in to him.

“I’ll make you come,” he said, his fingers curling inside you, his thumb stroking your clit.

Upon the added stimulation, your hands, almost as though they're working on their own reach out his spare hand. The gesture leaves a pang in his chest, and there is a strangely dark thought that brews within him, that wants to keep you like this all the time. Cute, dumb and at his mercy.

He gives you his hand as he lets your hand wrap itself around his pointer and middle finger.

Your clit is throbbing. Your body is burning. You think you could eternity in this moment, teetering on the edge for the rest of the endless night.

Once more, he curls his fingers inside of you as he keeps his eyes on your face. You're close. He can tell.

“Come," he says, his voice hoarse. His fingers move fast, pumping into you.

The gasp that follows proves him right, as you move your hips erratically, closing in on his hand.

You lay there, panting, as he watched you with a smile playing on his lips. He bent down and left a kiss on your sweaty lips

—

You had changed, now donning new shorts and new underwear, as you looked over at the book he got you. A blue cover, with a woman seated amidst an auditorium of red seats.

"You like?" he asked, setting the glass of water he got you on your bedside table.

"Shakespeare and Palestinian Literature," you murmured. You placed the book aside, your arms reaching for him, as you leaned in to leave a soft kiss on his cheek. "You really do know me."

"You're welcome," he grinned, as he settled against the headboard beside you.

"Are you staying the night?" You asked, your hands fiddling with his lanky fingers.

"I can't," he says, and it makes you a bit sad. You were hoping he could. Truthfully, you didn't like living alone when you were back home — without your sister, without your mum. "I need to see my parents,” he added.

"You didn't see your parents first?" you asked, turning, as your eyebrows arched in surprise.

He shrugged. "I wanted to see you first."

"Your parents probably don’t like me any better now," you say, a bit glum.

He stares at you, feeling just as glum because there's truth to it, there is. They aren't your biggest fan. It only informs him that he's doing something right but it doesn't sit right with him, at the end of the day. It would hurt your heart.

“You keep running off to see me. You should spend as much time as you can when you're home, Satoru.”

"I will," he says, though he knew he was lying. Frankly, he hates home. He couldn't wait to get back to university, where he could find a home in your messy dorm room. Your roommate can crib all she wants. “Can I stay the night?" he asks, as he feels your hand stop fiddling with his own.

"I thought you had to be home," you say, your hands retracting back onto your lap.

"Well, it's the middle of the night," he replies, bending down to nuzzle into your neck, before his lips left a soft kiss. "I'll leave early, and lock up behind him."

You merely hum, too tired to argue, too grateful to send him back home. "Go home for breakfast, okay?"

He hummed. "I will."

"Promise?"

His murmured "promise" was the last thing you heard before sleep found you, coddling you into her gentle hands.

[paymechildsupport]

I've never done a request before so please bear with me🥲

I was wondering if you could do another Francis Mosses x reader.

I really enjoyed your Spouse!Reader x doppelgänger!Francis and wanted to see your take on D.D.D. trainee!Reader x doppelganger! Francis, where we get sent out to 'take care' of Francis.

Really excited to see what you do with this prompt🙏🏾

>nahhh this is a devious prompt, -- I gotchu 🙏😈🙏😈

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

“Does this please you, Officer?”  // Doppel!Francis x DDD Officer Reader

--Doppelgänger!Francis x DDD Reader tasked with his neutralization 🙏

-!! AFAB Reader, -- though genetalia isn't outright explicity stated -(?) -- there is room for your imagination though 😋

-!! CW: nsfw- (smut), ; Dubcon /// Hand-job; sex against a wall; degradation; implied overstimulation

A/N: the number of Francis requests are CRAZY, -- and I completely understand why, -- man's actually majestic <3.

————-

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

...

This was not how you planned to spend your Tuesday night,— grumpy and exhausted, woken up mid-sleep by an emergency dispatch.

“Mm… hello.?” Your groggy voice speaks into the ringing phone, eyes still sticky from sleep. 

“Emergency Dispatch: Doppelgänger identified at Complex II,— repeat, doppelgänger identified at complex II,— dispatch agent, neutralize the threat”. They clicked off, leaving you alone in the dark. 

Fuuuuuuck…. 

You fit yourself to your uniform quickly, practically ripping the hazmat suit in an attempt to get inside. Stupid cheap uniform. 

Hurriedly, you grabbed your gear before rushing out the door, immediately stopping to softly tiptoe down the hall, (it would be inconsiderate to wake your neighbors at this hour).

You bolt out the complex, trying your best with the minimal light from the lampposts to groggily stumble your way to Complex II. You recall briefly the mention of a new doorman, a rookie. You figured it made sense,— poor new guy’s first day and he’s greeted by what you can assume as a particularly aggressive doppelgänger. 

Trudging up to the looming building, you approach the iron bound mechanical door. You can see immediately the shutters to the doorman’s office are closed, bits of movement visible from the gaps in the blinds. The poor dude was in shambles. 

You approach the gate, eyes locking on the figure of the doppelgänger, 

Hmm, let’s see who it is tonight…

You’re surprised to see the handsome face of your milkman staring back at you, eyes looking as dead as ever. The air was knocked right outta your lungs,— holy shit these doppelgängers were getting good. 

Clearing your throat, you address, 

“Uh,— right, sir,” you look at the doppelgänger, “I’m gonna need you to come with me.” 

He says nothing, opting to just stare. It’s then you notice the gaping hole that was his mouth, the two black chasms that were supposed to be his eyes. From afar, he’d look perfectly normal,— but in the light all the inhuman imperfections stuck out like a sore thumb 

Holy smokes that’s hot. 

“I’m going to take you with me now,” you don’t even know why you’re telling him this, why the hell were you being all nice with a doppelgänger? Sure, he was good looking,— sure, you were curious what that mouth could do—- 

But that’s besides the point. 

You approach hesitantly, hooking an arm around ‘Francis’, giving him a light tug to signify him to follow you. 

Surprisingly, he does. Without a single word or complaint. He just… stares. With those beady white pupils. It sends a delicious shiver down your spine. 

Leading him away, you look over your shoulder at the doorman who just peeked out from behind the shutters, giving him a reassuring thumbs up as you walk away with your new companion. 

“Threat neutralized,” you repeat into the bulky walky talky attached to your belt, “order complete, over”. You place it back in its compartment, continuing until you and ‘Francis’ reach the anomaly compound for all things strange and odd. 

‘Francis’ looks at the compound with horribly disguised disgust. You only chuckle grinning, 

“No no, don’t worry. You aren’t going in there…” he seems to breathe a sigh of relief— if that’s even possible—, before you finish the last bit, 

“— don’t worry, I have… other plans for you..”

——

“Strip.” 

“Excuse me?” He whirls around, taken aback. 

“You heard me, strip” 

“And why,” his eyes narrow, “would I do that?” 

You shrug, “safety protocol,-- we’re in the decontamination room,-- can’t let you in if your clothes are contaminated, y’know?” 

'Francis' is absolutely flabbergasted. 

“Oh, and for security measures someone else has to be in the room at all times, – but uh,-” you grin, “we’re a lil’ short staffed at the moment, so it looks like it’ll just have to be you and me. 

'Francis' only looks at you through narrowed eye lids, thinking, “and if I refuse?” 

“Then I’ll strip you myself” and you step closer to do just that. 

'Francis' skitters backwards to the other end of the room, back hitting the wall, “h-hey! No need for that, I’ll do as you ask…” he mutters

Chuckling, “at least you can be obedient” 

'Francis' looks away almost bashfully as he begins to undo the buttons on his shirt, fabric peeling away to reveal the pale skin underneath. His hat rests on a nearby bench

“Fully,” you purr, “I want it all off.” 

You swear you see the tiniest hint of red tinge his cheeks, and you can’t help but wonder just how advanced this doppelgänger was. Good thing you were about to see for yourself in a moment… 

The air is heavy, tense, almost, as 'Francis' slowly undoes the buckle on his belt, pants sliding down to his ankles, – his boxers the only scrap of clothing left hiding him from you. 

He wearily regards the way you look at him, not missing the growing flare of hunger behind your eyes, 

“Does this please you, officer?” his words are clipped, tension building up behind each one. Biting your lip, your breath almost catches at the way he smiles, teeth a little too sharp to be human. 

“No.” The words are thick in your throat, forcing them out a bit of a struggle, “Get rid of the rest of it, now” 

He bites his tongue, making no move to do so. In a second you’re on him, pinning his figure to the wall, bodies pressed up together. He has no time to react as you hook two fingers around his boxers, harshly yanking them off. 

“Oh.”

Free of the confines of his pants, his erect cock springs loose, tip already dripping with precum. 

“Huh.” 'Francis' can’t even turn his head your way, face hot and sweating slightly, “Who would’ve thought,” – your hands curl around him, taking him fully in your fist. His eyes fly to your face, pupils blown and dilated, staring in horrified arousal as you began to knead the hardened flesh, “--what a sick little thing you are, getting off on my reprimands, hmm?” 

'Francis' sucks in a sharp breath, muscles tensing almost to a breaking point. His entire body shook with an animalistic need. More strands of precum build up on his tip, all read and agitated. Your thumb rubs the tiny slit, coating him with the sticky fluid. You found it hilarious, – no way this freakish creature had a fucking thing for degradation. 

His mouth opens in the shape of a small ‘o’, eyes rolling back as you teasingly pull at his dick, your hands making wet squelching noises playing with the soaked meat. 

“Mm,” you hum as you continue to play with him, dumbifying the creature in your hands. His legs start shaking like a dog’s, lewd whimpers flowing from his lips, glistening with saliva and drool. He desperately thrusts himself against your hand, chasing his pleasure farther. Jerking him off slowly, immense satisfaction burning in your stomach at the way your hand milks him. Each low groan went straight to your pulsing heat, drenching your own pants. 

Panting, unfamiliar with the immense, foreign pleasure curdling through his gut, 'Francis' seems to forget the guise of his human appearance, pornograpic moans mixing in with groggy animalistic growls and grunts. Carnal desire ripples through his veins, building up in his stomach, molten hot, and threatening to explode from his twitching cock in your hands. Poor thing can’t even formulate words, getting his brains fucked out just by your hand alone. 

He gasps, right about to climax into your hammering fist when you suddenly retract your hand. 'Francis' looks at you with wide eyes, looking every bit the kicked puppy, cruelly robbed of his orgasm. 

“Hh. huh… nghu..- ga-?..”,  panting.

You chuckle slowly, “no, not yet…” 

He can only watch with teary eyes as you skillfully unbuckle your pants, sliding them off along with your underwear. You grab him by the hips, positioning him (which isn’t hard, considering the only thing keeping his shaking body up was your torso), and aligning your pelvis, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You carefully slip him into your drenched hole, gasping softly at the sensation of him.

“Hah… like I said….” ‘Francis’ can only gape as you adjust yourself, cock twitching madly inside of you, 

… “I’m not done with you yet…”

[cassafrassie]

the nerve - (also on ao3) length: 2,535 words rating: T (teenaged kissing)

This is the last time, the last time! Pacifica thinks as she's jumping into the passenger side of Dipper's beat-up old pickup. Next to her, Dipper slams his own door and quickly smacks the lock button, eyes scanning the forest beyond the wide windshield. 

"I think we're clear," he says, before spinning to Pacifica excitedly. “Did you get a load of the size of that guy?!” 

“I didn’t see much as I was a little busy running for my life!” Pacifica gasps, clutching her chest.

Dipper picks up his camera. “Oh man. This was a good one. I think I got some good shots,” he continues, flipping through the display.

“Dipper! He nearly killed us!”

“Oh Paz, we were fine,” he replies confidently, still looking at his pictures. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” He looks up, reaches over and bops her on the nose, smearing more mud on her already dirty face.

The nerve.

Pacifica glares at him. He always gets like this after monster hunts. Dipper has a cocky streak that usually lies pretty dormant, but something about the shot of the adrenaline that he gets after narrow escapes makes it rise to the surface. At least that’s her theory. The worst part is that can’t pretend she totally hates it, even if it’s currently raising her hackles.

“I’m beginning to regret giving you that thing,” she says, gesturing to the camera.

“No you don’t.” He spins to her and points the lens in her direction. “Who else would take all those pictures of you for “the gram”?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. He clicks the shutter and Pacifica is blinded by the quick flash.

She rolls her eyes and pushes the camera away, but lets a small smile play on her lips. That photo won’t see the light of day. She’ll make sure of that. Both she and Dipper are absolutely covered in forest filth, and she makes a mental note to swipe the memory card before he drops her off at home later.

Dipper grins, thinking he’s won this round, and reaches behind his truck’s bench seat to place the camera in the rear of the cab. Twisting back, he fiddles with his keys and the ignition until the old clunker finally turns over.

Pacifica lets her mind wander as he navigates them out of the clearing he parked in and back to the main road. Picking leaves from her hair while she watches the trees pass by her window, she wonders why it is that he only lets this side of him come out when they’re alone. Dipper has come a long way from the insecure prepubescent boy she met five years ago, but he’s still pretty reserved and serious in mixed company. When it’s just the two of them, or the two of them and Mabel, it’s like he lights up. He’s sillier, more relaxed, more outspoken, more… is heroic the right word?

And it does things to her, to say the least. And they’re going to have to talk about it soon, because she strongly suspects he’s been feeling… things… too.

She started noticing it when their afternoon monster hunts began turning into twilight strolls around the lake, the two teen’s fingers brushing up against one another as they circled it. When hugs of relief after narrowly escaping death for the umpteenth time began to linger just a little too long. When he grabbed her hand while helping her down a steep rock face, and then held it the whole way home.

She knows a confession is imminent. That he’ll address the shift, the obvious destination they have been barreling toward with increasing velocity.

And sometimes she lets herself fantasize— because why not? She’s a seventeen-year-old girl, isn’t she? She’s allowed to have her little daydreams. She indulges in visions of confessions in a meadow of shimmering flowers. Maybe she’s wearing a long gown that fluttered in the wind. Maybe he brings roses and rides up on a white stallion and sweeps her up and into his lap as the orchestra swells and the credits run and…

Okay yes, she’s getting carried away. So sue her.

She chances a glance at him now. His eyes are trained on the road, hands responsibly placed at ten and two on the steering wheel, easy smile playing on his lips. He must sense her watching him though, because his eyes suddenly dart over to meet hers.

She meets his gaze, gives him a small, reckless smile that clearly carries a secret meaning that they just haven’t put words to just yet. She expects to receive the same smile from him, just as she has so many times before—and especially recently—but instead he just studies her seriously, and she can see the gears spinning in his mind. 

His mouth straightens into a determined line as his eyes snap back to the road. Without warning he twists the steering wheel to the right and Pacifica shrieks as he haphazardly directs the truck to a turnout overlooking the valley below. The truck bounces to a rough stop, and Pacifica snaps her head to look at him.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, more confused than angry.

He kills the engine, quickly unbuckles both their seatbelts and twists fully to face her. His cheeks are flushed, eyes focused. He honestly looks a little manic, Pacifica thinks.

Dipper takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens his them, he reaches a grime covered palm toward her equally dirty cheek. He smiles sweetly, and his palm cups her face, one thumb lightly tracing a path across her cheekbone.

“Paz,” he starts, smile broadening as he says her name. “There’s something I wanna tell you.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. He was not seriously doing this right now! Not like this! Not covered in mud and leaves and god knows what else, crammed in the front seat of his dilapidated old truck on the side of the road, heartbeat just beginning to return to normal after escaping whatever grumpy cryptid that was that they had woken early from hibernation.

Is he freaking kidding me?!

She watches her hopes of horseback rides into the sunset dissolve in front of her eyes. Disintegrated by the sweat, foliage and mud coating them both.

“Dipper! Now?? I look terrible!”

“I think you look great!” he says and the worst, most terrible part is that she can tell he is being completely sincere.

“I’m covered in mud, Dipper.“

“Maybe I like it,” he smirks, a move that Pacifica knows he thinks is charming.

“You’re a freak,” she deadpans.

Dipper leans in closer, looks her right in the eyes.

“Your freak?” He smiles, hopefully.

Oh my god seriously? He’s such a sap.

Pacifica groans and rolls her eyes, but she also has to fight to keep the corners of her lips from tugging into a smile. She can feel for cheeks warming, and she knows he knows.

“I’m sorry, that doesn’t qualify as a response. You’ll have to use English,” he teases.

“Fine,” she drawls.

“Fine what?”

She is going to murder him. MURDER HIM.

“Oh you know what!”

“I really don’t Paz, did you have something important you wanted to tell me?”

She wants to slap that stupid grin off his face. Or kiss it.

“Dipper!” she whines.

“Hey I’m just trying to get clarity here!”

“Dipper if this is your way of asking a girl out then it’s no wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend before. You’re impossible,” she says crossing her arms and straightening her back.

“Okay okay,” he laughs, settling down. “I’m sorry.” He turns to her, smile sweeter, more earnest. “Let me start over.”

He untangles her crossed arms, grasping her hands with his free one. She feels a shiver at the way his one hand can hold both of hers. When did that happen? She stifles the distraction as she refocuses on what he’s saying.

“Pacifica. You’re one of my best friends,” he continues. “You’re smart, self-assured, funny, a huge dork”— Pacifica opens her mouth to protest but he puts a finger to her lips—“you are, and it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

She scoffs, but lets him continue, cheeks growing warmer.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on, but that’s just the icing on the cake. Because the way I feel about you comes from so much more than that.” He takes a breath, rubs his thumb on her cheek once, and she melts a little. “Pacifica, I...“

Here it comes, she thinks. She gives him a small, encouraging smile, waiting to hear him say the words she’s been imagining in her daydreams, for him to confess that his “like” of her has turned into the special kind. The “like like” kind.

Pacifica figures maybe it’s okay that this is the way it happened. It’s more them. But still, she would have appreciated flowers maybe. She doesn't presume that his feelings for her run deep enough as to justify red roses, but pink maybe... 

“…I’m in love with you.”

Wait. What?

Pacifica's brain struggles to rewind and playback, and she ends up just blinking at him for a moment.

“You’re in love with me?” she asks, and her voice sounds so terribly soft to her ears.

“Yeah,” Dipper confirms, face bright red beneath the dirt.

“You love me?” she repeats.

