#she would spit on her own grave

[nat-alianovnaromanova]

this is not abt the mcu btw. its not even abt the comics

it's not even abt this. idk what to say she literally exists in my mind she rotates in the little microwave there and sometimes screams

edit- tw major violence/gore etc tread lightly

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you. 

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!” 

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do. 

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now. 

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely. 

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red. 

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?” 

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.” 

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.” 

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.” 

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole. 

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold. 

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky. 

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines. 

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand. 

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying. 

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy. 

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family. 

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening. 

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact. 

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away. 

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.” 

“The ones he plans to torture for information.” 

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising. 

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.” 

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.” 

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.  

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever. 

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour. 

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling. 

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit. 

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground. 

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain. 

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.  

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.” 

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again. 

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps. 

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner. 

“Azriel?” 

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long. 

You needed this almost as much as he did. 

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet. 

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.” 

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.” 

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home. 

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.” 

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.” 

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out. 

“You’re not?” 

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.” 

Yours. 

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that. 

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours. 

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it. 

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor. 

You stared at him in horror. 

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again. 

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp. 

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son. 

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!” 

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself. 

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick. 

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!” 

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?” 

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way… 

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong. 

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his. 

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed. 

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever. 

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame. 

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying. 

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this. 

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way. 

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl. 

“Hey there, little feather.” 

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled. 

“She left me.” 

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull. 

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?” 

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders. 

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority. 

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.” 

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had. 

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap. 

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.” 

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”  

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile. 

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.” 

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface. 

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.” 

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped. 

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

[nitrosplicer]

if you buy into the defense attorney’s narrative that the club q shooter is non-binary you are oblivious to the tactics of the new right. the defense attorney is not only doing this to get the shooter out of hate crime charges, he’s doing this to “own the libs.” and if you can’t see this, you are a useful idiot and holding water for fascists OR your hate for non-binary and trans people has clouded your judgement. theyre doing this to spit on the graves of the people he murdered. edit: if you’re in doubt, the shooter’s neighbors have been quoted referencing multiple loud homophobic rants and saying “this is not the kind of person I would have around my gay friends.” This claim should be taken as seriously as Tucker Carlson’s Twitter profile claiming his pronouns are she/her or Ted Cruz claiming his pronouns are kiss/my/ass.

[bitin-and-barkin]

Loving Someone

What would the healing process be like after your so-called death?

Warnings: Arthur Morgan x Reader, Gender neutral reader, mostly just filler and going into the mind of Arthur, he's so goddamned anxious, paranoid too, tw: talks of suicide, execution, death, and other bad stuff, no smut, mostly just arthur having a mental break, probably out of character, he's starting to go yandere, tw: yandere-esque behaviour

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT + Pt 3 to another story, Pt 1 here, Pt 2 here

__________________________

Arthur had lost people before.

When Eliza and Isaac had first died, he was only able to ever see their graves. Already buried, a cross put up. One moment they were there, and the next? 

They were gone. 

When he lost his Pa, he was young. Small and feeble. Sitting in the crowd, silently attending his own father's execution.

His Pa hanged him in front of him.

He wasn't sure how to react when it happened. Whenever someone was hanged there was always someone crying at the stands or nobody there who knew them well enough to weep for them.  

But when he looked at his dad, there wasn't much of a father there to mourn. Just bits and pieces of one.

When his Mama died, he wasn't there to see it. Only the aftermath. Her throat leaking red, and her eyes glossed over.  A certain shade of purple on her neck and face. The sun shone off her blood like something holy was done.  

He was much younger at that time, so he didn't really understand what happened. Death, that is. Nobody had ever bothered to explain it to him. It had always been a part of his life. 

In the wolves howling at night, mauling a buck, leaving its insides on its outsides and in the sunlight to rot. 

In the knobby, motionless, dogs on the side of the streets and in the quiet, grey toned graveyard in town.

So he could tell that something was wrong. He just didn't have a name for it.

He could see it though.

That there was some sort of new emptiness inside of her.

He had always carried that emptiness with him. An unspoken thing, it was the burden he bore.

People had come and gone. As time passed, it grew bigger and bigger. 

And so he filled it with money, and heists, and grand plans and demands from others. 

Alcohol and blood, his own and others among other things.

As he got older whenever he thought back to his mother he wondered if she really birthed a baby boy and not just a hole that would never fill. 

Always wanting more and more.

Always hungry, swallowing everything down. Every complaint and request, finishing them. Handing it to them on a silver platter. 

Never spitting anything out, but always coming back when others' plates are full. 

Nobody ever really said anything. It was convenient. Having a yes man, a loyal one, a Johnny on the spot. 

You had realized this behavior a long time ago. He's always choking on his food but saying he could handle more.

But when you walked in, for once he was full. 

For once he was loved.

And although he wasn't made for intimacy, nothing was able to take that away from him.

During the day he could feel your love underneath his fingernails and in the clothes that you sewed up for him and in the bird songs you'd always stop to listen to.

You were always a constant for him. He loved you like a fire loved its hearth. With enough love to make it home.

You gave him life.

And he knew he didn't deserve his.

He knew he wasn’t a good man. 

There was always a hope that some way the bad inside of him would be able to serve the good inside of you.

And that maybe one day he could make himself worthy of being in love with you. 

He always cared for you in the only way he knew how.

With bruised knuckles and busted lips, 

Slow dancing into the night with you and the blood in his mouth.

Acting and your sweet darling and as your perfect killer and as your rotten soldier. 

Doing it all if it all meant you would still smile at him in the mornings and nights.

Doing it all if it meant you would fill that void inside of him and stop it from swallowing him whole.

You had grown used to it.

He was protective, that was it.

He was the protector. Doing the sinned slaughter that would save the people.

And you couldn't say you didn't appreciate being prized by him.

Prized more than anything else in the world.

But this? This was something entirely new.

You didn't know much about loving others, your life hadn't afforded you it, and neither did Arthur.

But you knew this wasn't what love was supposed to be like.

Acting like a wild animal in a way. Backed into a corner by life itself.

1 week in and Arthur had practically snarled at Sean when he tried to drag him away from your bedside to a job.

2 weeks in and he had bashed a couple of Bill's teeth in for making a joke about you.

Commenting about how your love seemed to be one only made so you could lick each other's wounds.

He called it unsightly. The blood on his face afterwards wasn't too pretty either.

The way he was acting proved his point, though. Like everyone was your enemy and the entire world was too, too much.

He was finding his vices in you.

Only you.

Not in the normal way, the way a woman would look for her wife at the end of the day.

It wasn't in the sex or the looks or the meaningless chatter or even the comforting familiarity.

It was the edges of your fingertips, and in the rasp in your voice.

It seemed to be just you in its entirety.

Like a breath of fresh air.

The point is, a month had passed since you came back. You were healing. Arthur wasn't.

And now you had a problem.

You wanted to get back to jobs. Sure, it was a bit early. There was a odd ache in your arms here and there and when you bent over, you swear there would still be a phantom feeling of blood and Guarma Rum dripping down your back.

It was the O'Driscolls favorite after all.

But mostly, you were healed. Dutch had even cleared you for the smaller jobs. You knew, he knew, everybody in camp knew.

Except Arthur. Except him.

Approachable wasn't the way to describe him.

At least for anybody but you.

He had killed hundreds over the years in the name of Dutch's ideals.

But you were always so soft in his arms despite it all.

You trusted him.

But you're not sure if he trusted you.

With this, in specific. With your life.

You weren't sure how he'd react when you approached.

It was nearing 11 PM when you finally came.

Wolves howling at the moon miles away, people singing and swaying at the campfire after a long day.

Arthur was among them.

You told him you wanted to meet him there, that you needed to finish something up.

In reality you just needed a moment to think of a way to do something impossible.

To convince him that you were okay.

He was sitting there waiting for you.

You quietly walked over.

He was drinking at the campfire, his leg bouncing up and down. Trying to play it cool, but you could see through it. He was getting antsy.

Best not to keep him waiting.

Sitting next to him, he softly smiled the moment he saw you.

A quiet smile, one that only you could fish out of him.

Only you.

Placing his hand on and over yours.

Carving his fingers between yours.

He didn't say anything as he did. It was second nature.

"Arthur."

His eyes flicked towards yours, turning away from the campfire.

"Hm?"

You breathed out.

The smog from the campfire still dancing in the air.

"How are you?"

"I feel fine." He hummed. He seemed satisfied with you by his side.

You smiled.

"Good." He slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in just a little bit closer.

You guys talked for a little bit. About your days, what you did.

It was nothing exciting, but it meant the world to him.

His head was filled with honey. You words lazily coating his brain, sinking him into the ground as everything else faded into background noise.

Just you and him.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm going on jobs again."

Now? His thoughts ran silent.

His lips pursed, cutting off his breath. He looked around camp.

It was such a quick difference, like lightning and thunder. A crackle through the air. Nervous electricity still coursing around.

Scanning the area with his eyes for he didn't know what. A reason, maybe.

Everybody was still laughing at little nothings, but it felt like they were jeering at him.

He turned his eyes back to you. He was nervous, that was to be expected. Just tell him you would be fine, and he would be fine too.

Except it wasn't that simple.

"Why?"

You raised your eyebrows at this. He kept talking, never meeting your gaze.

"You don't need to go out, especially not so early after you got back,"

He nervously chuckled.

"I mean, is Dutch really nagging you that much?"

You weren't sure how to tell him you brought it up to Dutch.

Stuttering over his words, he kept talking.

"Do we really need money that much?"

"I heard of this stagecoach up near Flatneck Station, from what I've seen it's always something expensive they're carrying. Could make an easy pretty penny for us, real easy."

"Just yesterday you were tellin' me that your back hurts, and we're still changin' out your bandages every single day."

"You really oughta just stay here. Really."

His head was turned away. He has stopped talking after he kept stumbling over his words. His voice changing into meaningless hums.

Thoughts running through his head like an electrical current. Or maybe more like a bullet in the barrel of a frictionless gun.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

At any other time he would've muttered something sweet but clever or placed his hand back on yours and pulled you forward into his arms.

But now his head shot back like it was an order.

Looking at you, his face was indescribable.

Wild eyed. Ashamed of something.

Afraid even.

You were scared. You were both scared.

Was something more or less scary if you were next to someone who was equally as afraid walking into it?

You couldn't imagine all the bad things that could happen. Having to walk into a town of Raiders and Outlaws.

You weren't fragile.

You were scared, but..

It was like an open wound for you at this point. Painful and gaping, but slowly healing.

You still suffered for it every day, an ache at the back of your head. But you were healing, making good, no great process.

You were talking and walking and had come so far from before.

He had pushed you to stay home while healing, tearing others a new one for trying to even just put you on guard. Looked like he was gonna have a heart attack when you were "straining your back" by just carrying hay.

Looking into his eyes now, there was something new in them. Confusion. Abandonment. Hurt.

He didn't understand why you were doing this.

You were moving past it.

You knew he loved you but,

Why did it still seem like the entire world to him?

You brushed your hands against his stock-still face as he stared far past your gaze.

Was he okay?

"Are you okay?"

He didn't say anything.

There was a certain ringing in his ears as you spoke. More like a flatline than anything.

He was silent. Didn't respond.

But what was he supposed to tell you?

He knew he was overreacting, that he was being dramatic and controlling but he couldn't shake the feeling that...

How was he supposed to tell a knife there was nothing funny about spilling blood?

He didn't see any blood but he could feel himself bleeding.

His grip on his pants tightened. He tried to drag the conversation away, simply saying you guys could talk about it in the morning. That you were both tired. That you could discuss it with a clear head later.

You seemed hesitant at best. You said there was nothing to talk about later. Almost seeming confused.

For 6 months he couldn't bear the idea of you being dead. And so many times he woke up he prayed this day would be the last. So many times he stared at the gun, the knife, the rope. Sitting by your tent waiting for you to show up like old times.

You were going to be fine. You were going to be fine on your own. Weren't you?

Were you?

It was irrational, really. Overdramatic, stupid, a million other labels. Primal, even.

He could not make you understand. He couldn't make anybody else understand what he was feeling whenever he saw you. He couldn't even understand it himself.

What was he supposed to say? That he never could've done anything he did without you? That he'd never forsake you? That he needed you to support him? That you were the only person in his entire life that loved him? That you were his only friend? That he only loved you? That he didn't know how to love you in a way that mattered? That he didn't know how to love you in a way that made sense? That he didn't love himself?

How was he supposed to say he never understood intimacy or lust until he met you? That he had never felt want like how he wanted your skin against his?

Like how he had never felt fear like he did now, now that you were pulling away from him?

What was he supposed to say to you?

It was stupid, only a fool, a real fool would feel like this.

But all his insecurities were swallowing him whole and it felt like you were proving every wrong thing about him right.

You were the dull blade that he twisted inside himself. Keeping a wound from closing but keeping it clogged at the same time.

The only thing stopping his guts from spilling onto the ground.

But his guts were already contained in that cabin where he found your finger, when you first went to that stupid parley, when he cried in Hosea's arms after you left him.

He didn't understand why he was so afraid. It was fear then anger then bared teeth at anybody who approached.

Like a body hitting the ground, like a rat running a maze.

It all had to end eventually. You were gonna leave him eventually.

All alone again, with a dying father and a killing leader and a lucky brother who he hated yet loved.

Alone again.

He knew time had to pass. That his time was long gone, that yours was going down with his soon.

Hand in hand.

So soon.

But why did it have to be so soon?

And why did it have to be you?

He sharply swallowed. He was looking at the floor now. He doesn't remember himself turning his head down.

Dipping down, almost as if to cry.

Your hand was still on his shoulder. You quietly repeated your question.

He silently nodded.

Patting him on the shoulder, you stood and walked away. Telling him to get some sleep.

As you stepped and staggered, he could see a limp in your walk.

He desperately wanted to get up. To tell you something, anything that'd get you to change your mind.

But he was frozen in place. People were still talking and laughing like the world hadn't just collapsed in on him.

Classical music wafted out of Dutch's tent. He turned his gaze to it. It was still lit up, the flaps still open.

He silently stood up and began walking towards it, almost as if in a trance.

You weren't going on any jobs.

You weren't well enough.

He knew that. And he was going to make sure Dutch knew of that too.

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So the results on my last poll were pretty split down the middle, so I'm doing both of them. He'll run away with you soon, dw. Prolly kill Colm while he's at it. Sorry for taking so long, I was buzy🙏 rise and grind brothers

@photo1030

[dmwrites]

The site of Jimmy’s grave was a bit more damaged then it had been before. There were craters all over the land from the wither- a damn wither, really Grian and Etho?

Cleo opened the chest that had been Jimmy’s makeshift coffin, pulled out the bit of rotten flesh she’d put in to represent him. She brushed the squishy lump off and lifted her shirt slightly, slapping the flesh back onto her torso. It was a wet sound, and she was kind of disappointed that no one else was around to be disgusted by that.

Cleo wondered how long after Jimmy’s death could she start calling herself a psychic for having him attend his own funeral on the same day that he did, in fact, die. She put a hand on the gravestone she’d made- poor bastard, she thought to herself.

There were footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Joel approaching her.

“Hello, Cleo.”

“Hi Joel.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was just cleaning up from the funeral.”

A silence fell between them. Cleo shot a look at Joel. He held his bow loosely in his grip, staring at the gravestone. Cleo did some quick mental math. Of everyone on the server, it really must have been Joel that had lost the most. His wife. His ally. Whatever odd homoerotic thing Jimmy and Joel had going on all the time. She had heard his screams of Jimmy and Mumbo’s names as they’d perished- they’d both died right in front of everyone. Anguished cries that no one even had the time to acknowledge in the chaos.

Cleo wanted to walk away. She really did- hell, she and Joel were on opposite sides of the spectrum at this point- he’d lost so many, and Cleo had her two idiot allies back at home, green and happy and alive. Why on earth would she possibly care about anyone other than her own allies?

She sighed. She didn’t walk away.

“I’m sorry, Joel, for your losses today.”

“Doesn’t matter- was bound to happen anyway.” Joel spoke in a deeply bitter tone, like he was trying and failing to spit acid.

“Alright, play the emotionally unavailable guy, see if I care.” Cleo did make to move away, but Joel spoke again, softer now.

“Why did they have to die, Cleo?”

“We all will, probably sooner rather than later, Joel.”

“But why them? Mumbo and Jimmy and… Lizzie.” Joel’s name caught on the word Lizzie, and his face crumbled. Cleo watched him as he stepped forward, putting a hand on the gravestone. “Could you leave this up, Cleo? It would be nice for… some people on the server to be able to visit every once in a while.”

Cleo decided not to tell Joel that she’d planned on leaving the gravestone up so she could gloat about guessing that Jimmy would die.

“Sure, Joel.” Cleo said, and her heart felt like it was twisting horribly as she watched Joel sag against the cold stone, hand pressed to the sign with Jimmy’s name. She walked forward, softly, and etched Lizzie and Mumbo’s names into the wooden sign.

“You… take all the time you need. Or anyone else who needs to… mourn.”

She took a few steps away, then stopped and turned around again. Joel was tracing the letters of Lizzie’s name now, over and over again. Cleo lowered her gaze and continued walking away- it felt indecent to watch.

