#love giving mercy some Depth

[eye-of-the-hawk]

Poster Girl

[sysig]

It’s hard to put on a bright face, in spite of everything (Patreon)

[trans4trans]

sorry for talking about marvel i hate it so much i only care about namor my native mexican best friend that i’ve known for years who’s autistic transsexual bisexual & does drugs & has bpd <- all of this is canon

[missroki]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN AS LOVERS ┊ ZAYNE. XAVIER. RAFAYEL.

content: female reader × multi lads, black girl friendly, piv sex, vaginal fingering, cowgirl, oral sex (male receiving), bath sex, bondage, reader is called love and angel.

ZAYNE has never been too keen on religion; he grits his teeth at the mere thought of reaching out for a helping hand, never having looked towards the gods for aid. with your soft body pressed against his chest, zayne thinks that he can concede for help. surely you are the closest thing to an answered prayer he has ever known.

a large hand skims down your ribs, curls underneath your sensitive breast. he can feel the sticky remnants of his spend against your hot skin, the water rinsing away the evidence of your love making. he breathes you in, his other hand dipping into the vast depths of the tub — fragrant and steamy — to the swell of your cunt, fingers just barely toying with your swollen clit.

you gasp, and your gaze flickers behind you to his hooded and heavy gaze. "zayne," you don't realize that you are whimpering, "please, no more."

would he give you what you wanted? a sense of reprieve, of mercy? "are you saying you’ve had enough?” his voice is a deep, hungry rasp. "we both know you can take more.” what is love if not indulgence?

rose petals surround you both, some intertwine like veins that keep the hollow depths of his chest still beating. you whine and beg as his slender fingers pump into your heat; from a hand that has healed, that has mended. perhaps he will keep you in the water long enough to watch you break.

XAVIER promised he would be patient, but it’s hard to keep himself calm when your gentle hands travel along his oil-ridden body.

you had begged him to let you do this; to have the opportunity to make him slick and wanting, just barely hiding the firm tent underneath his towel. your soft smile is a sight to behold as you finally lean in close, trailing constellations into his skin. it is different when you are on the receiving end and xavier knows all too well that you want him to see stars.

“a-angel, i–“ his breath catches, mingling with yours as you lean in close. his nerves get the better of him as blue eyes sink closed, “c-can’t. t-think straight. how do you do this—“

“it’s alright, love.” you tease, tugging away the towel to reveal him to you. he twitches with want, your cunt hovering so that just the rosy tip of him grazes your slick entrance. “i’ve got you.”

the smell of earthy oils fill the room, cloud his mind as you slowly ease him inside of you. for all the times he has felt your warmth, xavier has never let you fully take control. not like this. he swears he can still taste you on his tongue, feel your hot breath against the softened skin of his neck.

you bounce on him in a slow, teasing circling of your hips. the breathy moan that flutters from your mouth has his head tilting back to hit the sheets. he wonders if you will help him reach the cosmos tonight… or if you yourself will burn bright enough to steal his vision.

RAFAYEL swallows hard, tongue moistening his parted lips as his skin burns with the rising heat in his stomach. he tries his best not to let you know how much he’s enjoying your touch. he couldn’t possibly give you that satisfaction.

the binds tighten around his wrists, followed by a sharp tug on the silk fabric that keeps him immobilized against the bed. your mouth is warm against him, languidly easing him closer to his peak.

“you’re enjoying this,” he breathes out, “aren’t you?”

you release him from your mouth and his fingers twitch, the desire to touch you almost unbearable. your lover wants to hear your moans, too. wants to hear you sing; high and sweet. “aren’t you benefiting from this more?” your hand grips the base of him, your reward the moan that he can’t hold back. “i thought you liked me taking control?”

indigo eyes find yours, a small pout on the owner’s face. “i do when you’re nice to me. but you’ve been teasing me for hours.” he’s exaggerating, but the leaking red tip of his cock is almost too much to bear. “please, my love? go easy on me just this once?”

you sit up to lean over his naked form, pressing a gentle kiss to your boyfriend’s bitten, red lips. he’s so cute like this, but still holding back. you want him a brainless mess, too wound up to defy you. he’s not there yet, but he will be.

“no.”

note: maaaan just… don’t look at me right now, lmao. i’m in a very specific mood. tagging my lil chuu toy bc she joined the dark side recently (zayne) @awwitschuu

MISSROKI. all original work. do not plagiarize, translate, or repost. this includes feeding my work to ai apps and sites.

[yanderenightmare]

i saw this thing a while back that i thought you’d be able to write quite well. it was responses to darling saying “it hurts” but it gets meaner and meaner. love ur work 🦋

Todoroki Touya - Dabi

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, hints of forced piercings, piercings in general

fem reader

Dabi doesn’t really need an excuse to be cruel to you. He just likes the way you sing his name – how it comes out in a sticky whine, filtered with hurt and something else, something sweet.

“Dabi, please – it hurts.”

“Yea? I bet~" He drawls with a simper. "You’re really tight when I don’t prep you.”

He's got a lazily loving expression on his face – looking down at you. Brows cinched, lips curled cutely up into a pretty pout – eyes wide with tears, pleading for any pity he might feel for you.

But mercy is a distant thing he doesn’t remember the taste of. So instead, he musters up some mockery of it and flicks your clit right above where he's skewered his fat ribbed self inside you.

He'd gotten some new piercings he wanted to try out – a ladder of pins running up the spine of his shaft – as well as a stud at the very tip that poked your cervix when he’d sunk all the way inside you.

“Please, Dabi – take it out,” You cried, twisting against the sheets – whole body worming for comfort – but no matter how you shifted, the thickness inside stayed stored all the way up to the hilt. His free hand pinning yours above your head as he pressed his hips flush against your ass.

“Come on, angel-tits~” He cooed with a toothy grin – sapphire eyes drunk while enjoying you, chittering at your whimpers while he kneaded himself inside the coziest depth of your cunt. “I got ’em for you~ least you can do is say thanks~”

He pinched your clit, and it tightened you up as he started rocking against you. Whistling at the grip, he chewed his lip in a smirk whilst pumping the wet out of you one deep thrust at a time.

“Actin’ so coy on me – but you’re fuckin’ soaked like always, angel…” 

Your whining turned to moaning, though still a little teary. Squealing when he dipped to suck your tit – running his tongue piercing over the pretty silver beads he’d given your nipples some while ago – making them so sensitive, so eager for the warmth of his mouth – having you all but coil your legs around his torso, pulling him as close as you could with hips stuttering – squeezing him tight in flutters. 

“Tch – would you look at that…” He scoffed lightly, face both amused and endeared, kissing your cheek as though in praise. “Looks like you like ‘em after all.”

You’re chagrinned beneath him, still with a few after-thrills simmering between your thighs, causing you to clench on him still.

He gave your pearl another swirl, pulling another whine from your throat. “Dabi-” But he caught it with his mouth, giving you his tongue with a groan while starting up his pace again – keeping his mouth locked on yours until he dumped his load in deep.

You cringed some at the warmth. You wished he’d use a condom – not that he’s ever bothered to, but you guess even the option is gone now that he’s all but armed his cock.

He gives you a goofy grin while looking down at you. Giddy from cumming. Still with two digits on your pearl.

The cheekiness in his eyes tells you he’s thinking about something – and something about it makes you not want to know what.

 “Maybe this little clitty is due some silver next, hm?”

[loveemagicpeace]

🍿Astro Notes ✨

🍿What I personally love about Scorpios and Capricorn is that they are so real. They will tell you the real opinion and review on it. They show very realistically the things that are happening in the world or if they go to a city they will give a real opinion of what they though about them.

🦋The 12th house is a hidden house that does not show outwardly like other houses. But it shows through the energy-you can feel this house & you can understand it. But when you have synastry with someone here , it is important to trust your intuition even if you don't know what will happen. To trust through the unknown.

🩵Capricorn rising people have no mercy when it comes to betraying them or doing something bad. Once you lose their respect, it's over. They will never look at you as the same person again. Because when they respect someone, they show that person means a lot to them.

🧚🏼‍♀️Don't lie to mercury in scorpio because they will know the truth before you lie about it. They immediately feel when someone is not telling the truth or when someone is fake, duplicitous, hypocritical. They can read people instantly. If you lie to them, you will end up looking stupid.

🍬And when it comes to Mercury signs. The smartest signs are: Sagittarius (they have a very intelligent mind, they say things very well and can explain them. A very knowledgeable character). Scorpio( they will analyze everything beforehand and are very good at assessing the situation. They delve into the actual conversation and think very psychologically). Virgo ( they are smart and intelligent. They explain things very well).

🍪Individuals with a Taurus moon in the 8th house tend to have deep and intense emotions. They may be very loyal and steadfast in their emotions, and can be possessive or jealous in relationships. These individuals may also have a strong desire for stability and security in their emotional life, and may have a tendency to hold onto grudges or emotional wounds for a long time.

🧁On the other hand, individuals with a Leo moon in the 5th house tend to have a more dramatic and expressive emotional nature. They may be generous and warm-hearted, and may seek validation and attention through their emotions.These individuals may also be creative and passionate, and may enjoy being the center of attention in their personal relationships.

🧃Overall, while Taurus moon in the 8th house individuals may be more reserved and focused on building emotional security, Leo moon in the 5th house individuals may be more outgoing and dramatic in expressing their emotions.

🍭Pisces moon- Pisces is the sign of depths of emotion, and the Moon represents your instinctive emotional reactions and some- times your hidden dreams. Pisces is also the astrological sign of sorrow and self-undoing. If you have the Moon in Pisces you have deep feelings and an innate understanding of the human condition. You are very dreamy and like to live in a romantic fairy tale.

🥃Scorpio moon- You are very clever at hiding your true feelings. This is also one of the more difficult lunar positions. Though you are driven by strong passions you tend to deny that they are your motivation. There is usually a secret sor- row or trouble in the lives of Moon-Scorpios that very of- ten concerns family problems or health. If u have sun in earth sign this accentuates your managerial talents and capacity for authority and leadership. If u have sun in air sign this bestows deep mental powers and an ability to captivate the public.

🌙Moon sign usually represents more hidden aspect of your personality. It is a pervasive influence, but it is likely that other people sense the influence of your Moon sign in your character rather than see it on the surface.

🔥Aries Rising- u usually have strong likes and dislikes and you are never shy about expressing them. You are an activist and doer rather than a thinker. You like to be noticed. Aires people are accident-prone. Because you are impulsive and quick to rush in headlong, you usually don’t look where you are going. Are prone to accidents with fire and sharp instruments.

🍫Taurus Rising- Owning things can sometimes become a mania; you covet possessions and once you own something you guard it jealously and are heartbroken should you lose it. You never resign yourself to the fact that things break, tear, wear out, get lost, and are stolen. They are very attached to things and really hate the fact that they lose something.

🍸Gemini Rising- you have an excitable nature that is You travel, change residences and occupations, and often marry more than once. quick to react to any stimulus, to come up with an answer to any question and also to get upset easily. You love puzzles,games,books. You travel, change residences and occupations, and often marry more than once.

🧊Virgo Rising- Emotionally, it’s hard for you to show your feelings. For many of you, a marriage partner brings property or wealth. Later in life they frequently become property owners, often in a foreign country.

☁️Scorpio Rising- tend to have a secret love affair at least one time in their lives, and usually marry more than once. Astrologers have observed a strange pattern in which Scorpios often lose their first spouse to death. The influence of Pluto bestows powerful feelings and emotions, a sense of purpose, persistence, determination, plus the imagination and ability to make a successful start in a new direction.

Sagittarius Rising- they are often subjected to the fact that they are very disturbed by injustice. Sometimes much more than libras. You like to travel, see new places, learn how the rest of the world lives. You fear that if you take success too seriously, life will become boring. You are impulsive, sometimes reckless. To take action is the main thing, to do something about a problem. You don’t always stop to consider where all the activity may lead. Marriage is not the most important thing in your life. U have a tendency to marry the wrong person (at least once) and get into unhappy romantic situations from which they must extricate themselves.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🧚🏼‍♀️🍬🧃

[alyakthedorklord]

Bat Poker Face Training

Dick, Steph, Cass, Tim, and Jason all crammed into someones room, with a kidnapped Duke sitting awkwardly with them, kinda scared.

Duke: “Uh… what’s going on?”

Steph, completely blank faced and standing ominously in the corner: “It has come to our attention that you require training.”

Duke: “Bruce is already teaching me really well-“

Jason, also blank faced: “That’s bat training. This is robin training.”

Cass, carefully but without a single emotion: “Sibling training.”

Dick, face just as blank as all his other siblings: “It’s much more fun.”

Duke, freaked out by the empty faces: “Am I being hazed?”

Jason: “Eh, maybe. Scared?

Tim, not giving Duke a second to reply: “Yes, he is. It’s written all over his face. And while its okay to be scared, sometimes hiding your true emotions in the field is a matter of life, death, and secret identities.”

Dick: “You’re going to be flustered. Humiliated. Terrified. Angry. Relieved. Your vigilante ID dragged through the mud in front of you as a civilian. Someone worried about your civilian ID and you need to keep them away.“

Tim: “Not just as a Bat, but a Wayne. Some dinosaur at a gala is going to say the most out of pocket thing you’ve ever heard in your life and you’ve just got to stand there.”

Duke: “So that’s the reason you’re doing the creepy thing?”

Steph: “Yes Duke. You need to have a poker face that Even Superman can’t break. That even a Fifth-dimensional Imp can’t crack! And that is the purpose of our training tonight!”

Duke, getting the program now: “Okay. I’m ready.”

Jason, allowing a creepy grin to slide over his face: “Don’t be so sure. Because what we are about to show you… it has broken Batman.”

Dick: “Damian is too innocent to see it, which is why he isn’t here.”

Steph: “If you can handle this, you can handle anything.”

Tim, tapping on his computer, chanting under his breath: “the horrors, the horrors, the horrors…”

Duke, terrified of what Tim is about to pull up, on the edge of his seat wondering what on earth can shake the Bat of Gotham, what the family considers too awful for thier arguably LEAST innocent member to see, what vile images he’s about to be shown…

Tap. The screen lights up white.

Duke: “No.”

Jason, grin widening: “We’ll be reading this aloud, for your entertainment.”

Duke, trembling and inching towards the door: “No.”

Steph, vice grip on Duke’s arm: “There’s no escaping it, Signal. This is your mission- to stay completely pokerfaced through Real Person Fanfiction of us- the Batfamily. And co, of course.”

Duke, sobbing: “Please, why… why would you do this to yourselves… oh god, is that… is that… is that Kate with Bruce? She’s a lesbian! And his cousin!”

Steph: “They don’t know that, Duke. They know nothing. And the depths of a human imagination is comparable to the depths of the ocean… there’s some weird shit down there.”

Tim, without a single emotion on his face, least of all mercy: “I had to sit through Young Justice fawning over Dick and Bruce. Do you know what they said? About my own father figure? Right in front of my salad? I was lucky I was wearing a mask. I cried, and I cried in silence. They knew NOTHING, because I showed nothing. This is what you must achieve.”