“Yes,” he says again, laughing a little, nervously. But he nevertheless moves his hand from her cheek down to circle the side of her throat, pushing his fingers into her hair.

“No one has ever loved me before,” she says, matter of fact.

“Oh Paz, your parents love you. I know they’re tough on you but I’m sure—“

“No. No I mean like the different kind of love. Like, the voluntary kind. When you don’t have to love someone, you just do. When it’s not because of blood, or because you want their life, or clothes, or ponies. When you just like them. No one has loved me like that.”

He studies her a beat.

“I do,” he says, finally, firmly, not breaking the eye contact. Not taking his hands from her.

Her head feels light, and she’s vaguely aware of that he cheeks are wet. But then she surges forward, and crashes her lips to his, because she can’t not. There’s a magnetic force pulling her in a way she can’t control.

Dipper’s lips are chapped and crusted in dirt, but they’re warm and his she immediately thinks that kissing him is about to be one of her favorite pastimes, and why did they wait so long to do this again?? Dipper responds to her kiss instantly, opening his mouth and seeking entry to hers, which she grants without hesitation. The hand in her hair ventures up to grasp at the back of her head, pushing their lips closer still, as his other wraps around her lower back and tugs her closer to him on the bench seat. Her own needy hands run up his chest to grab the lapels of his flannel, holding him to her as she shifts forward and up on to her knees, eventually ending up straddling his lap. Dipper moans into her mouth and his hands move to grasp her hips, but then he stops, pulls back slightly and takes in a sharp inhale of air, letting it out slowly in what appears to be a practiced attempt to calm himself down.

“You don’t know what you do to me, Paz,” he chuckles, finally, leaning his forehead on hers.

“I could do more,” she says softly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” He leans back in his seat, arms loosen around her waist but not letting go. A smug smile plays on his lips. “I’m winning the romance game now, anyway. You gotta catch up.”

She senses a challenge here, which she knows he knows will always pique her interest. She arches an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“Well, I’m the one who said something first. In my book that means I’m leading you in romantic gestures.” He gives her a pointed look. “And confessions, too, actually. I might remind you.”

She laughs. “Okay, dork. I love you too. Even?”

“I mean technically I said I was in love with you. So, I still win.”

“Well I’m in love with you too, then!”

“No copy catting,” he says, grinning as his hands raise to her neck and he leans in.

Her giggles are muffled by his lips once again and she lets him push her back in the seat, tipping her backward until she pivots and is laying down with him hovering over her. He peppers her face with sloppy kisses and works his way down her neck, still a little grimy and sweaty, and Pacifica grins as she thinks that white stallions in springtime meadows might be overrated.

------

Later that night, Pacifica finds herself freshly showered and wearing some spare sweatpants of Mabel’s that she swiped while the latter is out at the movies with Candy and Grenda. She’s cuddled on the couch in the Mystery Shack’s living room, brand new boyfriend— also clean and smelling of mint and evergreen—next to her with a lazy arm stretched around her. She tugs up the blanket they share to her chin and tucks her face into the crook of his neck, kissing it lightly as Dipper begins stroking her hair.

“You know, the reason I’ve never had a girlfriend isn’t because I would suck at asking them out,” he says, after a while. “I happen to think I did pretty darn good here.”

“Settle down, Casanova, you got lucky this one time,” she mumbles, smiling into his neck.

He ignores this, persists in his point.

“You know the reason I haven’t had a girlfriend.” He says, turning so his lips brush the top of her head.

She does, but she wants him to say it. She looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Mmm?”

“Because I’ve only had eyes for one girl since I was fourteen.”

“And who was that?”

“Well I think you know her…”

“Oh?”

“Mhm… gorgeous, witty, bit of a brat…”

“She sounds great.”

“Yeah, she sure thinks so.”

“What stopped you from asking her out?”

“Well I wasn’t sure how she felt for a long time.”

“I bet she was crazy about you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, she probably liked your courage, your heart, your smile, your cute floppy hair—“

A loud groan carries into the living room from the kitchen, and Stan strides into the room, making a beeline for the front door.

“Okay, you two have officially crossed over from sweet to gross. Let me know when the honeymoon phase is over, til then I’ll be somewhere where the air doesn’t cause my blood sugar to spike.”

The two teens freeze, then burst into laughter as soon as the door slams behind the old man.

Dipper turns Pacifica in his arms to face him.

“Well would you look at that. Now we have the house to ourselves,” he smirks.

“Look at that,” Pacifica agrees, grinning.

[bagopucks]

J. Hughes - Mine All Mine

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Fem!reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning(s): Relationship insecurities, minor angst

—————————————

Nobody embodied black cat and golden retriever like Jack and I. Heart warming and full of wonder clashed in a crunchy harmony with indifference and a guarded personality. Jack had an innocence that made him special. I sometimes wondered just how blind he was to the cruelties of the world, but I never dared to ruin that part of him. I envied Jack in only the way a girlfriend could. I wished I could see the world the way he did, and yet I knew I never would. My mind had been tainted by past and present. By reality and technology. While Jack seemed so perfectly protected from the atrocities of life, I seemed to always encounter them.

I saw Jack as an angel. Heaven sent. Myself? I was merely a tainted soul who’d gotten lost on the way to hell. My darkness made his light all the more prominent.

“I love that movie!” His loud voice carried across the venue. I peered over my glass of wine toward a table full of seated men and women. Jack was always so social. Especially at parties. Despite my love for weddings, I was not as outwardly jovial. I had a subtle adoration for things. A solemn love. I liked to sit and observe, and enjoy things alone. At least that was the way I had been before Jack. He was one of the only people who had ever been able to breach my walls.

People often told Jack he was too loud, how amusing was it that I was one of the only people who loved his volume. His expressiveness.

Though I did not crack a smile, my eyes lingered. And my heart thudded. Jack looked amazing. I prayed for the day that we too could be like the couple sitting alone enjoying a meal with fresh rings on their fingers, preparing to lay up our treasures together in our new home. My eyes locked with the woman next to Jesper. Our lingering gazes broke when her lips parted, and the distain in the woman’s expression spoke volumes despite her whispers.

I was not blind to the general disliking people took to me. Nobody ever understood how Jack and I were together, or how we worked. People were open about their disinterest in our relationship. A disrespectful and hurtful thing in many ways. But I had never been one to express my pain that others inflicted. I understood their concern, and yet it hurt all the same.

In truth, I too questioned my relationship with Jack. I feared I brought him down. I feared being with him did the exact opposite of what I swore to do when I chose to love him. I feared I held his wonder back.

I watched the woman’s distain shift into disgust. Jack seemed to reply to her words, but I could barely focus on him when she looked so… displeased. My heart sank. People often said I did not try hard enough to make Jack happy, and that was an easy factor to believe if nobody ever saw us in private. Though at first I used to scoff and roll my eyes, the more it was said, the more I began to believe.

I lost interest in the expensive wine I held, placing the glass down harder than I expected on the table. Maroon liquid rained down stop the white tablecloth. Smoothing out the wrinkles in my dress before I stood, I drew in a steadying breath. I needed a break from the party.

I found my way to the back of the large venue, pushing open one of the doors into the hallway. A cold gust of air hit my bare shoulders, causing me to shiver. The crowd inside the reception hall had made the room fairly hot. I did not expect the major temperature change.

My pace slowed as I found myself in a safer space, out of the vision of prying gazes. I strolled down the hall, my eyes settling on the strings of photos of the bride and groom. I envied how wide the bride seemed to make the groom smile in every photo. I never had that effect on Jack. I was not hilarious or quick witted. I had no great jokes, and even my accidents were never humorous. Of course Jack would argue, but I never agreed with him. Was I everything Jack needed? Or was everyone right? My heart hurt at the idea. Was I holding Jack back? Another shiver caused my hands to wrap around my own body. I rubbed my arms in hopes of warming up, my eyes locking on a photo of the beautiful couple at the last All Stars red carpet. Even in public, the bride could put on a show. Emotional loneliness quickly snuck up on me. Jack never had to worry about being unfulfilling in our relationship. Nobody questioned if he was doing enough. Nobody judged him. He didn’t understand. Nobody did.

“It’s freezing out here.” The loneliness only deepened at the sound of his voice. I was so enveloped in my own mind that I didn’t truly register Jack’s presence until he was draping his suit jacket over my shoulders, and wrapping his arms around my frame. I leaned into his chest, instinctually.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are tonight?” Jack always knew how to settle in my presence. As much as I loved his loud and energetic side, I loved his quiet and sweet side even more. Jack surprised me with how intimate he could make almost any situation. Even this, standing together in solemn silence, feet away from a room full of people.

“Jack,” I spoke in return, turning my head to rest my cheek on his shoulder.

“I know.” He whispered. “I always know.” He didn’t always have the right things to say, but Id give him credit for knowing what to say about 90% of the time. I stood silently in his arms, uncertain of how to respond. How to open up. “Jesper’s girlfriend doesn’t know shit.” He broke the silence, “She doesn’t know you.” Addressing the topic never seemed to make it better. At least not in the moment. Tears threatened to ruin my maskera. “It’s just talk. That’s all it ever is. They don’t know you.” His grip tightened on me, and I shook my head. I would never see myself the way Jack saw me.

“What if everybody’s right? What if you’re just blind to my flaws because you think you love me?” I whispered, averting my gaze to the ceiling in a feeble attempt to avoid shedding any tears.

“Baby, I’m not blind to your flaws. I know you have ‘em, and I love every single one. But don’t you ever think that your personality is a flaw.” I tensed as Jack’s arms released me from their grip, but I allowed him to spin me around so we could stand face to face. His warm hand gently cupped my jaw, and I found myself yearning to be perfect for him. Wishing that I could be more deserving of the man in front of myself.

“Everybody tells me I’m too loud, and everybody tells you that you’re too quiet. We just balance each other out, eh?” He flashed a tiny grin in my direction. “There’s always gonna be haters, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I love you.” I finally mustered the ghost of a smile, blinking to try and rid of the tears quickly.

“Even when I’m antisocial?” I prodded softly, maybe to boost my own ego. I reached upwards to wipe my tears, only for Jack to grab my hand and wipe them for me.

“Your silence is so hot.” I found amusement in his words, as well as embarrassment. I felt heat rise to my cheeks as an involuntary laugh parted my lips. “There’s my girl.” Jack brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Proving everybody wrong one grin at a time.” The brunette grabbed ahold of my other hand, taking a backwards step and urging me to follow with a gentle tug. “Come dance with me. Please. I’ve wanted to get you in my arms all night.”

How could a woman feel any more wanted?

“Let me love you, please.”

How could a woman say no?

“My love..” I whispered, reluctant to move.

“In front of everyone else.” Jack insisted. “I want them to know I’m happy.” His words took the breath from my lips. The tears returned, but for more positive reasons.

“You’re happy,” I echoed as a gentle reminder to myself.

“I’ve never been happier.” I finally relented, moving along with Jack back through the hallway. Alongside him, I felt much less anxious about being observed by the crowd. I avoided their gazes as we entered the reception hall once more, hand in hand. Jack led me effortlessly toward the dance floor, at a steady but comfortable pace. I refused to allow my eyes to leave his frame, even as he pulled me into the middle of the floor, enveloping me in his arms all over again. The embrace was warm and safe. I rested my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as he slowly began to sway. I allowed his movements to shift my own body, closing my eyes to take it all in.

“Fuck ‘em all.. yeah?” Jack whispered in my ear. I chuckled.

“I like that.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[lilacxquartz]

OBEY || Makima x Fem!Reader

summary: Makima loved girls like you, so pretty and compliant. She had it in her mind that she could get you to do anything she wanted and as it turned out, she was right.

tags: (warnings in red): manipulation, coercion, dubious consent, forced masturbation, some pet play, dom!makima, porn with plot, toy usage, vibrators, one shot

word count: 2.4k

You messed up this time.

You really did.

You weren’t great at your job, half of the time you wondered why you were even here, but everyone beyond that point was happy to remind you that you were just an intern—of course you messed up, but that’s not something to worry about, they don’t suffer from your mess.

All of your end of the week paperwork was always run through Makima, the one they all warned you about instead. You hadn’t yet experienced her supposed wrath, by some miracle escaping the rumours.

But something felt different this time.

She wasn’t the type to slip up her mood, always so professionally calm and composed as she wore her white button up and black slacks, fiery red hair tucked neatly away into a tailed braid.

She skimmed the paperwork with the tip of her finger, making a smacking noise with her lips as disappointment seemed to brew. She wasn’t happy with you, but her wrath declined, she wasn’t punishing you just yet.

No, there was something playful in her glare instead.

“Your work ethic is lacking,” she simply said, her voice cutting through the air, she tempted you closer as she walked you into her office.

Your heart dropped as she shut the door behind you, swivelling a lock as the key turned, the blinds falling shut against the window. It wasn’t all that late outside, but she made it night.

Listening in, you could hear a button fumble and then flick, a dim light spreading a warm glow around the office space. Next, you watched her move her hands over the drawer of her desk, another key striking into something locked away, pulling something out that she left hidden to you, at least for now.

“Now then…” Makima purred, taking a step closer and leaving the item she fetched on the chair behind the desk. You couldn’t quite see what it was. “Let’s try encouragement in a different way.”

Your heart dropped.

Were you about to get beaten up at your own job? (that you weren’t even getting paid for, it was an internship)—at least not yet, you had to survive the whole assigned duration to land a paid spot in this place.

Still, the atmosphere suddenly became something different entirely, the air thicker than blood, something that stagnated and caused your breath to hitch. Was this her presence alone that made you feel that way? The rumours felt suddenly real, your mind begging for you to run away but your fate already sealed itself the second you stepped inside.

“A-another way?” you asked.

“You’re a pretty girl,” Makima said, approaching closer, the carpet absorbing her steps—she moved quietly like a siren, her intentions feeling seducing almost as she reeled you in with those anchoring eyes, “so why are you trying to get a job here?”

You couldn’t quite reply, you weren’t even sure what to say. You gulped as her touch felt gradually invading, fingertips tracing along your jaw as her knuckles met with your cheeks. She felt soft. Tempting. Dangerous.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied you, the lack of reply grating on her nerves even if it wasn’t shown.

“Well?” she demanded.

“I want to make a difference, you tried to say, what a cliché excuse—oops.

She flashed a curt smile, “Very novel.”

Her fingers drifted down to your chin, pinching it and tilting your head to align with her line of sight. You avoided her gaze but she made you follow it much to your impending dread.

She parted her lips once more.

“You could have been someone’s pretty little wife or a mistress even, life could have been easy, especially for someone like you.”

You couldn’t respond, feeling insulted.

“A shame, but…” she let her words trail off, a glint of pure curiosity sparking in her eyes, the look she gave you was a dangerous one, “at least it means that I can have my fun instead.”

“I-I’m sorry?” you finally replied, fluttering a couple of blinks as your body froze.

“Mhm,” she hummed, finally letting go of your face—her eyes darkened, any light that indicated care now faded away, “so kneel.”

You tensed up even more, unsure how to react.

“I know you’re not deaf, my pretty, so let’s try that again,” she cooed again, her voice flipping a switch, it felt like an illusion though, there was a looming threat in her tone, “…kneel.”

You gulped as you knelt after a long moment, her eyes fixated on yours as she remained silent beyond that point.

Her lips curled as she watched you surrender to her will, “Good, I’m glad I didn’t have to repeat myself again—wouldn’t want to bruise such a face.”

You had no idea how to react, so you simply gulped. All of a sudden, it felt like you couldn’t talk, your replies congested.

Makima moved towards you next, taking a domineering step as she moved your chin to secure eye contact with you once again, her face showed zero praise but the warmth she offered from her touch told a different sort of story.

“So compliant,” she cooed.

She grabbed at your jaw next, fingertips trailing your lips.

“Show me your tongue, my pretty.”

You complied with her for now, showing her your tongue like a dog, panting with the muscle out in the open. You shuddered as you drooled, saliva dripping onto the floor.

She studied you for a moment, making a slight humming sound as she then let go of you and stepped away.

“I’ll go easy on you today,” Makima said, seeming to decide.

You put your tongue back into your mouth, fearful of the consequence but she didn’t seem to scold. Instead, she made her way back to her desk, taking a silver looking object, fiddling with the base as a droning whir emitted from the thing.

A vibrator?

She slid it into your trousers, making you freeze as she just nearly avoided the cotton underwear line that piled at your crotch; she then pushed your knees shut, keeping the vibrator running between your thighs and right next to your heat.

“Let’s keep that there,” She nodded, taking a step back again as though to admire the sight of your gradually undoing being; your complexion slowly blooming into rosy red, your eyes so trusting and so afraid.

Yet observant, so ready to give and to obey.

The setting on the vibrator felt like eventual torture, shuddering against your clothed clit as pleasure built up in between the seams—your thighs attempted to reel it tighter, squeezing the toy to give it deeper focus, but no matter what you did, it wouldn’t go beyond a certain point.

Your hands drifted towards your legs, attempting to alter its course but Makima was quick to deny you such relief.

Her eyes narrowed as her lips crept up into a smile, “Not yet, my lovely.”

She watched as your body began to writhe under impossibly low vibrations, tempting your teased sex again and again—you couldn’t help but squirm as a rising heat coiled in your lower stomach, clenching and tightening as waves continued to roll to a tweezed point.

Crouching down, she cupped your chin and brought it closer, planting a warm kiss upon your lips. You could taste her lipstick, feeling it stick to your own flesh and her breath shudder into your throat; tasting of stale coffee but just barely. Her eyes were half lidded as she continued to press her lips onto yours, her tongue working its way inside pushing—moving, wrestling your own muscle away almost as it dared to follow her lead.

“Delicious,” Makima purred as she pulled back, her amber eyes scrolling to your quivering thighs, igniting a feverish stare upon your body.

You shuddered, both scared and aroused almost, your core tightening against such intense pleasure that it almost hurt. Torture it was as it continued, your legs clenching to burrow the toy in but with no such release.

Makima moved back a little, pulling up a chair to sit right before you.

“Now my lovely, undress for me,” she spoke, demanded almost. Her expression hardened, a faint blush forming upon her skin.

“But, I-“ you tried to retaliate, already feeling so embarrassed and broken down.

“I like my pets compliant, [name],” Makima warned, her tone taking on something colder. You watched as she unbuckled her belt, ever so slightly and as her delicate fingers fumbled the button and then the zipper—fingers slipping into her black slacks.

