#shade astray

[lastxprophecy]

Invent Animate - Heavener

[decemberthe7th]

OMYGD

[m3t4ln3rd]

Invent Animate debut new track "Shade Astray"

Band: Invent AnimateSong: “Shade Astray”Album: TBARelease Date: June 30th, 2022 (single)Label: UNFD Drummer Trey Celaya said of the single: “‘Shade Astray’ is a confessional realization that a relationship has run its course. It admits that it fell far from the ideal they had put on a pedestal, leaving both their ego and the relationship shattered when things are broken beyond repair. At this…

[righteous-pines]

The last living relative of the great Pinestar. As his granddaughter, and as an extremely talented young warrior, in her own right, great things are expected of Alpineknoll. Only time will tell if she will fulfill this presumed destiny, but thanks to the careful rearing and training of her grandmother, Graypelt, she shows great promise towards her destiny.

[mikavlcs]

Shade Astray

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Never in her life had Tara met anyone that made her feel like you did. She would make you hers, no matter what it took.

Warnings: graphic violence(!!!), murder, mentions of drugs and suicide, tara’s like genuinely terrifying here (tarafying? sorry), relatively bad pacing, overuse of the word anger and its various synonyms 

Word count: 6.1k (sorry)

Notes: ...sorry about this, i just needed to get it out of my system. not proofread bc i was tired of looking at this story lol, but i’ll be back to my regularly scheduled wednesday stories in a few days<3

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

For as long as Tara could remember, she had always struggled with her anger.

It was an issue during her early days. She of course didn’t remember, but her father would always humorously recall how she would scream absolute bloody murder as a baby if she wasn’t fed or if they took her toys from her.

Her patience did grow over time, but her possessiveness only ever got worse.

She treasured the things that she designated as “hers”, always treated them with the utmost care and she hated when others tried to take them from her.

Her family learned very quickly to not touch her stuff without asking. Only a few incidents were needed for them to understand how to respect her things.

Her older sister, Sam, seemed to understand better than her parents, but they learned, nonetheless.

And when she started going to school, it was the same.

Only once did someone make the mistake of taking something of hers. It was first grade. They were out for recess and one of her classmates, Alex, wanted to play with the stuffed animal she brought for show and tell. She said no, but he didn’t listen and snatched it right out of Tara’s hands.

In retaliation, she snapped the action figure he brought clean in half and threw the halves across different ends of the playground. 

Alex wailed; she just snatched her plushie back and went back to her spot on top of the slide.

Her teacher was worried by the display, but her parents wrote it off, saying she would grow out of it. If only she were so lucky.

Over the years, her anger ebbed and flowed and changed as she did, but it never left.

Hundreds of pencils and toys suffered at the hands of her rage, but never another person. That simply felt like a line Tara couldn’t cross.

And she did not cross that line.

Not when her father suddenly left. Not when Sam abandoned her for no reason. Not when her mother started drinking and leaving the house for days at a time.

She stayed firmly on the “right” side of the line, but the anger still persisted, strengthening with each person she watched walk out the door and never return.

It was almost funny how the emotion that haunted Tara was more present in her life than her actual family.

At some point, it became a comfort of sorts. Even on Tara’s worst days, days when she couldn’t feel much of anything, she could still feel that simmering anger within her. It grounded her in a way she knew it shouldn’t.

Years began to go by and neither her father nor Sam came back. Her mother’s alcoholism waxed and waned. Eventually, she began to go to rehab, but Tara didn’t really notice anymore. Even when she was sober, she wasn’t really present anyways.

What she did know was that through everything, her anger never faltered. It simply persisted, festering in silence, and at some point, Tara welcomed it.

-

As she entered middle school, Tara found herself migrating into a group of friends. The group was on the smaller side, consisting of five other members besides Tara herself.

There was Amber, a rebellious self-described “wild card” who loved parties. Wes, a shy, soft-spoken nerd that crushed on every girl he saw. Mindy, a slightly obnoxious film buff that would talk your ears off about her favorite franchises. Chad, a dumb jock with a heart of (mostly) gold. And Liv, a pretty girl with a startling lack of individual personality.

Tara adopted the role of the good, responsible girl. The one that reminded everyone about homework and urged them to study for tests. It was an easy enough persona to maintain.

They weren’t perfect, but they were more tolerable than the rest of Woodsboro and they were fiercely loyal. And weekly group hangouts were much better than just sitting in an empty house.

But these new friends did complicate Tara’s life a bit. When there was no one else around, there was no need for her to try and hide her anger.

Now, she needed to be cautious around others, to make sure the carefully crafted mask she wore around them never slipped. It was hard at first, but she got used to it with time.

The discovery of the Stab franchise changed her.

It was movie night at Amber’s house, the group favorite since her house was huge and her parents were virtually nonexistent. Amber insisted on them binging the Stab movies because she was obsessed and after enough “my house, my rules”, they obliged.

The group watched, Mindy and Wes pointing out every little thing they deemed ridiculous, but Tara was completely engrossed.

She had known about the movies and how they were based on the various real-life Ghostface killings across Woodsboro, but actually sitting down and watching them was riveting.

The movies themselves were fine, all overplayed tropes and cheesy one-liners, but the kills were another thing entirely.

Something about the brutality of them excited her, a mixture of anger and excitement creating a dangerous high that she was already addicted to.

Tara was immediately obsessed.

Immediately when she got home, she watched them all again. Within weeks, she had read every book and article she could find about the murders, absorbing it all like a sponge. She even joined the stupid Stab subreddits.

Her dreams became riddled with blood and gore and her behind that iconic mask. And from her dreams, it permeated her thoughts during the day. She daydreamed about it during class and when something inevitably angered her, it was the first thing she thought of.

The Line, as she had come to call it, could not be crossed in real life, but there were no boundaries she couldn’t cross in her mind.

If someone stirred that anger within her, she simply imagined herself donning the Ghostface mask and carving out their insides with one of her kitchen knives.

For a few years, that was sufficient, just thinking about the awful things she would do was enough to satiate the darkness within her.

Then you arrived.

You moved to Woodsboro a few weeks before the start of junior year. Tara heard about the new town residents, nothing stays secret for long in a small town, but she didn’t actually see you until the first day of school.

She and her friends were sitting at their usual table outside the school. Mindy and Amber were debating about some horror movie they saw, and Tara had checked out about five minutes ago when something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

A car pulled up to the school, grey and sleek and entirely unfamiliar to her. Her interest piqued, she watched on as two figures in the front seats talked. The passenger seat opened, and out of it came someone she’d never seen before. 

You.

All it took was one look and her world stopped. When it started again, it no longer revolved around the sun, but you.

You waved goodbye to whom she assumed to be your father and scanned your surroundings, hesitance apparent in your mannerisms. She intently watched you nervously thumb the strap of your bookbag, a plan to make you hers already formulating.

It began with something innocuous. Throughout the day, she found that your schedule was similar to hers, and in all the classes you two shared, the seat next to hers just happened to be the only one open.

Tara took the opportunity to introduce herself. You introduced yourself, voice soft and melodious, and already, she wanted to hear it again. She offered to show you around, which you shyly accepted. Before she could say anything else, the bell rang, lapsing the class into silence as the teacher began speaking.

Throughout class, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. You were everything she could ever want, and she knew then and there that she would stop at nothing to make you hers.

Within a week, Tara being by your side at school became normal. What was once a mere convenience became routine, and your place in class became rightfully next to her. Somewhat awkward small talk became friendly banter. And Tara finally got you comfortable enough to accept her invitation to sit with her at lunch.

Unfortunately, her friends were also there, but meeting them was an inevitability, and you ended up getting along with them pretty well. A bit too well in some ways.

Wes, of course, took an immediate liking to you. His light blush and stuttered words gave him away instantly, and as much as it annoyed Tara, that wasn’t what worried her.

What worried her was Amber’s behavior toward you. She was always talking to you, always grinning with her arm over your shoulders or a hand on your arm. A look in her eyes that Tara couldn’t—or more accurately, didn’t want to—place.

So Tara took a different approach. She started taking pens and pencils so you would ask to borrow hers, and she happily obliged. Then your class notes started going missing, textbooks disappearing between classes, but Tara always let you use hers.

She began inviting you over to her place under the guise of studying, but inevitably you ended up just hanging out. With some gentle coaxing, she got you to open up a bit.

You ranted about anything and everything, she listened, and you thanked her afterward.

She kept doing that until it became a habit. Until you began seeking out Tara to talk about something that was bothering you, which made her happy.

Tara slowly positioned herself to be the person you could rely on most, the one you could go to about anything.

And for a fleeting moment of time, that was enough—to know that you trusted her more than anyone else in the entirety of Woodsboro.

But, of course, it didn’t last. (It never did.)

You had an odd effect on Tara. You were the first person she had ever met that could calm her deep-seated rage. Any fury she felt at an incompetent classmate was washed away by the mere touch of your hand to hers.

But you also exponentially worsened it. Because even if she hadn’t made an official claim on you yet, you were hers. And she began to notice just how many people had their eyes on you.

The boys she caught leering at you in the halls, the jocks she heard having vulgar conversations about you—hell, even the occasional person that asked you for a pen in class. They all awoke an unprecedented amount of ire within her.

Every time Tara saw someone staring at you during lunch, she wanted nothing more than hit them until the skin on all of her knuckles was split and bleeding. Whenever she heard anyone talking about you, she wanted to reach into their throat and tear their vocal cords out.

She never did, she never once laid her hands on any of those people. But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

Tara quickly found herself inching closer and closer to The Line, using all of her remaining control to stop from crossing it.

All of her remaining self-control and morality went out the window when someone finally asked you out.

Tara was the first person you told. And she didn’t know what angered her more—the fact that someone had the gall to try and take what was hers or the fact that the person that asked you out was Amber.

Boiling hot anger bloomed in her chest and spread through her veins.

Tara’s relationship with Amber Freeman was complicated.

In some ways, Amber was Tara’s closest friend. The whole group shared a love for horror films, it was what initially brought them together, but Amber was the only one whose love for the Stab movies rivaled hers. She had even introduced Tara to the franchise. But that wasn’t what made Tara’s relationship with her so different from the others.

Her bond with Amber was special because Amber was the only person Tara had ever met that was like her.

She saw it most in the way Amber looked when she watched the murders in the films. Sure, Amber always loved the gory kills in slasher movies, but something about the Ghostface kills made her more intense. And it only took one glance for Tara to know why.

The acute passion and almost primitive desire she saw reflected in Amber’s eyes when Ghostface slaughtered someone was something she was entirely familiar with.

In that moment, Tara knew that Amber was capable of the same terrible things that she was. And she knew Amber knew it as well.

They never talked about it, just let it linger in the air between them, open and free. Their special connection brought Tara closer to her than any of the others.

But that also made Amber Tara’s biggest threat. The horrifying potential within her made her unpredictable, and while that had yet to actively oppose Tara’s own wants, it was beginning to become a nuisance now.

Because she had seen the way Amber looked at you, knew what that desire in her eyes meant. She was taken with you the same way Tara was.

And she couldn’t accept that.

She wasn’t able to sleep that night. Her anger was so potent that it felt like it had swallowed her whole. Her fists shook violently, a scream she had been holding back for hours bubbled up again and Tara could only curl into herself and swallow it back down.

It was too hot, sweat coated her skin and soaked her clothes. Her fury was burning her alive from the inside out and she ached for something to take it out on, needed anything—even if it was painful to drown the fire inside of her.

More than anything, she yearned to get rid of Amber. Permanently.

She knew she shouldn’t, but once she thought of it, she couldn’t stop. It would be so simple, to just sneak into Amber’s house and gut her. Hell, she even had a costume, nearly forgotten in the back of her closet from Halloween a few years prior.

And if she didn’t do this, there was a chance that she would lose you.

With that realization, the dam broke, her moral walls crumbling under the weight of her need for you.

The Line was the last thing on her mind that night and before she knew it, her plan was fully formed.

Exactly one week before she planned to kill Amber, Tara invited her over for a Stab marathon. Likely around the twentieth one they’d had over the years, but this one was different.

Watching these movies never got old for Tara, and they were always made better by another person that shared her love for them.

But even with that, it was still less passionate, less enthusiastic than those other times. A melancholy had settled in the air. There was a new finality to the rolling credits, and Tara would be lying if she said it didn’t get to her.

She wondered if Amber could feel it too.

On the walk home, Tara was somewhat conflicted. But then she reminded herself that Amber was trying to take you away from her and that was enough to have her seeing red.

Without anymore hesitation, she took a step over The Line, crossing into that horrifyingly seductive forbidden territory, and firmly planted her feet there.

You were Tara’s and she wasn’t going to let anyone get away with trying to take you from her, not even a friend.

-

The kill itself was easy enough to pull off.

The Freemans were almost never home, leaving Amber to roam the house by herself most nights and she was never the best at remembering to lock the windows. She relied mostly on their cameras to alert her of anything, but even those were easy to avoid if you knew where they were.