Jason: “I’ve had to listen to criminals talk about what they’d do to the ‘Prince of Gotham’ and not twitch. I’ve had to listen to both goons and civilians play fuck marry kill with our vigilante identities and not move a muscle. I know this feels like overkill, but trust me, it’s not.”

Dick: “Don’t worry, we’ll keep it mostly PG. Tim? Begin with the wildly out of character and aggressively heteronormative Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman love triangle. Then maybe we’ll work our way up to slash readers and…” shudders in horror, “…batcest.”

Duke: “NOOOOOOOO!!!”

[raythekiller]

i am so obsessed with the way you write the characters cause it seems so perfect ??

my mind is always in the gutter so i wanna ask what kind of kinks you think (pastas of ur choice+ej if u can) have :]

🗒 ❛ Kinks Headcanons ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie

#Notes: I've tapped a bit into some kinks in the nsfw headcanons posts, but here's a more in-depth look at it. warning for some dub-con stuff

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

DOMINATION

He wants to feel completely in control as he's fucking your brains out. Having you at his mercy, ready to be used how he pleases is a major turn on.

BREATH PLAY

Kinda part of his domination kink, as it helps him feel in control. Having total say in how much you're able to breathe of all things just does it for him.

KNIFE PLAY/BLOOD KINK

Pretty obvious. He wants to cut you up, carve his name on your thigh, lick the blood off your wounds, etc etc.

HUMILIATION

Jeff doesn't do praise. Will call you the most horrible names he can think of while thrusting into you, telling you how much of a whore you are for enjoying it.

Full headcanon post here

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

VOYEURISM

He's a little pervert. Wants to secretly watch you through your computer screen while you pleasure yourself, jerking himself off to the sight of you.

FOOT FETISH

I'm so sorry to say this, but the truth can't be denied. He fantasizes about you stroking his cock with your feet on a daily basis.

CBT

Another one that I hate to say, but it's true. Wants you to step on his dick while wearing heels.

HUMILIATION

Receiving. He knows he's a disgusting pervert and wants you to say that to him, telling him how gross he is while stroking him.

EDGING

Again, receiving. Deny him as many times as you want - he's gonna be crying, begging you to just let him cum already, and he's gonna love every second of it.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

PRAISE KINK

He gets enough humiliation from others in a daily basis. He wants to be told he's loved and doing a good job for once. If you call him a good boy, he's gonna be coming in seconds.

DIRTY TALKING

May not even be considered a kink, but he gets super hard from it. Just whisper sweet nothings in his ear, telling him the things you wanna do to him if you wanna get him all hot and bothered.

(LIGHT) BONDAGE

Giving or receiving. Just loves being or having you completely at his mercy, unable to do anything. Normally uses his own shirts instead of fancy handcuffs or ropes.

PEGGING/FACE SITTING

Here's for my fellow afab's. Loves it when you use his face as your own personal chair or peg him from behind, pulling at his hair. Speaking of:

HAIR PULLING

Receiving. Especially if he's eating you out and you grab at it to make him take you in deeper.

Full headcanon post here

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

BREEDING

Loves loves loves coming deep inside of you, seeing it drip out of your hole after, having you completely full of him.

MARKING

Will cover you in claw marks and love bites so people know who you belong to.

OVERSTIMULATION

He wants you shaking and crying underneath him until you can't take it anymore.

HELPLESSNESS

Adores knowing that you're so small and powerless beneath him, unable do defend yourself. Not like he plans on intentionally hurting you, but still.

Full headcanon post here

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

DOMINATION

Said it before, but he's a massive dom. Wants to order you around and have you be completely submissive to him.

GAGGING

Adores the sounds you make, but even more so knowing that he's big enough to have you choke on his cock. It feeds into his ego.

HUMILIATION/PRAISE

Similar to Jeff, loves calling you names, but will lace in some compliments and encouragements. ("Taking my cock so well, doll,")

SPANKING

Adores having you writhing beneath him as he's smacking your ass with his belt as well as the little sounds you make.

BEGGING

Wants to hear you pleading for him to even touch you. If you want any pleasure from him at all, you're gonna have to work hard for it.

Full headcanon post here

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

CORRUPTION

I have a specific post for this here. Basically, to sumn it up, he wants to make you do dirty things you wouldn't normally do. Even better if he's the first person you have sex with.

MIRROR SEX

He'll fuck you from behind and pull your hair to make you look at the mirror so you can see him pounding into you.

PRAISE

Giving. Will tell you how you're doing such a good job, taking his cock so well.

FILMING

If you're okay with it, he'll want to record you little sessions so he can jack off watching it later when you're away.

BONDAGE

Unlike Toby, he actually has some handcuffs and fancy ropes for it. Loves seeing you all tied up like a little gift for him.

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Prologue: In Search of Lost Time

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 1.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst if you squint, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name appearance (not even y/n dw), some swearing, use of 2nd person for the reader (I know I know but I promise it makes sense for the story)

Summary: "He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him. She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe.". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is the first english fic I've written, so I'm terrified. Anyway, Trimetravel! AU with Sebastian Sallow. Some background info: Reader is not MC; Reader is a Gryffindor, MC was a Slytherin; MC was a Pureblood, Reader is a Muggle Born. Also, english is not my first language so if you find any mistakes, I deeply apologise. Not proof-read (for obvious reasons).

→ Find the rest of the fanfiction here on AO3 :)

"For we are not as faithful to the being we have most loved as we are to ourselves and sooner or later we forget her — since that is one of our characteristics — so as to start loving another." - Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

If a chasm had opened under Sebastian's feet and swallowed him all the way to the depths of hell, he would have gladly accepted his demise there and then.

Unfortunately, its mercy seemed to be out of business that day — or any other day in his life, really.

Sebastian paced the corridors, a frown adorning his face; he had just come out of the Headmaster's office due to the absolute disaster that had occurred to him just a few hours prior.

After weeks of research, he had finally found something that could help him, a breakthrough with which he could finally achieve his goal. An artefact so powerful that it could break the fabric of time and space, something that could help his poor sister live a happy and healthy life again. He did not care that they were not on speaking terms at the moment: he would find a way to talk to her so that she would take this last chance. He would force her if he had to. It was his last hope, and Merlin knows he had tried everything.

If he had known about the artefact's effects earlier, he would have thought twice before using it.

"So, Mr Sallow, could you be so kind as to tell us how you came to be in our time?" the Headmaster, who had earlier introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, had asked him.

Truth was that not having stopped dwelling with the Dark Arts in search of a cure for Anne had led him to find himself in another timeline instead. His face twitched: in terms of unlikelihood, the scales seemed pretty unbalanced.

It had been a brief conversation, really, with Sebastian omitting some details (like his friendship with an Ancient Magic wielder or the murder of his uncle, for which he bore full responsibility) and grimacing against his own will when the Headmaster had looked at him through his half-moon shaped glasses as if asking him, 'Why are you lying to me?'

He had pushed the thoughts away as quickly as they had come: it wasn't like he could read his mind... or could he?

Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief when the Headmaster had dismissed him after giving him specific instructions on how to behave until they found a way to return him to his timeline — one of which was, "Please don't inform anyone of your condition unless it's absolutely necessary." That had seemed quite reasonable to him, so he nodded.

The artefact was damaged, as expected, and unlikely to work again unless a powerful form of magic came into contact with it and repaired it: something like Ancient Magic, perhaps, or a miracle.

"I see you're still causing trouble everywhere you fare, aren't you, Mr Sallow?" the familiar voice of Phineas Nigellus Black had mocked from his portrait, effectively startling him. Sebastian had looked up and into the eyes of his old Headmaster, his mouth falling open at the sight of him. He looked old, weary, and angrier somehow — yet, in a way, he had brought Sebastian some form of comfort, almost. A sense of familiarity.

Before he could have said anything, Black had disappeared, and a woman with severe blue eyes and long robes had escorted him out of the office.

-

Sebastian looked around at his familiar surroundings, which would have been almost comforting if not for the nameless faces looking at him with curiosity: Hogwarts students tended to recognise each other effortlessly, and anyone who didn't fit into that bundle of familiarity was to be ostracised. He remembered all too well when he was the one helping the new fifth-year find her way around those same corridors, except he didn't need guidance: this was his home, after all.

But he did have a guide, and she wasn't as charming a student as he was either.

The Head of the Gryffindor House walked right next to him, a stern expression on her face made even more prominent by the shadow of her large witch hat. The woman Sebastian had come to know as Minerva McGonagall was also the Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress, at least it seemed that way, which was no doubt why she was accompanying him rather than the Head of his own House.

Sebastian decided not to ask himself any questions and do what the Headmaster told him to: attend class, fit in, and pretend to be either a transfer student or someone with a complex background — he hadn't decided which story to tell yet (and both, in a way or another, would be true).

The clacking of Professor McGonagall's shoes stopped so abruptly that he almost would have missed it if she hadn't started speaking.

"You're about to meet two of your new classmates. Prefects of the Gryffindor House." She raised her left arm in their direction, and his eyes followed it to two red and gold robes leading into warm faces.

"I am pleased to introduce you to Ms Hermione Granger—" she gestured to the girl with curly hair to her left, who wore a friendly smile all while maintaining a serious and clean look, "—and Mr Ronald Weasley." Sebastian's eyes shot to the boy to his right when he heard the familiar name, and to be honest, he might not have needed an introduction at all: the red-haired boy gave him a wry smile, his freckles standing out even more in the natural light. He would have recognised those features anywhere.

Finally, Sebastian noticed their uniforms. He didn't pay much attention to the boy's — he himself also wore a very similar one, uncomfortable and informal as it seemed to him — for his eyes were fixed on the girl's. She was wearing a grey cardigan with red and gold trim, the colours of her House, and her skirt was much shorter than he remembered, with black denier tights covering the rest of her legs. Sebastian felt himself blushing slightly and averted his eyes.

He wondered why the Slytherin prefects were unsuited to the situation: at the end of the day, he was a Slytherin, too. Sebastian didn't undergo the Sorting again — the Professors didn't seem to deem it necessary, not to mention the Hat had recognised him from his shelf, too. He didn’t forget easily.

McGonagall turned back to Sebastian and briefly adjusted his robes, her face softening slightly, "For the time being, it is best if you don't draw attention to yourself. We will find a solution," she straightened her posture and nodded at him, "Welcome to Hogwarts." She turned on her heels and walked away, leaving him with the two Gryffindors.

He studied their faces for a moment, searching for the right words to say, deciding on which story to tell, but the only thing he could muster was: "How come you're Gryffindors?"

The two students stared at him, appalled, and he mentally slapped himself. He wanted to correct his statement and explain his intention, but the girl stopped him before he could even form a coherent thought.

"You're wondering why they asked us to guide you and not the Slytherin Prefects, am I right?"

Either his question wasn't that unclear, or the girl had excellent deduction skills, and judging by the epiphany on the other boy's face when he understood the meaning of her words, it was most likely the latter.

Sebastian sighed inwardly and nodded, mentally promising not to stumble over his words again.

The boy — Ronald, Sebastian recalled — chimed in: "Because otherwise you'd have to deal with Malfoy, and he's an idio—" the girl slapped him on the arm and gave him a warning look before turning back to Sebastian.

Malfoy, Sebastian thought. A family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. It was clear why a Weasley would want nothing to do with him.

Sebastian wondered if they still held the same values as in his day: if the Malfoys were still blood maniacs, and so was the person they spoke of, or if he wanted to distance himself from his family as Ominis did. Judging by Ronald's opinion of him, Sebastian did not think that was possible, but then again, he did not know the fellow. Maybe, Sebastian thought, things had moved on after a century: no blood wars, discrimination or superiority complexes. Perhaps this was all just a simple rivalry between two students from different Houses.

"Professor Dumbledore thought us to be best suited for this difficult situation. No other student but us knows about your... misadventure," said Hermione.

To call it a "misadventure" would be an understatement , Sebastian wanted to say. As it turned out, however, he didn't need a story to tell. He didn't know whether to feel betrayed by the Professors who had decided to disclose that information or relieved that he didn't have to go through it all alone. A beat of silence followed, in which Sebastian could only nod at the girl's words, and then it was interrupted abruptly.

"Where have you been?" called a voice from the end of the corridor, directly behind Sebastian.

He turned around, and the world seemed to stop around him.

He definitely didn't have to go through it all alone because there she was. Standing a few feet away from him, looking straight at him, was the person who had accompanied him on all his adventures.

She had followed him: into another timeline, into another universe.

He felt his lips twist into a grin, and he beamed at the sight of her. Had she been looking for him?

He frowned a little as he noticed her expression: she seemed annoyed, almost angry. Perhaps she had no intention of following him and had just ended up here for no reason? Were the two of them connected on a deeper level than he thought? Or perhaps she was just worried for him and angry he didn't look for her too?

The girl started to walk towards them, and his smile widened even more the closer she got.

She was almost there when he realised she wasn't sparing him a glance.

Instead, her eyes were focused on the red-haired boy next to him, who was staring at her in horror, looking completely terrified.

Sebastian looked back at the girl, finally noticing the red and gold tie around her neck where a green and silver one usually belonged, a crease in her eyebrows that wasn't there before, and her eyes were a different colour than he remembered.

What the hell is going on here?  he thought, staring at her wide-eyed.

"Ron, for God's sake, I've been looking all over for you! Do you intend to give me back my book before class starts, or should I pull a new one out of a hat because you can't use your own?" she threw her hands in the air disapprovingly.

Ron stuttered briefly before hesitantly pointing at the Slytherin boy next to him, "I've just had too much to do. Prefect stuff, you know."

The girl scowled at him before turning to the said boy, her eyes softening slightly. "Oh! You're the new fifth-year!"

Sebastian's eye twitched. How bloody ironic.

"I'm Sebastian Sallow," he replied feebly, body stock-still like marble.

"Nice to meet you," she smiled politely.

And then she introduced herself.

His breath caught in his throat. Sebastian could have recognised that surname anywhere, but her name fell completely deaf on his ears.

You weren't her.

--

→ Chapter 1

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-sixteen

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: Please listen to Eyelids by PVRIS during this chapter. Thank you very much.

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here @koskeepsake @bngurngheart @shilohrosechicken @emzandthevoid

READER

With the notebook in my lap, as I sat cross-legged on my bed with Salem curled up next to me, purring away, I watched intently my laptop screen. My heart pounded so hard in my chest it made it hard to breathe. Noah and Jolly were currently performing a live stream on Veeps and from the moment I clicked on the video, I couldn’t stop staring; with his long hair cascading down his face in perfect waves. His face stone with concentration but yet soft with the features I loved.

“Do you think he’ll mess up like the last stream he did?” I asked Salem while scratching his belly.

Noah’s voice was something extremely distinctive, not just anyone could hold a tune or lit a candle to how he sounded. The way he effortlessly went through every emotion in his body. I looked at Noah as he was pretty still, with thick hair and soft eyes, and he swayed so gracefully that it almost seemed as though he was gliding. I’ve seen beautiful men before; men who caught my eye, but to my mind, they usually lacked the traits I found most desirable. Traits like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness, traits I aspired to myself, all the traits he had.

I hung off the cliff for Noah for a long time until recently, when I fell to the depths below.