Reluctantly you nodded in such a stiffened stance that you could have been chiselled from marble yourself. Slowly, you removed your clothes at a slow rate, her eyes silently blessing praise and approval.

Once you were in just your underwear, you stopped and she seemed disappointed.

“I didn’t say stop, my pet,” she warned again, this time oozing much more of a threat behind her tone.

“I-Of course…” you shuddered with a jittering reply, your entire body shaking as you slipped gently out of your bra, kicking off your socks and finally allowing the cloth that clung against your heat to finally drop to your knees.

“So beautiful,” Makima praised as she seemed genuine, “now crawl to me.”

“I-I’m sorry?” you blurred out unintentionally again, feeling your voice next anchor in your throat out of accidental resistance. You knew not to question her and yet you did.

“Obedient pets listen to the commands they’re given, do they not?” she smiled at last, seemingly finally entertained with you albeit at your expense.

You swallowed away the final part of your dignity, surrendering to moving your body into a position on all fours as you leaned towards her. The carpet felt rough against your knees and uncomfortable, your palms barely tolerating the sensation until you were met right by her knees.

“Good girl,” she praised, “now lean back for me and open your legs.”

“But that’s too much-“

“—You misunderstand, I only keep good pets employed,” she smiled, “you want to work here, don’t you?”

You were starting to wonder if you did.

“I…I don’t kno-“

“Beautiful girls like you are wasted on this place, but I can offer you something more,” she said, “if you listen to me then you will be rewarded in much more than a safer world and a mediocre salary.”

“W-will I?”

“I take care of my loyal pets, [name],” Makima promised, offering deceitful hope, “your life is worth so much more when it’s in my hands.”

You gulped, something about her words started to swoon you.

“Now, show yourself to me,” she repeated again, her tone warmer yet lacking patience.

You reluctantly listened as you spread your legs for her; your lips parting by the will of your fingers slipping inside and seeking out your clit.

“Such a pretty cunt,” Makima commented, her own hand exploring below the waistline of her black slacks, “pleasure yourself for me.”

You spat a little on your fingertips, swirling circles on the bud as it slowly grew swollen, your breath heightening in such a bizarre situation that you couldn’t quite tell what you wanted to do.

Surprisingly you were already soaked, seeking lubrication from your sopping sex instead, avoiding eye contact when you could but ultimately going back to her gaze to seek approval.

“A-am I doing good?” you asked, desperate for praise.

Makima didn’t reciprocate your need though, simply offering a slight curve of her lips as her stare intensified. She knew what she was doing though, true praise was given through actions rather than words and as her own arousal grew, her silence was the truest form of praise there was.

You continued anyway as you on and off stole glances at her, certain things turning you on more than other elements. The way her eyes looked down at you, reminding you of your place below her. The way her hand likely was doing the exact same thing, but she kept it hidden from you. The blush that started to form, matching the shade of her hair.

You didn’t quite mind, as it turned out.

Focusing on those points, you felt yourself melt into something that went beyond simple arousal. Your body flushed with fear and warmth and acceptance, almost. Your own stomach coiled as you approached your initial end, your fingertips pushing out an orgasm out of you that your whole body rode out.

Makima’s smile curved again, something devious forming in her eyes.

“Again,” she commanded, “use the toy.”

Still feeling sore but in need of more, you shook as you reached for the toy and held it against your clit. The toy felt sore against your now swollen point, immediately causing you to shudder and whine, a reaction that made her eyes widen with sheer excitement.

Your thighs trembled as you felt your whole body flush with enveloping fire, a shaking release daring to swell within your core. Your thighs clenched as you held the toy to your bud, daring to surrender to yet another climax as it edged near.

Makima kept watch of you the whole time, lips curling to meet a satisfied smile; her eyes were relentlessly boring into yours, as though captivated by your own arousal—her own overlapping, feeling almost vicarious pleasure.

“Cum for me, my pretty,” she commanded, her voice sounding as silky as ever.

You listened without question, finally feeling the coursing waves roll through your stomach and all across your body, leaving you behind as a sweating mess.

“What a sight,” Makima purred, taking her hand out of her trousers and cupping around your cheeks.

You could smell the scent of her, feeling almost intoxicated as she hovered so closely by.

“I-I did well?” you asked in a scrambled way, your mind not fully there just yet.

She continued to talk to you as her body leaned in, her form crouching right beside you as she held your head in between both of her hands, “So pretty, so obedient.”

“I-I-“ you stammered again, feeling something warm from the praise.

“You’re my favourite toy so far you know,” she smiled, pushing her lips up against yours for the second time, “now get dressed, you’re invited for after work drinks with me.”

With your mind still fried, you nodded in a dazed state as you got back dressed again and stood statued into place as Makima brushed you up, straightening up your clothes and brushing any loose strands of your hair out of the way.

You followed her as she walked, your head still spinning from what just happened.

Yet Makima knew exactly what she was doing.

And now, she had a pretty little pet on her leash.

Ready to obey whenever she pleases.

[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ Please? ✦ 」 au! Bungo Stray Dogs: Atsushi Nakajima

a/n: been thinking about this for a while now, hope u enjoy!<3 mwah :*

genre: au! no abilities, college or grad school. da nasty w/ subby, camboy! atsushi 😏

content warning: f!reader. MDNI! male masturbation. atsushi typical low self-esteem ruminations + self-degradation (both in a kinky and non-kinky way). edging. online relationships (they’re twitter moots teehee).

summary: atsushi's always a good boy on camera, esp when he’s thinking about this one girl from his class ♡

– that girl is you… but of course, you don’t know that yet.

That light fixture. Those cedarwood floors. The white, speckled wall behind him. If you didn't know any better, you'd say this was one of your dorm rooms – but it couldn't be, right?

You're on your bed with your headphones on, blinds shuttered close, door locked. Your plush blanket is pulled up to your thighs. The room is dark, save for your phone screen, casting a glow on your face.

This is a private matter, after all.

"Is this thing on?"

In front of the camera is him, a mutual you've made from the n.sfw side of twitter, though this is the first time you're seeing his face of all things. He's unbelievably cute, in the most endearing sense of the word, with boyish features and a charming smile that makes you blush. "Hey guys," he says, and his voice sounds somewhat familiar, though you can't quite place your finger on where you might have heard it before. "I know it's been a while."

The numbers in his live go up by the second, chat animated now that he's active. His eyebrows scrunch together as he leans forward to read the comments. Most of them are already demanding he perform something lewd, but some of them surprisingly sweet, asking him how his day's been or complimenting him. He pays neither any mind – rather, his focus goes straight to you.

You almost jump as you hear him call out your username, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, it's you!" he says with a cheeky grin. "Everyone say hi and follow them too~"

Naturally, you've seen his nudes before – he's amassed quite a following on Twitter posting his body. In fact, you were shocked when he had decided to follow back someone like you, who only ever reposted content or mused online about what kind of things you'd like to have done to you.

So, having a big creator like him even know you exist – let alone mention you on his live – has your face flushed with heat.

Thank god he can't see you through the screen.

"ofc:)" you type, watching as his followers greet you in the chat.

Then, you hear him sigh and relax into his chair. He pushes back the sweep of silver bangs, fingers playing thoughtfully with the strings of his sweatshirt as he browses through the comments on his computer screen. Your eyes widen when he murmurs in a voice so innocent, "So... you wanna see me stroke it now?"

He sounds so damn innocent – he's definitely got that 'boy-next-door' act down, and you can see why his streams get so much attention. You've never watched a stream before, so he has you pulling your blanket over your head, totally embarrassed as his voice drops to a whisper. "Mm, well, I wanna..." he muses, and through your headphones, it feels almost like his breath is in your ear. You watch as he trails his hand lower, down to the waistband of his gray sweatpants. "Been thinking about it all day, actually."

The numbers in his livestream go up.

You can feel desire pooling between your thighs as he teases himself, as he traces the outline that's becoming more and more apparent through his sweats. He's gazing down at himself sensually, watching himself grow with these half-lidded eyes, lips parted slightly and curved in a lazy smile. There's something angelic about his face, however sinful it might be to think so. "Can I tell you guys a secret?" he asks sheepishly, and you can almost make out a faint blush on his cheeks as he glances away from the camera, fingers dancing around the lean muscle of his abdomen. "There's this girl in my lecture hall that I can't stop thinking about.

I really want her... Pretty pathetic of me, huh?"

The chat goes wild with comments. Some users sexually degrade him, calling him filthy names; others say they'd gladly swap places with his classmate. He glances at the screen briefly, swiping his tongue across his lips as he browses through before choosing a few users to respond to. "I know, I'm a bit of a loser for that," he says with a soft laugh. Then, in a more serious tone, he adds, "But really, I could never... just thinking about her, honestly... she's just so...

Ah, sh-shiit..."

Freeing himself from his boxers, you're met with the sight of it in all of its glory, tip leaking with precum and pulsing with need. His breath hitches in his throat when he first wraps his fingers around it. You hear him hiss from his own touch; he looks away shyly as he strokes it once, as he gathers the moisture on his hand and pumps it up and down. Then, clamping his other hand over his mouth, these soft, sweet moans fall delicately from his lips as he thrusts his hips up to meet his fist – as he strokes himself faster and faster.

Just as soon as you think he's about to cum...

"Nngh, f-fuck – ..." he seethes, letting go of himself completely.

Holding back what sounds like something between a moan and a sob, he buries his face into his elbow, stammering out curses in between ragged pants; you catch a glimpse of desperate eyes before he throws his head back, palming the oversensitive tip until his body's shaking, pleasuring himself in a way that makes his hips lurch forward, in a way that brings him so close to the edge that he's just about ready to fall apart. "So good... wanna... c-cum..."

– and the chat floods with messages instantly.

x69princess96x: 'don't' _daddywuvsu_: 'you haven't earned it' milf9_32193: 'no way!!! 🙄' user704829103: 'beg for it'

"Please–" He's so tense that you can almost feel it through the screen. "Please... please, please..."

Then, his eyes flash with something you've never seen before in someone before – pure, animalistic want as his eyebrows knit tightly, as his lips part in need, as he pleads for release –

and he's looking straight at the camera, so sickening sexy. "Please, need it…"

You find yourself aching in your core, clinging to your screen with widened eyes when suddenly, you hear your username unraveling from his lips. "How about you... You'd... you'd let me cum, right?"

© BSDAWGZ Don’t steal or plaigarize cos that’s mean… and if you enjoyed the fic, please reblog! ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ Beautiful dividers by @ v6que!

[glassrowboat]

Sing For Me. Dottore.

Summary: The Angel of Music's lair awaits you as painted gold arms move to welcome you in, the creak of their gears barely registering in your ears over your voice as his hand fits comfortably in yours, guiding you along. Further, further, and further into his world of unending night.

Warnings: Dottore, sexual content, smut, oral, cunnilignus, masturbating, altering of POTO canon, not proof read but Risse is tired

Word Count: 5k

The lights had been blinding as always when you had stood high on the stage, filling the air with a burning heat that licked at your skin. Sweat had dripped down your back, but there was no searing ache in your muscles from performing as your legs held you up for the painted gold faces of statues to see you in all your glory without even a speck of powder on pointed toes. For there were no silk ribbons fastened around your ankles to be seen by an effigies eyes. Your feet weren't even peeling a new layer of skin. There was only a dull hum in your throat and an ever beating heart from frayed nerves at having all those eyes on you.

On you alone.

For the stage had claimed you not as a ballet dancer who twirled with each long string of a bow, but as the star all lights were pointed to.

Just like the ones covered in glitter and gems you had pulled out of your hair a moment ago and laid to rest on the vanity you were sitting before. Your own reflection staring back at you as your fingers dance over the red petals of a rose. A gift from your Angel of Music.

You could almost hear the vibrato in his voice as well wishes fell from the lips that have taught you so well. Surely, he would be dawning a smirk, prideful as he is.

You plucked a petal, withered at the end with a dull brown that curls in on itself, and let it fall onto the floor of this overbearingly pink room; from the wallpaper to the endless bouquets surrounding you in a fog of perfume. All unaccompanied by a glass bottle to spray a charming mist into the air with a squeeze of an atomizer bulb, yet it smothered you nonetheless.

But in your hands, still perfectly polished from when your makeup had been done before the show, was black. A ribbon unlike the twisted and worn ones of your pointe shoes twisting around your finger, hypnotizing you with its delicate touch.

You didn't even notice the knob of the painted door keeping you apart from the bustling crew you would normally be shrugging through in an attempt to go change out of your costume twisting.

Not until a voice called out, one without the austere lit to it you had heard between dark stones aglow by the flicker of candles as you prayed for your father. That bright red of a rose, its scent still plaguing you, was replaced with locks of embering hair and memories of salt in the air as a violin played; waves lapping at the shore a background to the sweet melody.

“A little girl let her mind wander. The little girl thought, ‘Am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins, or of shoes.”

A poem you had learned in your tender years now sparking at the core of your memory again.

“Diluc?”

Your eyes fell on him, taking in the black coat hugging a frame that had now grown out of the lanky one you had known well from days of cuddling up together in a dusty attic on an old blanket, and white tie so pure it could be mistaken for the snow that is sure to come with the change of seasons already starting to creep in through the walls of the opera house with a chilling touch.

Almost like hands made of ice were ready to wrap around your throat.

But Diluc's were warm as he kneeled before you, hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder only to pull it back like he shouldn't have dared to be so familiar with you despite the moments you both shared. “Or of riddles or of frocks..or of chocolates.”

The flutter of your heart still stirred from the stage, twisting and turning as you looked up at him.

He was different from the boy you once knew, but he still held traces of himself from the memories you replayed in your head on an endless loop in between chatter with the other chorus girls and, dare you admit, even in the face of a blue glow that could never melt into shadows the same way the rest of your phantom did.

“Should I refer to you as Vicomte now?” You asked, remembering how the new managers had introduced him during rehearsal.

“Please, don't call me that.” The flickering light of the candle moved along Diluc's shoulders as they slumped. “It makes me uncomfortable. And there's no need.”

Not between us, is what he didn't say.

“Diluc it is, then.”

“And you, should I call you the star of tonight's show?” Diluc asked, head tilting slightly when your eyes met with his. “You did amazing up there.”

“Oh I see, so I'm not worthy of the title a prima donna yet? But no.” you shook your head, a smile quirking your lips up at his genuine praise. He had always been so quick to listen to your quiet lullabies in awe once upon a time, and that same unabashed reverence has turned back to you again.

He really did remember you despite not recognizing you- not seeing you- when he was first introduced to the troupe as a new benefactor of the theater.

“There's no need for that.” You assured him.

“Then if there's no need for titles between us, how about we share a meal. One in celebration of your wonderful performance and to meeting again?”

Your fingers tightened around the stem in your hands the moment he asked, wrangling it into something new, something misshapen. All between knuckles that were slowly turning white with each passing second. “No.”

“I'm sorry is”- Diluc’s hand drew back further, continuously pulling away the warmth he had to offer- “something wrong?”

And the stirring in your heart seemed to quell the further Diluc got.

“It's not- well..you remember what my father said, right, Diluc? That when he was in heaven he would send the Angel of Music to me.” With a sucked in breath you got out the words: “well father is dead, and I have been visited.”

“Oh, there's no doubt of it.”

The sentence echoed one that had once been whispered between you on a windy day, almost bringing you further back in time than just his mere presence brought you. To memories of dark stories and a scarf trying to fly off with the breeze and swim along the waters being returned to you as he wrapped it around your neck as you promised one day you would stand on the stage waiting for your voice to be heard by everyone and by him.

How far you've come.

The both of you.

But…

“And the Angel of Music is very strict.” You reminded yourself. The you that had become intimate with the shivers racking your spine simply at the thought of displeasing him currently running over you.

Breath falling short.

“I don't intend to keep you for long.”

“I know, it's just-”

And then he asked you to please play along, to indulge him on this even as the hole drilling itself in your stomach grew and grew. To the point eating anything in the first place sounded sickening, but you smiled at that same baby face Diluc couldn't seem to grow out of even after all these years and dared to agree.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as he walked to the door, pushed it out of the way with one last call of “You must change. Something you can actually walk around in, preferably. In the meantime, I'll order my carriage.” And a promise you won't regret joining him as that pink door closed.

Painted lilies staring back at you as gooseflesh awoke on your skin.

A lock silently clicked in place without you even noticing.

Then, a voice seemed to blare over the room, blowing out the candles around you one by one. From the vanity your red rose laid upon to the one next to the dressing screen you had only just been behind to change (trying to discard the heavy costume you had worn on stage), hands occupied with fixing the tie to your robe. Darkness took over, leaving you in the music of the night.

“He's insolent, my muse. Just a boy who hasn't even fostered the voice you now yield, but there he was sharing in my triumph.”

The sneer you could hear in his voice was recognizable and well known after all the times other ‘young suitors’ as he liked to call them dared to cross an invisible line he drew. One you still couldn't tell if it was etched in the grains of sand or hammered into concrete, but either way, daring to pass, it was as risky as a gambler asking for Aphrodite’s kiss.

“He didn't mean any harm.”

“I would say trying to step in the way of your spotlight for a chance to greet you is pernicious at best.”

Like the panes of a window leaving shadows along the floor where the sun casts its rays.

“Look, I'm sorry. I wanted to tell him no.”

“But your soul was weak, I take it?” He asked with the same snark you've grown accustomed to from him. At this point it was almost a comfort after hearing him make remarks about the inability of the crew, Carlotta, and the new managers who had just taken over all while a stained glass image of a god you bowed your head to watched over you.

A holy gaze keeping you safe as prayers for your father whispered on your lips and a flame sparked as you lit a candle in his name, but in here it was only you and a fog slowly creeping in.

Dottore always was one for dramatics.

“Forgive me, teacher.” You said at last.

A hum filled your ears, just as the fog rose higher and higher, blocking out the endless bouquets that had been filling the room more than the gaudy furniture could even dare to try.

He spoke of Diluc basking in your glory, but here he was doing the same with your trepidation.

All you could do was wait for the other shoe to fall, or-

“Only this once, my muse.”

Or to have a hand held out to take yours. Black gloves and golden claws shattering the illusion you were semi alone in this room as the mirror fell away for Dottore to pull you inside. Arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close as a melody filled your ears; blocking out the sound of Diluc rattling the doorknob to check on you as panic swells in his chest.

