#the reasons are: 1. i’m no longer into the show

[undercoverpena]

13. hello yellow

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter thirteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 4.3k (she became a biggie) chapter warnings: reference to anxious!reader. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this is the one you've been waiting for... .

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It grows on your tongue on a cooler morning—the birds having only just begun chirping, the sun really only just rising. But he's there, truck parked outside as he brings you coffee, for no other reason than just because.

It's almost hard not to say the three words.

They thicken in your throat when you surprise him at work, having already spoken to Harry, asking if you can steal him for an extra half an hour. His face brightens, practically illuminating when he sees you at the register. It continues to do so when you take him back to the place where the two of you had lunch, his face beaming.

You’re not sure how the words don’t escape there and then.

There are a bunch of moments saying them could have been right. It would be so easy to let them slip out, but then he'll say something that makes you laugh, or his phone will go off and the conversation shifts, and you wait a little longer.

But you don’t just want right, you want perfect.

Just like him.

You know how we love Harold?

Yes?

He might have recommended me to a friend of his for some paintwork.

This sounds like a good thing, yet it feels very bad for me.

The only date the man can do is the day I said we’d go to the beach.

If this isn’t you asking me to come and help you be your a-paint-tice I’m going to be really let down.

You want to come paint a man’s house with me?

I want to do anything with you, Butterscotch.

It vibrates from two rooms away—buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.

Your feet rush for you, socks almost making you a health hazard as you round the corner from your bedroom to the hallway. A laugh trying to escape from giddiness as your palms press into your off-white walls, before using it for leverage to continue.

Moving, almost running, not looking where you’re going, only realising at the last second when your foot collides with it.

Pain.

It pulses and makes tears spring to your eyes instantly. The hurt is more than radiating, it erodes, grows and pounds.

Fucking toolbox.

Hand grasping it as you half-hobble to the little side table where your phone almost topples off.

Butterscotch <3

A caller ID that usually brings an immediate smile to your face, and still, even as you clutch your foot in your hand and drag your finger across the screen, it somehow still does.

“Hey, I’m almost there—did you want lunch in or out?”

Stuffing a wince down your throat, you blink back fresh tears as your thumb presses down on a particular spot. “I need to show you something but maybe out?”

“You okay?” No, you want to hiss—wanting to add extra O’s and everything. “You sound off?”

Swallowing bitterness, you try to smile as you lower your foot—putting some weight on it as you suddenly become warm, and uncomfortable.

“Rainy?”

“Butterscotch, I bet you’re one street—you’re literally pulling up.”

You swear you hear him grin. Almost being able to tell even from the way he puts his vehicle in park that his smile is growing into his cheeks and cascading over his eyes. It makes your own appear, somehow rising to the surface and kicking its feet furiously to appear.

By the time you’d end the call, quickly check your foot inside your sock and put it back in place, your eyes catch his coming through your front door. Letting in amber streams of sunlight that paint across the hardwood in warm, honeyed hues. Bringing in warmth, a calmness, the pain suddenly non-existent when you see him slide out the key from the keyhole—the one you’d told him to keep, the one you’d give him, told him to use.

The sight pulls at something inside of you, making it easier to smile, to beam as he closes it behind him and walks himself up to you—mouth pressing to yours. The taste of coffee and mint flooding your mouth, your fingers full of his curls as his hand presses to your lower spine—bodies flush, his keys clanging in the air.

“You know I think you’re beautiful,” he whispers, teeth teasing your bottom lip before releasing it with a pop. “But, baby, what are you wearing?”

His hand slides down the plastic, water-proof full-body overalls you have on. It rustles, making your skin even warmer when he takes another long look at you, and laughs.

Not a giggle.

Not a quiet, hidden and disguised laugh. A full-on roar of laughter.

“I got it for next week,” you exclaim, heat rising up your neck. “You told me I’d need to wear something that would cover me—wanted to make sure it was okay.”

“Baby, I meant not your romper—'cause you’ll get paint on your legs. I didn't mean a… hazmat suit?”

Folding your arms, you take a step back, face scrunching in a wince you’re not sure he notices as you roll your eyes before turning on your heels to change. “I’m new to this.”

“I know, I know,” he says, trying to stifle his laugh, hand reaching out. “Baby, wait, I’m sorry. Okay? You just don’t need—fuck, Rainy. I can see your ass through this.”

“No, you cannot.”

“I fucking can.”

Letting him pull you into his arms, you shake your head, stupidly unable to stop yourself from grinning, before his lips brush over yours. Your nails digging into the t-shirt on his waist, mouth parting as he eases you back, a grimace hidden against his tongue as his knee nudges between your plastic-covered thighs.

“Frankie,” you whisper, it leaving your tongue like a whine.

He only hums in response, it vibrating against you, fingers tightening in his curls as his knee rises that bit more, friction so readily there, easily able to rock your hips if you so want to. Until it rustles, furrows, a noise so unsexy you feel him slowly grin against your mouth.

“Can’t believe you just wore underwear under this,” he teases, dropping his knee.

Your breath finds your lungs with more ease as you roll your lower lip between your teeth, admiring him, unable to stop ogling the man who is very much all yours after the position he just had you in.

“I should change before we go out for lunch,” you mumble. “Before I flash everyone.”

Moving away from him before he can stop you, you let out a groan as your bad foot flattens, unable to hide the misstep. Hearing him call your name, you're quick to wave him off. Digging your nails into your palm as you take (what feels like a thousand) steps until you’re unzipping the ridiculous plastic, all-in-one, and begin yanking drawers and doors open until you’re standing in something more appropriate for lunch.

Half-closing your bedroom door behind you, you don’t need to call for him, you know where he’ll be. Finding him exactly where you expected, tape measure in hand—right in front of one of the office windows.

“Thought you could do that in your head.”

Snorting, shooting you a look over his shoulder, he grins. “Wanna make sure I’m exact.”

“For me?”

“For you.”

Leaning against the frame, not obviously showing you’re taking the weight from your now pulsing foot, you try to smile. Listening as he begins telling you about getting something for your windows, instead of thinking how you should ice it, get him to wrap it, maybe ask him—politely—if he’d put his fucking toolbox away between visits before you actually break something.

Somehow, you hear enough to follow what he’s saying, about how blinds would help, that they’d give you more daylight while also shielding you if you wish to work in the dark—they’d be more flexible, modern. He could help you fit them.

And it dawns on you, that while you've had it in your head about curtains, this is a thing you should have thought of yourself.

A thing which feels so obvious now he’s said it that it irks you that you haven’t. Because blinds would be better. Digging a hole in you, making you feel silly, stupid, and foolish—

The realisation makes you pinch your forearm and take a deep breath. You re-centre yourself, thinking about the one image that inspired all of this, imagining it with blinds instead of what had remained fixed in your head, hung and stuck.

The problem with desiring something inspirational is that it isn’t always tailored to the person who desires it. To you, who will be using the room. Yet, Frankie has thought of you—like the considerate, beautiful man that he is.

“From your face, you don’t want blinds?” he asks.

Your mouth opens, before closing. Putting some weight down as your eye narrows in pain—it floods through you as you try not to frown. “It’s not that—I just thought curtains. Thought I preferred the way curtains look, is all.”

Frankie shrugs, staring out of the window, before glancing back. “Curtains it is then.”

“But, blinds do make sense.”

And you can see it, the way he chews his tongue—the way he swallows words he wishes to say. It flares something within. Rolling his head on his shoulders, and scratching the back of his head, he smiles.

“But you want curtains.”

“I did.”

“Then have curtains.”

He’s being nice—that’s what you remind yourself. He’s being kind and thoughtful. He’s taking what you’re saying and giving you exactly that.

Yet it feels… bad.

It makes you all of a sudden not want it—anger bubbling, trying to grow wider in your stomach. Instead, wanting him to tell you that you should have blinds, for all the reasons he’s listed, because it makes sense. They’re practical, and easy; it’ll block the sun out if it’s a bright day. They’ll even look modern; following the theme of the room.

And the fact he isn’t reminding you of that makes you mad. So much you feel it clawing up your throat, all ash and brimstone; flames and bonfire.

But you’re not mad at him. You’re mad at yourself for not looking. You’re not mad at him, just his toolbox. You’re not mad at him. You’re mad—

It repeating. Swirling. Shifting around the imaginary plug hole in your head as you wait for it to fall through and douse whatever it is that is brewing inside of you.

“I didn’t think of it like you did, so let’s have blinds.”

“It’s okay, it’s really—”

“But, they make sense, Frankie. You just said so.”

Jaw tightening, he hides his annoyance with a smile. “But, baby, you don’t want blinds, so let me just measure for—”

Standing straight, unable to hide the miniature sob from pain, you follow it with: “Stop being nice to me.”

He blinks. Both at your tone and the words that snap through the air as your palm pushes against your forehead, hoping to quiet it, the simmering anger that bubbles and thickens like soup.

“Rainy—”

“You don’t… I’m not broken, Frankie. Sometimes we can just… disagree. You can tell me I’m wrong.”

“I know that.”

He says it so quickly, all with a colder edge to his words. Ice threatening to wrap around them, freeze, as they go to land, pellet. Bruise against you.

Tilting your head, you stare at him—knowing you should stop. Remove your finger from the metaphorical scab. “Do you? Because ever since the other month you’ve been… extra nice.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“It is when I’m furious with you,” you snap, it’s out now, you think.

Chest tight, things unfurling and uncoiling, flames ripping through you as though all the emergency doors have flung open and allowed it to breathe through every part of you.

“When I’m mad that I tripped over your toolbox again because you didn’t put it away. Because you likely did something nice for me and forgot. But now I’ve really hurt my foot—”

“—Baby, why didn’t you—”

But you ignore him. Not even waving him off, just continuing, “—and that I can’t decide if I want curtains or blinds and yet you make a very good argument for blinds that I hadn’t considered and you always do that—have amazing ideas, great insight, plus, you seemingly know me better than I know me, which is so lovely, but I'm mad at myself for not thinking of it. But, you, you didn't do that, because you understand me.”

“Is this a bad thing?”

No, you think as your mouth jams shut. Staring. Blinking. Because of course, it isn’t. It’s just that it’s never been something you’ve had, never experienced, never thought could possibly be given to you.

A thing that you both love, so much, but also feel is going to be ripped from you at any moment. Better not to have it, than lose it. No skill to prepare for this level of care, so used to having to make decisions and choices and have no one offer to help.

But he’s not going.

He’s standing, hands at his sides, line between his brows. Confusion trying to crawl over him and lather his features, but he seems to be fighting it, stopping it. His eyes somehow remain soft even as your mouth hands open, more words set to spit and fire—

“I need. I need a moment.”

And you don’t wait for the okay or the sight of his face falling.

Just moving, hurrying. Feet trying to carry you through to the kitchen as your palms use the wall as a crutch to do so, finding a counter to rest on, to lean on, to breathe against as thick, uncontrollable tears begin to paint your cheeks. Whether from the pain or the fact you’d snapped. Unable to hold them back from rumbling out when your forehead presses against cool wood as you take breaths in and out, in and out.

Doing so until the pain dries on your cheeks and you’re merely resting, taking the moment you said you needed before you hear him clear his throat. Before he asks if he can come closer and if he can look at your foot, two things you quickly nod for—wanting to take it back, apologise, even explain. Instead, you let him aid you up onto the counter, slide the sock from your foot assess it and turn it, finger brushing over your skin as light as a feather as he asks does it hurt here, or what about here?

It makes your heart flutter.

Makes it even harder not to blurt three words at him, when really he deserves a chorus of them for what in the hell just happened. So, you lead with:

“I’ve decided that I don’t like fighting with you.”

Snorting, he picks up the sock from the floor, easing it slowly back over your toes. “It’s not my favourite thing we do together either.”

Smirking, you stare down at him. Watching him. “I don’t want you to think I’m fragile. That’s all.

“That you can’t challenge me just because of what happened the other month. Because it’ll happen again. But I can still make choices, you can still tell me I’m wrong—sometimes, I need you to tell me I’m wrong, because if you agree with me all the time, you won’t push me to be better. I’ll just stay stagnant, and choose curtains when I really think I’ll regret it and want blinds.”

Standing, he places his hands on either side of your thighs on the counter, letting out a heavy exhale as he looks at you, as he stares from eye to eye, before whispering your name. The one which sounds so kind in his mouth, that sounds like it matters—that it holds importance and weight, even if you prefer Rainy.