It sparked something in me as I watched Jolly and Noah’s performance. I wanted to do something like this too; to showcase my real voice. I was better without Trey; the band was better. Trey wasn’t the end-all, and I wanted to prove it further. I understood the fans; I knew their positions; I understood their inner turmoil and their panic. Change is actually horrific under some circumstances, not all, but surely a few. This one was big.

Hollow Souls was never supposed to be a 3 piece. Hell, we didn’t even have a guitar player and our tech had to fill in when we recorded My House. Which is why I was learning how to play guitar so I could take Trey’s place. A lot of change within a few months and while it was scary, it was also exciting. But that didn’t stop me from questioning once again if we needed another person. What if I wasn’t strong enough to do this alone? Just the three of us? 

What the hell were you worried about, angel?

I was thinking so heavily about what Noah texted me. He was proud of me. Of me! And my friends. That woke me up, he always could. I wanted to grab my phone to call him, and ask him for more reassurance. Our 2:30 conversations were slim and in between and I was struggling with that. I didn’t want to push my luck; he had Bailey.

Bailey.

Bailey.

I rolled my eyes, at the memories of the party. Ridiculous. I was tiptoeing around Noah; I knew if I called him I’d so desperately try to stay on the line. But what if she showed? It was killing me.

Therefore, I was hesitant to perform Eyelids; I was worried Noah’s reaction would warrant further frustration, considering he was in the arms of someone else. I couldn’t handle it because it fucking hurt seeing him with her. I wanted Noah to myself, as selfish as that sounded. I could only hope that in the discovery of my lyrics, he’ll at least know I meant everything we did and said that whole tour, meeting him changed my life for the better; before I hurt him.

I miss him and I only wished I was in his arms.

As the livestream ended, I smiled warmly as Noah and Jolly waved goodbye at the camera and then tried to focus my attention on the paper in my lap.

Amongst the idea of our own live stream, I couldn’t help but want more out of me. It was small; it was something just dying to purge out. However, the more I looked at the lyrics on paper, the more it didn’t fit; it wasn’t me. It was as if these lyrics were meant for someone else.

Letting out a deep breath, I sang a harmony I thought would fit with the lyrics. “Evened the scores, then I let it all go fall apart. And every step forward put a little more sword in your heart, yeah. Looking sideways when I say I’m okay with the past but I’m afraid of what I might say if you ask.”

The more I read it, over and over. It was good; I’ll say that. But, surely it didn’t belong to me. I could feel that. But I didn’t give up yet. I wrote another verse, hoping this one would speak more of me.

“I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself and tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.”

Fuck, even singing these lyrics didn’t feel right. My heart knew that this didn’t belong to me, it was meant for someone else.

Making a rash decision, I pulled out my phone and clicked on the name I needed help from.

“Hello?”

I perked up at the accent immediately. “Jolly! Hey, it's me. Y/N.”

A light chuckle echoed in my ear. “I know who it is, doll, I have caller ID.”

“Ok don’t be smart,” I teased.

“Sorry,” he laughs, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

I bit my lip, wondering how he would take my idea. It sounded rash in my head but if anyone were to listen to my idea; it was Jolly.

“I have something to run by you. Well, actually a few things.”

NOAH

My knee bounced as I sat in my chair, phone gripped tightly in my hand, as I glanced at the clock on my computer.

2:28.

It has been almost a week now since our last 2:30 call and the last one was short as she was running around Japan with her dad. Things were awkward to say the least at the party the other night and I wanted to make sure that things between us were still good.

Good? What’s considered good anymore? You’re dating someone else, dumbass.

Ignoring the voice in my mind, I let out a deep breath before clicking on Y/N’s name; the ringing echoing loudly in my quiet room. It rang and rang and rang. It went on like this for a few more times until, eventually; I hung up the call with a groan. But I wasn’t ready to give up yet and I typed out a quick message to Malcolm.

ME: Is Y/N around? I tried calling her.

Malcolm: Yeah, she’s been in the shower. Has been in there for a while- too long, maybe shaving or some shit. I’ll have her call you.

An audible, deep groan, fell from my lips as I leaned my head back against the headrest of my chair when the thought of Y/N in the shower.

Naked, water, and soap ran down every inch of her unholy skin.

“Shit,” I cursed when my dick twitched in my sweats.

“Noah.”

Y/N’s voice rang in my ear as my eyes fluttered shut, hands in fists on my thighs. My vision was so vivid as if I was in the shower with her, our wet skin ablaze as I wrapped my arms around her from behind to bury my face into the crook of her neck.

“Angel,” I breathed while my palm pressed against my hard cock in my sweats.

My hips raised from the chair as a moan crawled out of my throat, my hand now all but ripping out my dripping cock from my pants. It was red and thick with the mere thought of Y/N in the shower. Gripping it between my fingers, I slowly pumped up and down, thumb grazing over the pre-cum that leaked out from the slit and circled it around the head of my cock.

“Noah, I need you.”

Her name fell from my lips as a prayer while I leaned farther back into my chair as my hand worked faster, the grip around myself tightened as the orgasm buzzed in my lower stomach. The burn felt so good but it wasn’t enough; I needed something else to help me over the edge.

I pulled the extra skin down tight, cock standing straight up in my hand, as I let out a strangled breath. My orgasm was right there, but I wanted to edge myself longer; I didn’t want this vision to end.

Y/N rubbed the soap over every inch of her skin, her fingers teasing over her nipples as he head fell back, water spraying into her mouth.

But after that vision, another one came to mind which made my hand work in faster strokes. Y/N on top of me with her hands gripping my braids as her mouth fell slack with ecstasy. I consistently became a time traveler of that night, the night she rode me into oblivion. A night I’ll surely never forget. Even in these moments, my mind goes there.

“Fuck. Shit.” I cursed as a shock shot from the base of my spine to the top when my body went stiff, orgasm so close to destroying me.

I jerked when my phone buzzed against the computer desk so I stopped my actions but kept my grip tight on my aching cock to realize Bailey was calling me.

Ignore.

With my phone still in my hand, I quickly went to my photos and clicked on one of my favorite pictures of Y/N; from the day we spent on the beach. She was staring straight out into the water, a small smile playing on her sweet, plump lips.

Fuck, I wished those lips were strangled around my cock.

Once the phone was set up directly in front of me, I leaned back into my chair again and worked my hand in fast short strokes, the orgasm once again burning low in my belly.

“Noah.” Y/N’s voice echoed in my mind again.

“Shit, angel. I’m gonna-fuck,” I groaned low, the noise barely audible as it crawled out of my throat when my release finally washed over me.

Cum shot all over my hand and onto my pants but none of that mattered; my dark eyes were stuck on the picture on the screen. Until a different picture appeared which had me cursing and wiping my cum covered hand on my pants before tucking myself back into my pants. Just a simple phone call from her had my dick aching again.

With a few steady breaths, I ran my clean hand through my hair before answering the FaceTime call; Y/N’s bright smile warming my heart.

“Hi Mochi! I didn’t mean to miss your call. I was in the shower.”

She was sitting on her bed, water still dripping from her wet hair, and internally I groaned when the same thoughts as earlier came creeping back into my mind.

“Oh yeah? You-uh-feeling clean?” I flushed while shifting in my chair.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckled. “That’s what a shower is. Water, soap.”

Naked, I know the drill.

I cleared my throat. “Right. Anyway, can you talk or is this a bad time?”

“Actually, I was going to send this in the group chat but since I have you on the phone, I figured now would be the best time.”

I raised a brow as my heart pounded widely in my chest, wondering what she was going to say.

“Veeps offered Hollow Souls to do a stream as well! So I wanted to make sure you were free to watch it, maybe? Totally fine if you can’t, I know you might be busy with-.”

“I’ll watch it,” I rushed out, not missing a beat. “What time?”

“Oh, in about 2 hours?” She bit her lip, hopeful I’d say yes.

My dick throbbed as memories of moments before her phone call replayed in my mind. “I’ll have the tv on standby downstairs, angel. We wouldn’t miss that shit for anything.”

Y/N smiled brightly as she brought Salem into view of her phone, his green eyes staring directly into my soul. “Salem thanks you for the support.”

“I miss him, we really bonded while you were gone,” I smiled a bit.

“Well, you can come by anytime to hang out with him; or me,” Y/N added the last bit slyly.

“Count me in, angel.”

READER

Once dressed, almost ready for the live stream, I was rummaging through my sock drawer to find a pair of socks when my fingers brushed against something soft. My brow raised as I pulled out two small velvet boxes, my mind immediately going back to my birthday.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I opened the box, and a gasp left my lips as the silver necklace and matching bracelet shined under the light of the room. It wasn't anything over the top and there were no diamonds but that didn't matter to me. I wasn't one for over-the-top jewelry, this simple chain and bracelet were enough.

With wet eyes, I gazed up at Noah, who had a nervous look on his face as he fiddled with his wooden rosary. "Do you like it?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into my embrace, burying my face into his neck. "I love it, Noah. Thank you so much."

With the haste of break up, the end of the tour, the move, and everything that happened between Noah and me, I almost forgot about the jewelry. I've stared at this bracelet and this fucking necklace for a while now. To think I had almost forgotten it, I shook my head at the thought. I couldn’t, things that were meant for us to find their way back. Well; at least that’s what I told myself. I yearned for him, his comfort, his gaze. I didn’t plan on falling in love with him. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. I gasped when I realized what that burning feeling in my heart took over my entire existence each time I thought of him or saw him.

I love Noah.

I nearly stumbled on my feet as a breath fell from my lips again. “It’s too late now.”

With shaky hands, I opened the box, my heart skipping a beat. It still took my breath away as I opened the box, clasping on the necklace first then the bracelet.

“I have to admit, Salem” I turned towards the mirror in my room so I could stare at my reflection while the cat sat on my vanity. “Noah did pretty well.”

There was a knock on my open door, and I gave a small smile towards Jolly. “Hey.”

“Almost ready?” He asked.

“Yep.”

He then taped a finger to his neckline twice. “That’s a nice necklace. Who gave you that?”

“It was a birthday gift,” I shrugged nonchalantly.

The corner of Jolly’s mouth turned up in a grin. “That’s not what I asked.”

Ignoring his comment, I slid into my slippers and led him out of my room down to the dining room where we set up earlier.

Jolly first arrived a few hours ago for our daily lessons before helping me set up the stream. After I watched theirs almost a week ago, I asked Jolly if he could come over to help me with my stream. I couldn’t play guitar but we could practice the two songs I wanted to perform.

Chase and Malcolm asked if I needed them for this but I could tell they already had plans. Even though this was a Hollow Souls set, it was more of an acoustic version so Chase on drums and Malcolm on bass wasn’t needed; hence why I asked Jolly to help. First off, who else was better to teach me how to play guitar than him? I knew the basics, but he was helping me hone in on my skills. Second, I needed to talk to him about something important.

As I finished making things were in order, Jolly sat on his chair to strum the first few notes of If I’m There on his guitar.

“Feel comfortable enough?” He wondered.

I nodded while looking at the laptop to make sure the stream was ready; all I had to do was hit the live button.

“Yep. We’ve been practicing every day. It helps I have a great teacher,” I beamed at him. “Thanks for this, Jolly. I didn’t know who else to ask and I know you’re Noah’s friend first.”

Jolly shrugged. “You’re my friend as well, doll. I help my friends and that’s something Noah knows and understands.”

Silence fell between us for a long moment until he hesitated.

“How did you feel about our new single, honestly?”

My shoulders went rigid for a second before I shrugged. “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Y/N don’t take this the wrong way, but you can’t be that dense. You know it was about you, right?” Jolly asked.

“I-,” The words died in my throat.

Jolly raised a brow. “Yeah, so tell me. How do you feel about it?”

“Are you my shrink now?” I crossed my arms over my chest, one last ditch effort at shielding myself from admitting the truth.

“No, a friend,” he sighed while setting down the guitar.

Defeated, I fell into the chair with a groan. “I-I feel sad. Noah must fucking hate me.”

“I assure you, he doesn’t,” Jolly said.

“How can you be so sure, Jolly? He went and found someone else. He’s clearly writing how he feels too. I hate feeling like this.” I sat with my hands folded in my lap as I chipped away at the nail polish.

“So talk to him, because I can tell you right now, Noah’s not head over heels for this girl. I think you know deep down what he’s trying to do.”

I refused to meet his gaze as I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean. I can’t-he seems happy.”

“Y/N,” Jolly sighed. “He’s not happy unless he’s with you.”

“Then he needs to tell me that,” my eyes snapped up towards him. “I was going to express some things I’ve discovered but-.”

Jolly raised his brows. “Discovered what?”

For a split second, I thought about telling him but decided against it. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t mess anything up for him. I need Noah to need me. It works both ways, Jolly.”

“Y/N you’re not understanding you’ve got it all wrong-.”

“Can we move on, please? It hurts enough to think about him with someone else the last fucking thing I want to do is talk about them,” I let out a shaky breath as my bottom lip wobbled.

Jolly gave me a weak smile. “Sure thing, doll. Did you want to go live?”

“Actually,” I bit my lip before reaching over to the table to grab a piece of paper. “There’s something I want to run by you.”

When he nodded, I handed Jolly the paper. “I wrote it about Trey but the thought of recording it scares me. It’s deeper than what I typically write and it's not me. I thought about selling it but that didn’t feel right.”

I watched intently as Jolly read the lyrics, his eyes taking in every inch of the page, the smile on his lips growing with each pass.

“Doll, this is,” he shook his head. “Amazing. Are you sure?”

Our eyes locked as I nodded. “It’s not a Hollow Souls song. But Bad Omens on the other hand, I know you guys can give it the justice it deserves.”

NOAH

“SHUT UP!” I bellowed while tossing a pillow towards Jesse, who was talking extensively to Orie about some shit that didn’t matter. “The live stream is about to start.”

Jesse caught the pillow mid-throw and smirked. “Excited, are we?”

Flipping him off, I sat on the couch with a beer in one hand and my phone in the other, sending another text to Jolly. He’d been M.I. A all day, and we were wondering if he was going to join.

“Has anyone heard from Jolly?” I asked.

Orie shrugged. “I thought he was in his room.”

“We went to lunch earlier,” Michael said while walking into the living room, bowl full of random snacks in his hands before he set them on the coffee table. “But he said he had some things to take care of afterward.”

Just then the stream began and Y/N’s soft voice echoed through the speakers.

“Shit, are we live? Wait, I probably shouldn’t swear on this.”

We all shared a laugh until we saw who was sitting next to her.

“Hi everyone! It’s Y/N from Hollow Souls. You might have noticed that I have a friend here with me today,” Y/N adjusted the headphones before she motioned to Jolly who sat on her left. “Jolly from Bad Omens.”

Jolly waved to the camera. “Hi.”

“I guess that’s what his errand was,” Jesse said while throwing some popcorn in his mouth.

Ignoring him, I wondered why Jolly was with Y/N right now. I wasn’t jealous he was with her. I was jealous that I wasn’t there instead. She looked breathtaking with her long hair pulled back in a tight bun to showcase the sharp features of her face, her plump lips glistening with the lip gloss she must have applied before the stream started. Her bright eyes shined with the excitement of what she was about to perform which in turn made me sit up straighter in my spot on the couch, a proud smile on my face.