“I am your Angel of Music.” Dottore said as he cast a sidelong glance towards the door, his hold on you tightening. “Come to your Angel of Music.”

With a crescendo, everything else fell away.

All with that same fog following you, drowning everything else out. Leaving the world above the murky depths you were pulled into distorted by refraction. Blocking out the last words you could have sworn went something along the lines of: “Who is in there with you?”

You couldn't even register the concern lacing each word, not when all your nerves were set alight. Yet the raucous beating of your heart, a drum that has long since been used and abused, finally soothed as Dottore pulled you along.

“Come now, and sing once again with me our strange duet.”

A haze passed by all at once with golden arms clicking as gears in need of a good oiling moved, fingers intertwining with your own, and the splash of water as a rowboat that looked as fickle as glass dipped under your weight when you climbed in.

All with the assurance “I have you” as you were flooded by the Phantom’s song.

His voice echoed off the walls dripping with a moisture you would rather not think about, slipping between the cracks and over dewy cobwebs with a raw texture. The talent of a man who taught himself all he knew in the silence between the shows put on in the light as his shadow cast across the stones down below.

Dottore had once likened it to a hollow building, one falling apart at the seams all thanks to its unsteady foundation, but you? You, the very thing that inspired his song, had come in and filled that shell of a home with comfort. Blankets over the windows to keep the cold air out, rugs padding over the hard floor, and a place to rest; one without the worry of rats creeping their way into our home.

Dottore never explained why he called it “our home.”

Not even as his masked face turned towards you and you were left questioning if that black and white porcelain could hold an expression of fondness.

“Surely you know how to get out of a boat yourself.” Dottore teased, even as he helped pull you out with one last unsteady lurch and splash of water under your feet. Droplets tickling your ankles.

“Apparently not.”

“Don't tell me I have another thing I need to teach you.” Dottore raised a brow, or maybe both, you really couldn't tell.

“Would it matter if you did?” You teased.

“I suppose not. We can stay down here, together.” Dottore whispered with his hand ghosting along your cheek. Cold to the touch. “And abandon the garish light of day all while I teach you something new. All in this kingdom of music..”

A kingdom with only one subject, the king: Dottore himself.

“I'm not just going to purge my thoughts of the life I knew before,” danced on your tongue, wanting to escape from the confines you only tightened the hold of. Chaining it to a wall to be forgotten and discarded.

For his eyes could both threaten and adore; you already knew which would be easier to handle. And you were too exhausted to try weasel your way out of this mess you had stumbled in again, anyway.

“Softly, deftly music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it secretly possess you.” As he sang in your ear, lips and the touch of his mask grazing your skin, Dottore's hand fell from your cheek. Roamed as it pleased. Traced over your collarbones only to go lower, lower, and lower. The golden claws he's wearing toy with your robe, reflecting back your own thinly pressed lips in their radiance. “Open up your mind, my muse. Let me in. Let yourself belong to me.”

“…I”

You took too long to respond.

That was apparent in the way his hand drew back. A stove hot to the touch to tender flesh. Leaving him wounded.

“You need rest. It's been a long night for you.”

“Right…I'm not even that tired though.” Not when your eyes had a place to scour over. To soak in all the rugs placed over the mildew-claimed floors, the lights buzzing with electricity that somehow worked all the way down here, and a well loved piano sitting atop it all.

“You will be. Just give it time.”

All while that same fog that has been chasing you both filled your vision.

You didn't even get the chance to ask Dottore what he meant by that as you fell into his arms. Eyes rolling back as you were greeted by the darkest dreams a mind could imagine.

“Took longer than I thought it would. I'll need to change the percentages in the concoction then. My fault for not testing the drug when it's airborne.”

Muttering to himself Dottore carried you to his bed and placed you down. Tongue clicking as he looked at you slowly being swallowed up but the mattress he had spent countless restless nights tossing and turning in. “Can't you see? Only you alone can make my music take flight…but that boy…”

Hands that were still burnt from your earlier refusal pulled a blanket up and over your shoulders; shaking unsteadily. They might as well have actually been burnt under a flame, set alight, for they twitched like embers were ingrained into his skin as Dottore lingered near you.

Silently watching.

“Once he's gone you can help me make the music of the night. But for now, simply rest well.”

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Dottore left in favor of his piano, desperate for something to take the swirling storm in his head out on.

It was better that way.

It gave Dottore something to focus on that wasn't his cock straining against his pants as he set the sheets of an unfinished piece before him. Notes daring to be written on the yellowed paper, crinkled and worn after all times he's dug it out only to store it away again without adding a single drop of ink. His pen always did hang in the air, threatening to add something as Dottore busied himself with tapping at the keys; feather covered back turned to you as he tried to work.

Crude, Dottore thought as he huffed at just how wrong it all sounded to his self-taught ear.

It was the tapping that eventually stirred you, forcing your eyes to crack open only to be greeted by the sight of a metal bird staring down at you rather than the mask you had come to expect. Its head tilted to the side. Blue eyes glowing in the dark.

You didn't even get the chance to mutter a confused hello before it flew off with a squawk. Soaring. Long, almost vial-like tail flowing after it.

“What the…”

Grumbling, you pushed the blankets covering you away. Feet padding on the floor as you followed after its flapping wings.

Without your Angel by your side this place seemed different. Hollow, almost. Lonely, like a burnt out candle waiting to bring fire to this world again as it fails to shine. To the point you were glad to follow the song that never seemed to stop playing in your head all the way to a hunched figure.

Without turning back to look at you Dottore said: “I see you're awake. How are you doing, my muse?”

“Like I entered a fever dream.” Which would explain this labyrinth where the daylight dissolves into darkness. All except a faint glow leaving his skin an unearthly hue. “You see the bird too, right?”

Another tap of the keys laid out in front of him rang before Dottore spoke again.

“I do.”

“At least I'm not going crazy then.”

The feathers of his jacket greeted you first, brushing along your arms as they wrapped around him. Would the bird feel the same or would it lack Dottore's warmth you clung to? Would it feel as stiff as he froze under you like deer under the glow of a blinding light.

Funny, for a man who would take a life with as little emotion as a carriage running over a fawn's carcass.

“If you were going crazy I would be sure to tell you.” Dottore strangled out. Voice so tight you couldn't help but check you weren't accidentally pulling on that strap he wore around his throat (for some reason or another), but you weren't even so much as touching it.

“How thoughtful.”

“It's less being thoughtful and more the thought you of going”- his hand pulled away from the keys to gesture at something you couldn't see- “crazed might affect how you choose to sing. Though, it might add an interesting candor as you bear your heart and voice to the opera house.”

“And to its crowd.” You teased, eyes peeking up at him, at the mask he wore, from the feathered mantle you were snuggled up against.

You were so tempted to reach out and graze your fingers over the material, to feel the cold sting grace your skin before pulling it away to reveal what lay underneath. May it be a man or a monster your curiosity begged to know. Pleading into your ear. Only for you to remember the last time you tried as he sucked in an unsteady breath. How he pushed you away, raised a hand that never fell to your cheek as you crawled farther and farther away from him until your back hit a wall behind you.

He shook then just as Dottore is now.

“Yes, them too.”

So your hand didn't dare to try again. Instead it fell to the keyboard to tap over a note or two, fiddling with it to keep your mind off the need to pull away from him- to flee- that gnawed at you. After all, if this truly was a kingdom then what subject could truly run away without repercussions?

The monarch himself picked up the pen beside him, pinched it between those pointed claws, and the notes you had just played were written down on the piece of paper laid out before him.

“Are you writing a new piece?” You asked.

“I'm attempting to. Unfortunately, I am rather distracted.”

Ignoring the way his jaw jutted your way accusingly you continued to tap at the keys. And he continued to write each note down until he told you to sit beside him

“I don't think there's enough room on that bench you're using, Angel.”

His hands were on your waist in a second, the pen clattering as it dropped while Dottore pulled you on his lap. “I said: sit down.”

You barely noticed him picking the pen back up from the ground with his fingers playing with the laces of your corset; brushing over them all the way down to the messy bow you had tied together. At the time your hands had been shaking as the excitement to be on stage had rushed through you, but now your own jittery effort was undone by one single pull of the wirey cord.

Dottore’s touch burned, even through his gloves.

“So..a new piece?” You asked.

“Yes, but I was..admittedly struggling with composing it; on my own, that is. It would be a great help to me if you played another note.” The laces were tugged at again. “Or two. Or three.”

Even as the garment fell off you, only held up by your own hands, it felt harder to breathe than before. “I wouldn't mind, really, but was this necessary?”

Dottore's eyes flicked down between you, scalding you with the red fire inside of them that seemed to only be held back by a single barrier of glass, begging to shatter under the stress. “I was undoing it to keep the corset from pressing on your diaphragm. I don't need your voice distorted.”

It was only a moment later Dottore tacked on “That's all” even as he leaned in closer to you, hand trailing up your back just as softly as the air from his lips was gracing yours. Only an inch apart. Getting closer, closer, and closer to the point you could see deformities in the mask.

Then his head fell to your neck.

“You'll help me f-” Dottore cut himself off, shutting his own trail of thought down. “For my music, won't you, my muse?”

Your hand met the piano, trying to play another note even as his hand dropped from your back and you fell against the keys. The chord cluster had your fingers curling around the white tiles; the damned bird squawked with a jump, only causing your grip to tighten at the shrill sound.

“I'm the one who interrupted your focus, so..” You cleared your throat. “Yes, teacher.”

Dottore replied back with an excellent, already clearly hard at work again as his pen moved, writing the notes you accidentally slammed down on. Black ink trailing off with every flick of his wrist as Dottore's hand slid up to where yours was keeping the corset up and pressed his thumb right over your diaphragm; fingers tickling your ribcage.

“Try to sing a note.”

Without a second to doubt his reasons you obeyed, and Dottore nodded in thought.

“Excellent, just like that. Now, remind me, I don't think we've practiced singing while enduring rough activity, have we?” He asked, head tilting ever so slightly to the side as his eyes flicked over your form on top of him.

“No.” You got out even through the discomfort pressing at your chest.

“Then it's time to change that. Don't you agree?”

“It would be a waste to turn down an opportunity to learn, right? That's what you always say.” At this point you could probably parrot the exact cadence Dottore uses as he repeats those exact words, voice controlled, a lit to it you knew belonged to a man who enjoyed having eyes on him as he made a spectacle of how smart he was, all while teaching you. Usually, Dottore would posture, flick his cape when it gets in his way - not pull you from his lap and place you down on the piano behind you.

Another slam of the keys.

You shifted, trying to get comfortable in your new found place as you tried to figure out why you thought something had been poking at your thigh the entire time Dottore had been holding you close. Had you sit with him on the stool clattering to the floor in Dottore's rush to push it away and kneel before you.

You had half a mind to comment how gross that had to be with these floors, but you were cut off by Dottore himself. “Have I ever told you nighttime has a way of heightening and sharpening each sensation?”

“Here and there.” You nodded. “But what does this have to do with your composition?”

The music sheet (one missing a title) was now cast aside, pen keeping it in place from any stray breeze hoping to pick it up and force it to fall along with the stool. Abandoned by its own creator without mercy for his hands had left it to play with the hem of your skirts; pushing them up and along your legs.

“Oh that's quite simple, but it seems my muse can't figure it out on her own.” Dottore clicked his tongue with a harsh tch. “Sometimes I swear you need everything spelled out for you.”

Ripples ran along your thigh as the cool metal of Dottore's claws graced your skin, from your hip to your ankle as he dragged your undergarments down. “I'll simply draw the notes out of you. You can just lay back and feel it all, savor each sensation.”

“Angel-”

“Oh, and-” Dottore's eyes raised from the sight of your skirts now bunched around your waist, pushed out of the way for his convenience. All to place a single kiss on your thigh that you nearly jerked away from. Only held in place due to the grip he had on you; mercilessly keeping you still even as a heat crept over your cheeks. “And make sure to use your voice.”

Your leg was hooked over his shoulder, the feathers from before taunting you as they brushed against your skin. Were you supposed to grab them or his hair? Were you supposed to yank him back and ask what this was about or let him keep leaning in closer?

The puff of air breathed out on your core answered before you could decide for yourself. And you were suddenly grateful you were sitting on the piano instead of trying to keep yourself up, afloat, as sharp teeth nibbled at your skin leaving your knees feeling weak even after all the years of ballet lessons that strengthened them. Hours of holding poses, perfecting them until you were given a nod of approval from Madame Giry, all suddenly for naught.

“I-I don't think this is very appropriate.”

“You said you'd help me.”

“Well, granted, I did, but-”

His tongue slid along your folds, tasting the very essence you exude. A long strip, a long drag of his tongue on you, and you were a goner.

A single moan ripped through your throat had Dottore's hand reaching down, fumbling with the buttons on his pants (far too many for his liking right now) to push them aside as he tasted you again, again, and again. Only pulling back long enough- giving you a chance to recover- to whisper against your folds “Don't think about anything besides me, my muse. Just me. Let me inside your mind.”

The keys pressed down, playing a soft melody every time your hips bucked up to chase after his touch; desperately trying to drag out more and more of the pleasure building in you. It was a raging fire flooding your soul, a need Dottore returned a hundredfold with a hand wrapping around his cock. Fucking it imagining it was you under him instead- bodies intertwining.

A minor, D minor, and E minor played on the piano, only drowned out by the sound of your cries and the wet sounds between your legs.

A strange duet that was wholefully one of your and Dottore's making.

His thumb brushed over the head of Dottore’s cock, smearing pre into his gloves as Dottore's tongue ravaged you with every bit of lust he'd tampered down over the years. Finally he was able to let it drain into you. Each moment of grazed hands, stolen glances and close calls coming to fruition as his tongue lapped at you.

Using you as a faucet to his molten need that never failed to be stoked, coals sparking with a fire burning alight, by your voice.

“That's it, give in to me. Give in to what I do to you.” Dottore barely managed to mutter between his own groans and hatred to be parted from you for a single second.

Your hand tugged at his hair, the questions you asked yourself long since tossed aside with the flame burning in your core, begging to be eased.

To be satiated.

You barely caught sight of the mechanical bird watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, the image of Dottore kneeling before you, head between your thighs as he stroked himself reflected back in its metal beak; warped image capturing the moment you came as the Opera Ghost himself made you sing.

You were too dazed to make out the notes you were playing anymore, only the fact they were turning in your head like a music box that never failed to draw you in as Dottore's head fell against your thigh. Slick coating his face (and parts of his mask), leaving it with a sheen he licked off as his hand moved. Hips stuttering up into the hole he made with a moan.

He called your name as he came, white sticky fluid splashing over the ground.

Blood red eyes staring up at you the entire time.

Speech seemed to turn into silence, words failing you, just out of reach of your outstretched hand desperately hoping to grasp onto anything to say in this moment. But all you could think about was how your blood was still racing.

Even when he had raised from the floor, ran a hand along your cheek, and finally kissed you you still had no clue what to say. Not even as your Angel whispered “Finally. You are so beautiful when you sing, my muse, to the point I couldn't smother your voice even when I longed to kiss you.”

Pulling you in his arms, Dottore held you close, hand running up and down your back, passing over the open laces of your corset.

“Don't you see? This is the music of the night.”

For you alone can make his song take flight.

Funny, how even wrapped up in his embrace, the heat of your release painting your thigh, you still felt cold.

And you longed for another to hold you tight.

[diejager]

Crediting @cobwebs-in-autumn for the prompt

Simon Says Cw: stalking, protective!Simon, collar, pet names, obsession, tell me if I missed any.

Part 3

“ ‘Tis Simon?”

His low rumble left his throat, deep and domineering. This was the voice that scared Johnny so much? It was almost laughable how corny and cocky the other person sounded, the drawl in their voice when they said his name. They sounded too comfortable and too familiar to be a coincidence, to be an act out of pure coincidence (SImon knew it wasn’t, not with the dozens of calls made in the past week alone, or the scarily precise quirks and details about Johnny).

He glared out the living room’s window, a growl lashing out to the caller, searching for any signs of being watched. He didn’t necessarily know what he was looking for, knowing neither what nor who he was glaring at. If he went by the voice he was listening to, he’d imagine a man, perhaps broad and strong like him, or small and lean like Johnny. His eyes scanned the front porch, then he turned to the kitchen, stalking his way to stare out the glass panels, the light in the backyard porch out just like the rest of the house. It left their home dark and moody, eerily silent when Johnny wasn’t chatting his ears off.

“What are you doing, kitten?” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair, cut short and choppy, utilitarian despite fitting him so well, turning his rugged and haunted face into something enviable —handsome.

He heard a click from the other side, before they spoke up, a cheeky laugh ringing in his ear.

“Having fun, like you told me to, Si.”

“You’re having a bloody amazing time, aren’t you.”

He knew you were nodding, hearing your clothes rustling with the vigorous act, and your sweet, sweet laugh that made his knees weak. He knew you were doing this as per his plans - his orders - to spook Johnny, to have him fall further into his arms until he found the right time to introduce you to him, cementing you as the second pillar of normalcy and safety. You were strong and dependable, someone who he’d put his life on the line for, someone who he trusts with his whole being —just as you did with him, repaying him with a sick sense of devotion and love that he easily returned.

“Am I doing well, Si?”

He revelled in having the monopoly of both your attention, being the man that you and Johnny would come for affirmation, to feel accomplished and praised. He was drunk on this power you gave him, your breathy and whiny voice, asking for him to praise you with small gestures and words. You were the reason he left John half of the time, to find you in your little flat, collar tight around your neck and bell ringing when you greeted him at the door. Your little smile and skip in your step made his worst days brighter, turned the dark and haunting tolerable in his mind when Johnny was unavailable. You were an integral piece of his life that he needed to keep —needed to have.

“Wonderful, love,” he gave you the praise you so wanted, a small grin curling the corners of his lips when he found you crouching behind a bush, your white mask peeking over the greenery.

He loved your attire, a white mask mimicking the moment of a scream, curved cheek bones and a thin sheet covering both eyes and mouth. It was your way of feeling closer to him whenever he was away while you worked, dressing in tactical, yet aesthetically pleasing garments, completely black and grey to easily melt into the shadows. He watched you wave at him, fingers curling at him in a teasing greeting and the other holding your phone - the one he gifted you with - under your leather hood. If he stared hard and long enough, he’d be able to see the crease of pure pleasure and glee in your eyes, gleaming so brightly that it would’ve blinded him.