“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he whispers as you slide your hand over his, watching his eyes soften, heal. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I did.”

Half-smiling, you nod. Eyes searching his, waiting to see if the lie appears when he blinks, whether it spreads out like paint touching water and if it makes his truthful eyes murky. But it never comes. Instead, his hand cups your cheek, in a way that centres you and makes you only want to look at him.

Exhaling, he smiles. “I just don't want to make you choose something you don't want. That's all, baby.”

Eyeing him chewing words, weighing up whether it’s worth it to speak them or let them slide back into the crevice they slithered from. Because it’s painful, maybe far too much truth for him, can see it in the way it makes lines appear across his face, as though it’s fracturing him to remember.

“I wasn’t really mad at you.”

Slowly, a grin breaks out. “Yes, you was.”

“Okay, a little bit, but it wasn’t your fault. So, I’m sorry. But I am mad at your toolbox, it really hurt.”

“I’ll be sure to tell it.”

Narrowing your eyes, you slowly part your legs, tugging on him to move between them, wrapping them around his waist as he shyly smiles. “Been thinking.”

“About how you now want curtains again?”

Pinching him, hearing him hiss, you smirk. “Too soon, Morales. No. I’ve been thinking that the cupboard closest to the office door.” He hums in response, it vibrating against your collarbone as he kisses it. “Think that’s where your toolbox should live.”

You feel him grin against your skin, blow warm air in an exhale against it. “You making room for my tools now.”

Lifting his chin, nose bumping against the tip of his, you mirror his smile. “I want to make room for all of you, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Pressing a peck to his lips, you wipe your thumb over it. “Yeah.”

Babe, what is the attire for a kid's soccer match?

Comfort. It’s a lot of standing at the sidelines and hopeful cheering.

So knee-high socks and tight shorts are a no?

Fuck. That’s a fucking image.

Help me, because what I’ve Googled isn’t helping me.

I have a spare shirt you can wear.

Does it have Morales on the back?

It actually does.

Frankie, did you make adult versions of your son’s soccer team kit?

Does it make me lame if I say yes?

No, it makes me want to ask you if you can grab me fifteen minutes earlier so my mouth can show you how not-lame that is.

You'll be pleased to know I've sent the email and I am no longer working with 'prickly-puta', as you so lovingly called him.

I'm really proud of you. You okay?

I'd be better if I could celebrate with you, but I can wait.

How would you want to celebrate?

You sure you want to know?

Always, baby.

Well, I was thinking about showing you my power tools.

Maybe even using them? Letting you see what I do with them. It's very different from what you do with yours.

You there, I can see the typing bubble keep popping up.

Give me ten and I can video chat.

Oh no, you don't get an advanced preview. Might let you listen though.

Fuck me.

That's what I'd be saying if you were here right now.

You don't mind that painting ruined the beach because the rain is unrelenting.

The grey of the day filters through the bare windows, spreading itself as far as it can as Frankie prepares the second room of the three the two of you were set to do.

You don’t mind the sound of rain; you never have. You find it peaceful how it cascades down from the drains and runs in marathons down the glass. Right now, the sound trickles in through the open window, while the room is suffused with the scent of fresh paint from the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of the third pot of coffee Frankie’s been brewing.

Even if he doesn't admit it, you swear he's only making as many so he can take a moment to kiss you. To run his hands over your waist and slide them over your romper-covered ass—

“Have I told you how good your ass looks in this?”

Sipping your coffee, tasting each note of it, you reply, “Twice, actually.”

“Not enough then.”

Between acting like teenagers in a stranger’s home (including him leaving a large handprint firmly on your denim-covered ass), the paint goes on in thick strokes. You cut in, trying to match the rhythm of the song playing out on the radio—a game only you are playing to distract yourself—because the sight of Frankie using the roller is ruining you.

Unable to stop staring at the way his arms flex with each motion; how his shirt stretches out across his back to the point you're not sure how the threads haven't ripped.

“Want to see the colour for this room?”

It’s a serene shade of yellow, reminiscent of a summer’s day. It'll brighten the room, glide nicely over the old, smothering secrets and old stories, offering something new. Fitting, you think from the drive over when Frankie told you the situation.

“It's perfect.”

“Isn't it?”

Arm around his waist, fingers stroking up and down his side. “Did you pick it, Morales?”

Shyness breaks out then, smile lopsided, eyes averting before whispering, “Maybe.”

You made a note to tell him later what an eye for colour he has.

Dipping the tip of the brush in the paint tray, you swipe it against the corner where two walls meet, finding his eyes on you again.

“Stop marvelling at my paintwork and focus on your own, Morales.”

“S’not your paint skills I’m staring at.”

Smirking, you look over your shoulder at him, nose scrunching. “Who knew watching me paint was your kink.”

You like the sound of his laugh mingling with the yellow on the walls. It makes you smile wider, a thing you find yourself doing each time you refill your paint tray as torture him with your terrible singing.

The only other noise is the rain, the clink of a paint can and the rustle of plastic drop cloths as the transformation happens before your very eyes. It’s not even dried, and it already looks far better than the cigarette-stained walls and palm-covered handprints you hadn’t wanted to guess why they were there, yet had done all the same.

“Maybe he’s measuring how tall he is with his hands.”

Frankie snorts. “What if he wipes his dirty hands on the wall? Finishes his food, wipes. Gets something on his finger, wipes. Has a sticky hand—well.”

You’re about to tell him not to finish that thought, when the radio plays the beginning notes of something that steals your attention.

It hooks in the corner of your lips and drags it up your cheeks as the familiar melody of an old favourite drifts from the speakers, wrapping the space in a cosy embrace—both taking you back and rooting you here in a new memory.

You try not to, but you can’t help the movement in your hips. The way you begin whispering—hushed voice mingling with the music, filling the room with a gentle, attempted harmony as your pitch gets higher, and higher.

Then, you're swaying to the rhythm, lost in it, catching a glimpse of Frankie out of the corner of your eye as he leans against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

There's something in his eyes, you can see it. A tender look, one that makes your heart skip a beat.

But you close your eyes, and let the music carry you away, your voice rising and falling with the lyrics as they spill from your lips effortlessly. Opening your eyes at the bridge, finding him still watching, in awe, gaze unwavering.

And there's a softness there in his expression that you've never seen before, a quiet intensity that takes your breath away. It's as if the world has faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this sunshine-filled room, back-lit by a horrid stormy day.

Yet, it feels perfect.

More so as you begin to sing to him, unable to stop staring as he takes a step closer, eyes never leaving yours. His fingers slide under yours, taking the tray and brush from your hands, placing it aside as his smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners, looking at you as if you're the most precious thing in the world.

“What?”

He reaches out, gently brushing his knuckles on your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice soft and steady.

For a moment, the room seems to stand still.

A flicker of something sparks inside you. Those same words have been so close to your tongue for days now that you almost need to pinch yourself to see if you've really heard them.

But, you know you heard it. The declaration hanging in the air, weighty and profound, making the actual music fade into the background, you swear time itself pauses, allowing the enormity of his words to sink in.

Frankie slides his arm around your waist, still smiling, tugging you closer—a thing your body gives with all but ease. And he repeats it. Those three words.

This time, your heart skips a beat. Emotions swirl within you like a tempestuous sea. One that calms under the stroke of his thumb as your fingers wrapping around his wrist, drawing a soft shape there.

“I love you too, Morales.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, a grin breaking out like the sun on the walls. “I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

Then you hear it, the velvety, smooth sound of him saying good, as he kisses you to the last notes and chorus of an old, but new favourite song.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[whorety-k]

Ebony Coasts [Part 2]

I couldn't resist the allure of part two with our favorite raven man so please accept my continued rambles.

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: Cosmic Love - Florence + The Machine

“No dawn, no day / I’m always in this twilight /In the shadow of your heart.”

Warnings: Ocean mentions / potential thalassophobia, the dull horrors of an average day at the workplace

Word Count: 2k

[Part 1] [Part 3]

Submitting your report had been a frustrating endeavor with what felt like a million following questions. How many perpetrators? “What age were they?” “Why were you out alone?” “Why were there no tracks?” If you weren’t someone who so fiercely kept their word, you would have wondered if the paperwork of telling the world about the existence of mermaids was better than the droning interrogation by your supervisors. Thankfully, the excuse of nightfall and the surprising lack of CCTV around the marine protected area allowed you to actually get away with the lies you were feeding into your statements. Your submission to make that area of the beach quarantined off from the surrounding sands was approved, which you celebrated eagerly. Your reputation and knowledge definitely helped the push.

Your patience, however, could be better. You tried to return to Corvus’s beach the very next night, determined to let him know that he wasn’t going to be bothered by your agency any longer (and perhaps fully convince yourself that he was, in fact, real). You nearly missed the cave during your search; Corvus must have put more effort into concealing his newest home, as the entrance was thoroughly hidden amongst new coastal vegetation that wasn’t present the night before. 

It shouldn’t have been surprising that he was nowhere to be seen, his den left empty aside from the sloshing of water as you searched for him. Still, you were determined to gain the merman’s favor. The items you had taken from him as ‘evidence’ had unfortunately already been disposed of, so you had to resort to doing the next best thing. You left a proud silver pearl from your own trinket stash on one of the shelf-like rock formations deeper within the cavern. Seeing no other reason to stick around or snoop any longer, you headed home.

When your supervisor slaps down a manila folder detailing Corvus’s beach under the watch of you and your team, you could have hollered. You instead thank her politely before she returns to her own tasks, figuring an outburst wouldn’t have a great place in the quiet office. A quick read through the included documents and permits informs you that your team is now directly responsible for observation and maintenance of the shoreline, detailing the duties specific to you and each other member. Nothing appears to be too invasive toward your mysterious new friend– if you can call him that. 

The first week out is spent surveying. It’s a task you’re intimately familiar with at this point in your career: taking notes on the flora and fauna of the area and their current condition, measuring certain formations’ levels of erosion and wear. It’s easy to fall into a flow state and forget yourself, not finding much of note as you converse with your coworkers and strategically leave out the depth of a certain familiar structure.

On the third day of the survey, you find that you’re the only one of your team to show up. A frustrated huff leaves your lips as you withdraw your phone in haste, tapping away inquiring messages and finding out that everyone but you has a convenient case of the common cold. You roll your eyes as you pocket the device. Surveying can be incredibly boring work– you really, truly know– but it’s important for record keeping. With your hands tucked into your jacket, a pack full of equipment, and your trusty waders to keep you dry, you set off along a safe path down the cliffside. 

You reach the coastline without a hitch and set off to get started on today’s work. Time flies by as you check off each necessary task. The sun is nearly setting by the time you get around to making a routine documentation of the native succulents, when a piercing sensation of unease stops you cold. A look left or right reveals nothing of note, nothing out of place. You suppress the shiver down your spine as you kneel down and withdraw a metal pen from your backpack. Halfway through noting the species name of the invasive aizoaceae, the distinct prickle at the back of your neck becomes too much. You groan as you stand, brushing off your knees and turning around. 

A mixture of a gasp and shriek leaves your throat when you come face to face with a familiar figure standing directly at your back, startling him almost as much as he startled you. 

“Corvus–,” you choke out, placing a hand on your chest as you catch your breath. 

The merman gives you an apologetic look. His baritone voice clears the tension in the air. “My apologies; I did not intend to alarm you."

You take a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh to calm yourself, looking up at the giant before you. You offer a pacifistic hand his way as you speak, “Apology accepted, but please stop doing that. I don’t want to die of a heart attack anytime soon.”

Corvus looks at your hand with marked confusion, much the same way he did the previous week. Mirroring his previous action, he tentatively places his much larger hand over your own. “It would be unpleasant to have to dispose of your body,” the merman utters.

You give Corvus an incredulous look before it clicks that he’s making a joke. You chuckle at his words, squeezing one of the digits of his hand before placing your hands in your pockets. 

The peaceful staring contests between the two of you are starting to feel strangely comfortable as he observes you. In the waning sunlight, you get a far better look at his form than you could have in his cavern. Although still so starkly black and white, you’re able to see the muted grays and silvers speckled within his fins and scales. Looking at his fins, you notice that there’s actually quite a few more of them than you had originally observed. The dorsal fin at his back separates into a second caudal fin that wraps around the base of his tail. Two fins that would be pectoral fins on a regular fish lay at his sides just above the transition from skin to scale. Ventral fins trail below his hips at his front, obfuscating any anatomy you would have rudely just stared at. Corvus Corax has more similarities to a black betta fish than any other marine animal you could think of. 