[itsmarsss]

Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 8 - Catharsis

How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 9

Word count: 4,900

Warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, thoughts of death, heavy drinking, use of alcohol and sexual behavior as coping mechanisms. you know it's what you can expect from a blitzo-centered chapter. this happens right after the ozzie's chapter.

Blitzø is going to die alone. 

He’s going to die alone and no one will attend his funeral or even visit his grave other than to spit on it and his gravestone will read ‘Here Lies Blitzo Buckzo’ and nothing more because no one will be there to tell them to cross out the O and he most certainly won’t be a beloved anything. He'll just stay Blitzo Buckzo, forever.

And Blitzo Buckzo fucking sucks. 

Sometimes he wishes he was able to think before he spoke. He never does much of that and he’s aware he’d probably have refrained from hurting half the people he’s hurt if he could just keep his damn mouth shut. He didn’t think about this all that much… except for when he did. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Her voice rings in his head non-stop, like one of those annoying fucking church bells he’d come across once in the living world that ring every single hour, making it unable for its existence to be forgotten.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

It rings over and over again, stubborn, and it just won’t fucking go away.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Blitzø drives home on his own, but not in silence. He turns the radio on and the volume up until he figures it must be loud enough that he’ll have trouble hearing his own thoughts. It doesn’t work. The shit thing about thoughts is that they’re not something you can just turn off when you get sick of them. They follow you everywhere, all the time, inconvenient and impossible to get rid of. He proceeds to ignore the songs that come on in favor of mumbling incoherent things under his breath in a desperate attempt to reassure himself that he’s not bothered by everything that just happened.  Things like I can think about people’s fuckin’ feelings and think you’re so much better than me, well fuck you and rich fuckin’ asshole thinks he’s hot shit and probably suckin’ face right now. 

You know, things that prove he doesn’t care one bit. 

Whatever.

He parks the van without a care, still too busy mumbling to himself, leaving it askew, taking up almost half of the parking spot next to his own. The old lady from 22 is gonna be pissed at the inconvenience. Well fuck her too. He doesn’t spare another thought on that. 

He dreads the walk up the stairs to the apartment, wishing he lived somewhere with an elevator, or in a house, or in a super sick fancy mansion where he used money as toilet paper when he took a shit because he was just that rich. Actually, scratch that, that sounds uncomfortable. At least his shitty apartment with limited hot water and four flights of stairs before it had real toilet paper, and it was the nice kind even, he always made sure of it even if it was a little more expensive. 

His little luxuries start to sound stupid when he’s been spending so much time around Stolas and all his fancy stuff.

When he opens the door and enters the apartment, his first immediate thought is to knock on Loona’s door. He groans once as he walks towards it and then once again when he spots the note she left taped to it. ‘Tex invited me to a party. Don’t wait up.’ Yeah of course he fucking did.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

Does he? 

He does. He thinks he does, at least. Maybe not all the time, but why else would he have said those things to her other than to protect her feelings? It’s not his fault if she was setting herself up for heartbreak. She needed to kill those feelings and if she wouldn’t then he would, fuck being the bad guy. In fact, fuck her too! He could so think about other people’s feelings.

He groans a third time at the thought of spending the night all alone, because he already knows what being alone makes out of him, and he doesn't like it one bit. If he could, he’d never be alone, not even for a single second, ever. Maybe that way he wouldn’t be so pathetic and so sad, because that’s what being alone made of him: pathetic and sad. 

It’s why Blitzø used to hate weekends. 

Satan, he fucking hated them. Why couldn’t every day be a work day? Why would they need a break? If it were up to him, there would be no such thing as a weekend. Because on weekends he had nothing to distract him from the ever-growing nothing in the pit of his chest and that wasn’t much fun at all.

Until Y/N accepted the job at I.M.P.

Before that, they used to speak almost exclusively through text, extremely inconsistently. He’s never really been the greatest at texting, but he could spam her with stupid memes and pictures of him doing random things throughout his day and horse doodles that she didn’t seem mad about receiving. They spent a whole year like that, only meeting in person a few times here and there.

When he offered her the job he promised himself not to have any expectations because, well shit, why would she trade in an obviously well-paying job, with her best friend as her boss, where she’d been working for years on end without having to hurt or kill anybody, for whatever it was he was asking her to do? 

But then she said yes.

It wasn’t long until he figured out they weren’t all that different from each other. Apparently, as much as she liked to complain about needing a break, just to annoy him, she dreaded weekends too. Not that she’d just admit that point-blank, but they did go out on on a Friday night after work and she did drink one too many and she sighed and complained about having to go home and it was all so much like him. ‘I don’t wanna be alone, Blitz,’ she’d told him. 

He didn't wanna be alone either.

And so he took her back home and he slept on her couch and he stayed there the next day, keeping her company and, honestly, enjoying hers. 

That’s how their tradition started. Almost every single weekend, the two will find themselves in either of their apartments, in the ugliest clothes they own, to cook or order something extremely greasy and unhealthy and marathon a shit-ton of movies, staying in on Saturday after going out somewhere on Friday. Loona would routinely call it ‘patheticville’ and ‘loser day’ and things like that. 

He doesn't hate weekends anymore. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

And now he’d fucking gone and done this. 

He still wanted to fight, then. To argue, to scream, to yell. He wanted them to do it too. To get down and dirty and scream back at him. He wanted a reason to react.

Blitzø has always been very good at reacting. 

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than you own?

But how was he supposed to react to that? The thought of grabbing his phone and texting her something along the lines of ‘fuck you and your pet bird too’ crosses his mind for a moment and, shit, maybe he is a prick, and he was gonna die alone wasn’t he? He was sure to if he kept doing this kind of thing. 

And maybe he fucking deserves it. 

Sometimes he wonders just how he’s going to die. Will it be peaceful? He hopes not. He sure as shit does not deserve peaceful. Maybe it could at least be cool. Maybe he could go down in a super badass shootout in the human world or a cool-as-fuck sword fight or something. Or maybe he’ll die in some dumbass way like tripping on the sidewalk and cracking his head open on the pavement. Maybe it’ll be in one of those days when he’ll be climbing up Stolas’ balcony and then he’ll slip and fall and break all his bones only to be found dead on the grass surrounded by ball gags and anal plugs. A stupid send-off for a stupid motherfucker. 

He throws himself on the couch instead and curls up into a ball, wishing he had a big royal-size bed with soft sheets and like three or four fluffy pillows, or even a simple twin-sized one, or at least that the couch was a pull-out. 

He grabs his phone and inevitably goes where he always goes when he feels like this- his ‘people I care about’ folder. He swipes through the various pictures. The ones of himself with I.M.P. in the living world, the one he made Moxxie pose with him for with them pointing their guns at each other, the one with Millie when she still had her long hair. The one from the day of Loona’s adoption, the one he took of Stolas sleeping next to him. The selfie with Verosika, the one he secretly took of Y/N watching the screen when he first showed ‘Spirit’ to her. 

And then he lands on the one. The one with Barbie and his mom. 

Blitzø is a 35 years old single father who kills people for a living. He’s been handling his own shit for almost two decades now. But in this moment… he just wants his mama.

Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? 

What would she have thought of that?

Yeah, he should have known it would be a ‘cry himself to sleep’ kind of night.

Blitzø doesn’t know for how long he’s been passed out when he wakes up disoriented. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and that probably explains why his body ached so much with how uncomfortable the position he’d slept in was. He wakes up with the barking sounds of Loona’s special ringtone and scrambles to pick it up. 

“Loonie baby? You alright? Did something happen to you, are you hurt?”

“No, Blitz. I just- can you just come pick me up?” She sounds like she’s been crying. Fuck, no, his baby needs him. No time to be sad.

He’s up in a second. “On my way. Send me the address.” He hangs up, searching for his car keys (which he found between the couch seats) and running down the stairs.

Loona went two rings down to Gluttony for this party. It makes sense, he supposes. He’s more of a Lust Ring party kind of guy himself, but he’s heard Gluttony parties got crazy. He accelerates as fast as the shitty van will let him and gets there pretty quickly, only to find her outside, still crying.

He rolls down the window before he even stops the car completely. “Hey, Loonie. How ya doin’, you alright?”

She wipes a tear with the back of her hand and enters the car with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine! I just wanna go.” She sounds anything but fine.

He’s about to ask her what happened when some fuckface he definitely doesn’t remember calls him by name. The wrong one. “Hey! That sounds like Blitzo!”

“The ‘O’ is silent, asshole!”

“Hey, I knew it was you! Fuck, man, where you been? You here for the party?”

“No, I’m just here picking up my daughter.”

The guy walks up to Loona’s window, and she hides her face from him with her hands, embarrassed. “Oh, shit, you have a daughter now?”

“Adopted!” She yells out, and it stings a bit, regardless of being objectively true. 

“Oh, man, you’re already leaving? Things just got started! Come in and show us all up again.”

Blitzø groans, annoyed by the insistence. “No, no, thank you, but I think Loonie wants to head back now.” 

Some other weirdo approaches the van, leaning on the passenger’s window. “Huh, the hottie wants to leave?” Come on, right in front of him? 

He instinctively starts to growl. “Watch it.”

“I mean, we could stay a little longer,” Loona tells him.

He sighs. He’s not normally one to turn down a party, especially one with free booze, but he feels that’s probably what he should do.. “I think we need to go, ‘kay? I think it’s been a long night.”

“Well, these people seem to know you. Come on! I think I wanna give this another try. Pleeeeaaase?” She gives him the goddamn puppy dog eyes and she knows he can already hardly resist fulfilling her requests.

Well, if she insists. He could definitely use a drink…

“Okay, fine. Maybe one drink.”

… Or a good old night of drinking to forget.

Blitzø downs two tequila shots before he’s even made it into the house. He downs four beers at rapid speed as soon as he does manage to get inside, crushing the cans and cheering loudly when he was done, and then suddenly he finds himself saying yes to a keg stand. It’s so easy he can do it in his sleep. Fuck being too old for this, he’d never be too old to have fun. And he can handle so much more than a keg stand. “Ha-ha! That was nothing, bitch! Give me a real challenge!”

Beelzebub herself appears in front of him, seemingly materializing out of nowhere (or maybe he’s just drunk), all cheers and neon colors and psychedelic paraphernalia floating around her, and she does challenge him. “Oh yeah? Wanna fucks with the big bitch, imp boy? I got a challenge for ya.” 

Someone somewhere murmurs “He’s gonna die.”

Now that sounds like a challenge he can get behind.

Vortex walks up to them, carrying two huge gallons of something and placing them on the floor between him and the Sin. “Aaaaight, let’s do this! From Bee’s personal supply, the hardest shit there is.” He crouches down to Blitzø’s height. “You ready, my man?” 

Fuck, this better fucking kill him alright. “Bring it, barky! I will drink you under this fucking table, you have no idea what kind of night I’ve had.” He struggles trying to pry the gallon open, and Bee uses her magic or whatever to make them levitate, extending a straw from it. Of course she’d flaunt her magical powers and her easy fucking life to him.

“Alright, shit-talker, but there hasn’t been a soul yet who can beat me at my own game, so you better bring the fire, baby!.” 

“Ohh, is Queen Bee too scawed to lose to a widdle imp like me?” He bets she is. And he bets she’ll be embarrassed when she loses to him (because she is going to lose). Fucking big names like her always are. 

“Oh, okay. Let’s get it on, you little bastard!”

Vortex signs for them to begin and it takes about two seconds for Blitzø to have downed about a fourth of it already, but why stop there? He pulls the straw out and pours the drink straight into his mouth, downing the entirety of it at light speed. He’s so quick Beelzebub even stops chugging her own, amused… Concerned? Noo, no way. Amused. 

He climbs on top of the huge gallon to be at face level with her and properly rub it on her face, high on the adrenaline of it all (and perhaps a little bit on the buzz from the extremely strong drink too). “Yeah, who’s the queen now?”

Loona cheers for him loudly, and it fills him with joy when she proudly yells out “yeah! That’s my dad!” Yeah. That’s damn right. 

Bee lets her own unfinished gallon fall down to the floor and crosses her arms over her chest. Yeah, definitely impressed. “Well, fuck me. That’s a first. I haven’t had a first in a while. That was magical, seriously. Impressive. I tip my crown to you, imp boy. Respect.” Fuck her still calling him imp boy, but she’s actually admitting his victory and shes bowing to him, as she fucking should. 

She howls, every hellhound around following suit, and Blitzø feels on top of the world. 

Why does the world start spinning when you get yourself on top of it? 

He almost falls to the ground, but then he’s getting held up by a bunch of strangers like a cool-as-fuck goddamn rockstar and, shit, why had he stopped getting wasted and doing this kind of thing every night again?

He doesn’t exactly remember when people started doing body shots off of him but he does remember getting freaky with a few of them, which did very little to make him feel good and honestly felt a little gross with the amounts of drinks getting spilled all over and making things rather… sticky, but it was doing wonders to his thought problem. 

Who would have known having four strangers’ tongues inside of you at once could be a great way to muffle the unsolicited thoughts in his head?

The second those people fuck off somewhere else the thoughts come in again, though. Stolas hiding his face in shame behind the menu. Do you ever think about anyone’s feelings other than your own? Y/n unable to look him in the eye. Are you worried someday I may have enough of it as well? Fizz is gonna hate him forever. You’re not my real dad! Verosika will always regret him. We could just… talk. Or… watch a movie? Or maybe… cuddle? Y/n’s crying face, Stolas’ disappointed one. Oh, they both had such fuckable faces didn’t they? Which reminded him: he really wanted to fuck someone.

He’s making out with a guy whose name he doesn’t know and whose face he doesn’t even remember when Loona pulls him off of him. “Oh, piss on a dick! What the fuck are you doing, Blitz?”

“This guy,” he grins, pointing to the unnamed man, who now stands still behind him. Wasn’t it obvious?

“It looks like you’re in the middle of a goddamn orgy. Stop!” Oh shit. Loona saw all that? An orgy does sound like some real fucking fun right now. Wait, focus, Loona. Fuck.

“Look, I didn’t expect you to come here and see any of this, Loonie, I’m so sorry, but it’s a party! I’m just having fun with uh… uh…” he turns back around to the man Loona pulled him off of. “The fuck is your name again?”

“Dennis.”

Ew. “Christ on a stick, you would be a Dennis. Get the fuck away from me! I’m not fucking a Dennis tonight. I need a Monica or an Alejandro here, stat.” He’s genuinely surprised that works when some hunky dude pulls him into his huuuge chest. Fuck yeah. “Better.”

Loona punches his Alejandro in the face, and he sincerely doesn’t give a fuck about it, because the world is spinning again, which is weird because this time he does not feel like he’s on top of it at all. In fact, it feels like the world is the meanest dom top ever and he’s a whiny, whiny bottom just sore all over from getting spanked ‘till his ass hurt. Not in a good way.

He falls back on Loona, and she catches him. “You don’t need anyone else sucking your face, freaky weirdo.” She throws him over her shoulder. “You need to drink something other than beelzejuice.”

She pulls him into the van, and she doesn’t rush to get home, because, according to her, she can see he’s already about to throw up. No he’s not, no sir! Ma’am. Loonie. 

Whatever. 

His mind clears a little as they make their way back home, and he pulls out his phone from his back pocket. Thankfully it’s still there.

“The fuck are you doing, dumbass? That’s gonna make you dizzy.”

“Gotta… gotta draw a thing.”

“You gotta draw a thing?”

“Yeah,” he affirms, as if that was enough information for everything to be self-explanatory, even nodding his head yes for emphasis. He surprisingly manages to take his time and put real effort into doodling it, showing it to Loona before sending it.

“Does it look like I did it drunk?” He slurs, letting out an unintentional burp.

“It actually looks pretty good, Blitz.”

“Okay.” 

“So. Who’d you call stupid?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“Can you call me dad again?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

He presses send and clicks on Stolas’ contact next, only to see there’s an unread message in their chat.

Stols:  I’m sorry if anything I said or did offended you tonight. 

Ha. Bet you really fucking are. 

Still, he’s not Stolas’ fucking boyfriend. What was there to expect from him? Why would he expect anything? 

Blitzy: ITZ WUTEVS

To Blitzø’s surprise, Stolas begins typing immediately, as if he’d been waiting obsessively for his reply.

Stols: Next time you come over, maybe we can talk about what happened at Ozzie’s?

Talk about it? What was there to talk about? Blitzø wanted nothing more than to bury the memories of tonight the deepest under the ground he possibly could. But of course Stolas would want to talk about it.

He always wants to fucking talk about shit.

Blitzy: Y?

Stolas types for what feels like forever, and it must have been, seen that they’re now only one street from the apartment complex, before he sends in a huge-ass paragraph. 

Stols: I’m sorry! Nevermind, it’s not a big deal. I was just worried about you. You seemed very upset and you took off so fast. I’m sure things will be fine with Y/N, she likes you very much, I can see it. Maybe I read too much into everything, though. Not everything is about me, haha. I’m  glad that’s not the case. I wasn’t upset either I just wanted to make sure you weren’t and obviously you can handle a stupid joke a clown can make. Asmodeus can be very invasive in his humor, and Y/N says she’ll talk to him about it, but I thought it was funny myself. What he said about me at least. I enjoy being the subject of jest. Maybe you can say mean things to me too next time you come over. 