She slipped in through a window around the back, swift and silent as she made her way through the house, mindful to avoid the inside cameras when she could.

Amber was in the living room, watching some show Tara didn’t recognize. Her phone sat on the couch beside her, and the sight of it nearly made her sigh. She had debated doing the phone call, but she didn’t have the iconic voice changer and thus, was forced to do without it.

She knew that Amber would be turning in for the night soon, so she waited, lingering in the darkness of the attached kitchen for her moment to strike.

That moment came mere minutes later. Amber turned the tv off and stood, stretching for a moment before heading toward the stairs. Tara gripped the hilt of her knife and quietly walked out. Her heartbeat quickened, perfectly matching her footfalls as she came up behind Amber.

One of her last strides had a bit too much weight behind it, causing one of the floorboards to creak. Amber whirled around and only had time to blink before Tara struck.

She buried the knife right between Amber’s ribs then twisted it sharply, finding a sick satisfaction in the way she felt something crack. Her heart raced as she pushed Amber to the ground, settling on top of her as she yanked the knife out and plunged it back into her, slightly lower this time.

Then she did it again and again and again. Tara would admit that she lost herself a bit, the adrenaline pumping throughout her pushing her into almost a frenzied state as she brought the knife down then back up.

Amber, to her credit, didn’t scream. The only sounds that filled the air were the sounds of the knife piercing flesh and Tara’s labored breaths under her mask.

When she finally snapped out of it, all she could see was red. It was everywhere—on her knife, the carpet, the surrounding furniture. Some had even managed to splatter onto the ceiling. It was oddly beautiful.

Knowing her time was limited, she turned her attention back to her victim. Amber remained silent, only the occasional bloody cough escaping her as she stared at Tara above her.

Tara reached into Amber’s pocket and pulled out her phone, holding it briefly in front of her face to unlock it. Once inside, she opened the security app and remotely shut off all of the cameras in the house. She waited for a moment, ensuring they were off before reaching up to pull her mask off.

Amber’s eyes widened slightly when their eyes met but she didn’t look surprised. If it were the other way around, Tara supposed she wouldn’t be either.

In a way, they both knew this would only ever end one of two ways.

They would either wreak havoc on the town of Woodsboro together, or one of them would eliminate the other. And unfortunately, it had to be the latter.

Tara adjusted her grip on the knife handle, careful not to move the weapon as she held her dying friend’s gaze. Neither of them said anything, they just let everything sit in the air around them until, finally, Amber stopped moving altogether.

Once the warmth left Amber’s body, Tara stood and pulled the knife out of her one last time, cleaning the blood off of it with a quick swipe of her hand per tradition.

She stayed there for another minute then left, making sure to lock the window on her way out.

Later that night, as she waited for sleep to take hold of her, she wondered if she regretted what she did, finally crossing that line after all these years of holding herself back. It took only a few moments for her to find that her answer was a firm and resounding no.

She would mourn the loss of a friend but never regret her decision. Tara was going to make you hers, and she was going to make sure that no one stood in her way.

-

It took three days for the body to be found.

Considering Amber’s parents were probably somewhere in Europe, they took no notice of their daughter’s sudden silence, but the rest of the group did. They had been on edge since the end of the first day and by the third, you wanted to go over and check on Amber.

Tara stopped you immediately, not wanting you to see what waited in that house, and suggested calling the police to perform a wellness check because “what if it’s something serious?”

Amber’s face was plastered all over the local news within hours. Along with the news that her killer was another Ghostface.

For public safety reasons, the security camera footage was released and immediately caused an uproar. The idiots in the Stab subreddits were clamoring, new theories being posted every hour. Tara ignored them.

Her entire focus after Amber’s death was made public was you.

The entire group was upended by Amber’s passing, but you were distraught. Even if you didn’t return her feelings, Amber was still your friend and her death hit you hard.

She took every opportunity to be there for you. She hung out with you after school when you didn’t want to be alone, invited you over on the weekends when you needed a shoulder to cry on. 

In your eyes, the two of you were grieving together, and in some ways that was true.

When you cried, she would always hold you and cry with you. Sometimes her tears were real, sometimes they were fake, but her concern for you was always sincere. And the way you held onto her like a lifeline made her sure that what she did was more than worth it.

Aside from your sorrow, everything was going relatively well. The fraudulent mask of sadness she needed to sustain almost everywhere she went was exhausting but necessary.

She knew she would have to grieve with the pack, and she did it masterfully while also paying special attention to you and your mental health.

Her ever-present anger had also been noticeably dull. It was always tempered when you were around, but even when you weren’t present it was still anemic.

It was actually somewhat peaceful, and she expected it to remain like that for a while.

What she didn’t expect was her sister to suddenly return to Woodsboro.  

Tara swore she had never been more surprised when she answered the door, expecting it to be the police, and saw instead her sister standing there. She was taller, a bit rougher around the edges, but she was still the Sam that Tara tried to forget about over the years.

She let Sam in more out of curiosity than anything. Tara wanted—no, needed to know why her own sister had to abandon her for years without even attempting to contact her.

And, admittedly, the explanation was worth her time.

Turned out that her sister was actually her half-sister. They had the same mother but different fathers. Sam’s father was Billy Loomis, one of the original Ghostface killers. Sam ran away because she was scared that she would end up like her father, that she would somehow hurt Tara if she stayed.

So she left and ended up getting mixed up in all kinds of bad shit. (She didn’t specify, but the track marks on her arms told Tara everything she needed to know.) But she heard about the rise of another Ghostface and that convinced her to finally return, for good.

Throughout Sam’s explanation, Tara bit her cheek until she bled and gripped her chair until her knuckles were white.

It was all she could do to not laugh in her sister’s face.

The “darkness” inside of her that she was so afraid of amused her because she knew it didn’t exist. She couldn’t see the potential that either she or Amber held in her sister’s eyes, and that made the entire situation laughable.

Tara couldn’t help but wonder how frightened Sam would be if she found out about what she did, how terrified she’d be if she knew about the things that Tara thought about doing.

Part of her was jealous, to come from such a profoundly blood-stained family legacy sounded incredible, but she knew it was for the best that it was Sam and not her. It would only make her a prime suspect.

So she flooded her eyes with tears and feigned understanding, allowing her sister to hug her for the first time in years.

The words “I forgive you” tasted like ash in her mouth, but the act needed to be upheld.

Sam expressed her want to move back into the house, something Tara was immediately against. But as she thought about it more, she found herself allowing it.

For insurance mostly. If there were more victims, Sam would be able to back up Tara’s alibis about being at home. She would also serve as her backup plan in case things went south.

After all, if the police were to ever suspect her, it would be so easy to implicate the ex-addict daughter of Billy Loomis in her place.

-

The following months were an adjustment period.

Tara having to relearn how to cohabitate in her house with her sister, the group learning to function without Amber, and the town having to deal with the fact that there was another Ghostface on the loose all at once proved to be…a lot. For everyone involved.

Naturally, Tara managed just fine. She dealt with the hurdles that came with her sister’s constant presence as they appeared and found a rhythm to fall into relatively quickly.

Things with her friends were similar. With more practice, her persona got easier to maintain and as the group began to accept and move past Amber’s death, it became effortless.

You had grown much closer to Tara over the past months. It was obvious that her insistence to be there for you when needed had paid off. You naturally gravitated toward each other, spending nearly every moment together at school.

You were also doing much better, smiling and laughing again like you did before. The effervescence you usually exuded was back and Tara couldn’t be happier.

There was just one problem.

Amongst the chaos, Tara found that the calm that settled in after Amber’s death slowly faded, her anger returning to her with a fiery vengeance.

But her rage was never more apparent than when she was with you at school.

Those guys that ogled you in the halls didn’t simply disappear (as much Tara wished they did). If anything, they only got bolder without Amber’s presence. Some of the stares she saw them giving you were downright disturbing.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the vulgar conversations she overheard about you.

Every disgusting word she overheard in class or in passing while she searched for you in the halls made her fingers twitch toward her side, looking for a weapon she didn’t have.

It was like before, but now that she had crossed The Line it was so much worse.

Now she didn’t simply want them to hurt, she wanted them to die by her hand, slowly and painfully. She wanted to watch the life slowly drain out of their eyes, for them to die with the knowledge that you would never be anyone else’s but hers.

Tara could only hold back for so long, especially when it came to you.

She gave in four months after Amber’s death, almost to the day.

Her second victim was Daniel Holmes, a lanky art club snob that had a crush on you. During Calculus, Tara would see him drawing pictures of you in his notebook.

His older brother found him on his bed with 11 stab wounds and no fingers. He would never draw you again.

Her third victim was Rowan Morlow, your tall and endlessly arrogant chemistry partner who took every opportunity to make you uncomfortable. He flirted with you relentlessly, ended up giving you a stupid poem about how you were “his sun” that always managed to light his world up.

Tara burnt him alive. The police could only identify him through his dental records.

Her fourth, and (for now) final victim was Jason Lowry, a linebacker for the school’s football team. Tara hated him. He was a repeat offender, ogling you in the halls, saying disgusting things about you in class, and always trying to get your attention. He was always on her list, but the others distracted her from dealing with him.

She finally snapped when she overheard him talking to his friends about wanting to drug you at a party you planned to go to that week.

That same night, she stabbed him 43 times and then slit his throat with so much force that she nearly decapitated him.

(Later that week, she convinced you to not go to the party and stay with her for a movie night. Just in case.)

After Jason’s murder, she had to take a step back from Ghostface and lay low for a bit. The media coverage was picking up and the sheriff was getting more and more intense about finding the killer. Especially after Jason’s (deservingly) brutal death.

The police were really starting to crack down, patrol cars were on nearly every street and Tara couldn’t afford to take any chances.

So, begrudgingly, she locked her Ghostface costume away and took a break from the killings.

Her hands still itched for the hilt of her knife when she saw someone’s eyes on you, but you made it manageable. And now that she wasn’t planning murders, she had more time to spend with you.

You seemed just as eager to see her, which pleased Tara. Biweekly hangouts became you coming over nearly every day to watch movies and just spend time together.

You admitted how terrified you were about the Ghostface killer running around Woodsboro and she nearly said that “she would never hurt you” before she caught herself.

It was the truth. Tara would kill herself before she laid a hand (or knife) on you. But she couldn’t say that outright.

Instead, she offered to drive you home after school every day.

And that’s where she was now.

Classes for the day had ended only twenty minutes ago, so there were still tons of students there waiting for buses and parents. She sat in the parking lot, blaring music in her car while she watched for you to appear at the entrance.

Two songs later, you finally walked out the doors. She perked up, about to get out the car to wave you down, but stopped when she saw who walked out with you.

Wes.

He was matching your strides, pulling you to a stop before you could look out to find Tara in the lot. 

Leaning forward, she watched him step close, much too close for her liking, and ghost a hand over your arm. Every time you went to look away, to look for her, he pulled your attention back to him.

It made her want to tear his insides out, but she held herself back. So far, the killings had been deemed random. Two murders within the same friend group would look suspicious. Not to mention the fact that Wes was the sheriff’s son. If she killed him, there would be a manhunt.

Before her thoughts could go forward, you looked over and saw her. The way your expression brightened almost made her forget about Wes, but he remained there. Even after you started making your way to Tara, Wes stood and watched you go.

Tara’s palms itched.

The passenger seat door opening brought her back to the present. She turned to see you already looking at her with a beautifully bright smile that she couldn’t help but return. 

Momentarily forgetting about Wes, she put the car in reverse then paused. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours.”

Tara nodded. It was the same answer you always gave, and she forced herself to swallow the lingering question of why.

She turned the music down and handed you the aux before she sped off toward her house. The drive was spent with Tara listening to you ramble about your day, your music playing softly in the background.

But even the melodic sound of your voice couldn’t distract her from the nagging thought of Wes and his stupid crush.

She lasted a few more hours before she finally cracked.

The two of you were in the living room lounging on the couch in front of the tv. Sam was out, thankfully, so Tara didn’t need to keep you holed up in her room to avoid her.

Some movie Mindy recommended was playing on the tv, but Tara had long since stopped paying attention, instead focusing on the feeling of your head on her shoulder.

But again, Wes and his stupid blonde hair invaded her thoughts. He was so close, looked so hopeful about whatever he was talking about. She couldn’t help herself.

“So, what was Wes talking to you about earlier?” She tried for a casual delivery and given the way you answered without hesitation, she succeeded.

“Oh, he just wanted to know if we could study for the chem test together. I told him I’d have to check my schedule,” you said, and she could hear the smile you inevitably had in your voice.

A growl bubbled up in her throat, but she forced it out as a breathy laugh. “He totally likes you, you know.”

You only hummed in response. Tara didn’t like that. She needed a definitive answer to how you felt. So she took a more direct approach.

“Do you like him?”