“You gifted me a pearl.”

The sound of the merman’s voice causes you to look back up at him.

“Was there a purpose for it?” he asks, leaning down to be closer to your level. The movement only serves to reinforce just how large he is compared to you, at least twice your size.

You momentarily gather your words. “I wanted to make up for the things I took from you earlier,” you reply, “I know it doesn’t make up for the entire thing but–”

“Thank you,” Corvus interrupts, the ghost of a grin on his face. The expression is so subtle in the abyss of his almond eyes that it’s nearly invisible, but the upturn of his normally ever-frowning lips is hard to miss.

You feel your cheeks warm at the genuine show of gratitude from the giant, excitement palpitating in your chest. You reflect that smile back at him. “I’m in charge of conservation at your beach now,” you shift topics with ease, enjoying the merman’s presence as he seems to slowly open up to you, “You’ll be seeing me around a lot more often.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ll be able to leave you a few more presents from time to time.”

The way the large mer faintly perks up like an excited dog at your promise melts your heart in an instant, and you hide your disappointment when Corvus tempers himself, taking on the more solemn posture characteristic of him. “I will be grateful for each of them,” the merman responds with grace, “but perhaps refrain from using pearls in the future.”

A sinking feeling fills you. It had taken you two entire hours to decide on what you were going to give Corvus for your official ‘sorry for stealing your hoard’ offering, and it distressed you to think that he didn’t like it as much as you had thought he would. You decide to apologize. “Shit, I’m sorry. Are pearls not your thing?”

Corvus emanates a low chuckle, the first of that specific sound you had heard come from the man. It reminded you of a low drum. His answer comes warmly, “The pearl was lovely. I am rather fond of them.”

You quirk your head at him, perplexed. “Oh… okay?” Your voice raises with confusion, a silent question laced within your remark.

Corvus’s face twists with brief intensity as he struggles to determine what to say. He exhales as he looks down at his tail fin. The look on his face can only be described as bashful, and for once it isn’t you struggling to respond. He keeps his face angled away from you when he eventually explains, “I find it difficult to deny a marriage proposal from someone so well-meaning.”

If your cheeks had only been warm before, they could make the sun itself shy away now. You gawk at him like a fish (a surprising twist of events, as the human in the situation), stammering as embarrassment quickly floods through your nervous system. 

Both of you share the awkward moment unable to figure out a suitable response, Corvus cringing at his words and you hastily trying to apologize. 

“I am grateful for your interest,” Corvus finally says in an attempt to ease the tension, “but I am not one to make such decisions hastily, so please allow me to ponder it.”

Words finally claw their way out of your throat. “I wasn’t trying to propose!” you accidentally bellow, making Corvus jump. You wrangle your emotions in, exerting visible force, before you continue. Your voice levels out, “...I just wanted to give you something back. They threw everything I took from you away already, so I couldn’t retrieve anything.”

Corvus’s expression is unreadable as he turns his head to fully look at you, mouth slightly agape. His lips seal and he nods, seeming relieved and… something else? “That greatly simplifies things,” is his short response.

You place your hands at the side of your head, grumbling, “Is there anything else I need to know about gifting you so I don’t accidentally, I don’t know, curse your family and insult your bloodline?”

The attempt at humor eases the giant in front of you and earns another soft chuckle. When he makes to lay upon his chest, the pink of the setting sun reflects off of the scant silver scales along his body. He settles upon his elbows, one clawed hand resting upon the other. A Corvus-sized trail in the wet sand behind him comes into view before you decide to sit down beside him, crossing your legs and resting your elbows on your knees. Corvus examines how your legs move with curiosity, shifting his tail into a more comfortable loose curl. It protects you from any of the more ambitious waves that travel up the beach. 

“Any genuine token from you will be received positively,” the merman states.

You nod appreciatively to him, then turn your attention back to your previous task. As the sun dips below the horizon, you take the tranquil moment to finish up your survey notes, jotting down the remaining information about the invasive flora. Corvus’s eyes focus on your work, and he shifts closer to observe it. You complete your statement and shut your notebook with a dull thump, placing it at your side and clicking your writing utensil shut. When you shift to grab your backpack from behind you, your gaze lands on the jet merman. Even with his stony exterior, you can see how plainly his ebony eyes transfix upon the silver pen.

“...No.”

“Pardon?”

“You can’t have my pen.”

Corvus pouts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm absolutely whipped for this man and already thinking about making this a slow burn series for the month of May.

Also if anyone has any feedback, please to tell!! I enjoy everything from constructive criticism to incoherent keyboard mashing and your tags keep me inspired.

Until next time, my loves <3

[Part 3]

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what’s mine is yours

synopsis. suguru is a good best friend—he shares everything. just this once, he shares you too

word count. 2.1k (it's short i promise)

contents. fem! reader, reader is suguru's girlfriend, minors do not interact, virgin satoru <3, cuckolding, fingering, safe sex (who am i ?? jk suguru would not let satoru hit raw lol), petnames (princess, baby, and sweetheart), suguru teaching satoru how to fuck <3

notes. dash pls look away. i am horny at 1 am

satoru, for all his big talk and loud front all these years, is still a virgin. suguru finds it a tad bit funny—but out of the kindness of his heart, he decides to help his best friend change that.

how? you, of course.

“be careful how you handle her,” suguru says with a sly smile, “she’s still my girlfriend—and i have to take care of her. isn’t that right, baby?” his gaze turns to you, finger stroking your cheek gently as you whimper.

“so wet,” satoru mumbles, fingers sinking curiously into your dripping cunt, flexing slowly to pump in and out of you as you whine. his fingers are long, maybe longer than suguru’s—but not nearly as skilled.

“yeah?” suguru chuckles, “bet you like that, huh? careful though, satoru—don’t get used to this. she’s still mine.”

suguru, the ever gracious best friend, has always been one to share. he decides perhaps he can extend the favor to include his girlfriend too—but you’re precious, sweet and kind and oh so doting. he can’t share you permanently. no, it’s a one time thing—after that, satoru will have to find his own perfect little pussy to savor.

“you really get all of this? all to yourself?” satoru marvels, thumbing your clit as you gasp, your hand reaching over to clutch at suguru’s pants. his hand rests over yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he hums soothingly.

“yeah,” your boyfriend grins, “every day. whenever i want. right, baby?”

“uh huh,” you nod—and then you cut yourself off with a squeal when satoru’s fingertips brush against that sweet spot deep within your walls, making you flutter around him with a tight squeeze. he doesn’t find it as easily as suguru, doesn’t know how to angle and curl the tips of his fingers when he sinks into you.

and fuck, satoru thinks, suguru is so damn lucky.

“she’s a vocal one,” he chuckles, “you’ve been living the dream.”

“you should hear her when you use your mouth,” suguru chuckles—how embarrassing. you want to crawl onto his lap and hide away in his neck, hide away from satoru’s eyes that are watching you so carefully. satoru has good eyes—the best, even.

but you also like it. for some reason, when his eyes stare down at you with a darkened shade of blue you’ve never seen before, you feel the slick pooling from your core, smearing down your thighs and glossing over his fingers, wetter than ever.

satoru has that effect on people—even if he is a bit inexperienced.

“do i get to do that too?” he asks, sending your boyfriend a lopsided smirk.

suguru raises a brow, tightening his hand’s grip on yours before grunting a low, “don’t get ahead of yourself, satoru.”

“you said it yourself, suguru,” he chuckles, “what’s mine is yours.”

“not her,” suguru growls. and then, sweetly, he turns to you before pecking your forehead with a gentleness he keeps for only you. “you ready, princess?”

“princess,” satoru repeats thoughtfully, “yeah i guess you’re a bit of a princess, aren’t ya?”

“p-please,” you sniffle, tugging on suguru’s wrist, “need more, sugu.”

“yeah? he’s not doing his job, is he?” suguru pouts in sympathy, but his eyes are laced with amusement—like he’s enjoying the show in front of him. you’re sure he is, if the throbbing erection he sports is of any hint.

“hey,” satoru gasps, wounded, “i’m doing exactly what you told me—”

“here,” suguru throws him a condom, cutting him off, “put that on. you’re out of your mind if you think you’re feeling her. that’s only for me.”

“fine,” satoru huffs. you watch as he rolls the condom over his neglected cock—it’s red, swollen and aching, flushed at the tip and drooling with pre cum as he hisses when his hand wraps around it.

it’s pretty, you’ll give him that. satoru isn’t as thick as suguru, but he makes up for it by being a bit longer. he curves a bit with a thick vein running along the underside of his cock, balls heavy as they hang painfully, achingly full. he’s neatly trimmed—messy white strands of hair unlike suguru’s dark ones. you don’t know which one you prefer, if you could even pick one of you had to.

you watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his mouth parts with a low gasp when he accidentally teases the tip a bit as he clumsily works the rubber over himself. he’s sensitive at the head—just like suguru. gives those sweet little breathy whimpers when his slit is thumbed at. it’s cute, you think, maybe not as cute as suguru—but it’s still pretty adorable.

“go slow when you go in,” suguru warns, “if you hurt her, i’ll kill you.”

“she’s tough, she can take it,” satoru pats your cheek with a sly grin, “aren’t you, princess?”

“watch it, satoru,” you hear suguru growl, “don’t get too comfortable.”

“aw, it’s all in good fun, right? she’s taking it so well.”

you do take it well—you let satoru’s fingers play with your for ages, let him learn where to find that sensitive spot is in the back of your walls, let him rub your clit slowly—even if you ache for those fast circles suguru always gifts you with. and now, you’re even letting him slide into you, slowly but surely, inching his hardened cock into your impatiently wet cunt with agonizing patience.

“that feel good, baby?” suguru asks you once satoru’s buried to the hilt, splitting you almost in two as you breathe unevenly and nod. and satoru? well, he’s not faring any better—grit teeth and clenched jaw, panting harshly as he focuses on not cumming right then and there.

you’re tight—way tighter than his hand, and way warmer too. fuck suguru for making him wear the condom, and fuck suguru for landing such a perfect pussy too. he doesn’t know how he’s meant to go back to using his fist after a taste of this.

“you can move now—go slow at first, and then go faster when she’s close. she likes that. and don’t forget this,” suguru’s hand travels to your clit, giving a soft little pat that makes you whimper before he rubs it with those quick circles you love so much. “she likes when you touch this too. they all do—so when you get yourself your own girl to fuck, make sure you remember that.”

“i know what the clit is,” satoru grumbles, “i’ve watched porn, y’know.”

“i bet,” suguru chuckles, “is this your first time seeing a clit in person? pretty, isn’t it? everything about her is pretty.”

“suguru,” you whine in embarrassment, burying your head back into the pillow as much as you can, “you talk so much.”

“baby,” he insists, “someone has to humble him. he’s all bark and no bite.”

“i can too bite,” satoru grunts—and to prove it, he angles his hips to pull out, almost completely, before thrusting back into you. you cry out—clutching suguru’s hand tightly as your tits bounce. satoru let’s out a choked moan, gasping as you squeeze around his sensitive cock, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure.

it’s so good. suguru has it so good. you’re so good—perfect, even.

“f-fuck, more, need more,” you sob, and because suguru can’t help himself, his hand grabs at your tit, pinching and tugging at your nipple as he lets you squeeze his other hand in yours. “please, please—faster.”

“you heard her,” suguru hums, “she needs it faster.”

satoru’s good at fucking you—for his first time, he’s got your back arching and toes curling rather quickly. the blunt head of his cock brushes against your sweet spot with ease, long and curved enough to nudge against it with every roll of his hips. of course, no one knows how to fuck you until you see stars like suguru—but he comes to a close second.

your gasps have turned into long, wanton moans, and satoru moans in sync, head falling next to yours on the pillow as his breath fans over your shoulder with every harsh pant. his hips are rutting into you, slamming desperately as he feels you squeeze around him with every deep thrust. you can hear the squelching sound of your arousal as he bullies into your dripping cunt, smeared along the insides of your thighs. it’s messy, it’s rushed, it’s desperate and it feels so, so good.

satoru has never felt this good—and you? well….you have to admit you’ve never felt like this before either. it’s new, maybe not better, but certainly not worse.

“oh, fuck,” satoru groans, voice cracking as he whines against your shoulder, “f-fuck your so tight—‘s so good. so, so good….’m not g-gonna last much longer.”

“are you close, baby?” suguru strokes your cheek, watching as your eyes squeeze and your face twists in pleasure, “can’t have him be the only one cumming. that’s no good.”

