#little pink x is link to source !

[pinkysup]

x

[mamayan]

🎃 Happy Halloween 🎃

Shigaraki Tomura x Fem! Reader

Good girls should just stay home, lest something goes bump in the night.

cw: NSFW • Implied Murder • Implied Serial Killer • Consensual Non-Consent turned Non-Consensual • Noncon • Dubcon • Abuse • Fingering (F) • Oral (M) • Deep Throating • Rough Sex • Attempted Murder • Hair Pulling • Degradation/Slight Humiliation • Dacryphilia • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • a little OOC • This story possessed me and basically wrote itself • Barely proof read tbh

wc: 7k+

Something must be wrong with you.

Or at least, that’s what you imagine the world would think if anyone knew what you were doing.

The room was dark aside from the blue glow of your computer screen. The black web browser with red lettering almost ominous as your eyes scanned the consent form again. It was a consent form just to access the full website, on the surface serving only as a dating type of situation for the BDSM community. Beneath it though were layers deeper than what the simple description actually provided. You only found out about it through a deep dive into multiple sub-threads of Reddit. It was a basket case of crazy, the majority of information or advice, but you managed to dig up one reliable looking source.

This website you were currently on. L@ce&R0pe.com happened to provide a wide variety of goodies, from sex toys to actual published books on shibari, there wasn’t much you couldn’t find. Except like all websites not swallowed up by the deep web, there was never any section like the one you wanted so desperately.

Except this one, because your mouse didn’t hesitate to shift and hover over the drop down section for MEET, where you could link up with real people for whatever your heart desired really. You trailed down to NEW FRIEND, and clicked. A new tab opened, this one themed differently than the main website. It was light blue and pink, almost like a baby shower, except the only thing on the page was a single drop down menu, and clicking it made your head ache. There were thousands of options, but thankfully it was organized alphabetically, so you could easily scroll mindlessly until you hit the C section.

You found what you wanted, clicking it as your chosen option and hitting GO.

The screen changed, this time it looked similar to a dating profile fillable. You worked quickly, efficiently even, as you typed all your information in.

Not your name or address, nothing silly like that. Just your measurements, your favorite foods or beverages, the color of your eyes, your hair color, your height, and even the style of your nails. It asked if you liked to brush your hair everyday, how often you showered, what shampoo or body wash you like. You answered them all, as invasive as they soon became, you never wavered. What brand of deodorant do you use? How often do you clip or file your nails? To what length? Do you shave your pubic area? How often? What style? How many sexual partners have you had? Where have you had sex? Which hole do you prefer? Are you a crier or a screamer? Does blood turn you on? Do you like physical or mental pain more? Have you ever been raped before?

They got more personal and physiological as you answered. You felt hot and stuffy despite the window being open and the cool autumn air blowing in. You kept answering even as your throat got tighter and unease nestled into your clavicle.

Do you want to know who your new friend will be?

This time you do hesitate. Knowing would make it feel safer. Knowing would give you some semblance of control. Knowing would be the smart choice.

You clicked “no” and submitted the form, sealing your fate as your hands shook and adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You set the date for October 31st. Now all you had to do was wait and show up.

A notification hit his phone, lighting up the screen as cigarette smoke billowed around him in the back alley. A quick glance was all he needed to unlock and fully see the entire screen. The leather of his jacket rubbed against the brick he leaned against.

Halloween was probably the best time for such fun, crime rates skyrocketing and parties being loud and wild really left a big gaping hole for any type of heinous activity to occur. He grinned as the information poured onto his screen. His dick already becoming painfully hard as he read all your supplied information. You liked breath play, having someone spit in your mouth, even being slapped around. He was always amazed by the lack of shortage for sick freaks like you, but then again, he was one of them too. Licking his top lip, tongue piercing flicking out to rub against his cupid’s bow, he clicked “ACCEPT” on the notification. He had all your information, the when and where, and your adorable little comment of “Please don’t degrade me.” What more could he ask for? His smile is sinister in the low light off the neon sign of the bar, casting a purplish hue on his skin as he chuckles and shoves his phone away. Flicking his cigarette butt onto the dirty ground, he cracked his neck and knuckles before going back inside to finish his beer and round of pool with his friends.

He’ll see you on Halloween. He might even dress up a little for the occasion.

It’s cold.

It’s nearly November so you hadn’t expected warm weather necessarily, but it seemed chillier than usual despite your fairly insulated dress.

You dressed up as an angel, the irony not lost on you at all but it felt fitting almost for the occasion. The pristine white looked off in your surroundings. It was nearly midnight, but despite that the sidewalk of the park was filled with a fairly regular crowd of people passing through, on to the next party or home to sleep off all the alcohol. Really, you weren’t too out of place, in your white stockings and black heeled boots, the fluffy ruffled white babydoll dress that barely covered your ass or tits and the wings which were strapped around your shoulders and jutted out behind you. On your head was a slim clip which was attached to a white shiny halo that seemed to float above you, only a thin wire keeping it up. You’d at first felt a little exposed passing children going home for the night after trick or treating, eyes of judgemental families which you ignored boring into you, but now it was time for the adults to have fun. You’d already passed a plethora of college students or older dressed even more scantily than you, making you feel better, safer, out in the park you’d chosen. You’d chosen 0300 as your designated meetup time, but specified you’d be early in case they wanted to start sooner. So here you stood, under a streetlamp that illuminated you in a yellow glow, making you seem even more angelic despite the ominous darkness surrounding you. You were busy playing on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and trying not to appear too excited. Or scared. You figured it was a combination of both, the arousal and fear bleeding into one very specific but unnamed emotion. Tapping your boot to a rhythm only you could hear, the night drew on and another hour passed. The droves of people passing didn’t dwindle, but it was always a group, never a single individual which you hoped was your new friend. It was almost 0130 when you felt watched, goosebumps rising on your skin as you realized someone must be looking at you. A quick glance around showed no one though, and after ten minutes your hope dissolved into disappointment. It seemed your friend wasn’t an early bird.

“Hey,” a raspy, deep voice speaking almost directly into your ear, startling you enough to elicit a yelp. You turned, eyes landing on a dark clothed chest and trailing up to a hooded face you could barely make out through a mess of blue hair. His lips look a bit chapped, a small scar decorating a corner, but his teeth are white and straight as he smiles a grin that causes shivers to shoot down your spine.

…maybe your friend was an early bird, just not as much as you.

You take a step back, stuttering stupidly due to your overactive nerves and the earlier shock of his sudden appearance. “H-hi…um,” the stranger tilts his head, eyes still not visible, dark hoodie baggy on his frame. He looks a bit thin, like he wouldn’t have a lot of strength, his jeans having some strange splattering of fake blood or something on them. You lick your lips, heart ready to leap from your chest but not quite ready for the events to unfold.

Or maybe you were very ready.

“You’ve been standing here for hours,” he comments nonchalantly, hands moving to shove inside the large inner pocket on his hoodie, “Aren’t ya tired of waiting for your boyfriend?” His question is a bit confusing, and when you glance around you, it dawns that there’s no one out right now. When had the crowds dwindled to nothing? “I don’t… have a boyfriend…” you had clearly stated that online too, so he already knew the answer to your relationship status. Was he just teasing? Keeping this as realistic as possible? It made you a bit pleased. You fiddled with the ends of your cute frilly dress, exposing a small portion of your skin and garter belt which kept your thigh high socks up. His eyes tracked the motion, lips pulling up even higher making his smile menacing. Dangerous. “That so?” He asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a reply as he steps closer, his beat up sneakers so silent on the ground it’s a little unnerving. Since he’s playing along so much, it feels wrong for you to not reciprocate.

“What do you think you’re doing, creep? Stay back,” You hope he’s not offended by the name, figuring it wasn’t too mean or odd of a thing to call him. Your firm stance and defiant gaze make him pause, head tilting again but he’s quick to recover and laugh. It’s less of a sexy and deep chuckle like you expected, and more pitched and giggly. It’s almost creepy to hear from a grown man. Like a child from a horror movie laughing. “Creep? Yeah? Guess I am, but you know what?” His head lifts, and since he’s more centered under the tall street lamp, when he looks straight at you, two red eyes flash. “I’m a lot fucking worse than your average dumbass creep,” you jolt when he lunges at you, hand outstretched to grab you. It’s instinctive how quickly you turn and run, adrenaline helping you shoot off into the park where no light but the moon shined down. This is what you wanted, you chant to yourself to stay level headed enough to not truly panic. This was staged and as safe as possible. He’s not actually going to hurt you. You’d be fine, albeit maybe a little sore tomorrow morning. You shut your mind off and focus on running, though your speed wasn’t great in such cheap and unstable boots, roots and random objects on the ground constantly tripping you up.

You looked like the dumb girl in the horror movies, tits practically out of your low cut revealing white dress, strapless white bra damn useless and more for show than any real support or push-up. You huffed, digging in your heels when you heard a few twigs snap behind you, feet carrying you faster as you realized he was gaining on you quickly. He didn’t shout and you didn’t scream. The chase was exhilarating, your mind becoming fuzzy as your lungs burned for more oxygen. You hadn’t planned a chase, really leaving it all up to fate and your new friend, but this was perfect.

Until fingers tangled tight in your hair and yanked you completely off your feet, your shoes and legs going out in front of you as you landed gracelessly on your ass. Then an intense burning in your scalp erupts, a hiss of pain and a whine escaping as you slide over cool damp foliage, senseless grumbling coming from the stranger as he drags you into a deeper more secluded section of the park, away from any and all prying eyes. Not like anyone gave a damn. “I-it hurts!” You feel childish for crying, tears pricking your eyes but the burn was worse than you imagined truly, soft hands coming up to try and pry his fingers off.

He has a grip of iron apparently, not the least bit phased as he sighs, hauling you up and tossing you in front of him. You land weirdly on your left shoulder, a shock of pain numbing your mind as you heave for air and roll over. When you open your eyes, you’re face to face with him. His hood pulled off, shoulder length blue hair now tied back and up into a little bun while some stray pieces frame his face and forehead. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as they take him in.

He’s young, maybe early twenties, with pale skin and dark bags hugging beneath his scarlet eyes. He’s got a beauty mark just below his lip on the right side, the scar you saw earlier on the other. He’s not hard on the eyes, cute even, but the strange air around him makes the close proximity fill you with anxiety. His eyebrows are thin and sparse, but he cocks one with a smirk. “Not gonna scream for help, crybaby?” The nickname makes you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks, you blink them away quickly, shaking your head and trying to find your words again. “I—uh, do you want me to?” Wouldn't screaming just make it more likely for someone to call the police? You figured a little noise was fine, but screaming seemed counter productive.

His eyes widened a bit, confusion painting his features as he crouched down more comfortably on his haunches to get a better look at you.

He’d been watching you since you got to the park. A single party in this sort of place always sticks out like a sore thumb. You looked more ready for a porno than a costume party, from behind the view of your ass indescribably arousing in your short little dress. It was both a slutty and innocent look you pulled off well, at least enough to make him riled up, cock twitching in agreement within his pants. He shamelessly rubbed it through his jeans, caressing the hardening length and letting you watch with glee. Your face made him snort, amusement evident as he chuckles and squints. “You like this, little freak?” You looked like you did, he notes. Your wide pretty eyes, still a little teary and red at the ends, showed your blown out pupils. You looked to be more star struck, not terrified like any normal girl chased through a park and dragged into a little corner between some trees to be out of sight. He watches you swallow hard, lips parting before closing as if you aren’t sure what to say to that question. “Fuck, you’re cute,” he grins, “a cute little slut who stood out at night all alone as if begging for someone to come along and do something nasty.” You release a tiny yelp as he meanly shoves you back, straddling your upper chest with his thighs as he hunches over you, looming ominously above with wild eyes screaming for chaos. “Good thing that I came along, huh? Make all your nasty little fantasies come true.” He watches you gasp as he presses his fingers against your lips, confusion evident on your face but you aren’t really putting up much of a fight as you open and let him slide two in. “Nasty fucking girl, look at you, when you don’t even fucking know me.” He chuckles, and while he’s teasing you mostly, he is amazed. You looked erotic as hell right now, little angel costume all wrinkled and a bit dirty from the earth below, pretty face a bit stained with mascara that had run a little from your earlier tears. You weren’t wearing the waterproof kind it seemed. Lips bitten and chewed on, plump and glossy from whatever glittery shit you swiped on them earlier now wrapped around his digits as he dug around in your warm wet mouth. “Suck on them, slut,” he orders, his smile dropping and face becoming more serious as you hurry to obey, a strange trepidation building in your gut. He groans as he feels your tongue wiggle and swirl, pumping his fingers a bit now and enjoying the little bleats you release when he chokes you a bit with them. “Wonder if you’re soaked down here~” he hums, leaning back a bit and yanking his fingers from your lips, wiping the excess saliva across your cheek and huffing a laugh as your features wrinkle in distaste. His hand moves behind him, easy access to your cunt due to the frilly dress hiked up almost around your waist, revealing cute soaked white cotton panties he growls at the sight of. “You really suck at putting up a fight, crybaby, but I think I heard somewhere that girls get wet when scared too…” those red eyes flick back to your own, "You scared?” He asks, almost softly. He watches you breathe, chest struggling a bit under his weight but your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not pushing him away. “A little…?” Is your shaky response, and he wonders silently if you’re an idiot or just a pervert. You might be both, because when he lets his thumb dig into where your pussy lay poorly hidden, you moan for him and spread your legs wider. You make it even easier to search for his desired location, your swollen bundle of nerves. “O-oh—!” Your head falls back, little halo becoming a bit misshapen as it gets flattened to the ground, he tsks, fixing it with his free hand as he thumbs your little clit and watches you mewl and writhe beneath him, pleasure clearly visible on your face. Your hips buck and wiggle, body pinned beneath his and unable to get away or closer like you desperately want for more friction than he’s providing. “P-please,” you can’t help but beg, hoping your new friend is merciful enough to make you cum and not simply edge you all night.

It’s the pouty expression which makes him nearly feral, his grin spreading wide again as he keeps working his finger on your clit but his face closes the distance between your own. His lips just barely graze yours, and you are all too happy to part your lips and give him a sloppy kiss back, his own tongue finally slipping into your mouth where you suck. The smooth muscle in your mouth and the saliva dripping from it drive you wild, hands now dragging him closer and trying to make him do more for you. The heat spreads slowly however, his pace not changing, and despite his slim build he’s much stronger than you. You aren’t able to take any more than what is given, huffing in exasperation and groaning when he places more force before easing off. “S-stop teasing…” you whine against his lips, which were much softer than they look. He smirks, airy chuckle felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh, “how can I not, you’re such a rare find, I plan to take my time with you.” He kisses you hard to silence whatever whines you planned to release to make him give you more. Instead he forces you into a slow building orgasm that leaves him having to pin your wrists above your head lest your clawing rip his skin open. He works you gently and cruelly into it, loving how you gasp and choke for him, eyes rolling back while you shake almost like you’re possessed and soak through your panties. “There you go, heh, normally I wouldn’t bother to take my time with whiny bitches, but you’re more obedient and sweet than I first assumed.” He whispers into your ear as you come down from the mind blowing high, body limp and pliant like dough now. The insult from him brings out a little whine of protest, teary eyes looking at him with almost something akin to betrayal.

“I-I don’t like being called mean names…I said so online too,” he pulls up finally, the chill of the night attacking full force on your now exposed cunt as he brings your panties up to his nose to inhale. His eyes narrow, almost into slits as he pulls them back and shoves them into his hoodie pocket. “Oh yeah? You post that shit on your social media or something? Sorry, I don’t really use those trash platforms. I have a Twitch stream though,” he acts like this is the time for a regular conversation, even as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, yanking them down his hips to pull his cock free. Your eyes go wide, mind a bit blank and missing something, in favor of looking at him pump his length lazily. A trail of blue curls like on his head travel from his navel to his groin where it spreads out a little, the color a bit darker as it goes lower. He’s not one to shave it seems, but your eyes focus on his cock, average in length but girthy with a tip that curves up almost perfectly. It looks like a cock someone would sell as a dildo at a sex store. It was pretty, admittedly, as a few pearls of pre-cum dotted the tip and spilled over as he slowly worked it above you. “Hungry?” He jokes, but when you nod he grits his teeth and bites back a moan, the night truly more unexpected than he thought. “Open up then, crybaby.” He thankfully didn’t call you a bitch again, crybaby the less of the evils and more acceptable of a petname for your preference as you open your lips and awkwardly lean your head forward. “No need to lean up,” he mumbles, shifting until his knees now rested by your shoulders, tip just in your mouth and his forearms on the earth above your head. He’s looking down at you, and you lay back down as he works his cock in your mouth. He’s going to fuck your mouth, you realize a bit late, the position so easy for him to hit balls deep in your throat and prevent you from running just from his weight alone. You’re pinned to earth, the scent of crisp autumn becoming mingled with the musky masculine odor the stranger had clinging to him. Something smelled of iron too, but it was fainter and didn’t bother you too much, not when he seemed determined to suffocate you with his cock. You jerk a little, teeth accidentally grazing his cock and his hiss of pain alerts you that you’ve hurt him. He pulls up and out of your mouth, glaring ferociously as he looks down at you with contemplation. “Sorry—! I’m not used—,” the words leaving you mouth go unfinished as you’re suddenly looking away and down, confusion wracking your mind before white hot pain erupts across your face and you cry out in agony.