This time, you sat up straight, putting a bit of distance between you to her displeasure. She tried to meet your eyes, but you stayed quiet, not quite looking at Tara. She clenched her fist, nails digging into her palms so hard they nearly drew blood.

“Because if you do, you could always go hang out with him. I wouldn’t mind,” she lied, unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of her voice. 

She absolutely would mind. If you left her for him, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop herself from slitting his throat—sheriff’s son or not.

You looked at her then, eyes wide, “No, I don’t want to leave. I’d rather be here, with you. I feel safe with you.”

Tara’s fists relaxed, pride swelling in her chest at your admission.

“Besides, I like someone else.”

Surprised, Tara froze. Her anger flared again but she tempered it immediately. She knew she shouldn’t ask, that hearing you say anyone’s name but hers would send her on a rampage, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Who?”

You glanced away, lips pursing as you fiddled with your finger. She couldn’t be upset with you for your lack of answer when she saw the subtle shaking of your hands.

“I can’t say,” you eventually said.

Tara’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice soft. “Why not?”

You brought your eyes up, not making eye contact but close enough, and bit your lip. Tara could barely tear her attention away from it to hear you whisper, “Because it would ruin things.”

“What?” Tara asked, confusion drawing her brows together. What did that mean? What exactly would you ruin?

Again, you stayed quiet, but a deep blush was rising on your cheeks. Your eyes traveled the length of her face as you stuttered something too soft for her to hear. 

Finally, you looked up and met Tara’s gaze and she understood.

“It’s me?” she whispered, her disbelief more than apparent in her tone.

A sharp inhale, then you nodded, slow and shy. That was all she needed.

Without another word, Tara surged forward and crashed her lips into yours, kissing you fiercely. You were surprised at first, but you reciprocated with the same urgency, hands rising to her face. At the feeling of your hands

Tara lifted you onto her lap, slowly running her hands from your thighs up to your hips, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric of your shirt to graze your bare skin. A soft yelp escaped you, but you only moved closer, both of you losing yourselves in each other.

You stayed pressed against her until long after the movie ended.

That night you fell asleep in Tara’s arms. She laid awake, barely able to close her eyes with the overwhelming amount of emotion running through her. You had always heightened her emotions, but now that she’d kissed you, claimed you it was different. More intense. A type of euphoria she’d never been privy to.

But the anger still remained, still thrummed at the very thought of someone else touching you now. Unconsciously, her arms tightened around you.

You were finally hers.

And if needed, she would kill every single person in that godforsaken town to make sure it stayed that way.

[jacqlovesxiao]

It’s Xiao’s first time, teach him, will you?

It’s Xiao’s turn this time!! Smut ofc (nervous, virgin Xiao, praise kink, begging, desperate, Xiao sheds a bit of tears bc of how good it feels lol, a bit of a switch!xiao, but mainly sub!xiao, dom!female!reader, riding position, nipple play, biting and sucking)

You are Xiao’s lover, getting him to open up to you after knowing him better. You’ve been dating him for a few years now and although Xiao is usually busy with his duties in protecting Liyue, he still tries to make time for you. However, for this particular night, you wanted a change. A change in more intimacy… But Xiao, having spent most of his life battling for centuries, has no idea about intimacy. So teach him, will you?

You’re currently lying on the bed completely naked, Xiao’s cheeks flushing up at the sight of your gorgeous body. It’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before, it was just that he wasn’t used to it. Xiao didn’t know what to do, placing his hands on your hips and rubbing the soft flesh gently.

“Uh, my dear, is this okay? Do you want me to stop? Do you feel cold? You’re completely unclothed after all… If you’re feeling uncomfortable or want to stop, please do not hesitate to tell me immediately.” Xiao said as he bombarded you with questions, his voice laced with concern and anxiety. It was clear that he was very nervous, having intimacy was new to him and this was his first time, but for you, he was willing to try.

Xiao continued to hold onto your hips, but his grip was very gentle. Too gentle even, as if you were some fragile glass that would break if he didn’t handle you properly. Xiao was afraid of hurting you, especially knowing that he had his own karmic debt, so he didn’t know if he was capable of feeling and indulging in intimacy. Hah… It would be a miracle once he degraded you.

“Xiao, really, I’m completely fine… This is the third time I’m repeating myself, I’m not fragile. I can handle myself, it’s okay. Do you want me to take over? This is just apart of intimacy after all, it’s raw and unadulterated.” You reassured him and couldn’t help but let out a small giggle. You were willing to teach him about intimacy, but you had never seen him so nervous before, so you couldn’t resist poking fun at him a little. “I didn’t think you’d be so nervous about this, aren’t you supposed to be strong? But you can start by stripping too, you know.”

You giggled softly, but your lips curved into a genuine smile, you knew how concerned Xiao could be about you. Having lost friends in his past, you were the last person he wanted to lose as well. He didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he hurt you, even if accidentally. Yet, you also wanted Xiao to take a leap of faith, to trust you. You were determined to make his first time special and leave him breathless by the end of the night. Though, it’d be a miracle if Xiao managed to degrade you, he was too sweet and gentle inside for that.

Xiao's brows furrowed slightly at your teasing, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. He wasn't used to being the one in such vulnerable positions, both physically and emotionally. But he trusted you, and he knew that you wouldn't lead him astray. "I... I suppose you're right," Xiao mumbled, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and determination. He took a deep breath, gathering his resolve, and slowly began to remove his clothes. His movements were deliberate, careful, as if he was afraid of tearing the fabric. But soon enough, he stood before you, completely naked.

Xiao’s body, toned and lean from centuries of training, revealed itself to you. His pale skin was marred with scars, remnants of countless battles fought. The intricate golden tattoos on his arms and chest seemed to shimmer under the soft glow of the moonlight that filtered through the window. Xiao's eyes never left your face as he approached you, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and uncertainty. He tentatively reached out, his hands trembling slightly, and cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

"My dear, I... I trust you," he whispered, his voice husky with longing. "Teach me... show me what it means to be intimate with you." With those words, Xiao leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, hesitant kiss. His touch was feather-light, as if he was afraid of overwhelming you. But as your lips moved together, a spark ignited within him, and his kisses grew bolder, more passionate.

Xiao's kisses descended from your lips to your neck, his teeth grazing lightly against your sensitive skin. He inhaled your scent, a heady mix of desire and anticipation, and it fueled the fire burning within him. His hands moved to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples, eliciting soft moans from your lips. His voice, usually so controlled and composed, was now laced with a raw hunger as he whispered in your ear, "You're so beautiful, love. I want you to dominate me, to show me the control and power you have over me. Can you do that, dear? Please?” Xiao's words hung in the air, his eyes that were filled with desperation and need locked onto yours, waiting for your response. He was ready to explore the depths of intimacy with you, to lose himself in the sensations that awaited the both of you. And of course, seeing your boyfriend beg so sweetly like that, who were you to decline?

You smiled and nodded, guiding Xiao to lay on the bed first. As he complied, you crawled on top of him and positioned yourself onto his lap, your eyes filled with hunger and desire. You captured his lips into a passionate kiss first, your hands roaming over Xiao’s bare body. Your touch was featherlight, your fingers tracing Xiao’s permanent, old scars and the tattoos that adorned his arm and shoulder. In your eyes, Xiao would always be perfect, scars or tattoos or not. You broke the kiss, your lips trailing down to Xiao’s neck. You left kisses and nips, marking him. Your breasts pressed against his chest, Xiao could feel the softness of them and your hardened nipples. His erection, hard and the tip leaking with pre-cum, brushed against your wet folds. You teased him, not completely taking him all the way, but making him beg for it first. You could feel Xiao’s hands on your hips, the way his breath hitched, the room filling with his sounds of pleasure, along with your connection.

Xiao's breath hitched as your lips left a trail of kisses and nips along his neck, marking him as your own. He could feel your breasts pressing against his chest, the softness and warmth of them sending shivers down his spine. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip possessive yet gentle, as he eagerly sought more of her touch. His erection throbbed against your wet folds, the sensation driving him to the brink of madness. He groaned, a mixture of pleasure and frustration escaping his lips, as you teased him, not fully taking him in. Each movement, each brush of your bodies, intensified the desire pooling within him, igniting a fire that threatened to consume the both of you.

"Love, please," he pleaded, his voice husky with need. "I need you... I need to feel you around me, to be inside you. Don't make me wait any longer." With a sense of urgency, Xiao's hands moved from your hips to your thighs, guiding you down onto him. He groaned as he felt the tightness of your entrance, the way you stretched around him, accommodating his size. Slowly, you sank down, taking him deeper with each inch, until he was fully sheathed within your tight pussy. A wave of pleasure washed over Xiao, his head falling back as he lost himself in the sensations. He could feel the heat of your core, the way your walls pulsed around him, gripping him in a delicious embrace. He couldn't help but moan, the sounds of pleasure filling the room.

With a rhythm that matched the beating of your hearts, Xiao's hips began to move, thrusting upwards to meet your downward movements. The friction between the two of you was electrifying, every thrust pushing you two closer to the edge of ecstasy. His hands roamed over your body, his touch growing more possessive, as he sought to claim every inch of you. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, a dance of passion and desire. The room was filled with the sounds of your moans, Xiao’s whimpers and the intoxicating scent of arousal. Time seemed to lose all meaning as the two of you lost yourselves in the pleasure, bodies and souls intertwining in a moment of pure bliss.

“Oh, faster, please. Ride me harder, my dear. Mark me as yours.” Xiao pleaded desperately, his voice cracking between his moans. And who were you to deny him? Slamming down on him, you did a particularly powerful thrust that sent his tip kissing your cervix, causing Xiao to gasp and cry out your name. His grip on your hips was so tight it was sure to leave a few marks and bruises here and there, but he was too lost in the pleasure to care. Sniffing, a few drops of tears started to stream down Xiao’s cheeks, a reminder of the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling right now. All those thousands of years of training, he’s never felt this much pleasure before. He always thought he’d just become nothing but a weapon for combat and that trainings were necessary, yet there has always been an empty, lonely void in his heart. And you managed to fill it.

“Shh, oh, you pretty boy. Don’t cry…” You coo, almost tauntingly, before kissing away Xiao’s tears. Breathing heavily, Xiao decided to turn the tables a little and fight for dominance. Pulling you impossibly closer, his mouth latched onto one of your hardened nipples, one of his hands moving to fondle your other breast, rolling the hardened nipple between his thumb. You moan desperately, arching your back and throwing your head back to expose your neck. Xiao releases your nipple with a pop, taking this chance to suck and bite on your neck, leaving marks that will surely last for days, but also remind you that you’re his. His hands moved from your hips to your ass, squeezing your cheeks gently. He liked the way they jiggled under his touch and against his pelvis.

“Do you like that, my dear? Oh, love, I can’t hold back anymore. I-I’m gonna cum, ah… Cumming-!” Xiao gasped and gets cut off by his orgasm, hot strings of his cum splurting deep into your womb. You moan out his name loudly, your orgasm crashing into you too as your coat Xiao’s cock with your cum. After a few heavy breaths, you collapse onto Xiao’s chest, having him hold you tightly. Stroking your head gently, he kisses your forehead. Xiao doesn’t know much about aftercare, but he’ll do his best. He continues to thrust gently, making sure to prolong your orgasm as long as possible before gently pulling out, his cock spent with your juices as his cum leaked out from your pussy.

“That was… amazing. Thank you, love, for showing me what true pleasure really feels like. I-I love you, so much.” Xiao remarked, his voice laced with affection and relief. “I love you too…” You replied back in a murmur before drifting off into a peaceful sleep on him. “I’ll clean you up tomorrow, promise.” Xiao muttered softly to your sleeping form before cuddling you, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep with you too.

————-THE END————

Jacq’s note: I’m back with a Xiao fanfic this time ;)) I don’t really have much to say lol except thank u sm for the support on my previous scara one on the Ferris wheel and thanks for reading till the end, until then <3

[hyunnie04]

to love him is to love blue.

lee felix x reader, fluff

wc: 448 | inspired by the her favorite color is yellow text post. happy late valentines day ♡

for as long as you can remember, you don’t have a favorite color. you have never really thought about it, or at least have the reason to. it was the same as any other hue, shade, or tint, to your eyes.

even in childhood, the question of "what's your favorite color?" seemed silly, trivial even. just another question to pass time and to baselessly judge one’s personality over it. you never really had a response other than no for those who asked.

“you don’t?” felix says, surprise evident on his face by the way his eyebrows had shot up. you shake your head and leaned against the arm rest, amused.

you found yourself returning the question, suddenly curious about his reply. "no, what about you?"