“close! ‘m…’m so close, sugu. gonna cum,” you gasp as you nod.

if satoru wasn’t so lost on the feeling of your tight walls constricting around him, fluttering so perfectly that he almost feels like he can’t move, he might have protested that you addressed suguru and not him—he’s the one fucking you after all. it should be him you’re telling that you’re close, not your boyfriend. just because suguru is your boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s the one who gets to bear the reward for making you cum.

right now, that’s satoru.

“aw c’mon, sweetheart, you’re gonna—o-oh, shit,” he cuts himself off with a breathy moan, “you’re gonna make me cry. say my name too, yeah?”

“satoru,” suguru warns lowly.

“see? jus’ like that. yeah, pretty? say it just how suguru did,” satoru, murmurs against your ear, biting your earlobe softly.

your hand, much to suguru’s dismay, tugs from his grasp so your arms can wrap around satoru’s neck and cling to his large figure as he towers over you, fucking you mercilessly. his pace is frenzied now—that steady ache building up in his throbbing length is about to burst, and that coil in your belly feels like it’ll snap any second too.

“s-satoru, please—‘m c-close, so close,” you mewl, “wanna cum.”

he grins, blue eyes raking over your body as his thumb finds your clit and rubs harshly over it in that way you’ve been craving.

“yeah? you close, pretty? ‘s good to hear. i am too,” he murmurs lowly, finishing the sentence off with a shaky gasp as you squeeze around him.

and then you fall over the edge—he sends you hurtling into your high before you can ever register it. it’s new, satoru thinks—it makes his hips stutter for a second when he feels you spasm around his cock like that, sucking him in and squeezing around him enough that he chokes on a whimper and cums right then and there too. he thinks it’s a miracle he held out just long enough to cum after you, thanking anyone who’s listened to his prayers of lasting. it’s almost impossible not to finish immediately with how your walls hug around his length.

by now, his hips have lost any rhythm they might’ve had before, sloppily rutting into you as he desperately rides out his orgasm, thick ropes of cum spilling into the condom that separates him from fully feeling your warmth. he’s sensitive—his cock is throbbing even as he lets go of that built up tension in the form of white, hot release. you milk him until he’s almost certain he’s got nothing left to give, dry and worn out from the way you pulse so harshly around him.

“so good—m-make me feel so good,” satoru breathes in wonder as he finishes, thumb slowing itself along your clit before his body slumps over yours.

it’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s a mess of limbs as he rests over you, still quivering over your body from the aftershocks of his orgasm. it’s earth shattering—how you make him feel. has he really been missing out on this all this time?

“you’re heavy,” you grumble, patting at his shoulder. he chuckles into your neck, catching his breath.

“yeah? heavier than suguru?”

“i’m careful enough to collapse next to her,” suguru mutters from the side.

“fuck, that was amazing,” satoru rolls over, sprawling himself on the mattress next to you, chest heaving as he breathes, “i see why suguru spoils you so much. you keep him happy, huh?”

“oh yes,” suguru drawls, eyes narrowing. gently, he grabs your wrist and tugs at you, making you sit up as you eye the bulge in his pants and the large wet spot of pre cum staining the fabric. “you’ll see just how happy she makes me in a second here—she’s good with her mouth too.”

idk what possessed me to write this i rly don't. all i know is i want them both carnally

NO PART TWO — please STOP commenting that

[screeching-bunny]

Yandere! Jock pt. 2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Pt.1

Yandere! Jock was in a really bad mood today. First off you didn’t answer his good morning text or show up to school. He’s been worried about you all day! He honestly can’t stand being away from you for this long. He just feels so lonely without your presence. The entire time he’s ignored and neglected his jock friends due to his thoughts of you. No amount of coaxing from his peers can get him out of the mini depression that he is currently in right now.

Right now, he’s in his last class staring at the clock and ready to storm out of the school doors. His foot tapped with the rhythm of the ticking clock. Honestly, where could you be and the audacity of you to just ignore his barging number texts! He looks so lost without you and has been moping around the entire day.

The moment he hears the final school bell ring he just books it. From a distance you can hear someone shout to him “Where are you going? We have practice today!” Yeah, he was definitely going to get an earful from his coach when he got back. He’s been ditching practice so much lately just to hang out with you. To the point that his teammates and his coach force you to watch him practice so that he could stay.

Moving back to Yandere! Jock, he was currently on his way to your house. If he knew that you were going to skip today he totally would have stayed at your house with you. Nothing compares to the pleasure of being near you 24/7. That’s basically the only reason why he goes to school everyday.

When he makes it to your house he takes out a spare key that you have given him. He’s been to your house so often that your parents no longer get surprised when he stays over for weeks on end. As he goes into your home he likes to fantasize that the two of you are a married couple and say dumb cheesy things like “Honey, I’m home” Hearing no response from you he quickly makes his way to your room and knocks on your door.

On the other side of the door he can hear the faint sound of you shuffling out of your bed and getting up. He almost starts to coo at the sight of you rubbing your eyes and the sight of your red little nose. Turns out that you were sick and sleeping for the entire day. His heart starts to melt due to the sound of your sneeze and small voice.

Soon it finally registers on his pea sized brain that you were sick. WAIT, YOU WERE SICK!!! Oh no, Yandere! Jock goes into complete panic mode and it’s literally code red for him. He’s treating your common cold as if it were a fatal disease. He is instantly ushering you back into your bed and scolding you for not texting him that you were sick. If he had known, he would have dropped everything just to take care of you for the entire day.

He immediately starts massaging your temples in hopes that it would decrease your headache and lord forgive that you tell him that you haven’t eaten lunch yet. He was honestly about to have a heart attack when you first said that. He’s already down back into the kitchen ready to make a 5 course meal just for you. In order for his darling to be healthy, they first need a balanced meal.

The minute he finishes cooking, he starts spoon feeding you, your meal. It doesn’t matter if you protest that, he is not letting you move a single limb. Besides, what if your muscles are too weak to properly hold a spoon and you hurt yourself? He is absolutely taking no risks no matter how dumb they may seem. Everything that you need will be taken care of by him. He’s even willing to carry you over to places in your house. Honestly, if anything that is just for the benefit and satisfaction of himself.

After lunch, Yandere! Jock lays in your bed and proceeds to watch a movie with you by his side. It just feels so in place to be snuggled up with you under the covers as he rambles on about his day. He feels so at peace and can’t stop looking at how adorable you are. Believes that he is the luckiest man alive to be blessed with your presence on a daily basis.

As the movie comes to its climax he can feel your body relax and snuggle deeper into him. The peaceful look on your face is so wholesome to him and makes him think that maybe you getting sick isn’t such a bad thing after all. I mean, if everyday is like this then he doesn’t mind if you get sick more often.

The minute that you recover from your illness he is getting sick the next day. You’ll have to take care of him or else he’ll whine the entire day about you needing to return the favor. It is honestly such a win for him. It feels as if he’s just died and gone to heaven. Would totally get sick on purpose next time so that he can get the same treatment again. Too bad he’s going to have a lot of homework to make up for.

[daybrightsims]

Alright, they've lived in my brain too long; Time to air out my thoughts about the polyamory in BG3

To give a little context: I am currently ethically non-monogamous with my primary partner of almost 7 years. I am not a monolith of thought when it comes to polyamory/ENM/open relationships. These are my own personal thoughts and feelings. I've also completed the game with Astarion and Halsin romanced. Spoilers ahead, read at your own risk.

TL;DR - I don't share the current opinion of whether or not Astarion is okay with Tav pursuing Halsin and the discourse around his agency and choices in the relationship are bumming me out and frustrating me.

I am getting increasingly frustrated about the conversation about Astarion being polyamorous/okay with Tav being with Halsin in the game, primarily because I think a lot of the "think pieces" are coming from 1) monogamous people who have only ever been monogamous, 2) monogamous people who have been burned/cheated on/forced into polyamory by a partner (I feel for ya'll, that wasn't okay), 3) people who are very VERY protective of Astarion, and 4) people who are blatantly uncomfortable with polyamory. My goal is not to invalidate anyone's experiences, but to share an alternate perspective.

I do think that Astarion is not only okay, but happy with Tav dating Halsin. I glean this from how he responds to being poly with ANY OTHER companion. If you ask him to share with literally anyone else, he will say no and give his reason.

Gale: He doesn’t want to be in a love triangle (which with Gale, it would be).

Lae’zel: He’s uncomfortable and Lae’zel would kill him (also true).

Wyll: He knows Wyll is old fashioned and monogamous.

Karlach: He knows Karlach’s feelings for you are strong and he doesn’t want to stand in the way of that (he even says he’d be cool with an arrangement but knows Karlach will need all of your affection based on what she’s been through).

Shadowheart: He would be cool IF Shadowheart had more experience and ya’ll were together longer. But he knows Shadowheart is fragile in her current state.

Minthara: He REALLY doesn’t like this idea and will dump you immediately.

I did also see that ***SPOILER*** they updated or are updating some of the spawn Astarion language to have issues with your affair with Mizora should you pursue it, and it requires a persuasion/deception role to keep you two together.

Up to this point in your relationship with Astarion, he has become more comfortable voicing his opinions and concerns with you. He is learning to value his autonomy and his non-physical relationships. He will tell you when he doesn’t want to do something. In fact, he’ll break up with you over pushing his boundaries. He is fine with you pursuing the Drow twins and fine with you sleeping with Haarlep, even comforts you when Haarlep uses your form. So when he says he is okay with you pursuing Halsin, he means it. Yes, he voices his insecurity with you that you may be pursuing Halsin because you and he haven’t had sex in a while. But he acknowledges that Halsin has experience in this arrangement and doesn’t pose a threat to your relationship. Plus, if you kiss Halsin in front of him, he’ll say “don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying the show.”

To me, the idea that this is the ONE thing that Astarion doesn't have agency over in an arc of showing he can speak up for himself is you sleeping with Halsin is an idea that takes more agency from Astarion. He is a grown man. A 240 YEAR OLD man. That trauma he's endured does not mean he needs to be babied or coddled because he can't make his own choices. I think that's an unfair assumption to put on him that Halsin and Tav being together is the ONLY thing he can't enforce his boundaries on.

If he didn't want you to be with Halsin, he would say no like every other monogamous character in the game.

If you want a good example of someone saying yes just because they want to keep you, look at Karlach. You can tell she is HEARTBROKEN when you ask her, but she says “I don’t want to lose you”. That is not an enthusiastic participant in a polyamorous relationship. Astarion says “yeah, go for it! Just give me some reassurance”. Polyamory is not immune to insecurity. I've asked for reassurance in my own relationships and so has my primary partner. That’s not unenthusiastic. That’s realistic as shit. If you ask him about the relationship after you finish his questline, he doesn’t need reassurance because you’re having sex again. That’s also super realistic.

Am I sensitive to this as someone who practices ENM? Almost certainly. It's hard to see a lifestyle I live be villainized and claimed to be "forced" onto characters. I was actually really excited that I could pursue both Astarion and Halsin, and that Halsin places so much importance on consent and not misleading your partner. And it sucks SOO much to see one of my favorite characters be reduced to "oh, he's only doing it because he's afraid to lose Tav." It makes me almost feel bad for liking the interactions between them and enjoying to option. Do I think people mean to make me or other poly people feel bad? No.

But it does.

Headcanons are headcanons. I get it. People are absolutely allowed to interpret the poly aspect of BG3 how they want to. People are allowed to feel uncomfy with how it's portrayed and not pursue it. But it still bums a queer ENM Astarion and Halsin lover out.

Now excuse me whilst I live out my Astarion x Halsin x Tav polycule fantasies in the form of fanfiction.

[starwrighter]

1/?? Halloween prompt

I’ve got brain rot for creepy Deadserious content but only when it’s only seen as creepy by outsiders. (I know I’m writing a fic with a similar plot but it’s different I swear! Also my grammar is shit because I’m getting dental work done tomorrow and I’m nervous) Tw for stalker behavior

So Damian has a crush on Danny and immediately goes about acting on these feelings much to onlookers horror. Danny is swooning because someone made the effort to do a background check on him. Danny thinks Damian doing this is really smart because, he could be a serial killer for ancients sake why would you risk that? Others say this is a horrible invasion of privacy.

Damian not realizing he's being creepy (being liminal and being an ex assassin, turned vigilante wasn't doing him any favors) Plus Danny also not realizing it's creepy unless you relay Damian behavior towards him with different names.