He watches with a cool nonchalance as you whimper and cry, holding your inflamed cheek and looking at him with teary eyes filled with questions. The sight doesn’t help his hardness, your face swelling a bit from the force of the blow already, but it was still arousing how you cried for him so easily. “Don’t bite my fucking dick and I won’t hit you, clear?” He’s grabbing you roughly by the hair again, yanking you up and no longer in the mood for that awkward position as he stands and pulls you to your knees. This position at least gives him a good eye full of your tits, shaking from your little trembling as you’re made to look up at him. His angry reddened cock next to your injured cheek is a sight for him, his hand gripping his shaft and slapping you lightly on the cheek with it, his hand in your hair preventing you from turning away even as you whimper in pain. “Okay, we’ll try this again, crybaby. Open.” You do, even as tears run like waterfalls down your face, mascara smeared and making a pathetic sight for sore eyes of you, you let his cock enter your mouth once more.

Because you’ve never been more aroused.

Your stranger isn’t nice, pushing hard and deep into your throat immediately and gagging you. You’re careful with your teeth, jaw already burning and aching as he locks his arm and hand, strands of hair tearing out as he works his hips into your face at an uneven pace. “Stop fucking moving,” he growls, stepping even closer, blocking any and all exits and forcing you to take it. His cock didn’t seem so scary when he’d pulled it out, but in your throat it was a plug to your oxygen and felt too big for your poor mouth. It hurt, feeling him go too deep and leaving you coughing and sputtering and even still he wouldn’t pull out, groaning and pressing impossibly deep like he truly means to suffocate you. “You got a good little mouth pussy, crybaby. Fuck—take my cock, just like that.” He moans, watching as you struggle on his dick to breathe or swallow, slobber and tears coating his cock as he makes a mess of your pretty face. He doesn’t care that your eyes are starting to roll back, hands which had previously been clawing at his legs going limp at your sides. You acted more like a hole for him to fuck when you were limp like this, and it drove him wild as he grunted like an animal and rutted into your mouth like he held a grudge against you. Both hands dug into your hair, hands pulling you back onto his cock when his hips bucked you away. “Never fucked a—holy shit—ah, mouth so damn good before—, ah fuck, fuck,” he’s getting breathier as time ticks by, his own eyes rolling back as his balls draw up tight. “I’m going to cum, ready for me crybaby? Want it in your tummy or on your face?” He’s being condescending on purpose, but it’s a bit useless considering he’s rendered you nearly unconscious on his dick. He shrugs your lack of response off, pumping his cock down your throat until he sees stars and yanks himself free just before the first spurt misses and hits the grass below, he grips the base, pumping and shooting his next shot right onto your face. He yanks your head against his thigh, delirious face dazed and coughing softly as he finishes on your glitter and mascara run cheeks, using the tip to smear it well into your ruined makeup as he sneers at you from above.

“Hah…” he catches his breath, sucking in oxygen along with you as his gaze turns calculated.

“Wake up, I’m not done with you yet.” He’s more gentle now that he's cum at least once, tapping your uninjured cheek with two fingers as your eyes roll around before opening and looking at him.

He swears, your face making him hard again instantly, blood pooling to his groin at the messy sight of you in your white ruined angel costume. “You really are unlucky I was out tonight, I don’t think I’m gonna let you go.” His dead serious comment caused something cold to hit your veins, chills running through you as you gape in shock.

“W-what…?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out what looked like a foot long serrated hunting blade. He snickers at the blank look of shock on your features.

“What’s wrong, crybaby? No tears for me right now?” You’re shaking, getting paler by the second as you realize no, it’s not a costume, and yes, there is still dried blood on the blade. There’s dried blood all over him, his spree tonight ridiculously fruitful and his body still high on the thrill. Imagine his luck finding you. “T-this wasn’t in my profile, wh-what are you doing?” Now you look alert, now you act like a regular civilian, he notes cooly. “I only con-consented to the sex and stuff, I said I didn’t like—like blades or blood play.” Your eyes are wide as saucers and you have a cold sweat now forming and dotting your skin, shaky like on too much caffeine as your body dumped chemicals to help you run.

His head tilts, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his tie as those red eyes watch you without any emotion in their depths.

“Ah~ I get it now. Are you some kind of freak who links up with people online for this kind of shit?” He laughs, eyes not matching the manic toothy grin. “Sorry to disappoint slut, I ain’t your tinder or whatever match. Did you do it anonymously?” He’s beyond amused, thrilled by the horror dawning on your face as reality sets in. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He sneers, but he’s joyful when you book it, heeled boots caked in mud as they dig into the ground and you take off for real. True intent to get away now because he’s not your new friend, he’s a real stranger and his energy is nothing but malevolent.

You’re going to die.

It’s a sick thought that twists inside you as you push the hardest you’ve ever, scream bubbling up and out as you cry for help now. “HELP! Please! Someone! Anyone!” It’s more broken and hoarse than you want, his earlier abuse to your throat having taken a number on your ability to vocalize.

It’s empty. This damn park is empty.

Not a soul around and you can’t hear him coming for you anymore, and it only makes the tears fall harder as you drive your body to a breaking point. If no one is around you can at least aim for your car, your phone will take too much time to look at and dial the police, you’d be too open and that would mean—

Something—someone—smashes into you, your body thrown sideways by the brute force and flung roughly to the ground where you roll several feet.

It hurts—!

Your body and mind scream as pain lights up your shoulder, a previously dull ache now hounding for your attention so much it left you lightheaded. You twisted your ankle too or maybe broke it, already so regretful for the evening and your life choices that your shoes hardly broke the bank. It all hurt, and yet you still tried to crawl to get away, still eager for another deep breath of air in your lungs even if it hurt to do that too.

“Hck, please, please—help—!,” you’re a sobbing pathetic mess, and he couldn’t be more turned on by the sight. He dusts himself off like he hadn’t tackled you like a linebacker for a major league football team, his lanky form sinewy with muscle and his agility nothing to scoff at. He swirls the enormous daunting blade with a whistle, smiling more genuinely as he strolls towards your shaking form crawling away.

“Where do you think you’re going, crybaby? I said I wasn’t done with you,” he lands a solid hit to your middle, dirty sneaker smearing mud on your cute little dress, looking less and less white as the night wears on. The blow is not hard enough to damage anything, he’s sure, but you act as if you’ve been disemboweled by how you howl and heave. He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, settling one foot between your shoulder blades and pressing down until you’re left immobilized.

Your vision is blurry, going in and out of focus as you try, and try, and try to get away, cute nail polish chipped and ruined as you claw at the dirt floor for leverage.

He admires your tenacity. “You think you can get away? That anyone is coming to save you?” He brushes a few stray hairs out of his face as he laughs, the urge to gut you strong as he savors your useless little struggle. “Crybaby, look around! No one is coming! I said look,” he grinds out, dropping to one knee while his other leg remains planted on your back, his hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up to see what he meant.

There’s a fence. A metal chain link fence, and it had a sign your vision was too blurry to read through your tears.

“You ran yourself straight into the worst possible area, this is sort of your game over,” He leans down to look at you, yanking your head back and forcing you into an uncomfortable arch. He raises up the blade, fully intending to slit your pretty throat and watch your eyes as the light fades, but you blubber out a sentence which halts him.

“Y-you didn’t finish! E-earlier, hck, earlier you didn’t finish—!” Your eyes squeeze closed in pain as he yanks your head to the side. Confusion burned in him, and curiosity kept you breathing for now.

“Didn’t finish what, crybaby? Fairly certain I finished all over your face, if I remember correctly.” He has a sharp edge in his tone, something metallic fills your mouth and you realize you’ve bitten through your tongue in your panic. A few drops spill past your lips, catching his attention.

“S-shouldn’t you also f-fuck me too? I-it’s why I came out tonight, wh-why I, ah, d-did this,” it’s a long shot by any means, and he’s no fool, but you did make a good point.

He was still hard.

“Smart little crybaby, aren’t you?” He mutters darkly, setting aside his blade in favor of smashing your face into the dirt, keeping your head down as he presses against your back and yanks your hips up. Your knees are skinned from the rough handling, socks torn open and stained with blood and dirt while his calloused hands slip beneath your dress. Your breath hitches. You needed to think of some way out of this, some kind of plan to escape or incapacitate him.

He’s busied himself with your still dripping cunt. Two fingers roughly filling your hole and uncaringly stretching your tight entrance. “You really are a freak, wet even though you’re going to die, crybaby.” He felt a bit strange as you whimper and mewl below, hand slowing as he tried to place the feeling.

He shrugs it off, instead easily yanking down his jeans which were still unbuttoned and pulling out his cock once more, stroking his shaft a few times before he lined himself up with your puffy lips. “Fuck—,” he swears, eyes seeing stars as he pushes just his tip past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, mouth opening as licks his lips and stares down at you. “Never had pussy so good…” he giggles darkly, cracking his neck as he pushes each inch inside of you, stretching you out deliciously until you’re speared on his cock with his hips flush with your ass. “Who knew you’d be the best, crybaby.” He muses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips, your little dress flipped up and over your ass so he can watch it bounce as he leans back on his knees to fuck you deeper. You need to think straight but it’s difficult with how good your body feels, the pain from earlier seeming to go away with a numb buzz as he fills your pussy, hitting perfectly against a spot that has you arching harder for more.

You really are a freak like he says.

You can’t help relaxing further, eyes dumbly looking to the side where your head rests as he pounds into you from behind, the coil in your gut growing tighter by the minute.

The clouds blocking the moon seem to part just for you, the full moon’s light no longer blocked and illuminating the little patch of grass he’d tackled you into. Something gleams, in perfect reach too as your eyes widen.

His knife.

He’d already proven you can’t outrun him, but what if he was injured? There’s a major artery in the thigh, if you hit that, wouldn’t you be able to get away?

He yanks back roughly, moaning as he feels you squeeze even tighter around him, velvet walls massaging his dick while he tries to fuck himself as deep as possible inside of you.

It hit you despite all your intentions not to, because this wasn’t safe and he wants to end your life and everything is wrong, but your body doesn’t listen. You cum with a shaky cry, and with an awkward turn of your head you watch as his head goes back and he moans, eyes closed in bliss as you coat his cock in even more slick.

You’re louder than you intended to be, but your fingers close around the hilt nonetheless, trembling with the heavy weight in your grasp, you use every ounce of energy inside you to swing it back into his thigh.

“Cute,” you scream as he catches your wrist, hand clenching so tight you feel your bones grind together as the knife falls from your grip. He twists your arm around and pins your wrist behind your back, holding it in place while his other hand remains at your hip.

“So fucking cute, crybaby. Did you cum just to distract me or was that because you couldn’t help yourself?” He’s getting a high from this, from fucking you and turning you into nothing but a toy as he bounces you on his cock, hips still but arms pulling you back and forth with ease. Scarlet eyes drink you in with undisguised sick glee, and he’s finally able to place the feeling from earlier.

“A pretty little slut trying to get her rocks off and getting shown why she should’ve been a good girl and stayed home,” he grunts, releasing you and leaning over, pinning you with his weight and nearly knocking the air from your lungs how deeply he hits you inside from this angle. Dirt fills the underbelly of your nails, your fingers digging into the earth just for some semblance of stability.

You had none. It was a sick and horrifying realization. You have no control. You can do nothing to stop this. As deeply as it made your gut sink, another odd emotion rose to the surface.

A bubbly sensation that tore through you as your tears became less from fear and more from overstimulation.

His hips piston in and out of you, bullying your cervix in this position as he ruts into you like a hound, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he moans and grunts.

You break again, spasm and cinch down on his cock like a vice while you wail as if in mourning. Maybe you are, for yourself at least. “Oh fuck—! s’too much—, please, I can’t—, f-feels good, hah,” your nearly incoherent babbling sends him over the edge along with you, his own dull nails finally drawing blood as he holds you for dear life as he releases deep inside you, tip kissing right up against you womb as he cums. You can feel it too, his cock twitching inside as the night seems to still for a moment.

He holds you for a while. Breathing you in, nuzzling his face into your neck and licking you. He holds you until his cock fully softens and it hurt to be gripped so tightly inside your wet heat, regrettably pulling away.

He stands, putting his sticky limp cock away inside his underwear and pulling up his pants, looking down at your ruined figure that had slumped over to the side.

“Y’know, crybaby… you really resemble an angel now,” he smiles, red eyes almost glowing as the moon blankets his back and shadows his face. His hair seems almost white like this, your tired eyes note. You don’t move or even flinch as he grabs his knife and yanks your limp figure up by your hair. Even now you’re still crying, face lax despite the rivers flowing down your dirty swollen cheeks. You make no effort to stop him, having given up completely.

He crouches down again, mostly eye level now as he makes you look at him.

“You got any last words?” He’s being dead serious. He feels strange looking at the almost glazed over look in your eyes.

“W-what…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the night is so quiet he catches it, “what’s your…name?”

An unexpected question.

His eyes gleam, smile ravenous as he puts his lips against your ear and whispers it.

“Tomura, what’s your name, crybaby?” He asks, gently, almost like he’s actually interested.

You hoarsely whisper it, your last time ever saying it after tonight. He hums, like it pleases him, before he brings down the knife swiftly.

Your vision goes dark, the strike mercifully painless. Your last thoughts blur as you drift into soft nothingness.

He releases your hair, grabbing your limp figure up in his arms as he chuckles and sheaths his knife properly on his hip. “Dumb crybaby” his voice almost singing the words as he whistles and walks away, the park dead silent but even if someone had seen you in his arms, he could just play the good boyfriend taking his sweetheart home safely. It’s not entirely a lie either, his eyes glancing down at your unconscious form, pretty neck unmarred but a bruise would likely form on the back where he struck you tomorrow. Tomura had never felt compelled to allow a victim to live, but then again he’s never fucked a victim either, so you’re the first for a lot. He supposed it made you quite special, his legs carrying him in the direction of his car in the parking lot about a mile south. Obsession and possessiveness swirled in those red depths as they looked at your figure.

“Good girls should just stay home…” he continues his sardonic little tune, his smile gruesome and foreboding.

Vibrant blue orbs check his surroundings again, noting once again his friend was a no show. Rolling his eyes, he knew it was too good to be true. Your profile screamed inexperienced and cautious, despite you clicking that you’d like him to remain anonymous beforehand. It didn’t matter, he’d just go enjoy some sorority girl pussy instead, figuring at 0330 that most parties would be winding down. Drunk girls dressed like sluts were his second favorite.

Dabi clicks the notify option on his app, letting the website staff know you never showed up.

Though, he muses if something did happen, the police wouldn’t be notified until it was too late. Halloween weekend after all meant you could be missing for quite a while before anyone noticed.

Not his problem though.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

[soiwj]

Tasty Treat

Arlecchino x fem!baker!reader

Link to part 2

Very ooc arlecchino

(i dont know her character wel but she's hot, so i thought I'd give it a shot)

Planning on doing research on her though!!

Fuckk i love women omg

Second mini-fic ever how exciting!!

Please request stuff here!! It's hard to come up with prompts ;-;

I wrote this at 3 am so excuse the lack of structure

You start your usual routine of setting everything up for the day, although today is a bit special. Your bakery doesn't have many customers, considering the place it's in is quite remote. A peaceful forrest that's still in fontaine borders yet far away from any other buildings or people.

You chose this place because you appreciate the beauty and peace that nature brings you. The birds whisteling in the morning, the foxes chittering, the sound of tree leaves rustling. Yet that peace comes with quite a heft price. Loneliness. Besides the old lady that lives in a small village near the forrest, you don't get much human interaction. Even though your bakery is quite big and fits lots of people, you don't really have a lot of customers to share it with.

A week ago, you received a business offer from the house of the hearth. Since the bakery near the orphanage closed down, they don't have any establishments providing them things like breakfast treats and pastries. That's why they're employing you. The contract has you preparing and delivering the food to the hearth.

Even though this seemed like quite a lot of work, you accepted. I mean, how could you not? You get to make pasteries for adorable kids, making them smile, AND you get paid? This is a dream come true. After years of sulking alone in the damp forest serving a customer here and there, you get the privilege of a constant source of profit.

After hours of baking, your tired eyes look at the required amount of food stated in the order, and you realize that this is only enough for the kids. How strange that the boss herself did not order anything. Does she eat breakfast somewhere else? Nevertheless, you decide to make something anyway.

After packing up the orders, you start walking towards the orphanage, barely holding on to the several boxes stacked on top of eachother.

As you arrive, you set the boxes down and ring the orphanage's doorbell. An earie ring echoes from inside.

A tall woman opens the door. Her snow white hair with the occasional black streak looks down at you from the doorframe. Her brows furrow slightly at the sight of you, and the boxes.

"Are you alone?" She asks, you're confused, to say the least. "...yes?" You mutter. "How come you've managed to carry all those boxes on your lonesome?" Her sultry voice sounds out as she crosses her arms in amusement, holding back a grin. Before you can answer, you hear who you assume are the kids, walking slowly towards the persumed dining room.

"I'll help you with these," Arlecchino says curtly as she picks up a few boxes to bring to the kitchen. You pick up the last remaining boxes as you tail behind her.

As you and Arlecchino start unpacking and putting the treats on plates, you can't help but think of how different you expected Arlecchino to be. Clearly, her reputation precedes her. All the while your mind is drifting off to several different subjects, you don't notice the red-crossed eyes staring your way.

After the children finish eating, you stay a while, wanting to hear their opinion on the treats. As you basically survey them, you take the time to get to know some of them. Playing games with them and answering their unending questions.

As you realise you've overstayed your welcome, you say goodbye to the kids and quickly leave the orphanage. On your way back, you reach your hand into your purse, trying to take out your cherry flavored gum. You eventually find it but with it a little pink box brushes your hand. The cookie, you forgot to give it to Arlecchino.