“mine is definitely blue.” felix answers with no hesitation. he goes on to explain that he doesn't even know why he likes it, but just does with a light laugh.

to you, it made complete sense.

you have seen the way his eyes practically light up in appreciation, his saccharine smile making its appearance whenever someone gifts him anything in that familiar shade.

or when he wears something in those colors reminiscent of the sky and the calm waters, his upbeat and infectious mood immediately brightening up any room.

something about how as simple as a color had encapsulated him as a whole was - for a lack of a better term, beautiful.

the little conversation you had with him since that day had stuck with you. you found yourself finding blue everywhere without even meaning to, the timbre of his voice and sweet face always at the back of your mind.

you saw it in everything. it was inescapable. and if it was the only thing left in the world, then so be it.

“what do you think?” felix runs a hand through his tresses, an elated grin on his face. the formerly blonde locks had now been dyed a mesmerizing shade of azure, complimenting his honeyed, freckled skin.

“it looks good on you.” the edges of your mouth curl up, unable to contain your tender smile. your fingers reach up to tuck a strand behind his ear that fell astray, looking at him with nothing but pure love.

felix gently grabs your wrist, planting soft and affectionate kisses along the ridges of your knuckles, eyes upturned into a fond smile.

if he had asked you to live with him in a blue house with a blue car and with blue flowers in the front lawn, you would give it to him in a heartbeat.

you haven’t seen blue the same way since.

the next time someone asks you, blue is your favorite. 

[hydrangea-mon-amor]

「 ✦  Yandere Angel ✦ 」

Yandere Male! x fem! reader!

Trigger warning! Yandere behavior, obsessive behavior

A/N guys, I feel like I’m on drugs right now, I’ve worked on this for who knows how many hours just so I could drop it in time of New Years. It’s a long one, and I think you guys will love this one.

Summary! He is your Guardian Angel, sworn to protect you against any and all evil. You are a simple mortal girl, who ensnared the wrong angel in your circle… (no seriously girl how the hell did you do that….)

Side note — if you think there should be more trigger warnings added, let me know.

Every Angel is assigned to a human, but not every angel harbors the ability to form a genuine relationship with them. It isn’t in their clause, and, in any case, the act in itself is generally treated as something to avoid.

After all, angels are immortal, ephemeral creatures, beings of light itself. They cannot die like ordinary humans do, and they do not have the lifespan of one either…

No, they live long, immortality is something they are branded with. How could, if one could ask, would an angel live if they grew to love their charge, but had to acquiesce and give them up in the name of death?

Is it possible for life to be so unfair?

Is it possible for life to be so irrevocably cruel?

Peliel, was the name of your guardian Angel. He has been looking over you, you know? Each moment—every encounter that has mysteriously worked in your favor, it was all because of him. Truly he had your best interest in mind.

Do you remember, when it was your seventeenth birthday, your friends and you hopped in that Uber, only to be led astray but then back again? Remember how relieved you were when you had realized that you weren’t being kidnapped?

You should thank Peliel.

No, really, it’s insisted that you thank your protective guardian Angel…

On a drowsy Sunday morning, with leaves swaying to the persuasive winds, Peliel is slumped under a tree. He watches over you, you are outside a cafe, studying for a future exam. Peliel looks around for danger, he always has, he has never complained, he never will complain.

A dumb smile finds its way on his face.

‘You look so adorable…’ he thinks—he has always thought that.

His eyes perk up, where are you going?

Peliel, removes himself from the trees shade, and starts stalking towards you. No mortal can see him, he is, infact, hidden in plain sight. He watches you cross roads, than follow the same path. He follows, quite diligently too, until he comes to a stop.

The Public Library.

He smiles dumbly to himself. Of course someone as adorable and motivated as you would go to the library to study…

He moves through the door, tucking himself away into a corner so where he could watch you promptly. He has never loved being a guardian so much, he wishes death wasn’t a thing so he could forever be your Guardian Angel…

You sit in between two chairs on a desk, clasping a medical textbook in your hands. You lay it on top the surface, diligently tracing your fingers along the words, taking notes as you do. Hair cascading down your delectable visage, and Peliel watches it all, he will watch it all.

Sometimes, when you sleep in your bed, Peliel will sit at the edge of the mattress and just…stare. It isn’t weird, really it’s just him protecting what is his. He is in charge of your protection, what kind of Guardian Angel would he be if he didn’t take it upon himself catering to your protection in every circumstance?

Who would he be? No really, he might as-well be committing an act of transgression upon the Heavens.

No…the wording is wrong, in actuality, he’d be committing transgressions against you.

He sits in his corner, looking upon you like how mortals look upon their worldly desires. But, to him, you are more than just “desires.” You are his reason for living.

“Fuck.” He’s startled, it isn’t often he hears you curse…

You look upon your textbook, frustrated with the topic you’re currently studying. You look up, desperate for some notion of reprieve.

Your eyes squint.

“Can I help you? Why are you in the corner like that?”

Peliel is confused, you shouldn’t be able to see him. It isn’t natural, it isn’t possible. He is invisible to the mortal eye, he cannot be seen by ordinary folk, how can you…

“Are you referring to me?”

You should really be more gentle with him, he speaks so timidly, frightened he’s going to disappoint you…

You look over your shoulder, “I don’t see anyone huddled up in a corner like you are, so yes, as if it wasn’t obvious already, but I am looking at you. And seriously? Who would I have to look at besides you?”

Who would I have to look at besides you…

He seriously shouldn’t be getting butterflies from this, poor thing, all riled up for nothing.

“I-I’m not sure.” He attempts to smile, his face definitely dusted in red, he’s squeamish now, unbecoming. You really shouldn’t have acknowledged him.

“Don’t sit there, you’ll damage your spine.”

“How do you know?”

You hold up the textbook, “studying to become a doctor.”

He looks at you surprised.

“Really?”

As if he didn’t already know that…

“Mhmm, exam next Thursday, wish me luck won’t you?” You were being sarcastic, but he was not.

“O-of course!”

Your phone rings. “Have to go now, bye, don’t make me catch you in a position like that again. Well, that is if we ever meet again.”

He watches in awe, you leave the library, hesitant smile his way.

He feels like he’s on cloud nine, or ten, or eleven. He feels weightless, light, fluttering, untouchable.

Of course, the reason why you could see him was because of fate… you are destined for him, as he is destined for you… that’s why you could see him, that’s why he could converse with you…. Fate, you are fated to him…

He’s watching you.

Well, he always has, but something about this encounter is different… he doesn’t know, it feels more intimate, more romantic.

He sits upon a tree branch, an apple in his hands. He’s been meaning to take a bite, but he is so enamored with you that he simply just forgot… but, of course, could you blame him? You are simply so you, and he is irrevocably engrossed with you.

You are star-gazing, by yourself. Wearing a divine skirt, a tank top, and a simple, cute cardigan. You have a basket of mangoes by you, waiting a few moments to eat the next piece.

He can’t stop thinking about you, he can’t stop himself from being near you. Even if you don’t know he’s here, it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s there…

He will always be there.

Always, for you.

In the wake of the glowing moon, the dance of the twinkling constellations, Peliels whispers, sounds odd but no. He whispers to you, don’t you understand? Fate has communicated that you two are meant for eachother, bless Peliel, all he is doing is seeing it to fruition.

These whispers, these statements of fervor, are carried by the ever persistent winds.

They are carried to you.

Heaven cannot compare to the bliss you have given.

Your face is as delicate as dew drops, and your voice as placid as the clearest of waters…you are an illustration of exalted life.

He almost giggles to himself when he sees you startled, playing it off as something amiss with your hearing.

It was probably the smartest thing you’ve done thus far.

He shouldn’t intervene this much, really, it isn’t ethical. And, his higher ups would probably not be too fond of his recent behavior either. But can he help it? Really, can he?

Honestly he thinks it’s your fault.

If you weren’t so infatuating, so alluring, he wouldn’t have to do this.

If he didn’t love you like he did, he probably would’ve stepped back, but he does love you, he loves you so much that he cannot bear the sight of you being inconvenienced. No matter how minor.

So why is that you aren’t grateful? Why do you look on in terror as if he had done something so outrageous? So heinous?

“Please, someone, dial 911!” You shout, shaking as you watch the bleeding corpse of your boss.

How did he even get that way?

A part of you is at odds with one another. He was a shit boss, always targetting people who couldn’t fight back, he was rude, mean, crude, narcissistic, evil—

“I—he’s losing a lot of blood please!” You shout, cursing yourself for not having your phone on you.

Peliel watches on, not liking the feeling swirling in his stomach.

Why aren’t you showing any signs of gratitude? You hated him, Peliel knows how much you hated him. So why, why do you want people do help the coward! He’s helping you! He’s doing you a favor, how could you be so insolent and—

Wait.

You are so lucky to have a very smart Guardian Angel, did you know that?

Peliel, transforms into a mortal body, akin to how you saw him in the library, just less…divine. He transforms into the uniform of your workplace, a co-worker. He pushes pass the doors, until he reaches you the body.

“I know how to bandage deep wounds.” He said, not realizing the logistics of the situation he has put himself in.

He didn’t take note to factor in the fact that you have never seen him working with you before, or the fact that it has been a complete month since your last interaction, or the fact that this just seems so convenient…

He supposes he is lucky enough to have a human so traumatized to not question it.

“Please h-help, I don’t know how he ended up like this.” You said, voice trembling.

Cute.

Peliel thinks how he could be the cause of that trembling voice.

“Do you have a first aid kid?” He said, you nodded, still shaking. When you leave his sight to fetch the kit, Peliel looks upon the corpse like it has personally offended him.

He didn’t plan for this to happen, it wasn’t what he originally wanted. But he supposes it isn’t a complete loss, since, he does have you.

With a snap of his finger, the corpse he so assiduously butchered was bandaged up in an instant. The bleeding, to a minimum.

When you came back, you were stunned.

“How did you…I thought you—“

“I realized I had a first aid kid with me. Sorry if I bothered you.”

“No—not at all! I just…thank you for helping. I am so grateful—god—I don’t understand how this could even happen.”

Grateful.

So now you are grateful.

Peliel thinks he may have to switch tactics, but nevertheless, he is happy. He is happy he made you happy.

“Of course, it’s nothing—“

Peliel is cut off from ambulance sirens.

What a hinderance.

Alas, at the end of the day, when you have high given your police statements, you both stand outside the police station.

“Really again, I’m so grateful you showed up, if you hadn’t I don’t think he would’ve been able to—“

Peliel realizes that he may have overstepped here, but he doesn’t care. He pulls you close, hugging you. He is close enough to smell your scent.

“Really it’s nothing. You have just scene a traumatizing scene, you shouldn’t think about scenarios that haven’t passed.”

Peliel is honestly, such a lucky angel to have a mortal so blissfully naive.

You don’t think him creepy for hugging you, infact, you think the gesture was nice, comforting.

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name, it’s Y/N.”

He smiles, “my name is”—he thinks for a moment—“Pete, my name is Pete.”

You look up at him, your visage twisting to remembrance.

“I know you, you were at the library.” It’s now that you two are a reasonable distance from one another. “You were crouched in that little corner—“

“And you told me you were studying to be a doctor.” He said. “That makes me wonder, shouldn’t you have been able to help him?”

You frown, your face taking a shade of shame.

“I…didn’t pass, turns out I wasn’t even familiar with half the things I doctor should be able to do.”

He rests his hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay, you’ll find your calling.”

For now, Peliel can be the doctor, your doctor.

“I uh, I didn’t know you worked here.”

Peliel purses his lips. “I didn’t know you worked here too.” Liar. “I think I should quit though, after what happened, I don’t think It’d be safe If you—I mean—I continued to work there.”

You smile dimly, “yeah, I guess that makes sense.” You take out a piece of parchment, a pen next, you scribble numbers onto the page. Peliel has no idea what you are trying to do.

It’s cute really, how bashful your getting, presenting the paper to him. “It’s my number. Call me if you need anything.”

He smiles, taking the paper in hand, “alright.”

He sees you more often now.

How lucky he is.

He gets to speak to you more as well. By the heavenly principles, he shouldn’t have such easy access to you, it isn’t in his job description, really, he should only converse with you durning pivotal moments in your life, but bless his heart, he just can���t help it!

He loves you, don’t you know that? He loves you so much it pains his heart.

You’re at a coffee shop, gaze fixed on a laptop screen and fingers tapping gently on the keyboards. For a few moments, he stands outside the window, just watching you.

He loves watching you.

A shaky breath leaves his lips, he wonders how he can merge his life into yours, how he can have you all to himself.

He wants you so bad, did you know that?

No, he needs you.

He mouths the words I love you a million times, then a million times more.

He wants to say it in person.

He watches you.

You tap the keyboards gently.

He watches you.

Your eyes are fixed in the screen.

They should be fixed on him.

He watches you.

Your lips look so soft.

How soft are they to kiss?

He watches you.

Your eyes dazzle his soul.

How will they look when he has you under his d—

He watches you.

He’s always watching you.

How lucky.

He’s infiltrated your day to day life.

One might think this is what Guardian Angels do, they walk through your life as you live it, but Peliel is not the same. He shouldn’t be with you like this.

It’s as If he’s casted a spell on you.