Damian's just being a textbook stalker, breaking into his house and shit and Danny's all like "awwww he likes me" because this is just normal ghostly courting rituals! His dormroom isn't his lair so Damian breaking in doesn't feel like he's violating any sort of boundary. To him it's like a friend showing up at the coffee shop you work at to say hi.

Danny's had stalkers before, he's very cautious of his behavior to insure he never stalked anyone. Being stalked back in Amity was a horrific experience for him. From cameras in the locker rooms at school (wes) to cameras in his bathroom and bedroom at home (Vlad)! He couldn't feel safe anywhere! To Danny Damian's not a stalker, he's his protector. Nobody seems to understand when he tries to explain this though they just look at him like he's lost his mind.

Damian’s not subtle at all and Danny’s kicking his feet like a lovesick school girl who found out her crush likes her back. Overall it’s super cute from their points of view Damian’s planning an official confession to ask him on a date while Danny’s trying to figure out if Damian actually likes him or is just being nice. They’re just doing normal couple things but people just jump and attack Damian’s character while painting Danny as some kind of brainwashed victim.

The thing is… Danny’s become very good at appearing normal while Damian refuses to pretend to be a bumbling idiot like the rest of his family. He also refuses to dull down his personality for anything other than secret identity reasons. For these reasons since their relationship had become public, Damian had been painted by the media as a creepy possessive boyfriend who threatened Danny into a relationship. This infuriates Danny, the only one doing any kind of possession is him god damn it!

They want to be around each other all the time and that’s normal behavior for ghost/liminal couples! They live much longer than regular humans do they’re like elves, their perceptions of time are messed up. They still spend time apart they still have hobbies and an independent life, people just get hung up on the amount of time they do spend together. It’s normal behavior for them to know mountains of information about each others interests to the point they almost know more than each other. It’s normal to know each other’s schedules and background check the people they associate with. (The realms are very dangerous with shapeshifters and manipulators like spectra and Desiree who can ruin your afterlife in a matter of minutes) Their relationship is creepy to those who haven’t gone to extremes to survive.

Damian has taken to ignoring the reputation press has given him. He’s dealt with paparazzi and tabloids before it’s just frustrating to deal with. It’s when people start accusing him of hurting his beloved that really pisses him off.

(Bonus if Danny’s the one frothing at the mouth to maul a reporter while they try to paint him as a poor innocent victim)

I’mma end the prompt with this so everyone understands why Damian specifically being targeted by press. The more liminal you are the more creepy/uncanny you appear to other people and the more effort you have to put in to hide it. It’s why the bats are more believed to be Eldritch creatures than actual humans in suits. Surprisingly becoming a Halfa completely changes this effect to do the complete opposite. It’s easier for the human brain to look at a halfa and think “Innocent or normal,” Vlad and Danny were morons when it came to actually hiding their identity’s it was only their statuses as halfa’s that prevented people from comprehending them being anything other than normal.

In short Damian’s too dead to be perceived as normal while Danny’s too alive to be perceived as anything other than normal.

[pshcomforts]

➳ say you won’t let go | pjs.

idol!jay x fem!reader

“i’m so in love with you, and i hope you know”

synopsis: you dream that jay cheated on you, and he comforts you.

warnings/content: written in third pov. small angst in the beginning but fluffy ending! jay’s husband material! not proofread. cursing.

comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)

word count: 1.8k

a/n: birthday post for jay <33 and a special one for my jay stans out there :)

༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚

current song playing: say you won’t let go by james arthur

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

2:02 ─────────────|────── -1:29

“don’t do this jay, it’s not what you want..,” y/n’s trembling voice spoke as she felt her heart shattering with every moment of truth.

was this the real reason he always came home late?

she heard her boyfriend give a scoff.

“not what i want? how would you know that when you didn’t even know i was cheating on you?” jay darkly chuckled, laughing in disbelief of her pitiful plead.

“you’re pathetic y/n… really,” he spat out with a sinful grin.

his sharp words pierced into her like a knife in the back. tears quickly ran down her cheeks like no other, feeling her body get heavier as she felt like she was running out of breath.

with a call to the heart, something shouted inside her to open her eyes, to leave this dreadful scene she was stuck in.

and she did so, but she woke up in a different atmosphere.

. *₊ ° . ☆

y/n’s eyes shot open, quickly sitting up in the dark room as heavy breaths were taken.

it was a dream, a nightmare in fact.

tears still continued to stream down her cheeks though as she tried calming herself down with a 5’11 boy shuffling around.

“it was a dream..,” she shakily mumbled to herself, calming her heart rate with its loud pounding in her ears.

the sleepy male took notice of her sitting up, small sniffles heard as she tried silencing herself.

“y/n? you okay?” jay’s groggy grumble of a voice spoke, eyes trying to make out the figure in distress.

it hadn’t been too long since he arrived home late from rehearsals, so his body was still draining him back to sleep.

she didn’t respond though. her throat was dry, voice almost too hoarse to speak with her body still shaking from the horrifying nightmare.

“hey darling, what’s wrong?” he softly murmured after taking in that she wasn’t answering back.

jay finally sat up as well with blinking eyes to get a better look at her.

“y/n?” he called out again, careful in his every movement as his hands reached towards her face, attempting to try and relieve her at once.

the girl sniffled, finally coming to meet her boyfriend’s face with soft tears and puffy lids that showed her concern.

his heart instantly sank at the sight, wondering what had happened while he was asleep.

it struck him awake, eyes no longer blinking from the exhaustion of waking up as he went closer to her.

“hey hey hey, what’s wrong love? did you have a bad dream?” jay sweetly questioned, wiping away her tears while patiently waiting for her to catch her breath from the tiring cries.

after seconds of waiting, he finally got his answer with a nod — “yeah… i had a dream that you..,” her voice stopped for a second, pain caught in her throat as she strived to finish her sentence — “.. cheated on me.”

the male’s jaw dropped once her words processed.

cheat? on someone like her?

his breath was kicked out of his lungs with the frowning thought that he would do such a thing to the girl he loved.

“y/n..,” he softly whispered before pulling her into a warming hug.

✩ ‘i pulled you closer to my chest’ ✩

it healed her in every way possible, giving reassurance that he would never dare to do anything remotely close — but even then, he knew he could do more with his words.

as they hugged, he prompted, “i would never cheat on you. i would have to be the dumbest fucking guy alive to betray a special girl who’s worth keeping like you.”

he stopped, shakily sighing as he hated his dream self for cheating. “i wouldn’t even forgive myself if i pulled that crap, please know that i promise to never make you go through that in real life.”

jays grasp around her body was tighter as the thought of cheating was truthfully striking him as well.

his girls eyes closed to reel in the loving presence of it all while smiling.

of course she knew he wouldn’t do such a thing, but the utter shock of the dream being so real had her in a trance.

“i know you wouldn’t jay, everything just felt so real.” she confirmed, rubbing his back with her hands as she was comforting him now.

the two finally pulled away after her words, tears still lightly falling down her face as the boy wiped them away again. they stared at each other, both equally melting at the sight of their idiots in love.

with jay’s hands still holding her cheeks, he pulled her closer by the tug of them. leaning in closer as well while kissing where her tears dropped, giving a comforting reassurance within each one as he let out soft whispers of nicknames he’d always call her — ‘gorgeous,’ ‘love,’ ‘darling,’ ‘my girl.’

✩ ‘just say you won’t let go’ ✩

y/n’s eyes were kept close as her face scrunched from the micro-aggressive kisses she received on the other end.

with the last kiss being on her forehead, the two tucked back into bed.

the smitten male rested his chin on top of her head as his arms were wrapped around her body, bringing her in closer for a fond matter of consolation.

y/n relaxed all at once, body feeling fatigue in the radiating comfort brought by her boyfriend.

the two stayed in the same position throughout the night, then dawn soon peaked into the curtains, awakening jay first.

he grinned ear from ear at the sight of his pretty girl still sound asleep. his hands reached out to her face and lightly moved her hair strands around, careful to not scare her as he admired her gorgeous facial features.

with small shuffle movements made, y/n’s eyes peeked open at the glimpse of jay in a messy hairstyle caressing her own hair.

“morning darling,” his deep, beautiful voice bellowed while a smile crept onto her face. “how are you feeling?”

“just great, baby.”

the two dumbly smiled at each other as they stayed gazing into one another before finally sitting up.

“last night was something, wasn’t it?” jay joked, slightly laughing at his own joke, leaving her to only roll her eyes playfully.

“jongseong!” y/n exclaimed his government name, letting the arm closest to him fly up and send a smack to the tall man.

he chuckled with the laugh, the opposite arm quickly reaching over to his other side as he uttered — “ah! my arm! you hurt it!! after what i did last night.”

she laughed at his stupid action before she automatically tried to send another hit to him, only to be stopped by her very own boyfriend.

his hands ran to hers first, getting a hold of her left wrist before getting her right when she attempted the other side.

“jay!” she whined.

his arms fully took control of hers now as she tried to wiggle her way out but couldn’t do much.

the handsome boy’s laughs were echoed throughout the apartment, smile widening with his body toppling over hers. he pinned her wrists down on each side of her head.

jay’s fluffy, black hair was now hanging down as his girl huffed out a defeated sigh once she had realized she had no way out.

his lips curled in satisfaction at his victory.

“you still gonna hit me?” he mocked, a smirk coming on as the smile left.

y/n still tried to wiggle and move around but ultimately gave up.

“jay.. this is no fun!” her whiny voice rang in his ears as he felt his heart flutter upon the thought of her.

“give me a kiss and i’ll let you go.”

she scoffed at the oldest line in the playbook.

“jay.., really? a kiss?”

but he didn’t budge with her words, just a simple nod given as he started to lean in closer.

the distance between their faces started to close once he reached further for the kissable lips.

but the girl turned away in a playful manner, leaving jay to pout as he sternly looked at her.

“morning breath…,” she murmured, using it as an excuse.

jay scoffed out a smile, flashing a smirk with her lame attempt.

“i don’t care, i want those pretty lips on mine right now.”

before she could prolong any further, he quickly crashed his lips against hers, not giving her time to think or react.

he roughly moved, pushing for a reciprocating touch but only ever so slightly to keep it sweet. his hands then let go of her wrists, one hand closer to the head and the other on her jaw to kiss her better.

y/n smiled into it, allowing her boyfriend to feel her lips curl as she loved how he kissed. her hands automatically ran to his hair, fingers roaming through each strand in return.

the two shared a sweet moment before he finally pulled away with half-moon crescent shaped eyes.

he was definitely love-struck.

✩ ‘you make me feel this way somehow’ ✩

jay quickly ran his hands to her waist, giving small tickles to her body as she was taken back by it.

“jay, no!!” she yelled, laughing and crying from the ticklish movements her boyfriend did while he enjoyed her giggles.

he laughed along as her hands continued to try and swat away the man’s hands.

“please, jay!” she yelled again, laughing uncontrollably from the continuous feather touches.

when he felt like he teased enough, he stopped with an undeniable grin plastered across his face.

the only thing heard were their giggles they shared as he couldn’t help but feel endorphins run through his body.

after her laughs ran out, she mumbled the word — ‘jackass’ — to him as a joke, causing jay to chortle out more laughter.

y/n rolled her eyes, secretly enjoying his loud laughs. he just couldn’t contain his excitement in hearing her joy.

only she could get him in this melting state.

“whatever,” she jokingly mumbled, smacking his arm again as she stared intently at the handsome man who was still uglily laughing.

after seconds, jay finally stopped with his chuckles dying out in the room.

y/n and him stayed locked in eyes, both coming to a daze of how lucky they were to have each other before he decided he would cook breakfast.

“do you need any help?” she offered.

jay furiously shook his head as he responded, “no it’s fine darling, just stay in bed and i’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

he placed a long and sweet kiss on her cheek before leaving to the kitchen to whip up something delicious.

“my forever half..,” y/n whispered as she comforted herself back into bed. her heart was full and her mind was filled with her boyfriend, and his acts of service.

she didn’t know how she was able to find someone as amazing as jay.

though the boy was an idol and had a busy schedule, he still made sure he had time for her.

he always did.

✩ ‘i’m gonna love you till my lungs give out’ ✩

they were still young, but that didn’t mean jay wasn’t already thinking of a future with his favorite girl.

✩ ‘but i wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old’ ✩

they wouldn’t ever let each other go.