“So, the reason Malcolm and Chase aren’t here is because this set is more of an acoustic one. I recently saw some friends of mine do something like this and wanted to try it,” she smiled over to Jolly.

“I’m here for moral support,” Jolly said.

“He’s actually been teaching me guitar the last week because I wanted to do more for this band since we kicked Trey out,” Y/N revealed.

At the mention of his name, I felt my face twitch but kept it as stone as I could, not wanting to give anything away to the rest of the guys. They were the only three of the entire group that didn’t know the truth about Y/N’s relationship with Trey.

“Did you know Jolly was teaching her guitar?” Jesse asked me.

I shook my head while running a hand through my hair. “I had no idea she wanted to learn. I mean, I knew they had to figure out a guitarist moving forward but didn’t know she wanted to play.”

“She didn’t ask you?” Orie wondered.

I shrugged, wondering the same but did my best not to dwell on it as I went back to watching the feed.

“So, I’m going to sing two songs for you guys today. The first one is a cover, and the second is something new. It’s nowhere near ready for release but it’s been weighing heavy on my heart the last few weeks since I wrote it.”

Y/N adjusted her headphones before glancing over to her laptop. “Woah, the chat is going crazy you’re here, Jolly.”

He hummed in amusement while tuning the guitar. “What are they saying?”

“Where’s Noah? When is the collab with Bad Omens coming?”

Y/N snickered before looking back at the camera, giving a wink. “I don’t know. Noah has my number.”

Quickly pulling out my phone, I pulled up the stream to add something to the chat.

“Oh, look who joined the chat. Jolly, Noah is wondering if you could bring pizza home,” Y/N laughed as she read my comment.

I chuckled to myself as we saw Jolly roll his eyes. Then Y/N read my next comment, her cheeks flushing red; something others might not have noticed. But I did. I watched and analyzed everything she did with a careful eye.

The comment I sent in the chat was something simple; something only a few of us would understand.

We can talk about the collab during our next phone call.

She shifted in her chair, a hint of a smile on her face. “Well, my first song might sound familiar to a lot of you. It’s my first time performing it but unlike Noah did last week, I won’t mess up the words.”

Jolly broke out in laughter before playing the opening notes of the song; one I recognized immediately even though I knew which one she meant before Jolly played the first few notes of the song. There was only one song I messed up on a livestream recently. If I’m There.

Her beautiful voice stung deep into my veins as I fell back on the couch.

“Oh. Shit,” Orie spoke. “No offense, man, but Y/N kills your lyrics.”

I nodded, numbly as I agreed with him. It was as if my lyrics were made for her voice, the sultry tone of it sending chills all over my body. She gripped the microphone with a soft touch and my cock twitched as I remembered earlier up in my bedroom.

As she got to the verse I messed up on my own livestream, Y/N’s eyes opened to throw a quick wink and smirk toward the camera when she sang it perfectly; almost annoyingly perfect.

I felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of my head and briefly tearing my gaze away from the television; I shot Jesse a look.

“What?”

He pursed his lips while shaking his head. “You haven’t stopped smiling since she came on the screen. You look like a kid that was given free rein in a candy store.”

Rolling my eyes, I focused back to Y/N just in time as she sang the last two lines of the song.

“And if you're there to catch me when I fall then maybe Hell ain't so bad after all,” she breathed before pushing away the microphone from her a tad.

Shit.

This was different than Hollow Souls. The softness of the song was fucking made for Y/N and something she needed to do more of.

“Fuck yes,” she beamed but then smacked a hand over her face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to swear. I’ll add it to the jar Malcolm has on top of the fridge.”

“He doesn’t?” Michael chucked.

I nodded while taking a long drink of my beer. “He does. I saw it when I was there taking care of Salem. Thing is empty but fuck is in their everyday vocabulary so you know they’re not adding to that shit.”

Noticing she was reading the comments once again, I quickly typed out one.

Great job, Y/N! Feel free to cover any of our songs. I’d always watch it with a proud smile.

Even though she didn’t say she read it, I knew she did with the way the corner of her lip raised and the way her eyes crinkled at the sides.

“Alright, the last song is a new one. We do plan on having it on the next record but it will sound different from what you’ll hear right now. My friends, thank you for watching. This one is called Eyelids.”

This had me sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, as excitement filled me.

“I'll face my fear of the evening once I get used to this feeling. I can't sleep. That's when you're torn away from me. While I'm dreaming I feel you leaving.”

My jaw fell slack, hearing the rawness in her voice with the pure emotion being poured out of her soul.

"I'll face my fear of the sunrise when I wake up with your hand inside mine. It's hard to say good morning when it's followed with goodbye. Just wanted to say good night.”

Something glinted on the screen, which immediately took my gaze away from her face down to her neck, my heart and breath catching in my throat. I remained silent as my body leaned closer to the television.

“What are you doing, man? Did you forget your glasses?” Michael joked.

His voice was a white noise as I moved from my spot on the couch to the coffee table, now sitting directly in front of the screen.

What the fuck?

Is that?

I inched closer and closer to that television, I couldn’t hear what was being said to me as I scrunched my face up and began squinting.

No, it can’t be.

“Our eyes fighting the light but I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

It hung almost a little well above her cleavage, that beautiful silky neck- my eyes moved quickly to her wrists.

“Let me see,” I muttered under my breath.

I made an inaudible sound from my throat, mouth peering a little open.

She was wearing them; both of them. My heart raced even further, longer, more rapidly.

I was feeling a lot of things at once; I didn’t quite know how to place them. I needed a beer. I needed to talk to my shrink. That’s what I should do, because the panic was setting in, this ache was almost unbearable.

Why, why would she want to wear them after everything? Even now?

I’m hurting her right back, aren’t I?

Everything has become a puddle of mud, a mess of my volition now. I did this. All I could think while seeing the jewelry I gifted her, all I could hear while listening to her voice was “Maybe, just maybe I’ll come back to you.”

She was occupied by her own complicated thoughts - you could tell from the way she was squinting and moving her mouth.

Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe until-.

“I'll face my fear of the cold nights when you leave me behind. I felt your hands in my hair. I felt your breath on my neck. Yeah, I need to feel you again. Just wanted to say good night.”

My body went still, all the air taken from my lungs, as I watched her lips move. Her own personal conflict was clear in the way the muscles in her jaw tightened and her eyes screwed shut.

No, it couldn’t be.

She didn’t.

Did she?

Was this about us?

No, I’m overthinking this.

“Our eyes fighting the light but I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Orie smack Jesse on the shoulder and motioned to the stillness of me; still unmoving.

“Our eyes fighting the light. But I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

I could see Jolly vibing along to the lyrics next to Y/N but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered more than this moment right here as I watched her pour every feeling about that night into this one song. My heart fell deep into the pits of my stomach when I saw her grip the necklace, playing with it between two fingers.

These eyes are closed again for yet another night I wake up and I can feel you by my side. But I can't find you in the dark when you're so far. Yeah, that's the hardest part. Here comes the hardest part.

My eyes dropped slightly in tangent with my shoulders.

Our eyes fight the light. But I'm not ready to say good night oh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. To say good night.

As the last lyric faded into the air, there was a hushed recording playing some words in the background; another small thing I picked up on.

“I mean in what world do I go to sleep after you and wake up before you? I don't even know how it happens. Well, I hope you're having sweet dreams. And you call me when you wake up.”

Fuck.

My bottom lip trembled when I recognized that voice. It was Y/N’s, and it wasn’t just any kind of recording. No, it was a voicemail she left me while she was in Japan. It was right after I missed one of our 2:30 calls. I was asleep but once I noticed she called me less than an hour later; I listened to the voicemail before quickly calling her back.

“Okay, that deserves a curse,” Jolly said. “You fucking killed that, Y/N.”

She was beaming with pride. “Holy shit, guys. You don’t understand how long I’ve had this festering inside of me. It feels so good to get out.”

Y/N clicked on the laptop to read through some of the comments, a small frown pulling at her lips.

“Oh my god. Are you and Trey getting back together?! You were so perfect. No, we’re not getting back together. I grew up since the breakup; I became a savage. But not everything is about fucking Trey. This is just a song about a really awesome guy. That’s it.”

I was still, like a statue, unmoving and unnerving as Joly and Y/N said their goodbyes before the stream ended; a black screen mirror back to me.

Jesse leaned forward in his chair. “Noah-.”

Hearing my name broke me out of the trance and without saying another word, I jumped up from my spot on the coffee table and took the stairs two at a time, my footsteps thundering throughout the house before I slammed myself into my bedroom.

Tears threatened to spill, burning at the corners of my eyes, but I held them in with a choked sob as I ran a shaky hand over my face.

I didn’t know what to make of anything anymore. Maybe just romantics would call this a twisted, toxic beginning to a love story while the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind, it’s a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life and the path I’ve chosen to follow and that I- I love her.

Ripping the drawer of my desk open, I rummaged through the useless crap, already knowing what I was looking for. I tossed the velvet boxes to the side and cradled the jewelry, my large hands encased them. I pressed them on my forehead and let the tears finally spill to the floor as I fell to my knees, resting my back up against my bed.

I cried; actually fucking cried.

The necklace and bracelet shook in my hands as the sobs wrecked through me. I haven’t cried like this in a long time mostly because I hated being this open and vulnerable. It made me sick, knowing that I wasn’t able to protect myself from these feelings right now. I spent my entire life protecting myself from these feelings only for Y/N to sink her claws into me in the best way possible.

“I love her,” I choked out through sobs, realizing what I felt earlier. “I fucking love her.”

NOAH

I wasn’t sure how long I kneeled on the floor, jewelry grasped deep in my palms as it dug into my skin. But it wasn’t until there was a soft knock on the door that pulled me from the despair. Red, puffy, bloodshot eyes glanced up at Jolly, whose shoulders fell as he took in my state; tears dried to my face and hair a mess from running my hands through it.

“Noah,” he muttered.

“Please leave me alone right now.” I whimpered lowly, refusing to meet his gaze again.

“No. Jesse said watching her perform Eyelids fucked you up. What’s going on?” Jolly kneeled in front of me.

“I can’t-,” I choked on a sob. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

Jolly rubbed his jaw. “Was it the song or the jewelry?”

My eyes snapped up to him. “How did you know about the jewelry?”

“You used the band card to charge it, goof. I see everything,” Jolly gave me a small smile.

“Fuck. Sorry,” I sighed.

“It’s okay man, it’s okay,” he reassured me with a strong grip on my shoulder.

“No, no, it’s not. I’m tired of feeling. I want to disappear, just disappear.”

Jolly now gripped both of my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "No, you don’t. Don’t say that shit.” 

“I just mean I wish it wasn’t this. Y/N’s been giving me mixed signals.” I mumbled.

“Have you thought you’re doing the same? You’re literally hanging out with another woman out of spite,” He raised a questioning brow.

I leaned my head against the side of my mattress. “She won’t tell me how she feels, I’m trying to show her. I’ve always tried to show her.”

“There’s a saying.” Jolly paused, trying to think of the right words to say. “We are defined by what we do, not just nice words. However, I think you’ve shown enough, Noah. It’s time you use your words.” 

“I don’t know how,” I admitted with a shaky breath after a long beat of silence.

“If you’re not comfortable talking about it with us, Noah. Talk to your therapist about it- but this has to stop. It’s draining you.”

I saw the way Jolly’s mouth twitched, his own emotions close to slipping through his own mask, but he held it stronger than me.

“Once you’re in a better place, come to the studio. I have something to show you.”

I nodded. “Sure, yeah. Might be good for me to write something.”

Jolly gave one last squeeze to my shoulder. “Love you, man.”

“You too. Thank you.” I smiled.

NOAH

An hour and a long shower later, I walked down the hallway toward our studio with a new tune in my head. The lyrics were loud in my mind as I played with the new bracelet on my wrist, twisting it between two fingers.

“There’s not another way don’t let me go, don’t dig another grave today,” I sang under my breath as I walked through the door.

Jolly was sitting on the couch in the room, guitar on his lap and notebook on the floor at his feet. He looked up as I walked in and had a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey, you better?”

I gave a small nod. “Yeah. What’s this?”

As I sat on the couch next to him, I went to reach for the notepad before he placed a foot over it, blocking me from retrieving it.

“Y/N gave me something earlier. I really like it but wanted to run it by you, if you were comfortable,” Jolly said hesitantly.

I tensed, not knowing how to feel. I wasn’t comfortable with whatever Jolly needed to show me but knowing it was from Y/N eventually made me agree.

He removed his foot so I could grab the notebook, eyes immediately scanning over the lyrics on the page.

Evened the scores, then I let it all go fall apart. And every step forward put a little more sword in your heart, yeah. Looking sideways when I say I’m okay with the past but I’m afraid of what I might say if you ask. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.

My heart stuttered in my chest as I licked my lips. “Wow, that’s impressive. When did you find the time to write this? Usually, that's my wheelhouse.”

“Noah cut the shit. You know this isn’t my work. I just told you, it’s Y/N’s,” Jolly sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m just being a dick.” I snorted a laugh while bumping his shoulder with mine.

“Yeah, you are. Now what do you think? We can use this, no? As inspiration, maybe?”

Suddenly the lyrics I sang a moment before walking into the room played in my mind again; I hummed them under my breath, adding it to the lyrics Y/N wrote.

“One second,” I muttered while pulling out my phone.

ME: You sure you want us to have your lyrics?

Y/N’s response was immediate.

Angel 🪽: Nobody could do it better than you guys. You’ll give those lyrics the justice it deserve.

Leaving the message on read, Jolly and I worked tirelessly to rework the lyrics together and when I felt we were in a good position with them, I reached for my phone again. There was still a lingering feeling festering deep inside of me, that I wanted to make sure Y/N was fine with.

ME: I’m taking creative liberty for this, are you good with that?

Angel 🪽: What's mine is yours, Noah. 

Yeah, not everything.