Sat in her office, Arlecchino can't stop thinking about the kind-hearted baker she employed. Just looking at her interacting with the kids made something burn up inside of her. A little warmth that warms her cold, unfeeling heart. She looks out the window, hoping to have some reprieve from this strange feeling. Yet it seems the archons are against her wishes as she sees a certain baker running towards the orphanage. Almost tripping on her way. Even though it is foolish to entertain feelings for such a seemingly simple creature, Arlecchino can't help but grin at another interaction with her. Usually, she doesn't like to play with her food. But this time, she might make you an exception.

You stumble into the building as one of the kids, whom you now know is called Tealus, opens the door for you. With the pink box in hand, you stride through the halls looking for Arlecchino's office. As you ask one of the children, they point to the dark, long hallway without windows. How fitting. Your heels clicking softly as you walk over to her black office double doors. This place seems more like a villain's lair than an orphanage to you now, but you digress.

You knock 5 times in a specific pattern you were used to as a child when you hear a stern "Come in." You pull the golden doorhandle as the office window light starts flooding the hallway. You quickly close the door behind you as you step closer to her desk.

She does not look up from the paperwork on her desk as she multitasks without problem. "Why are you still here, baker." Just because she approves of your bond with the kids does not mean she will treat you differently from other people. "I saw there was nothing for you on the order list, so I made you something." You say proudly. You start rambling as you explain how you forgot to give it to her during breakfast.

She interrupts you as she reaches out her hand. "Can I see it?" You're flustered as you quickly hand her the box. She places it down gently on her desk as she lifts the packaging. Facing Arlecchino is a cookie with a white base, decorated with a black and red spider on top. "How adorable," Arlecchino mutters softly. Your soft 'huh' drives her back to reality as she responds. "I'm not very fond of sweet treats. I prefer savory things." She almost chuckles at the sight of your worried eyes locking with hers. "I can make you something else if you'd like? Hmm, although I can't think of many savory pasteries..." As you start naming some options, you reach for the cookie, trying to throw it away, but Arlecchino's quick reflexes hold your wrist before you can get close. "I thought you didn't like it?" Your confusion radiating off of you. "I never said such a thing. I merely said I prefer savory treats." She softly lets your wrist go as she stores the cookie on a desk extension behind her.

From then on, this has become routine, although some things have changed throughout the weeks. Instead of delivering the food alone, Arlecchino stops by early in the morning to help you carry them. Sometimes, it results in small talk when you haven't finished packing the orders yet.

Usually, she doesn't speak much and lets you do all the talking. You fear she's getting annoyed from your constant ramblings, but unbeknownst to you, she loves it when you talk about your interests and things you love.

This was a bit short, but if you wanna see a specific trope with this situation, you can req anything you wantt!!

Might do a part 2 of this idk yet

[hiraethwa]

one summer day

11 star-crossed. where you celebrate tanabata with your friends

<< 10 epiphany. | >> 12 shoot for the stars.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader word count: 1.4k warnings: just fluff <3 tags: @lemurzsquad @daisy-room @integers @brokenscaredakira -- (inbox me if you want to be added to the tag list)

there are several thoughts that run through your mind as your eyes land on ushijima. one, he kept his promise to you, wearing a simpler yet formal kimono. two, it is utterly, and you mean utterly, unfair how devastatingly good he looks in it, it cannot be healthy for your heart. three, how are you going to survive the night at this rate? and four, you are going to be swarmed by his fans and you only have yourself to blame. 

it is tanabata after all, the star festival that celebrates the ancient legend of orihime and hikoboshi, two star-crossed lovers who could only meet one day every year. almost every girl in high school is bound to attend the biggest tanabata festival in the miyagi area. 

“feeling a little warm?” you manage to find your voice to tease the stoic boy. there is definitely a pink tint to his golden skin, one you credit to the summer heat. 

next to him, semi and tendo jump into the fray as well, taking the rare opportunity to poke fun at their captain outside of volleyball practice, referencing inside jokes that you are not privy to. 

“you both cleaned up well,” you chirp, nodding at their yukatas in acknowledgement. 

“yeah, we didn’t want to leave ushijima-kun all dressed up by himself, and since we were part of the problem, we decided that we should shoulder some of the blame too,” tendo grins at you knowingly. 

you give him a half-lidded look that said wow, you are so funny.

“c’mon, we’re late, i want to go check out some stalls before the fireworks go off.” you make a point to link your arm with semi, marching off with your best friend before anyone could get a word in and ignoring the source of the heat you are feeling on your face. definitely the summer heat.

the night air is warm, ever so slightly cooler than the day, but you could feel the sheen of sweat forming on your skin beneath the thin yukata fabric. it is crowded as expected, with streamers hanging from paper balls of every color, low enough that you run your hand through the soft wisps as you pass by. 

the first stop of the evening is the center of the complex, where several man-made bamboo trees have been erected for festival-goers to write their wishes on a piece of paper and tie it to. you steer semi towards the tables with writing instruments and bands of color paper, tugging at his sleeve impatiently with ushijima and tendo following right behind him.

you grab a piece of paper and a pen, sidling off to one side so that your writing is not visible to your friends as you scrawl your wishes for the year on the thin material. once you are done, you sneak up to your friends stealthily, peeking over their shoulders to read what they have written. 

“oi,” semi exclaims as he discovers you looking at his paper. 

you look away innocently, standing to the side while waiting for them to be done. ushijima joins you, to which your heart stutters a beat to. 

despite having patched things up months ago, things have not gone back to normal. gone were the days where your unrequited love is the absolute truth. now, ushijima’s every action, every look leaves you second-guessing yourself, and your heart feeling like you just ran a marathon. 

you tried, you really did, to act as normal as you can around him without your heart on your sleeve. though you wonder whether you are doing a good job of it. there was no particular reason, but if you had to pick a turning point, it was that time when he got really close to you and you ended up kneeing him in the balls. 

nothing was the same since then, at least for you. 

so now, as he compliments you, your mind goes haywire. “you look beautiful in your yukata.” 

you smooth over the folds, thumbing the gold detailing on the blue fabric, mind blanking out at his words. “thank you.” warmness spreads across your cheeks, causing you to look down and concentrate particularly hard at the little thread poking out the seam, picking at it, hoping he does not see the redness on you. 

“wanna tie it together?” you nod at his question, following him to the bamboo tree. you end up picking a branch that you felt was more auspicious than the others, tying your paper strip to it. 

ushijima decides on the same branch, knotting his paper just above yours. his purple touching your green one, as if it is a representation of his wishes. you shake your head at the thought. you did not dare to even explore that possibility, regardless of how different everything feels. but maybe, just maybe, if you are accepted to the university of tokyo, there is hope there.

“you had to pick the same branch, huh?”

he shrugs, holding out an arm for you. you take it naturally, despite the weird feeling in your stomach as you clutch onto his sleeve. “wanna get some food?” 

you end up getting some yakitori skewers and a tornado potato from a roadside stall, easily demolishing the food in minutes before tugging him to a sweets stall. just as wakatoshi pays the vendor for the matcha mochi, two girls approach you both shyly, asking for a photo with him.

their eyes dart to you, probably wondering who you were and what kind of relationship you have with ushijima, making you shift uncomfortably. you take the hint to leave, spotting a stall selling handicrafts just a few stalls down. 

the expressionless falcon soft toy you picked up reminds you of ushijima. 

“we’ll take it,” ushijima appears next to you, handing over some cash for the toy that you are busy squishing. 

“i was just looking at it…” you trail off, tilting your head to look at him. 

he slant his head in confusion, “but you like it, do you not?” 

but you don’t get a chance to respond before semi and tendo comes flying at you both from behind, almost knocking you over in the process. good, you think. you are afraid of where the road leads into unknown territory. unfamiliarity terrifies you, and for that reason, you want to stay precisely where you are, on the even ground that you know like the back of your hand. 

good because if you went down that road and things end unpleasantly… no, you would much rather love him in silence than to risk losing him. 

“what is it?” semi whispers to you conspiratorially as he glances at ushijima.

you frown at the little falcon. “is it just me, or is ushijima not his usual self?”

“what do you mean? he’s always like this around you.”

semi’s words leave you speechless. sure, you’ve heard a few people point it out to you in the past, but you didn’t think much of it at the time as you were too busy trying to put yourself back together. now, you can’t help but hear the words repeat in your mind. 

you find yourself atop a small hill, sandwiched between ushijima and semi for the fireworks that opens the weekend long celebration of tanabata. just for a few seconds, you allow yourself to admire ushijima’s profile, his head turned towards tendo as he says something to the redhead.

boom. the first of the fireworks goes off, lighting up the night sky in showers of golden and blue. a smile finds its way to your face as you bask in the moment next to the people you care about, on a summer night in your final year of high school. 

you tense as fingers lace through yours, too shocked to even look in ushijima’s direction as your eyes lock onto each and every bright firework that shoots upwards and explodes into colorful reactions that illuminate the dark sky. much like what he is to you, walking into your life, a blinding sun unaware of its own light, bringing life to the darkness in your heart, chasing away the darkness.

despite your thundering heart, your body relaxes, fingers tightening around his larger digits. the thoughts firing through your brain are too many, too fast to process, so you let them wash over you, choosing to focus on the present. it is a gift, you realize, on tanabata, from the stars orihime and hikoboshi themselves. 

you can only hope that unlike the story of the star-crossed lovers, there will be a better ending for yours. 

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[maraschinomerry]

Little Pink Heart

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader, implied Locklyle

Summary: following a fatal Ghost-Touch, Lockwood and reader must figure out how to manage love and life after death

Content: reader's death, ghost!reader, grief, angst, bittersweet, not a happy ending, established relationship

A/N: Please please be aware that this fic has some very heavy content, don't feel obliged to read if you could find it upsetting! That being said, this is as much about exploring the concept of Visitors' sentience that Jonathan Stroud introduced and building on what we saw with Annabel Ward as it is about the angst and the grief. This is dedicated to @bella-rose29 for mentioning the idea of ghost!reader and giving me inspiration (bonus angst: listen to Someone New by Freya Ridings while you read)

Word count: 4.9k (my longest fic yet!)

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea (let me know if you want adding or removing!)

The click of the key echoed through the house as you opened the door. Dusk was falling, the fine mist that had settled tinted a soft blue. As much as you didn't want to go inside, you fancied staying out here less.

“Don't linger, darling,” your boyfriend, Anthony, murmured as he passed over the threshold. His hand slipped into yours and he led you in. The house was cold and dim in the fading light, and from the fine layer of dust and lack of personal effects it was clear that it hadn't been inhabited for some time. It was a shame that the owner, who had seemed like a nice enough young woman, had had to move out of her family home, but you couldn't help but be grateful. You and Anthony had only just got your licences, and with no links to any agencies nor desires to join them you'd decided to try and set up your own. That took time, though, and money, and though Anthony had a little equity in his house you'd agreed to take a couple of small, private cases to make up as much as you could. That was how you found yourself here, ready to earn a reasonable sum in exchange for eliminating a lone Type Two. A few jobs like this would help set you up nicely.

The kitchen was slightly warmer than the rest of the house, the west-facing windows having allowed in the last of the sun before it dipped behind the trees in the distance. Together you set up your kit bags on the table - you didn't have much: a few handmade salt bombs, filings and chains, a few flares only in case of emergency (they'd cost far too much to waste) and of course your rapiers. Lockwood pulled something extra from his bag, a small plastic-wrapped packet. Bourbon biscuits.

“You're the best,” you smiled as he opened the packet and offered one to you, which you bit into quickly.

“I know,” he grinned back, brushing a stray crumb from your lip. You blushed.

The owner of the house had provided a floor plan, but her account of the Visitor had been so inconsistent and vague that it was difficult to pinpoint a possible location for the Source. Anthony spread the roll of paper across the table, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, peering over his shoulder at the diagram. There were two floors and a basement, but the latter had been gutted a month ago ready for renovation so there was nothing in there at present.

“Let's start upstairs and work our way back down,” Anthony suggested. “More likely to find something in one of the bedrooms.”

“True, but it's a lot of wasted time if we don't. Why don't we split up and take a floor each?”

His expression soured, and he moved closer, taking your hand again and rubbing small anxious circles above your thumb. “That's smart, but I hate the idea of leaving you on your own.” Even when he didn't agree with your ideas, he always found a way to compliment them. Just one of the things that made you love him all the more.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It won't be for long, and I'll call for you the moment I find anything suspicious.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You leant forward and placed your lips delicately on his. He held you close, your hands on his chest, one of his on your waist and the other fidgeting with your necklace. It was one he'd bought for you, a small pink gemstone in a heart shape on a simple silver chain. His promise to always love and protect you. Not a day had gone by since that you didn't wear it. He nodded at last; he knew he would, he'd do anything you asked of him in a heartbeat. It still worried him not to be by your side, but he trusted that you were a good agent who could handle yourself and that you meant it when you said you'd call for him. His only condition was that if the Source was more likely to be upstairs, that would be where he'd look.

So it was that you found yourself, torch in one hand and the other on your rapier, exploring the ground floor. The silence was oppressive, seeping the confidence from you with every step. Not a ticking clock, not the creaking of the old building settling, not even the residual hum of electricity or plumbing, just the occasional thud from your boyfriend upstairs. Working quickly, you ruled out the dining room and bathroom. That left the lounge. The air smelled musty, and a shiver ran through you as you entered. That was never a good sign. You pulled out your thermometer and watched the temperature drop the further in you went.

“Anthony?” Your voice felt deafening against the quiet of the room, but you knew it hadn't been anywhere near loud enough to travel upstairs. No, this was silly, you could handle this. There were no signs of a spirit yet, for all you knew the change in temperature could be from the wind blowing down the chimney into the empty fireplace. You flicked the torch off, using your now free hand to hold your necklace, grounding yourself as you tuned in and listened. There was nothing at first. You wondered whether Anthony was having more luck upstairs; so far down here had been thoroughly useless. Maybe you should go and check on him. But then you heard it. A tragic, gut-wrenching wail, getting closer.

“Anthony?” you called again, louder this time but as steady as you could. There was movement above. He'd heard. So had the spirit, the wailing definitely nearby now. You pulled out your rapier.

The temperature plummeted.

A screech, so close you would have felt the breath on your neck had it come from a living being, made you whirl round. Your rapier clattered to the floor. Shit. Stay calm.

“Anthony!” you yelled, not caring how scared you sounded. His footsteps rattled down the stairs. He was so close.

You lunged towards your rapier.

The Visitor lunged towards you.

Lockwood was in the back bedroom when he heard his name. All his senses were immediately on high alert - you were the only person he allowed to call him Anthony, so he always reacted differently to his first name anyway, and under the circumstances hearing it immediately made him fear the worst.

“Y/n?” He crept out onto the landing, slowly pulling out his rapier and listening intently for any more noise. It was moments like these he was grateful not to be a Listener, he could focus on you and not the sounds of the house's history. He was only two steps onto the staircase when his name came again, louder and more panicked. Without a second thought he ran down the stairs, only holding back enough to make sure he didn't fall. His blood ran cold when he heard you scream.

You tried to both duck and spin as your hand came into contact with the hilt of your rapier. The blade sliced upwards, connecting with the Visitor, but it was too late. Its clawing grey hand clutched onto your shoulder moments before it disappeared. You screamed as tendrils of ice shot through you, radiating outwards from the spot. Through the fog of pain that had suddenly engulfed your brain you heard Anthony, close by now, yelling your name. You had to go to him. He'd know what to do. Everything would be okay.

You took one step, then another. Your torso was going numb, your entire arm having already fallen victim to the plasm which was turning your shoulder a violent shade of blue. One more step, and your legs gave out. You just about made out the silhouette of your boyfriend in the doorway, rushing towards you as you slumped to the ground.

“No, no, no, y/n!” Anthony's face swam into view, trying to mask his utter horror for your sake. “It's going to be okay, darling, I'll go and get help.”

The fingers of your good hand twitched towards his and he took it immediately, despite how cold it was. You struggled to focus on him through your tears, and noticed the same in his eyes. “Ant-” Your voice was failing fast.

“Shh, I've got you.” He cradled your head, his own tears mingling with yours on your cheek, but you could barely feel them. Almost everything was numb. The blue had spread across your chest, and the little pink heart stood out starkly against it. “I'm so sorry, my darling,” Lockwood said softly. He choked back a sob as he leant down, placing a kiss into your hair. You wanted to do the same, to speak to him, to do anything.

His face was the last thing you saw before everything went black.

—

You had no idea how much time had passed when your vision returned, a room slowly materialising in front of your eyes. It was a bedroom, filled with knick-knacks and bathed in a warm golden light. It looked familiar, but you hadn't been here when it went dark, you'd been… somewhere else. It was so hard to remember, but you knew there had been a dark, dusty room and a feeling of agonising cold. And a person. There'd been someone there, someone you needed to say something to. Now here you were, everything feeling so normal yet so bizarre; you were still you, still able to move and see and hear, but there was a disconnect between those sensations and reality. Nothing felt real. You looked around again, desperate for answers.

There.

Perched on the edge of the bed was a boy. His crisp white shirt was a stark contrast to his dishevelled dark hair, doleful brown eyes and the deep eyebags beneath. He looked exhausted, like he'd barely slept or eaten. There was something in his hand, balanced carefully on the tips of his fingers: a necklace, with a little pink heart. A spark of recognition bloomed in the back of your mind. That was your necklace. It was important. He had no right to be holding it. You drifted forward. The boy looked so familiar. Oh. The icy feeling rippled through your chest again, and you remembered. He'd been there when that feeling had taken over your body until you couldn't feel anything else. Rage boiled in your veins, and a snarl crept onto your face. But then, as quickly as it started, the anger subsided. He'd not caused it. He'd held you so gently, cried as everything faded. You knew him. You opened your mouth, finally ready to speak.