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | part 2 | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: after your town goes into lockdown because of the cherry bomb massacre, you find out that the murderer's interest is on you. eventually, you’re left with no choice but to face him.

genre: horror/slasher, angst, smut, college!au

word count: 13.7k

warnings: major character deaths, gaslighting, hallucinations, anxiety/paranoia, grief, trauma, violence (including knife and gun use), torture, blood, gore, descriptions of dead bodies, a funeral scene, fuckboy!JK, oral (fem receiving), fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, cumplay(?), hair-pulling

a/n: this part is quite rougher than the first, so heed the warnings. same notes as the last part—not meant to be entirely realistic since this *is* a slasher. block/filter as needed. i didn’t mention this in part 1 but this fic is not set in present day; more like somewhere in the 2000s? i don’t think this fic would work as well with all this advanced technology/the prevalence of social media now

...also, i had this story all written out and then decided to completely change the plot at the last minute because i figured out a way to write the original plot i had wanted to do from the beginning. 💀 yeah…just leave your thoughts below

taglist is at the very bottom of the fic—for some reason i wasn't able to tag everyone who requested, so please reblog this fic so folks can see it

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 1

you’re standing in front of some stranger’s house in the early hours of the morning, your body heavy from exhaustion as your adrenaline has run out. this is not at all how you expected your night to end when you left your dorm hours ago. it must’ve taken at least 40 minutes to get to this house, and you’re less familiar with this part of town, which you try not to feel uneasy about. you suppose the farther away from the scene of the carnage, the better.

jungkook bangs on the door, calling out the name yoongi-hyung until the porch light comes on. though it’s illogical, you’re tense with apprehension that the murderer could somehow appear at any moment, and you hope whoever yoongi is lets the both of you in soon. so much for no longer looking over your shoulder.

a man with hair just as long as jungkook’s answers the door, looking disheveled and annoyed. “why the fuck are you banging down my door at nearly 2 am—"

yoongi stops speaking as he eyes the both of you up and down, his gaze going from the bite mark bruises you left on jungkook’s neck to the dried blood on your face to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. his expression is between surprise and curiosity. “what the fuck is going on here?”

“can we talk inside?” jungkook says, though he doesn’t wait for an invitation before pushing his way past the other man and stepping inside.

“uh…hi. sorry.” you step inside too, glad to not be out in the open anymore.

yoongi takes another look outside the door at the state of jungkook’s car before closing and locking it. “mind explaining this shit? i thought you were going to that party you told me about?

“i did,” jungkook says, his voice full of frustration. “the fucking killer showed up at the party.”

“the fuck are you talking about?”

“you know what i’m talking about. that werewolf-masked freak? he came and just started stabbing people to death. we watched him shoot a fraternity member in front of us, dude. that’s why my car looks the way it does.”

“the campus is probably dangerous,” you add. “that’s why we came here. we just need somewhere safe to stay for the night.”

yoongi goes to the window and draws back the curtain. he peeks out the small holes in the side of the blinds rather than pushing the blinds down to look outside. “and you’re certain he didn’t follow you here? i thought he only killed virgins anyway. why the hell was he shooting at you?” then yoongi turns away from the window and looks at you. “oh. is this why?”

feeling put on the spot, you blurt out: “look, i don’t think that matters much anymore. he seemed to be killing anybody who was in his way.”

“and he was on foot the whole time, so there’s no way he could’ve followed us,” jungkook adds.

yoongi shakes his head and walks away from the window. “whole town is fucked, then. come on.”

you’re relieved to be able to scrub the blood off your face and change into fresh clothes. you initially thought it was peculiar that yoongi had spare clothes ready for you to wear until he alluded to keeping them on hand for any of jungkook’s hookups that he brings over.

“sure—of course.” you’d just nodded and tried not to look embarrassed as you accepted the clothes.

even after showering you don’t feel entirely clean, though. you think it might be impossible to return to feeling anything like your former self after tonight.

the couch has a pull-out bed, so it’s not as uncomfortable as it would be just sleeping on a regular sofa, which you are grateful for. you’re still arranging the pillow and blankets when jungkook walks into the room holding his own bedding.

“i think i should sleep here,” he says.

“there’s no room on the couch for the both of us,” you protest, thinking he means to take your spot.

“i mean on the floor. earlier, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be left alone in here.”

“oh.” you try to take the edge out of your voice; it’s hard to be polite when you’re still so overwhelmed with stress. “that’ll be uncomfortable though.”

jungkook just waves his hand and dumps his pillow and blanket on the floor before going to push the coffee table out of the way. “doesn’t really matter, i think we’ve been through worse tonight than sleeping on a hard floor…”

“thanks,” you say quietly, watching him spread his blanket out on the ground. you want to say something else, but you can’t think of anything.

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

after a few more moments of staring at jungkook as he arranges his sleeping area, you finally ask, “i was wondering how’d you meet yoongi? he doesn’t seem like he’s a college student. i’ve never seen him around our campus, at least.”

“he isn’t. he works as a music producer, so he’s out of town a lot, but this is his homebase. as for how we met—it’s a long story. he and my brother actually used to know each other, so…” you think he’ll explain further, but he just shakes his head. “but he’s a good friend.”

“i see. a music producer…nice. how cool for a little town like this.”

after everything is to his liking, jungkook gets under the blanket. “tonight was a lot, so try to get some sleep.”

you nod and turn the lamp off, though you’re doubting you’ll get any peace tonight. “yeah…you too.”

--

SATURDAY MORNING, NOV 4

you wake up around 11 a.m. on a strange couch wearing strange clothes in a strange room. with your brain’s half-conscious state, your terror reawakens; you think maybe you’ve been kidnapped by the murderer and the car ride with jungkook last night was a dream—until yoongi pops into your mind.

you try to regulate your breathing and settle back beneath the blanket, though you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

you haven’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in total, broken up into 20-minute intervals across the hours. every time you’ve tried to close your eyes and drift off, you see the frat member’s skull bursting apart again, shocking your entire nervous system. you can think of nothing but the piles of bodies and the deaths you witnessed. perhaps it’s better that you don’t sleep; you figure your dreams wouldn’t be any more tolerable than your thoughts.

as you shift around on the couch, your whole body screams with soreness. your arms, your ribs, your sides, your legs, and—to a lesser extent—even between your thighs where jungkook was last night.

you glance over and see that he’s still sprawled on the floor, blanket halfway kicked off. he’s actually awake, his face turned away from you as he blinks slowly and stares at nothing, but he doesn’t say anything and so neither do you. with you spending most of your night awake, you saw that he was able to get more rest than you did. lucky him.

it hurts to move, but you reach for your phone and check for any signs of lorelai. none. there is one text from camille, sent 40 minutes ago.

➤ camille: I talked to Lorelai’s sister. She went to go see about a missing persons report. The police took her information but didn’t seem very concerned about it and said she might have just stayed the night with other friends after the party. Apparently a lot of others had the same idea as you. Campus is a ghost town. They’re still identifying all the bodies, so no word yet.

➤ y/n: so we just have to sit here and wait to see if she’ll turn up alive or dead? that’s useless.

➤ camille: As per fucking usual with the pigs.

➤ camille: She also told me there’s supposed to be a lockdown or something. It’s on the news.

➤ y/n: a lockdown???

looking around the room, you spot the TV remote sitting on yoongi’s coffee table a few feet away. you try to sit up, but it takes you a couple minutes longer than you anticipate because of the pain. jungkook notices the movement from the corner of his eye and turns to look at you. “what are you doing?”

“tryna get the remote.”

jungkook grabs it and hands it to you, and you turn the TV to one of the local news channels.

➤ camille: They’re telling people not to leave their homes for anything non-essential while they search for him. Not sure how long that’s supposed to last. I guess now they wanna get serious about this fucking killer? Too late for that.

you and jungkook watch as the newscaster gives a rundown of last night’s events; to your small relief, it looks like the killer didn’t try to go to the campus after the murders at the party house. the newscaster goes on to announce that the police are instating a citywide curfew, which they’ll discuss further at a press conference in the afternoon. in the meantime, they advise everyone to only travel in groups, shelter in place if possible, and keep all windows and doors locked.

you laugh humorlessly, and jungkook glances at you again. “in groups? we were all packed into one damn house at the party, and how much did that help?”

➤ y/n: are you sure you’re okay at the uni?

➤ camille: I’m fine. My roommate brought some of her friends into our room so no one’s left alone. Either way, my dad is coming to help me move some of my things out and come back home.

➤ y/n: okay, please just stay safe.

➤ camille: You too.

“what now?” jungkook says once the newscast goes off. “everybody just stays holed up for like a month while they hunt for that guy?”

you roll your eyes. “people won’t stay in their homes for that long. i don’t know how any of this is gonna work. we wouldn’t be in this mess now if they’d cared when this first started happening.”

“you think so? students would still be getting killed. the only difference is that a good chunk of people would just be sitting at home freaking the fuck out and too scared to go anywhere while the killer would still be on the loose.”

“…damn. it’s truly bleak to assume we’d still be in the same situation. you’re an optimistic one.”

“better than deluding yourself about it.”

“whatever. where’s your family to freak out over you? somebody should be concerned about your whereabouts by now. didn’t you say you have a brother? speaking of, i’m gonna have to call my sister soon…”

jungkook turns back to the TV, and you can tell he’s become more tense than he was seconds ago. “yeah, but i’m estranged from them. yoongi’s my family.”

wrong thing to ask. you wonder about the reason for it but decide it’s probably better not to pry. “ah…that sucks.”

jungkook looks back at you like he’s irked by that response, but he makes a noise resembling a chuckle. “tell me about it.”

later that afternoon, after you’ve reassured your sister veronica on her work break that you are fine and at a “friend’s” house (because you have no clue how to refer to either of these men), you and yoongi sit at the kitchen table with brunch while jungkook goes outside to examine the damage to his car more closely.

it’s difficult to eat, but you do so anyway; you don’t want to be rude by wasting the food yoongi made. the news station still plays loudly from the living room as you wait for the press conference to come on.

“so, about you and jungkook...” yoongi starts, looking at you from over the rim of his cup of coffee.

“what about me and jungkook?”

“we both know he didn’t get those bites on his neck from a wild animal attack.”

you sit up straighter in your seat, a sudden spike of irritation hitting you. “aren’t we all grown here? who cares?” you try to sound unbothered despite feeling very green about all of this. after all, you’d only had sex for the first time last night.

“look, i don’t care. fuck him all you want. i’m just trying to advise you not to get emotionally involved, because that’s not how jungkook operates. the amount of girls i’ve had somehow coming after my neck when their situationship with him doesn’t work out is starting to get really old. it’d be best if you didn’t do the same.”

you’re simultaneously annoyed at his assumption of you and flustered because you want to prove him wrong about acting the same as the other girls. you hate both feelings. “i don’t want anything like that with him. i just needed something done and i got it. it doesn’t matter anymore.”

yoongi shrugs, and you get the sense he’s heard that before and isn’t convinced, but you can’t be bothered going back and forth with him about this.

the press conference comes on TV a few minutes later. they announce that classes at your university are cancelled indefinitely; parents and relatives will need to come move their students out, and the school will be operating with a skeleton staff and increased security presence for any students who can’t leave the campus. the citywide curfew will be at 8 p.m. every night, by which time almost everyone will need to be in their homes, and it will end at 6 a.m each morning.

“fun,” you say sarcastically. “at least i won’t have to worry about finals and trying not to get murdered at the same time.”

when jungkook comes back inside, you let him know about what he missed from the press conference.

“we should just stay here for now.” when you raise your eyebrows, jungkook says, “i basically live here when i’m not on campus for classes. plus yoongi-hyung lets me bring girls here all the time, this is nothing new.”

“if both of you are gonna be hiding out in my place, we’ll need to go to the store,” yoongi says. “more mouths to feed.”

“…or i could just go home?” you propose, your mind reeling at them already making plans. you feel awkward about staying in a stranger’s house for who knows how long. “i think we only really needed to stay here for the night. it’s fine.”

“will you have people there with you?” jungkook asks. “it’s not safe to be alone.”

you’re surprised he seems to be this concerned, but you answer: “well, i mean…my sister works 12-hour shifts as a nurse and she’s the only one living there, so…” you’d chosen your university because your older sister lived in the area, and because it was a tradition for women in your family to attend that school, but there were no other relatives you could turn to. your parents lived a couple of towns away.

yoongi comes to the conclusion so you don’t have to. “in other words, you’ll be alone most of the day.”