The flowers are more dazzling, the sky is more eccentric, you smell things more in depth now, you feel things more intimately, emotions are more raw, your vision more clear and it is all thanks to you know who.

Well, in actuality you don’t, but that doesn’t matter.

He likes seeing you happy, and yo are happy.

Right?

Well, Peliel thinks you are.

You smile more.

Laugh more.

You are just so…you!

He loves It.

He’s giggling now, thinking about what he is going to do.

What he will do just so he can talk to you.

The winds take a sharp turn, you walk alongside the sidewalk, earphones locked in place, listening to a song on your playlist. When a sharp breeze sets you off your course. Your body slams down on the other direction, hitting a wall of some sort.

No, not a wall, something soft.

Something soft and breathing and moving.

“I think you have some sort of penchant running into me.” He said, recognizing you so much more faster than you can even think to remember him.

His voice is soft, and his hand is around you protectively, so that you don’t injure yourself further.

As if he wasn’t the cause for this.

Sometimes, he thinks why you don’t react the way other mortals do. Usually, they’d scream and curse at someone they see so often and nit know personally, perhaps it is paranoia.

But you are so accepting, so naive—

“It seems I always bump into you when I need saving.” You say shyly.

He blushes.

Saving.

Need.

You need him.

He knew you loved him.

“Are you hurt? That seemed like a really hard fall you had there.”

He is so happy you had that fall. Because if not, he wouldn’t be in this situation. You in his arms.

“I’m fine, are you fine? You tumbled down with me, I’m sorry, I’m probably causing you a lot of pain.” You move to stand up, Peliel has to physically fight himself so he doesn’t pull you down. So he doesn’t come on too strong.

“Do you want to get coffee with me?” He said, blurting it out before he can form cohesive thoughts.

He doesn’t regret it though, not when you gave him such an enticing response.

“Sure, maybe we can get to know each other a bit more.”

He already knows every inch of your being.

But sure, he’ll humor you for the time being.

You get gifts now.

He delivers them to you.

How considerate.

You open the door to your front porch, a crystal, white box addressed to you. Delivered in pristine condition. On it there is an attached note.

For the loveliest rose the heavens could gaze on.

He doesn’t sign it off with his name however. But you are so curious you just simply had to know, you needed to know.

How stupid you were.

A heinous, disgusting shrill came out of your mouth. The birds changed their course and the crickets and insects that surrounded your house grew silent.

Inside the box were a pair of two eyes, another note placed inside.

For the men who dared to look at the loviest rose.

You wanted to puke, you wanted to hurl yourself into a corner and just sob.

Peliel watches.

And truth be told, he does not like the reacting you had given him.

He worked so hard to get this right, to give you a present worthy of your magnificence. And this is how you respond? By screaming as if it is something to abhor? Do you have no gratitude?

But that is okay, he has other gifts in mind.

The next week, you get another package. And this time you had no Will to open it. You didn’t want to open it. You were only outside to read the nite attached to the box.

Lovely rose, I hope you like this present better than the…one before.

You don’t open it. You can’t open it. You won’t open it.

But curiosity knows at you like cornered claws, you can’t continue your day without thinking about it.

It’s always in the back of your mind.

Lovey rose.

Lovely rose.

Lovey rose.

It chips away at you until it is finally night and you cannot go another second without knowing so like a ravaged animal you grasp the box like a depraved creature and claw at it. Until it rips open to reveal…an amethyst ring.

What?

But this makes no sense…

On the ring is another attached note.

The loveliest mineral for the loveliest rose.

Oh you’re fucked now.

Peliel curses himself.

He’s let you stray far away from him.

Your at the same coffee shop, same table, same laptop, but it isn’t the same. Because if it was the same he would be watching you like he always does, he’d be watching you while you tap your delicate fingers gently on the keyboards.

But it is not the same.

Do you want to know why?

Because a incompetent, insolent mortal boy is besides you.

His finger is on you lap, he smiles at you, his gaze fixed on you.

Who does he think he is? Doesn’t he know that position is only reserved for him? Wasn’t this the place you and him visited just last week? Wasn’t this the place you two bought coffees together and had a pleasant conversation? Wasn’t this the place you smiled at him like you knew him even before your birth? Wasn’t this the place that cemented the fact that you belonged to him?

That he belonged to you?

He watches in rage, he watches seething, fingers curling into a fist, all he wants to do is wipe that mortal boy off the face of this planet.

He doesn’t deserve you like Peliel does.

He didn’t earn you like Peliel did.

What is this?

Have you forsaken him? Was every encounter you had with him nothing? You said you needed him, you said that exact word remember?

So why is he watching this.

Why is he watching this and feeling so—so jealous!

But Peliel, your very smart Guardian Angel, always has a plan. He watches you, rage mixed with absolute devotion and adoration and devises a plan.

He smiles just thinking about.

This way, he can have you all to himself, without…hinderances.

Yes, you might be a little angry with him for the first couple of weeks. You may actually be a little scared. Confused, distraught, anxious.

But it’ll all be worth it.

Besides, he’s sure you’ll come around to living with him in the mountains, isolated from the rest if the world, just you and him, forever.

Hell just have to kidnap you there first.

—

A/N: thank you for being so patient while I worked on this. I made it extra long so you guys could savor it a bit more, and also because I believe it needed to be this long so you could understand fully Peliel infatuation with Y/N. I have ideas on how I can expand this story, but don’t get your hopes up because I’m not sure if it’ll come into fruition. I love you all so much and thank you for reading.

Happy new year!

[spiderlyla]

Day 3 of Flufftober

pairing: miguel o'hara × gn!reader (no pronouns used)

lumi's note: re-wrote this twice, lost the drafts and almost lost this too! so sorry for the delay.

The car ride to the park was in complete silence, mainly because you had no idea where Miguel was taking you, partially, because of what had unfurled just 30 minutes ago.

A lazy, slow afternoon at the diner you worked at was interrupted by your boyfriend walking in at about 1:30. it was unusual to see him at such an hour, and at your workplace. Nevertheless, you couldn’t complain, just seeing him made your boring shift worth it. He sat down by the counter, and you approached him like you would any other customer, trying to avoid the gaze of your boss. He asked for a medium American coffee, and then for a bit, he pretended not to know you, asking if he could have your number with that too.

“Oh, I'm sorry; sir, but I have a boyfriend.”

“Mm, Bastardo Suertudo.” He grinned, as you served him the bitter drink he-oh-so loved. “Why are you here, Mig?” He brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip. “Was wondering if you can get off early. I have something planned for us.” [Lucky Bastard]

When asked, your boss said it was fine, they’d had no problem since business wasn’t exactly booming, but told you to take at least a few orders before leaving. Miguel said he’d wait for you by the counter, insisting that he was ‘very’ interested in watching you work. He’d throw a flirtatious comment here and there each time you passed by him, gaze lingering on you as you made a milkshake or steamed some milk. It was not often you had a good shift, but you could easily say this was your best yet.

That was until your very last customer walked in.

The car came to a halt, realization dawning on you that Miguel had parked after driving for almost half an hour. He unbuckled his seat belt, your eyes stuck on the sight of his red, bruised knuckles and the small cut by his eyebrow. He ran a hand into his hair, pushing a few strands that had gone astray back. “Mig,” You pouted, grabbing his hands with one of yours, the other lightly checking the cut by his brow. “We should bandage it before it gets swollen, or worse, infected.” He shook his head, always too stubborn to listen. “It won’t, amor, just don’t worry about it. We should--” With a few minutes of bickering and a pointed glare his way, Miguel sighed, saying he’ll go reserve a spot for the two of you while you make a quick trip to a nearby pharmacy.

You had a general knowledge of tending to bruised knuckles and wounds, being Miguel’s partner required that. God knows how many nights you spent patching him up. Compared to the super-villains he fights on the daily, a lousy man throwing punch at him, grazing his ring against his eyebrow was by far the least worrying thing you’ve been subjected to handling.

The walk back to the park was not long, and the park itself was not crowded. For a moment, you enjoyed the chilly breeze, the crunch of withered leaves under the soles of your shoes. You were unsure where your boyfriend might've headed, but he'd be by the lake. After a few turns here and there, you finally spotted him.

On both his knees, Miguel struggled with laying down a red and blue picnic mat underneath the shade of an oak tree, the wind blowing it from every way. From beside him, he grabbed a picnic basket, and set it on one of the corners, securing it in place.A blush spread across your face as you came closer and closer to him. He quickly noticed your arrival, looking up with his brows still furrowed tight. "I was trying to put everything in place, but the damn mat keeps—"

The giggles you erupted at his visible frustration managed to make him loosen up a little. You sat by him, finally getting the corner that kept being blown upwards by the breeze. Silently, Miguel sat beside you, putting his hands in your lap while you pulled out some compression bandages.

Silence fell upon the two of you as you wrapped the material around his knuckles. Miguel cleared his throat, and when you looked up, his eyebrows were still very much furrowed, his mouth pursed just in the slightest. "You don't look happy, if it's about what happened—"

"No, no, honey it's—" You paused, then continued bandaging him up. "I'm just upset you got hurt. Usually, we just ignore whatever a customer like that says—"

"He was disrespecting you." He frowned, muscles tensing up at the memory. "And he grabbed your shirt—mierda, he's lucky I didn't break his wrists. How do you handel people like that?" His exclamation made you chuckle, as you let go off his hand and took out a little bandage for the cut by his brow. "We don't really get violent ones all that much, honey." He grumbled something inaudible under his breath, his hands finding your waist to hold you down while you leaned towards him.

You spent a moment cleaning up the cut, before finally applying the little white band-aid to it. You tried to move, but Miguel held you still, the frown never leaving his handsome face. "Oh, come on, mig, loosen up." Your hands wrapped around his cheeks, thumbs running along his skin. "I don't want to spend the rest of our little picnic date sulking." He chuckled, pulling you a little closer to leave a peck on your lips. Instead of pulling back, you kissed him again, and again, the two of you toppling over one another in the grass. You could feel his smile widen with every kiss, and when you pulled back, he had a full on grin, his pearly white fangs visible.

"Come back here." He demanded, trying to grab onto your ankle when you got off of him. With a swift move, you dodged, going back to the mat where your picnic laid. "Mm, maybe after this. I did not have lunch after all."

"You'll be happy to know I packed your favourites, then."

🏷: @lizard757 @thevoiceinyourheadx @lulu-baked-beans @obi-mom-kenobi @bibikaiherau @thechloralkatniss-blog @sukunamoon @crazy-ravioli @autismsupermusicalassassin

@dangerousness15 @dumb-gemini12 @telefood @unear7hly @deffnotnia @ginger23 @vicravluv @sakinetic @longer-than-i-should-admit @dbiebxiwns @sweetlemongrove @currentlyinflames @minalovesyoubabes @lili-liliac @graves4girls @spineyy @barotaro @softcrayon @nerdyninjaprincess @spooookyqueen @jellyfishxxi @champa1n-problemss

@levrenes-space @swampedboy @coolbbruh @numberonetyrantyouth @boringpersonality @parapsycholozka @heyohalie @johfaam @bubbsieeee @iite-cool @oharasmommymilkers00 @mousettea @jokmi @nayylas @namjoons-baby @liviiyyy @viriexo @vermillions @deltaworkwarmpepsi @number1gal @swiftyangx12 @millswifeyofkeigo @library-lunatic @zayai @amelialysm @jennwithobsessions

@lovleystarfish @funhour @gracielukey @mazda99 @reabrigando @syd-vixious @sweetsonyangel

[pinkmirth]

I want to dom richter so badly 🥺 just imagine how cute he'd look, gorgeous baby blue eyes blown wide with lust and gazing up at you dazedly while a pretty pink blush dusts his cheeks as you ride him. His face, lips, neck, and chest completely covered in kiss marks in your favorite shade of lipstick. All the while, his wrists are snugly tied together with his white headband giving you full rein to his pleasure.

⸻ 𝒮𝒰𝒞𝒞𝒰ℳℬ!