“I think it’s time, kit.”

You perked up at his words, body moving to show him your excitement and joy that he finally thought that it was time.

“Remember to lock the window when you’re out.”

“Of course! Of course!” You nodded eagerly, nearly falling on your hands and dropping the phone in your little dance, “See you tonight, Si.”

part 4

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysian @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

[wrathofrats]

Adding onto me and @divine-misfortunes delta lore bc we had a conversation that led to this fic and the entire thing destroyed me so I hope it destroys everyone else too

To understand this fic please see this and this, this fic acts as somewhat of a third installment. I’m so proud of this one honestly I’m loving this little series

Pebble visits delta after Terzo dies, omega confronts him afterwards.

Wc: 2k

Rating: teen

Warnings for: hurt no comfort, light descriptions of bodily damage/harm, major character death, implied upcoming character death, complex morality (no one is in the wrong or right), its angst yall and its sad.

Pebble twirls the key in his hands before putting it in the lock. He debates the entire time. Argues with himself through every click of the pins if he should be visiting delta again. He does this everytime, mulls the situation over in his mind until the idea feels like it’s been pureed into mush. Ultimately as the door handle turns, pebble always decides he has to.

Terzo died a couple months ago. Murdered in cold blood while the ghouls were left to fend for themselves as the church scrambled. None of them handled it well, the worst of it leading to pebble barely leaving him room for a month, let alone to make the visit to see delta.

Part of him hopes there won’t be anything there when he opens the door. Hopes that delta succumbed and his suffering is over for his own sake. He was locked in this room ages ago after an attack. Pebble tries not to blame delta for it, his own mind and body are trying to kill him, honestly he doesn’t think he knew any better. But it was for everyone’s safety, they didn’t want to risk it happening again. The other selfish half of him hopes for the worst so he won’t have to hear delta talk about their beloved papa.

Terzo used to make the visit with pebble. Deltas blind and unwavering obedience made Terzo happy, if not feeling ever guilty about what happened to him. He partially blames himself, thought delta has always insisted he shouldn’t.

Their eyes never meet. Terzo can’t stand to see the deathly color of his irises. The visits only last a couple minutes simply to make delta happy even if they end up making the other two wildly uncomfortable. Pebble winces whenever delta asks if he’s allowed to be let out yet, if omega found a solution. He doesn’t notice both of them sharing a knowing look, a solemn expression on their faces.

The sight of delta gets worse as time passes. The color in his eyes eternally fading into a soulless black, parts of his skin unnaturally stretched to cover the bone that juts out, pebble sometimes wonders if it’s even painful to him anymore. If the quintessence that shreds his humanity affects his ability to feel it eat at him or if it’s taken even that away from him also.

“You came back” delta beams, standing from his desk to greet pebble.

A small lamp illuminates the room in a warm yellow hue. It’s the only light he’s given besides the overhead fluorescent bulb that had been wired into the ceiling. There’s no windows for natural sunlight, only bright blinding white like he’s on some kind of display, or the old lamp pebble brought him. Dust particles float through the dingy light, pebble wonders the last time anything has been properly cleaned up there.

“Yeah, sorry, been hectic around the abbey” pebble mumbles into deltas shoulder.

“I thought you had gone and forgotten about me”

It’s a dry attempt at humor but the guilt makes pebbles stomach churn. He knows he hasn’t been back in a while, weeks, a month or more at most.

Pebble doesn’t mean to be away for so long. The weight of being the only ghoul who acts like delta is even still alive is almost too heavy to bear for him sometimes. He doesn’t think he’s even heard Delta's name spoken in months. The rest of the ghouls think he’s dangerous, or too far gone that he’s not worth the time. The burden to make up that energy falls onto pebble, eating him alive.

It’s always long stretches of weeks where he can’t bear to see him, or times where he should probably just bring a pillow and blanket up there since he practically lives in the room.

Neither feel good

“I could never forget about you sea glass” pebble finally says, stepping away from the embrace.

“Sea glass?” Delta gives him a confused look that makes pebbles chest ache.

“Yeah, just a nickname, do you like it?”

He really shouldn’t have expected him to remember, the small shred of hope that delta even remembered that pebble hasn’t seen him in a while soon fizzled out at the reality that delta doesn’t remember most things anymore.

“Its nice” he smiles. “Has papa fallen ill? He hasn’t come to see me in a while”

The question is innocent but it puts daggers in pebbles chest. It makes him feel sick to his stomach. He could avoid the question entirely and hope by the time the topic is changed he will have already forgotten about the passing thought, but he knows that delta will always come back to this question, even if he can avoid it for the time being.

He never told delta what happened. It would absolutely break the last bit of him that’s still in there and he doesn’t know if he can lose what he has left of his friend.

“He did a little bit ago, maybe you just forgot again” pebble mumbles to avoid the situation entirely. It’s always the debate to tell him old stories as if they happened yesterday, and praying he loses himself enough that Terzo would never come up again. He’s honestly not sure he will even remember if he decided to tell him. Doesn’t think either of them deserve the pain to speak of it. It’s not worth it if it will only be temporary.

It’s late when he returns to the ghoul wings. He walks alone in the dark and carries his jacket despite the cold. A static numb feeling from seeing his friend still in his decaying state combated by the wind that feels like needles poking into his skin.

The common room is warm and still lit when he walks in, the smell of artificial cheese making him cringe from his stomach still not being settled.

Omega stands to steer pebble into the kitchen before he can make a beeline for his room. A look of tired worry lighting up a bit when he sees pebble walk in after the long night. It’s bitter sweet, they may not be on good terms but omega still cares about him.

Pebble doesn’t want to admit that he’s starving when omega sets the bowl of Mac and cheese in front of him. Clearly not left from the dinner he missed, no, omega made it afterwards knowing pebble would be back and the steam coming from it only makes a knot form in his throat.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” omega asks, sitting across from him.

He doesn’t know where to begin with that answer

His instinctual reaction is to get angry, shove the bowl away and spit something along the lines of “well no one else will fucking do anything for him” but the longer he sits with the bitter words they just die, too exhausted to want to fight like he usually would in this situation.

He doesn’t want to blame his mates for not putting themselves through what he does. The horrific scenario of watching your friend be ripped apart at the seams, slowly dying in front of you isn’t something he would wish on anyone. Another part of him just desperately wants someone else to care. Pebble doesn't like to think about it too much because the internal debate gnaws at his heart and makes him resent more than he wants to.

After more than a couple seconds pebble realizes he hasn’t answered omega who is staring at him concerned, and honestly he doesn’t know if he can choke out an excuse without tears.

“Pebble.. I’m worried about you”

“I don’t need to be worried about” pebble bites back, voice pitching as he wrinkles his nose in an attempt to stave off his crying.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself” omega reasons. He sounds soft, as if trying to soothe the ghoul on the brink of a breakdown in front of him. Hoping the words will bring him back down.

“What else am I supposed to do? Leave him like the rest of you?!” Pebble nearly wails.

Omega expected that kind of answer. Pebbles said it to him more times than he can count. Blaming him for leaving delta and not helping him even after he’s insisted there’s nothing he can do beyond what he has, or blaming him for not visiting even though it makes him sick. He can never come up with an excuse that sounds reasonable to his conscience, no matter how much the words carve into him.

He also blames himself, and maybe a sick part of him just wants to hear pebble berate him to quell the ache in his bones that he’s done something terribly wrong, to hear it from someone else so it’s not just an absent thought he can ignore.

Honestly maybe that’s why he stayed up. He loves pebble, would do anything for the younger ghoul but a part of him feels like he needs to care for pebble to make up for the way everyone abandoned delta. He wants to prove himself, wants the acknowledgement from the ghoul that hates him most that he’s not actually evil.

Omega tries to respond rationally, all things considered.

“He’s not well pebble, what if he did something to you?”

“After what happened he’s not the one i'm worried about omega.” Pebble grits. Fork abandoned on the table, eyes low to dissipate the tears.

Some sick selfish part of pebble latches onto the thought. He almost wishes delta would hurt him so he would have an excuse to stop seeing him without the guilt eating him alive. A motif in his brain of hoping for the worst of his friend partially to end deltas suffering, partially to end his own.

Omega thinks the same in his own awful corner of his mind. Just one incident to prove he’s not a monster and that no one goes up there for a reason. For delta to hurt pebble enough to scare him and have him running back to ask omega to heal him and admit he was wrong.

It’s mostly to help his own guilt, and he knows that.

The words feel like a sticky residue in his mouth as omega tries to conjure a response.

“I didn’t do it pebble. You know that.” He focuses his gaze down, as if even he doesn’t believe the words he’s saying. He didn’t do it, he’s right about that. But it’s hard to not convince himself there was something he could’ve done.

“You dont do a lot of things don’t you?”

“That’s not-“

“I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight omega”

Pebble rushes out of the room without another bite. The tears flow freely down his face with a choked sob while his emotions all flood out at once. Omega doesn’t get up. He sits in the dingy yellow light of the kitchen and watches the dust particles float through it. He wonders when the last time the kitchen has been properly cleaned.

[lambsouvlaki]

The Crime Lord (AU)

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, suggestive banter.

Word Count: 1,520

Summary: In an AU where Jason never stopped his crime lord ways, his partner is threatened and they have to decide if they're ready to take the next step.

Masterlist

--------

She looked carefully through her blinds. The man in the street was still there, hanging around the sealed up entrance of an old video rental store. 

She noticed him about five minutes ago when doing a cursory check just before she started getting ready for bed. The gun in the pocket of his padded jacket was not well hidden, neither was the gang tattoo on his neck. She couldn’t make out the affiliation from this range. It could be nothing. There were a lot of nasty looking characters in Crime Alley.

He looked up at her window again. 

Too big a risk.

She texted Jason. He replied immediately. 

Muttering angrily she wrapped a coat over her pyjamas and shoved her boots onto her feet. She threw her laptop and a few vital personal effects into a bag. She switched the tv on, knowing the moving lights would shine on the thin curtains. Wait, her phone charger, needed that. 

A heavy knock on the door rang out while she was still reaching down behind her bedside table.  

She took a steadying breath, in and out. She peered through the spyhole. Two men in black armoured gear with no identifying symbols stood in the corridor. She didn’t recognise either of them. Jason’s message said to expect a Larry and a Gavin. 

She opened the door. 

“Ma’am,” the older of the two said, a heavyset man with a bald patch and black gloves. The other was a young and wiry sort with a patchy beard. Both looked like the sort of person who knew how to dispose of a body in five minutes or less. Neither really looked at her, which was promising.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“Gavin and Larry, ma’am,” the same man said without any detectable expression. Those definitely weren’t their real names but it served its purpose. “Come with us, please.”

She nodded, slung her bag over her shoulder, and followed them out. She locked the door behind her. 

The younger man held his hand out for the keys. Damnit, she’d liked this place. 

“There’s a very nice lasagna in the fridge. If you’re going to empty out the place anyway.” 

Gavin or possibly Larry’s lip quirked very briefly.

They led her out the back of the apartment building to the alley with its dumpsters and a bike missing both its wheels. The older guy walked in front of her and the other behind, all the way up to the tall chain link fence, which they helped her climb. A suitably forgettable old car waited for them on the other side. 

She really really hoped these were Jason’s guys. She was 99% sure they were, but there was always a moment of doubt before getting into a strange car to go to who knew where. They hadn’t checked her bag or taken her phone off her, which Black Mask’s goons always started with, followed by a blow to the back of the head. They could be from Little Italy of course, Falcone’s guys still held to notions of respect, when it suited them. Or they were paid off by the Bats. Probably not though. She wasn’t a pro but this wasn’t her first rodeo. 

They brought her to the docks, to one warehouse among hundreds. 

It was seemingly empty, with only its security lights on. She couldn’t see anyone around. Her escort walked her up to an office space on the second floor, while the other disappeared with the car. They stopped at a room with an electronic lock. She entered her own code, and the little light blinked green.

Alone, she entered a plain white room with no windows and some basic furniture. She would bet her entire meagre lift savings that Larry and/or Gavin was standing guard outside. 

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was how Jason showed his love, she knew that. All the things he couldn’t say were hidden in the effort he put into her safety. 

Then she shook herself out of her grousing, got her laptop out and sat down at the desk. There was a cot in the corner but she wasn’t getting any sleep now.

Hours later, when her eyes were starting to sting and she was eyeing up the cot with more interest, the door beeped.

The Red Hood walked in. 

She leaned back. He wore his helmet and his brown jacket hung open. There was a fine blood splatter over the plain grey armour beneath it, fresh enough to still be red. 

He sat opposite her at the desk, and slouched back with a sigh. His head rolled back on his neck. 

“How’s your night?” she asked. 

He grunted. 

“Hm,” she replied and typed another line of her email. 

“I want you to move in with me,” he said, voice rumbling through the modulator. She stopped typing. She closed the laptop. 

“Doesn’t that just make detection more dangerous? If they find me now it doesn’t compromise you.”

“It may as well,” he said, lifting his head to look at her. “I’m always going to come get you, and security is better at my place.”

She looked back at him thoughtfully. “We agreed it would cut into your work too much, and disrupt my life.” 

“You know you have to move again either way. For the second time this year.” He sighed heavily. “I’m already disrupting your life.”

She didn’t like the defeated tone sneaking in through the modulation. She had gotten very good at detecting the nuances that snuck through the voice changer over the last year. 

She got up and walked around the desk. She inclined her head in a way that asked if he had any injuries she needed to be aware of. He shook his head. She straddled his lap. His hands found her waist, snaking under her shirt and idly caressed the skin there. He didn’t even snort at the canary yellow pyjamas hiding under her coat, a sure sign he was worried. 

“And the disruption it would mean to your life?” she asked. 

“I can make it work. But you would have to be more careful. Much more careful.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” She smiled sadly. “Even if I don’t move in, I can’t keep pretending I’m living a normal life anymore. 

“Don’t ask me to keep endangering you. If not this then…”

“Take the helmet off.”

He lifted it off and the terror who commanded half of Gotham’s undercity and petrified the other half disappeared like smoke. Only the man she loved more than she could articulate remained. He wasn’t in a domino mask tonight, and stormy green eyes looked up at her beseechingly. 

“This is the only way I can keep you safe while still being with you. Anything else is reckless.” He ducked his head. “Staying together is reckless enough already.”

She blinked through the hurt that lanced through her at that statement. He wasn’t even wrong, which made it worse. She knew they were playing with fire, and sooner or later someone would get burned. Today it wasn’t them. Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow? 

“I need an answer sweetheart.” He sounded preemptively heartbroken, but his face was hard. Braced for the final blow. 

“Can you tell me… do you want me to move in with you purely for safety reasons?”

He cocked his head.

“If nobody was trying to kill us,” she said, halting. “If you weren’t the most wanted man in Gotham, and we had the luxury of doing what we wanted purely because we wanted to… would you still ask me to move in with you?” 

He studied her for a long moment.

She swallowed and braced for the blow. She knew she wasn’t his first love. Gotham would forever have the larger claim on his heart. But she had to know if her claim on him was as serious as his claim on her.

“Yes. I would,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t you know I love you?”

She made a soft noise in her throat. She cupped his jaw and pressed her lips to his. He titled his mouth against hers, drinking deeply of her. 

Finally she pulled back to breathe, panting against his lips. He squeezed her thighs, bracketing his legs. His arousal pressed against her. 

“Is that your final answer?” he asked in a husky drawl.

“Yeah.” She leaned her forehead against his. “I’ll move in with you. I’m in love with you, you know.” 

He flashed an extremely self-satisfied grin. 

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, rubbing his hands up and down her thighs. “If I didn’t have Black Mask’s man who tracked you down waiting for me in a pool of his own blood, I would bend you over this table right now to celebrate.” 

She snorted. “Come home with all your limbs attached and your blood mostly still inside of you, and we can celebrate all day.”

He nipped her lips. “I’ll come get you when I’m done. Gonna take you home.” 

She kissed him again.

——-

Next chapter >>

[minkkumaz]

hi omg your riwoo fic... TEARS WERE SHED... if you're open to requests can i request an angst sungho fic (with fluffy ending though) HSJSHSH thank u

TALK TO THE WALL

fighting with sungho was tiring, and it's not something you normally do. when things get a little hard to handle, maybe you just need to step out and see what happens in the morning.

PAIRING park sungho x fem!reader WC 0.6k TAGS established relationship. angst. fluff. fighting. yelling. making up. OMI NOTE omg hi anonn i hope this was good for you. whenever i think of angst with happy ending i always think of couples fighting LOL

maybe you understood the true meaning of eternity, as you had been arguing with sungho for the past hour or two. it didn’t end, and his words continued to cut you deep, leaving a gash of things he didn’t know could come out of his mouth.

it was silly really, couldn’t you understand that he was busy? so why did it feel like he was ignoring you on purpose? you wondered if the spark between the two of you finally became dull like a burnt out match. 

the louder he got, the quieter he became. to be honest, you had stopped listening. 

“why can’t you just listen to me, y/n! i’m tired, i can’t deal with this right now.” he shouted at your shaky figure.

“i didn’t ask you to deal with shit, sungho! i haven’t seen you in so fucking long is it so wrong to ask for some time with you?” you cry out.

“i just can’t keep dedicating my world to you y/n, i need time for myself too.” 

“but it’s been months. when was the last time we went on a date? when was the last time we cuddled? fuck i even forgot what it felt like to kiss you. don’t you understand how frustrating that is?” 

“god this is so stupid. you were never this clingy what the hell happened?” he groaned, running a hand through his sleek black hair, still a bit messy from his long day.

“oh, so now i’m clingy? is that what i get for missing my stupid boyfriend?” you choke out, wiping tears with your already wet sleeve.

“don’t make me feel like the bad guy, y/n.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel anything except for maybe a little sympathy for how i’m feeling.” you bit the flesh inside your cheek.

“you just don’t get it, do you?” he scoffed.