“…i guess. but i’m really not tryna impose on you by staying here.”

yoongi tilts his head, a small smirk on his lips. you automatically dislike the look on his face. “why don’t you take jungkook with you, then?”

you and jungkook glance at each other. “but, hyung…”

yoongi shakes his head. “you already know i can take care of myself. seriously, don’t worry about it.” and then yoongi winks at you. you don’t know for sure, but you take that to mean he’s probably packing heat like camille’s dad.

“if you’re sure.” turning to you, jungkook says, “so, how about it?”

“it’s my sister’s house, so i’ll have to ask her,” you say tentatively. “yeah…uh. let me do that now, i guess.” you pull out your phone to text her about it, though you know it’ll be a while before she gets another work break and can answer. “in the meantime…i think we’ll need to go to the store either way. and then to campus to pick our things up.”

“you’re right. let’s go then,” jungkook says.

the store is full of people panic-buying food and necessities in preparation for the curfew and effective lockdown, which you expected. you and jungkook end up going your separate ways to find the things you need because it’s quicker that way, and because you want to get in and out of the store as soon as possible. the crowdedness is too much like the party, and despite yourself, anxiety begins rising in you due to the claustrophobic atmosphere. you try to maintain even breaths as you keep searching for items. just what you need—a shiny new trauma to make your life harder.

you pass by a man in one of the less-crowded aisles before realizing he’s standing in front of what you need to get, examining one of the food packages. you wait a few moments to see if he’ll finish up soon, and when your eyes begin to wander, you see that there’s a long gray hair clinging to the back of his leather jacket, standing out clearly against the black. you probably wouldn’t have noticed this at all on any other day, except your mind has been on high alert for hours now; you find it strange that this strand clearly doesn’t match the shade or length of the hair on his head, which is short and plain brown. the shade of the hair also weirdly reminds you of something, though you can’t quite recall what; it remains just out of your mind’s reach.

you shake your head. he could’ve come to the store with somebody who has long gray hair, or hugged them before he left home, and a strand stuck to his jacket. it’s the least of your issues right now.

the man must feel your presence behind him because he turns around to look at you. you’re a little taken aback by his gaze; his expression isn’t mean per se, but very intense, as if his entire focus is trained on you.

there’s a second’s pause, like he’s thinking about something before he speaks. “am i in your way?” he asks, never breaking eye contact. his voice doesn’t portray any particular emotion.

“i just have to get something really quick.” he steps aside and gestures to the rows of food without a word. you slip in beside him and grab what you need before moving away again. “thanks.” you think about telling him about the hair on his jacket but decide against it; your decision is solidified when you spot a wolf figurine keychain on his keys, faded from time but still distinguishable. it makes your breath catch.

there’s no way it could be him. it was kind of dark in the party house with nothing but string lights and lamps illuminating it, and everything happened so quickly…but you do remember the colors of that mask. red, yellow, black—and that dark gray for the fur.

but maybe it’s really all just a coincidence; how much sense would it make to turn every person with wolf paraphernalia and random stray hairs into a suspect?

you walk down the rest of the aisle and away from the man with growing unease. maybe it’s time to find jungkook so you can get out of here; you can hardly keep yourself together, and despite your best attempts at logic, you can’t stop yourself from getting more frantic about those two things.

speeding up your walk and weaving through people, you look down every aisle in search for jungkook before you find him, rushing over to him as you breathe heavily.

“whoa, what the hell is wrong? did somebody do something?”

“no, i…”

“what happened?”

“it’s the…well, the…i saw, uh…”

“y/n.”

“i saw—the mask. the fur from the mask. do you remember it?”

“…you mean that stupid ass werewolf mask?” you gesture for jungkook to lower his voice. “wait, you’re saying you saw it in here?”

“no, i saw a man who had a strand of hair on his jacket…�� it starts sounding ridiculous to your own ears the more you speak, but you continue. “the strand—it was the same color as that fur. the same length! and he—he had some weird wolf keychain…”

jungkook stares at you for a long moment before sighing. “you’re not serious? a random strand of hair that could be from anybody or anything? that could be from someone’s fucking grandma for all we know. plus a keychain…maybe he just likes wolves, y/n.”

you already know that saying i just feel like something is off won’t be enough to convince him. you sigh with a deep sense of defeat, considering that he’s probably right. maybe your initial assumption was the more sensible answer. “…right. i think i’m just really fucked up right now after everything that happened. can we finish up here?”

“yeah, we will. because you definitely need to lay down soon or something. you haven’t had any sleep all night, right?” the way jungkook eyes you with concern as if you’ve lost your mind annoys you. you’re about to give a smart remark when you notice something in the carrying-basket he has.

“…a baseball bat?”

“if the killer comes after us again, duh. we’ll be prepared this time. or at least i will.”

“good luck with that if he happens to have another gun.” rolling your eyes, you brush past jungkook to go to one of the checkout counters.

in the parking lot, you see that the man from earlier has also come out and is putting the last of his grocery bags into his car trunk. there’s really nothing spectacular about his appearance that would make him stand out in a crowd, with his average height and average looks, let alone incriminate him as a serial killer. yet that familiar unease won’t leave.

he sees you and jungkook walking towards the car together, and his eyes dart to the bullet holes in jungkook’s car. then he makes eye contact with you. you give a half-hearted wave, unsure what else to do with his eyes stuck on you. for a moment, his lips turn up into the faintest smile before he shakes his head and gets into his own car.

--

MONDAY, NOV 6

you’ve spent half of saturday and all of sunday trying to get used to living in your sister’s house with jungkook. veronica had been surprisingly okay with having him stay over, though most of it was her being relieved you finally found “a potential boyfriend who’s actually cute.” you didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

you’ve also been constantly checking on camille (to her eventual annoyance) and seeing if there are any more updates on lorelai. still nothing. your dread grows the further away you get from that bloody friday, but you try to keep your thoughts from straying too darkly.

right now, you, veronica, and jungkook all sit on the couch together in a neat little row, a bowl of popcorn in front of you on the coffee table and some science-fiction B-movie playing on the TV. your sister proposed the idea to distract yourselves from everything going on, but so far, you feel like it isn’t very effective. at least not for you. your mind keeps wandering to other things every 5 minutes.

eventually, veronica yawns widely, stretching her arms and legs before rising off the couch. “okay, i’m getting tired as fuck. i need to go to sleep for work tomorrow anyway. you guys enjoy the rest of the movie, okay?” she pats your shoulder as she passes by you on her way out of the room.

jungkook waves. “oh, sure. goodnight.”

“night, sis.”

when jungkook’s attention goes back to the movie, your sister makes eye contact with you and points her finger at you menacingly. you give her a shocked look while she mouths you know what i mean and swirls her finger in jungkook’s direction. embarrassed at the implication, you roll your eyes and turn your head back to the TV screen. having sex with jungkook on your sister’s couch is not high on your list of priorities tonight.

after your sister is gone, jungkook spreads out on the couch like it’s his own living room, placing his legs right over your lap. you sigh, looking over at him—and hoping that your eyes don’t linger too obviously on the expanse of thigh muscle that’s now on display from his shorts riding up higher.

“…really? i don’t want your big ole legs in my lap.”

jungkook just grins. “you should lay down too, it’s more comfortable this way.” you stare at him, and he tries to egg you on by pulling the sleeve of your shirt. “come on.”

“i’m not laying down on top of you, if that’s what you’re after.”

you do end up lying down, but on the opposite side of the couch so that your legs are tangled together, which really just increases the amount of contact between you either way—but whatever.

this makes jungkook laugh more. “ha, it’s like we’re scissoring.”

“so damn corny.”

you two continue watching the rest of the movie, but by the end of it you don’t remember half of what happened. taking the remote, you flip through the channels and try to find something else to look at. there isn’t much interesting to watch on a random monday night—which would be a school night anyway, if not for the current context.

as you search for a channel, jungkook asks: “what would you do if you found out who the killer was?”

you squint your eyes at his odd question. maybe the obvious answer would be to alert the police. but after days of having your anger stoked like a fire, that’s not exactly the answer you’d choose. “maybe i’d kill him.” the words leave your lips easily, and you hardly think twice about them once they’re out.

neither of you speak for a few long moments.

“does that scare you?” you ask, after the silence starts annoying you. you want to laugh, but there’s nothing really funny about the situation.

“…not really. angry women are kinda sexy. so are dangerous ones.”

you scoff. “i’m not tryna be sexy, you fool. and how many dangerous women have you dealt with? seems to me you only have a thing for the innocents.”

“it’s not like i only fuck virgins. you don’t even know me like that.” he nudges your leg with his foot like he’s also annoyed, but his expression doesn’t show any actual irritation.

“…if you want to go back and forth about it, go outside and argue with the wall or something. i’m in no mood, jungkook.” you shove his foot off of you. “just, holy shit. i wish i could have just one hour where i don’t have to think about any of this shit. my mind can’t even breathe.”

he’s actually quiet for a couple minutes after. you think he’s moved on from the conversation until he finally says, “i can give you an hour.”

your body becomes alert at that. the insinuation in his tone is obvious. you glance backwards as if your sister could hear you from upstairs, though you know that’s illogical. “i got what i wanted from you already,” you whisper.

“so? what if i wanted to give you more? you know you’re allowed to have sex with a person more than once, yeah?” he chuckles.

here he is making you this offer, and once again you feel like you’ve been reduced to the state of a confused lamb in front of a hungry wolf. you realize that the idea of letting yourself get more physically entangled with jungkook scares you. he is not someone you can turn into a boyfriend, who wants to be a boyfriend, and you are only looking to save yourself from any potential hurt. “it would just be sex—right? you have to know i’m not looking for anything deeper from you.”

jungkook smirks. like with yoongi, you don’t know if he believes you. “i know.”

you want to undo almost everything from the past few days. you can’t forget, but for a while, you want to just exist outside of the timeline where there’s a killer on the loose and one of your friends is missing. it’s too much to handle; your body is approaching its limits for the amount of stress it can take. you need a balm to numb the pain and the fear, and you dislike that you are giving into your base instincts to do so. you feel guilty, somehow. but pleasure is easy. at least it has been whenever you sought it on your own—and now you have someone else to give it to you. someone who is in front of you now, proposing it with all the willingness in the world. maybe there’s really nothing wrong with saying yes.

“jungkook…”

“hm?”

“please just shut the fuck up and don’t say another word about the outside world right now. i don’t want to think about anything but your…” you falter, still trying to get used to expressing what you want sexually.

jungkook sits up, his hands sliding up your legs and to your hips. “but my what?”

“um, your…” your thoughts end when he leans down and pulls the hem of your sweater up, planting a kiss on your waist where your skin meets the waistband of your sweatpants. one kiss turns into a second, and a third. the fourth becomes an open-mouthed embrace of his lips on your skin, and you make a small noise of pleasure when his tongue gets involved.

“careful. don’t want veronica to come down here, remember?”

you huff. “that isn’t happening any time soon, believe me.”

his kisses continue as he begins to slide your sweatpants down, revealing the waistband of your panties. once they’re fully on display, he leans forward to nuzzle his face between your thighs, his mouth and nose pressing into the seat of your underwear. his actions take you off guard. you actually give a brief chuckle from surprise, though you are also somewhat embarrassed. “now what the hell are you doing?”

“let me savor my meal before i eat it.” his warm breaths tickle your inner thighs as he speaks.

“ugh, don’t turn me off.”

“that’s funny, because i seem to have an easy time getting you wet.” to prove it, his fingers press into the seat of your underwear to feel the wetness that’s seeped into them; you sigh from the brief pleasure his fingers’ movements afford you before he pulls them away.

jungkook drags your panties down next, his lips trailing down your lower abdomen and across the curls of hair covering your pubic mound. your body fills with anticipation at the gradual pace of his actions and the purposeful, wet caresses of his mouth.

when he uses his thumbs to press your lower lips apart and expose you more fully to him, you have half a mind to be self-conscious about it until he places his mouth on you in earnest.

jungkook eats like someone who hasn’t done so in a while and doesn’t know when he’ll get to do it again. his mouth sucks at your clit like he’s desperate for you to come, tongue rolling over the swollen nub in an unrelenting pattern that has your stomach tensing, and you quickly realize you do have to try to silence yourself even if you know it won’t wake veronica up. you twist your hands into the sleeves of your sweater and lean your head back on the couch’s armrest as you arch your hips up closer to jungkook’s face, uncaring about how vulnerable you feel completely offering yourself up to him like this; right now, all you want is to feel good.