𝑀𝒴 𝐿𝒪𝒱ℰ-𝒩𝒪𝒯ℰ! 𝜗𝜚 ₊ ⊹ oh nonnie, how i love your gorgeous mind! subby richie is now everything to me. and using the headband?! oh my fucking god . . . now that’s just icing on the cake >.< m’gonna faint and i need richter to catch me. thanks so much for sending in your thoughts! now, please enjoy this teensy tiny drabble for my favorite belmont boy ❤︎

𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜ℐ𝒩𝒮 𝜗𝜚 ₊ ⊹ ( 1k+ words of . . . ) richter belmont x fem!reader (black coded), dom!reader, sub!richter, cowgirl position, bondage (via headband ooh!), edging, use of petnames (e.g. love, baby, rich, etc.) reader tells rich to ‘shut up,’ explicit language, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

richter finds himself quite stuck.

the purest shade of angel-white is what binds him, in the form of a thin strip of ribbon-like fabric. you’d slipped his headband clean off, smiling naughtily as you did so, and created makeshift ‘cuffs’ out of the cloth. it’s drawn together securely around his wrists like a tidy little bow, keeping him right where he ought to be— underneath you. 

your lover looks so good this way, so pliant; laid to the mattress, basking in the way you ride him. those glittering eyes of his, a bright ocean blue, have a thick wave of lust clouded over them. his cheeks are blooming the prettiest shade of blush-pink, and it runs across the bridge of his nose to tint the ends of his ears. richter’s chocolate brown hair has gone completely astray, even more so when you thread your fingers through the curls to pull, tug, yank. the best part of all, he's got his plush lips open wide with the pleading call of your name falling past it. 

you’re sat atop richter’s spent body, thighs enclosing him on either side. then, your hips begin to swivel; back, forth, back, and forth all over again. your ass, fleshy and round, jiggles with every movement after another, clapping down on the swell of his balls. you shift in the slightest, and he shudders. oh, do you love the thrill of utter control. it’s fun, watching him crumble and whine whenever you go a little faster. that’s what you do best, after all— driving him absolutely mad. 

richter isn’t the type to surrender. but for you, he gives it all up; just lies back and allows you to do as you wish. he likes having you above him. he likes your hungry stare and purposeful touches. he likes that for once, he’s allowed to be delicate and helpless. 

“you’re so sensitive tonight,” you coo, sounding airy but assured. as for richter, he grows restless beneath you. full of fervor and no pace, his hips desperately buck upwards, driving his cock deeper into your contracting walls. the man grinds, and he whimpers, eyes pricked with watery tears unfallen. you peer down at him, fingers drifting low to swipe at your clit, “you must really want to cum, hm?” 

he’s quick to nod, fluffy hair swaying with the motion. “please,” he, a belmont, begs. “if i can’t touch you, at least let me—”

“i’ll allow you to when i see it fit, not when you ask me to.” you dive down to his level, with your hand coming to grasp at his jaw. he feels the soft, familiar warmth of your breasts cushioning against his chest, your peaked nipples grazing his own in a way that pries a light moan from him.

you like this proximity; being close enough to press your lips, smoothly coated with waxy lipstick, upon the warm canvas of his skin. and so you do— one at the height of his rosy cheek, another against the pulse of his bobbing throat, and two more planted near his trembling pelvis. your favorite shade is what he’s now scattered in. richer’s a prettily painted picture. your masterpiece. 

“now shut up and be patient,” you smear the lipstick-print on his cheek with the drag of your thumb against it. he takes the digit into his mouth, wraps his tongue around it before you pop loose of his wet lips, “you can do that, i bet.” 

“yes, yes, i can,” a hasty reply he gives you, voice coated in desperation. it’s only when you top richter that he complies so well. and with that, you sit yourself up, planting your hands on his chest for leverage. you’re back to working him, angling the drop of your body to make his smooth cockhead collide with your spot. 

“ngh, f—fuck,” so many profanities spill from him that you’re sure he can hardly control it anymore. his mouth parts at how nicely your cunt sucks him in, and he can’t even bring himself to tear his eyes away from you sliding down the length of him, leaving creamy rings of arousal gathering at the base of him. 

“watch your mouth. you promised to be a good boy, did you not?” you give a sly warning. he’d listen, but the sway of your breasts with every bounce is too entrancing. if only he could just squeeze them, bite and lick and do anything that’d pull beautiful noise from you; flip you on your side, pound into you just the way you like and actually be fucking useful, but he can’t even manage to touch you in a position such as this . . . how cruel. 

from where his hands are tied against one another, he digs his fingernails into the supple flesh of his palm. “please, don’t fucking stop! oh, god— keep going, keep going,” with intrigue, you watch him stumble over his very own words. had his hands been free, he would be using them to slam you down harder. 

he’s throbbing now; rapid pulses at the underside of him, a sure sign of his nearing orgasm. “you’re close, rich. i can feel it,” is your sweet whisper, feathery against his ear. you’ve decided to give in. “go ahead. cum for me, love.” he does, without question. then comes a round of thick spurts, warm and pearly, tainting your womb once richter finally comes. 

his eyes seal shut, and it feels like his groans are reverberating through you. a little more is what you need, just that last bit of stimulation to push you over the edge. so again, you’re fucking yourself down on his twitching cock, getting off on the mess you’ve made out of him; spit-stricken lips and ceaseless moans. he’s a pretty little wreck of your very own doing. 

it’s the friction of his pelvis to your needy clit that finally satiates you. with a shameless cry, you spasm around him, reveling in the fullness before slowly lifting yourself off. thighs aching and body worn, you melt into richter, face pressed to his heaving chest. 

“i love this thing,” you pull the cloth loose and free richter of its confines, softly smooching his wrists, “keep it forever.”

“and why’s that?” he breathes out, touching where you just kissed him at his arm’s pulse. the headband’s constraint faintly lingers there.

“because it’s the only thing that makes you behave . . . you’re pretty when you behave.” he says nothing, silent with flattery. instead, richter gives the wordless response of his hands coming to fondle you from either side of your hips. he’s been deprived of your embrace for far too long. 

it’s quiet now, and the power play’s been set aside. he’s curling himself into your soft body, arms draped over your waist with his face nestled between your tits, and the white fabric’s been strewn over to the edge of the bed. all is still, though your hearts beat wildly together.

one day, he might dare to admit just how much he enjoys being used for the sake of your pleasure.

©𝑃ℐ𝒩𝒦ℳℐℛ𝒯ℋ! ⸻ all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. please and thank you! ౨ৎ

[melodrama-ticcc]

— “ 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 ” ; 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐢𝐞

𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴.

𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙩.

𝘈 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘛𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥.

𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫. 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧. 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧.

ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᵐᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ. ⁱ.ᵉ. ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ⁱˡˡⁿᵉˢˢ, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ᵍᵒʳᵉ, ʳᵉˡⁱᵍⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉˣᵘᵃˡ ᵗʰᵉᵐᵉˢ.

—

The drive from the countryside of Skiatook, Oklahoma to Newt, Texas was a ten hour trip, spanning the pastoral plaines of Oklahoma to the hilled grasslands of midwestern Texas. A sight to behold, surely, but even a blind man would grow bored of staring at the same image if it meant he was looking death in the face.

The summer sun baked the peeling paint off that ol’ 56’ pickup. Heat radiating from the build of its classic body to the cabin, where the broken air conditioning did little to improve their conditions of travel. Even the windows — half rolled down (enough to flick strands of hair astray in varying directions, but keep the sharp feel of the hot wind out of the eyes), did close to nothing to alleviate their discomfort.

All of it had been enough to further sour her perturbed feelings regarding the move. Sat in the passengers seat, she stared at endless grass hills, a blank expression resting on her pretty features. The sun shines in through the window, and she does her best to hide beneath the little shade her hand provides. The sun meets its peak in the sky as it moves westward. To inevitably kiss where those hills met the horizon. In many ways, the beauty of it all was quite remarkable. Peaceful, one might say.

Yet, Rebecca Payne only felt the urgency to conclude she and her father’s travels and settle into that reposeful farmhouse she would come to call home.

Surrounded by fifteen acres of fenced grasslands, the old farmhouse sat just a half mile off the main road of the highway. Shrouded by overgrown foliage, a dirt road leads to a set of warped wooden stairs, then, a porch that wraps around the left side of the place. The eaves provide plenty of shade, and a torn screen door serves as the front entrance of the home. She was sure it must’ve been a grand estate some once upon a time. Now, it was just a rickety old house that needed lots of fixing. She supposed there was something beautiful in it though, for it had the potential to be something great once more.

As dusk approaches, Rebecca slams shut the truck door. Slinging a tote over her shoulder, she hurries up the front steps. Her second footstep is met with the sound of a loud crack, the regrettable indication of the wood snapping. Her weight propels the leg through the broken board, and it nearly sends her face first into the top stair before she catches herself on the railing.

“Shit!” She lifts her foot slightly, as if to assess damages before she realizes the extent in the fragility of the old place.

“Now, you best watch yer’ language young lady, watch it for’ I ain’t wanna tell you ‘gain.” His voice is deep and rumbles, like the thunder rolling in as a summer storm approaches. Her father shuts the truck bed, bags in hand as he makes his way towards the house’s edifice. “Movers’ll be here in the mornin’, we best get some rest. We can unload tomorrow.”

His warning is met with skepticism, as she scoffs and moves toward front door. The screen is kept open, seeing as it swings freely in the gentle breeze. However, the solid wood door behind it is locked, so she raises her hand up in a careless motion.

“Ya’ got keys, daddy?”

“Now hold on.” He steps up after her, rustling in his pocket for the key. She moves to the side as he sticks it in the lock, pausing for a moment as he looks to her. “I know it ain’t much, but it’s home, and you aughtta’ be grateful for what we got, ya’ hear me? A home is a home, you’s and me can fix ‘er up but in the meantime, s’long s’we gots a roof over our heads and supper on the table, we doin’ just fine.”

“Oh daddy,” she smiles, maybe for the first time that day, and it’s charming. A pretty little smile bound to tickle the hearts of any man who saw her. It was no wonder her father loved her so damn much. “You know I can make anythin’ work. Jus’ needs a lil’ woman’s touch. I’ll take care of the inside, you take care of the outside.” She plants a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll have ‘er lookin’ like home in no time.”

The two days that followed had consisted of the typical unpacking and arranging of furniture that followed a new move. Far from complete, boxes of varying sizes, empty and full, scattered about the oak floors of the interior. Contrary to her expectations, the inside of the home had been in much better shape than the exterior. Not perfect by any means, but considerably better. It was nice in some ways, to have such a spacious home with ornate architecture. That which matched the stye of most farmhouses built in the 1800s.

There’s a knock at the door as Rebecca hunches over a hot open stove. Rather half heartedly she calls out for her father, however when met with no response, she proceeds to pull the meatloaf out of the oven and places it onto the stove top. Tossing the oven mitts on the counter, she moves to approach the door. From where she stands, she can see three figures standing behind the screen.

The gentleman on the right is carrying something. He’s older, she thinks. Probably in his fifties. His dark hair is combed over the top of his head, yet it’s clear he’s balding to some extent. His dress slacks are pulled up past his waist, and his dress shirt has some sort of red name tag that she can’t make out. He’s rather short, too. The woman on the left, while fair for her age, seems to be an older, more mature lady. Her dark hair is done up in some neat updo, and she wears a purple dress with some floral accents. There’s eye glasses with dark frames on her face, and she looks less than pleasant. The last figure had been a taller young man situated behind both of them. He seems her age, his hair is slicked back in grease and a stern expression is written on his handsome features. His tight jeans and torn black tank top tell her everything she needs to know, he’s no good.

“Hi.” She peers beyond the screen, as if to examine them and ensure they were somewhat trustworthy. Her eyes scan each of them, a hand kept on the door handle. “Can I help you folks?”

“Forgive us for showin’ up unannounced like this, it ain’t too often we find ourselves gettin’ new neighbors is all.” The older man speaks, a friendly smile on his face. “We’s the Sawyers. Our farmhouse is settled just up the main road here a little ways. I’m Drayton, this is Nancy, and this here is Johnny.” He lifts what he’s holding and shakes it gently. It sounds heavy, its contents something greasy that stains the thin paper bag. “It ain’t much, but we brought some barbecue as a house warmin’ gift. Thought we’d welcome you’s to Newt.”

“Awfully kind of you folks,” Rebecca extends their gratitude, swinging open the screen with her booted foot. That charming smile of hers meets their every gaze. “Comin’ all this way to say hello. My names Rebeccca Payne, y’all can call me Becca.”

Johnny thinks she’s something like the movie stars he sees on the television or on the covers of his pornographic magazines. Big blonde hair falling in effortless curls and waves, swooped bangs framing a finely carved face. High cheekbones, full, pouty lips, a button nose, bright blue eyes. Her skin is kissed by the sun, freckles scatter across the highs of her face and body, beauty marks adorning several sections of her tanned skin. He smiles, and perhaps for a moment he imagines what it would be like to have her tied up in his shed. A part of him wants to keep her as a pet, the other wonders what it would be like to carve into her like a he did those college students. But it’s her smooth southern drawl that removes him from his immoral conceptions.

“You’ve caught me just as I’ve finished supper, care to join us? Daddy’ll be pleased to meet you folks. We ain’t know we had neighbors ‘round here.”

“Well, ain’t you sweet.” The woman, Nancy, speaks, a motherly tone in her voice as she offers a kind smile. Its her first time expressing anything but that mean veil she donned.

“But ‘uh, we ain’t wanna impose or nothin’ . . . .” It’s said more to front niceties as opposed to genuine concern. After all, they had come here with the intent of getting to know who was next door just a little better. Watching from afar could only give them so much.

“Nonsense, y’all come on inside ‘n I’ll fix y’all’s a place at the table. ‘S the least I can do, now come on in.”