Lockwood stared at the tiny gemstone in his hand, unsure whether he wanted anything to happen this time. He'd secretly slipped it from you before DEPRAC had arrived, and spent the past few weeks periodically taking it out of the little silver-glass box in his bedside table. Part of him desperately wanted you to come back, to let him see you once more, but the other part knew it would hurt so much. What if you didn't recognise him and turned violent like so many Visitors? What if you didn't because you didn't recognise anything, just hung there as a shadow of your former self? What if you did, and he had to live with putting you back in the case and removing you from his life all over again?

The decision was made for him when a soft golden glow appeared in the corner of his bedroom. There you were. Tears welled in his eyes as the image of you sent him spiralling back to that day: your edges were a little fuzzy but everything else was the same, from your outfit to the scared look in your eye to the dark patch spreading from your shoulder. You looked at him now and he was relieved to watch you processing your surroundings. The person he knew was still in there, you weren't just a hollow shell. Suddenly you snarled and he flinched, fingers twitching towards the silver-glass case.

You moved closer.

You stopped.

Your face fell.

He watched the glimmer of recognition in your eyes, and the tears he'd been holding back spilled out along with all the things he'd wanted to say for months.

“Oh my darling, I'm so sorry. I should never have let this happen, I should have been there for you, and-”

He paused. You were mouthing something. Over and over. Your death loop, he presumed. God, just putting death in the same sentence as you stung.

“I'd give anything to be able to hear you right now,” he said, voice wavering. You stopped, giving him a sad look. The realisation that at the very least you could understand him, even if you couldn't communicate fully, hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Lockwood!” a boy's voice called from outside. You both looked at the door and your anger flared again. The boy on the bed shook his head.

“He's a friend,” he told you reassuringly, before calling back, “One minute, George!” You waited in the corner, puzzled. The boy, Lockwood (you knew that name, didn't you?), gave you an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, y/n, I've got to go. I'll explain soon, I promise.” He dropped the necklace into its little case and clicked it shut, and you watched the world dissolve.

—

You still weren't sure how much time had passed when you found yourself back in that bedroom, but it didn't feel like very long. The last rays of the sunset poked through the gaps around the drawn curtains, the room lit instead by a lamp on the bedside table. The boy, Lockwood, was sitting on the bed again holding your necklace, but this time he looked at you almost immediately. His hair was a little neater, his eyebags more pronounced.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “Sorry if I disturbed you, I don't… really know how this works.”

You knew he couldn't hear you, but you gave your message again anyway.

“Maybe I should see if George knows how to lip-read,” he chuckled wryly. The sound reminded you of home, wherever that was. Things were still hazy, but part of you had a feeling this was it. Here, with this boy. “Which reminds me,” he continued, “I did promise to tell you about him.”

You settled into the space in the corner, allowing Lockwood's low, gentle voice to wash over you. It was incredibly calming. George was his new housemate, he told you, who'd been living here for about a month. It was all very confusing - it had felt like both minutes and years had passed since you were last here and the same before that, but he explained that the other boy had moved into the house in mid-September, and the last time you'd been here was a week ago in late October. Where was all the time going?

“I have no idea whether you experience time when your Source is contained, whether you're aware of what's going on in between or remember things from last time,” he admitted. Source. You knew about those. They were what you'd been looking for that night in that dark old house. A spirit had been tied to it, and you had to seal the Source to get rid of it. But you'd failed and it had found you, and now… your chest tightened at both the memory and the realisation. Nothing felt real because you weren't. You were just a Visitor. You continued to listen numbly as Lockwood kept talking. Not much wonder he'd recoiled when you first appeared, he'd seen what the touch of a ghost had done to you and without knowing you'd almost inflicted the same fate. You vowed in that moment that no matter what, you'd never let that happen.

The next few months saw Lockwood getting you out every chance he got. Bit by bit, he helped restore your memories and did his best to accommodate you even though the two of you couldn't properly communicate. He set up a little daily tear-off calendar on his dresser so you could keep track of how long it had been between visits, and stored his kit bag in the bottom of his wardrobe so you could move more freely around the room. Eventually, you'd come to remember him more. Not just the events from the night you died, but him. Your boyfriend, Anthony. You wanted nothing more than to be close to him, to be a comforting presence, but you knew you couldn't. Not only because you couldn't touch, but because deep down you knew that as much as you treasured being able to keep him in your life (or rather, afterlife), you had to let him go sooner or later and he needed to do the same with you. He'd been followed around by grief since long before you met him, and you hated that you were adding to it. You were just glad to see him slowly improving week by week - his face was a little brighter, and it seemed George was making sure he stayed fed. You'd have to thank the other boy if you ever got chance. Anthony said the two of you would have got along if you'd met in life, and even now George's obsession with the Problem would have made him your biggest fan, but their friendship was too new and besides he wasn't a Listener either so you'd not be able to tell him anything.

“I've got something to show you,” Anthony announced as you materialised one sunny day in late spring. He sat down with a large pink folder and patted the space next to him on the bed. You tilted your head in confusion.

“Come on,” he sighed fondly, “you never had any sense of personal space before, don't start now. Just no hugging.”

You glowed a little brighter and drifted over, your legs disappearing into the mattress until your torso was level with his. Being careful where he positioned his arms, he angled the folder towards you. It was a photo album, labelled in handwriting you recognised as your own. Page by page, he took you through your memories, giving you time to linger on each one: you as a baby, then a toothy toddler with your first pet; your family and childhood friends; Polaroids of your first team in training to become agents. His hands trembled a little as he reached the next section. On the left were four photos: the team you'd transferred to, the one he'd been training with; a slightly blurry action shot of the two of you sparring for the first time; a goofy photo he'd taken of you cartwheeling down a grassy hill after a case; your team all proudly holding their Grade Four licences. On the other side, surrounded by two styles of hand-drawn hearts, was the two of you hugging on the steps of 35 Portland Row, Anthony's lips pressed in a smile against the top of your head. You remembered that sensation well, a frequent occurrence right up until the moment you died. The rest of the album was full of photos of the two of you, ones taken by others and candids you'd snapped of each other. You felt a pang of regret that you'd never get to take any more.

Anthony turned another page. Hold on. You knew for certain there were no more photos. You looked sideways at your boyfriend, and he gave you a bashful smile. Pasted across a double spread was a copy of a certificate from DEPRAC, confirming A.J. Lockwood & Co Investigators as a registered agency. Inspector Barnes, who you vaguely recalled meeting once or twice, had signed as the licensing authority. Anthony and George had put their names down as the founding members. But then underneath that, in Anthony's familiar hand, he had added an extra section. Honorary Member: y/n y/l/n.

He looked at you so lovingly. “We did it, darling.”

You would have reached for his hand if you could.

—

Weeks began to pass before Lockwood got you to visit again. He'd have spent every day with you, but business was good and he owed it to you to make a proper go of it. In the meantime, George talked incessantly about Visitors which gave Lockwood a chance to think about you. Each time he finally got to see you again he'd apologise profusely, and you'd repeat your death loop back to him. He tried so hard to figure out what you were saying - his Sight was good, you were as clear as day and he knew your every quirk and mannerism, but he just couldn't put the movements of your lips to the right sounds.

Everything changed the day he met Lucy Carlyle. From the moment she set foot in his living room, he felt like he was supposed to have met her. The feeling only grew when he gave her the interview tests - plenty of people had passed through, some with better Talents than others, but none had come even close to the Listening abilities of the girl before him. When she spoke of the gentleness she found in his uncle's pen-knife, he knew he had to hire her.

Lucy managed to defy even his high expectations on the Annabel Ward case. He kept his focus on the young woman's spirit hovering at the end of the corridor, rapier levelled in case the details of her aggressive nature were true, but he couldn't help but think of the first day he brought you back and how quickly you'd retreated and shown a level of sentience he'd never expected from a Visitor. Was this poor woman the same? Lucy's eyes were closed, listening intently.

“She's in pain,” she said softly.

“Of course she is, she's dead.”

“No, something's different.”

He was intrigued instantly. “What's different?”

She shushed him. “I can almost…”

Annabel launched forward, sending Lucy crashing through the wooden railing in her attempt to dodge the grasping hand. Déjà vu overwhelmed Lockwood, your pained eyes flashing across his mind as he staggered backwards.

No.

He'd already lived through this once and regretted the outcome every day since. Now was his chance to redeem himself. He sprang towards the ghost, fending her off with his rapier, pulling Lucy from her desperate grip on the picture frame as soon as the coast was clear.

“Did it touch you?” he asked in a panic as she clung to him.

“Course not, I'd be dead.” Didn't he know it. The more she explained how she'd connected with the spirit, the more sure he became. Later, when they experimented with Annabel's necklace and he listened to Lucy describe the scene in such detail, he knew for certain.

“He loves me. You love me, don't you?” Her hand stroked delicately across his cheek, and he fought the urge to lean into the touch. For that brief moment, he could pretend it was you, still with him, saying those words. Perhaps with Lucy's help, it could be.

—

It had been a while. The trees outside Anthony's window were tinted a beautiful copper. You couldn't wait to hear his updates this time.

“There's a sadness, but so much love too. She feels very kind.” That wasn't Anthony's voice. Something was wrong. There was a girl sitting beside him on the bed, holding a little pink heart on a chain. Your necklace. You grew defensive, preparing to strike.

The boy looked up and saw you glaring. “It's okay, darling.” The girl followed his gaze. “Lucy, this is y/n, my late girlfriend. Y/n, this is our new associate, Lucy. She's a Listener.” Ah. Finally. You settled back down and took in the girl properly. She was pretty, with a warm brunette bob and a blue jumper which made her eyes pop. She smiled up at you, a genuine friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you,” she said sweetly. Anthony gave her an encouraging nod. You noticed that he seemed a little nervous, but there was also a calmness to him that had been missing for the past year. If that was Lucy's influence, then she was alright in your eyes.

Anthony spoke to you again. “She's brilliant, connected with a Visitor on our last case and I thought maybe she could finally help us figure out what you've been trying to say.” You nodded in agreement, and the girl closed her hand around the necklace.

You weren't sure whether you were in Lucy's head or whether she was in yours. The two of you blended into one as she ventured into your memories. Anthony's room melted away around you, sending you back to that cold dark room. You bristled.

“It's a bit different having her in the room with us,” Lucy murmured, eyes closed. “Let me know if either of you need me to stop.”

Anthony glanced at you, flickering slightly but still present and unagitated. “We're okay, go on.”

Meticulously, she described what you were both experiencing, or in your case reliving. It was hard knowing you were getting closer to the agony all over again, but it was important for your boyfriend to finally have a chance for answers and closure, so you kept the inevitable moving along.

“Anthony?” Lucy said softly, the same way you had. By the look on his face, it seemed he was realising now what you had at the time - that you'd tried to call him and hadn't been loud enough, that if only you'd tried again straight away, maybe you'd still be alive. “Anthony?” she called again. “Anthony!” You heard your own scream echo in your mind, felt the cold grasping your shoulder. The boy reached out and gripped Lucy's free hand, never taking his eyes off you. The gesture was supportive for her, but meant for you too. A tear rolled down his cheek. Lucy's breathing was shallow.

“It hurts,” she gasped, “and she's scared.”

“I should have been there quicker.” His voice was shaking with emotion, barely able to get the words out.

“No, there's no anger. She knew you were coming, and having you there through the end was a comfort.”

Anthony swallowed thickly. “Her death loop. Can you hear it?”

She opened her eyes and watched you as you spoke, the words spilling from her lips a second after.

“It's okay. It's not your fault.”

The boy broke down, his sobs rattling through the small room. Lucy held out her arms and he folded into them. She threw you an apologetic glance, and you said it again to her. “It's okay. It's not your fault.”

They were still hugging when, with his and your permission, Lucy gently slipped your necklace back into its case.

—

Now that the secret was out, you really did become an honorary member of the agency. Sure, you couldn't exactly contribute to the cases, but other than that the whole team treated you as one of their own. Anthony always waited for your opinion on big decisions, which you could make quite apparent with how happy or angry your energy was. George was absolutely fascinated by you, and took every opportunity to quiz the others on your awareness of various things and how you reacted to his experiments. Lucy often got you out on her own to have another girl to talk to. In return, of course, she'd fill you in on any gossip they came across or funny things that happened on cases that the boys were too embarrassed to tell you about. Through it all, you watched the three of them grow into a little family. Anthony and Lucy especially had clicked with each other; they reminded you of how you and he had been. That realisation filled you with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You loved Anthony so much, all you wanted was for him to be happy, but you'd be lying if you didn't wish it was you putting the light back in his eyes.

He sat you down shortly after New Year. His face was sombre but hopeful, and he fidgeted with his ring. Part of you could already tell what was coming.

“I don't really know how to say this,” he began hesitantly, “but after everything we've been through, you deserve to hear it.” You waited patiently for him to find the words he needed. Really, you had all the time in the world.

After a few moments, he spoke again. “I promised to always love you, and I will still keep that promise until the day I die…” But. There had to be a but. “...but I really care about Lucy too, and I just-” He didn't need to finish the sentence. And technically he was single. And he stood a chance of having a life with her. And she wasn't going to keep him tied to his past and his grief.

“It's okay.” Now he knew what your death loop was, he could tell what you'd said, and the way you'd limited it to just those words was a reminder of how remarkably well you understood everything that was happening. How you were as close to being a person as you could be, how it wasn't close enough.

“Promise?”

You touched the hollow of your neck, where the outline of a little sparkling heart sat against the darkness.

He nodded in understanding and reached for the silver-glass case. “Thank you, darling.”

“It's okay.”

It's not your fault.

[twstbookclub]

Inked Blossoms

Summary: Jamil didn't think much of you when he received a flower basket. You were his new neighbor running a flower shop—nothing more, nothing less. So, why can't he stop coming by after visiting you once? POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Tattoo Artist x Florist AU, Tattoo Artist!Jamil, Florist!Reader, Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Mentions of Blood and Self-harm, Use of Flower Language, Jamil's POV Word Count: 4, 025 Main Reference for Flower Meanings: Boeckmann, C. (2023, November 17). What does each flower symbolize? The Old Farmer's Almanac.

And I thought the Riddle fic I wrote is my longest one 💀 I actually had this plot in mind in the same month as I thought of the Riddle fic, which was back in April of last year. I only put in one link here, but I fact-checked every flower I used in this fic with other sources. Admittedly, when I wrote this, I received some heartbreaking news that morning and I cried my eyes out. I may or may not have projected those feelings into this and incorporated my previous experiences here. To all the Jamil stans, I'm so sorry that my first fic of this guy is long and angsty. I hope you all enjoy, though 💕

Jamil stared at the flowers on his parlor’s doorstep. Pink peonies and coral roses filled the twine basket, along with a purple flower that he didn’t know the name of. The arrangement emphasized the purple flowers, while there were a few peonies mixed in with the roses. What piqued Jamil’s curiosity were the leaves that lined the edges of the basket. He squinted, subconsciously leaning down to peer at the blooms at his feet.

“... Is that basil?” He mumbled, confused about the inclusion of a familiar herb. It was something he often used in his cooking, particularly when he was roommates with Kalim back in high school. That boy’s palate was too refined for anything bland and ready-made, so Jamil always had to cook with spices and herbs. It came to the point that the smell stuck to his clothes, even after a thorough wash in the laundry. Not just his clothes—even his hair. He already had a meticulous process with his hair care and bejeweled braids, so it was a nuisance.

He shook his head, before he took the flower basket in his hands. The blooms jostled a little, and a gentle hand pushed a peony back in place. Something nagged at Jamil to look to the left, for some reason. When he turned his head, the sign of the shop next door caught his attention.

“A flower shop, huh.” That was new. Jamil vaguely remembered this lot being sold recently, but he never thought it’d be turned into a store like that. It used to be an antique store owned by an elderly woman. She minded her own business, despite the weird and judgmental looks he received for the henna tattoos that decorated Jamil’s tan hands and arms.

Jamil’s eyes darted from the cursive letters of the sign to the flowers and plants displayed behind the glass walls. The name of the shop was painted on one of the walls in gold—above some of the artful arrangements of red roses, white carnations, and calla lilies. There was a shift of color behind them, and he narrowed his eyes again for a better look.

Someone was tending to the flowers. He could vaguely make out the color of their hair and the verdant apron over a white polo shirt. With the large bouquets in the way, Jamil couldn’t see a face. Sighing and shaking his head, he walked into his tattoo parlor with the flower basket in his arms.

If all his time in the city taught him anything, it was that nothing in this world was free.

Still, Jamil couldn’t help but wonder what the purple flowers were. They reminded him of tulips, but the petals were thinner and pointed at the tips. The stamen was visible, too. It was a stark contrast to the blooming tulips he knew: blunt-tipped and oval petals without the stamen being visible. He made a mental note to search about them once he went home.

Jamil found out that the purple blooms were called crocuses, and he wound up finding a website detailing the meanings of every flower imaginable. The flowers replaced the lamp that used to be on the table next to his bed. Every morning, he’d wake up to the colorful arrangement in a vase with his mind stuck on the meaning of each flower.

Maybe he should see what the florist was like. If they were like the antique shop owner from before, then Jamil would just remain polite and ignore them whenever he could.

On a slow and quiet day in the parlor, Jamil flipped the sign and locked the door. He shoved the key in his pocket, while his eyes drifted to the flower displays and bouquets through the glass walls. A blur of white and green moved behind them, but he still couldn’t put a face to the florist.

Jamil would have to see if he was curious enough to put a name to that face, too.