Now that is too much to fucking deal with right now. Which means he won’t. 

Blitzy: SHUR.

He clicks out of Stolas’ chat, taking one last glance at Y/N’s before turning his phone off. She hasn’t seen what he sent yet, and that’s actually okay. 

Loona parks the van messily, doing the same thing he’d done earlier and letting the car occupy some space from the neighbour’s spot. He doesn’t even think before asking her to fix it.  “Sweetie, could you just park it a little more to the right?”

“Why?”

Yeah, Blitzø, why do you even care? “Well I don’t want that freaky cat lady to be up my ass about it tomorrow.” Yeah, that. Sure.

She doesn’t seem to find it in her to argue or even as much as groan, simply readjusting the car. She has to carry him over her shoulder again and all he wishes on the way up this time around is that he were a little more sober. She plops him down on the couch and he curls into himself once again while she grabs him a glass of water. 

Nothing to distract him from his thoughts now. 

“I had a really shitty day,” he tells her.

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you drank like five gallons of who-knows-what?”

“I don’t want her to hate me.”

“The person you called stupid?” 

He nods, hiding his face from her when the tears start coming in. “Fuck, Fizz was right. I’m gonna die alone, aren’t I? Just a wrinkly, old, withered waste. Will you be there, Loonie?” Blitzø feels whatever consciousness he’d gained back slipping away again by the second, this time from the need to sleep rather than the alcohol. At what point did he get so tired?

“Be where?” Loona asks, and he’s too out of it to respond properly, only mumbling half-coherent things like lonely and die alone over and over. “I’ll be there, dad," she tells him anyway, and covers him with a blanket, the softest one they own. “Now go the fuck to sleep,” she orders, and he does hear it, he just doesn’t have the strength to say anything in response as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, his last thoughts being that at least he can’t think about anything while asleep and that… 

He vomits all over the living room floor. 

“Oh, fuck, I did need to throw up.”

[. . .]

You feel stupid when it’s Fizzarolli who finds you crying in Ozzie’s waiting area. He skips his way to the room, humming along to some song you can’t quite make out, and he almost doesn’t see you on his way into the office. He hears you sniffling, though, and turns to face you. It takes him a couple seconds to process that it’s you.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Um. You okay there?”

You look up at him, but it doesn’t feel like you can say anything yet. 

“I-” He motions behind him with his thumb. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna get Ozzie. Stay here, yeah?”

You don’t even know why exactly you’d asked Stolas to send you here when you were still mad at Ozzie. Or maybe not mad. Just… sad about everything that spiraled out of what he did. 

Then again, did you even have anywhere else to go? You could absolutely not make the night worse for Millie and Moxxie by showing up at their place, thinking of Blitzø made you sad and Stolas was not an option. You had Ozzie, though. And you know you always will, despite whatever stupid shit one of you might do. 

And it honestly beats going home to a big pile of nothing. 

Ozzie appears shortly, Fizz having done as promised and fetched him. Fizz doesn’t come back, though, letting you and Ozzie have a moment to talk on your own, which is nice of him.  

“Hey, pretty babe. Fizz said you were here.” He looks you up and down, worried. “Are you crying?”

“Why did you do that?” 

“What?”

“Why did you fucking sing about all that, why did you- it was so humiliating, Oz, fuck!”

“Oh. I am so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. It got out of control. I didn’t even know you would be here tonight. You didn’t call me.”

“I didn’t know I was coming either.”

“You wanna tell me what that means?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Alright. That’s okay. I am sorry, though. We took the joke too far and I realized too late that it wasn’t funny.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t. So please don’t fucking do that again. It’s humiliating enough to… fuck... and everybody saw it, and- I…” You groan in frustration, struggling to get your words out. 

“No more about Stolas or any of you. Okay? Promise.” He sits down next to you on the fancy couch and he lets you lean on him. “Did something happen between you?”

You hesitate before speaking. “I didn’t- I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I am stupid. Of course he’s ashamed to be seen with us.”

“Stolas?”

You nod. 

“Did he… tell you that?”

“Well he didn’t deny it.”

“Okay." He takes a deep breath, probably trying to think of how to handle the situation. "You’ll have time to think about all of this. Alright? Now you’re coming with me, you’re taking a bath and you’re sleeping over, and we’ll talk about everything tomorrow. There’s no need to hurt yourself more thinking about it right now.”

He stands up and turns to leave the room, but looks back when he doesn’t hear you do the same. You’re still sat sit still on the couch.

You look up at him. “Oz?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You repeat yourself.

“What- of course not. Did somebody say that to you?”

You don’t reply. 

He purses his lips together, thinking. “Are they worth feeling stupid for?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve gone through this before.”

“It’s different, you know that.”

“Yeah, it’s worse. They’re not hurting you back this time around, they’re just hurting you.”

You decide he was right. You don't want to talk about this right now. “Can we please not talk about it?”

He hesitates before nodding in agreement. “Yeah. ‘Course, babe.” He grabs your hands and pulls you up. “Come on.”

All the crying makes you so tired you’re almost passed out the second you lie down on the soft, silky bedsheets of Ozzie's guest room bed. Taking a look through your texts before you let yourself fall asleep, you click on Stolas’ contact once you see a notification for an unread text. 

Stolas: I am truly sorry if I did something to hurt you or make you uncomfortable with me tonight. It’s not your obligation to talk Asmodeus  out of doing anything and I did not feel embarrassed because of you or Blitz. If you need space from me I will understand, but I want you to know that is not how I feel. And, for the record, I don’t care what that Verosika person said about you. I hope you’re alright. 

It is way too late and you are way too tired to process or deal with all of that, and honestly? You still do feel stupid, and don’t want to further that feeling by replying to him immediately. That feels too pathetic- it feels like proving Blitzø right.

You’ll reply tomorrow.

You click on Blitzø’s contact next, which also had a notification signaling an unseen message, and you brace yourself for a 'fuck you’ text or something of the sorts. 

You can't keep yourself from smiling when you open the text, turning the phone off and just waiting for sleep come to you, and things feel a lot less shitty than just a second before.

Having friends is pretty fucking okay.

A/N: everybody say thank you @sweetadonisbutbetter and also wish them a happy birthday!! the adorable little doodle blitzo drew is theirs and they did it especially so i could put it in this chapter which is so nice of them and so fucking cool!!

[capslocked]

DECAF

male reader x chou tzuyu

5k words

"Figured you should know," Tzuyu says, appearing in the bathroom mirror behind you, "you’re all out of coffee."

This unfortunate revelation comes as you’re halfway into brushing your teeth. Comes when her warm arm reaches around your waist, fingers splaying out across your stomach before they decide to slip past the waistband of your pajamas.

"Did you—" You raise an eyebrow at her before leaning over the sink to spit, and the mouthful of toothpaste no longer muddles the question, "check the cupboard above the fridge?"

"And the pantry." Tzuyu gives your cock an experimental pump. "And the hall closet."

As you eye her reflection, Tzuyu is already distracted, trading one vice for another: dragging her lips against the side of your neck. Of all the places she loved to be—at your side, in your arms, on the end of your cock—the pucker-shaped bruises shadowing in across your throat were beginning to indicate something of a clear favorite.

"Hey." You drag the toothbrush out of your mouth, minty foam nearly drooling off your lip as you let out a dry laugh at the fingers wrapping your cock. "Can you, like, give me a minute?"

Tzuyu looks up over your shoulder, straight into the mirror and blinks a few times. Caffeine conundrum aside, it’s not a sleepy kind of blink, rather the kind that might buy one but a moment to think, get their thoughts in order. She rolls her eyes, because she likes getting what she wants, especially when you’re involved, but you like her better when she’s a little riled up, after the suspense of waiting has caught up with her. Chipped away at that prim and proper outer layer of perfection.

"No," she says finally in a surprisingly steady voice, and squeezes her fingers tighter around you. Gets a couple of gentle pumps going under your shorts. "I don’t think I will."

It’s not through any fault of her own, but she looks an ounce less put together than when you both staggered through the front door of your apartment the night before—you’d gotten your hands into the delicately styled waves in her hair and as a result, all those primly smooth toffee-brown locks either tightly curled or straightened stiff to their own volition. Then it’s your sweatshirt thrown over her shoulders, she’s absolute swimming in it. Perhaps impossible to not find it endearing. And her cheeks, still flush (because oh, had you just done a real number on her) are smoldering and probably hot to the touch. You usually have no problem getting out of bed in the morning, but the fact that she’d woken you up with her ass in your hips made it hard not pick up where you’d left off the night before.

That fact that she’s all bundled lust and sin in your arms, playfully teasing your cock between her fingers and looking at you like you’re the one who’s at fault is en route to the same outcome again.

By the time the two of you are out of the bathroom and stumbling down the hall, it’s all hot kisses and heavy hands, working toward a common goal one moment, tugging gently at your hair, lined firm beneath her jaw, faces pressed together in this sloppy, consuming kiss—and antagonistic the next, silencing the loud smacks between your lips as Tzuyu begins to tug your shirt up over head.

Tzuyu pushes you down the hallway which is every bit as ludicrous as it sounds, presses your back against drywall with a hand at your waist, and gets her fingertip tracing a lazy circle over your chest. "Hey," she says, and her voice comes out cool and composed like she isn’t standing there in her underwear, the long lines of her legs getting tangled up with yours. "Do you think it’s bad?"

"Gotta be more specific, beautiful," you tell her, snaking a hand up her sweatshirt. Still no shirt. No bra. The same as how she woke up.

As she leans her body against you, all gentle angles and immaculate curves that would make Euclid roll in his grave, you’ve got a handful of incredible ass to knead and a second sinking fingers into her chest that makes her question come across all that much more ridiculous:

"That the two of us are always together, you know, like this." And even as she considers—however seriously—that the two of you might spend too much time behind closed doors and under fitted sheets making each other cum over and over and over until you’re gasping and red in the face, she begins to rut her hips gently against you, finds a circle of motion that brushes your stiff cock between her legs in just the right way.

"Well," you say, voice trailing while your thumb skates beneath her lip, admiring how much better she looks in your hands than on TV, in magazines, all glitzed up in studio lighting and digital effect.

And psychologically, you think you understand it. How this is the only way the two of you can put any part of yourselves—the joint self, the you and Tzuyu, the combined unit—first. You can’t do what regular couples do; you can’t indulge in everything that Tzuyu so desperately wants to do. You want to as well. Of course, you don’t whine about it as much as Tzuyu, but in reality, there’s nothing more than you’d like than to hold Tzuyu’s hand in the middle of a crowded street or kiss her passionately in an airport terminal, in front of a tourist attraction, get an indulgent makeout going at a concert or a bar like you see of so many other couples. You see them all the time, so happy, so wrapped up in each other, so oblivious to what they get to enjoy that you don’t.

So you’re both lenient about the going-ons in the privacy of your own home. To a degree.

Doesn’t mean you can’t say you try to be responsible about it, keep the way you two go at each other in check, under control. You know better than to let Tzuyu have access to you where her name is up in lights, where cameras are flashing and under all those prying eyes, where the two of you could turn a mistake into calamity.

But still you like to test those limits.

"How do you figure?" You nuzzle your lips into Tzuyu’s neck. Her response is exactly like what you expect: a heavy sigh and a tilt of her chin that tells you to kiss her more, touch her more, get your mouth all over her and make her feel good. When you get closer to her ear, you whisper, "where’s the harm?"

"I just think we really have to be more careful," Tzuyu has to tell you. Frequently. "You know you drive me crazy. But if someone were to find us—"

"Tzuyu," you start, and the sound of her name on your voice, coming out low and austere, always brings her to heel. Quickly. "No one’s going to find out. So tell me. What do you want me to do to you? Right now."

Her cheeks burn brighter with that beautiful rosy shade of pink, a flush heat that travels across the bridge of her nose—eyes flicking down to where you can’t see them, suddenly bashful like she wasn’t the one who jumped you in the bathroom, gotten you hard and ready—like she wasn’t the one who woke you up with her thighs sandwiching your cock and silently demanding you fuck her right there.

"I’m just saying—"

"Tzuyu," you say again, and this time she all but shudders. Starts to quietly whine as your fingers get closer to where they can have her absolutely creaming and whimpering and coming undone; teasing at elastic, tracing the wide form of her hips; only closer without ever arriving. "Tell me what you want."

You watch the usual suspects: the swell of her lip twisted between her teeth, eyelids lidding and dusky irises glinting with thoughts of you. It’s all there, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. The Want. The need.

Tzuyu’s mouth falls open in a whiny moan as you realize there’s not a lot keeping you from simply shoving her across the hallway, turning the tables and getting your weight on top of her. She bites back a needy sound as you pin her in place. Normally, the proud smirk on your face would be enough to make Tzuyu groan and roll her eyes, but it’s hard to muster up the resolve required to send you a piercing glare when her current expression is as far from intimidating as it could ever be.

"Tzuyu," you say a third time, after a long pause, breathing slowly and keeping your voice even. You don’t need her knowing that seeing her like this gets your heartbeat going rabbit-fast. Don’t need her knowing how bad you want to turn her around in your hands and fuck her senseless.

"What are you doing?" Tzuyu asks, and the muscles in her body are coiling so tight they’re practically screaming. "I’m not a little girl. Stop teasing me."

You’ve got your free hand running a thumb down Tzuyu’s chest, along her stomach and sliding it across the smooth pale skin that stretches over her ribs, until in one quick delivery, you’re pulling her soft cotton panties down around her thighs. When your pointer finger makes contact with where she’s hot and fidgeting between her legs, Tzuyu’s throat clicks with a swallow.

"Just tell me what you really want," you repeat, gliding your finger across the surface of her cunt’s aching lips, "or I’ll stop." It’s possible you’d never be able to help yourself, you have to tease, playfully nudge her. The real fun is when you could get her to start cussing and swearing and begging—that’s how you knew you’re giving it to her good, that toe-curling, mind-blowing sex that everyone dreams of, when that delicately maintained veneer started to show cracks and rough edges. "Let me make this easier. Do you want me to hold you down?"

It’s not a surprise that you’re hitting the nail on the head. She’s yours. You know Tzuyu, and her eyes go wide. She nods, because it’s what she’s only ever wanted—filled her nighttime fantasies and daydreams for months before she’d ever truly seen it, truly felt you over her and fucking her with your tongue, your fingers, your cock. She’ll later swear up and down that you’re the one always dragging things to the bedroom, getting her so worked up she can’t help but ride out her own frustration. The way she sees it, you’re the one who’s corrupted her. Not that it’s even half the truth.

"Do you want me to get you wet?" You ask, even lower now, like a growl at her throat, and Tzuyu lets out a delightful sound at the mere mention of it.

She spreads her legs wider as you continue to finger her, wriggles her hips desperately on your hand to find some sort of friction that might set her loose, but you bring a grip down hard onto her waist, pressing her firmly into the wall to keep her from shifting.

"I want—" Her words become cut off and unintelligible when your fingers find purchase inside her, find her immediately soaked and dripping around you. She gets that adorably needy tone in her voice the moment your thumb comes to rest on her clit, prodding at the bud just light enough to make her shiver. "Please."

It seems to take a special kind of awful to look down at Tzuyu’s desperate expression and find it nothing other than charming and adorable, but much to her impatient displeasure, you’re that exact kind of awful.

"Speak up," you say, even though rationally, everything is clear to you—the fact that you can get Tzuyu begging for it a whole separate matter. "Wanna hear your lovely voice, Tzuyu."

She sighs. It’s anxious. It’s needy. It’s a perfect honesty: "want to feel you in me."

"Want me to fuck you," you amend, kissing her once, hot and hard, and when you pull yourself off her mouth, you make sure she’s listening. "Want me to cum in you."

She nods. Swallows. Rolls her lips between her teeth.

"Want it." Tzuyu’s chest heaves to shoot out a hot, pointed breath, and she preens the misplaced hair off her cheek and back behind her ear before returning to a moment more composed. "Want you now."

"Oh, I think we all have all the time in the world, darling," you breathe into the hollow of her throat, and the two of you don’t stop kissing this time, your lips always on each others, the smiles growing at the corners of your mouths giving way to something more heated and intense. More urgent.

Tzuyu’s arousal is like a living thing, fighting for control, getting her furious and blotchy and burning up to the roots of her hair. When you draw your fingers out of her throbbing cunt, she doesn’t even stop to think; takes them between her lips and starts sucking. She doesn’t decide to do it, you figure, it just happens, as if she’s meant to. She’s perfect for everyone, and then she’s flawless for you.

"Gonna make you cum now," you growl against her cheek, and she coos the moment you sink to your knees. Starts slipping her hands through your hair in anticipation. Gets your face between her legs where you’ve got wet kisses trailing down her inner thighs. It’s so close to where she needs you, has her rocking and circling her hips in the hope she might reach your mouth, the pleasure she might only realize at the end of your tongue.

And finally, you slide your mouth upward. Tongue flattened, lips hot and loose, you let her find it.

"Fuck!"

Between her legs, you grin, pull back enough to murmur, "there’s my girl." And with that you’re hooking a hand behind her thighs and diving back in.