There were two rules to abide by when invited for dinner by a southern woman. The first, always compliment her cooking. The second was never turn down the invitation.

“S’pose it wouldn’t hurt nothin’.” Drayton easily caves into her offer, sending a look back the other two’s way.

Rebecca had the sort of southern hospitality that was reminiscent of a belle. In a way, it’s old fashioned. But there’s something about her new age appearance and haphazard attitude that makes her seem carefree. Like a bronco in the wild, nobody could tame or give her instruction. She was an unbridled mustang.

She’s stepping aside to let them all in, shutting and locking the door behind them. She makes a point to shield the shotgun leant up against the door frame as they enter. Not before moving ahead of the group and leading them to the dining table.

“Go ‘head and have a seat where you like. Daddy’ll be in shortly.” Without clemency, she begins fixing the table to accommodate the three guests. Placing napkins and proper silverware at each place. Shouting out the open window she calls for her father, “daddy! Suppers’ on, we got company!” There’s a freshly baked cherry pie sitting on the window sill, steam still emitting from its crispy golden edges. The smells of savory meat and sweet cherries intertwine, she’s a woman who knows how to cook. And for that, she’d win the hearts of many.

As Rebecca shifts to place a porcelain plate at each seat of the table, she moves on to set out their meal. First the creamy mashed potatoes, then the salty gravy, bacon infused green beans, and one hell of a meatloaf. All centered down the runner of the table. The table is set, and as she removes the oven mitts and apron from her person there’s a faint slam at the back door. Her father steps in, wearing a days work and covered muck and dirt. The girl smiles, grabbing the iced pitcher of sweet tea and filling up five glasses at the table.

“Daddy, these are the Sawyers. This is Drayton, Nancy and Johnny Sawyer. They’s our neighbors, live just up the road this way.” She places the pitcher back on the counter, “I hope you folks are hungry, all this food don’t do much good with just my daddy and I ‘round. Momma always said a meal tasted better when it was shared with others.” She carefully hands out the homemade sweet tea poured in crystal glasses, condensation dripping down the sides of each glass as the cold beverage faces the Texan heat.

“Names’ Raymond Payne, pleasure to meet you folks.” He takes his seat at the head of the table, and as Rebecca places a glass of sweet tea at his hand she leans down, a loving hand on his shoulder as she kisses his cheek.

“Love you daddy.” She whispers into his cheek, then takes the seat to his right side. Across the table from Nancy and Johnny, besides Drayton. “God is good, God is great, let’s eat.”

“You’ll have to excuse the rest of our family, we’d of loved to bring ‘em along to say hello but they can be rather . . . . preoccupied with work.” Nancy smiles, not before Raymond nods in a feeble attempt to acknowledge her.

“I ain’t know we had neighbors ‘round these parts.” As he begins digging into the food set on the table, Raymond eyes Drayton. He’s a friendly man. His rough hands and calloused skin a showcase of his life’s work. He’s no stranger to a tough job, and it’s evident in his wise tone that he knows a thing or two about life. Though his friendliness need not be mistaken, for he’s skeptical. A life of hardship had led him to become wary of strangers. All the same, he couldn’t help but feel proud at his daughter’s benevolence and cunning hostess skills. “How long y’all been livin’ out here? Recommend it?”

For a few moments there is a profound silence at the table, as their guests begin to make their own plates, Rebecca waits patiently to be the last to serve herself. Yet the lack of answers leads her to smile awkwardly, as if hoping to stir up the conversation. But finally, the old man beside her speaks.

“Well, you ain’t got many more of us. S’far as I’m aware there ain’t many others makin’ a livin’ out here in Muerto County. We’re always happy to meet a new friendly face, it don’t happen too much.” Drayton raises his glass as he sips from it, before continuing to answer Raymond’s inquiry. “It’s a quiet lil’ town, ain’t much goes on ‘round here. You’ll find it can be quite peaceful. If you enjoy the quiet of the countryside I reckon you’ds find yourselves at home here.”

The thought picks at Drayton’s brain like a fly on dung, yet he watches himself so as to not seem too upfront. He eyes Nancy, then Johnny boy, then back to Rebecca and Raymond. They’d only made their way over to determine whether or not these new neighbors were a threat, something to harm the family business. He didn’t need some strangers waltzing in and causing trouble. He was certain they couldn’t kill them, but the girl would make a fine piece of meat. At the same time, he really had no desire to kill them. If they could, he’d much rather have it they lived their own separate lives in peace. Not to mention the suspicion that would arise if they were to eradicate the Payne’s so suddenly. They’d just moved in, and as the only neighbor to the old farmhouse they’d be prime suspects in a missing persons case. Their sudden disappearance would be most unwise.

“So, where you folks from, what brings yuh’ out these parts?” Drayton smiles, beginning to dig into the serving of meatloaf he’d cut for himself.

“Business.” Raymond replies dryly, between a mouth full of food. But he chuckles, nodding his head towards Drayton in an endearing matter. “We’re from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Tulsa was once a farmin’ town, not before they gentrified it all. Had some property out there, some land. We ran the cattle business with our very own slaughterhouse. Bank offered me a deal for the land I just couldn’t pass up and uh, well. We’s just cattle farmers lookin’ for a quiet life on the countryside’s all. A fresh start.” He nods, “say uh, what’s the Sawyer’s do for business, hm? How y’all makin’ yer’ livin’? I’m assumin’ you’ves got some farmland in these parts?”

“I reckon you’s right. Got lots of it. Looks like we in the same line of work, my friend.” Drayton smiles, “we owns a slaughterhouse. It’s a meat packin’ business. Say, you’s ever need any help you just holler my way. I don’t mind it one bit.” He smiles. “Family’s been in the business for years, my old grand father built it from the ground up. Used to take the hammers to the heifer’s heads. We know a thing or two about prime meat.”

Raymond laughs, coughing a bit as he leans back in his seat. “Say, I like you mister Drayton Sawyer.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead with a napkin, takes a sip from his glass and looks about the table. “You’s a good man. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.” He nods.

The way he stares at her pisses her off. Like he can see through her mask of sanity and pick apart her every secret. He’s staring, that Johnny boy, dark, brooding eyes from across the table. She’s got half a mind not to call him out on it right then and there, but for her father’s sake she keeps her mouth shut. Even then, she’s returning the favor; a cool gaze from her side of the table. Brows cocked downward in a scowl.

“That boy of yours, he don’t talk much do he?” Raymond flags his hand towards Johnny, pulling his gaze from her.

Perhaps what angers her even more is the way he pretends as though he’s doing nothing out of the ordinary.

“Nah but he sure do gotta starin’ problem.”

“Young lady-.”

“Oh don’t let his politeness fool you, he’s a talker alright. Ain’t ya’, Johnny?” Drayton laughs. A charming smile graces Johnny’s features as he looks to Raymond. Now he’s rising from his seat to stand up and offer his hand in a hand shake. Becca makes a note of the scars that riddle his strong arms as she folds her arms over her chest. Her father stands to meet him, his own right arm locking in a firm handshake while his left arm holds Johnny’s wrist.

“Johnny, nice to meet you son.”

“Not used to strangers sir, you’ll have to forgive me. Nice to have some new neighbors ‘round here though, you ever need help ‘round the place gimme a call.” He glances to Rebecca, a distasteful countenance on her mien. She looks like someone shit in her cheerios. “Same goes to you too darlin’, need summin’, don’t hesitate to gimme a call.” She wants to slap the stupid smile of his pretty face, but instead scoffs aloud.

“I can handle myself, thank you.”

The remainder of dinner was much of the same small talk and pleasantries. Nancy tried to make conversation with Rebecca — going on about being a housewife and proper manners, most likely because of her blatant disregard for her son’s generosity. Drayton laughed along with Raymond, as Johnny talked him up with stories of hunting wild animals and growing up in a small town. Humorous tales of reckless behavior as children, setting smoke bombs off in the creek or fetching rattlesnakes with bare hands. All the while she felt disgraced by the young man’s suave behavior. His smooth, deep voice echoing in her ears. It was a euphoric sound, tingling her innermost desires in such a fulfilling way. But she hated it. She never did care much for those frivolous boys who flaunted their good looks and tight jeans to break the hearts of naive women. Women like her, who knew his type all too well. Thems hearts were never loyal to just one.

Throughout the evening’s festivities, he made a point to watch Rebecca as if to study her. Only when she called him out on the matter did he especially brush it off as some insignificant coincidence. He talks her up like she’s some prize to be won. Each of his advances met with a cold shoulder and quick exit. Further reinforcing the initial impression of his character. A good-for-nothing heartthrob with an ego he wants stroked.

Even with her hands buried into the warm dishwater of the sink, scrubbing away the remnants of a tasty home cooked meal from porcelain plates and the sticky sweetness left behind by the sweet tea in fancy glasses, she found herself resentful of a man she had only just met. The thought and buildup of it all weighs heavily on her mind. She faces the window, dusk settling with brilliant hues of yellow, orange and pink. Then the pie, that she’d left to cool off in the window sill. Her eyes flash quickly as she calls out to the others, interrupting their seemingly amusing conversation to offer up desert.

“I almost forgot, I’ve got a fresh cherry pie baked. You folks like sweets?” Rebecca calls out, putting the last dish to dry as she wraps her wet hands in the towel hanging off the side of the sink. “I’ll get us some dishes.” She extends a smile to the group, primarily her father, as she fishes out small plates from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer. Setting them out on the table, she fetches a cutting knife from the counter, placing it beside the plates. Then, she carefully retrieves the pie, placing it on the table for all to see.

“Knew I smelt summin’ sweet walkin’ down the road, here lil’ lady, lemme cut this for ya’-”

“I can cut my own damn pie.” The change in tone is stark. What was once a pleasant, primarily gracious hostess was now filled with unrelenting anger and frustration. Like flipping a light switch, something had ignited the spark within her. Becca’s eyes glare something wicked into him. Her own hands are shaking, and though she hears her father call out for her in a low, monotone warning. It does little to shake the feeling that her control over her perfect fairytale is fleeting. “Give it here.” She gestures towards the knife.

Johnny, partly wanting to instigate a further reaction out of her, and partly due to the stern look Raymond was giving her, withheld the utensil. He feigns innocence, playing the part of the concerned stranger with excellence and finesse. He cautiously looks to her, his brows raised in suspicion. He knew better than anyone, she was in fact losing her grip. He found it amusing too, the way she stared at him with wild eyes. Waiting for him to cave to her will as if she were a threat to him. He wondered how far he could push her over the edge.

“Now now lil’ lady, all’s I’m doing is offerin’ a favor, best calm down now.”

“I can do it myself.” She mumbles beneath her breath, pupils diminishing with the dark light that came with the sunset. As the sun draws downward, dark shadows are cast over her expression. Sweat drips down the crest of her forehead, then the side of her nose and over the cusp of her lip. She’s shaking something scary, not before she moves swiftly to grasp the knife away from Johnny from across the table, fed up with his not listening. Just as she thinks she has it, she begins to grasp her fingers. Not before he draws the blade back, in an attempt to shield it from her.

Crimson taints the silver blade of the knife, painting the stained wood of the table a pretty red and even splattering the once faultless cherry pie. It drips from a laceration on her palm as she grasps it tightly with her right hand. The liquid oozes between her fingers despite efforts to slow it down. It continues to dribble down the length of her arm and drip onto the table below. It’s a sharp pain, stinging like hell. She doesn’t display any signs of pain, though. Instead, she stares curiously at the liquid. In a deep state of shock. Cerulean eyes wide with fear. Her shaking has come to a stop, and instead she stands still in her place. All sounds of those around her are drowned in the loudness of her consciousness. She sees blood, as it stains her hands for eternity. Visions of her deceased mother, in a pool of her own blood flood her mind. Thick and rich scarlet, all over the ivory curtains and painted walls. When she looks upwards to those around the table, only then does she realize what she’s done. It’s as if the switch had turned off and she realized she’s lost control of her temper.

They all stare at her with a dazed expression, confusion laced in their features, that with utter shock. Her father watches her cautiously, the feeling of disappointment clear in the way he calls out to her, reaching for her arm as he rises from his seat. But that which sticks out to her the most, was the look that bastard Johnny boy gave her. As opposed to rising with the others, he puts the knife on the table and finds his seat. Arms folded over his chest in a proud display. Those same dark eyes stare right through her, as if she were transparent. His features contorted in a wise smirk. One that indicates he knows something, or like he’s accomplished some great ordeal. She swears she can hear him chuckle, his husky voice at the forefront of her mind. He’s proud, she thinks. Because he knows something.

“Sorry y’all, now, where was we?”