A chime echoed in the store once he stepped inside, and an onslaught of fragrance hit him. He noted that it wasn’t as powerful as the smell of spices, ones that he can taste from the scent alone. Still, it was strong enough to leave him a little lightheaded.

“Ah, welcome!” A voice rang through the back, behind an open door that led to what Jamil assumed was a small greenhouse. Sacks of fertilizer and clay pots filled with flowers peeked out of the metal shelves. The sight was obscured by a green apron, stitched with the same cursive letters of the store sign.

Charcoal gray eyes met lively, cheerful ones. The gloved hands that gripped the door frame were smeared with soil, maybe even fertilizer. Dirt smudged your cheek, but his gaze drifted to your lips. Your smile—too bright to be natural—was difficult to look away from. Something churned in his chest the longer he looked at it.

“Oh,” you mumbled, which made Jamil look back into your eyes again, “you’re my next-door neighbor. Hi! I hope you like the flowers. I’m, uh…”

A sheepish chuckle left your lips, making Jamil’s heart lurch. He resisted the urge to scowl at the feeling. He just met you, and he’d rather not make a bad impression. The tattoo artist came to your store to meet you like a proper neighbor, not to antagonize you.

“I came by to say hi, and you weren’t there. I had to get the shop ready and all, so I decided to leave the basket and hope that it stays there—” You sighed, took off one of your gloves, and ran a hand through your hair— “and I’m rambling. Sorry about that.”

Jamil watched you, anxious and fidgety, and he suppressed a smile. There was something amusing about how you acted like a mouse: squeaking and retreating at any sign of danger. Although, he highly doubted that you saw him as a threat.

You were just… shy. You talked a lot, but you were shy.

“It’s fine,” Jamil raised a hand and smiled, practiced and polite, “and I appreciate the flowers. Thank you. It’s a beautiful arrangement—you have a way with bringing out their natural beauty.”

He probably laid it on too thick. It was a habit at this point: butter up people to ease them, to let their guard down. Jamil merely planned to meet this florist to satisfy his curiosity. He never considered the option of befriending this person, much less engaging in a long conversation with you.

Your face lit up, as if something dawned on you in that moment. Chuckling, you stretched out the hand without the glove and gave him your name. It was followed with a cheerful, “It’s nice to meet you! I hope we can get along, um…”

“Jamil,” he shook your hand with that same, practiced smile, “Jamil Viper. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He noticed your eyes dart towards his hand and arm, inked with the traditional motifs and patterns of his homeland. Under the sunlight that streamed through the glass, your eyes seemed to sparkle. Your mouth parted in a silent, “Oh.”

“That’s so pretty,” you blurted out and continued to stare at the henna tattoos. Jamil simply watched you with wide eyes, but the surprise disappeared in that same instant. Your voice, loud and happy, filled the silence of the room.

“The amount of detail here is amazing, and—Oh, there’s even more tiny patterns inside another pattern. That’s so cool!”

Even though this much praise usually annoyed Jamil (it reminded him too much of Kalim), he found himself flustered. A faint warmth spread across his cheeks as he watched you marvel at the tattoos. You raised a hand, probably to trace the design with a finger, when you paused.

Your smile was frozen on your face, as if you caught yourself doing something embarrassing. Your own cheeks flushed in shame, before you pulled away with a nervous giggle. Jamil almost laughed at how ridiculous you looked at the moment.

He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that called you cute.

It was supposed to be a one-time encounter. Jamil only visited your flower shop to see the person who opened a new business next to his tattoo parlor. He wanted to see whether this new neighbor of his was going to be tolerable or otherwise. One meeting was enough to deem you tolerable; someone that Jamil could politely wave to if you two happened to pass by each other.

So, why was he looking at a bouquet of irises and white jasmines right now? Why was he standing in your store on a Sunday morning?

“You’ve been coming a lot here lately.” Your voice rang from the back, much like how Jamil first met you. He looked over his shoulder to see you admiring the other flowers with a small smile.

“I don’t mind, really, and it’s nice to have you here. I just didn’t expect you to come here almost every day,” you clarified with a chuckle as you approached him. The telltale flush of your cheeks already told Jamil about how embarrassed you were to confess that. He watched you caress one of the petals of a hydrangea with a gentle look.

For a weekend, it was surprisingly quiet here. People flocked to your store during its first week, and Jamil observed all this in the comfort of his parlor. The window provided a clear view of what was going on, so he didn’t need to go outside. You became frazzled in a matter of moments—running around and arranging the flowers yourself—and that amused Jamil. Just a bit.

Still, you smiled throughout that hectic week.

Me neither, Jamil wanted to say. Instead, he answered, “It’s another slow day in my shop, so I decided to visit. I suppose it’s become a habit whenever I have nothing else to do.”

You chuckled, and Jamil pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat. He ignored the twitch of his lips, curling into a small smile. Oblivious to the look the tattoo artist gave you, you continued to admire the flowers.

“That’s fine with me. Besides, I like your company.”

Your shameless honesty was going to be the death of Jamil. The tips of his ears grew warm, and he tugged his hood over them. He already concluded that you were a thoughtful and considerate person after spending some time with you. You prepared tea and cookies, ones you yourself baked, every time he visited. Careful hands arranged the flowers by meaning and color, which already said enough about you. Being a florist sounded just right for someone like you.

Jamil briefly wondered what flowers you’d give him if you wanted to give him a bouquet.

He cleared his throat, mimicking a cough, before he shifted his attention to the irises and jasmines again. Ever since he searched the meanings of the flowers in that basket, he couldn’t help but be curious.

“Can you tell me what these mean in flower language?” He asked, glancing at you from behind his hood. Whether you found this action odd or not, you didn’t comment on it.

With a curious hum, you leaned over to look at what Jamil referred to and smiled wider. You replied, “Ah, irises can mean wisdom, faith, trust, valor, and hope. As for white jasmines…”

You raised an eyebrow at Jamil with a mischievous grin. He didn’t dare entertain the thought that you were being adorable from the action alone. He didn’t dare hope that the gesture actually meant something.

“They can mean sweet love, and the person who receives them is seen as friendly and pleasant.” You paused, before you suddenly left Jamil’s side and reached for the adjacent wall of flowers. Before Jamil could say anything, you already extended a white bloom under his nose.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, he stared at the flower in your hand. It somewhat resembled a rose in full bloom, but the petals were shaped differently. Another amused laugh echoed in the room. You took his hand, inked with intricate patterns that crawled his skin like vines, and placed the flower in it.

Jamil realized that it was a gardenia. This species of flora grew in some part of the botanical garden of his high school. He was only familiar with it because he used to pass by the area to relax, preferably alone.

“I think this suits you, though.” You hummed and returned to the counter with a spin of your heel. Jamil watched you wordlessly as you disappeared into the greenhouse. From where he stood, the tattoo artist saw pink and white camellias peeking through one of the shelves. He nearly jumped when your head popped out of the door frame.

“Oh, and can you help me carry some of these pots around? They’re pretty heavy, thanks!”

It was only until Jamil got home that he searched for the meaning of the gardenia. The bright laptop screen glared at him as he entered the keywords in the search bar. He clicked on the first result and—

Jamil stared at the words with darkening cheeks. His mouth became dry, and his tongue was tied into knots. His hand slammed the monitor shut, before he abruptly stood up and left for the kitchen. He needed some water. He needed to not think too much into things. You were going to be the death of him, Jamil swore to that.

Still, the words were already seared into his memory: you’re lovely.

Jamil found himself visiting you whenever he could. You always asked for his help whenever heavy labor was involved. If it was anyone else, he would’ve felt annoyed. With you, it was just an excuse for Jamil to stay longer.

Fleeting touches, subtle glances, and shy smiles—it was like your own language. Not a single word was exchanged, yet it felt like you said more than Jamil could comprehend. He didn’t miss the moments when your hands lingered too long over his. He would be a fool not to notice that a cookie jar and a box of teabags sat on the counter each time he visited.

For the past year, you’d give him a single flower every day without fail. One time, after the usual tea, it was a morning glory. Another time, when you were particularly homesick and Jamil stayed to chat, you gave him a hydrangea. When he visited your house and took care of you when you became sick, you gave him a yellow lily the next day. He always brought them home, but it came to the point that a mishmash of flowers in a vase brought color and life to his workspace. It sat under the window, where it bathed under a patch of sunlight. He even considered buying another vase due to the sheer amount.

You gave him all kinds of flowers, but he’d never forget the first gardenia he received from you.

“That looks out of place,” one customer pointed out while Jamil prepared the needle. He already knew what he was talking about, but the tattoo artist still followed his line of sight. A soft smile stretched from one ear to the other, and he didn’t bother hiding it.

Without looking away from the flowers, he answered, “They’re gifts from a friend. It’s the only place I can think of where they can be cared for.”

He ignored the sly, knowing grin on the customer’s face. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Jamil gestured towards the chair and continued to prepare everything he needed for this job.

One sunny day, your storefront was crowded more than usual. Jamil paid no mind to the crowd as he pulled his hood over his head. Inked hands grabbed a bundle of flowers, tied with twine, from the table. They were placed far from the vases that decorated the parlor; just to avoid confusion. His eyes fell on the gardenia he drew on the back of his hand. Jamil added that some time ago, maybe around the past month. Still, it made him smile.

Jamil locked the door, then he instinctively looked at the flower shop. His heart stuttered at the sight of the flowers amongst the crowd. The vibrant and lively blossoms were like a splash of color against the dull tones of the city. What used to be gray pavement and monochrome buildings seemed to come to life with just a few flowers.

He blinked his surprise away, before he gripped the bouquet in his hands. The thrum of his heart and the sweat on his palms weren’t something foreign to Jamil. He always felt like this at the thought of you, even Kalim noticed the change in his friend when he visited once. Your smile flashed in his mind, and his own lips curled into a small one. His feet led him to where he knew you were.

Past the flower shop; past the crowd that lingered at the storefront; past the fresh flowers that gathered against the glass walls. Jamil’s feet grew heavier with each step, as if lead hit the concrete and left faint cracks behind. He stepped through the iron-wrought gates with a soft exhale. His grip on the flowers tightened. He considered going back to the tattoo parlor.

In the end, he thought he’d regret it if he backed out now. Blades of grass grazed his sneakers as he walked through rows of stones. Names were etched into each one, a reminder of who they were to the loved ones left behind. Charcoal gray eyes looked straight ahead. He didn’t bother looking at any of them.

It had been a year since that day, but he still remembered where you were.

Grass crunched under his feet as he stopped in front of an unassuming headstone. Engraved in the stone was your name—funny how he never knew your surname until the funeral. You never told him when you introduced yourself, and he didn’t pry. He even imagined you with his surname at some point, but…

Jamil swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched on one knee and laid the bundle of flowers on your grave. The tattoo artist made the effort of arranging the colorful blooms in a way that you would. At least, how he remembered that you would.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, and he stared at your gravestone with that same lump in his throat. A sigh rang in the empty cemetery. A cool breeze carried the hustle and bustle of the city. The laugh that used to plague Jamil’s everyday life here was missing. It was gone for months now, but he could still hear it clearly in his head.

“Hey,” Jamil mumbled, clenching his hands into fists, “it’s been a while. I’m sorry I only visited today. It… took me some time to come to terms with what happened. Regardless, you deserved an earlier visit.”

No answer, Of course, there was no answer. You’ve been dead for quite some time now. That was an understatement, considering that a year has already passed.

Jamil’s stomach churned, and an insufferable heat filled his chest. His eyes stung. His nails pierced into the skin of his palms. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger, and he found it hard to breathe. Memories of your smile, your laugh, and the time he spent with you and your flowers overlapped in his mind.

He dug his heels into the dirt as he gritted his teeth. The sting behind his eyes grew worse. It was hard to breathe, and he found it harder to speak. He somehow forced the words out with a broken heart, pieces scattered along the ashes of what was left of you.

“You idiot,” Jamil choked out as his vision blurred with tears, “you could’ve called me to help you. How was I supposed to know you were still sick? How was I supposed to know you needed to carry that ridiculously huge flower display across the street? How was I supposed to know that car would lose control and—”

Jamil looked up to the sky with a clenched jaw, teeth clacking and shaking his skull from the force. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curse whatever deity existed in this world. He wanted to forget how you looked, pale and bleeding on the street, that day. He wanted to erase that memory of you until his heart bled out and his voice croaked its last scream.

“—they haven’t found the driver. Everyone who knew you petitioned to keep the shop in your memory. Someone else took over, too. You don’t have to worry about your flowers anymore.”

Since that day, whenever Jamil looked at the ink that adorned his hands and arms, all he remembered was your loud voice and bright smile. Your praise and astonishment echoed in his head like a broken record player. He couldn’t count the amount of times he tried to scrub them clean from his skin. If that didn’t work, he scratched at them until he bled and the patterns were hidden under that shade of red.

In hindsight, Jamil thought that was idiotic of him. Love turned anyone into idiots, anyway.

Sighing, Jamil forced the tears back and looked down at your gravestone. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine you smiling and laughing again. The image of you, lifeless and still on the road, would become a scar that faded with time. He hoped it would be.

“I thought of giving you baby’s breath,” Jamil began as the lump in his throat returned, “along with forget-me-nots, and blue salvia. It would be a horrible contrast, but I also thought of adding pink carnations.”

He paused, before bitterly chuckling to himself. “I don’t have your skills, though. You were always amazing with flower arrangements. I couldn’t hold a candle to you, and I rarely tell anyone that. I didn’t want to give you something that was less than perfect—you deserve more than that, so I settled with sweet peas.”

Jamil knew he was talking to himself. He always found it ridiculous how anyone talked to the dead, even if he understood the necessity to respect the ones who passed. This one time, he understood why people did this. Jamil just couldn’t bring himself to accept the circumstances that led to that revelation.

“They mean goodbye in flower language, but I prefer the other meaning. Maybe, in another life, I would’ve bought you flowers for a date. I was thinking of asking you on a date before. Did you know that?”

Another bitter chuckle. Another shaky breath.

“I was supposed to ask you that day. I finally found the courage to try, and what did I see? You…” The words were stuck in Jamil’s throat. He couldn’t force the words out this time. The clamor outside and the harsh slam of his parlor door echoed in his memories. He didn’t want his last memory of you to be your dying breath. He’d rather not remember that at all.

Jamil shook his head and continued, “I apologize for that. What you need to know is that I like you. I may even go so far as to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never told you earlier. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

The tattoo artist sat down in front of your headstone. He didn’t care if dirt and grass stained his jeans this time. He reached out to trace the name etched into the stone, with the same hand where the inked gardenia peeked out of his sleeve.

“I like your flowers. I like all of them. I still keep them with me. I wish I told you that sooner,” Jamil mumbled, voice cracking at the end. A tear rolled down his left cheek and dripped into the soil. His shoulders shook in a silent sob as he breathed his last words to you.

“Thank you for a lovely time. I’ll never forget you.”

[goldfades]

✮ 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬, nhl players

♡ ─ pairing(s) | quinn hughes x fem!reader, jack hughes x fem!reader, luke hughes x fem!reader, alex turcotte x fem!reader, trevor zegras x fem!reader

♡ ─ summary | types of kisses that i think these players would give!

♡ ─ warnings | kissing (obviously LOL), mention of migraines, mention of criticism/hate, just overall fluff lmk if i missed anything

♡ ─ taglist | tbd! check out link in navigation!

♡ ─ ev's notes | THIS WAS SO CUTE, i loved it. i remember reading something similar to this but i can't remember who wrote it, so if y'all know who just tell me so i can credit them lol. this was one of my favorite things to write, it was short and sweet just how i like it. if you guys want a part 2, let me know, maybe like umich players or more nhl players. anyways, enjoy!!!!

♡ quinn hughes kissing their injuries

when you two had first gotten together, it started as a little joke. anytime he'd get a little injury, even something as small as a paper-cut, you'd kiss it. and every single time, quinn's heart would melt. now, quinn relies on you to make him feel better even if it is a little joke. one day, you were struck by a painful migraine. the throbbing in your head was relentless, and you couldn't find any relief. you laid in bed, your entire head feeling like it weighed a million pounds and your eyes blurry. in that painful moment, quinn leaned down and placed a tender kiss on your temple. it was a gesture of love and empathy, his way of trying to alleviate your pain, just like you always did with him. as his lips touched your skin, you felt a wave of warmth wash over you. the pain, though still present, seemed to lose some of its intensity. but it wasn't just the relief from the migraine that struck you. it was the overwhelming feeling of love and care that quinn's kiss had conveyed, and in that moment you knew that you loved quinn more than anyone else in the world.

♡ jack hughes comforting kisses

in the world of constant criticism and hatred, jack felt like he couldn't find any comfort in anything anymore. that was until he met you. you were the embodiment of warmth and comfort to jack, every moment spent with you felt like a beacon of light in his otherwise gloomy existence. every interaction with you felt like a warm, inviting embrace, like a soft, cozy blanket on a chilly winter's night. and that was just your mere energy, your kisses felt were on a whole other playing-field. until he met you, kisses were just kisses but now they had the power to erase his worries, and to melt away the troubles that weighed on his heart. they weren't just physical gestures anymore; they were a testament to your love and care. they were a silent promise that, in your arms, he would always find solace and warmth. jack couldn't help but be captivated by the tenderness and affection that your kisses conveyed. in a world that often seemed devoid of kindness, your presence and affection became a lifeline for jack. you were the antidote to the poison of negativity that threatened to consume him. your love was the source of his strength, a sanctuary where he could find respite from the world's harshness.