Tzuyu’s eyes are all docile gleams and innocent glimmers, watching from above as you push her legs open wider for you—sharp draws of air as you eat her pussy with delicate and calculated approach: the tip of your tongue against her clit is just the right amount of hot and wet and firm to get her dizzy, voice flooding full of lust and want. She yearns for nothing more than the way you pull at her swollen lips, masking her cunt with these hot, hungry kisses that cover your chin in her slick, fill your mouth and your thoughts with her.

"Oh, my god," she says behind the knuckle worrying her teeth, crying out in such obvious satisfaction that it has you nearly laughing—so smug and self-satisfied that you push your face into her hot pussy harder to hide the expression. Like flicking a switch, you’re tapping, teasing, torturing that button that makes her feel all of that pure concentrated relief. Makes her feel like you’re pulling her apart and tearing her to pieces—makes her desperate and choke back moans, ones that cry for more.

"God," Tzuyu curses, and your name on her lips becomes a wish, a prayer, begging, "fuck, what are you doing, that’s so—that’s so good, you’re so good, please, please don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop."

Even if you consider keeping her on that precipice, nudging her closer and closer until she physically can’t take anymore, Tzuyu’s cunt is so warm and sweet, and even her cum tastes incredible, all strange and familiar at once—gets you bearing down to kiss deeper, harder. You know the basic principle of what you’re seeing: that Tzuyu’s body is reacting, that you’re reducing her to instinct, bringing her to the edge and fucking her earnest.

"C’mon princess, you can cum for me, I want you to cum," you rasp, and the pet name—one that you’re sure would in any other context make her wince—gets her heating up even more. When you lower your mouth again, you swirl your tongue around her clit and then suck.

"Yeah," she says, nodding, "Yeah, yeah." The word becoming all she can manage between hot, shuddering breaths that you can feel coil in her distinctly tight stomach, only releasing in the violent jerks of her hips, each spasm more uncontrolled, less predictable than the last.

It’s a concerted effort: the wet touch of your mouth, the two fingers—three now—that you have fucking her dripping cunt get her needy cries echoing through your apartment and her throat hoarse. The pressure must be just perfect because Tzuyu flies right over the edge into everything. She’s all broken moans and stutters and hiccups—all you find between her thighs is hot and wet and pulsing and quivering and perfect. The beginning of the end, and she’s pleading, begging for release.

"You’re going to make me—" she pants, twice, holding tight to your shoulders, nails sharpening like claws into your skin, and her legs aching into quakes and tremors around you.

That’s your Tzuyu.

"Cumming—I’m cumming," she cries out, almost silently, and then it’s your name and curses all sputtered out across these keening moans that almost see her young, tight body collapse and spill all over you. "I can’t—You’re making me cum."

"Good girl," you murmur, your mouth still dragging across her stomach, and it’s the praise that all but kills her, gets her breath arriving in fits and starts, wrestling against you for control, but it’s far, far too much. Far too gone in her own orgasm to realize she’s fucking soaking you in her slick. Of course, you’re kneeling there, just grinning like the devil himself, pushing your fingers in and out of her slowly to ensure that Tzuyu’s fucked right through the apex of her high; curling against the way she throbs; feeling the way she quivers.

She’s the girl whose name is on everyone’s lips, and she’s practically drenching you—oh, what a heartthrob, you think, and then immediately remind her: "you’re so fucking pretty Tzuyu. Love when you cum for me."

Her fingers thread through yours, and she finally lets her lips twist out that million dollar smile, laughing all abashed and flushed and red in the face until finally giving you that look: an expression that lets you know she has only one thing on her mind, and that she wants for nothing more than to get filled by your cock, mend the empty feeling knotting in her stomach, the utterly foundational need.

And after kissing you, melting into you and getting her own taste off your lips, she brings her mouth against your ear, breath still hot and haggard, tells you, "get on the bed, baby."

And but so, you arrive at a familiar crossroads, those four corners of your bed. You’re sprawled with your head at the base and feet at the pillows because that’s simply how you two managed to tumble, Tzuyu controlling the fall. When she peels the sweatshirt from up and over her lithe frame, your cock jumps, twitching in her hands, because the image is nothing less than perfection. The fact that a girl could have a face like hers, and a body like that is some sort of error, a cosmic mix up—one to which finds you the sole beneficiary.

"Maybe I should tease you," she says, licking her palm and getting both hands around you, pumping you languidly to full attention. "Look how bad you want it."

"You’re in charge, princess." you say, laughing out loud.

Tzuyu rolls her eyes. Gets her elbows on either side of your face so you’re looking at nothing other than just her. There’s a story here, and sure, it’s novel and unique. Right up until the point it isn’t; there’s never been a different ending beyond your cock buried deep inside her until she’s panting and whimpering.

"Is that right?" she asks, leaning in so close you can feel her warm breath tickle your neck.

"I mean, I might be lying; decide to get you underneath me if you go too slow."

"I’ll keep that in mind." Tzuyu chuckles, her laugh echoing against your chest as her lips curve up into a toothy grin. If that isn’t a look perfected. She grabs you by the jaw and kisses you, so thoroughly that you really haven’t the shadow of a doubt in your mind that she will be every bit the challenge you could ever hope for—and when she pulls away, her tongue licks across your lower lip, before gently biting down and whispering, "I’m gonna ride you now, baby."

The look on her face is careful, more determined, as she lines herself up against your body, straddles your hips and rubs the head of your cock through her heat, kissing it to where you’d made her soaked and wanting; there’s a deep breath between you, and then Tzuyu slides closer in your lap. Sinks down.

And then you feel her—all of her—as she takes the full length of your cock into her hot, tight cunt. Neither of you even move. Simply sit there and look on all teary eyed and so wracked in pleasure to the point your mouths just hang, frozen, because apparently she was discovering the answer to every question in the universe, and all of them were you.

"Move your hips for me, Tzuyu," you say, and you’re guiding her, urging her, making haphazard grips out of the beautiful curve beneath her tiny waist, a makeshift reign where her hips flare and that ass smacks down hard against your thighs. "There you go; fuck yourself on my cock."

Actually it’s more like she slams down. It’s a lofty goal of hers, to get you so fucked and bothered and reduced to smithereens. That, or get you so close to the edge, get you so needy for your own release that you’ll simply throw her off you and pin her to the mattress and fuck her like she really wants.

"It’s so fucking good," Tzuyu gasps, raising her hips. The sound that comes out of you is indescribable when she lowers them again. That’s the reaction she’s looking for, that you—ever indomitable you—are shuddering under her hips, that every time she drags her pussy along your length, gets you aching inside her tight, hot cunt, she has you absolutely struggling, hanging on by a thread.

"Tzuyu," you choke, and you’re gathering all these smirks and haughty looks; she throws her head back because apparently that vice-like grip she has around you, a glove to your cock, all velvety smooth and addictive is just as good for her as it is for you. "I just love how this pretty little body looks when it’s bouncing up and down on my cock."

"Oh my god," she curses, moaning at how good you feel inside her, voice finding a familiar tremble as each bounce on your cock gets her hot cunt that much more fucked, more soaked, more perfect, and you’re both whimpering mindless. Her body stretches to accommodate you as she squeezes up so tight around you that you’re joining her groans with a lazy smirk. She nods, slapping her hips roughly against you, fucking you with all the energy she can muster, and she rasps, smiling in silent laughter, "ugh, I can feel you filling me so deep. Love fucking you like this. Could do this all day."

The sounds coming out of you—fucked out of you each time her thighs land flat against yours, each swivel of her hips in a rhythm that doesn’t falter even once—are driving Tzuyu up the wall. Every last moan and sigh only spurs her to ride harder and harder until she realizes she’s better off lifting herself onto her feet, crouching over and using every muscle of her toned legs to fuck your aching shaft. With her beautiful form above you, tight young body glistening with sweat and whimpering at the bottom of every rut, you hold tight to her waist, carelessly marking bruises under your fingertips, grasping hard as you’re fraught with the utterly perfect, tight, wet cunt wrapping your cock.

"It’s good," Tzuyu gasps, on repeat, and her cheeks begin to flush again, fill so unbelievably pink. "It’s so fucking good, baby."

On the basic, thrust by thrust level, it’s kind of her trademark—what you’ve come to expect from her. She’s all toned muscle and coiled lust around you, merciless, truly fucking you, taking you up and down while her curves ripple in place: small, perfect tits shaking each time she crashes onto you, and her ass against you waist feeling incredible.

It’s fast and heavy and hot and you’re nearing everything dangerous, nerves on fire and holding your breath right up until the moment Tzuyu cums all over your cock. She slows to a near crawl, hips still circling against you, and then, overcome by the sensitivity of another orgasm, freezes. This time, it comes with no warning, just the writhing and wracked look of a girl who can’t believe how good your cock feels deep in her pussy, making her feel so full and complete.

"Tzuyu, you’re gorgeous," you reaffirm, reaching a hand against her chest, sinking your fingers hard into her perfectly sculpted breasts. You know how this goes, the fact that she never knows how to ask for what she wants, that when she’s like this, she needs you to take control. There’s always such sweet fun to be had in grappling her hands behind her back, get her ready to be fucked and used like she craves. Shift your hips downwards and prime yourself at the perfect angle, and get her cumming over and over until she’s a hot, fucked mess. "You look so good cumming for me. I’m going to fuck you through it sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. I always do."

"Mnppph." Tzuyu moans into your neck, as you start to glide upward into her hot, fucked hole. She’s so massively drenched that the sound of it, you thrusting fast into her cunt, is absolutely filthy. If the sheets were in bad condition from your romp before, they’re approaching new levels of fucked, completely beyond repair.

Tzuyu grins. She loves this. She loves whittling down your arrogance and repurposing it into an unabashed lust, the kind of raw emotion that will hammer at her cunt until she’s mewling, keening, and simply falling apart. Until she’s recovered enough from losing herself on your cock, and she’s whispering in your ear, "want your cum, want to feel you fucking burst."

You consider it. All with Tzuyu’s lips on your throat, kissing your face and punching out tiny breaths every time your cock buries into her, it’s a pretty real possibility. It was taking some amount of self-control to hold back before with Tzuyu’s pussy being the hottest, tightest, wettest you’ve ever known—only growing more unbearably immaculate with every inch you bore into her—and here you are, fucking her with such strong, hard strokes that slide so easily from base to tip of your cock that you’re approaching it all. Dangerously fast.

Yours, Tzuyu croons in your ear, crying out in heavy desperation with a voice so crushed and gravelly it’s near irreconcilable—she’s so wracked that the only thing she can do is beg for you to unload in her cunt. "I’m yours. Want you to cum in me so bad, fucking own this pussy baby, fill me and make me yours."

"Tzuyu, you—" Holy shit. You’ve got it all twisted, explosion imminent. Nerves and muscles acting together and without your permission. "—feel so fucking good."

"I know," she says, thumb rubbing at your cheek while she barely holds herself above you—eyelashes fluttering each time you bottom your cock out in her cunt. "You can cum. Go ahead. Cum for me, baby."

Your teeth grit, and you take a final gasp of air between your teeth, "Tzuyu, fuck."

You’ve got your hands clamping down on her ass, pulling her into the end of each thrust, and as you bury yourself deep into her cunt again, you cum. 

"Amazing," Tzuyu breathes against you, ignoring the groans and sighs still billowing out of your lips. "You’re perfect." She clenches down on you, tightening around you to wring you dry with each shallow thrust you make to fuck your cum deeper into her. It’s hot and wet and fucking unbelievable.

It takes all your remaining energy—those last waning vestiges—to shift Tzuyu’s body aside you. Your cock falls out of her well-fucked pussy and onto the sheets before you feel her ass snuggle again into the crook of her hips, as good a way to start as it is a way to finish, and the exhaustion of your own orgasm has your breath short and unsteady.

"Hate to say it," Tzuyu says, wiggling her ass against you, which is truly a dangerous game, regardless of your condition, "but I’m really hoping you’d go get more coffee."

[sluttywonwoo]

In the mood to be ravaged by Minsung 😩😩

um. idk where this came from. goodnight.

word count: 1.2k

details: smut (mdni), threesome, oral, degradation, frat!au, toxic behavior

“hold her down,” minho sneers at his best friend, watching you with his arms crossed over his chest.

jisung mutters something under his breath but complies anyway, straddling your hips and pinning your wrists above your head on the mattress.

minho seems satisfied enough with that and squats down next to the bed so that he’s at eye level with you. you refuse to look at him, knowing your bratty behavior won’t get you anywhere, but you’re too proud to give him what he wants.

you’ve been fucking minho for, oh, a couple of months now. on and off. he’s good in bed but doesn’t want to be tied down, etc. etc. like every other frat guy you’ve ever met. except for jisung. unlike minho, jisung actually did seem to want to get to know you. he took you out on dates. he texted you goodnight. he didn’t have a snapchat account.

“i didn’t know he was your best friend,” you insist bitterly, glaring at jisung.

the only person who could’ve known and likely knew you were sleeping with both men was jisung. you’re trying to get a read on him, which is why you’re staring him down, but he maintains eye contact and stays stoic, not giving any indication as to whether or not your suspicion is correct.

minho snorts. “i don’t believe you.”

“he’s way too nice for anyone to assume he’s associated with you.” well, the position he had you in now wasn’t very nice but it was turning you on.

minho full-on laughs this time which gets you to finally turn your head in his direction. “nice? han jisung?”

“is that his last name?” you ask, looking back to the man in question who nods in affirmation. “then yes. he’s perfectly nice.”

“would someone perfectly nice fuck you behind their best friend’s back?”

“sure,” you say, shrugging to the best of your abilities with jisung on top of you. “i’m not anyone to you. we’re not exclusive, we’re not even a ‘we’. you text me when you’re horny, sometimes i respond. and vice versa. how could jisung have known we were sleeping together unless you told him? and even then, how could he have known how weird you’d get over it?”

“she ever talk back to you like that?” minho asks jisung, completely ignoring your little monologue.

for the first time, jisung looks nervous. he opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off before he does. “he likes it,” you say.

jisung’s cheeks flush even pinker and he averts his eyes from his best friend’s, all but confirming what you’ve just claimed.

“he likes being bossed around,” you continue, as if the poor man’s grave hasn’t been dug deep enough. “why do you think he spends so much time with you?”

minho makes a sound in the back of his throat, annoyed. “so you like having it both ways? being used like a slut and having one of your own?”

“see, you get it.”

“oh, i get it, alright,” he spits, standing back up. “ji, take your pants off.”

“wha- right now?”

“unless you don’t want to fuck her?”

“no i do, i do…”

he scrambles up and starts unbuckling his belt, fumbling with the clasp. you reach out to for him, your hands now free, and touch him gently.

“don’t feel pressured to do anything, baby. we can do this later, just us if you’d rather.”

jisung lifts his head to meet your gaze, smirking. his eyes, usually so bright and sparkly, have gone completely dark. it catches you off guard. “and let him have you all to himself? yeah right.”

you shake your head adamantly. “that’s not- i was just-”

“undress her,” minho interrupts, his voice echoing out from the corner of the room.

jisung finishes getting his own jeans off before moving on to you. you make it easier for him by lifting your hips so he can pull your pants off and then do the same with your arms for your shirt.

minho undresses himself, depriving you of the sight as he does it while you’re distracted by his best friend.

“min…” jisung murmurs when joins you both on the bed.

“hm?”

“can i… taste her?”

minho smirks and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. of course he was loving this. sure, doing this with jisung meant he had to share you, but it also meant he had another person to dominate. figures the power would go straight to his dick head as soon as he learned jisung would listen to his commands.

minho cocks his head to the side, pretending to think about it. “how badly do you want it?”

jisung gulps before answering, eyes falling between your thighs. “so bad.”

“fine, you can.”

“thank-”

“but only over her panties.”

jisung’s eyes go wide. “but-”

“take it or leave it.”

jisung whines, barely audible, but doesn’t protest further.

“sorry, baby,” he says to you, pouting as he parts your legs and lowers his head between them.

your hands fly to his hair the instant you feel his tongue on you, pushing his face further into your pussy. jisung moans against you which makes you moan in turn.

you don’t remember closing your eyes but when you open them, minho’s got his cock in his hand, squeezing it gently as he watches the two of you. he notices you looking at him and grins lazily.

“feel good?”

“uh huh…”

“jisung’s good at that, isn’t he?”

“mhm…”

“better than me?”

you blink at minho and frown. “i don’t—”

“i mean, he doesn’t seem to be making you scream right now so i can draw my own conclusions.”

“you’re an asshole,” you scoff.

he shrugs. “an asshole that can make you cum really, really hard.”

you want to point out that he’s purposely put jisung at a disadvantage by making him eat you out through your underwear but you don’t. instead, you focus the feeling of jisung workig you closer and closer to the edge with his tongue.

“don’t let her cum, ji.”

you both groan at that.

“no, no, no i’m so close. please don’t stop,” you plead, trying to trap him in place with your thighs around his head.

jisung freezes, unsure of who to listen to.

“please, baby, i’m right there,” you try again.

timidly, jisung nudges your clit with his tongue a couple more times, just enough to send you over. but minho yanks his best friend away as it washes over you, effectively ruining the orgasm and making you cry out in frustration as you clench around nothing.

“‘m sorry,” jisung mumbles.

“save it. get her on all fours.”