[tainbocuailnge]

Realizing I haven't seen an exceptionally fantastic character analysis from you on my dashboard for a while, so I'd like to ask: what are your thoughts on Elizabeth Bathory?

liz is in a bit of a weird position here in the west because you could try to connect the dots and read between the lines of her localised appearances to figure out the hidden depths behind the funny seasonal girl, or you could read a fantranslation of CCC and have her deal laid out for you very clearly and i mean very very clearly there's really not much digging you have to do to understand elizabeth from reading CCC

elizabeth in CCC is a young girl who does not understand why the people around her came to hate her, and is terrified of it happening again. her obsession with youth is because she could tell that as she grew older the patience of those around her was wearing thinner, but she didn't understand what it was about her that caused this and in her desperation to cling to the youthful innocence that made them stay their hand in punishing her crimes she just committed more crimes. her desire to be an idol is a direct continuation of this: she is trying to attract a love and adoration that will instantly turn to hatred should she ever fail to adhere to a strict yet arbitrary standard of youthful purity and innocence.

elizabeth is excruciatingly lonely. she was raised to be extremely aware of her noble heritage and the inherent superiority it gives her. she calls people piglets and squirrels because she was literally not taught to see the common people as people rather than livestock. she has some natural violent inclinations that went completely unchecked and combined with her emotional frustrations into a habit of brutally torturing both people she hates and people she likes. she craves emotional connection between equals but has no idea, no example, no internal model of what such a relationship would actually look like, because the only interactions she had in her life were between the countess and her subjects that were completely at her mercy until they weren't.

this is barely even analysis, I'm just repeating things CCC directly tells you here. you can infer pretty much all of this from her secret garden flavour text alone.

her first SG is that she falls in love easily because she only experienced love in storybooks. "What seems to make her heart skip a beat is the strength of heart to firmly look back at her, even while shaking in pain, never giving in no matter how much she strikes or stabs." -> elizabeth craves a relationship of equals, her romantic ideal is someone who will stand up to her.

her second SG is that she enjoys cooking for/taking care of others, but absolutely sucks at actually making food. "She “bestows meals” to her husband as a noble. It’s no different from feeding... raising an animal. It contains none of the “romance” she longs for. The overlord disposition ingrained into her by heredity devours even her modest dreams." -> the way elizabeth was raised to view herself and others leaves her incapable of actually having such a relationship of equals, because her only models for human interaction don't respect the humanity of the other party.

her third SG is purity. "We would like to leave just what constitutes “purity” to the reader’s imagination. Servants are revived in the form that represents golden age of their lives. So Elizabeth appears as an unwed daughter of house Báthory, a young girl in love with love… presumably. An idol must be pure like snow. Romance might be fine, but the moment she comes to know love, her radiance is lost." -> elizabeth deep down is terrified of actually obtaining a relationship of equals, because her arbitrary purity (a purity the text doesn't even try to define! it's completely subjective!) is the only thing standing between her and a hatred of her for which she doesn't understand the cause. once she comes to view other people as people she can no longer claim not to understand the crimes that made those people hate her, and she will lose the purity that protects her from their wrath.

CCC has a lot to say about arbitrary standards of maturity and purity. BB splits off her own "improper" feelings into various oversexed and unstable versions of herself that she can punish for not living up to the impossible standards she imposes on herself. kiara uses her outward appearance of maturity to cover up a complete lack of emotional maturity while hans looks like a child after a lifetime of being seen as immature for writing children's stories (respecting the humanity of children). elizabeth wasn't taught to respect the humanity of others, but where is the line on when she is "old enough to know better"? what could she have done different? what should she have done different?

naturally, CCC for elizabeth is a long and gruelling process of learning that other people are people, and that even if she was simply doing as taught it was still her own actions that made her subjects hate her. this is such a thorough shattering of her worldview that she's briefly a berserker with both mad enhancement and a unique to her mental disorder skill that makes her numb to the pain or mood of others, just to keep herself vaguely functional. when defeated she screams that she prefers death to being locked up again, because what she fears even more than retaliation is having to reflect on the reason for that retaliation.

you will note that elizabeth in all her subsequent appearances is a very earnest and hardworking girl, who puts a lot of effort into maintaining her friendships. she knows what she did wrong now and is determined not to repeat that mistake, determined enough that in extella link karl's oraclisation brainwashing program that instantly got top tier servants like arjuna and scathach was unable to get elizabeth, and karl decides to let her go out of respect for that determination. one of the earliest cross-installment relationships FGO established is that vlad is very protective of elizabeth because he wants to make sure she does in fact get the chance to become a better person than the circumstances of her life allowed her, and even though carmilla has complex feelings about liz because liz's existence as the young and innocent one means carmilla exists as the one who is beyond saving, she can still be dragged into helping liz with her efforts because the redemption liz works for is one they both want.

elizabeth is a very dutiful person. she's desperate to be liked for fear of what will happen to her otherwise, but also has an actual strong sense of responsibility as countess, and her efforts to become someone likeable and dependable are fuelled by both of those aspects. in every halloween event liz is loud and annoying and self-important, and every halloween event she makes honest and difficult efforts to forge and maintain relationships and make up for past and current transgressions. her singing is beautiful when it's for someone else's sake.

elizabeth is actually one of a very small handful of characters from older works who I feel didn't get flanderised in some way by FGO, her characterisation as funny seasonal girl follows naturally from how her arc concluded in CCC and shallow fandom misunderstanding of the funny seasonal girl is more a result of early FGO assuming most players would be fate veterans who would already know her deal from CCC so they could just build on that uninterrupted without needing to give context first. and I also don't think it's wrong for people to base their understanding of liz on the funny seasonal girl because that's still liz, unlike how for example FGO nero is just not representative of nero most of the time. i haven't actually paid much attention to fgo since lb6 by the way and haven't opened NA in months so i don't actually know what happens in cindereli event other than guda turns into a goat monster (based)

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| Now I Know ||

Frank Castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: kidnapping/rescue verrry angry Frank, violence, blood, trust, LOVE.

A/n: been listening to Work Song by Hozier a lot.

His muscles scream from the work, the kind of work you might call good and honest. The kind where at the end of the day his body is tired and drenched in sweat rather than tense with rage and spattered with blood.

He still does that work. You're watching as he washes his hands in the kitchen sink. If it's blood or dirt from the earth that is swirling down the drain you don't notice, only that those are the hands that could elicit a cry of mercy from death, or cries of pleasure from your lips. The gentle and sure squeeze of a trigger, whichever kind it is, he's in control. The movement and pressure of his fingers during either task is frighteningly similar, and yet there's something deep within you that welcomes and craves that similarity. The comfort you find in the tender way he has with you overrides all else, he may have the darkest of sins but he's all of his sweetness with you.

He's drying his hands on the dishtowel, concern and confusion plain on his face as he sees you looking through rather than at him.

"What's wrong?" He's asking you, and your focus snaps back to the depths of those dark eyes. "Nothing." you smile, but you're not all there and he knows it.

"You'll tell me if it's somethin', right?"

"Yeah baby," you nod, "I will."

He reaches for your face, fingers trailing softly along your jaw and you lean into him, relaxing as he cups your chin in his hand, bending down so he can kiss you slow and easy. He finds you there, he'll always find you.

On your lunch break your phone pings. Some days Frank would text you a sweet little thing, and today was one of them.

Love you princess xx

You're headed to the same place for the third day in a row. They must have been watching you. It was probably a stupid thing for you to do but you really liked the coffee they served there. You're looking down at your phone typing out a reply to Frank's text when it happens.

You don't even have time to fight them off, the last thing you remember is seeing your cup falling to the ground, coffee spilling into the cracks in the pavement before you are bundled into a vehicle, the strong chemical smell of the rag covering your mouth and nose.

.

Frank meets Curtis for a drink at lunch most weeks, it's something they've kept up since Billy. A mini therapy session for them both.

"You alright man? Been checking that damn phone almost non stop since you got here."

It wasn't unusual for you to not reply to him, you had been pretty busy at work recently. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry man."

Curtis isn't dumb, he knows when Frank's got something eating away at him. "C'mon, what is it? Woman trouble?"

Frank scrubs his hand across his face with a heavy sigh. "I dunno. Feels like she maybe still doesn't feel safe with me. Been trying everything, talkin' to her, tellin' her she can ask me anythin' about the past and all of that…"

"But it ain't about the past is it? It's what you're doin' out there now, Frank. It's a big ask to deal with that. But she's strong y'know? Just give her some time and if you're gonna keep on doing what you're doing, give her the truth if she wants it."

Pick you up from work later? Really miss you today.

Frank is nodding, but he's staring off into space. He sends another text.

.

Your head feels like a lump of lead as you wake up, slumped forward in a chair with your ankles tied to the legs and your wrists bound behind your back, the plastic of the zip ties cutting into your skin. Your eyelids feel like boulders are sitting on them as you chance a look at your surroundings. The upper floor of an unfinished building, sheets of polythene hanging from the walls and ceiling and scattered over the floor. You hear echoing sounds from the open doorway, local accents. Fear starts to replace the drowsiness as you become aware of a tripod with a mobile phone set up in front of you. The scuff of dust and gravel behind you makes your head whip round as a thick set bearded man with a scar under his eye walks towards you, turning over his shoulder to yell through the doorway as he sees you're conscious.

"Bitch is awake."

"Then it's time to play, boys." comes another voice, all sleazy and drawling. The owner of it steps into view and there's a twinge of recognition. You briefly met some of Frank's work colleagues from the construction company a while back when you brought him lunch as a surprise.

This was the blonde one, ruddy with a slight squint. Another man appears, he looks similar to the guy with the scar, but younger and nervous.

Your mouth is dry as you go to speak, rasping, the words sounding weaker than you wanted them to. "What's going on? Is this some sort of a joke?"

The dark scarred man laughs. "Sure honey, tying up pretty little broads like you is a whole lot of fun for us. But nah, it ain't no joke."

The blonde one draws closer, leaning down, his grimy calloused fingers running over your cheek. You flinch away as his stale stinking breath washes over your face.

"Your dumbass boyfriend's been making us look bad, takin' all of the damn work and getting paid fuckin' bonuses for it, making us look lazy. So we're gonna give him a lil incentive to quit."

"Ever think that's because you are lazy?' you snark back at him.

He gives you a lecherous grin then spits in your face. You spit right back at him but all it earns you is a swift backhand that splits your lower lip open.

The beardy scarred asshole cackles again. "Fuck she's a feisty lil thing. Kinda see why he's into it."

You pull at the ties holding you as blondie draws his fingers down your neck and yanks at the front of your shirt, sending buttons scattering across the concrete floor as he leers down at your tits.

"Yeah…" he muses, his eyes rove over you making you feel itchy and unclean. He flicks his fingers towards the phone, shouting at the young guy. "Hit record..."

You were scared but you also couldn't believe these fucking dunces seemed to have the grand plan of WhatsApping videos of them messing with you to Frank? They really had no idea who they were dealing with.

You strain and tug at the zip ties pointlessly, you know there's no way you'll be able to break through them but it makes you feel better. As you move you realise your phone isn't in your pocket. You just hoped the idiots didn't have enough sense to turn off the gps. Frank would find out you weren't at work at the end of the day, that you hadn't replied to any of his messages, he'd know something was up, that you were in trouble, right? He'd know something was wrong. He had to.

You try to calm your breathing as you see the blonde asshole slip a handgun from the back of his pants, it wouldn't be wise to talk back now.

The young one gave the thumbs up from behind the mobile and blondie started his spiel.

"Alright Pete, figured you might not be able to understand the situation if we just talked man to man… so just to make it completely clear, you're gonna watch this lil show we're making for you."

He walks over to you, grabbing the top of your head and turning you to face the camera. "See, if you don't quit the job and give us the fucking money you've stolen from us, I'll make your pretty little whore all mine. I'll tell you where to leave the cash, but first I'm gonna give you a taste of what I'm gonna do if you don't pony up… just so you know I ain't playin'"

Frank would find you, he had to find you.

.

His heart dropped into his guts the moment he learned you hadn't returned to your office after lunch break. The guy at reception thought you might have gone home sick or something and not had the chance to tell anyone.

He called you multiple times with no answer, no texts, no nothing. He was about to call Curtis when his phone buzzed with a video attachment from an unknown number.

Confusion rapidly gave way to a white hot rage that consumed his entire being as he saw Corey from work on the screen, and then you. As soon as he realised what the fuck was happening he was in the truck with the pedal grinding hard against the metal. He recognised where you were being held, one of the previous client's sites they had worked on downtown about a month ago.

.

The muzzle of the gun presses in and bruises against your temple. You close your eyes trying not to shake. All you can hear is Beardy's dumb laugh and the slow grating sound of a zipper right by your face. Bile rises in your throat.

Your heart soars as you hear your salvation bellowing from the stairwell.

"You want your money asshole?!"

"Frank! In here!" You shout and scream, desperate to see these fucking animals get what they deserve.

As soon as he hears your voice he's charging like a bull, the fire of hell itself blazing in his eyes as he grabs the gun and forces the blonde creep's hand backwards breaking his wrist with a sick crunch as if it was nothing. The asshole falls to the ground along with a faceful of Frank's boot as Beardy and the younger one pull out knives and start advancing in futility, because you know how this ends.

You see the beauty in the punishing raw anger that manifests itself through Frank's body, a slick, efficient killing machine. A fist, an elbow, a knee. He connects the dots so easily on his way to get to you, eyes scanning you frantically as he tugs the knife through the ties on the chair.

You're safe.

"I'm here baby, I'm here. You okay? You hurt?" His hands are light on your limbs, his thumb gently smoothing over the red marks on your wrists as he checks you over.

"I- I'm okay…" He's here. You're safe, you remind yourself.

"Any of those motherfuckers touch you?!" He growls, and you're only able to nod, too stunned to form words as you watch as Frank goes to haul up the sleazy blonde by the neck, his huge hand almost closing all the way around and crushing his windpipe.

"This one?" He asks, his voice is sharp gravel, you've never heard his tone like this before and it vibrates through you.

"Y-yes… he-"

You don't get to say any more as Frank slams him against the wall making him gag and choke, before punching his already bruised face into a pulp, breaking his nose and teeth within seconds. He wheezes pathetically as Frank's knee smashes repeatedly into his groin, and you find yourself unable to wrench your eyes away as he slides slowly down the wall when Frank is done, leaving a red smear on the plastic sheeting, a puddle of blood pooling around him as he reaches the floor and stills.

Frank doesn't miss the other one trying to crawl his way out of the room while he's distracted, swiftly picking up the tripod stand and launching toward him swinging it like a bat. You wince as it knocks the guy out cold with a splatter of blood painting the wall and he crumples to the floor.

Through the veil of your tears you see him, really see him. Frank came for you, he found you, he protected you. You're safe.

He holds you to his side all the way till you both get to his truck where he calls the cops and anonymously tipping them off to the location of three known abusers.

Back home you have to try so hard to satisfy him that except for a couple of bruises and a burst lip, you're fine. They never got to do what they were planning to. The anger and fear in you melts away with your tears as they flow, they're tears of shock and relief but he's still sorry. Sorry for letting this happen as if it was his fault, sorry for not knowing something was wrong much sooner, sorry that he can't keep you safe.

"I am safe, Frank." you assure, as you strip off your clothes and lead him to the bathroom, encouraging him to do the same. "I'm safe with you." His face is still pained and you know you need to show him, knew it from the moment you heard him coming to your rescue.

Under the hot spray of the shower you wash away all the filth that had tainted you. You run your hands over his body but he doesn't dare touch you, he doesn't see it yet, even as your lips brush over his bloodied knuckles he doesn't understand. He's still angry and afraid for you, and you feel it in his body as you press yourself flush against him, wrap your arm around his neck, your other hand going to his jaw to guide his mouth to yours. You have to show him that you need to feel him, on you, inside you. He needs to know the love you have for him isn't fragile. You know now that it isn't, it won't be beaten by this. Never.

He pulls away gently, he still believes you're scared of him and the things he's done. The things he does. "Baby, you don't have to, after what hap-"

But you're firm, pulling him back to you, pushing him up against the tiles and he's stunned. You're getting frustrated because he still doesn't get it.