As though nothing had ever happened at all, she picks the knife off of the table to cut a slice of pie. The sticky red of the cherry syrup pulls as she lifts it from the tin to place on a plate. A macabre display of delicious baked goods, blood falls down the side of the pie from the pool that sits atop it. It’s all over the treat, the slice, the table, the knife, still oozing from her wounded hand. She sits back down, plate in hand, before taking a chunk out of the tip of the slice with a fork to place in her mouth. A smile befalls her lips as she chews, it’s a warm aroma of sugary fruit and metallic. Perhaps the blood adds a little something. But it’s as though she’s trying to feign innocence, like there hadn’t been a some unfortunate incident. Like it was all normal.

She wasn’t crazy by any means, perhaps just a bit of a control freak. Her desire to provide the perfect image at the hand of her sacrifice of sanctity.

“Pie, anyone?”

[decemberthe7th]

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

[columboscreens]

heya. i was wondering what your favorite columbo episodes are where columbo knows who the killer is really quickly and then spends the rest of the episode putting the thumbscrews on and teasing them to hell and back. any suggestions?

whether you think of columbo as an eldritch supernatural entity or a regular human guy, a lot of people assert that he always knows who the killer is right off the bat.

i'm of the opinion that he forms very strong hunches based on early clues, but doesn't make certain assumptions until more evidence accumulates. there's a lot of boring legwork that we don't see simply because columbo is a good show that tends to avoid unnecessary exposition, and the episodes do have to fit within 70-90 minute timeframes. but there is rigor with which he gathers information, forms hypotheses, and tests them. he can have his convictions shaken, even if only temporarily. he can be led completely astray as seen in columbo cries wolf. he's not perfect.

sometimes though, columbo is indeed so intuitive and the murderer so stupid that the man slam dunks his person of interest in minutes if not seconds. here are a few standouts to me:

rx murder: a baby-faced columbo watches as a man enters his residence after a long trip without his wife and doesn't even say hello to her. columbo, an ardent Wife Lover, cannot comprehend this and immediately skewers the man for it.

oh, you didn't love your wife? couldn't be me

etude in black: local genius alex benedict leaves big fat flower at scene of crime for columbo to spot immediately.

okay this is actually embarrassing. you fucking fool. imbeclie. rube

suitable for framing/double shock/greenhouse jungle/death hits the juckport: how many times can insufferable dickhead nephews kill their rich uncles. and vice versa.

mind over mayhem: ten minutes flat. real know real, cigar smoker know cigar smoker

candidate for crime: columbo rides nelson hayward's ass immediately, emphatically, and unrelentingly merely because the light was off in his garage. especially satisfying episode since hayward is a politician and annoying as fuck

swan song: columbo collects some eyebrow-raising evidence at the crash (cash?) site before he's quite literally told who the murderer is by johnny cash's insane squirrel-munching brother-in-law

when some guy just does your job for you

troubled waters: robert vaughn's errant pillow feather in a sterile sick bay immediately solves the case for columbo, who, funnily enough, met him before he'd even killed anyone. the rest of the episode is just us fawning over columbo sweating in a crisp brown polyester hawaiian shirt while LARPing as sherlock

very nice shading on these warmups sir. but why'd ya drawr em so tiny

try and catch me: columbo has read an agatha christie book

murder under glass: slimy french chef who arrives to the scene immediately when called by police seems wholly unconcerned about having shared a meal with a poisoned man and thus implicates himself expeditiously

[justcallmesakira]

PORT MAFIA RANPO WHO... {2}

Sypnosis:

PM! Ranpo x reader

Warnings: guns, established relationship, gets suggestive, lovebites, implied smut, reader is a bit shy and timid type (not like y/n tho1)

Genre: romance, suggestive

A/N: back with pt 2 guys!!! i litterly have 0 motivation to do this shit but welp I LOVE PM RAN- wait no nononononon i hate ranpo i hate him he sucks !! stop it sakira you cant simp for him AAAAAAAAAHG

Port mafia ranpo who confessed to you just when the agency got in trouble so he gets to spend more time with you and the agency gets in trouble too, he barely cares about them, the only thing he wants to lay victory on is you

Port mafia ranpo who sends you buckets of sugary sweets and bouqets of dark red carnations to remind you that a floret of a deep shade of crimson symolizes posession

Port mafia ranpo who makes sure whoever hurted you or hurts you in the future in any way gest to know just what torturous things the great executive can do

Port mafia ranpo who only giggles when his subcordinates stare at the separate box of candy on his table which has a certain ada member`s intial on it

Port mafia ranpo who will soon enough gaslight you into moving in with him because it keeps you much closer to him! Cant let his treat astray to the dogs

Port mafia ranpo who shamelessly flirts with you on the gatherings of the pm and ada even when you try pushing him away to let everyone know what both of you are he doesnt care about the conflict which could happen at all

Port mafia ranpo who is a lot intense than he acts, just because he always acts cheeky and all doesnt mean he is any less powerful

Port mafia ranpo who calls you to his office in the middle of the day and makes you sit on his lap as he working, He just loves to see you squirm because of him!

Port mafia ranpo who always has an eye for you so when you tried to take a glance at what his working on he simply write on the piece of paper "My eyes are over here sweetheart" which instantly shakens you up

Port mafia ranpo who loves making you flustered in every way possible! whether its a hickey or a lovebite, or just a penthouse! He knows every thing you like. And i mean everything

Port mafia ranpo who intentionally marks you on places where it is obvious to see so everyone knows who you belong to what? he cant eat his own candy now?

Port mafia ranpo whos extremley rough in bed especially after a long day of handling idiots, so dont be surprised if you cant walk tommorow!

Port mafia ranpo who will make shifts and mistakes in your routine so he can appear wherever you are and call it concidence he just wants to spend time with his lovely little candy

A.N: hopeyallranposmpsenjoyedthiscrap

Tags!: @terururuko @typcallysid14 @little-miss-chaoss @biscuits-spooky-corner

Divider crds!: @cafekitsune

[mikavlcs]

Masterlist

Requests are: closed (rules)

Wednesday Addams (Wednesday)

Paralysis & Ricochet 

An unexpected emotional outburst destroys your relationship with Wednesday. The path to reconciliation is long and arduous, but she finds her way there eventually.

Loveless 

With some help from Enid, Wednesday gathers the courage to confess to you on Valentine’s Day.

Blonde 

Despite being opposites, your and Wednesday’s relationship is great. There’s only one problem: you’re not very smart.

Had Enough

Xavier starts to get overzealous with you. Wednesday puts him in his place.

Heaven in Hiding 

There’s a savage, uncontrollable beast inside of you. Just when you lose hope of ever taming it, someone unexpectedly offers to help you.

Flowers 

Wednesday’s plan to court you is thwarted by an unforeseen issue.

Breathe 

A sudden run in with the Hyde induces an asthma attack. Luckily, Wednesday is there to help you.

Absence Persistent 

You’re physically affectionate with everybody except for Wednesday, and she’s determined to find out why.

Reverie

In the midst of investigating, a figure from your past returns, sending you into a panic. Wednesday is there to help pick up the pieces (and maybe get some revenge as well).

Elysium

After realizing her untimely feelings, Wednesday pushes you away, but the arrival of a certain dance proves that she may have made a fatal mistake in doing so. (Part 2 of Reverie)

Spotlight 

During an unprompted visit, Wednesday discovers something that you’ve been trying to hide.

Static Patterns 

Wednesday’s struggling to say those three special words, so she decides to instead show you how she feels.

Sweater Weather 

Wednesday gives you her sweater to wear on a cold day in Jericho. (short)

Heaven Sent 

While sharing a bed, Wednesday finds a new use for your wings.

White flag

Tyler is infatuated with you. Wednesday puts a stop to it.

Whispers in the Dark

After a harrowing nightmare, Wednesday tries her best to bring you comfort.

Dinosaur Talks

You like to talk about dinosaurs, and Wednesday likes to listen. (short)

Astraphobia

You’re not a fan of thunderstorms. Wednesday knows and tries her best to help you through it.

Rebels and Renegades

Becoming best friends with a sentient hand brings many much-needed changes to your life, the biggest being the very girl he arrived at Nevermore with.

Dog Days

The help you need to confess to your crush winds up coming from an incredibly unlikely (and furry) source.

Not On My Mind

You leave school for a trip, and Wednesday doesn't miss you. Not even a little bit.

Tara Carpenter (Scream)

Shade Astray 

Never in her life had Tara met anyone that made her feel like you did. She would make you hers, no matter what it took. (Ghostface!Tara)

Purity Weeps 

You don’t talk about home very often and Tara finds out why. (Ghostface!Tara)

False Meridian

Another Ghostface appears out of the blue and Tara will do whatever it takes to eliminate them before they get the chance to hurt you. (Ghostface!Tara)

Gwen Stacy (ITSV)

Young Blood

You're new and Gwen's forced to show you around. It doesn't end up being as tedious as she was expecting.

Start a Fire

Gwen saves you and you help her out in return.

[difeisheng]

一遍一遍來過

They come to Di Feisheng in fits and starts, the way any recollections of the last weeks have, blinks of clarity etched out from indistinct colour slowly coming into focus. The first of them is the last; the final memory a man named A-Fei ever had, before Di Feisheng stormed back into consciousness to take his place. It is short, so short he nearly doubts it happened. But Di Feisheng has always been able to depend on his own senses if nothing else, and so its existence is undeniable.

A-Fei, a boy's voice calls out, fine silk and warmth cradling him as he slumps to hard stone, a split instant before the world fades to nothing. His eyes are already closed, but A-Fei knows who it is, who rushed to his side without hesitation.

Where is Fang Duobing now? Di Feisheng thinks idly, in his spare moments wandering this gilded cage of Jinyuanmeng. Is he with Li Lianhua still, determined to follow that man to the end of the jianghu? For all his fumbling earnesty and pettiness of youth, at least Fang Duobing can be trusted to wear only one face. Unlike others who pretend even now, all rouge-red smile and sickly sweet words, to look after Di Feisheng.

And so the remembering begins.

Next to return, like the first, is a mere flash across Di Feisheng's mind. Of darkness, the even breath of one sleeping falling against his neck, another body rolling over to curl along his back.

What are you doing, xiaozi? A-Fei says, whispered rumble in the night. Fang Duobing, lost in dream, does not answer. His steady weight stills further into slumber.

A-Fei drifts closer to sleep himself with Fang Duobing tucked against him. It will not be the last time.

They shared a bed before, Di Feisheng knows this. Li Lianhua left them no choice. The soft trust of that act, though, is new. He imagines turning his back on someone in sleep, himself and not A-Fei, without even a blade under his pillow.

It is an unsettling thought.

A-Fei, Fang Duobing says in the next memory, A-Fei, and when A-Fei turns at his call he reaches to adjust A-Fei's mask, sword-calloused fingers lightly brushing his jaw.

And—

Do you like this one, A-Fei? Fang Duobing asks, pointing out a bolt of fabric in a dark plum, patterns running across it in an even deeper shade. A-Fei doesn't think he ever came to tailor's shops for robes, like this. He knows no one asked him before what he likes, like this.

He nods, and Fang Duobing smiles in self-satisfaction, sliding Li Lianhua's coins across the counter.

And—

Fang Duobing looks up at him, hand clasped to his mouth after words gone astray, eyes wide and shining. What aspirations do you have, A-Fei? he said, but how far can a man without a past dream into the future?

His gaze is demanding in its curiosity, expecting too much from A-Fei. What does he have left to give to a boy like Fang Duobing, so stubborn in his refusal to ever stop caring?

And then one day Di Feisheng studies the line of his back in a steam-clouded mirror, water from the bath trailing down his skin, glimpsing the faintest of raked marks still yet to fade away—

Fang Duobing gasps into his neck, words half-formed and lost, clawing A-Fei closer by wherever he can blindly reach. The night is a blur of heat and breathless sound, sweat cooling on both of them in the autumn dark, clinging in this village full of ghosts and A-Fei doesn't care. Cannot bring himself to care, driving himself deeper into Fang Duobing, held down to the sheets by A-Fei's grip at his wrist and every snap of his hips.

A-Fei, he hears his name again, caught against the edge of a moan, and A-Fei lowers his head to taste it on Fang Duobing's tongue himself.

In the shadowed doorway, out of the corner of A-Fei's sight, he catches the smear of Li Lianhua's silhouette against the black. Footsteps halted in shock, or maybe amusement.

The wave crests. A-Fei's world tips into blissful white, and Fang Duobing cries out.

Di Feisheng, now, searches for a flower that exists in legends in the name of Li Lianhua. Unwavering, whatever draw toward him it is that Di Feisheng has known , since Li Xiangyi first brought his blade against his own. This has not changed; in this lifetime, it will not.

Yet A-Fei, even in just the briefest of moments scattered like stars, across from Fang Duobing... in all his few months of existence, he could have had a chance to be content.

(Di Feisheng hopes that, at least for one night, the last night of company, he was happy.)

(He wonders, again, where Fang Duobing is, and sacrifices a foolish second to hope for a disappeared man's wish that he might have been, too.)

~*~

(Dear reader, they both were.)