“i can do it myself,” you say defensively, pushing yourself up onto your elbows just for you to immediately lose your balance and fall back into the pillows.

minho doesn’t so much as blink at you. “like i said.”

jisung does end up helping you. he even holds you upright with his hands on your hips as he positions himself behind you. minho opted for the front, citing something about being the only one who could shut you up properly.

“ready?” he asks jisung as he taps his cock against your lips.

jisung nods, presumably, because you can feel the head of his cock push in just slightly.

“this time, don’t let her cum for real.”

“and if i do?”

minho just scoffs and shakes his head, muttering brat under his breath. “then we’ll just have to edge you as many times as we edge her.”

[angelicguy]

all the toons of toonville USA quickly gathered for my funeral. this was the first death that toonville had ever had within its borders, so the processions were brief and crass. many of them did not know what had happened to me, and arrived jovial with gifts and favors to share with one another.

a whole line of red and blue convertibles filled the one lane street that led to my body. since everyone in town knew each other, they engaged in bright lively conversation about all the sweet memories they had of me. my birthday, my bris, my several rushed visits to the toon hospital were all discussed among the townsfolk who shared their popping candies and hot sodas that they had prepared for the celebration.

Cowboy Frito and Juliet Juniper (one of toonvilles hottest couples) brought a boquet of my favorite treats in apparent memory of me. Dr Lollipop and his beau Beauty Bee were especially excited to witness my body, flayed and broken, as they had never seen one before. Fashionista Frida Frizzlemeister was dressed from head to toe in the most dazzling outfit she had, with a black and white photograph of my own head featured as the centerpiece to her famously glitzy bouquet.

gathered in thousands of seats surrounding my thick, red, plastic coffin, the show was finally on the road. despite being delayed a half hour (the felt arms of the pallbearer made it difficult to actually get the dang thing near my ready grave!), the mood was light, as everyone in attendance were best friends. scattered lines of conversation quickly concluded as Pastor Paisley cleared his throat to begin his eulogy- at least he tried! pranks were all the rage in toonville, and who else but Scoots McBuzz would spit a hot wad of greasegum right at him. Paisley, experienced from his many sunday school classes over the years, grabbed his toupee and ducked down-causing the gum to stick right onto my fisher price brand tomb.

a long pause filled the air, followed by bright laughter at such a farce. in fact, all of toonville decided to cover my final resting place in bits of chewed paper, bottlecaps, smile stickers (the lowest form of their complex currency) and all kinds of knick knacks while hollering with laughter. and what could cap off such a good time like a hearty meal? Chef Al LaRonge had prepared a veritable feast for the hungry attendees, who stuffed their mouths with gooey, cheesy pizza, hot pepper patties and classic peanut butter chocolate superbars.

as the sun set, Mayor Megamouth of toonville declared their first funeral a complete success and thanked everyone for being a part of such a touching event. "he knew every one of you, and would have loved to know he caused such a record turnout among the toontopians!" after cheery "hip, hip, hooray!" and a final goodbye towards my flesh, the now urine-soaked coffin was marched straight into the freshly built mausoleum, the only gravesite to be found in the brand new toonville boneyard.

given the limited use of the land, it was eventually folded into the soda treatment plant. over time, my final resting place became stained with the colors and smell of sarsaparilla, caramel, and beetroot. the foundation eventually buckled beneath the sagging heft of the pop-drenched wood that surrounded my now bleached bones on the fourth of july, the sounds of creaking and splintering masked underneath the no-expenses-spared fireworks show. shapes of cakes and pies filled the air as my remains were carried out to the stinking sea.

[honkytonk-hangman]

In Sickness...

Jake Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Summary: Jake feels his pulse jump and his stomach fly when he talks to or about you. Obviously, this must mean he's gravely ill.

Notes: mentions of a cheating boyfriend, jake convinced he's sick when really he is in loooveeee

Masterlist

“Hey, Hangman, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jake, despite his usual goal of doing everything in his power to get on Phoenix’s nerves, finds himself ignoring the need to be quite annoying. His antics aside, he knew his fellow aviator well enough by now to recognise when she was up for his shit, and when she absolutely wasn’t.

That doesn’t mean he’s not going to be a little bit of a douchebag, though.

“Give me a second, Trace, I’ll need to start my timer.” he makes a show of observing his watch and starting a countdown from sixty seconds. Phoenix ignores him, and in place of possibly giving him a dead arm, she instead comes to a stop in front of him, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that was just a Natasha Thing, and not actually a sign of closed body language-thing

“You’re going to be at Mav and Penny’s later, right?” she asks, even though he knows he’s never given the impression of having any other plans, and she knows it. Jake simply nods, still pretending to count down.

“Right. Well… maybe take it easy on Cricket tonight, okay?” Phoenix asks him, her voice soft and quiet in a manner that makes Jake mess up his countdown, and subsequently drop his wrist and the bit entirely.

“I’m under the impression that I always take it easy on my favourite member of the orthopteran insect family,” he poses, and it's not untrue. He didn’t snipe with Cricket like he did with the others, mostly because she never sniped back, so trying to maintain a faux adversarial relationship would just be boring. No, Cricket was far sweeter and more wholesome than literally anyone he’d ever met, like Elle Woods had a lovechild with Barbie, and instead of banter, he’d found it irresistible and perpetually rewarding to tease her about her Certified Disney Princess status.

(Jake will never let her forget the time a small child at the beach approached her to ask if she was a mermaid, and that wasn’t even the only instance he’d witnessed something like that happening.)

 Phoenix shifts uncomfortably in front of him and purses her lips.

“Look, just… give her a break tonight,” she pushes. Jake frowns even deeper, his own mood becoming solemn now.

“What's wrong? Is she alright?” the questions leave his mouth before he can really consider perhaps only asking one, to keep some semblance of cool. Phoenix dances from foot to foot again and nods, but then quickly makes the universal noise, gesture and expression of ‘well, no, actually’.

“She, uh, broke up with her boyfriend a few days ago.” Nat reveals, and oddly, it's the last thing Jake was expecting to hear, and the last thing he’d expect her to divulge to him.

“Oh.” he says, a little unsure of what else to say. Blinking rapidly, Phoenix starts nodding again, this time in a sort of commiserating manner, as if they often gossiped.

“Yeah, she came home to find the prick was fucking one of his colleagues…” She all but spits the words. Her hands form fists where they’re still tucking into her folded arms.

“She's actually really torn up about it, but you know Cricket. She’s not very good at not being positive, you know? So she’s just bottling it up, and I figured, maybe your usual game with her might not be so lighthearted right now. You know she would never tell you if you actually hurt her feelings, so…” Phoenix manages to catch herself before she descends into a full on ramble.

In all the years he’d known her, Jake had only ever witnessed Phoenix fully ramble once, several years ago back in Lemoore, when she and Halo had downed eight shots in ten minutes, and she then proceeded to give him a thirty minute TEDTalk about how cockroaches were basically just incredibly simple AI machines, interrupted every so often when she dozed off against his shoulder, only to pick right back up like nothing had happened.

Pushing the memory aside, Jake takes in her words slowly before at last he releases a deep breath.

He actually finds himself a little taken aback by the sheer depth of anger that lances through him at the thought of Cricket being treated like that. Nobody deserves to be cheated on, but Cricket was simply someone that Jake doesn’t believe anything bad should ever happen to. Around the same time he comes to this conclusion, Jake also becomes aware that as his anger simmers down, he’s struck with the need to seek out his squadmate, and comfort her, something which, if Jake is honest with himself, is not something he has much experience with. He was much more likely to offer space to someone in need, so this sudden urge causes his brow to furrow.

Jake chooses to compartmentalise this oddness for now, but makes a mental note for later to figure out when exactly he’d developed such a strong fondness for Cricket, and more importantly, how exactly that had happened without him knowing.

For now, Jake just gives Pheonix a level nod, and what he hopes is an expression she takes to mean he understands. He then tries to get a hold of his rogue fondness and leashes it with what he thinks is a brotherly, friendly reaction, a more normal reaction for him to have towards his squadmate.

“Does she want him punched or something?” he asks, feeling as though anything more would reveal too much of his scattered, fond thoughts. Jake purses his lips when he realises that ‘fondness’ was quickly becoming an understatement he’ll have to address at some point.

Phoenix's lips curve into a genuine smile, and she chortles softly, shaking her head.

“Well, you’ll have to get in line if she does. I’ve got first dibs.” she states, cracking her knuckles and then her neck, making Jake snort, and shrug, glad to know that perhaps he wasn't the only one suddenly feeling protective.

“I’m sure we could come up with a wrestlemania-worthy finishing move, a la The Hardy Boys to sort him out.” Jake chortles, imagining he and Nat in matching championship belts, and ignoring her raised eyebrow. He knows from that one movement alone that she is filing this information about him away to whip out like a trap card, but compared to the other information she might have gleaned from his reaction to the situation, he doesn’t care so much.

(Besides, Jake felt no shame about his love for Attitude-Era WWE, and if he ever gets the chance to repay her for the thirty minutes of cockroach facts he could have lived his whole life without needing to know, well, now he knew exactly what his topic of choice would be.)

Four hours later, Jake, for some reason, cannot stop thinking about his conversation with Phoenix. He tried chalking it up to the fact that it was an unusual request she’d made of him, but he knows that is bull. Jake is far too invested all of a sudden in your personal life, in your feelings, in a way that honestly, he never has been before. Or at least, has never realised before, because the more Jake lingers on the idea that you were cheated on, he has to confront the fact that these feelings might just have been there all along, and that actually, your happiness and wellbeing are extremely important to him.

He keeps his distance when you arrive with Halo at Penny and Mav’s, but he eyes you hawkishly anyway, uncaring if he’s obvious about it or not. He wants to believe that if he hadn’t known, he’d have spotted your much more reserved demeanour immediately, but honestly, he's not really sure of anything now when it comes to you. Jake isn’t sure if Phoenix spoke to the others, if he was just the last to know, but there is an air of tenderness in the way the others greet you, which wasn't entirely unusual in itself, yet the softness is palpable even from where he sits on the other side of the yard.

He watches you put on a good show, smiling sweetly at Penny as she rushes over to say hello, but the moment you dont think others are paying attention, your features fall and Jake decides that it is basically unacceptable for you to look that sad ever again.

When you disappear through the backdoor, to put the share platter you’ve bought into the fridge he assumes, Jake doesn’t even excuse himself from the conversation he’s supposedly in before he’s beelining for the house. Behind him, he can vaguely hear Javy and Payback protest, but he doesn’t pay them any mind.

Jake steps through the sliding back doors quietly, closing the door behind him and shutting out the rest of the barbeque, if only for a few minutes. He moves softly through the small back room and towards the kitchen, once more surprised to find out just how pleased he is when you turn to look at him right away. That was new… or was it? Jake thinks perhaps he should stop trying to figure things out.

“Hey! Jake!” you greet cheerfully, and he’s comforted a little that your smile reaches your eyes.

“I didn’t catch you this afternoon, so I didn't get to find out your fruit platter preference, but Javy told me anything but pineapple–” you launch right away into friendly conversation, and oddly, this small normality brings him comfort too, after his afternoon of quiet worry. Jake nods at your words as you continue explaining your fruit platter, and if he hadn't other things on his mind, he would have voiced his amusement at the fact you’d somehow managed to cut or arrange all the fruits into the shape of jets.

Anger bubbles in him once again, at the idea that anybody would do anything to cause you to be upset. You, who cuts fruit into themed shapes, and who makes sure to ask every member of the team their food preferences, and who, he’s almost certain, has made the yoghurt dip you're currently unwrapping completely from scratch just for this casual get together.

How could any sane person know you, know how sweet and caring and fundamentally, altogether good you are, and still choose to do something that would hurt you?

More importantly, how could a man be with you and want anyone else?

Jake takes a step forward and fixes you with what he hopes is not an expression that reflects his inner anger, but gives off something more like softness. He’s not sure he’s ever really had a serious conversation with you before, especially not one that wasn't about work, so he’s surprised how natural it feels to show you something more genuine than his usual playful amusement.

“Are you alright?” he hears himself ask you, almost regretting it when your expression drops immediately, and you look away from him, back to your fruit platter which you now seem to be pointless rearranging just so you don't have to look at him. You attempt to wave him off after a few moments, plastering a smile on and scrunching your nose as you continue to not look at him.

“I’m okay. Really. Things weren’t right for a while, so it’s sort of a relief, really.”

Jake thinks that maybe in a few months time, those words might actually be believable, but Phoenix was right. You were such a naturally happy and uplifting person, it’s clear to Jake that you were struggling to let yourself be sad or angry about it all.

You seem to be expecting him to speak, because you glance back at him several times before you seem to really get a look at his face, at which point you stop messing with your platter and turn to face him properly.

“Thank you for asking, though, I… I really appreciate that,” you murmur, wringing your hands together, before realising what you’re doing and smoothing them out over your sundress instead. Jake feels his pulse speed up. Or maybe it slows, he’s not sure, he just knows that his heart beat becomes irregular, and before he knows what he's doing, he’s stepping even closer towards you.

“Cricket,” he begins, a frown beginning to crease his brow, which your eyes flicker to consciously, as if you were concerned about his feelings. “Just say the word, and his nose will be irreparably broken. For the rest of his life he’ll be telling people it's an old football injury. Maybe he’ll even need surgery to fix it enough that it’s even remotely normal again,” Jake watches your eyes widen and blink as he speaks, but he makes sure to keep any trace of humour from his voice, so you properly understand just how serious he’s being. “Hell, it doesn't even need to be his nose. I’ll break his collarbone, I've heard that's the most painful in the long run…”

When you let out a soft sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh, Jake almost thinks he needs to rephrase his offer, but your soft smile and the almost shy look you shoot at him before you drop your gaze for a moment assures him you understood that he wasn’t joking, even a little.

“Sometimes…” you purse your lips and frown, struggling to find the right words, but you begin wringing your hands slowly again and the movement seems to lend you some confidence. “Sometimes I really wish I could be more like Phoenix… or, more like anybody else, really–” Jake has to physically clamp his mouth shut to stop himself protesting that point and let you talk.

“Sometimes, I wish I was someone who would take you up on that offer. I… I feel like I should want to want that… but I don’t…” you trail off and sigh again, but this time, the exhale seems to take a weight off your chest, like simply admitting these feelings out loud was what you really needed.

You look back up at him properly, and smile again. Jake thinks his pulse has stopped altogether now, and begins to seriously consider reporting to medical first thing Monday morning.

“But, I promise that if I ever change my mind about the severe breaking of certain bones, I’ll know exactly who to talk to.” Your smile widens just slightly, a little mischievous almost, like even just joking about it was very cheeky of you. Jake on the other hand, just believes it to be the only correct course of action.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you begin talking again, dropping your fidgeting hands to hang more relaxed at your sides.

“A lot of my life I haven’t really been surrounded by people who’ve looked out for me, or folks who I can really trust… and I know we’re not really friends, more like work friends, but–” you suddenly cut yourself off and shake your head with a little chortle.

“It doesn’t matter, ignore me–”

“–We’re friends.” Jake can’t stop himself from protesting this time. You blink at him like this is surprising to you. “We are friends, Cricket… I know I–” Jake cuts himself off like you had just done and grinds his teeth a little. This was not a conversation he went around having very often, if ever, at all. “You know I wouldn’t poke fun at you if I didn’t care. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think we were friends,” he says, hoping his words didn’t give away exactly how much he cared. You seem to search his face, but you’re nodding, as if he was the one who needed assuring in this situation.

Jake starts to wonder then if he was actually becoming seriously ill, and all of his reaction to this afternoon has just been one big fugue episode. That idea is genuinely more believable to him at this moment, that Jake is really, actually currently unconscious in the on base hospital, with a skyrocketing fever and some other terrible things, than all of this sudden personal change and inner realisation happening so naturally and smoothly and without him having a say in it.

But then you’re smiling at him again, bright and genuine and all thoughts of climbing fevers and sudden illness evaporate. As sad as it sounds, Jake would never dream of you smiling at him like that, the sight so affecting and sweet that he could never come up with on his own. However, he does conclude he’ll probably be seeing it a lot in his dreams from now on. He thinks this should cause panic in him, he should not be planning to dream about one of his squad mates smiling at him, but unsurprisingly to him now, panic is the furthest thing he feels about it.

“Well, I just know that I’m not always good at asserting myself, but I know that you guys… you guys will do it for me.” You give a little shrug. Jake feels a little shame then, that he’s worked with you for several months now and has not once picked up on the fact that you were completely aware of your own tendency to be a bit of a pushover.

It dawns on him that every time he teased you for being ‘too nice’, and every time you laughed or shook your head in amusement, the real joke was on him. It’s a joke that Jake doesn't find particularly funny right now. He’s not sure he ever will.

“Sorry, I’m being so dramatic and grim!” you say suddenly, and this time your mood change isn’t fake or put on. Jake shakes his head at you, and at last feels some of his regular programming begin to seep back in. He chooses to make a show of leaning back against the counter and carefully crosses his arms over his broad chest in a way that he knows looks incredibly sexy (Javy has assured him), a small smirk slowly spreading over his features.

“Cricket,” he drawls out slowly, somewhat relieved that he feels more himself again. You double take as you look back up at him from where you’ve started fiddling with your fruit platter again, your eyes blinking rapidly as you now quickly try to avoid his whole side of the room. Jake’s grin grows ever so slightly when he has your attention, even if you seem too nervous to look at him now.