"Frank, you're mine." He lets you guide his hands around your waist where you want them. "And I'm yours," you say pointedly, "now show me I'm yours, make me feel it."

This time when you reach for him you feel the difference. His fingers tighten against the softness of your skin like he can never let go. When you kiss him he kisses you back, he's still holding himself, letting you dictate the pace but a gentle nip with your teeth to his lower lip communicates your need more clearly. His thigh slots between yours, and you feel him getting hard against the front of your hip as you mould your body to his. His hands drop down to the curve of your ass as you rock yourself on his muscular thigh, your fingers twining in the longer hair at the top of his head as you stand up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear over the rush of the water…

Take me to bed.

He nods and you dry quickly and carelessly, desperate to be with him and feel his skin on your own. Your lips are still wet and slide so slick against Frank's as you move him towards the bed, climbing onto his lap as the backs of his knees hit the edge of it and he sits.

"You wanna stop, you just tell m-"

He's cut off as you push him back, a soft huff of breath leaving him as you're fierce in your demand for him to meet your energy. He's too good, being too sweet for what you need right now but he's catching up. Those hands, the ones that so surely dealt bloody justice for you, slide up your spine, one of them grasping the back of your neck as he surges up and kisses his way over your bare chest while you're grinding against him.

"Please, Frank," you whine into his mouth, tug on his lip with your teeth, and he thrusts upwards gripping your hip and meeting your desperate movements.

"Hey, I gotcha baby, I've got you…" he murmurs before carefully rolling you underneath him.

Your kisses are frantic, littering the line of his strong stubbled jaw but he soon captures your lips with his own, slowing you down, keeping that fire burning but calming you as he deepens the kiss. You open, and he permeates your senses, knowing exactly what you need, grounding you with his tenderness.

Limbs entangle until you're moving as one, body arching when his soft lips brush the skin of your neck, your ear, and you feel more than hear his words.

I'll always find you.

.

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@divinearchangel @saintmurd0ck @castlesnchurches @mindidjarin @hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados

@father4giveme @stress--relief @e-dubbc11 @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @munsonownsmyass @marvelswh0re

[palesweetscherryblossom]

The Rainforest..

Warning: Kidnapping, platonic Yandere, Shiggy being creepy as fuck, non consensual hypnosis. Reader Chan is around 10 to 12 in this fic.

You were honestly regretting your decision to venture alone into the jungle without your brother’s assistance or guidance. Izuku was quite great at navigating through these harsh environments. You were always fascinated with the various plants and animals that roamed the forest, not to mention your occasional curiosity about the various mythical creatures.

But, that withered away when you entered the forest. Anxiety and fear creeped up your spine as you wandered through the aimless foliage and jumped at the slightest of sounds.

“I should’ve stayed home.” You muttered quietly, jumping at the sound of some crows cawing. You continued venturing deeper into the depths of the jungles, maybe you could come across some merciful creatures.

You heard from your brother that some merciful Bakenekos roamed the area and a nice naga girl. Little did you know something was peering from you through the trees, piercing eyes as red as rubies and blood.

Shigaraki was looking at you through the leaves as his chapped lips quirked up into a grin. The naga and his mate always desired a hatchling to raise as their own and a little man cub just strolled in.

Shigaraki followed you through the trees, his eyes slightly giving a look of pity at your little jumps and whimpers from everything that went bump in the night.

His poor little baby, all alone and no adults in sight. Well, that was going to change, that’s for sure. Man does play a cruel trick, Shigaraki felt his rattle slowly come to life as he hissed lowly. Oh how he loathed man.

Filthy, disgusting and pathetic creatures. But they did provide some amusement to the blue haired naga, how they swung around their guns and weapons, boasting how they’re going to slay the beasts.

Then they end up with Shigaraki’s scales digging into their necks and his venom slowly melting away their skin. Or how they spasm or jump around after Dabi’s venom settles in their bloodstream. Like little rabbits.

“I-is someone there?” Shigaraki was pulled out of his sadistic woolgathering at the sound of your voice. He must’ve been chuckling again, which often sounded like a raspy hiss.

Shigaraki took the opportunity to collect his little hatchling, a jaguar or a man eating harpy is bound to eat you up.

“Hello there, little one.” Shigaraki’s low and raspy voice filled your ears as he slowly revealed himself from the trees. You jumped slightly at hearing his voice and quickly turned around to see him.

You swallowed nervously and stepped back a bit, especially when you saw his tail. “H-hello.” You managed to get out without stuttering much. Shigaraki gave a little grin before slinking closer.

“Say now, where are your parents? It’s not exactly wise for such a little cherub like you to be out this late.” He said. You didn’t respond, you were too horrified by the fact that the creature before you was half serpent.

Izuku told you stories of two vicious nagas who had a penchant for human blood. It didn’t help that the naga who was currently talking to you fit the description perfectly. Shaggy blue hair, cracked lips and wrinkles around his eyes, a rattlesnake half.

“Don’t mind the tail hatching, I know it’s a bit off putting at first.” Shigaraki said, as if he recognized that you were, rightfully terrified. He inched closer, gently but firmly grasping your chin. You flinched as he observed you more.

“What pretty eyes you have! You know, I had a relative who had the most gorgeous eyes!” Shigaraki observed, slowly but steadily leading you into his hypnotic allure.

Shigaraki frankly enjoyed his ability, he loved toying with his prey and luring them into a state of vulnerability before completely eating them.

But for you, it was keeping you calm and compliant. Shigaraki didn’t want to frighten his hatchling! He knew that it was going to be a major change to your environment and sense of living. He was probably going to have to get Dabi to collect more furs and fruit, you were a growing child after all.

Unfortunately for you, the hypnosis was taking affect. You didn’t want it, you wanted to tell Shigaraki to stop, to go away. You wanted Izuku but that thought was quickly wiped away from your mind. You attempted to speak but all that came out was a distressed whine of fear and defiance.

“Oh hatchling, don’t be scared. It’s just papa.” Shigaraki softly purred, his voice like honey and sugar. He gently lifted you up into his embrace, your face leaning against his chest. Shigaraki gave a little laugh at your weak

squirming and weak whines. “You’ll probably be woozy for a while, but I’m sure your daddy wouldn’t mind.” He assured. Dabi would probably be quite thrilled at the idea of them finally being parents. Shigaraki cuddled you closer as he slowly slithered to the way of your future home. “H-home?” You managed to get out. Shigaraki smirked before kissing your forehead.

“Yes my little fawn, home.”

[anna-the-undertaker]

The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

I have more ideas for Badass MC and have taken a lot of inspiration from Supernatural. This is slightly different, though, and focused specifically on a female MC. I might give this OC a name. If you have ideas for one let me know:

Armor Art

After Lilith was reborn into human form, as she matured, fragments of her celestial past began to resurface despite Diavolo's attempt to erase her memory. Memories of her time as an angel gradually returned, though the specifics of her rebirth remained elusive.

Over time, through relentless practice, she managed to rekindle some of her angelic powers, particularly her skill in summoning celestial weapons at will. Silently honing her abilities, she painstakingly learned to wield these gifts without endangering herself or others in her newfound human existence. With each passing day, her muscle memory gradually reawakened until she attained a semblance of mastery, adapting to the limitations of her mortal form.

As she reached adulthood, Lilith assumed the mantle of humanity's protector, driven by an enduring love for the beings she cherished. Vigilant against both angelic and demonic threats, she passed down her skills to her daughters, then their daughters, and their daughters, creating a lineage of guardians spanning generations.

However, as time marched on, the noble cause she championed began to fray at the edges, tainted by the relentless march of human ambition and pride. Dogma hardened into unyielding doctrine, and corruption seeped into the fabric of her legacy. And the power passed down waned, sealed away through the mixing of bloodlines.

Centuries after Lilith's passing, MC emerged into a world practically devoid of celestial or demonic presence. One of the lucky few over generations to have been born with the power to use weapon summoning. Armed with the techniques of her forebears, she displayed remarkable prowess and dedication from a tender age, assuming the mantle of hunter at a mere sixteen. Dispatching angels and demons alike, she began to question the righteousness of her cause. Why were these beings targeted? Had they truly committed wrongdoing, or were they merely puppets of human whims?

Years later, one fateful encounter with a young demon challenged MC's convictions. Confronted by the genuine fear and innocence in the demon's eyes, she hesitated, recognizing the injustice of her actions. Letting mercy guide her, she allowed the demon to escape, defying the expectations of her kin. But this act of compassion came at a cost — her status was revoked, and she was shunned from her family's legacy, her very existence erased from their annals.

In the present day, MC finds herself summoned to the Devildom, expecting retribution for her past deeds. To her surprise, the demons are oblivious to her lineage and history, and she resolves to keep it that way, having left her former life behind.

Despite her best efforts to suppress her instincts, a confrontation during the TSL quiz exposes her true nature. In a split-second decision, she defends herself against an enraged Levi, revealing herself to the stunned onlookers with a display of angelic weaponry. Though she spares him harm, the revelation leaves all present dumbfounded, questioning the depths of her secrets.

The dreaded day had arrived, and MC found herself standing in the council room facing Leviathan, whose smug expression grated on her nerves. She silently hoped to navigate through this ordeal swiftly, reluctant to escalate tensions with her new found companions. However, deep down, she knew that a confrontation was inevitable.

"Alright, everyone! Finally, the wait is over! It's time for Devil's Trivia Showdown, the quiz show that pits demon against human!" Asmo's melodious voice rang out.

MC couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the irony of his statement.

As Asmo continued his introduction, MC observed Leviathan's prideful demeanor, sensing his unwavering confidence in victory. She felt a twinge of guilt for what she was about to do, but she couldn't let his overconfidence go unchallenged.

"I am the G.O.A.T. None can oppose me!" Leviathan boasted.

"And his challenger claims to have been introduced to TSL only very recently after binge watching the DVDs! Say hello to MC!" Asmo declared.

With a polite wave and a small smile, MC acknowledged the introduction, mentally preparing herself for the impending quiz.

Leviathan's bluster and threats didn't intimidate her, and with each correct answer she provided, she could sense his frustration mounting, exacerbated by Satan's commentary.

When the moment came to reveal her trump card, Leviathan erupted into a rage, vehemently denying her assertion with a torrent of protests. Yelling that the Lord of Masks wouldn't do such a thing to the Lord of Shadow.

"Lies, all of it! Pure hogwash! Don't think you can fool me by making up random stuff like that!" he bellowed.

Interrupting his tirade, Diavolo interjected with a calm, observant tone, "Hmm. Actually, MC doesn't appear to be lying as far as I can see."

"Levi, you know as well as I do that Lord Diavolo has the ability to discern whether someone is telling the truth." Satan added.

Leviathan's protestations faltered, disbelief etched on his features as he struggled to reconcile his convictions with the truth before him.

"But...no...! Everyone online has been talking about how the Lord of Masks and the Lord of Shadow are totally going to make up... What you said CAN'T happen! It...it just CAN'T!"

Leviathan's transformation was swift. With a surge of dark energy, his form contorted and shifted, the air crackling with unsuppressed power. In an instant, his slender frame elongated and his features sharpened, his skin taking on a sheen of iridescent scales. Horns sprouted from his forehead, curving gracefully as his eyes blazed with a molten hue, reminiscent of lava that boiled the deepest reaches of the ocean. His serpentine tail thrashed and lashed out with erratic intensity, mirroring the agitated movements of a threatened serpent.

Leviathan lunged towards her, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. Despite the urgent warnings from Mammon to flee, MC's instincts held her firmly in place. With desperation coursing through her veins, she summoned her magic, a claymore materializing in her grasp while armor enveloped her body in a protective embrace.

Shifting her stance just in time, she deftly dodged to her left, using the flat side of the blade to intercept Leviathan's attack and push him away. The vibrations of his scales against the blade sent a shiver down her spine, and she silently prayed that she hadn't inflicted any harm, though deep down, she doubted her abilities to cause him significant injury.

As the claymore vanished, replaced by a shield and spear, MC turned toward her opponent and could feel the weight of everyone's gaze upon her. Her heart hammered in her chest, knowing that her true nature had been laid bare, and that she faced imminent danger.

Leviathan rose from where he had fallen, his rage palpable in the air. MC knew that her initial success had been a result of surprise, and she doubted her chances of repeating it.

"Please, don't force my hand," she pleaded. "I don't want this, but I'll defend myself if I must, even if I know the odds are against me."

The chamber fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the ominous hiss of Leviathan's discontent. Before the tension could escalate further, Diavolo's commanding voice sliced through the air like a scythe.

"Stand down, Leviathan," he ordered, his authority brooking no dissent.

Leviathan's protests withered in the face of the Demon Lord's command, and all eyes turned to Diavolo as he addressed MC with measured scrutiny.

"Look at me," he commanded, and she obeyed, steeling herself for what was to come.

"So, you are a hunter," Diavolo stated matter-of-factly.

"I… yes, but no longer. I left that path behind years ago," she confessed, her words weighted with remorse and resignation.

It felt as though she stood on trial, offering her final confession before an inevitable reckoning.

"Were you ever going to tell us?" Mammon's voice cut through the tension, his hurt palpable.

MC sighed heavily, her gaze shifting between the assembled figures. "No. I wanted nothing more to do with it."

"Why?" Diavolo's question hung heavy in the air, demanding honesty.

"Because our purpose had been twisted from protecting humanity's free will to become senseless slaughter," she admitted, her voice tinged with regret. "I won't deny that I took pride in it in the beginning. The ego boost from besting entities who were supposed to be far more powerful than I was intoxicating. It wasn't until my hands were stained with the blood of many angels and demons that I realized what it was I was truly doing."

As she allowed her weapons and armor to dissipate, MC's gaze fell to the floor, heavy with the weight of the lives lost by her hand. Faces of beings flashed before her eyes — some had fought fiercely, others had surrendered, while some had never even seen her coming.

"The more I came into contact with them, the less I could see them as mere creatures to be culled for humanity's protection," she confessed. "They were people, with wants and fears, individuals who had been born into their roles without choice. They had no control over which realm they were born into. They had feelings, desires, just like I did. And most had been summoned to the human realm against their will, called forth by humans seeking blessings or curses. From then on, I let mercy guide me."

"For that," she continued, her voice growing faint, "my sisters in arms cast me out, wiping my name from our history."

Mammon's features twisted with a mixture of hurt and disbelief as MC's confession unfolded before them. His eyes, wide with shock, darted between her and the others in the chamber, struggling to reconcile the image of his friend being a hunter. A pang of betrayal pierced his heart, as if the ground beneath their bond had shifted. Yet, beneath the hurt, there lingered a glimmer of understanding, a recognition that there was more to MC's story than met the eye. Despite the tumult of emotions swirling within him, Mammon's gaze remained locked on MC, silently conveying his unwavering support and the hope that their bond would endure.

Lucifer's stoic facade remained unyielding, though a flicker of suspicion danced in his steely gaze. His keen mind worked overtime, dissecting her words for any hint of deception or ulterior motive. The revelation only served to validate his lingering doubts about MC, solidifying his belief that her presence among them was fraught with hidden agendas. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a subtle indication of the wariness that had plagued him since their first encounter. He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on her, his resolve to protect his brothers from any potential threat only strengthened by her confession.