“talk to a fucking wall, sungho.” you storm off into your shared room, making sure to lock the door behind you. anything he said to you while you turned away from him didn’t settle in your head. 

more tears fell down your flushed cheeks as you snuck into the covers, muffling your sobs with the white sheet. things weren’t always like this, in fact, they were never like this. you didn’t want to imagine your everyday life without seeing his handsome face. 

sleep came easy as you felt numb. no knock on the door, no sign of life outside of your bedroom. you wondered if he left you and you’d come out to an empty apartment. 

the next morning you woke up with a raging headache, and the light from your blinds illuminating your post cry glow. sungho’s smell already began to disappear from the pillows after one night, this stung your heart a little.

rubbing your puffy eyes, you slowly got up from your bed and trudged to the door. there was something blocking light on the otherside, but you were surprised to see sungho fall backwards upon opening. he shot awake, looking around before meeting you.

“baby why are you sleeping at the door? don’t you have practice?” you muttered.

“i told jaehyun i wouldn’t make it today. we’re not supposed to go to bed angry, my love. i didn’t want to leave you alone..”

“so we can continue our argument? no thanks.” you tried to push his body out of the doorframe but he wouldn’t move, instead standing to meet you.

“i don’t like it when we argue, y/n. i was out of line and should’ve took a second to consider things from your perspective.” he takes his hands up to your swollen face, frowning as you furrow your eyebrows.

“i just missed you, a lot.”

“you deserve so much, and i’m sorry i haven’t been able to give that to you recently. let me make it up to you today, pretty.” he kisses your forehead before pulling you into a hug.  “love you, sung. please let’s talk and not yell next time.” you sigh at the familiar scent embracing you once again.

“never in a million years would i yell at you again.”

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz !

[lanitalay]

Before I Say Goodnight

Chapter 19

a/n: AAAAAH only one more chapter left after this one. Let me tell you this has been such a wonderful experience. I feel more confident in my writing and my story telling I hope everyone who has read this has had a fun time escaping reality with me.

warnings: canon typical violence

word count: 5.1k

Other Chapters

He had made a complete disaster of his Inner Circle and had jeopardized all of Prythian because of the prophecy Amren had found. In his mind it had all been justified. A threat, a mole, an usurper was living amongst his beloved family, charming them, manipulating them. He knew better than to underestimate a human girl with nothing to lose. He had fallen in love with a similar renegade and it had made him love Feyre even more. But this girl… she was not his mate. She was not his subject. She was not his. She would be his destruction if he didn’t act carefully. She was wild, untethered and untested. Now, she was gone. Feyre roars at him from across their bedroom “how could you be so cruel? He is your brother and she has done nothing to any of us”. He had been trying to explain the prophecy but she rolled her eyes “you are not thinking clearly Rhysand. You have been lying to me. Hiding things from me for mother knows how long because of a supposed prophecy?” Blood roared in his ears “I have told you that I, we, will bow before no one. Let alone a rogue queen. If she’s gone we are better for it”. He catches a book Feyre throws his way “what about the rest of the courts? What about not telling me about any of this? What about the Human Lands? What about all the lives that will be lost because you refused to believe Azriel?” He had never seen her disappointment thrown his way. He felt small under her stare. She had never been so mad at her mate. So confused about all of his decisions and erratic behavior in the last months. “I’m going to call a meeting with the High Lords to warn them. I expect you to be there and cooperate” with that she walked out of the room and made a point of slamming the door. 

She wanted to throw more things at him for being so nearsighted and stupid. Rhysand had always been proud and protective of what was his but it was those instincts that made him blind. 

You shudder as you pour the freezing water over your head. Vallahan was nearly as cold as Velaris and the inn you had found did not have plumbing or the capabilities to boil buckets of water. But you had been a stowaway for days and a bath, however uncomfortable, was extremely necessary. Especially if you wanted to sneak into the courtly scene Mor certainly frequented. You had brought some money. Azriel had told you where he kept an emergency fund in the house and you had some savings from working with Jolly. If you were to find Mor tonight, you had a few things to get done before nightfall. Rinse off the last of the soap, pat yourself dry, get dressed in the change of clothes you had brought. It was a simple outfit, nothing to draw attention to you. But you cleaned up nicely. Thick locks framing your newly ephemeral face. It was still an adjustment to see yourself in the mirror. Your eyes looked like your eyes but they were brighter, glittering. The pointed ears that peeked through your hair. Your cheekbones that had shifted slightly when your body had turned fae. The scars, now faint white lines, that adorned your chest. Those were the toughest to look at. You put on a thick scarf and step out of the room for the next part in your hasty plan.

“Silver suits you, my lady” the female at the shop tells you and you really can’t disagree. The coolness of the color enhances your complexion and the reflective nature of the fabric catches the light in such a way that you look like a star incarnate. “Thank you, I’ll take it” she claps a little and says “I suspect you’ll be attending the ball tonight?” Bingo. “Yes, I was in tears this morning when my sister spilled tea on the gown I had prepared. Lucky I found this one” you step into the changing room and strip the dress off. When you emerge the shopkeeper is waiting by the till. When she tells you the total you nearly yelp. It was expensive. But it was exquisite and you needed to get in, no questions asked. So you hand her the gold coins and return to the inn as fast as possible. There was a ball. You had scouted the city the first few hours after being kicked off the ship and quickly spotted the wealthy district. It was more of a street, full of enormous mansions that lined up all the way to golden palace gates. If you had to guess, that was where Mor was staying and hopefully where the ball was. If you were wrong then… then you’d go South and find Azriel by any means necessary. 

You spent the rest of the day getting ready. Putting on cosmetics and fixing your hair until you look like a doll. You had to play your strengths, and beauty was one of them. Once the dress is on you stand in front of the mirror and make sure not one hair is out of place. It really is a gorgeous gown. You run your hands over the metallic material. Once satisfied with the outcome you put on your freshly laundered cloak and make your way out. 

The first part of the plan was finding a carriage.

 They were all over the city and your best bet to get into the palace without raising any flags. You walk towards the wealthy district and a few blocks away you see your mark. He’s a young male. Younger than any of the members of the Night Court. He looked boyish, naive, sheltered. He was dressed in a suit and he was so flustered you could see the blush burn his cheeks. A young girl stood next to him in a stunning gown. Hers was blue silk. It looked like the Northern Sea. Breathe. You had practiced as much as possible before getting caught on the ship. Breathe. You were on the street, under a crystal sky. It wasn’t anything like the Night Court. The stars stagnant. You close your eyes and feel for something to hold onto. You put your hands inside the cloak and clench your fists, feeling the pull of the atmosphere at your skin. It was still jarring. Lowering the barrier that kept you contained in your body and letting your magic flow from your pores. But the next steps were easier. A magnet. You condensed all of the humidity in the air to one heavy cloud right above your heads. Something in you said it was like turning on a faucet.  A simple swipe lets all of the water drip drop right onto the unwitting accomplices. You breathe again, returning to yourself in a gasp. “Where is the carriage?” You make a show of looking around in a panic. The front of your cloak is open, the glittering dress visible but covered from the elements. Bringing up the hood to cover your hair you let out a pitiful cry “this night is ruined”. The male was helping the female into their carriage when he heard the commotion coming from you. A sad sight. You look out of place in the dimly lit street. All dressed up with no one around. His heart clenches when he sees your face is wet and he can’t tell if it's from the rain or from tears. But you’re clearly going to the same place he is so he runs over to you “are you going to the ball?” He asks over the increasing rain “I was supposed to, but my betrothed hasn’t shown up with the carriage, if he doesn’t arrive soon my dress will be ruined” he felt bad for the abandoned lady. So he did not think twice when offering “come with us, we have plenty of room” he held out his hand for you to grab but you grabbed your skirts instead and walked beside him. Once in the carriage you breathed again, this time, to release the clouds you had taken hostage. 

When you arrived at the palace you quickly took off your cloak and made sure you were seen. You made a fuss about thanking the young male that had offered you his help and even promised him a dance once inside. You needed her to see you. Once inside the palace you went about visiting every room available to the revelers, always keeping an ear out for a familiar sultry laugh. So when you hear high heels slam on polished floors and the voice you so desperately wanted to hear say “I apologize, your grace, but my cousin has called me back for an emergency. I will be back when everything is settled…. No, he did not tell me what was the matter… Escorting me is unnecessary. I know my way around…” You want to run up and hug her. The first familiar face you’ve seen in days. But you walk a few feet behind her and the queen until she goes into the residential wing of the castle and the queen returns to the ballrooms. 

“Mor-” she whirls around and shoves you against the wall. Eyes wide in horror when she recognizes you. “What the hell are you doing here y/n?” She lets go and scans you from head to toe “we need to talk, somewhere private” nodding, she grabs your arm and walks you down winding corridors. 

“Spill it” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I need your help getting Azriel out of Koschei’s lake” her jaw slackens and you can almost feel her heart stop at your words “is that why Rhysand called me back?” You shrug “Maybe, I don’t know” she arches a sharp brow “did something happen?” You nod “a lot has been going on while you’ve been away” Mor motions for you to go on “well, as you probably know Rhysand does not like me and this wasn’t really cause for concern until I electrocuted Eris. It turns out I have powers and they could be dangerous. So Azriel was covering for me, keeping him off my back. Then Azriel got word that Koschei was planning an invasion and when he told Rhysand he sent him to confirm the news. Azriel said that he would be back in a week, that if he wasn’t it was because something was wrong and that I should flee Velaris. He knows war is imminent and he wanted me to get out before it broke out. I stowed away on a ship that landed me here. It was a gamble to try and find you but I can’t rescue him on my own. He needs help, Mor.” She lets out a string of foul curses. Even you were offended and you had just spent days over hearing conversations between sailors. “I suppose Rhysand suspects you have powers?” A nod “Is he preparing for the invasion?” “I’m not sure, I went to him for help before I left but he didn’t say anything other than to stay out of it”. Mor curses. There wasn’t much of a decision to be made between rescuing her lifelong friend and defender and answering a call from her cousin across the sea “Ok, let’s go get Azriel”. 

Eris did not bother with pleasantries when Feyre contacted him. He was days into strategizing and meeting with the other High Lords trying to prepare for an attack they knew was imminent. “I apologize if I am crass but we have no time to waste since Rhysand neglected to inform us about Koschei” Feyre looked a mixture of embarrassed and relieved “I should be the one apologizing, Rhysand should apologize as well. But I am glad you found out and did not hesitate to mobilize”. Most of the villages had been evacuated to the westernmost parts of Velaris. The armies from each court had been warned and were ready for battle. Eris had done so much in just a few days. 

While removing  your gowns and putting on fighting leathers you ask Mor about your lover's captor. You were regretting never going to train with Cassian or Nesta or Azriel. Your little blades more of a hazard then an asset in unskilled hands. 

“So what’s the deal with Koschei? I know he’s powerful enough to curse Vassa and that he wants more power but I don’t know what to expect?

She takes a long inhale “You did not think this through at all?” You sort of had, but doing research on a boat wasn’t possible and up until a week ago Koschei was just an abstract villain from your friends' pasts. So you shrug. Mor sighs “Well, for starters he is one of three immensely powerful siblings. He is the only one that's alive though, the other two died during the war against Hybern. Let’s see… He is not from this realm, the three of them arrived here before Prythian was even a thing. He is an ancient thing. The Fae call him a death god because he feeds off life itself and I’m not sure how true this is but they say his soul is kept separate from his body and that makes him nearly impossible to kill because he keeps his soul hidden away somewhere safe. 

You couldn’t help but notice the similarities in the facts. He was from a different dimension, so were you. His soul could be detached from his body, in a way, so could yours. 

He was on a small platform in the middle of a crystal clear lake. He had been here for a week? Maybe two? He couldn’t really tell. The days had started to blend in together. He was sick. He was starving. He was a goner. It was sad to think that this would be his end. 

He was in the woods that surrounded the lake waiting to see the evidence of what his spies had told him when a snake bit through his leathers and knocked him unconscious. He woke up when two sentinels were carrying him through the woods, the large green and yellow snake warped around him. The weight of it nearly suffocated him. The males walked for hours until they arrived at a large cabin facing a lake. Azriel’s stomach twisted with knowing. When they threw up on the floor of the cabin in a heap he struggled to breathe. Then slow, steady steps paralyzed him. He couldn’t move his head to look around but from where he was on the floor he could tell that the cabin was a place of luxury and opulence. Shiny hardwood floors pressed against his temple. Intricate carved furniture cluttered the space. Large open windows allowed for a freezing breeze to flow through the space and a large stone hearth housed an angry crackling fire. His shadows told him that the male approaching had white hair and dark eyes. He struggled against his restraint. The snake crushed him a little more. 

“Finally caught the pesky shadowsinger that has been breathing down my neck all these months” a hoarse voice boomed through the room. It bounced off the walls and Azriel felt his ears bleed. “It’s rare we get new visitors along these parts, most fae know to stay away” the steps near until he was right next to Azriel, his face hovering over him. The hair was long and stringy. Eyes not just dark, but black. Void.

“You are not who I was expecting, but a lucky surprise” with a nod the snake tightens its grip until Azriel’s world goes dark again. The next time he opened his eyes he was here. Someone would throw his bread every couple of days and he would drink rain water he caught in his hands. But the last few days all of the sentinels had been sent to Prythian. Leaving him alone with Koschei and blurry creatures that swam below. The water was so clear he could see thousands of skeletons lining the bottom of the lake. If he did not figure a way out, he would be joining the underwater grave soon. 

Mor winnowed South. It was still dark out. The sun due to rise in a few short hours. You had devised a plan… of sorts. You were sitting against a tree and she stood in front of you, guarding. You close your eyes and breathe. Just like before the barriers lower and you spill into the misty night. Like a fog you roll through the forest and over the lake. You feel his presence before you visualize him. But before you know it there he is. In the middle of the lake. A heap on a platform. Wings tucked into his back, rigid with tension, ankles chained. You see the cabin. Feel immense energy. There are a million creatures in this small little lake. Insects, woodland animals, strange beings you had never seen. They were all scared, beaten and broken down. Even the worms felt pathetic in the way that only someone shoved into the wrong vessel felt pathetic. 

You return to your body and your eyes water at the image of Azriel, captured but whole. He was intact. “He’s alive, Mor”. She turns to face you and you can see relief wash over her face. “Thank the Mother, what else did you see?” 

“He’s in the middle of the lake, floating. His ankles are chained. There is a cabin where Koschei is, I felt his energy. And I think every single one of the creatures in this place is cursed to their current form” 

“So what do you want to do?” 

“I think I could move the platform towards the shore and then you can winnow him away, we can figure out how to break the chain after”. Mor nodded in agreement. “Are you going to stay here?” 

“Yes, just winnow back here and then the three of us can get away” 

She disappeared before your eyes. Eyes closed. One breath. Walls down. Weave through the forest. Spot Mor in the shadow of the large tree. Condense yourself into water. Drop in the lake. See the bones and the anchor keeping the platform in place. Gather more energy. Zap the tether. Become wind. Lead him to the shore. See Mor approach. See him stir. She held out her hand, reaching. See her grab his hand and… and nothing. He’s awake now, a horrified look on his face. Mor looks upset too. She grabs his other hand now. They remain in place. You feel their energy. You hear their conversation  “what are you doing here?” 

“Getting you out, dumbass” 

“You should leave, the shackles are probably spelled”

“I can’t leave without you” 

“You have too, he’ll know you’re here and if he traps you too then what?”

Become a cloud. Envelope your friends. Protect them from prying eyes. Harness, attract,  and grab energy. Release a bolt of lightning straight to the chain. Hear their loud curses. Muffle them with heavy rain. See him move his legs. Chains intact. Feel a call. A pull from the cabin. Return to your body. Shiver and shake, cry and wail. 

You stand on unsteady ground and walk. Reach your friends. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Mor steps away from Azriel as you approach him. He was here. He was real. He was cold and wet from the rain. His brows furrowed. His throat bobbed. His eyes wild. 

“Az… I’m sorry” you can’t think of anything else to say when he’s looking at you like you’re crazy.

“Get out, both of you. Leave now” you shake your head and kneel on the platform with him. You hold his hands, bringing them to your lips. Place kisses on his knuckles and whisper “you’ll be free soon”. He shakes his head “y/n, please, you have to leave. Go North remember? Please-” his voice was raw from disuse. “No one can get that iron off you, Az. I won’t leave you here to waste away” 

“What are you saying?”

“He left you here so I would see you. He’s expecting me” it's something you can feel in the air. His power mingled with yours. Calling you toward the cabin. “No- no, Mor, winnow away. Leave right now, please- I-” 

“It’s alright, you don’t have to worry” you move your hands to his face and move his hair away from his eyes. “It’s just what has to happen right now” he closes the distance between you in a desperate kiss. A kiss that said “I missed you” “I love you” “You’re insane” “Don’t leave me”. You pull away “I’ll be back Azriel, I promise I’ll find you when I’m done here”. Burning in your ribs sealed the deal. 

Wipe the tears from his cheeks. Kiss him again. Tell Mor to wait until he’s freed to winnow away. Hug her. Walk towards the cabin. See that the door is open. Go inside. Black, depthless eyes meet yours. Too white teeth in a glaring smile. White stringy hair. Smooth, poreless skin. Small, dainty nose. He looked like a doll possessed by a demon. Your skin crawls.

“I have been waiting for you, magnificent creature” 

“I’m here, let Azriel go” 

“He can go if you stay” 

“I know” 

Koschei walked toward a small table and sat in one of the two chairs. He motioned for you to sit in the other one. 

“I am pleased to host you in my home” 

“I can’t say I’m pleased at all”

“Getting you here took so much longer than expected. See, I am limited in terms of mobility and have had to delegate most tasks to power hungry brutes”  you tilt your head, questioning. 

“I suppose no one has told you that your arrival to this realm was written in the stars long ago?” You say nothing. 

“Let me explain. Most things happen by chance. But some things happen to be destined. You, my dear, are the latter.” He pushes an ancient looking script your way “The realm will bow to  the queen with no crown. The one who traveled the longest distance,through space and time. The one who brought great danger. She will be created by fate, magic, earth, wind, fire and water. A keeper of lightning. Master of storms. Calm oceans will turn tempestuous at her will. In time, all will bow to the queen with no crown.”

You read it. Again and again. 

“Understand now?” Shake your head. No. 