♡ luke hughes first kisses

the first kiss between you and luke was a moment of pure innocence and wholesomeness, filled with a deep sense of care and affection. it was a memory that would forever be etched in both of your hearts that set the mood for the rest of your relationship. it happened on a warm summer evening at the lake house before you both left for college. as the sun dipped below the lake, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. you had been spending time together, talking and laughing, sharing stories and dreams. the conversation flowed effortlessly but then there was a gentle pause, a moment of unspoken understanding between you. the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the setting sun. with a shy smile, luke reached out, his hand brushing against yours, fingers interlocking in a tender embrace. it was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes of the affection that had already begun to grow between you. your heart raced as you met his gaze, eyes locking in a shared moment of vulnerability and anticipation. the world seemed to hold its breath as you leaned in, your lips drawing closer to his, guided by an unspoken desire. when your lips finally met, it was a soft and gentle kiss, filled with all the sweetness of a first touch. it was a kiss that spoke of trust and tenderness, a promise of something beautiful blooming between you. as your lips lingered against his, you could feel the warmth of his smile, a silent affirmation of the connection you both felt. it was a kiss that held the promise of many more to come.

♡ alex turcotte accidental kisses

it was obvious, alex was head over heels for you. the way he talked to you, the way his eyes lit up when you talked to him, the way he talked about you ─ it was painfully obvious to everyone who knew alex. when he talked to you, his voice would soften, becoming a gentle, tone that was reserved only for you. he listened intently to your words, hanging on to every syllable as if they were precious secrets meant only for him. it was as though the world faded into the background when he engaged in conversation with you, his undivided attention focused solely on you. but it wasn't just in the way he spoke; it was also in the way he looked at you. his eyes lit up with an unmistakable brightness whenever you entered the room or caught his gaze. it was a look of genuine adoration, as if he couldn't believe his luck to have you in his life. your presence had the power to brighten his day, and it was evident in the warmth that radiated from his gaze. one day, you two hung out alone in your apartment to watch harry potter, who was your favorite series (which also happened to be his, too). as the rain tapped gently on your windowpane, you and alex curled up on the couch, surrounded by an array of blankets and pillows. the soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as the opening notes of the harry potter theme music filled the air. it was a familiar and comforting sound, setting the perfect mood. then, as you reached behind him to get the remote, alex thought you were leaning in for a kiss. he immediately started to freak out but he leaned in and kissed you, too. as he leaned away and he took a look at the confused look in your eyes, panic set in as he realized he might have misread the situation. what if you were just reaching for the remote? what if he was about to make a complete fool of himself? you instantly let out a soft laugh which somehow, made his anxiety worse. but then you put a hand on his cheek and kissed him again, a sweeter kiss than the one before. in that moment, the doubts and fears that had plagued him faded away, replaced by the warmth and certainty of your affection. this second kiss was different from the first. it was softer, sweeter, and filled with an undeniable warmth. it was a kiss that erased any lingering doubts and replaced them with a newfound sense of connection and affection. it was a kiss that told alex everything he needed to know. when you eventually pulled away, your eyes met his, mirroring the newfound clarity in your connection. no words were necessary to articulate what had just transpired between you both.

♡ trevor zegras angry kisses

you and trevor were stubborn which meant every argument was terrible. your unwavering determination was part of what drew you to each other, but it also meant that neither of you was willing to back down easily. at first, it might seem like a manageable fight, but as your stubbornness came into play, the situation would quickly escalate. voices would rise, and tempers would flare. each of you was convinced of your own viewpoint, and neither was willing to yield. the arguments would become intense, filled with impassioned words, and sometimes even hurtful accusations. arguments with trevor could be exhausting and emotionally draining, but they were also a testament to the passion and love that existed between you. neither of you could stand to see the other upset, which often led to passionate reconciliations after the storm of an argument had passed. and after every single fight, no matter how bad it was, trevor would always be the one to budge to everyone's surprise. he never wanted to lose you so even in the worst of both of your moments, he always was willing to compromise his ego for the wellbeing of your relationship. and after every single fight, he'd give you a kiss to mend things with the both of you. it was a sweet and passionate kiss. each time his lips met yours in that tender, passionate kiss, it was a silent promise that he would do whatever it took to keep your relationship strong and thriving. it was a way of saying, "i love you, and i'm sorry," without needing words.

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[ltash]

Ethereal

Part two "Thirst"

Link to Part 1 in the end.

Ghost x Vampire Hybrid, Ghost x female reader

When Ghost crossed paths with you, a vampire hybrid in the frozen Russian Tundra. Little did he know you are hiding a secret within.

18+, MDNI.

I would rather spend one lifetime with you, than face all the ages of this world alone."

He laid you very gently on the fur rug beside the fireplace, the warmth from the flames contrasting sharply with the icy chill that had seeped into your bones. Your clothes, little more than rags, clung to your ethereal form, hinting at the delicate beauty beneath.

Ghost removed his sniper and gloves, setting them aside with deliberate care. His puffer jacket followed, discarded in his haste to help you. You were completely unconscious, your breaths shallow and labored.

Slowly, he began to remove your makeshift shoes, his touch as gentle as possible. The old shawl followed, then the layers of rags you had wrapped around yourself for warmth. With each layer removed, he searched for the source of your bleeding, his hands steady despite the urgency of the situation.

He continued to remove every piece of clothing you wore, his movements slow and gentle, as if handling the most delicate of treasures. When he finally removed your chemise, the sight before him made his jaw drop. Your body was a masterpiece, sculpted by the hands of a higher being, a work of art so perfect it seemed almost unreal.

Your milky white complexion was so pure that he feared even touching you might sully it. In all his military years, Ghost had seen many women, but none came close to your ethereal beauty. The firelight danced across your flawless skin, setting it ablaze with a soft, warm glow.

"Steaming Jesus," he murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from the vision before him. Your tiniest waist gave way to a mound of soft breasts, adorned with tiny pink nipples, and the perfect V shape of your most sensitive part. The sight was both breathtaking and humbling, a stark contrast to the harsh, brutal world he was so accustomed to.

He gently placed his rough hand below your belly button, his touch sending shivers down his spine. You were colder than the snow outside, your body delicate and petite. Your neck, like a swan's, arched gracefully, and your collarbones were razor-sharp.

For a moment, he looked away, a sense of reverence and respect overwhelming him. There wasn't even a spot of peach fuzz on your body, your skin as smooth and unblemished as porcelain.

Ghost held your freezing cold hand in his own, marveling at its beauty. Your hands were so delicate, with thin fingers and long pink nails, a stark contrast to his own calloused palms. He squeezed your hand gently, willing some warmth to seep into your chilled body.

His gaze drifted to the wound on the curve of your side, just above your hip bone. It was a stark reminder of the danger you had faced, the fragility of life in this unforgiving landscape.

The sight of it made his heart clench. The bullet had torn through your lower abdomen, leaving a gaping, bloody hole. Ghost's fingers traced the edges of your wound. Gathering his composure, Ghost refocused on the task at hand. He knew he had to treat your wound and keep you warm to ensure your survival.

He worked quickly, cleaning the wound with the supplies from his medical kit, applying pressure to stem the bleeding.

His mind raced with thoughts of how fragile you seemed, how someone so delicate could survive in such a harsh environment. The firelight danced across your platinum hair, your pale skin almost luminescent in the glow.

Ghost took out the stitching thread and needle, his hands steady despite the gravity of the situation. With you already unconscious, there was no need to numb the area. Gently, he cleaned your wound with alcohol, half-expecting a reaction from you, but you remained still and unresponsive. He knew you were in a deep sleep, your body exhausted from the ordeal.

The first prick of the needle made your muscles twitch, and Ghost glanced at your face, but you didn't stir. As he continued to stitch your wound, he couldn't help but notice a small stream of tears cascading down your beautiful face. You were still passed out, but tears flowed from your eyes, a silent reminder that you were indeed feeling pain.

His heart clenched at the sight, a surge of empathy washing over him. He worked quickly, his movements as gentle as possible as he closed the wound. With each stitch, his heart broke with the determination to ease your suffering and help you heal.

As he finished stitching and bandaging your wound, he wiped away the tears from your cheeks, his touch light and tender. Despite the storm raging outside and the uncertainty of your situation, Ghost found solace in the knowledge that he had done everything he could to care for you.

Ghost knew that getting you to proper medical care was critical, but for now, his priority was keeping you stable and warm. He wrapped you in the thickest blankets he could find, ensuring you were as comfortable as possible.

He sat beside you, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and determination. "You're safe now," he whispered, his voice soft yet resolute. "I'll make sure you get through this."

With one final glance at your sleeping form, he vowed to remain by your side until you woke, ready to provide whatever support and comfort you needed. In the midst of the chaos and danger of the tundra, he found himself drawn to you, captivated by your beauty and resilience.

As he sat by your side, his hand resting lightly on your belly, Ghost felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him. You were in his care now, and he would do everything in his power to keep you safe and help you heal.

The storm continued to rage outside, but inside the lodge, a fragile peace settled over you both. Ghost remained vigilant, his senses attuned to any change in your condition. He was determined to see you through this ordeal, no matter the cost.

As Ghost sat with you, his hand resting gently on your soft, icy-cold belly, he felt a deep sense of confusion and worry settle over him. Despite his efforts to warm you and tend to your wounds, your body temperature remained unnervingly low.

Minutes turned into an hour, yet there was no sign of improvement. Your skin still felt cold to the touch, your breaths shallow and labored. Ghost's mind raced with questions and doubts. What had he done wrong? Had he missed something crucial in his efforts to help you?

Desperation gnawed at him as he gently took your feet in his hands, rubbing them in an attempt to generate some warmth. But still, there was no change. Your body remained cold and unresponsive, a silent testament to the severity of your condition.

Ghost felt a surge of frustration and helplessness wash over him. He had trained for countless scenarios, faced danger and adversity head-on, but nothing had prepared him for this. The realization that he might not be able to save you was a bitter pill to swallow.

Realizing that his only option left was to give you his own body heat, Ghost felt a wave of reluctance wash over him. The thought of it made him blush, but he knew he had no other choice. Your life depended on it.

With a deep sigh, he gently peeled off his clothes, starting with his puffer jacket, then his T-shirt, leaving him in just his cargo pants. He hesitated for a moment, the gravity of what he was about to do settling over him.

Gathering his resolve, Ghost slid under the blanket beside you. He carefully nestled your head on his arm before wrapping his other arm around your petite figure, drawing you close. Your cold body pressed against his warm skin, the stark contrast sending a shiver through him.

You instinctively nestled into him, seeking the warmth he offered. Your soft breasts pressed against his chest, a reminder of your delicate beauty even in this dire situation. Ghost's heart raced, but he focused on the task at hand, pushing aside any awkwardness or discomfort.

He held you tightly, his body heat gradually seeping into yours, willing warmth and life back into your cold limbs. His hand gently rubbed your back, trying to stimulate circulation and generate more heat. He whispered reassurances, his breath warm against your ear.

"Stay with me," he murmured softly. "You're going to be okay."

He laid there, taking in your breathtaking beauty. The firelight cast a soft glow on your slightly agape lips, and the remnants of tears clung to your eyelashes, giving them a glistening sheen. Every detail of your face was a marvel to him, a mix of vulnerability and ethereal grace.

Ghost gently stroked your arm, his touch tender and soothing. He watched the rise and fall of your chest, feeling a sense of profound responsibility and protectiveness wash over him. You seemed so fragile in his arms, a stark contrast to the harshness of the world outside.

His eyes traced the curve of your face, the delicate arch of your eyebrows, and the softness of your features. The warmth of his body slowly transferred to yours, and he felt a flicker of hope as your skin began to lose its icy chill.

"You're safe now," he whispered softly, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "I won't let anything happen to you."

As he held you, his mind wandered to the circumstances that had brought you together. The tundra, the storm, the shot that had connected your fates in such an unexpected way. He wondered who you were, what your story was, and how you had ended up alone in this desolate place.

But for now, those questions could wait. His priority was keeping you alive and ensuring you recovered. He continued to gently stroke your arm, offering comfort and warmth, determined to stay by your side for as long as it took.

The storm outside raged on, but inside the lodge, there was a fragile sense of peace. Ghost remained vigilant, his heart and mind focused on the fragile, beautiful being in his arms, resolved to protect and care for you through the long, cold night.

Minutes turned into hours as Ghost lay there, his body wrapped around yours, providing the life-saving warmth you so desperately needed. Slowly, he began to feel a slight increase in your body temperature, a faint but hopeful sign that his efforts were not in vain.

The comms and evac had completely slipped from Ghost's mind as he became lost in you. Your fragile beauty and the urgency of your condition consumed his every thought. He didn't know when he drifted into a deep slumber, his arms wrapped protectively around your delicate form.

Soft whimpers woke him up. His eyes fluttered open, and he quickly focused on you. Your face was contorted in pain, and you whimpered softly in your sleep. The sight tugged at his heart, filling him with a renewed sense of urgency.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice soothing and gentle as he stroked your hair. "You're safe. I'm here."

He shifted slightly, ensuring you were still enveloped in his warmth. The fire had died down a bit, so he reached out carefully to add more wood, stoking the flames back to life. The renewed warmth radiated through the room, adding to the cocoon of heat around you.

Ghost checked your bandaged wound, relieved to see that it was still clean and not bleeding. He could feel your skin had warmed up slightly, but he knew you still had a long way to go.

As he held you closer, he murmured soft reassurances, his breath warm against your ear. "It's going to be okay. Just hang in there."

Your whimpers gradually subsided, and he felt you relax slightly in his arms. Ghost continued to hold you, his thoughts solely focused on your recovery. The outside world and his mission faded into the background; all that mattered now was keeping you safe and helping you heal.

Throughout the night, Ghost remained vigilant, occasionally drifting into light sleep but always alert to any sign of change in your condition. He knew the road to recovery would be long and uncertain, but he was committed to seeing you through it.

The morning sun shone through the windows, casting a warm, golden light into the lodge. The storm had gradually subsided, leaving a serene stillness in its wake. You opened your eyes slowly, the brightness making you blink as you tried to focus.

Your first sensation was warmth. You were wrapped in thick blankets, and the crackling fire nearby added to the comforting heat.

A gasp escaped your lips as you sat up abruptly, the blanket sliding down to reveal your bare breasts. The sharp pain in your lower belly made you wince, your trembling hand moving instinctively toward the bandage. The sudden movement brought a flood of memories, a flashback of the moment you got shot.

Instinctively, you covered your breasts with your long hair, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and confusion.

You heard heavy footsteps approaching. Your eyes darted toward the figure emerging from the shadows. As he stepped into the light, you took in every detail, from the combat boots to the tight black cargo pants that clung to his muscular thighs. His black T-shirt strained against the rugged contours of his chest and arms, barely containing his powerful physique. The large biceps looked capable of snapping tree trunks, and a tattoo sleeve covered his left arm with intricate designs. He was tall, imposing, and exuded a raw, brute strength.

Your gaze traveled upwards until you met the shiny skull mask covering his face, with a black balaclava beneath it. His chocolate-brown eyes stared down at you through the holes of the mask, piercing and intense. You had never encountered a human like this before, let alone such a behemoth of a man. Despite your hybrid nature, his presence intimidated you deeply.

A gasp escaped your lips, and you recoiled, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. It wasn't just fear that made you retreat—it was his scent. It hit your nose with an irresistible allure, awakening a thirst for human blood you had never felt before. Your instincts screamed at you, but you fought against them, struggling to maintain control.

"Who are you?" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to steady your breathing. The allure of his scent was almost overpowering, and you found it difficult to focus.

Ghost noticed your reaction and took a step back, giving you some space. "I'm Ghost," he said softly, his voice deep and resonant even through the mask. "I found you in the snowstorm. You were injured, and I brought you here to help."

You noticed his thick British accent, the husky tone of his voice adding an air of mystery and authority. It was unlike any way people spoke English in your town, let alone you, as you were Russian.

"Who are you, if I may ask?" he inquired, tilting his head slightly and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"I-I am Aurora," you replied, your voice shaky but sincere.

"What were you doing in the snowstorm, Aurora? Where is your family?" His interrogative nature came to the surface, his questions probing yet not unkind.

"I-I have no one," you stammered, feeling the weight of the truth in your words. "I live across the lake. I was trying to hunt."

"Hunt? In that heavy snowstorm?" He cocked an eyebrow, skepticism evident in his tone. "Look at yourself. Are you made for hunting?" He stepped closer, then knelt on one knee in front of you.

You felt a rush of emotions as he put his gloved fingers under your chin, gently lifting your face to meet his gaze. His chocolate-brown eyes locked onto your icy blue ones, a mixture of curiosity and something deeper flickering in his gaze.

"I have never seen anyone like you, Aurora," he said, his voice softening slightly. There was a genuine marvel in his words, as if he was looking at something rare and precious.

The intensity of his presence was overwhelming, yet you couldn't look away. Despite the layers of fear and uncertainty, you felt a strange connection, a sense of being seen in a way you never had before.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For saving me."

He nodded, his fingers lingering under your chin for a moment longer before he let go. "You're safe now," he reassured you. "But you need to rest and recover. We'll figure out the rest together."

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside you. Despite the primal thirst gnawing at you, there was a sense of safety in his presence. His scent, while intoxicating, also brought a strange comfort.

The exhaustion from the previous night finally catching up with you. Despite the fear and confusion, there was a growing sense of trust. As Ghost settled back, his watchful eyes never straying far from you, you allowed yourself to relax, feeling a fragile hope for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

To be continued...

Link to part 1

No reuploads or reproduction of my works allowed, reblogs are welcomed.