Beel's expression softened with empathy. Though surprised, he regarded her with a gentle understanding, his eyes reflecting a depth of compassion that surpassed judgment. Despite the weight of her past actions, Beel recognized the sincerity in MC's words, sensing the turmoil she must have endured.

Asmo's demeanor shifted subtly, his usual indifference replaced by a flicker of curiosity fueled by self-interest. While initially uninterested in her presence, the revelation of her past as a hunter ignited a spark that had previously been absent. His gaze lingered on her, though his scrutiny was not born out of empathy or concern, but rather a selfish desire to satisfy his own curiosity. The prospect of unraveling the mysteries surrounding her magic holding a tantalizing allure.

Leviathan's eyes widened in shock, his jealous outburst forgotten. Their past dealings flickered through his mind, casting a shadow of doubt over his perception of her. While he had once viewed her as nothing more than a means to an end, her sudden revelation threatened to upend his carefully constructed worldview. His paranoia, a constant companion, whispered doubts in his ear, urging him to distance himself. The notion of forging a pact with MC, despite their agreement, now seemed fraught with uncertainty.

Satan's eyes gleamed at the promise of uncharted knowledge, his mind ablaze with a myriad of questions, each craving to unravel the enigma of her past and the intricate motivations of her order.

"How is it that your 'sisters' managed to elude discovery for so long?" he inquired, his voice laced with curiosity. "Centuries of clandestine hunts on both celestial and infernal fronts surely would have left a mark. When did this begin? And who was its progenitor?"

MC hesitated, her uncertainty stemming from the lingering remnants of spells that had once bound her to silence.

"Our origins trace back to a single woman, though her identity remains unknown to me," she revealed. "Details of her existence were obscured, relegated to forbidden archives. What I do know is that each of us is a descendant of hers, inheriting not only her lineage but also her magic. I am the first in three generations to manifest this magic, however. The dilution of our bloodline has dimmed the genes potency."

A mix of astonishment and relief bloomed in her chest, a surge of liberation coursing through her veins. She had shattered the shackles of secrecy that bound her, reclaiming her voice after years of silent submission.

Undeterred, MC forged ahead, her loyalty to her sisters eroded by the passage of time. "As for our concealment, with each entity vanquished, we acquired new arcane arts, using them to cloak our existence and our elders used them to enforced our silence. Moreover, our armor veils our very souls, rendering us indistinguishable to both demon and angel when not in the field."

Diavolo cut in, prompting MC to look at him.

"Why reveal this now?" he pressed.

"Because I dedicated countless hours to unraveling the bindings that once tethered me," she declared, her tone resolute. "I refused to remain ensnared by chains that held no sway over me any longer."

Satan's contemplative gaze bore into MC before posing his next question, "How is that a meer human like yourself, magic aside, has been able to overpower angels and demons?"

"As I'm sure you know," she began, "angels and demons are inherently weakened when traversing the human realm. Some magics draw upon the energy of their respective realms, and when removed from that source, they become vulnerable to manipulation and restraint. This vulnerability applies primarily to lesser demons and angels. However, it's important to note that our tactics would prove practically useless against beings such as yourselves or the Archangels. Hence, why you have never been targeted."

Barbatos maintained his serene composure. He regarded her with a knowing gaze. His powers had afforded him a unique perspective. Though he had been privy to MC's past as a hunter, only sharing his discovery with the demon lord, Barbatos had seen no cause for concern. In his eyes, her journey had been one of growth and redemption, and he quietly observed her honesty in this moment with quiet approval.

Diavolo's cheerful demeanor returned. Barbatos' subtle encouragement had indeed led him to ponder the implications of MC's past. Yet, rather than rushing to judgment, he had chosen to reserve his conclusions until after getting to know her better and her honesty in this solidified his trust in her. In his eyes, compassion and understanding were the cornerstones of effective leadership, and he applied this principle not only to his fellow demons but also to humanity.

Diavolo's laughter filled the room, resonating with a warmth that belied the gravity of the moment. "Thank you for your honesty. It's clear to me that you've been truthful. I'm delighted to say that you truly were the perfect candidate for the exchange program."

Gasps of astonishment reverberated from the others, even Lucifer's usually composed facade cracked with surprise, while MC stood in disbelief, her jaw nearly hitting the floor.

"You knew?" she stated, shock written across her face.

"Of course," Diavolo replied with an unwavering smile. "We took great care in selecting participants for this program, ensuring the safety and integrity of all involved. I must say, I'm impressed by your ability to keep it hidden for so long, and equally surprised that others hadn't noticed your familiarity with certain subjects."

"But why keep it a secret?" MC questioned, her confusion evident. "Wouldn't it have been simpler to address it from the outset?"

"While it may have been easier, it wouldn't have fostered growth or understanding," Barbatos interjected, prompted by his lord to offer insight. "Your past is best shared by you, the one who lived it. Each person's perspective shapes their understanding, and by witnessing your emotions and reactions, we've all gained a deeper understanding of this aspect of humanity allowing us to cultivate better relations in the future."

MC stood in stunned silence, her emotions swirling in a chaotic whirlwind of relief, confusion, and disbelief. She struggled to find the right words to express the myriad of feelings coursing through her, her mind reeling from the unexpected turn of events.

"I honestly expected you to throw me into a pit of fire after killing some of your people," she finally managed to voice.

Diavolo's laughter filled the room once more, echoing with a warmth that washed over her like a comforting embrace. "While the loss of my people is indeed a tragedy, it's important to remember that those of us gathered here have all taken lives in the past," he remarked, his tone gentle yet resolute. "It would be hypocritical for any of us to pass judgment on you. Besides, I have full confidence that you no longer harbor any intention of causing harm to anyone."

As the weight of Diavolo's words settled over the room, a sense of peace descended upon MC. She felt a burden she had carried for so long begin to lift from her shoulders.

With a grateful nod, MC found her voice once more. "Thank you," she said. "For seeing beyond this and giving me the chance to prove myself.

Diavolo's smile widened, and with a final glance around the room, MC let out a deep breath. She was ready to embrace this change and embark on the next chapter with courage and resilience.

This got weird toward the end because I'm tired and have only slept 6 hours in the last 24. I may or may not do one more chapter that includes relationship changes with the brothers and the introduction of Simeon, Luke, Solomon, and of course Belphie and their reactions to her past. It really depends on how im feeling, and if I still have the urge to write. this whole thing probably sucks if im being honest.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In Abstract 2

A sequel no one asked for. First Series: Portrait of a Dangerous Man

Warnings: noncon/rape, some violence, blood, alluded murder (for now?), grief, confusing, criminal allusions, some untagged extreme events.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You adjust to life with Clark, thought the past won’t seem to let you go.

Character: mob!Clark Kent

Note: Thank you all for your support on the first chapter.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :) I appreciate your comments and enthusiasm! Reblogs help and are like candy, so please, feed me.

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

A mosaic of red, amber, and yellow reflects against the wall. The glass shade of the lamp glows low in the airy space, giving enough light to see yourself in the mirror, but leaves the room behind you in gloom. You place an earring on the pillow of your jewelry box, then the other.

You reach to unclasp the ehavy diamond necklace, the noose that signals your ultimate fate. The glint of the gems refracts in your reflection and stings your vision. You freeze and stare at the shell you've become. A mannequin dressed to his delight.

"Leave it," Clark demands from the doorway.

You slowly lower your hands to the edge of the vanity and say nothing. How long has he been watching? The same question you've asked over and over. The rotting guilt of how long it took you to realise the true intentions of this man. Maybe if you saw it sooner…

Maybes do nothing for the present certainty.

You stand between the velvet stool and the desk. As you do, Clark crosses the room and comes up behind you. He holds you in place, he large hands on your shoulders. You avoid his gaze in the mirror.

He hooks his fingers in the satin straps of your dress and follows them down. He feels along the top to the zipper and tugs it down with a single swipe. You brace the table to keep still against his force.

He guides the sleek sheath down your figure and unveils the black lacy ensemble beneath. You've obeyed him and for that he might have mercy. He lets out a hum a your dress heaps at your feet. He reaches around you to cup the lacy bra that does little to conceal you chest.

He leans into you, breathing you in as his hands trails down along your stomach. He purrs as he steps over the stool and perches on it. He has you crowded against the desk.

He retracts his hands as you try not to topple in the tight space. His zippers slices through the silence and he groans. You watch yourself, you see the shame in the hollow depths of your eyes, the defeat in the slant of your shoulders.

He traces the thin straps of the high-cut panties and trails down the scallop of the hem. He shoves his fingers down below your ass and feels along your folds. He wiggles them until your stand wider.

You bend slightly forward, gripping the vanity desk for balance. He teases you, toys with you as you see the subtle movement if his other arm past your reflection. You lower your chin and hide in the storm of your body's betrayal.

He urges you back. You fold to his will, as you always have. Your vision blurs and you're back in that moment. The smell of gunpowder and blood, the last gurgling breaths of the man you spend years with. 

Clark paws at you, pushing aside the lace as he angles you over him. He sits you in his lap slowly, inching into you until you quiver with fullness. You grasp his thigh as he opens you up to the mirror, the sight of him sinking deeper drawing your gaze. You turn your head, ashamed of how the scene intoxicates you.

You loathe this man to the core but he consumes you. Without your permission, he steals the pleasure once reserved only for a man you loved. A man you believed loved you, too.

Your head drops down but he catches your chin and forces it back up. He growls as he nuzzles behind your ear, "watch."

Your eyes snap wide and you see yourself. Weak and defeated in his lap. You feel perilous atop him as he keeps your bodies balanced on the narrow velvet bench. He rocks your hips as his eyes descend to the joining of your lust, the ways your unbidden desire glistens on his thick length.

He bows his head, his fingers finding your tender bud as he tilts you against him. Deliberate long strokes as he moves you to his whim. He kisses your neck, wetting the skin with his tongue before biting into it. You squeal as he snarls, moving you faster, deeper, as he stirs fire in your core.

You moan as your head lolls in his grip. You can't look away. You watch your desecration, feel it eating you from inside out. Your futility dissipates into the ecstast of his fiddling fingers and you twitch as you cum in surrender.

You pant wildly as he drags his hand up your stomach. He curls his fingers, digging his nails into your flesh. He scratches you, tearing at your flesh as he uses you. He moves out faster, and faster, until your dizzy and dumb.

He stands suddenly, jolting you against the desk. Your face hits the glass, your reflection blurred in the mirror. You slap your hand beside you, gripping the frame as he ruts into you without pause. He covers your hand with his, nipping you again, leaving tender spots down your shoulder. 

The feet of the vanity scrape and grind, the contents bouncing atop it, pearls spilling, the diamonds across your collar swinging as you cling on. You shudder and whine as he buries himself over and over, as deep as he can, until the pleasure is tamped out by the pain. 

He spreads his hand across your forehead, forcing your face up as his other hooks around your necklace. He rams against you until your toes slide on the floor, until our bracing onto the wood desperately. Until you're sure you could shatter into pieces.

This is what you wanted, right? The money, the life of an artist, free to sit in a room an paint, only for the cost of your soul.

🎨

Blackness. Silky and swirling. Deep and dull. Reaching for you, pulling you down, swathing you unbreakable bounds. 

BANG!

You wake to the dark room. The gunshot echoes in your ears. So real you swear it must have been. Yet the sonorous house is quiet and the man beside you undisturbed.

You stare up at the ceiling, then trail your gaze down the pointed post of the bed. Clark's warmth clouds around you, his arm draped around your middle. Even asleep, he must keep you in his thrall.

The blankets swoop over his hip, leaving his torso and a single leg naked. You turn your head to stare at the pits of his sockets, the way the darkness gathers in the angles of his face, a wraith at rest. You feel his breath like a desert storm as it escapes him in long blustery snores.

You're still for some time. Just until your heart calms, until Marcus' pleas fade away. You touch his forearm, feeling the bulging veins, and shift it slowly away. You sit up and replace yourself with a pillow.

Carefully, you crawl down to the foot of the bed. You dip a leg down, then the other, bringing your soles flat onto the rug. You sift through the night like wandering soul, sweeping the robe from its hook as you flee to the door. 

You coax the hinges so they don't groan. You leave the clasp uncaught and begin down the hallway. The eerie silence beckons to you.

You go into the room-made-studio. The large easel towers in the shadows, the windows gleaming as the curtains hang at the borders, the snow feeding the moonlight. 

Canvases line the wall, half-finished dreams and torn nightmares. You go to the drawing table and take the sketchbook from atop it. You snatch a pencil from the bunch and look around.

The room changes. The easel overturns and the air laces with nickel and smoke. A deep voice rolls through the lull and tears salt your eyes.

You pull the chain on the lamp and sit in its glow, legs crossed on the cold floor. The pencil moves to record the still life of your memory. The lead turns dull as you scribble, shade, and smudge, until finally it snaps. 

You bat away the gloss of your grief and look at the page. Marcus' chest gapes as his life pools beneath him, stained across your front as you hold the gun, a faceless figure behind you, holding you by a noose. Clark is little more than a humanoid cluster of zig zags and loops. A scribbled beast taunting his prey. 

You drop the pencil and flip to the page before. It’s the same. Almost. In every sketch there’s something slightly out of place. Sometimes it’s not a gun by a knife. Other times, it’s you in the chair, bleeding out, but you’re still holding the gun. You keep turning until you reach the cover and snap the book shut altogether.

Clark stole more than an apartment, a boyfriend, and a life. He stole your art. He extracted your very essence and set it to curdle.

🎨

You add a layer of foam to your mother’s cup before presenting her with your novice attempt at a latte. The overpriced machine is no good in your hands but for a simple medium roast or at best an americano. Can’t mess up espresso and water that much.

She smiles but it doesn’t go further than her lips. She’s unimpressed. It’s out of character given that every inch of the house has thus far astounded her. In a grim way, her enthusiasm echoes Marcus. The way he marveled at the elaborate mansion and fatefully, aspired to it.

“Fancy machine,” she comments as she slides her mug closer, examining the top.

“Yup,” you mutter.

“You’ve got it all, sweetheart, why so glum?”

You want to roll your eyes. It’s a coffee machine. It’s all just things. A necklace, a ring, a house. There is no life in it, no spirit, they are just items without meaning, some don’t even have a purpose. Vases without flowers and candlesticks without flames.

“I’m tired,” you say. It’s not a lie, you’re damn exhausted. You can’t remember the last night you slept without waking to the screams of your ex reverberating in your ears. “How are you doing, jetlag hitting you?”

“Not really, it’s an hour difference, hun,” she takes a sip and makes a face, “oh, bitter.”

She gives you a long look as if she isn’t just commenting on the drink. You reach for her mug as she sets it down and you carry it to the sink to dump it out.

“You’ll have to try. I can’t seem to work it,” you admit defeat.

“Oh, dear, you know I’m just very particular about my coffee,” she comes around, approaching the machine. “It’s all about the balance.”

She opens the top and empties the grounds. You stand back and lean on the counter. You sense the air shift and from the corner of your sight, you see Clark enter. You try not to show your discomfort.