“The autumn lord was supposed to deliver you to me alongside Galgollem but he got himself  and the monster killed instead” Koschei said with a casual roll of his dead eyes. “My dear, you and I together possess more power than anyone else in the entire realm. I am bound to this lake. But you are as free as the wind. As strong as steel. Be my queen. My equal”. You are free. He said you are free. What good would it be if his puppet was also bound to the lake if his true motives were conquest? 

“Are you the king of anything?” low chuckle.

“I am a God of Death”

“And I am Queen of the Realm, destined by the Mother herself, according to this”. You shove the paper back towards him.  He bristles.  You feel yourself getting agitated. Close your eyes. Breathe. See Azriel and Mor still at the edge of the lake. Return. 

“Let. Azriel. Go” 

“Be my queen and he’s free”  

In that moment you knew. You understood his need for you. To align himself with who he thought was his counterpart. But he did not see that your freedom, your wildness was inherent. It was carved in your bones. He wanted to hold you captive. Send you away on his behalf. Conquer far away lands, oceans and winds. Be his hostage. Nothing more than a marionette. You feel the buzzing, no longer dormant. No longer controlled by concentration and breathing exercises. 

See his face shift from nonchalant to tense. Know your eyes are telling him he’s in trouble. Close them. See Azriel and Mor still in the lake. Open them. See his mouth moving. The drumming doesn’t let you hear a word. 

You lose it. 

He doesn’t understand your power. 

He thinks he can tame you. 

Stand from your chair, walk to him. See him lean back. Reach for his neck. Unleash yourself. Bright white fills the room. Feel Koschei sizzling and crackling in your hands. The energy too much for his vessel to bear. 

The wind is knocked from your lungs when he pushes you away. You fly through the air, smash through the glass windows and land in the lake. Your body sinks. Close your eyes. See Azriel screaming and pulling at his shackles. Mor beside him, horrified. Gather wind and force Koschei into the lake as well. He’s pushed in by a gust that blows away all of the windows. Return to your body. See him trying to swim away. Become water and pull him down. Down. Down. 

The troops are formed in an impenetrable line. His eyes in the skies warned that there were ships arriving from the East. They were as ready as they could be. The Ilirians and Peregrins were launching into the sky with fae bane arrows. The rest were waiting for them to make landfall. All of the High Lords were with their respective armies. Even Tamlin had scrounged up a few warriors from Spring, thanks to Lucien. Rhysand and Feyre were leading the charge for Night,  beside them Nesta and Cassian. Most of their Inner Circle was notably missing. Eris cursed Koschei, he cursed Rhysand and he cursed the Gods for putting him in this situation again. He hated war. Absolutely despised the bloodshed and fighting. He was very skilled in combat, he had to be as  High Lord. But he would choose verbal warfare a million times over than this. Standing in a field, alongside Death. Souls waiting to be claimed. 

They came into view now. Arrows fell from the sky. 

His soul is separate from his body. He is struggling against currents that bring him right to your arms. Hands wrap around his neck again. Creatures you can’t see biting and pulling you apart. Above you, in the sky, a black cloud forms. Azriel’s skin is raw and red around his ankles. The static in the air is palpable. Koschei is fighting you, still. His minions clawing along your skin. You know the shock angered him. Hurt him. 

In your body and out of it at the same time. In the sky and the water. You squeeze his neck feeling his airway close. All it took was one thought and the cloud unleashes everything it has on the lake. Azriel screams. Mor jumps out of the water as bolts of lightning pour from the sky. A curtain of light. You feel a comforting tingle on your skin and know your plan works as the creatures pulling at you go belly up and Koschei convulses in your grasp. His body was not made of lightning. Horrible eyes bulge, neck twists in a way it should not be able to. You call off the cloud. His body sags in your hold, deformed by pain. This is only his vessel. 

The ships are nearing. The air squad firing all the have. Eris can tell no one in that ship has fallen. In short minutes they’ll be on the shore. 

The water brings you to the surface. His limp body in your hands. The current carries you to the shore and you bring his body onto dry land. 

Azriel is pale, nauseous and lightheaded. He swears his heart has stopped and started at least a thousand times. No worse torture than seeing her in danger not being able to do anything about it. But she’s there. Right in front of him. Dragging Koschei’s body across the sand. 

You collapse. Exhausted and drained. But his soul… His essence was still somewhere.

Close your eyes. Pour into the atmosphere. Let yourself feel. The call of his soul was coming from the cabin. It was in there somewhere and you would destroy it. Rage clouding everything. Nothing but his end would make you stop.

He had never seen her eyes like that. They were misty. White light pouring out. She looked so different from the person he knew. Her humanity, her softness vanished. Hair wild and stuck to her face, neck and back. He could see fast healing wounds peeking from the gashes in her clothes. A tornado. Lady Tempest. 

Her movements were precise. She stood and turned. Walking calmly to the cabin. 

The inside was destroyed from the shattered windows and rain pouring in from the chaos outside. His foul energy was concentrated deeper in the house. 

Open a door. Walk down spiraled stairs. Gag. It was disgusting. There was an iron door. Go to open it. Flinch. Send a bolt towards it. Walk through the hole. Dark room. Small box. The vibrations from his soul make you feel ill. Open the box. A smooth white bone lays on a velvet cushion. Walk outside. 

When the ships made landfall the soldiers within them descended on the shores of Prythrian. Running at full speed towards them. Not a single casualty from the arrows. Their army whole.  Eris braces himself, adjusting his grip on his sword and shield. The small dots becoming full sized soldiers in short seconds. 

Hold the bone. Close your fist around it. Breathe. I’m so tired. Breathe again. This being, Koschei, has caused so much suffering for so many people. For people you love. He wants power. He wants war. He wants you to do his dirty work. Just like that the buzzing is back. Squeeze your fist until it hurts. See white light flash between your fingers. Open your fist. Acrid ash is now where bone used to be. Scatter it on a phantom breeze. Return to his body. Drag it to the cabin. Put it in the hearth. Set it ablaze. 

The soldiers that were nearing vanished. The ships disappeared. Eris remained tense. 

This had to be a trick. 

The sound of fire crackling brings you out of your frenzy. What did I do? How could I do all of that? You had brutalized him. Killed him in such a personal way it scared you. Sitting on the wet floor you look at anywhere but the fire. You flinch when you hear footsteps and see Azriel standing in the doorway. You stand and run to him. He wraps his arms around you fully “we should go”. You pull away and walk outside. Mor is standing there, soaked. “Are you ready?” You nod and grab her hand. She winnows to a room you’d never been. 

“Make yourselves comfortable, I’m going to grab a drink and pass out”.

a/n: I hope a lot of questions were answered!!!!!! thank you for reading loves <3

taglist: @luvmoo @leeknows-wife@nocasdatsgay@mybestfriendmademe@evylynny

[cellophaine]

howdy!! could i request a Foggy’s younger sister x Matt fic where she comes to visit them for the holidays? :)) Foggy’s protective of his sister, Matt is a huge flirt, and the sister thinks it’s fun to tease both of them! thank you 😌♥️

Reunion

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Foggy's Adopted Sister!F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff.

Author's Note: It’s 11 months too late, but I hope you’ll enjoy it! I'm all tapped out.

GIF Credit

The yellow cab came to a stop before the familiar building, easing you into the comforting reverie of being home. The exterior had mostly stayed the same in the past year, except for the semi-new posters on the windows. The dark green sign remained unchanged, slightly fading from the weather.

Nelson's Meat. You are here.

Snow dusted the cold air, falling over you like the finest gossamer. The little white flakes melted on your nose at the first touch. You thanked the taxi driver for helping you with your suitcase, and soon you were left alone before the shop on the vacant street. The warm light illuminated from the inside was inviting, coaxing your feet to step forward to the door. You took a moment to brace yourself, taking in a deep breath. Your body shuddered faintly from the cold that slowly seeped through the layers of your clothes. After a year of living and working abroad alone, you missed your adopted family. Your arrival was no secret, but your family didn't expect you until the next day. Your knuckles rapped on the glass door; the scene inside was shielded from your vision by the blind. The door opened, and your brother, Frank, or as you so lovingly called Foggy, greeted you with the biggest smile. Your name was an excited shout in true Foggy's fashion.

"If this isn't the prodigy daughter! I thought you wouldn't be here until tomorrow?"

He pulled you into a crushing hug, lifting you off the ground. You held onto him with both arms, squealing as you tried to explain.

"I wanted to surprise everyone!"

An onslaught of delighted cheers and calls rushed at you the moment Foggy ushered you through the door, out of the claws of the late autumn. He followed closely behind, taking your suitcase in with him. You were pulled into one hug after another, and each member of your family squeezed you until you were sure there would be imprints of their hugs on your back. You tried your best to keep up with the questions, their overflowing enthusiasm for your foreign experience, and the stories from home that were thrown at you.

You parted from your uncle, smiling bashfully at his genuine excitement that you had a safe trip home. Over his shoulder, from the peripheral of your vision, you saw him stepping into the room. The sight of Matt was unexpected, to say the least. You hadn't seen him since the day you left for Sweden. Before you were fully aware of what you were about to do, you took long, haste steps and jumped into Matt's arms, giving him a big hug.

"Matt! You're here?"

He wrapped his arms around you, embracing you with just as much enthusiasm.

"Your brother invited me. Apparently, he deems ordering takeouts on a Thanksgiving evening too pathetic."

You snorted as an easy smile graced the corners of his lips. You pulled back to truly take him in; your eyes ran over his endearing features. Matt hadn't changed much in the past year, but you noticed the subtle difference in his frame. You could feel the firmness of his muscle over the thin material of his white dress shirt. You stayed locked in each other's hold, your hands on his shoulder and biceps, his hands on your waist with the soft back-and-forth brush of his thumb. You thought of that day at the airport, how he surprised you just by being there, and even more so when he pulled you into a tight embrace and held onto you as if he couldn't let you go.

Foggy cleared his throat, and you turned to your brother. He gave you a strange look, his eyes widened as if to ask a question you didn't have the answer to, and you let go of Matt. Your brother was all too eager to steer you to the kitchen, going on about how you must try his eggnog recipe with a twist. The tale of how he used absinthe that one time fell on deaf ear as you glanced over your shoulder to see Matt where you had left him. He seemed to know that you were looking at him, tipping his head as if to tell you that he would be okay.

In the kitchen, a glass of eggnog without absinthe, as Foggy assured, was shoved in your hands. The night went smoothly as you traded stories and started a weirdly competitive game of Pictionary, enjoying your drinks as you waited for dinner to be ready.

After a while, your skin prickled with sweat and warmth from the drink in the room full of people. You excused yourself, going to the kitchen for a glass of water. You were staring at the golden brown turkey in the oven when Matt entered the room with empty hands. You asked if he wanted a beer, to which he nodded. You drew one from the fridge and popped it open by placing the edge of its cap on the counter before handing it to him. You leaned on the kitchen counter, and Matt did the same. Moments passed when neither of you said anything, contentedly basking in the quiet. You tipped your head towards him and whispered, even though the two of you were alone, in the kitchen rich with delicious smells.

"How have you been?"

He gave a casual shrug.

"I've been busy. Things have been picking up at the office. I'm just glad that we have more clients to foot the bills now."

You hummed in agreement. Foggy told you all about it during your weekly call. You glanced at Matt's hand on the beer bottle, seeing the skin on his knuckles scattered in white scars. The sight of them somehow reminded you of when Foggy was at Columbia and would sometimes bring Matt with him home. Matt was skinnier then, always in baggy Columbia sweatshirts or soft sweaters, always timid around your big, loud family. From time to time, the sight of his red and blistered knuckles wouldn't escape your perceptive eyes. When you asked about it, he always blamed it on his clumsiness, and how he too often pushed himself too hard at the gym. You had your suspicion but never asked out of respect for his boundaries. He seemed uncomfortable whenever you pointed out his injuries.

Matt looked different now. His dark hair grew longer, tousled on top and curled slightly at the nape of his neck. The stubble added a ruggedness to his sculpted face, accentuated by a smile sweet enough to make your heart race. Your eyes travelled down to the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, displaying his fuzzy forearms. Continued the path downward were his hands; the veins were prominent on the slightly red skin. And how could you forget the scars?

You nudged his shoulder teasingly.

"Still up to no good, I see."

Matt turned to you, a questioning look on his face. His brows raised, peeking over the red glasses he wore. You brought your hand to his knuckles, brushing against the calloused skin. Matt inhaled deeply as a shiver rolled down his spine, bathing him in a warm rush of blood as it went straight to his traitorous heart. Your touch was soft and tender, a gentle swipe over his brutal achievement. His cheeks warmed at the barely-there contact.

"I'm just … clumsy. Maybe I do need a guide dog."

"Dogs are cute! And helpful! I can imagine a little Labrador being your sidekick."

You cooed, imagining a lovely pup always perching at his feet. Matt shook his head.

"I don't think I'm a dog person, so …."

"Wow! How dare you?"

You said it with so much seriousness that it made Matt laugh out loud. His laugh was contagious, and you joined him, a burst at the ridiculous and unfunny joke. Your shoulders touched as your bodies swayed in the other's direction. Your hand still lingered on his when Foggy walked in. At the sight of your brother, you abruptly pulled your hand back, which earned another scrutinizing look from him. He stared at you and Matt, at the distance between you two, and his eyes narrowed.

"What's going on?"

You lifted a shoulder, casting an innocent smile at your brother.

"Nothing! We're just catching up."

Matt took a swig of his beer as you sipped your water.

"Doesn't look like it to me."

A call for Foggy from the living room reached the three of you, but he didn't care to answer. It seemed he didn't want to leave despite the persistent call, his expression full of concern. You silently gestured for him to go on, yet he didn't move an inch. An awkward air cast over the three of you until your mother barged in.

"Come on, we've been calling you!"

Foggy turned to his mom, nudging his head in the direction of where you and Matt huddled together.

"But I can't leave them there."

With a wave of her hand, your mother dismissed Foggy's silly concern.

"Yes, you can. Don't be a buzzkill. Let them catch up."

Despite his resistance, Foggy was dragged away. You chuckled, shaking your head.

"I missed him, even with his overprotectiveness."

A lightbulb went off in your head.

"I missed teasing him most of all."

Matt's head tipped forward as he laughed, making a few strands of hair fall over his forehead. Your hands itched to feel them in the guise of pushing them back.

"Why do I feel like you're involving me in this?"

"Because I am. Do you trust me?"

You leaned close, and Matt could smell the faint daisy of your perfume. He swallowed hard, nodding.

"I do."

And let you hold his wrist, guiding him to the living room, where your family was still very much engaged in Pictionary. You chose to stand near the snack table, which was in Foggy's line of vision. Your arms touched, and you had to reign in the slight shiver that threatened to break.

Matt leaned in as if to tell you a secret. His husky voice stroked the growing excitement and nervousness in the pit of your stomach.

"Is he looking?"

You pretended to trail your eyes over the game, taking in the sight of a grumpy Foggy. It was obvious that he didn't like how close his friend was to his sister.

"Yes, and he doesn't look too happy about it."

Matt pulled you closer by your arm, keeping his face close to yours. From the look of anyone who didn't know what you were up to, you looked comfortable with one another, borderline intimate. Warm puffs of air tickled your ear, sending a pleasant chill down your spine.

"Is this okay?"

You touched his hand, which still lingered on your arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"It's more than okay."

Surprised by your honesty, the tips of Matt's ears turned pink. You couldn't help the flush that crept onto your face, and you were glad Matt couldn't see how deep the blush was. He cleared his throat, changing the direction of your conversation.

"So … are you going back there after Thanksgiving?"

You nodded before verbalizing your confirmation.

"Yes, I am. In three days. I have to wrap up my quarter's work before the holidays."

"Are you staying there for Christmas? Spending it with someone special?

If you didn't know any better, you would think Matt was testing to see if you were seeing someone. You bit back a smile.

"I'm planning to come home for Christmas and New Year. And uhm, no boyfriend.”

Matt nodded a little too eagerly.

"What about you? Do you have anyone in your life?"

"No. I haven't dated anyone seriously for a long time."

"Oh."

Relief was the last reaction you expected, but your heart skipped a beat, surprising you. The few out-of-place strands fell again, and you couldn't help yourself this time. Your hand grazed Matt's strong jawline, beckoning him to fully turn to you. He obliged, and you swept the hair back, watching his face soften in genuine wonder.

Your mom called everyone to the dining room as dinner was ready, breaking you out of the stupor. You led Matt to the table with his hand resting in the crook of your arm. Matt pulled out a chair for you, like the gentleman he was, and went to take a seat beside you. Foggy tried to slot himself in between, asking if you needed another drink, to which you declined. Theo pulled Foggy away with a warning look, making him sit on the other side of the table. You helped Matt with his plate, filling him in on what was on the table. The dinner carried on, and you continued to have a good time with Matt; the scheme of making Foggy mad was only a distant thing in the back of your mind.

The night ended, almost everyone left, and Matt decided it was his time to go. Despite Foggy's eager assistance to call Matt a cab, he took on your offer to walk him home instead. So you walked side-by-side through the quiescent neighbourhood with his hand on your arm, accompanied by the occasional taps of his cane on the snowy ground. You reminisced about the old days when you attended Columbia just two years behind Foggy and Matt. How Matt would always have something for you to snack on when your stomach grumbled. How he would wait for you and walk you home from your late study sessions at the library. You both chuckled at the present when the roles were reversed before allowing the reticence to settle.

After one and a half blocks, Matt broke the comfortable silence.

"After New Year, are you thinking of staying there for good?"

You took a moment even though deep down you already knew the answer.

"I'm not sure yet. They're giving me a few weeks to decide. I love working there, but … I also missed New York."

Matt hummed softly in response to your answer. He took a deep breath and exhaled before giving voice to his honest thought. So low and small that you almost missed it.

"Then maybe you should come back here."

A suspicion nagged at you, and you knew you would keep wondering about it if you didn't act on it.

"Why are you so curious about whether I stay or not?"

Matt stopped, and you ceased your steps with him.

"Do you want my honest answer?"

Your heart pounded in your chest. Gone was his playful manner, making way for a reserved, more solemn tone.

"Yes, of course."

His mouth opened and closed again. He had a tough time choosing a suitable response, doing his best to construe his complicated thoughts and transparent feelings into words that could bear the weight of the past year. No, the past years that he had known you.