Unlike most of the women Jake had worked with, you didn't seem to try to, or perhaps you simply were unable to, hide the effect Jake had on you, how he could so easily make you flustered. It's not something he’s totally unfamiliar with, after all, plenty of women around the Hard Deck were the exact same, but the fact that you aren't some civilian looking to get laid, and are in fact one of the best aviators he knows, makes it all the sweeter.

(Jake had once tried to reconcile the way you handled yourself in the air, with the way you were at all other times, but he could never quite do the maths on it, so it was better for his brain if he didn't think about it at all.)

Honestly, Jake knows his getting a reaction out of you is an act of self ego-stroking, but he loved making a spectacle of himself, just to watch how you would sputter and go all mushy, and if he’s even more honest, a big part of his enjoyment lay in the thought that perhaps, he was doing you a favour, giving you something to think about, boyfriend be damned. He supposes he doesn’t need to worry about that being a problem anymore.

Jake then pauses then, and wonders when exactly you having a boyfriend had become a ‘problem’, a threat to him specifically, because the more he thinks about the idea now (hypothetical as it is), the more his skin starts to itch under his shirt.

Perhaps he was getting sick after all.

“Yes, Jake?” you ask, still avoiding looking his way, and trying to use a tone of voice that was either exasperated or ignorant, but your slightly higher pitch gives you away.

“You didn’t say that I was your friend, too,” he faux complains, watches you shake your head a little, but fail completely at keeping the smile off of your face.

With your platter now deemed ready, you pick it up and turn toward him, holding it out for him to take. Jake, without thought, does so.

“You are my friend, too, Jake,” you tell him, far more sincerely this time, and Jake feels his pulse do that odd thing again. He swallows thickly, and nods, before you direct him out the back door.

For the rest of the afternoon, Jake can’t help but hover, never moving too far away from where you are, and when he doesn’t have an excuse to linger close to you, he always keeps one eye directed your way.

[venny-the-mha-writer]

Can you do yandere platonic hashiras with little sibling reader?

Like headcannons? In this au they treat reader like sanemi treats Genya they are rude to her only because they don’t want them to join the corps? But one day they die because of a demon?

Sorry if this isn’t what you asked for I’m clueless at times😔

Giyu Tomioka

1. **Distant Warnings**: Giyu finds the reader training alone, his face stoic as he watches from a distance. When he approaches, his voice is low and firm. “You think swinging a sword makes you a Demon Slayer? You’re naive if you believe that. This world will chew you up and spit you out without a second thought. Stay away from this path.”

2. **Cold Dismissal**: When the reader expresses their desire to join the Corps, Giyu’s demeanor grows colder. “You’re a liability. You don’t have the strength or the resolve. You’d get yourself and others killed. Don’t be a fool. I’m telling you this for your own good.”

3. **Private Mourning**: After the reader’s death, Giyu is overcome with a deep sense of failure. At their grave, he kneels, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought keeping my distance would protect you, but it only left you vulnerable. I’m sorry for not being there when it mattered most.”

Shinobu Kocho

1. **Sweet Yet Cutting**: Shinobu approaches the reader with a smile, but her words cut deep. “You’re too fragile for this kind of life. You’d be torn apart in an instant. Why would you even consider such a dangerous path? It’s not for someone like you.”

2. **Constant Undermining**: When the reader insists on joining, Shinobu’s smile fades, replaced by a stern expression. “Stop this nonsense. You’re not capable of facing demons. You’d just end up dead, and I won’t be the one to save you from your own foolishness.”

3. **Deep Regret**: Standing at the reader’s grave, Shinobu’s usual composure shatters. Her voice is filled with regret as she speaks to the stone. “I thought I could shield you from this fate by keeping you away. I was wrong, and now I’ll never see you grow into the person you could have been.”

Kyojuro Rengoku

1. **Boisterous Discouragement**: Kyojuro’s voice booms as he addresses the reader, his tone firm and unyielding. “This isn’t a game. The Corps is no place for you. You’re not strong enough, and I refuse to watch you get yourself killed for a foolish dream.”

2. **Overpowering Presence**: As the reader tries to argue, Kyojuro’s expression turns fierce. “Listen to me! I won’t let you throw your life away. You should be doing something that makes you happy, something that doesn’t end with you lying in a grave.”

3. **Dimming Flame**: After their death, Kyojuro’s vibrant spirit dims. He spends hours at their grave, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I should have been more understanding, more supportive. I pushed you away when I should have stood by your side.”

Tengen Uzui

1. **Flamboyant Rejection**: Tengen’s usual flamboyance turns harsh as he speaks to the reader. “Joining the Corps is a one-way ticket to an early grave. You’re not cut out for this life, and I won’t sit by and watch you make a spectacle of yourself.”

2. **Constant Interference**: Whenever the reader mentions their ambitions, Tengen interrupts with a dismissive laugh. “Forget about it. You don’t have the guts or the glory for demon slaying. Stick to something safer and less... deadly.”

3. **Profound Sorrow**: The reader’s death leaves Tengen devastated. At their grave, his voice is a mere whisper. “I should have let you live your dreams, prepared you for the worst. I was a fool to think keeping you sheltered was the answer.”

Mitsuri Kanroji

1. **Overbearing Love**: Mitsuri’s usual warmth turns protective as she holds the reader close. “I can’t lose you to this world. You’re too gentle, too kind for the brutality of demon slaying. Please, don’t make me watch you walk into danger.”

2. **Gentle Criticism**: As the reader insists on joining, Mitsuri’s eyes fill with tears. “You’re not ready. You think you are, but you’re not. You’re strong, but not strong enough for this fight.”

3. **Heartbroken Mourning**: At their grave, Mitsuri weeps openly, her voice filled with pain. “I loved you too much to let you go. Now I’ll never have the chance to see you grow into the person you were meant to be.”

Obanai Iguro

1. **Severe Disapproval**: Obanai’s gaze is cold as he addresses the reader. “You don’t belong in the Corps. You’re weak and you’ll only get in the way. I won’t let you drag us all down with your incompetence.”

2. **Isolation Tactics**: He goes out of his way to keep the reader isolated from others in the Corps. “You’re not one of us, and you never will be. Stop trying to fit into a world that will only spit you out.”

3. **Silent Grief**: After their death, Obanai stands silently at the grave, his grief evident in the tension in his body. “I thought pushing you away would keep you safe. Now I see it only left you vulnerable.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

1. **Aggressive Warnings**: Sanemi’s voice is rough as he confronts the reader. “You’re not cut out for this. You think you can handle demons? Don’t make me laugh. Stay out of my way and out of the Corps.”

2. **Physical Intimidation**: When the reader tries to argue, Sanemi steps closer, his eyes flashing with anger. “I won’t let you get yourself killed. If you keep pushing, you’ll regret it.”

3. **Raging Loss**: The reader’s death leaves Sanemi filled with rage and sorrow. At their grave, his voice is raw with emotion. “I pushed you away because I was scared of losing you. Now you’re gone, and I can’t take back the things I said.”

Gyomei Himejima

1. **Gentle Discouragement**: Gyomei’s voice is soft but firm as he speaks to the reader. “This world is filled with suffering. I can’t let you bear that burden. Please, stay away from this life. It’s not meant for someone as gentle as you.”

2. **Physical Barriers**: Whenever the reader tries to join the Corps, Gyomei gently but firmly blocks their path. “For your safety, for your future, stay away from this life. I can’t watch you walk into the darkness.”

3. **Tearful Remembrance**: Gyomei kneels at the reader’s grave, his tears mixing with the rain. His voice is choked with emotion as he whispers, “I prayed for your safety every day, but I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry for not being the brother you needed.”

Muichiro Tokito

1. **Detached Critique**: Muichiro’s tone is detached as he addresses the reader. “You’re not suited for this life. It’s better if you don’t get involved with demons. You’ll only get yourself hurt.”

2. **Subconscious Protection**: Despite his aloof demeanor, Muichiro often finds himself stepping in to protect the reader without realizing it. “This isn’t a place for someone like you. Stay out of danger.”

3. **Haunted by Loss**: The reader’s death leaves Muichiro feeling haunted and lost. He stands at their grave, his usual detachment replaced with a profound sense of regret. “I never realized how much you meant to me until you were gone. I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me.”

[penelopepine]

I’m absolutely in love with your writing 💕

I’ve always had this scenario of Phillip and Reader (who are both first time parents) going out with their baby, and Reader having to breastfeed the baby in public and a man tries to harass her about it (telling her she shouldn’t be doing this in public and whatnot) and Phillip stands up for her

Maybe the man tries to harass her while Phillip was at the counter getting them something to eat and he hears what’s going on or something?

(Moms who are alone in public get bothered like this irl by men so often and it’d be so sweet to see Phillip standing up for his wife 🥺❤️)

Thank You!!! I hope that you like this as well!

It's weird that people get so bothered by breastfeeding. Like just let the mom feed her baby in peace.

Mind Your Own Business

Phillip Graves x Fem Reader

With the baby turning six weeks old just a few days ago you and Phillip both felt comfortable taking the baby out to more public spaces. It was a beautiful day out, and that of course led to you both walking around the farmer’s market with the little one in tow. 

Philip had both hands on the stroller while you had one hand wrapped around the crook of his elbow as you both walked around. It wasn’t until half an hour had passed did he insist on sitting down in one of the bakeries for a bite to eat. “Come on, let me treat my sweetheart to something sweet.” 

“I think it’s you who wants something sweet.” You give him a playful nudge as you walk towards the shop. 

“Who says it can’t be both?” Phillip counted your accurate remark. “I’m a man capable of many things after all.” 

Once in the shop looking at all the available options is when the little one decides to make a fuss. Glancing at the time you know she’s probably just hungry since this is about the time you would normally feed her when at home. 

“Oh, are you hungry baby?” You gesture for Phillip to let you take control of the stroller, “I’m going to take her outside and feed her. I saw a shaded bench right outside.” 

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to leave you both alone, but understands that that’s just his protective nature talking. That little voice has been speaking a lot more ever since the baby was born. “I’ll be there in just a few minutes; I’ll bring you one of those chocolate croissants I saw you eyeing too.” 

"I love you so much." You give him a small kiss, and swiftly make your way outside to the bench just as the baby starts to cry.

It only takes you a few moments to get comfortable, grab the now crying baby out of her stroller, and adjust her so that she can easily breastfeed from you. 

You take this time to admire the tiny wiggling bundle of joy in your arms. She truly is the perfect mix between you and Phillip - it almost feels like she’s not real sometimes with just how perfect she is. 

The baby's crying and wiggling finally starts to settle down as she latches on. Just as things seem to settle down you feel a sudden presence next to you. Thinking it was Phillip you look up with a smile on your face which quickly shifts into a frown as you take in the strange man now standing in front of you.

It was the look of anger and disgust on his face that had you gripping your daughter tight to you; trying to decide if you needed to get up, and walk away. Before you can make a move though the man is already practically spitting venom at you. “Do you really think that’s appropriate to be doing in public? Why don’t you go do that in the bathroom like you're supposed to do?” 

“I’m breastfeeding - I’m just feeding my baby.” Is your immediate response to his unpleasant questions. You knew some people didn’t like it when women breastfeed in public, but you didn’t think anyone would actually try and fight you about it. All you're doing is feeding a baby after all. 

“No, what you are doing is purposely exposing yourself to others around you. I mean my god woman could you not have the decency to atleast have a cover on?” 

“A cover? It’s 80 degrees out right now, and you want me to practically put a blanket over her?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing right now. Not to mention that you didn’t like using a cover; all it felt like was another thing you had to pack around and worry about. 

Arguing only seemed to be making the man more upset with you. As if you should be thankful that he was gifting you with his “amazing” advice on how and where you should be breastfeeding your baby. 

Red faced with a pointed finger raised, the man takes a large step closer to you. It genuinely seemed like he would have come even closer if he wasn’t so suddenly jerked away from you. 

“Now what do you think you're doing here bothering my wife and child?” There Phillip stood now in between the man and you. Finally, it felt like you could breathe again knowing that your husband was here to help you. 

Phillip was furious - that much was obvious even from where you sat with his back to you. His shoulders were tense, and his clenched fists looked like they were one wrong move from throwing a punch. 

“That’s your wife?” The man waves in your direction, “How about you tell your wife to cover up while in public.” 

The silence that follows after those words are deafening.

“Phillip,” You softly call out to your husband. As much as you would love to let him do whatever he sees fit you’d rather not have to be escorted off by police. 

You watch as Phillip slowly releases a sigh before he continues with his words to the man, “I'm not going to waste any more breath explaining just how stupid you sound right now. What I am going to say though is that if you don't walk away right now I'm going to beat the shit out of you, and I promise you that is a fight you don't want - not with me." 

The man clearly wasn't prepared for the outright threat of violence against him, and it showed on his now shocked face. People like him are all talk; just wanting to pick on someone seemingly weaker than him, and the second someone stronger stands up to him he's playing the victim. 

"Whatever," the man growls out before hastily turning on his heels and walking away further into the market. 

Phillip doesn't move from his position until the man has completely disappeared from view. When he does eventually turn around he puts one hand on your check and the other one cradles the baby's head before he asks you, "are you both alright?" 

"We're- we're alright. He didn't do anything besides give me a lecture." You're so thankful for that too, and luckily your daughter didn't seem to notice the tense situation that just occurred. "How did you know he was even here?" 

"You really didn't think I wouldn't be watching you while I was waiting inside did you?" Phillip looked much calmer now that it was just the three of you again. "Which reminds me I still need to pick our order up. Now let me help you pack up; there's no way I'm leaving you alone to get harassed again." 

Normally you would have insisted that you were alright to stay where you were, but right now all you wanted was to stay by his side. This encounter has really rattled you more than you thought. 

It only takes Phillip a few seconds to get everything back in the baby bag. The baby is still feeding from you as you both walk back to the bakery. In the silence you can’t help, but ask a question that has been bothering you. “Do you think I should … hide away when I need to breastfeed in public?" 

"Sweetheart, don't let one dumb fucker stop you from feeding our baby when she's hungry. You have the right to breastfeed anywhere you damn want to."

"You're right, you're right," He was right, this one experience shouldn't stop you from going out and enjoying things with your baby.

Phillip reached out and gave you a quick peck as he opened the bakery door, "besides I'll always be there to defend my girls." 

[lovetei]

could you write obey me boys with an idol mc? like they just somehow became famous on devildom 🕺 like these kpop/jpop idols! i was thinkin abt a newjeans like concept (attention, hype boy and cookie specifically)!

Hmm, that's so cute. I wanna see the boys watching your private life through your videos!

Damn... This made me want to redo my ROYAL Universe, I put such a small effort in that I feel sorry :')

Never mind, I'll redo it later.

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

Obey me universe where MC is an Idol

IDOL Universe: Introduction

Warnings: MC uses gender neutral pronouns, manipulation, slightly dark themes

Links: Masterlist

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

Frilly skirts and sexy tuxedo's

The one and only idol that threatened every other groups in the Devildom by simply playing their songs intro,

MC

Dancing at the largest stage of the Devildom is basically your normal by now.

Getting invited at parties where the wealthy and the influential can only enter

Your influence spread like wild fire all across the eighth rings of hell until no one in the Devildom don't know you.

But that isn't enough,

After you conquered the lower class of demons you climbed your way up to meet the socialites

And now here you are, on one of your highly earning concerts but this one is different

There's a different face among the crowds

There's Leviathan

Sitting in front with no one beside him

That's weird, your manager told you that every ticket are sold out and the VVIP tickets are sold at the same day...

No way...

Did Leviathan bought all the VVIP tickets?!

Yes, yes he did.

He even bought a special fan meet ticket.

"Hi! Good evening!" You cheerfully greeted to your only fan that managed to afford your over the top VVIP fan meet ticket.

"Have a seat." How weird, the rumors said he's all shy and stuttery but the person you're seeing right now is no weeb, it's the grand admiral.

"Ah, yes... Thank you!" Even though nervousness is starting to cloud your senses you need to keep your idol persona or else some nasty news will dug themselves up from the graves.

"I must say your pricing is totally over the top but I expected it from an idol whose at the top of the current food chain." Wow, how blunt.

"Yup! This ticket allows my fans have more indept conversation with me!" You smiled with your usual bright grin.

"Yeah, I almost thought it's a bait for those in the noble class. You know, for them to brag about how they managed to get their hands on such ticket." He replied as he took a sip of the coffee in front of the two of you.

"I'll go straight to the catch." He voiced out as soon as the mug landed on the glass of the coffee table.

"I want you to perform for my birthday." You almost choked up on your own spit after what he said sinked in.

"Aw... I'm deeply sorry but my manager won't allow me-" Is what I'm about to say but my manager barged into the room, sweating adn excused herself saying she has something to say to me.

She went closer and whispered something to me "He's willing to pay hundred of billions Darling! Hundreds of millions!"

What? Is he some type of freak? Why would he pay hundreds of millions just to have some idol like me to dance and sing around for his birthday?

MC, Devildoms brightest star who's hiding something

MC who secretly despised all the creepy people in the fan meets

MC who washed her hand throughly until it scratches every fan meet because of the amount of disgusting people that touched them.