“Smells like coffee,” he hums.

“Ah, well, hate to disappoint, it’s not done yet,” your mother tosses over her shoulder, “what do you take? Mocha? Latte?”

“Dark roast is fine,” he affirms as he nears and sets his hand on your shoulder. He leans in to kiss your cheek, his fingers playing with the high collar of your turtleneck, alluding to what you’re hiding beneath. He trails his hand down your arm and takes your hand, raising it only to stop short. “Where’s your ring?”

“Oh, uh, I… put it back in the box. I didn’t want to lose it–”

“In the box,” your mother says, “you should wear it proudly.”

“Um, yeah, I just thought… we’re not going anywhere.”

Clark clicks his tongue and lets you go. He inhales deeply and tucks his hands in his pockets, “does that matter? If we’re going anywhere? It’s not about showing off.”

“He’s right,” your mother agrees.

You hold back a sigh. “I didn’t mean…”

“She’s always been a bit forgetful,” your mother intones, “ah, if I found such a dashing guy, you know I’d wear a ring like that to bed even.”

“I’ll go get it,” you say.

Clark stares at you, gaze boring into you as his nostrils flare. Your mother continues to finagle the machine as you sidle away. He mouths to you, ‘hurry up’.

You bow your head and scurry out. As you reach the door, you peek back at your mother. Clark turns to watch her. There’s something sinister about how he keeps one hand on his belt, as if he’s hiding something there. You don’t hesitate any longer.

You’re almost in a full run by the time you reach the stairs. You puff up onto the landing and down the hall. You go to the vanity, still askew from the night before. You find the velvet box and wiggle the ring free.

You stop and turn it between your fingers. It feels heavier than it should. As you slide it on, it’s like a vice around you, locking you in this place forever. You shudder and you glance at yourself in the mirror.

There she is, the woman he wants. She’s not you, she just wears your face, she was born from your fear. You drop your hands and push your shoulders straight, marching out as if to the executioner.

As you reach the first floor, you hear your mother trilling. You enter the kitchen to the sight of her presenting Clark with a mug. He peers inside and gives a half-smirk.

“I was a barista in college,” she boasts, “not like my little Tweety,” she winks at you as you enter, “she worked at a pizza joint. Oh, you should’ve seen her. All that grease made her so pimply! She smelled like pepperoni.”

“Ha,” you force a laugh, “yeah, not my finest era.”

“Oh, but look at her now,” she preens, “so elegant. She’s caught herself a gentleman.”

Clark gives a bashful chuckle. She touches his arm, her thumb rubbing his sleeve.

“Take care of her for me,” she says, the allusion to the dead bites you, “better than the last one.”

“Always,” Clark turns his head to face you, “all I ever wanted was to prize her. To treat her well. Better than anyone could.”

[cbk1000]

I'm bored and feeling slightly under the weather, so I decided to post some of the almost 15,000 words I have of a luxury train holiday fic that I started after learning that luxury train holidays were a thing. Why did I write a fic about such a random thing? Because I fell down a rabbit hole of luxury travel videos, discovered luxury trains, and naturally turned those videos into a Merthur fic.

Waverly Station, not to put too fine a point on it, was the most wretched hive of scum and villainy ever to be stolen by the British Empire; though possibly this was because Edinburgh had rained on Arthur, rather prodigiously, whilst he was legging it for the station; possibly because he had been woken, at the hour of No, to catch a train into Scotland; and possibly because he was carrying everything which Morgana owned, over every limb he owned; and consequently hated everyone. The sad fate of the baggage mule was his own: to be flogged, viciously, by a master too precious to carry their own bloody rubbish, through the most wretched of conditions (mizzle), with as little thanks as can be given by a creature throated to give it: and with that especial garnish, which was that he was being hit by Morgana’s voice, rather than a nice little crop, which would have only broken his flesh, and not his spirit.

He was trying to decide in which order to kill them both when he spotted, at the other end of the station, the sculpted dark head, modelled in the image of a wave; though the wave would have blushed to hear it. And beside it, a head similarly coloured, if not similarly coiffed; though he had got it into some order, and not an entirely hideous one. Gwaine nodded; and then Merlin turned round, and showed Arthur the smile he hadn’t seen in two weeks. And he felt it call up from the depths of him an answering smile, though he still hated, in the following order, Morgana; the weather; everyone.

“Should have asked me and Gwaine to carry your stuff. Arthur’s clearly crumbling under the weight of being overestimated,” Merlin said, exchanging cheek kisses with Morgana.

“I just love how funny you are,” Arthur replied, chucking off the various pieces of baggage, and letting them land where they landed.

“Don’t throw my stuff, you absolute knob.”

“Then carry it yourself!” Arthur snapped. “Did you remember your suit?” he asked Merlin, who in a blazer and shirt which appeared, miraculously, not to have got his breakfast, blood, or tea on it, was so uncharacteristically smart that probably he considered himself to be entirely done improving on himself. “You’ll have to wear a proper suit for the formal dinners.” He paused, squinting at him. “Do you have product in your hair?”

Merlin wiggled his eyebrows. “Gwaine helped me with it. Don’t worry; I won’t embarrass you on your posh train.”

“You embarrass me on the Tube.”

“I think that’s just because you feel a heightened sense of shame at having to ride public transportation with the plebian class.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Where are Gwen and Lancelot?”

“Gwen’s in the loo; Lancelot’s gone to look for something to eat. He’s worried the train’s going to serve tiny rich people portions.” Merlin pocketed his hands in his trousers. “Want a coffee?”

“Sure; I could use one, having got up at the arse crack of time this morning,” Arthur said, glaring at Morgana, who as usual was perfectly untroubled by her conduct. He gave Merlin a little slap on the shoulder, and then draped his arm round it, steering him toward Caffé Nero before he could do something unforgivable, like choose Costa. He had enhanced the blazer and hair product with a little aftershave, so that as they were walking, Arthur caught a whiff of something not entirely abhorrent; though his manners, doubtless, would make up for it. If they got him on the train, in the blazer, and no one was very much harmed in the process, that was the most which feeble humanity could expect of God’s capricious mercy. “How’s work?”

“Like arse,” Merlin said, paying for their coffees, and handing Arthur his. “I think they would have asked me to push off my holiday, except they know I’m a biter. And not just the sexy kind.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Just something to consider, a luxury train holiday with a spa and 24 hour steward service might be the place to consider not being a totally classless knob who talks about his sexual preferences in public.”

“The train has a spa?!”

Arthur ignored that. “You didn’t answer about the suit.”

“Yes, I packed the suit we FaceTimed about.”

“Nice to know you can occasionally conjure up enough sense to listen to me,” Arthur said, sipping from his coffee, and looking across the platforms to where Gwen had now joined Morgana and Gwaine, and the women were talking with their heads close together, and laughing, whilst Gwaine arranged himself for the admiring masses. 

“Sometimes I wish he weren’t so straight,” Merlin said, cocking his head a little to one side, and drinking from his coffee. “Just a little bit gay; that’s all I’m asking for.”

“Gwaine?” Arthur sputtered, choking on his coffee. “Why on earth?”

“Because he’s the fittest man I know.”

“Of everyone you know, Gwaine is the fittest.”

“No, I didn’t say everyone, I said of the men I know. I would never say fittest of everyone I know, when Morgana’s right there.”

Arthur stepped on his foot, and got the maddening dimples which told him that Merlin was being trying for the sheer and unadulterated pleasure of it; though he made up for it, marginally, by stepping out from underneath Arthur’s arm, so that he could have a proper look at him, the measuring appraisal of a (not terribly) discerning bisexual, who was not so simple, at least, as to not notice that Arthur was practically the pinnacle of attractiveness, in regular shirt and trousers; and in a proper jacket was planting his flag at the peak of it. “You look ok, though,” Merlin said, tweaking one of his lapels a little.

Arthur cuffed him across the back of the head. “Ok.”

“Yeah. For a total arsehole.”

Lancelot had returned, and Arthur and Merlin were cordially punching one another, when the Royal Scotsman arrived, and Gwen gave a little squeal, and leapt up holding two very reasonable bags, whilst Morgana and entourage looked at Arthur expectantly.

“I am not hauling all that on the bloody train. You could have asked yourself at any point, ‘Do I need my entire closet for a week-long holiday?’ and come to a sane conclusion, but you didn’t,” Arthur said; and so having stated his piece, hauled his own rucksack over his shoulder, forsaking hers.

They were piped aboard the train, a rather troublesome portent, Arthur felt; all week people would be making noise which they felt to be music, whilst he was trying to work or read or bathe; whilst it was his right to exist with the Highlands of Scotland, doing their piece to be stunning, whilst he did his. He had his luggage taken, and was shown through into the Observation Car, which was kitted out like a lounge with armchairs and sofas, and a small balcony for watching the stars. Merlin, true to his complete lack of noticeable decorum, said, “Holy shit.” There was a decent carpet underfoot, the colour of wine; and the wood panelling was the same as he had seen in hotels of distinction. There was the bar at the end of the car, which he would need, once Morgana boarded with the Luggage, having got Gwaine to do the hauling for her, and still feeling that Arthur owed her his time and lumbar spine.

“Why did you book us a double, you weirdo?” Merlin asked when they were taken to their cabin, having shouldered ahead of Arthur, to get a look at it first, before Arthur could spoil his first impressions, by being, as Merlin put it, ‘a poncey indifferent bastard.’

“I didn’t. It’s a twin.”

“Looks like a double bed to me.”

“What?” Arthur cried, and pushed him out of the doorway. 

Merlin, contrary to all that was sane, or expected, was right: there was the one lone bed, lovely but singular. They had made it up with a little tartan duvet in the spirit of their culture, as if that would make up for the insult. “We’re supposed to have a twin room.”

“I’m sorry, sir, this is the room.” This from the liveried employee who had shown them to the cabin, and was now realising he had done something, inadvertently, to anger the kind of patron who could drop twenty-six thousand pounds on an eight-day holiday. Merlin pinched him. “It’s fine,” he reassured the man, dimpling at him. 

“It’s not fine!” Arthur cried.

“Yes, it is. If you don’t have any other rooms, and I’m assuming you don’t, otherwise you would have said so immediately, as soon as he started turning all red in the face, we can manage. He’s not the worst thing I’ve woken up to,” Merlin said, and dimpled again, this time in a way that made Arthur coincidentally sweat.

“You didn’t have to be a knob to him,” Merlin said when the man had left, tossing his blazer over the armchair. 

“I wasn’t a knob to him, he mucked up my booking!”

“He didn’t muck up your booking, and put your tits back on. I think we can survive sharing a double bed for a week. I don’t know what you’re complaining about, anyway. You’re the one who snores.”

“I do not snore,” Arthur said, outraged. “You’ll have to sleep in the armchair.”

“I’m not sleeping in the armchair.”

“Well--on the floor, then. I’m sure there’s extra bedding to be got.”

“I’m not sleeping in the armchair, or on the floor; if you’ve got a problem sharing, you’re free to kip on either one,” Merlin said, as if it were settled; and now began, with every appearance of serenity, to begin unloading his bag, into the loo, and all over the writing table and bed, as if he were entitled to the calm dispersal of his belongings, whilst Arthur was stood in the centre of the cabin, clutching at his bag, and staring. The bed was an ordinary double; no giant of its kind, but a mere representative, with no girth but the girth to accommodate them, just. Doubles were for couples who didn’t mind mingling their breath and their limbs and their--other limbs. And now he would have to share, with Merlin’s aftershave and thighs, the romantic space in the spirit of platonicness. Already Merlin had sprawled out on it, demonstrating how it was to be, for seven nights, for Arthur’s personal bubble. Already he had taken off his shoes and blazer, and put his fitted trousers all over Arthur’s bed, as if it were decent, or sensible, or respectable, to take off any clothes whatsoever, in that close, warm space in which they would have to violate the edicts of platonic accord.

“So all week, I’m to have your elbow in my ribs, and just deal with it?” Arthur demanded, still clutching at the bag on his shoulder.

“Yeah, and probably my morning wood too, but I wouldn’t worry about it; if our friendship can get past your personality, it can get past anything.”

Gwen poked her head in the door. “Hello! They’re serving afternoon tea soon.” She stopped, and looked at Merlin on the bed, and looked at Arthur, not on the bed, because he was in possession of common decency. “Why have you got a double?”

“I dunno. Apparently Arthur and I are on our honeymoon,” Merlin said, scrolling through his mobile with his thumb without looking up.

“I booked a twin,” Arthur repeated, loudly but uselessly, in the face of Merlin’s indifference, and Gwen’s eyebrow. She was giving him a Look, very capitalised. It was Arthur’s unfortunate but not unexpected cross to bear; he was one of those unlucky blokes who had got some miscreants, instead of those decent, ordinary folk of common friendship; though he had expected better from Gwen. 

“Anyway,” she said, still giving him the odd Look, “are you coming down for tea? We’re in the first dining car.”

“In a minute,” Arthur said, unloading his bag, by the satisfactory method of smacking Merlin in the face with it.

“Ow!”

“Arthur,” Gwen scolded gently, and was gone, leaving him in that strange shrunken space, where before had existed a normal-sized room; even a rather kingly one, for a train. He felt there was a sort of odd pressure round him. He felt already that he had the awareness of Merlin, before he had Merlin--his close, stifling body, in the bed, that was--the close, stifling presence, offensive if not downright repulsive; anyway, he was quite plagued, quite unsurprisingly, as he had been, all their long and troublesome friendship. 

“Get up; we’re going for tea,” he said, poking Merlin in the side, and getting a yelp out of him. 

They watched Edinburgh and the Castle vanishing beyond the windows from the dining car, whilst Lancelot ate an alarming number of canapes, and Gwen warned him, in the roundabout way of innuendo, by someone who actually knew how to make it, that he oughtn't to be too full, for the sake of--of dinner.

“And dessert,” Merlin said, in a dining car full of blazers and cocktail dresses, in a tone which specified, clearly and resoundingly, that he was not referring to a nice little jelly or sorbet.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to embarrass me on my posh train?” Arthur asked, kicking him in the shin. 

“Technically I embarrassed Gwen,” Merlin pointed out, shovelling one of the canapes into his mouth. “What are we doing tonight?” he asked, like an animal, through the canape, rather than after it.

“Drinking, I think,” Gwaine replied.

“There aren’t any excursions today,” Morgana said. “We’re getting off tomorrow at Glenfinnan, but tonight you’re free to do whatever you like, till dinner. Have some drinks, watch the scenery, break in your double bed.” She smirked at him.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “For the last time, I. Booked. A Twin.”

“He just missed me, is all,” Merlin said, turning on him a smirk almost as bothersome as Morgana’s.

“I don’t see how,” she said, sipping her tea. “I’m sure he has a little doll made of your hair that he sleeps with every night.”

“Yeah, but it just can’t live up to the real thing,” Merlin replied, ruffling it.

“I wish you’d never met. Or been born,” Arthur said pleasantly.

“Merlin, why don’t you give your bride a proper seeing-to in your double bed? He’s getting tetchy again.”

“Piss off,” Arthur said, and went to find, in the arms of some champagne, solace from the bitter reality of his genetics.