[lum13]

hello! could you please do a dating wednesday x drunk reader where wednesday finds reader black out drunk at a party and takes them back to her dorm and just helps her and it’s just so fluffy (just ignore if your not feeling it thank u ml<3)

The pink on your cheeks

“You could’ve sworn you saw a faint color of pink flash over her cheeks for a second there as she avoided your eyes— “did you just blush?””

Wednesday Addams x fem! Reader

“I thought I told you to not drink too much.”

Your eyes fluttered open to see your girlfriend with her arms crossed, brows slightly knitted with annoyance. Your face lit up at the sight of her, reaching your hands out to her, craving for her touch. The girl only glared at your figure before giving in— stepping into your embrace. You hummed into her waist, cheeks flushing from all the alcohol you’ve consumed tonight.

“I got carried away.” You laughed sheepishly. “You know how I get.”

The girl just sighed, before scanning her eyes over you, making you shift uncomfortably in the chair. 

Okay, you might have ignored your girlfriend’s warnings and drank a little too much. But that was fine, you had a great time— just needed your beauty sleep for a bit.

“Can you walk?” She asked, inspecting your strained attempts as you tried to get up from the chair you sat on. “I’m guessing you can’t.” 

You giggled drowsily. Waves of headache hit you like a truck, making you wince from the pain.

“Carry me to our dorm?” You pleaded, looking up to her from your sitting position, your hand reaching out to her hand, intertwining the fingertips.

Your lover rolled her eyes before complying. She scooped you up with her hands holding up your back and legs, your arm draped around her shoulder. You buried your head on her neck, grinning like a fool as she carried you down the hall.

She kicked open her dorm door while making her way to the bed, not even bothering to light up the room. Moonlight being the only source of light, your eyes quickly got used to the dark. She dropped you onto the fluffy mattress, making you whine— already missing your lover’s touch.

A second later, she came back with a glass of water and your pajamas in her arms, before shoving the glass onto your face. 

“Drink.” She muttered, half- forcing the water down your throat as you tried to hold the glass yourself, only for your hands to be shoved away.

“Don’t drink more than you can take. Clearly, you lack self control.” She growled, wiping your lips with her thumb once you had finished the cup. “Have you ever thought about what would have happened if I didn’t come find you?” 

“But you did come find me.” You smiled lazily, “You always do.”

“You can't rely on me forever.” She scolded, helping you out of your dress. You blushed while averting your eyes. 

“What?” Your girlfriend questioned, puzzled by the increasing amount of red painting your already flushed cheeks. 

“Nothing, just that I’m like- half naked in front of you.” You answered, quickly taking your top from the girl’s hands, before slipping it on in one fluid motion.

“Nothing I haven’t seen.” Wednesday replied as she went to grab her pajamas too, making you choke—sending you into a coughing fit; your ears red with embarrassment.

Your lover side-eyed your reaction before changing into her pajamas, watching in amusement as you buried your face into the blanket. Once she had finished, she climbed onto her bed too, tilting the mattress with her weight.

You slowly lifted your head up to the surface so that only your eyes were visible to the girl— hiding your red cheeks.

With her body slightly touching yours, your heart fluttered from the feeling of her beside you. The excitement was nearly overwhelming. By the time your lover turned to face you, the embarrassment from the earlier event was almost forgotten.

You extended your arm towards her beneath the blanket, linking your hand with hers. Her breath hitched at your touch as you smiled reassuringly at her, drawing the hair out of her face with your free hand. You could’ve sworn you saw a faint color of pink flash over her cheeks for a second there as she avoided your eyes— “did you just blush?”

You then realized that you should’ve kept that to yourself when she shot you the most sharpest, deadliest look you’ve ever seen your whole life. You sucked in your breath and chuckled awkwardly. “Good night Wednesday Addams!”

You quickly turned away before mentally smacking yourself across your cheek. Of course, you just had to ruin the moment with your stupid mouth again.

A moment of tight silence passed before your lover’s voice sliced through the thick tension. “You’re not going to parties without me now.”

You responded with a laugh that sounded almost too scripted. 

“Yup, I love you good night!”

Her intense stare on your back softened slightly before replying to you.

“Sleep well.”

-

was actually going to post this yesterday but I fell asleep trying to finish it.. I still can’t believe I did that. Also! I cant believe people I rlly admire actually read my works and like them.. very very cool!

[essenceeater]

"Unusual Love" Mileena x reader

Can you do Mileena x Reader? I was thinking MK1 Mileena. Where Reader is a half human and half cat. And she only has cat ears and a tail. Mileena saw her and she was surprised.

THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA I LOVE ITTTTT! I love writing for Mileena she's literally my wife. This is for MK1 Mileena! Reader is gender neutral and this goes from a friendship to a romantic relationship :) I kinda picture her being like 😮 This was requested by @twinklestarslight

Character: Mileena, Tanya(Mentioned) Kitana(Mentioned)

Triggers: None, lmk if I missed any

Requested: Yes

🔓Requests are open🔓

Link to rules

The soft clicks of heels fill the area as a figure strolls through the lush gardens of her palace, a woman wearing beautiful pink clothes with black and silver accents. Her gentle features watch the plants around her until her path unexpectedly crosses with you, an extraordinary individual with cat ears and a tail. Mileena's eyes widened with surprise and curiosity as she approached you.

"Your presence is as unique as your appearance," she said with a warm and friendly smile. "I've never met someone quite like you. What brings you to our realm?" she asked, never before seeing someone like you before.

You blushed, feeling slightly out of place but warmed by Mileena's welcoming demeanor. "I was exploring, and, well, I got a little lost... I didn't mean to intrude." You mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

Mileena reassured you, "You're not intruding at all. I'm Mileena, the Empress of Outworld. But titles aside, I believe in understanding and friendship. What's your name?"

"S/O"

As days turned into weeks, you found yourself growing closer to Empress Mileena. The palace, once an imposing and intimidating structure, had transformed into a place of warmth and friendship. Mileena was a delightful companion, welcoming you to stay with her. Giving you a safe place to stay within Outworld.

One afternoon, Mileena introduced you to the palace's grand library, an ancient and vast collection of knowledge from countless realms. The two of you spent hours there, reading and discussing the wonders of the different realms. Mileena's insatiable curiosity was infectious, and you both found common ground in your thirst for knowledge.

In the evenings, you would often explore the same gardens the two of you met in, where the colorful flowers seemed to bloom brighter in Mileena's presence. The palace's chefs prepared sumptuous feasts, introducing you to the exotic flavors of Outworld.

Mileena's family, Tanya and Kitana, were just as welcoming as she was. Tanya, in particular, showed a deep respect and affection for Mileena. When it came to you and your care she treated you no differently, at least after she knew you and Mileena were actually friends. Especially after Mileena told you about her condition with Tarkat. Eventually, the relationship between the two of you became a source of joy and comfort, and you soon realized that you shared more than just friendship.

One starry night, while sitting in the palace's garden, Mileena looked at the stars and whispered, "I never imagined I could find such happiness and connection in my role as Empress. You've brought light and laughter into my life, and I am truly grateful."

You smiled and replied, "Empress Mileena, you've shown me a world of kindness and beauty that I never expected to find. Our bond means everything to me."

Under the canopy of stars, your connection with Empress Mileena grew deeper with each passing day. The gardens, once silent, now whispered the secrets of your blossoming romance. Mileena's laughter became music, and her eyes sparkled like the brightest constellations.

With a tender smile, Mileena drew you closer and leaned in, her lips gently meeting yours in a sweet, romantic kiss. The world around you seemed to fade as the two of you embraced the magic of the moment, sharing a love that transcended the boundaries of realms and time.

Essenceeater © 2023 ┃ do not copy, modify, steal, or repost ANY of my content.

[titichan]

The Taste of Betrayal

Chapter- 1

A Sukuna x Yuuji x Gojo Fanfic...

Tags: Vampire!Au, Vampire-Hunter dynamics, Bottom!Yuuji, Top!Gojo, Top!Sukuna, Threesome, M/M/M, Sex toys, Bondage, Slight bdsm, Rough sex, A little bit of gore, porn with Plot, Slight mentions of Meimei and Nanami, Author is Sukuna's bitch ;], Other tags will be added as I commence

Note: Alright, so this was my veryyy first ff- which I had started 5 months ago (And still isn't complete lmao). Due to some problems, I was kick outta my prev Ao3 account, and really really wanted to continue this fic- so, while I wait for my Ao3 invitation, imma continue uploadin' here 😘

'The humans have been divided into three categories-

The Humans or, the prey

The Vampires or, the predator

And,

the Hunters, the protector of the prey'

Amidst the busy streets of Tokyo, a hunter was perched on a lone building- aiming at a vampire.

Clothed and masked in black, he was barely noticeable but- his pink hair stood out, shining under the dim moonlight.

He focused at the target and pulled the trigger.

'Bulls eye'

'A clear shot indeed. Yet another vamp' down.'

"Yujii-kun, did you get 'them'?"

A feminine voice echoed from his ear bud. Tapping on it, he spoke, " Yeah, but it isn't 'them' either. "

-

He was just going through the documents, when the same feminine voice was heard, "Yuuji-kun"

He looked up, and saw a dazzling woman standing beside him with two cups of coffee in her hands. As she placed the coffee cup on the table, her silver-like hair swayed- partly revealing her lavender eyes. "Meimei-san"

She smiled, "No need to worry dear, the mission was successful. But, I believe the 'main' mission is still pending?"

She sat down on the sofa in front him. "Yes, I'm very much aware of that."

He stood up. "Got what I asked for?" He said, eyeing the box beside her. The silver-haired smirked, her well-manicured nails clicking against the box. She opened it, and there was a fake ID card and a black hair wig.

He picked up the box. "Though it's my first time going undercover- I don't think I'll fail."

Meimei took a sip of the coffee and shrugged, "Says the best hunter who has nailed each and every mission. Still, I'm really lucky to be your guide, you know."

He responded with a nod. "I'm grateful to you too for getting hold of this mission..." He paused, touching the scar on his face, "...for it's the most probably the ardent clue that could be linked with that day."

Meimei sighed, "Now, now- sit down, will you? Let me show you how to wear the wig."

After she got him ready, she winked "Oh my- I guess we have a lady killer here~"

Totally unfazed by her words, he started packing up for tomorrow.

She caught hold of his arm, signifying him to stop.

"Don't worry about the materials, I've got them safely packed."

Before she went back to her room, she softly said, "Have a safe trip, Itadori Yujii"

-

It was early morning, when Yujii entered a grandiose office building. He was silently scanning the surroundings, when he heard someone from behind.

"Mr.Itadori,"

He turned to face the source of the voice.

A blonde man most probably in his late 20s- his cheek bones were prominent and his speaking, punctual.

"I'm general secretary Nanami Kentou. Nice to meet you."

As he followed the blonde man, Nanami continued, "You're quite early for the first day of your work."

Swiftly, The 'black-haired' answered, "...I just wanted to familiarize myself with the internal structures of the company before starting."

Nanami suddenly stopped at a particular and a humongous door. "You're diligent. But, I'm afraid I will have to intervene into your plans."

He motioned towards the door, "Shall we start by greeting the chairman?"

He knocked on the door, "Chairman, Mr.Itadori has arrived."

When the doors were to be opened, Yujii slowly and cautiously positioned his gun by the back pocket of his suit- just in case.

But, when the doors opened, he saw a tall man leaning against the desk.

"Welcome, " His vivid oceanic eyes gleamed under the morning sun rays.

"I'm Gojo Satoru."

Yujii was captivated by his beauty. Still, he somehow snapped back to reality and bowed, "...I'm Itadori Yujii."

The white-haired smiled and approached him. Suddenly, he offered his hand, "Shall we shake hands?"

Though he was already disgusted and had sworn not to respect a single vampire, he still shook hands with him.

"I'm looking forward to work with you."

He didn't let his guard down at that, his grip on Satoru's hand tightening. When he retracted, looking at him, the white-haired man's eyes were glinting with a hint of 'interest'.

Smiling to himself, Satoru went back to his seat. Signalling to the guest seats nearby, he softly spoke, "Please, have a seat over there."

After getting settled down, his superior demeanour resumed, as he prompted towards Yujii, "Now, shall we start the work which needs to be done right now?"

That did make the hunter flinch a little, but he was quick to compose himself and replied, "....Yes sir."

[ponyosmom35]

First Makeout

Bittersweet chapter forty two

Steve Harrington x fem oc

synopsis: Indie and Steve makeout for the first time.

warnings: PG-13 content ahead, MDNI, makeout, grinding.

link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

The cool autumn breeze swept through Hawkins as Indie Holland and Steve Harrington found themselves alone at Steve’s house after an impromptu movie night. What had started as a casual hangout was slowly evolving into something far more intense and intimate. They had been gravitating closer to each other over the past few weeks, the air between them charged with an unspoken promise of something deeper.

As the credits rolled on the last film, neither made a move to turn on the lights, preferring the soft glow of the television to illuminate the room. The ambiance was just right: cozy, quiet, just the two of them tucked away from the world. Indie shifted slightly on the couch to face Steve, her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her ribcage.

“So, did you like the movie?” she asked, her voice a little more than a whisper, thick with the unspoken words that hung between them.

Steve turned to look at her, his eyes reflecting the flickering light from the TV screen. “It was great, but I think I’m enjoying the company even more,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. He reached out, tentatively tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

The gesture sent a warm shiver down Indie’s spine. She leaned into his touch, her breath catching as their eyes locked. The air around them felt heavy, laden with anticipation and a hint of nervousness from both sides.

Steve’s hand moved from her hair to gently caress her cheek, and he leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a soft, exploratory kiss that quickly deepened.

Indie responded with equal fervor, her hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss was everything she had imagined and more—intense, exhilarating, and frighteningly addictive. Steve’s hands roamed to her back, pulling her into him, deepening the kiss further, his heart racing with a mix of desire and a growing loss of control.

Steve grips her hips and pulls her onto his lap, groaning into her mouth as her clothed core meets his extremely hard dick. Indie slips up her lip locking at the sudden movement and looks down at where she was perched on his lap. Her eyes wide and face pink as she blushed. Steve observes her every move, careful to look for any sign of discomfort from her. 

“Why did the banana get a boner?” she asks, breaking the silence between their heavy breathing. Steve’s face falls in shock and she stares at him with a shit eating grin. She wished she could have captured the pure disbelief on his face in a photo. Steve doesn’t say a word as his grip on her waist tightens. “He found himself in an appealing situation” she finishes 

“You are so fucking annoying” he says before smashing his lips against hers once more. He’s unable to help the smile that creeps onto his lips as he kisses her. 

“There’s plenty more where that came from” she says against his lips 

“Shut up” he says gripping her face gently in his hold and pushing her head to the side so he can trail kisses down her neck. 

Her hands fly up to his forearms holding her still and grip him. Her mouth falls open as all of the words are taken from her lips. He continues his assault on her neck, sucking on her skin. “S-Steve” she whispers 

“Don’t have anything to say now do you?” he grins

He moves back up to her lips and captures them passionately. His hands fall back to her hips and he moves her against him. She gasps sharply as heat fills her body, unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She could feel her panties growing wetter as his other hand slid to her thigh, rubbing it. She grips onto his hair pulling at it as she begins to grind against him unconsciously. She was so lost in the feeling that her lack of experience and insecurity had gone long out the window. 

Steve grunts and pulls her flush against him, feeling her large breasts pushing up against him and his cock began to throb. His hands slip underneath her shirt and grip her bare skin tightly. She moans into his mouth.

Steve groans loudly into her mouth “if you keep that up I’m gonna come in my pants”

“I’m okay with that”

As the makeout session intensified, Indie began to push harder against him, her movements becoming more bold and assertive. Steve, caught in the tide of rising emotions and physical desire, found himself nearing a point of no return. Every touch from Indie sent a jolt of heat through his veins, and he knew he had to slow down before things progressed too far too fast.

Reluctantly, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavily. “Indie,” he breathed out, his voice husky with desire but firm with resolve, “we should slow down.”

Indie’s eyes fluttered open to meet his, a mix of confusion and disappointment swirling in them. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Steve shook his head quickly, his hand cupping her face gently. “No, no, not at all. It’s just... this is really important to me, and I don’t want to rush anything. I want every part of this to be right, for both of us.”

Indie took a deep breath, processing his words, her initial disappointment fading into understanding. She nodded, managing a small smile. “I get it, and I feel the same. I guess I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Steve smiled back, his relief palpable. He kissed her forehead softly. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I want you so fucking badly, this -” he says gesturing to her position on his lap “is everything to me, touching you is like a dream, but I want to do this right”

Indie nods and looks away feeling incredibly embarrassed and gets off of him, sitting on the couch once more. Steve wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his chest, stroking her swollen lips with his thumb. “I love you” 

“I love you too” she responds softly 

Steve kisses her gently, this one much shorter than the previous ones they’d shared. 

“Besides you don’t get to make me come before I’ve barley touched you yet” he whispers in her ear. 

Indie looks up at him for a split second in shock before hiding herself in his chest. Steve laughs and holds her against his chest. 

“What? No more boner jokes for me honey? Or am I making you nervous?” he asks 

“Shut up” she says slapping his chest. 

“I love you” he responds 

They settled back into the couch, a little space between them now, not as a barrier but as a mutual understanding of boundaries. They continued to talk into the night, their conversation meandering through dreams, fears, and hopeful plans for the future. The night ended with a promise of more to come, at a pace that respected both their feelings and the gravity of what was blossoming between them.

As Indie left Steve’s house that night, a sense of warmth enveloped her—a feeling of being cherished and respected, knowing that what they were building together was worth the patience and the care they were both willing to invest.