"It's– I would love it if … you stayed here. But the decision is yours and I … I just want you to be happy with wherever you choose."

It wasn't something you expected. If you had to be honest, it wasn't something you expected from Matt. His answer felt personal, like a love letter on the mantle, unopened, but always there where its intended receiver could find and delve into the lovely words transcribed from unspoken feelings.

It took you a few moments, but eventually, you found your voice.

"Do you think I can find that here? My happiness?"

"Of course."

You didn't bother to hold back your bashful smile, reflecting Matt's own. The two of you started walking again, and you nudged his shoulder.

"I'll let you know my decision within a few business days."

His lighthearted chuckle was woven in the wind, the sound of it free and unchained. His apartment came into view, and you wished it was much, much farther away. When you reached the familiar building, you turned to him, watching the little puffs of smoke wafting around his pretty face.

"Thank you for playing along with me back there."

The deep timbre of his soft laugh and his broad smile warmed you from the inside out. Much more effective than Foggy's eggnog-without-absinthe.

"No worries. I had a good time teasing Foggy. I'm not looking forward to going in on Monday, though."

Your inside churned with giddiness for the thousand times that night. Why did this feel so easy, being around Matt? You came home with the intention of visiting your family, yet you found something you didn't know you had. It felt natural, like your reflexes. Your action was an extension of that as you stood on your tiptoe, adorning a kiss on Matt's cheek. When you pulled back, the grin on his red-tinted face was full of adoration. You had no doubt that you were blushing, too.

"Goodnight, Matt."

Your whisper was feather-soft, as if you were afraid you could ruin the moment by talking too loudly. Matt's hand lingered on your arm, holding onto the felt of your coat like he didn't want to let you go, just like that day at the airport. You took a few steps backward with reluctance; your eyes committed the sight of him to your memories. You looked back after a good distance away, and you could see Matt standing where you had left him, gazing in your direction. An unspoken promise in between.

*Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!*

[leggerefiore]

Three Of A Kind

cw: poly, slight feelings of infidelity (resolved), Grimsley accidentally attempting to be a homewrecker,

pairing: Established Nanu/Reader, Grimsley/Reader

summary: Nanu's down-on-his-luck friend is much more attractive than you expected. Issues arise as you get to know him.

When Nanu had mentioned a friend from abroad was coming to visit Alola after a difficult streak in his life, you certainly were not sure who you expected. Perhaps a hardened fellow retired International Police officer or some exhausted old man desperate to escape something like a midlife crisis. You had not at all expected the man who came through the door. His attire was odd but complimented his appearance well. Icy eyes meet your own while an oddly polite smirk split his face. Bags were heavy under his eyes. Dark hair flew out like Honchkrow's wings against his head yet white hair clearly was beginning to consume the darkness. Handsome. He was handsome.

Nanu had gotten up from where he had been playing with one of his Meowths and greeted the man. His attention shifted to you. “… Don't just stand there,” he shook his head, “This is the friend I mentioned, Grimsley.” His name was as odd as the rest of him. He held out a hand for you to shake – a show of practised manners. You shook it, feeling the iciness of his skin against your hand. Nanu introduced you in return to the man. Grimsley repeated your name. His voice drew you in further. You stopped yourself. As pretty as this stranger may have been, he was not your boyfriend – You were quite happy with said boyfriend, too.

But… You definitely felt entranced with this strange friend of his.

More meetings followed. It was mixed with learning random tidbits about Grimsley and observing how he and Nanu played off each other. Both had many similarities… Hiding their true intentions just under the surface, yet both found it easy to see through the other's façade. A shared enjoyment of felines was another common trait among the two. Seeing how each man cared for his individual feline pokemon was a sight to behold. Grimsley's Liepard cared little for his white kimono, simply content to cover the fabric with her purple fur in her demands for him to dote on her. Nanu's Persian seemed apathetic about how her light blue fur would show up in the dark clothing, all the same.

Yet, differences arose quickly. Grimsley was a thrill-seeker. His brain seemed to crave something that would make his pulse rate rise and engage his mind into something like life and death. Nanu could not be bothered with such things. Lazing around was his clear preference. His duties only got attended to when it suited his mood, or he absolutely had to. They seemed to clash there, with Grimsley's more active nature contrasting Nanu's passive one. You could see it as the Kahuna watched the black-haired man surf the waves on a Mantine. The exhaustion was heavy in the air when Grimsley came back to shore.

Many meals had been shared with man, too. Take-out was a common one as he and Nanu spoke about things you did not care too much to listen in on, or trips to the Sushi High Roller in Malie, where Grimsley seemed to eat the Geisha Set over Nanu's preference of the Ronin Set. The lazy eating style of the Kahuna was paired oddly with the almost overly formal manner of Grimsley. Conversation there was more lively, Grimsley showing off his talent of holding conversations with ease.

But, it was the moments you had alone with Grimsley that truly made you curious about him. He was smart – quick-witted. Another shared trait with Nanu, yet his past was unreadable at a glance. You locked away any possibility of him being with the International Police due to his conduct and general disinterest in anything to do with criminal activity. If anything, he almost willingly turned a blind eye. What kinds of places would he have frequented before coming to Alola? He spent his time flipping a coin to make important life decisions.

“You want to ask questions,” he said one day as you both watched the waves on Route 15, “Go ahead. Curiosity is natural.” You flinched – He had read you quite well with little warning.

“… Nanu said you came here to get away from a difficult streak,” you recalled aloud, “What was that? I wasn't expecting someone like… Well, you.” Grimsley smirk twisted up more, and a light chuckle came from him. He combed his hair back with his fingers. His gaze was distant for a moment.

“Mmm… That's how he described it? I suppose that's not entirely wrong,” his finger came to tap his lip for a moment, “My circumstance was simply fate. I risked it all and lost. Now, I'm here.” His hand unconsciously drifted to fish around in a pocket his kimono did not have. A sigh left him. “Nanu made the arrangements. I guess I expressed some interest in surfing, too.” His words fanned your curiosity more. Fate? Risked it all? It all sounded much more dramatic than any circumstances around Alola. You were almost willing to believe he may have been an ex-officer now, even if it did not otherwise fit him.

Grimsley gave another chuckle at your expression. “I was a professional gambler,” he corrected whatever course your mind was on, “And a member of Unova's Elite Four.” Your eyes went wide. Something about him had that edge of a professional trainer, yet you had not considered it somehow. You supposed his pokemon seemed well-trained. The gambling portion went entirely over your head.

“Oh, Nanu was asked to be a part of Alola's soon to be formed Elite Four,” you told him but suspected he likely already knew, “He declined the offer. He's a good trainer… But, the competitiveness of it all might tire him out too quickly.” Grimsley's eyes scanned you over.

“Quite a few dark-type specialists as Elite Four members,” he responded, “… It's not a type speciality for everyone. Old Nanu definitely wouldn't be too interested in all the duties, that is for certain. I almost miss them sometimes – The thrill of checking overconfident trainers. Oh, well. I suppose I still find it in random battles.”

You nodded along with his words. Your image of Grimsley had become a bit clearer. Though, now you wondered even more how Nanu had met such a person. Did they have some get-together for Dark-type specialists who like cats? You opted against asking him more questions to instead just enjoy the peaceful sight of the ocean.

The foam of the waves drew to mind the icy gaze of the man next to you.

~

It quickly grew overwhelming. Grimsley was handsome – charming. You felt bad. Your eyes drifted to him even as Nanu's arm was firmly around your shoulders. It was terrible. It was one thing to appreciate the man's beauty on its own, but it was entirely another to feel attraction about it. His charms… He laid them on towards everyone. Yet, you could swear his eyes lingered on you. A hand would linger on yours for just a moment longer than it was supposed to while exchanging something or shaking the other's hand. Nothing more.

You felt like you were going mad. Trying to avoid him was impossible, as entering Nanu's home would often reveal the man hanging around. Shame crept into your heart. Your eyes should not wander – You loved Nanu genuinely. He was caring underneath his rough demeanour. His love was plain and unobscured after you had made it clear that he was your final choice. The tranquillity of your life with him… You adored it. Yet… Grimsley would not get off your mind. He lingered.

“Something on your mind?” Nanu asked during a rare moment you two were alone. You sat at the counter in the Po Town police station, lost in thought. He slid a cup of coffee in front of you and stood across with a cocked brow. Should you tell him? Nanu was not the type to get angry, but you would have to drive a stake into his friendship. Seeing him get along well with someone, you would hate to ruin that. He needed someone like Grimsley in his life. Alola did not really provide those kinds of people for him. “You can tell me anything,” he spoke again, “I've no place to judge anyone.”

You took in a breath and felt tempted by the steaming beverage before you. Steam wafted up from it. The scent alone made your mind feel more focused. “… Grimsley...” You started but hesitated again. Nanu seemed more curious, leaning forward to rest his head on his head. You swallowed. There really was no escaping this. “… I… I can't stop –” You cut yourself. No, no, no. That was wrong. Nanu's gaze felt intense. “I think I might like Grimsley too much,” you rephrased it softly. His expression went unreadable for a moment. Nothing was reflected on his face except a passive indifference.

“Too much? Well, I can't blame you,” he nodded, “He's an attractive man, even I'm not blind to that.” His eyes closed before opening again. Straightening his posture, he scratched the back of his head. “So, how do you want to handle this?” The question felt heavy. How could this be handled? Shove Grimsley away until you got over it? Maybe… You blinked. What did you want? “… You know,” Nanu started, “Grimsley isn't the best guy. He's jaded, but he's softened up these last years. You want to try something with him?” You tensed up. Try something… with him? What? “I can't keep up sometimes, I'm fully aware,” he cleared his throat, “… You want to try something with him?” The tone change made everything clearer.

You nodded. Nanu sighed. Grimsley was called for a meeting.

~

It was simple. Far too simple. Grimsley sat near an open window, smoking out of a kiseru. The question had been posed simply: “Would you go for trying something with us?” His reply had been yes. Then, he seemed to smirk at, with a strange gaze in his eyes. Nanu just rubbed his head while shaking it, looking more exhausted than usual.  The tension eased away, leaving you three for a more in-depth discussion. Boundaries were clear and established. Everyone seemed to find a condition that worked somehow.

Now, you sat alone with Grimsley while Nanu attended to some Kahuna duties. Your head rested in his lap while an idle hand combed through your hair. The desktop had been opened to play some over the top detective drama. You felt comfortable with everything, yet you still worried about the details. His pipe was put out. Blue eyes stared down at you. A contented hum came from him. “You're beautiful,” a simple statement, yet his expression reflected a genuine sentiment, “I'm almost jealous that Nanu had you all to himself… This arrangement is fine, or course.”

Nanu seemed relieved that Grimsley had taken some of his “boyfriend duties” from him. Grimsley was more than happy to engage with dates or sporadic intimate moments where Nanu would have hesitated. It was fun – It was fulfilling. You grasped his hand and brought it to your cheek. Still icy… You wondered how he always felt so cold. “I'm surprised a guy like you had any interest,” you wondered aloud, “… Your desires were obvious, but I didn't think you were one for the more mushy parts of a relationship.”

Grimsley's brow rose. His gaze drifted to the window momentarily. The sight of Po Town's wall and the endless rain it brought laid just outside. “At one time, I would have agreed,” he admitted, “Those days are behind me now… I won't pretend I don't miss them, but there is no returning to that life.” You felt your curiosity piqued. Did he have a reputation as a playboy? It seemed more obvious in retrospect. His charms – They were carefully honed and trained with his already natural ones. Another way he varied from Nanu... His eyes returned to you. “I feel lucky to have even garnered the attention of someone as lovely as you while I'm in such a state,” his voice was smooth and refined. A finger traces around your jawline.

“If this what you consider you looking badly… I'd be terrified of what you looked like before,” you told him simply. A genuine laugh at your comment.

Later, you and Nanu both joined him on the couch as he typed away on the computer for something. A picture had been pulled up of a (assumed) younger Grimsley. He posed dramatically with his Liepard in a fine suit matched to his body's type. A terrifying smirk was on his face. It was the period during his time as an Elite Four member. That could be surmised. Nanu rubbed his chin. You wondered how many years ago that was. He definitely could play the role of charmer even better with so many things boosting him. Nanu's eyes darted over to him. He said the date of the photo. You froze. Grimsley chuckled.

“That was two years ago,” Nanu commented. You blinked. What? Two years ago? Nanu did not look surprised at all. “That's the you I knew. I was shocked when you showed up originally… I didn't think you'd take it that badly,” Nanu scratched the back of his head, “Well, you're clearly doing better now.” Better… now?

“… H-how old are you? I thought you were around Nanu's age?” you turned to him in shock. Grimsley chuckled at your expression while Nanu brought his other hand to pat your back. Had he already gone through this?! He must have known Grimsley's age.

“That's a secret,” he said simply, “… I am younger than the old Kahuna of this island, but by how much is your own discretion.” You felt in denial. The date was plain to see… You turned to the man sitting beside you and the photo. Lost it all? You felt terrified by what he lost. You leaned your head on Nanu's shoulder. This was too much. Grimsley just leaned forward to rest his chin on the palm of his hand. “… I did bring some suits with me,” he commented, “I thought it'd be a nice change to wear something more loose and comfortable, however.”

“For the best… You're already complaining about the heat as is,” Nanu cut in before you could think of a reply, “I'd hate to hear your comments while you're all dolled up.”

“Oh, dolled up? Is that what you're calling it? Interesting…”

You let out a laugh this time.

~

The warmth of the blanket over you mixed oddly the with the sound of the air conditioner. Thin arms locked around your waist, and a chin rested on your head. A stronger arm lay lazily over your chest and pressed you into the warm one it was attached to. Purrs of a large cat echoed out in the room, but you could not place them. Opening your eyes, a yawn left you. The midday sun barely broke through the blinds. To your left, Grimsley lay with a twisted expression. Something was on his mind even while he slept. Nanu's expression, to your right, was quite different. He looked like he could sleep for another few hours.

Raising up as much as you could in the tangle of arms, you realised that you were in Grimsley's hotel room. Persian and Liepard had curled up together on the floor and were sleeping, much like their trainers. You almost felt the urge to join them again, comfortable in your position. Yet, you tried to resist and get up for a shower. Both men pulled your back down and held on to you tighter. Nanu grumbled something incoherent while Grimsley just made a whining sound.

You relented to their wishes and got comfortable again.

(At some point later on, you learnt that Nanu felt like you and Grimsley would have been a good pair and worried that he alone would not have been able to satisfy you long term. Grimsley had simply been searching for some stability in his life. Well, it worked out in the end.)

[hopepetal]

A bit of writing I've done for @tibby-art and I's au!! :D

Enjoy!

--

It wasn't often that Mumbo woke up in a featureless gray room– was it concrete? Probably, judging by how his back ached as he slowly pushed himself up off the hard floor, wincing at the pain that shot through his bruised body. It was too dark to really see anything, and although light seeped in through the cracks of an iron door, Mumbo found himself almost completely blinded.

He felt the floor around him, frowning as he noticed little bumps and grooves in the material. A little further back, Mumbo noticed as he turned around, was a chair. Probably wooden, but it was still too dark to make out the details. His eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, flitting around anxiously as his breathing began to pick up.

Okay, Mumbo, think. What happened? Why are you here?

“And for goodness sakes, where is my jacket?” he muttered out loud, after noticing he had lost the black coat that usually went over his white shirt. He felt cold without it, a little more bare– something that made him feel a little less secure.

He thought back to last night. How he had stepped outside briefly for something he couldn't quite recall at the moment. He had been well aware of the attacks happening around Boatem recently, but– oh. Of course. He'd been attacked. And, to top it all off, kidnapped. Apparently.

Mumbo could hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching from outside, freezing up as they got closer and closer. Whatever was happening, hopefully he was about to get a bit of a clue.

Or die. Which would suck, but hey, respawns.

The door opened up, and Mumbo stood– perhaps in a moment of adrenaline and courage stupidity– ready to face whoever was coming in through that door. A foe? A stranger, who didn't belong on hermitcraft? Or maybe a friend, and this was some kind of elaborate prank.

Mumbo blinked rapidly, trying to make out the person's face in the faint torchlight that seeped in from the hallway. His eyes lit up, and he heaved a great sigh of relief. “Oh, Scar! What are you doing here, mate? Or, I guess–” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck– “What, exactly, am I doing here? Is this some– some sort of joke?” Laughter, again. This time more nervous, high-pitched. “Mate?”

Scar, silent as an oncoming storm, took a few steps forward. Mumbo, in his anxious haste, stumbled back and nearly tripped over his own feet. “Scar?” he asked again, his voice pitching higher, “Scar, mate, you're scaring me.”

Electric blue sparked in Scar's eyes as too-sharp teeth shone in the faint light. Surging forward, he practically pushed Mumbo into the chair, which creaked under the sudden weight. Mumbo let out a yelp as he crashed into the chair, staring up at Scar with wide and terrified eyes. For a moment, they remained like that– silent, eyes locked on each other's.

Then, Scar reached out and fluidly grabbed Mumbo's tie, pulling him a little closer as he leaned forward, crooked grin colder and sharper than ever before. “Oh, Mumbo, Mumbo, Mumbo...” he crooned, and Mumbo had to bite back a full-body shudder, “did you really think I'd let you get away with it? That I'd let you be CEO of boatem?” He chuckled, in a voice that was nothing like Scar. “You? In all your bumbling incompetency?”

Immediately, Mumbo knew something was wrong. Well, not just with Scar, that had been obvious– but that wasn't the reason this was happening. Mumbo wasn't really sure how he knew, but... he certainly did! Know, that is.

He had to get to the others. If he was in this situation, then it was more than likely that Pearl, Grian, and Impulse were as well. And none of them would do too well alone.

Well. Only one way out of this!

Mumbo kicked Scar in the shins, and ran for it while the man yelped and stumbled back. But... The kick hadn't been that hard, and Scar really shouldn't have taken that long to recover, and why wasn't he chasing after Mumbo why was he laughing–

Mumbo found out the reason for Scar's casual reaction very quickly, when he took one step out into the hallway and was slammed into the wall by a wave of magic.

“Oh, Mumbo...” There stood Cub, wearing a very familiar mask and the same grin as Scar, his eyes glowing bright blue from behind the mask. Faint blue wings shimmered behind him as he stepped forward. “Now, that wasn't a very good idea.”