MC who thinks everyone, everything is there to help them get on top of everything

MC who practiced the 'genuine' smile the crowd loves so much.

MC who can cry on command that faked their cry on live stage a they accept their most recent award.

MC Devildoms brightest star

MC who's willing to be in a dating scandal with the avatar of envy if it means it'll raise their popularity and their net worth.

[pearl-blue-musings]

I See You pt 3

Hi I know this is a long time coming. This is also gonna be in 4 parts not three cause well this got long

Pairing: pirate!Shinsou Hitoshi x fem!princess!reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, fingering, vaginal penetration, alcohol, drinking, unprotected sex, pretty lore heavy

Word count: 5.4K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

The stuffy air of the palace dungeon smells extra pungent today. Despite being down there and held captive for years, his eyes have yet to adjust to the darkness of the rotting walls. The captive takes a deep breath and his lungs fill with smoke, mold, and the disgusting smell of his own excrement. He tries to keep the growing bile wanting to escape his mouth down as he hears pounding footsteps. Great, he thinks, what do they want to tell him now? The dimming light from the torch slowly approaching burns his eyes. He hisses as more light streams in and a few men come toward his cell, one figure he’s come to know against his own wishes. The gold that gleams from his crown does not match the wicked and sinister smile that lies underneath.

“Your disgrace of a daughter is dead.”

The booming voice of the king barely registers in the prisoner's mind. His daughter is dead? How? How can this be? He stumbles back farther into his cell, a series of mumbled words leaving his lips. A guard smacks the bars, shaking and startling the man inside. His jaded eyes meet the kings and there’s no sense of sadness or despair. There’s no love, just pure hatred and an unbridled desire for power. The man struggles to speak, feeling his voice rasp and scratch against his throat as empty tears try to fall. “You, you killed my family. My wife, my daughter… what more do,” he pants, “do ya want from me?”

In the midst of the darkness, the king is able to see weak and tired sky blue eyes and almost spits at the man behind bars. A sinister chuckle emits from the king's mouth that jolts the guards around him. The king bends down and reaches forward to grab an aggressive amount of hair on the prisoner’s head. “Let’s get one thing straight, pirate scum. Your daughter jumped into the open waters of the sea all on her own accord. I didn’t have to take in your hellspawn! I treated her with the utmost respect-”

“You hated ‘er. I heard ya was tryin’ to marry her off t’ the Todoroki’s. Guessin’ she didn’t like that. She was always a smart one.”

That earns the prisoner a harsh tug and smack against the bars. He groans in pain before chuckling. “What’s the matter? Ya upset you can’t control me?”

“Whatever that wench saw in you I will never know,” the king huffs with frustration. “How could she fall in love and bear the child of a pirate when I was second in line for the throne?! You gave all of that up!” The king starts to pull roughly on the prisoner so hard the guards had to pull him back. The bruised man behind bars continues to laugh at the struggles of the king, blood seeping from his nose and lips.

With a bloody and crooked smile, the prisoner responds: “I decided a pirate king was better suited fer a guy like me. And yer mad ma and dad lemme do it. And,” he coughs out, his bright blue eyes burning with a passion seldom felt…

“It’s not my fault she fell in love with me first.”

The starry nights on deck have started to feel different the longer you’ve been on your fathers ship. The sound of the waves crashing against the vessel have now come to calm you down as your mind races. You take a deep breath and welcome the salt and grime from the ocean and ship deck, smiling as the once unfamiliar sights and smells now bring you comfort. As you sit dangerously atop the gunwale, palms gripping the fortified wood as your legs sway above the depths of what could have been your grave. A part of you, hidden away still wonders what it would be like to be consumed by the waters that stole your father-

“Earth t’ princess? Ya not thinkin about jumping again are ya?”

Your stomach drops and fills with butterflies at the sound of a voice that has made you happier than you thought. Secure hands hold onto your hips and pull you off and into a firm chest. You feel a heat rise to your cheeks that you haven’t felt since that night with the prince. Shinsou looks down on you fondly before gently letting you go. A quick blush comes to his ears before he clears his throat and stands beside you. You both rest your elbows along the edge, letting your head rest against his arm. You suddenly find the courage to speak after letting your thoughts run wild.

“I hope,” you cough out, “I hope you get to be captain of this ship. I know it’s in my fathers name but, after our port stop a few days ago,I…” You trail off as you turn your head toward your companion and your voice is lost. There’s something about seeing Shinsou in the moonlight alone on the ship, his hair blowing in the wind, that has you believing in a future you never imagined. You never want to leave this ship. You don’t wanna leave his side. You want to stay with this crew and captain this ship with Shinsou by your side. Why has being on a pirate ship opened up a new side to you? It’s like this has been destined for you your whole life. If only your parents could see you now. If only.

Shinsou smirks and snaps in your face. “See somethin’ ya like? I know I do.” You blink quickly to catch his gaze, realizing you were just lost in your thoughts. Your chest heaves, you’ve never been this nervous ever in your life. Is it because you’re going back to your kingdom? It’s been weeks. “Hello? Princess? Ya alright?”

You shake your head on instinct and feel yourself wanting to close off. It’s like you’re back at the castle, being nervous in front of the king trying to get your voice heard. Your throat constricts and blocks your breathing as if the wrath of the king's commands are holding you back once again. It isn’t until you feel calloused hands grip and shake your shoulders that you take a deep inhale.

“Where’d ya go? Are ya really sure yer up for going to the kingdom?” Shinsou rubs your shoulders and walks you away from the edge. He walks you to his room, considerably smaller than the captain’s but well enough. The other crew members, specifically Midoriya and Bakugou, look on with concern. They both ask their quartermaster what’s going on but Shinsou waves them off. “Just some nerves, panicked a little. Keep up the night watch.” The duo salute him and the pair make their way to his private quarters.

There, he sits you on his bed as he grabs you something to drink. You take the cup from him and give a quick sniff, coughing from the strength of the alcohol. “Rum? Really?” Shinsou chuckles at your inquisition and shrugs his shoulders with a grin. “Imma pirate,” he chides, “‘ta be expected.” You couldn’t help but laugh with him, clinking your glass with his as you take a swig of the drink. You cough a bit, not used to the potency of the alcohol as your pallet has been adjusted to wine. It burns more than you would like but the taste is admirable. Shinsou watches you carefully as you drink, relaxing more into the situation.

It isn’t lost on him that the two of you are sitting on his bed as you share your drinks. The rum has you feeling more loose and relaxed, the most relaxed you’ve felt in years. And it might be the liquor, but you don’t want this night to end, this moment, this adventure… you never want it to stop. You fall back against his bed which causes Shinsou to laugh.

“You tryna choke? You gotta sit up when ya drink,” he chides with a small laugh. He tries to pick you up but you’re determined to bring him to where you are. The pirate finds himself falling under your pressure, his hand wrapping around your waist to try and get you up but you’re being a cute deadweight. He does his best to not squish you as you yelp from the surprise position. You find yourself now sharing breaths with the man on top of you. You suddenly realize his hand is on your waist, your chest is heaving up and down from the closeness and he doesn’t smell bad? Your head is swirling, but you’re not afraid of it. Your eyes travel from his own down to his lips which he keeps licking. Has he always been this alluring to you?

“Fuck, princess… can I kiss ya? I just, ya look…”

You gently whisper, “yes. Yes you ca-“

Shinsou doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he captures your lips in a long awaited kiss. His grip on your waist tightens and he shifts his legs to be straddling yours, almost naturally. Shinsou tilts his head and gently cups your face, feeling the callouses on his palms and fingertips caressing your cheek. You’re not sure where to put your hands as the kiss deepens, feelings of anxiety starting to rise within you. The only time you’ve ever been intimate in this way with anyone was before your supposed wedding, the night with the Todoroki prince. He had made you feel things you never thought were possible, sensations you’ve been wanting to relive again and again. And it’s starting to happen now as Shinsou began to grind his hips into yours. You find yourself placing your hands on his chest and matching his movements, spreading your legs wider instinctively. You want to be wrapped up in him, drowning in his touch and his scent.

Above you, Shinsou groans into your mouth as he repositions his arms to cage your head in. His eyes flutter open as the need for air becomes too great. Purple strands of hair start to press to his forehead as the heat in his room and between the two of you rises. He can already see the way your gorgeous pupils are becoming more and more dilated, similar to his own. He spots a bead of sweat trickle down your neck and he leans forward to suck on the warm skin. The way you moan and keen up into his chest goes straight to his cock and he sucks harder. Your fingers run through his soft tufts of hair, tugging as his lips go lower on your neck, nearing your collarbone. Your button up shirt is proving to be a hindrance and Shinsou sits up slightly. He takes a deep breath and makes certain eye contact with you. “May I?” His fingers play with the fabric of your top as he waits for your consent. The way he’s touching you with such care, such comfort, such possessiveness; where has he been your whole life? You almost want to tear up. No one in the kingdom will or had ever treated you this way and you doubt you ever will.

Your head drops in a nod and a whispered yes, while your hands fondle with his top eager to take it off. Shinsou nods back and rumbles out, “be patient, kitten. We’ll get t’ me.” You pout as he carefully undresses you, exhaling sharply through his nose at the sight of your naked body. Heat rushes to your cheeks but you don’t dare hide your expression. He smirks and sits up, the alcohol getting to him slightly. Shinsou struggles to take off his top and you find yourself giggling with him as he gets stuck. “Quit yer laughin’,” he chides. You can’t help but laugh harder as your hands touch the bottom of his top, which happens to be at his mid torso. Your jaw drops at how chiseled and rugged it is, your fingers running up and down the front of his body. His skin is littered in scars and you’re mesmerized by the potential stories each one has. You barely register that his top has hit the floor and Shinsou is openly staring at you ogling his body. He suddenly feels shy yet proud of himself at the same time.

Your fingernails brush against his skin and Shinsou shivers. Your eagerness to see him undress spurs him on to take your hands and force them to remove his top. The movement is intimate, and your hands end up pressing up his chest to finally feel him underneath you, his pecs making you keen. The heat is intense, your chest heaves as you pull him into another fiery kiss. This time there are no barriers barring you from truly feeling each other. His confident hand trails down your side and toward your front, diving lower to where you need him most. Your hands haphazardly reach for his pants to pull them down, then your own impatiently.

Shinsou steps out of his trousers with a horny chuckle as you kick your own away as well. He goes back to what he was doing before, his fingers travel toward your core. He curses at the heat and juices emanating from your now throbbing pussy. His breath gets heavy as he slowly rubs at your lower lips. A jolt shoots through you at how gentle yet possessive he is, making you moan loudly. A hand slaps over your lips as Shinsou continues to lubricate his fingers. “Princess,” he lulls out, “ya gotta be quiet. Do ya want the whole crew to hear ya?”

You shake your head with a whimper as he inserts a finger into your waiting cunt. Your hips move on their own against his hand, your own grabbing onto his shoulders. Your nails dig into the skin as he inserts a second finger, scissoring you open. The way your body moves and the sounds you emit go straight to his cock as he holds back a grumble of desire. A slimy warmth is felt in his palm and he realizes it’s your tongue. He hisses through his teeth as he gently removes his hand from your mouth. You pant with your tongue out, “I want more,” you whisper lustfully. “I wanna make you feel good.”

Shinsou clamps his hand over your mouth as he brushes and pushes the bottom of his other palm against your clit, earning him an almost silent whimper. Your body shakes at the increased pleasure. Shinsou’s cock twitches at the noise as beads of pre cum form at his flushed tip. Almost too quickly, he removes his hands from in and on you to place your hands above your head. Shinsou leans in close, the alcohol on his breath intoxicating you further. “Keep ya hands there, okay pretty girl?” You can feel his voice rumble in his chest as you nod at his request. He releases your wrists before sliding two fingers up your slit and coating his dick with it. Your throat strains to hold back the moan of ecstasy that wants to escape but you do as you are told (maybe you’ll find out what happens if you disobey him someday).

A calming hand rubs at your hip and inner thigh as he lines up with your entrance. The tip of his cock teases your lower lips and you keen against the bed. Shinsou takes a deep breath before calling out, “princess.” You gently meet his gaze and he continues in a low tone. “You can back out if ya want. There ain’t no pressure. Stop m’now before I get lost in all that y’are.”

The two of you may have started this under the influence of alcohol but there isn’t a sign of it at this moment. The two of you are drunk off of each other, slowly getting poisoned over the course of your relationship. You briefly disobey him and move your hands to cup his face, his stubble more present covered in sweat. Your legs widen as you hold his stare. “I want this. I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear before he slowly slid himself inside you. A whimper is caught in your throat as you hold onto him tightly. Your breath comes out labored as more and more of his length enters you. Shinsou shushes and coos at you, “I’ve got ya, ya doin so good f’me. Shit princess, my princess, ya feel so…”

He drops off as he bottoms out with a grunt. Sex with Shoto was great, but now you’re convinced your body was made for Hitoshi. Although he’s thicker and longer, the pain subsided easily as you adjusted to him. A ring of cream is already forming at the base of his cock and it takes everything in him to not fuck you senseless. The fucking can be saved for another day, he needs to make sure you know you’re loved.

“‘M gonna move.”

His hips slide out and then back in, meeting yours in a juicy squelch of skin against skin. Your toes curl and your jaw drops in an agonizing scream of pleasure that never comes. Shinsou slots his lips over yours to silence the two of you. The atmosphere is heavy with sweat and sex, nary a scent of rum from before. Almost naturally, you wrap your legs around his waist and he somehow goes in deeper. Both of you break the kiss to groan together at the new sensation. His body rolls and thrusts into you like a dance you never want to end or tire of. Your walls clench around him and he stutters slightly, his dick twitching inside of you. That coil inside has been wound up so tight and for so long that the spring is finally going to release. Your abs contract as you meet his hips with yours. You bury your head into his neck and whimper out, “I’m so close, baby. I wanna cum!” The way you beg for him to become undone almost makes him finish right then. He can feel how close you are with how you’re gripping his cock. He never wants to be without this feeling; a feeling he hadn’t realized he was looking for.

He takes one hand to cup your cheek as he pumps in and out of you faster, the other rubbing intense circles on your clit. Your toes curl and your muscles begin to shake from the intensity with Shinsou whispering in your ear. “That’s it baby, cum fer me. Want ya to cream all on my cock.” He pistons his hips faster, “fuck I’m gonna make ya all mine. Yer all mine.”

“Hnng, I’m cumming Hitoshi!”

“Kiss me.”

With your hair stuck to your forehead, you kiss him as your muscles twitch and contract. Your orgasm rocks you, screaming into his lips as you finally let the spring loose. Shinsou holds you tightly as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. Warmth fills you up as he releases inside you, spilling his seed into you. Your muscles finally relax as your legs flop onto the mattress, Shinsou gently following suit. He kisses your sweaty cheeks, forehead, nose, before reaching your soft lips. Your bodies are still connected as he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing finally calms down enough for him to gently pull out. You whimper from the loss of his touch. He chuckles and pecks your forehead. “I gotta clean ya up. I’ll be right back.”

Shinsou steadies himself before walking to the other side of the room to grab a rag and some water. He rakes a hand through his hair to get out more of the sweat. He’s about to ask you how it was when he sees you passed out, soundly asleep. His stomach jumps and his heart flutters at seeing you this peaceful. For the last couple of months of knowing you he’s never seen this expression on you. He must have really wore you out and that swells his pride. Shinsou gently brushes some hair back as he cleans you up just as softly. He slides into the bed next to you and wraps you in his arms.

Of course he hopes you won’t regret what happened, but he’s more worried about how you’ll feel being at the gates of your home that hates you so much.

****

Shoto Todoroki tries to hold back any malice that would show on his face as the ceremony proceeds on. It would be fitting that the day of your funeral would be cloudy. It’s not lost on him that it took months to assemble this ceremony when it took days to assemble his almost marriage.

It also isn’t lost on him the reception is considered more of a celebration.

The king didn’t even shed a tear as your empty casket was paraded through the land. The people there were more happy to see some of the royals up close, giving fake condolences as they slipped in “you can marry me or adopt my child,” as they all walked through. He was included as the fiancé that was robbed of a wedding and an heir. There were even some cheers and signs of relief. Was there no one in this kingdom who saw all the good that you are? The amazing princess and person that you were and could be? He wanted to yell at them, freeze them, burn them, anything to get them to stop sullying your name even in death.

Have they no respect for the dead?

The parade continued up to the palace’s cathedral steps where the funeral would take place. The prince lets his emotions show by crying at your portrait; at least they captured your beauty in a kind manner. The bells ring and the organ plays loudly, letting the kingdom know the funeral is about to begin.

Your casket is adorned with what he assumes are you favorite flowers as well as the flowers of the castle. From the one night he had with you, he knows you would hate all of this. Shoto whispers to his brother, who happened to show up, “this is bullshit. She would hate all of this.”

Natsuo sighs and places a hand on his shoulder. “I agree with you. Your letters barely touched the surface of how this kingdom views their fallen princess. It’s blasphemous. And their king is no better.”

“You two,” King Enji hisses, “watch it. We don’t know who is listening.

“But I concur.”