[leighsartworks216]

I Come With Knives Pt6

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

(The other parts of this story are under the First BG3 Masterlist, or you can use the AO3 link to read it there)

This one is my problem child. I have no idea how to write for the other companions but I needed to have this as context for the companions learning about Tav's bg and yeah whatever I've got better stuff coming up. I am very very excited for future chapters >:)

Warnings: self-destructive coping mechanisms (scratching oneself), mentions of slavery, hints of a panic attack, mentions of emotional abuse, mentions of biting, possibly OOC companions

Word Count: 1,334

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

I Come With Knives Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Everyone eyed you warily. You didn’t blame them. After you scrubbed your hands raw of the blood staining them, you provided no explanation. You’d basically sped in, Astarion trailing behind, and ran for a bucket of water. And stayed there. For hours. After the fact, you changed out the water, of course, but they weren’t concerned as much with the pink-tinted water as they were with the frantic nature you scraped the natural dye from your hands.

Astarion didn’t say anything either. A few of them had tried asking, but he smiled tersely and made an excuse that changed each time. “I was too distracted fighting a beast.” “You know how some people get with germs.” “They really hate the color red.” (This one was not said to Karlach, nor in her earshot.) 

It all came to a head at dinner, when you’d still provided no explanation. Gale handed out servings silently, staring at you as though studying a new specimen. Lae’zel watched you like a predator trying to defend her territory, prepared for the moment the intruder stepped over the line. Shadowheart barely repressed her scowl.

Wyll set down his bowl pointedly. “Haven’t you kept your secrets hidden long enough?” You raise your eyes from your barely-touched stew. You didn’t quite see him. Your mind lingered on the image of the Gur. “Do you expect us to continue following blindly while we pour our souls out for you?”

You bristled. The image disappeared, tucked away to haunt you later. “No. No, I’m sorry.” You sighed and set your bowl aside. Everyone watched you expectantly, more interested in what you could say than filling their bellies. “It’s just… difficult to talk about.”

“Speak,” Lae’zel encourages roughly. “We will listen.”

Astarion frowns at you. He’s taken to sitting beside you for ‘dinner’. They knew by now he wasn’t suited to eating normal food, but he didn’t quite trust them not to stake him through the heart or cut his head off. It was safest to linger by your side. The irony of your trust in him was not lost on him: You understood him best and you feared him the most. That fear may have dampened over time, but you still flinched at the gleam of his fangs, watched him as he left camp to hunt at night. Yet you’d bared your soul to him and him alone. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

You inhale, slow and shaky. Your hands fiddle in your lap, providing you some sort of distraction. It would not be enough to ground you to reality should the thoughts become too potent.

“I was… am,” you corrected unsurely, “a vampire’s thrall. She… uses me as a blood source. Has used me, for years. I’ve been stuck under her thumb since I was a teenager. It’s… easier to have one consistent source of food than to go out looking for it every night.

“When we were out in the woods,” you nod your head slightly toward Astarion, “there was a Gur. A monster hunter. A-And he said he was looking for a runaway.” Your breaths sharpen into quick, frightened little things. You nearly choke on them. You stare into the fire. Your nails start scratching at your hands. You don’t even realize you’re doing it. “He had nothing to go on, just a name, but I panicked and I- I killed him. I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have. I could have explained everything. I could have paid him off. I could have-”

“Steady on, soldier,” Karlach interrupts. You can’t look at her, can’t draw your eyes away from the flickering flames, but you know she looks worried. It always amazed you how openly she wore her emotions, despite it all. “Take a breath, okay?”

Your nails stop scratching in favor of digging into your skin. You take a breath, slowly let it out, and your nails ease off. You run your fingertips mindlessly over the indents left behind.

You whisper, unable to raise your voice any further. “He said my master is in Berdusk.”

Quiet. Gale spoke up, voicing the awful realization everyone had. “That’s only a few miles from Baldur’s Gate.”

You nod.

“You’re marchin’ right back to her.” Karlach sighs, heavy and empathetic.

You finally lift your eyes from the fire. Everyone’s attention is on you, pitying and remorseful. “I have no choice. I can’t abandon you all just to run away. Especially with these tadpoles. I have no doubts she’ll find me quickly once we reach the city.”

“We could confront her,” Wyll suggests. “Go to Berdusk, face her head on, free you!”

“It’s not some goblin camp we can just walk into and clear out,” you protest. The idea thrills you to no end, but you cannot allow yourself that hope. Not when there is none. You will be found. Tonight, the next, a week from now. You’ll be locked back into your servitude. There is no chance you have to be free. “Killing a vampire lord isn’t- It’s not just-”

Astarion speaks up. You don’t expect it; he’d been so quiet this whole time. “If we can kill Cazador, we can kill Kir Parthene.” Your stomach rolls around at the sound of her name. “What makes facing my master any different from yours?”

You know the answer. Even if you don’t realize it yet, you know.

You have no qualms threatening Cazador. You’ve even told Astarion that you plan to help him kill his master, once and for all. Free him and his ‘siblings’, and rid Baldur’s Gate of the nighttime threat to its people. No longer would they have to go out, lure victims in as food for the vampire lord. It was so easy to promise. If you could help everyone else, why should you leave Astarion to the same fate you faced after this quest? He should be as free as possible from the chains binding him.

So why couldn’t you let them swear the same for you? What made Kir Parthene so different from Cazador? She was not stationed in as large a city, she did not steal souls off the street every night just for a quick meal, she did not personally carve poetry into the flesh of those beneath her. She had power, but no more than Cazador held. So why were you so reluctant to even dream of your freedom?

You were afraid.

Astarion can see the very second you know the answer to his question. Your eyes open a fraction wider, filling with a bottomless dread. Your heart stutters and your breath catches. He’s sure you’re on the verge of tears as you inhale a trembling breath, trying to keep yourself from hyperventilating, even as your fear squeezes your lungs.

“You won’t have to face her alone.” You turn to look at Shadowheart. “You’ve given us the strength to face our demons. We can help you face yours.”

You want to believe her. Believe all of them as they nod in agreement. Believe they could give you the strength you lacked, support you when you come face-to-face with her once more.

But then you see the deep crimson of her eyes and lips. You feel her nails digging into your skin. The cooing affections that come just after the harsh vitriol. Her teeth digging deep into your neck. How can you have any hope of facing her?

You shake your head and push yourself to your feet so fast Astarion is startled. “I’m sorry. I can’t think about this right now.” You abandon your dinner. It sits, lonely and growing cold, as you step away from the warm glow of the fire and the safety of your companions into the edge of trees surrounding your camp. You don’t go far, just far enough you can’t hear them speaking and they can’t see you collapse against a tree, clutching and clawing at your hands to remove the memories from your mind.

At least they know now.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup

[chirpychipslive]

i desire a masterlist of rick wright lore. i absolutely love that man but i don't know half the silly, goofy things he got up to and i need a long-ass post explaining all you know about that little weirdo.

HI HELLO okay so as much as i see and understand a desire for a "rick wright lore masterlist", i don't think i would be able to do proper service by just listing all of the stuff i know off my head, plus i don't want people to see it and just take everything i say at face value and not look into things further if that makes any sense

so instead i will put a rick wright source masterlist under the readmore so people can go watch/read things for themselves in as much detail as they feel comfortable doing so, + i think a lot of people aren't aware of half of the sources i take from

Books

As far as books go your best starting points are Mark Blake's Comfortably Numb and Nick Mason's Inside Out, both of which are much more generalised sources for any Pink Floyd related material - I do have PDFs of both of these (i have physical bought copies too dw), so if you can't read/listen to either of them for any reason DM me and I'll send those PDFs to you :] They're both available widely on Amazon and other bookstores and Inside Out is also available as an audiobook!!

Guy Pratt's My Bass And Other Animals is 75% his own biography and 25% pink floyd related, so while it does have some Rick-related stuff in there, don't go into it expecting any in-detail explanations. Unfortunately I don't have a PDF of this book, but it is widely available and relatively inexpensive to buy (and I totally reccomend it!)

Franka Wright has supposedly been writing a tell-all on her marriage and experiences with him, but there haven't been many updates on it in a while. I've been relatively quiet on everything she's said about him in public as I don't think I have enough information on what happened to properly comment, but if that book does drop expect me to be the first in line to take a look

Websites/Online

Please god if you have even any passing interest use rickwright.com. It's a resource largely made by his estate and has a lot of information on there, it's a really sweet and interesting labour of love and I cannot reccomend it enough

pinkfloydz.com is an older website but has a gigantic catalogue of interviews, which include a large amount of transcribed interviews with Rick from 1996. It's just such a good resource in general and I highly reccomend checking it out, as even if you're not a Rick fan you still have a lot of interviews with the others in there

Here me out here; @mamazano (who has been inactive since 2021) has SO much on there that I don't feel bad putting them down as a source. Almost everything they post about is properly cited so you can find exactly where they came from, and they catalogue a lot of stuff that is locked behind more expensive/less available books. Their attention to detail for citing and sourcing quotes has been so admirable to me even if they're no longer on Tumblr anymore!

Watchlist

Here's links to watch Live At Pompeii, P.U.L.S.E, Delicate Sound of Thunder and Live 8 if you haven't done so already. also Chit Chat With Oysters has him for like 3 minutes

Remember That Night (an On An Island concert film)

Breaking Bread, Drinking Wine (On An Island tour documentary)

Rick talks about Syd for the 2001 Syd Barrett documentary by John Edginton

Broken China interview

Interview with Guy Pratt about PATGOD

There's definitely a lot more but this is the stuff I already had on my Youtube playlist of interviews - here's some that were on there but I haven't watched/listened to in a while so I can't 100% verify them rn (x) (x) (x)

Maybe one day I will try and chronologue all of the shit I know into something comprehensible but that definitely wouldn't just be a Tumblr post or smth lol

In the meantime I do thrive infodumping-wise off specific questions so if there's something more concrete you want me to (attempt to) explain I'm happy to do so! Thank you sm for the ask (I wouldn't have done this otherwise) and please feel free to contact me if you would like anything specific answered :]

[goldentlme]

i’m searching for you in my fading memories .

alternate versions .

whooh . WHOOH !!!!! good GOD !!!!

listen to the song linked while looking I think it really adds . look up a translation too if you want ! listen to the entire lies of p ost in fact . its fucking fantastic .

NOTES .

in april 2022 , i drew a fanmade book cover for the danganronpa x reader fic Sleep Awake . in december of 2023 i redesigned my reader for that story for the third time and thought it appropriate to redraw that old cover with their new design . and yesterday , january 13th 2024 , i finished that bitch . View the fruits of my labour .

in my last Notes section i talked about nerfing the lighting . well um . i nerfed it again . i dont know if it was fate or if i just . idk . didnt want to but i axed both original concepts - the yellow overhead light ( mostly) , and the light blue under light - and just Winged the fuck outta it . that ' mostly ' means that the light source is Still overhead but i just took the colour out to make it more neutral .

another thing i brought up were the shelves and how i wanted to add more items to them . I did it this time , but not to the extent that i really wanted to . i'd hoped for more Clutter and ultimately couldnt think of anymore than a few items . SAID ITEMS BEING !!!!

the pills . self explanatory , since they haunted the majority of cases 2 and 3 .

chess pieces . cute little reference to the chess scene ! even if the scene itself didnt feature real chess pieces , the imagery wouldnt work if i didnt use real pieces .

the letter opener . dont need to explain this one . but i Did originally plan to have it in shin's hand ( explaining why that one is balled like that , because there was originally a Thing in there ) but i couldnt figure out how to draw it and make it look Good . i only added it back when i was colouring the trinkets on the shelves and realised that i Forgot to put it back into the drawing .

the joker card in the bottom corner . also shouldnt have to explain this one .

LITTLE DETAILS I THINK YOU SHOULD LOOK AT .

THE HANDS !!!!!!!!! i decided at the very last second to make them vaguely see through . and theyre all a persons ! amami and shinguji are the obvious ones , but the two holding at the top are supposed to be ouma ( on the scarf ) and akamatsu ( on the rope ) . i would have included tojo's as well but i couldnt fit it in the composition without it looking awkward and out of place and i thought there were already enough references to case 3 as is .

and you literally cant even see it but if you look REALLY closely at oumas hand . his skin is a little grey and you can see the veins through the skin . wonder what happened there . Guess we'll never know !

THE BOOKS !! did the same thing as last time with a Little More . purple books are ouma , green are both amami and tojo , blue is both kiibo and chabashira , pink is akamatsu , and red is phys themselves . i know phys's canonical colour association is olive green but consider : shin is red . look at him . hes Red . that ones for me specifically .

with that . i did all of those books by hand . i drew about 9 variations of books and copy pasted them sure but i Shaded and Coloured them all individually . youll never guess how fucking LONG that took . so yeah . no one book has the exact same shading . goodie !

THE JOKER !!! yes i know i talked about it in the previous section but i WILL talk about the card itself . because i unironically am so in love with how that drawing came out . the little guy featured there is my Lies of P oc scaramouche or scaramuccia ( i use them interchangeably ) . hes a silly jester :3 . the depiction on the card is of him in his prime , before . All Of That Happened . story-wise he's a super famous circus performer known as " The One Man Show " because all of his acts are done alone and are absolutely insane . hes very good at what he does which is Why he doesnt have a crew . and the only reason hes so good is because he't not even human , just pretending to be !

additionally , i originally planned for that joker card to be a Real Life Joker . because a little known fun fact about me is that i collect playing card decks ! but i looked and literally NONE of the ones i currently own would have fit the piece . so . yeah . i just ended up drawing darling scaramuccia . heres the full image im so chuffed

i think thats all i got for the drawing itself . i initially started this back in early december but got stuck and picked it back up a couple days ago , so its been marinating for a bit . hope we all like it ! i think its Better than the original . THE SERIOUS STUFF .

its so fucking insane to think that its been almost 2 years . not only have i truly rediscovered my love of reader insert fanfiction after so many years unable to even think about it without feeling a little sick to my stomach , but ive made so many good friends and core memories through this fic . i even got back into writing . literally never thought id write again after my 11th grade english class and my 10th grade creative writing class . and im having FUN with it . wild .

anyways , this one goes out to vee @chihirolovebot for writing one of The Fics of all time , putting up with my insane ramblings about idol these past months ( READ SWINGING RIGHT NEOWWWW ) , and for letting me help design their dnd characters . godspeed .

it goes out to nex @nexuswrites for beating better genshin character builds into me , giving great fic recommendations , creating thief of detectives quandary fame . READ DQ ( THREAT ) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! , and being a fellow p5 and pokemon lover . i miss the coordinator and justice

and of COURSE !!!! rei @berry-creates . the gay the myth the legend . a fellow oc haver and lover , a fantastic writer , and an overall lovely person . this one goes out to u for sharing oc playlists , playing splatoon with me , and for creating maddie . theyre a little freak and i want to study them . i love seeing u go insane over them its like enrichment for me bc i too am also a little mentally ill about them im just really good at hiding it .

theres a whole lot more i could say and more people i could talk about but this is long enough , isnt it ?

thanks for a beautiful 2 years of physouma yaoi . heres to the upcoming sleep awake case 6 , epilogue , all the future additions to the one shot book , the entire rest of dq , tfp , and sams , and more blorbos to put in the smoothie maker . this took a whole two hours to write .

cheers , boys .

song of the post .

[mechstims]

How I make stimboards!

hi! i had a couple of messages asking how i make boards, so i thought i'd make a pretty elaborate breakdown on my methods!! ive been doing this since... probably around 2016/2017 ;w;

may be slightly image heavy and long! but... lets get into it!

Step one: Decide your theme! this part is super easy lol just figure out what your theme is! characters (or objects or whatever) usually go in the middle of the board. if you're using someone elses art PLEASE dont forget to link the source!! directly, not just pinterest!! I try and use official art as much as possible.

Step two: Plan your colours! I use a 3x3 grid for this if im making a traditional sized board!

here it is empty and a filled in example! feel free to save my empty one if you want lol you can just edit it in paint. keeping it balanced is for the best! it makes it more pleasing

some more examples of colour schemes! balance is key!

Step three: finding gifs and setting the board up

DO NOT USE PINTEREST!!! AND DO NOT PUT YOUR SOURCES DOWN AS PINTEREST

and for the love of primus dont put "credit to the gif makers" or "credit to the owners". please.

okay. now ive said that lets get into it. id say tumblr and tenor are two of the places i use the most. its as simple as looking up the type of gif or the colour you want. example would be: pink stim, red stim, food stim, slime stim etc!

dont forget to save the sources!!! try your best to go back to the source as much as possible. this usually means clicking through stim boards which is VERY annoying. but go back to the original gif poster if possible, unless the gif or blog has been deleted :(

this is much easier on PC. i just drag the gifs into a little grid directly on my desktop with the coloured grid above it as a guide for sources i keep a .txt file open to save the sources. the "x" marks spots where i havent filled in a gif yet

lol sneak peek to the skids board im working on for a request >w>"

pro tip: if you're using multiple of the same kind of gifs, make sure to put them on opposite sides for balance.

example! if the yellow square is a slime gif make sure to put it like the grid on the left. the grid on the right is unbalanced and makes it look awkward

does this make sense? basically, balance is key.

also dont be afraid to colour shift if you cant find stuff in the right colour :p speaking of! to crop gifs into squares, edit, change size and colour shift use ezgif.com!

Step four: posting!

upload all your gifs, make sure theyre in order and add sources! the easiest part! to add sources simply highlight the text and click the "inline link" button!

make sure to tag! you can copy and paste these tags if you want a baseline!

stimboard#stim#stimblr#stimmy#stim gifs#visual stim#stim blog

i also tend to add the colours and character names, as well as fandom tags!

i hope this is helpful to anyone whos just learning to make boards!