The king, your stepfather, approaches the podium and motions for his subjects to sit. He takes a deep breath to feign sadness before the bells go off for a second time. Shoto sighs as he’s now thankful for the interruption. However when he looks forward, the king’s eyes are full of dread. Some of the townspeople are unsure of what the bells are for and whispers flourish throughout the cathedral. “Father,” Shoto asks, “what are those bells?”

The king answers with a drop in his voice and confidence.

“Pirates.”

****

Your heart beats out of your chest as the alarm bells of your kingdom blare loudly. The last time you heard those bells was the last time you saw your father. You breathe deeply to calm and steal your nerves. On your right, Aizawa grips your shoulder and gives you a nod of approval. To your left, Shinsou holds your hand tightly and squeezes it firmly. You turn your head to Eraserhead and nod at him, standing along the beaches of your former home. Your eyes scan up the beachside cliff where atop sits the castle.

Pirate Queen Nemuri and Captain Yamada have already ascended into the kingdom, the screams of soldiers and citizens growing. They are to be the distraction as your faction enters the castle and ransacks it. No longer will you be resigned and be an observer of your own life. A sinister smile comes to your face as the future is yours for the taking, starting with your home. The pirate ship Yuuei crew follows you toward a secret entrance into the castle. Judging by the old maps, there was once a dungeon and you want to find it and see what secrets your stepfather had hidden. Covered in vines and moss, you use your new found weapon to slice away at the greenery that at one point was your escape to the waters below your room. The king then forbade you from using this way and you never knew why. You had assumed he hated you immensely as it was right after your mother had died.

The door squeaks open and a wave of dust and cobwebs hits your face, the rusting nails practically falling out of the hinges. Aizawa presses forward and takes a cautious step on the stone. He presses his foot into the material to assure its stability. Satisfied with his determination, he turns his head toward his crew proudly. He gives them a silent signal to tread behind him and they follow suit. However, Kaminari perks his ear and halts those behind him.

“Someone’s comin’,” he whispers.

The pounding of metal on gravel alerts you to two guards that have their swords drawn. They approach the group with fear and loathing as the pirates around you draw their own swords. With a stern pout, you pull out yours and step in between them. Shinsou attempts to stop you but Midoriya holds him back. The two guards slow their approach as their eyes widen in shock. “Y-your highness! We thought you dead, the kingdom is mourning you as we speak,” the first shakes out before kneeling in front of you. The second scoffs and pulls up his mate. “Ain’t no need to kneel to her,” he steps toward you with the tip of the sword about to graze your neck. Behind you Shinsou growls as he and the rest of the crew close in on the three of you. “This one has been declared dead by the castle. We never did like you.”

Your grip tightens on the sword as you try to control your breathing. “And why is that? Do you have no thoughts of your own?”

“Heh, the king didn’t like you. That’s good enough for me.”

The second guard lunges toward you aggressively with malice in his heart. You duck out of the way and avoid his attack as you come up behind him. With his guard lowered along with his head, the back of his neck is wide open as you start to dig the edge of your sword into his neck. The first guard drops his sword in surrender as a trickle of blood falls down the other’s back. The man underneath you grunts in frustration as you had bested him in quick combat. Your eyes narrow as the defeated guard drops his sword and stands up, your sword never leaving the nape of his neck. Aizawa steps forward and flashes an eerie smile of discontent.

With his hands on his hips, he snickers. “How’s it feel t’be bested by ya own princess? Yer gonna lead us inside the castle or she won’t hesitate t’kill ya.” You smirk behind the resistant guard as you walk towards the secret entrance. Sharp black eyes follow where the soldiers came from and hums to himself. “Aye, go back t’where they came from. Take Mind Jack with ya.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, knowing full well you need to be the one leading the charge inside. You grumble to yourself and withdraw your weapon, only for it to be replaced by Bakugou’s own cutlass. “Get ta steppin’,” he chews out. You know better than to talk back to your captain so you turn your head and retrace the steps left in the gravel and sand from the guards. Shinsou trails behind you, giving you enough space to process and follow the footsteps. With the crew, the guard in opposition out front to lead them and whispers under his breath.

“No surprise you turned out to be a pirate, just like your father.”

****

You and Shinsou tread carefully along the sand to not disturb the trail. The silence is heavy as you think about what you’re going to find. For as long as you’ve lived at the castle, there were still parts you never explored. And whatever had your stepfather guarding this area this way means there’s something for you to find. Shinsou follows your lead and places a hand on your shoulder. The two of you stop as you see another hidden cavern with signs and smells of knights standing for long periods of time. If you hadn’t been surrounded by pirates for weeks and weeks, the smell of feces and urine would have made you vomit.

Hidden away is another door, similar to the secret entrance of the castle. You look back down to the map in your hands and realize this location isn’t on there. Your eyebrows furrow closely. “What is it?” Shinsou calmly asks. You turn your head to meet his serious expression, rolling up the map with a sigh.

“This entrance,” you start slowly, approaching the door. “Is not in my memories or any castle drawings. What is this?” With a confirmation nod from your, you assume, lover you turn the knob. The hinges squeak and another set of rotting stone leads upwards. You gulp and hold Shinsou’s hand as a new sense of anxiety overcomes you. What are you going to find at the end of the stairs? Your heart is beating a mile a minute when you reach another door. It looks to be in better shape and you keep a hand on the hilt of your sword as it opens. Your eyes are met with what looks like a dungeon. You relax your shoulders as confusion swells inside you. Beside you, Shinsou takes in his surroundings as he questions. “A dungeon?”

“I-I don’t understand. We’ve never had enemies,” you stammer. You look through the bars of the empty cells and see rotting wood, mold and moss, skeletal remains, and rusting metal. You step on gravel and twigs as your mind is a mess, until the sound of flesh against metal makes you yelp. Shinsou quickly rushes to your aid and pulls out his weapon, standing in front of you. The two of you see a hand on a faraway cell.

“The kingdom getting invaded by pirates again? Sheesh, it’s sure been a while.”

The voice is raspy, full of experience and loss. The two of you hesitantly head toward the farthest cell. The hand, covered in grime and calluses reaches out to you. Shinsou speaks up first. “Who are ya?” The man in the cell chuckles with a cough before pointing up and behind you. You turn and notice a set of keys. Without hesitation, you grab them and unlock the cell. It creaks open and the man inside falls to the ground. The chains that are attached to him shine in the light, and you unlock those too. There’s a ring of bruises around the prisoner's wrists and neck as he falls to the ground.

Hitoshi, still on guard, keeps his sword drawn and at the ready. The man in front of them seems to have matted and tangled hair that is entirely too familiar. It’s only when he lifts his head that you fall to the ground. A gasp escapes your lips as disbelief comes across your features. Your lip trembles as your mind goes to the picture Eraserhead had shown you. The man smiles as if his life has always been easy and foretold to him. He rubs at his wrists and sits on his knees in front of you. Shinsou lowers himself to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. “It can’t be…” he whispers.

Although worn down by years of confinement, that unmistakable cloud like hair reminds you of your own. You blink furiously as realization dawns on you. Tears cascade freely down your cheeks as you shake your head in shock. His soft blue eyes affirm everything your brain is trying to conjure. The man in front of you meets your eyes and gives you a warm and welcoming smile as he starts to cry.

“So,” Oboro chokes back, “m’daughter became a pirate afta all. ‘M so relieved.”

[beababoobies]

Hello!

Saw you were doing hazbin hotel request, and I can't stand that I have not found much angst on these two, and I mean angst about Sir Pentious being in heaven while Cherri is in hell.

So could you do like one where both of them just miss one another, like Cherri saluting his photo in the hotel lobby daily while Sir Pentious is just thinking about her.

Just putting this out here-

Just as I go “alright, I have reqs but imma go to bed” I see this and go 👀 because lord KNOWS I love writing angst. Yurp, I gotcha. Love Cherrisnake and it’s going to make me SOB but 🙏 yeah. This is much much shorter than I usually write but I hope you still enjoy!!

But I Can’t Help (Falling in love with you)

words : 0.6k, cherrisnake my beloved, here’s some tissues 🧻 for your tears I suppose

Ever since Pentious was murdered by Adam in the fight, Cherri had been hanging around the hotel. She kept insisting it was just to ‘be friendly’ or even ‘angel’s here.’ But after weeks of staying, even having her own room, and competing in the daily rehabilitation excersizes, it was obvious to everyone that wasn’t the case. But they couldn’t tell her that. 

Not after Charlie had seen here kneeling in front of the painting of Sir Pentious one night, crying quietly, holding herself in her arms as she looked into his eyes, wishing she had just said fuck it and gone with him. Wishing she had been smarter, admitted that she liked him. But she was stubborn, and refused to let herself fall in love with anyone. So the only thing she can keep of his is the scorching kiss he left against her lips. 

And the hotel. Every time she passed his portrait, she would salute to it. The only thing that hadn’t been destroyed in the rubble - his welcome banner - was hung up in her room. Dusty and burnt as it was, she wouldn’t take it down. And Angel was the person who knew all of this. Angel was the one who let her cry for hours about how she should’ve used her brain instead of blocking herself off.

Just like Emily, the kinder of the sarahfim, Pentious had learned, would listen to his rants about how lovely she was. How he knew she would be next up here. He would go on about their past battles, how she was such a strong opponent who always left him guessing her next move. Emily had pretty quickly caught on that it was always bombs, but wouldn’t ruin the fun for him.

He would think of her before he went to sleep, replaying the last kiss before he was redeemed over and over in his head. The way her lips were against his. The way she tasted just like he’d imagined, the taste of sweet cherries engrained in his memory. The way his hands held her waist so softly as he dipper her. The blush on her cheeks as he pulled away. 

He thought every night about what he’d do once she got up here too - maybe he’d finally have the courage to ask her out. Maybe she would be distant like she always was and reject him. But the way she’d kissed him back without hesitation brushed those thoughts out of the way. He dreamed about her, dreams from them under the stars to how beautiful and angelic she’d look with the gold accents of devine ordainment. He bets she wouldn’t even lose that beautiful snappiness in her voice.

Just like Cherri knows he would probably still be too anxious to ask her out if he’d survived. Just like she knows she would’ve done it herself after that, running up and into his arms right after the battle. She hated falling in love, she really did - but she couldn’t help but stare at his portrait for hours through the corner of her eye as Charlie explained rehabilitation in the center room. She couldn’t help but deliver flowers to the grave she’d made for him outside the hotel, every day. Without fail, for the past months he’d been gone. 

She cursed herself for starting to forget his voice - she cursed herself for forgetting how his lips felt against hers, forgetting the way his chest felt pressed up against his, the coffee in his spit that she could taste. She cursed herself for forgetting.

And Pentious lived every day knowing he could never forget. 

[hotaru-no-yume]

loyalty to the raging tempest

CW: This contains spoilers from the new archon quest. Read at your own discretion.

"You can start a new life here if you want to."

The God of Wisdom's words echo in your mind as you watch your Lord's unmoving figure on the hospital bed. You saw his fall, from the proud and cruel harbinger to a lifeless puppet who had its heart taken away. With Scaramouche's defeat and the Fatui branding you a traitor for refusing to return with the Doctor, you had nowhere else to go… until the Dendro Archon offered you sanctuary in her region.

"Gravedigger… You will regret this." The Doctor spits with the promise of your death.

"I'm sure the matra would be willing to take you in. Creating a final resting place for the dead is also necessary." In contrast, the Dendro Archon's kindness promised protection.

She was right. Under her watchful gaze, no one will be able to lay a hand on you in Sumeru. You can leave everything behind; even the pitiful puppet in front of you. Truthfully, Scaramouche was an awful person. No one in the Fatui liked him and your colleagues would often give you pitying looks once you got summoned to his side. You've lost count of how many times you were punished for not following his orders perfectly.

But still, for some reason, you can't leave him alone. Perhaps it's because of the way he looked at you when you first met. The look of recognition, fury, and something else. You remember him looming over you, staring at your dirt-covered body - the result of digging tirelessly in the cold mornings of Snezhnaya, all in an effort to create a tomb for a soldier you hardly know. Once you lock eyes, you see a raging tempest and you wonder what he's seeing when he looks at you.

"Pitiful. What's with that look in your eyes? Are you merely a doll who knows nothing more than to roll around in the dirt? Perhaps I should call you a rat."

You nod, but that seemed to make him angrier. As insulting as his words are, you really don't know anything else. In a distant memory, you see the blurry faces of your mother and father, hear their whispers of your duties and how it is important to create a final resting place, you remember the old shovel they handed you before you dug your first grave and the sight of their backs as they left for a mission and never returned.

You feel his attack before you see it. Your vision glows and you parry the blade of electro he sends towards you. You get thrown back, and you feel the air get knocked out of your lungs as you slam into a tree.

"...Good. It seems you're not entirely hopeless."

You stand up on shaky legs, tensing as he steps closer and closer. He scoffs as you raise your weapon defensively. He probably thought fighting you was mere child's play.

"Work under me. I'm sure I can find some use for a little rat like you."

And he did find some use for you. Before you knew it, you became his right hand… or maybe "errand runner" was a better description for your job. "The Balladeer's Servant", others would whisper behind your back as they see you tailing the Harbinger's figure. You were at his beck and call and usually the one that bears the brunt of his anger (or as you like to call it in your head - his temper tantrums.) It was exhausting work; trying to keep up with his demands.

But sometimes, you would see the eye of the storm. He was calm in those times, his voice losing the sharp edge it always seemed to have - like a storm temporarily diminishing into a gentle, soothing rain.

"What are you looking at? …The cherry trees?"

He hums, tipping his hat up as he stares at the lush pink trees, not minding the rain of petals falling on him due to the strong gust of wind. You think that he looks very beautiful.

"I don't need anything. Just stay there and don't make a sound."

You watch him collapse in pain after enduring the Doctor's experiments. Regardless of his protests, you help him get settled on his bed. You silently question why he doesn't see himself as a human. After all, he feels pain and suffering, just like everyone else.

Your current situation reminded you of those quiet nights with only the candle light to keep you company. But instead of seeing your Lord's eyes open the next day, he's been asleep for more than two months. Just as you think he's never going to wake up, he stirs from his slumber one morning, jolting you awake.

"...My Lord?" You call, making his pretty eyes focus on you.

"You're still here?" He mutters in disbelief, like he expected you to be gone from his side.

"Why wouldn't I be? I pledged loyalty to you, didn't I?"

Your honest words stun him into silence. He narrows his eyes, looking for a lie, a hint of deception and desire for personal gain.

He finds none. Just an honest fool that he picked up from the dirt littered with flowers and concrete.

"Idiot."

.

.

.

"̵͉̐̈́S̷͍̜̓c̶̱͎̈ặ̸̪̕r̴͚͎̉̍ă̵̤m̴̻̃̀ö̴̤̣́̈́u̷͍̙̽c̷͓̘͠h̷͈̟̉̀ė̸̗"̷͚͍͒̚ ̶̲̈ǎ̸̲͋ń̶͖̥̐d̷͉̒ ̴̤͍͗̀"̸̬̳̈K̴̤̤͝ả̵̰̈͜b̶̦̱͝u̶͖͚͋ķ̷͆̀ì̵̦̙̓m̸͓̥̑ô̸̠̥͝ṉ̴̦̀͆o̶͖̘͑́"̵̟͂ ̸͖̆̀ͅw̷͕͆̊ǐ̶̺̮l̷̦͋̅l̴͔̹̈́ ̴̫͗̾ç̵̖͋́ẽ̶̯̺ả̸͎̒ş̴̪͒e̶̳̼̍ ̵͍̱̿t̸̬̍̀ọ̸̩̒̍ ̶̻̯̿̚e̷̤̎̚x̵̼͗ì̷͉͈s̴̯̈̈t̸̡̻́.̸̬̏

.

.

.

"Do you… do you remember him?"

A floating fairy that carried the scent of stars asked you as she gestured to the man in blue. Four pairs of eyes stare at you in anticipation as you gaze at the man with a frown. He crosses his arms as he waits for your answer. You weren't expecting this strange turn of events at all. Your life was finally becoming peaceful under the kindness of the Dendro Archon. She gave you a home and a place to work. You needed nothing more. And yet, you feel like things are about to go upside down again with the presence of this strange man.

"I'm sorry. I don't know him." You said. Their gazes turn uneasy and the man in blue's neutral expression breaks for a moment.

"...But I feel like I should." You added, stepping forward to get a closer look. Not expecting the close proximity, he flinches and moves back, as if electrocuted.

"How dare-!"

"What's your name?" You ask, not paying attention to the spark of anger and embarrassment that appeared in his eyes.

"...Give me one." He says with a sigh.

"Pardon?" Did this familiar stranger really ask you to name him?

"How fascinating…" The Dendro Archon mumbles, placing a hand on her chin as she regards you with curious eyes. "Their memories were definitely erased… but somehow, the connection you formed with them was so strong that it resisted the data deletion process. There is a saying that the heart and mind are two separate things. In this case, the mind may have forgotten, but the feeling is still there. It seems you've garnered someone's loyalty regardless of your lack of divinity."

"...I suppose that's enough." The man in blue looks away, tipping his hat over his eyes.

"Well? Have you thought of a name yet?" He addresses you and you find yourself at the center of attention once again. They were actually serious about naming him…

"How about…"

The man in blue closes his eyes. You think you see the corner of his lips twitch upwards into a small smile.