“gonna come quick again? maybe we can set a new record?” jungkook pins your knee against the couch with his elbow to keep your legs open as he slides two fingers inside, diving straight in instead of working you up this time. your body breaks out in a sweat and you know you really won’t last long once he does this, the tips of his fingers aiming for that dreadful, wonderful, and overpowering place inside you. you don’t know how people do this—you feel like you’re going to die when he stimulates that spot, and all you want to do is scream even though you can’t.

“a r-record? fuck off…” you choke out, though you begin to rock your hips into the rhythm of his fingers, needing so badly for him to take you over the edge again.

he chuckles. “i don’t think you want me to fuck off right now.”

you have no words for a good comeback when he buries his head between your legs and slurps at your pussy again and crooks his fingers repeatedly to where your orgasm is unexpectedly rushing down upon you, causing your body to tense as you gasp and stifle any sounds that escape with your sweater sleeve.

jungkook doesn’t stop there and you don’t really expect him to, because you’re beginning to learn he isn’t a one-and-done type of man. he keeps sucking and stroking you right into another releasewhile you push the beanie off his head, fist your fingers into his strands, and tremble over the sight of his pitch-black mess of hair between your thighs. something about the visual is so appealing to you.

after he has made you come for the third time, you watch him sit up on his knees to reach into his shorts and pull his dick out, his darkened tip slick with precum. his long hair falls into his face as he glances downward, using the hand he’d been fingering you with to lube himself up with your cum.

“come here,” you tell him, your voice coming out sharper than you intended; but he doesn’t care, because he follows your request without a word and presses himself into your side. the couch is just big enough to accommodate both of you in this position, but it’s still a tight fit, and your bodies are once again tangled together.

“let me touch you,” you say, your palm pressed to his stomach, feeling the firmness of the muscle.

he raises his eyebrows, like you didn’t even need to ask. “of course.”

“no, i mean…” he realizes what you actually mean as you brush his hand away from his shaft and wrap your fingers around it instead.

“should i teach you how?” jungkook brings his hand to overlap yours, though his breath becomes a bit strained when you slide your hand to the base of his cock and back to the tip again, the pads of your fingers rubbing over the sensitive head. seeing your fingers around him turns him on more than he thought it could, and it’s just a simple fucking handjob.

you roll your eyes. “stroking a dickshouldn’t be that hard.”

“everyone likes it differently, though. fast, slow, soft, or rough…just the tip, or the whole shaft.” you can’t deny that—or the way you find yourself throbbing at his words, his voice husky from the pleasure. which is why you let jungkook close his hand more fully around yours and guide your movements.

it’s captivating to observe his reactions from your hand on his skin—the heavy breaths he lets out and the soft moans and even softer whimpers that come in between the exhales. whenever you squeeze his shaft more firmly or rub your thumb against his leaking tip, you find yourself grinning at the rise and fall of his chest and the tongue that darts out of his mouth to lick at his lips. but mostly, your eyes are drawn back to the sight of your hand working him over, his thighs and stomach tensing sporadically.

eventually, you both look away from your joined hands and at each other’s faces. your eyes dart to his lips and back to his gaze again, and you shift your face forward to signal your desire for a kiss. he meets you there by pressing his lips to yours, and it isn’t hard for him to get lost in the meeting of your mouths and the heat from your palm on his shaft.

your free hand returns to his soft hair to tug on it as your tongues slide against each other. he grunts at the burn of his roots being pulled but doesn’t stop you; on the contrary, his body responds favorably as more precum swells from his tip and his nipples poke against the material of his shirt.

“do you like that, jungkook?” you mumble against his mouth.

“you know i do.” at some point, his hand falls away and he lets you stroke him on your own.

jungkook gives a shuddering moan into your mouth when he climaxes minutes later, thick streams of his cum shooting onto his shirt and dripping down your hand. he tries to keep quiet and doesn’t entirely succeed, but it doesn’t much matter.

you squeeze the few remaining drops of cum from his cockhead, trying to make sure you don’t grip hard enough to actually hurt him. you pull your sticky hand away from jungkook when you think he’s finally emptied, but he grabs your wrist and you look at him questioningly. you watch with shocked eyes as jungkook brings your hand up and takes your messy fingers into his mouth, sucking his cum from them. you know instinctively it isn’t the first time he’s done this—not with the look of pure satisfaction on his features as he licks his own seed off your fingers.

his enthusiastic pleasure is part of the reason why you accept when jungkook gives you a crushing kiss, passing his cum from his tongue to yours. you don’t know what you expected it to taste like, but it isn’t gross like you’ve heard others complain about when sharing their sex tales; despite being salty, the overall taste is neutral. still, it takes some getting used to.

when you pull away from each other, noses brushing and lips wet from each other’s spit, you look into his dark brown eyes and get the sudden desire to say something that’s been buried in the back of your mind for days now.

“why did you come straight to me that night?” you whisper. “like you already knew who you were there for.”

jungkook stares back, his lips curving up slightly. “i just wanted to. or i wanted you, more specifically.”

“that’s not an answer.”

“well, it’s my answer.”

“was i another one to knock off your list?”

“you think i have a list?”

“i’m not stupid. it’s not unusual for guys to have a list. plus, plenty of rumors go around.”

jungkook taps his fingers underneath your chin and kisses you on the lips again, though it is brief. “stop believing everything you hear.”

you clearly won’t be getting a straight answer from him tonight. with the moment broken, you sigh and begin pulling your bottoms back on. “…whatever you say, dude.” once you’re dressed, you climb over his body to get off the couch. you poke him in the chest as your eyes roam over him in his disheveled state, his shorts pulled down and his cum staining his black shirt. “might wanna clean yourself up, huh? i’m going to sleep. and, yeah…thanks for the distraction.”

--

TUESDAY, NOV 7

with the weather being as cold as it is and heading toward winter in another month or so, lorelai is surprised by how quickly the bodies began to smell.

she doesn’t know much of anything about bodily decomposition—because, to her parents’ disappointment, she wasn’t about to be a biology major and have to be around cadavers in a dissection lab—but if this were a movie or something, she would’ve thought it would take longer than just one day. the smell started to hit her the saturday after the party.

but ultimately, this isn’t a movie, and the fact that she’s trapped in a decrepit house in some remote part of town is her present reality.

she doesn’t remember anything about how she got to this house; she thinks she must have been concussed before she was brought here. her head has been hurting badly for days, and not even the simple relief of a painkiller is available.

what she does know is that she’s being kept in a dirty living room on an equally dirty mattress, her hands and legs tied by rope and zip-ties. if there were any miniscule chance of her escaping, it would be impossible to go anywhere considering both her ankles are broken, only adding to the amount of physical pain she’s been in for days.

the living room is mostly empty except for the bodies of some other students from the party, which have been scattered around the room. lorelai tries not to look at them—especially not at the ones she knows—but it’s difficult. they become even more terrifying to her when night falls, turning into dark, rotting shadows in the corners of the room. there has been nothing but the company of these corpses for days, and a couple of visits from the killer.

he's never once taken off his wolf mask or his gloves, and every other part of his body stays covered in all black. she doesn’t have the first idea of what he looks like underneath it all. he has spoken to her a few times, but the voice isn’t one she recognizes. his words when she first awoke inside this house still knock around in her mind, filling her with dread.

he’d crouched in front of her, watching her move around on the mattress and try to orient herself. he had the casual air of someone observing a flipped-up bug struggle on the sidewalk before crushing it underfoot. “you aren’t y/n, but you’ll do for now. we’ll have some real fun later on. you’ll help me give her a good scare.”

“how the fuck do you know y/n?” lorelai had struggled against her restraints, but this only made her newly broken ankles hurt worse. tears began to fall from her eyes from the pain and fear.

the killer had said nothing to that—only tilted his head curiously and stared at her, which was unnerving even if she couldn’t see his eyes.

“you have no fucking reason to go after her, she’s not even a virgin anymore you dumb fuck—” with those words, the killer had backhanded her, sending her already injured head into a fresh wave of agony.

“things would’ve been different if not for that fucking party. you students think you’re so fucking clever, yeah? and look how you paid for it.” it was impossible to see any facial expression, but his body language spoke of anger. “no matter, though. virgin or not, i’ll see this through to the end.”

now it’s yet another morning, and he has returned. he has a lot of debris in his hands—stuff like sticks and dry moss and foliage. he’s also carrying a small bag, the contents of it a mystery. everything he does causes alarm for lorelai, but now confusion joins in.

“ready to have some fun?” he asks. with duct tape over her mouth, she can’t answer back. she watches as he arranges the debris on the ground in front of her, her anxiety mounting as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and sets fire to the foliage.

leaning forward, he rips part of the duct tape away from her mouth with his gloved hand, causing her face to sting. “got anything to say?”

“wh-what the fuck are you doing?”

“i’m gonna stoke a nice fire here…get this knife hot enough to hurt.” he brings out his knife then, and lorelai shrinks away from the blade as he drags the flat of it across her throat—but there’s nowhere else to go, as she’s sitting up against the wall. “then i’ll just cut this pretty little body up a bit. the finishing touch…i think i’ll slice your throat open. how does that sound?” he takes the knife away from her neck to hold the blade over the flames.

lorelai’s breath hitches, and her stomach begins to physically hurt from the outpouring of anxiety flowing through her. she starts to sob, trying to speak through the tears and snot and drool. the only question she can muster up is, “wh-why?”

“this is for y/n—remember? i hope that concussion hasn’t fucked with your memory.” the killer watches the reflection of the flames on the blade as it grows hotter. “and…i’m doing someone a favor.” he doesn’t wait for her to speak again before putting the duct tape back in place over her mouth, leaving her to cry to herself and face her rising distress as he heats the knife until it’s burning hot. internally, she wishes there was any way in the world to get out of this situation.

it isn’t much longer before he’s finished. lorelai screams as he approaches her with the knife, and then at the feeling of the red-hot blade scorching her skin, though the sounds are stifled by the duct tape.

“now, be still while i fix you up.”

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 8

you go outside that afternoon to check the mail and have an excuse to get out of the house; it doesn’t matter if it’s only for a few moments. you’re not used to staying cooped up in one place for so long with absolutely nothing to do, and you feel like you’re not too far off from going mad with cabin fever. it hasn’t even been a week since everything happened.

you open the mailbox, and there are the usual bills along with something strange: a blank envelope with no return address. even your sister’s address isn’t written on it. flipping it over, you see that the envelope was never sealed. someone must’ve just come up and put it inside the mailbox. but who the hell would do that, and for what reason? whenever any of your neighbors have something to give you or your sister, they come straight up to the house to do it.

inside the envelope is a set of polaroids. their content makes you drop the rest of the mail. your legs grow weak, and you end up sitting down hard on the end of the driveway, some of the polaroids slipping from your hands. the pictures show the bodies of some of the students from your university, their corpses posed in odd positions and some bare of clothing—all dead.

you struggle to breathe as you frantically flip through the rest of the pictures. in the center of all the group photos is lorelai, her neck torn open and her wrists and ankles tied. she’s still dressed the way she was the night of the party, though her dress is stained with dark brown blood. there are open cuts all over her bare skin, their appearance rough-looking and uneven as if they’ve been cauterized.

there are several group polaroids, several of lorelai alone, and several angles of the outside of a house, which must be the same one the bodies are being kept in. one photo of lorelai slips out of your shaking hands, and you see there’s barely legible handwriting on the back of it, which reads, “this is just the teaser, y/n.”

you scream and don’t stop screaming until jungkook comes running out of the house holding the baseball bat, as if the killer might’ve gotten bold enough to attack in daylight. a couple of your neighbors peek out of their houses and make their way over with concern on their faces once they see you sitting on the ground, your exclamations ringing through the street.

there’s a disarrayed group of people around you grabbing at your shoulders and asking what’s wrong, what happened, and then gasps and exclamations of shock when they see the polaroids. you feel yourself being pulled to your feet and then lifted up—maybe it’s jungkook, because it smells like him—but you’re too disoriented to make proper sense of anything right now. you can only think of how much time has been wasted, and how little time lorelai actually had left.

--

SUNDAY, NOV 12

in the main lobby of the funeral home, you sit in a chair next to camille, staring into empty space while the other girl tries to cry as quietly as she can. she cries as if she’s ashamed of it, and you wish you could comfort her, but you don’t know what to say or do. for the past few days, you’ve mostly just felt numb.

you’re waiting for veronica to come back out so you can leave, as she’d stayed behind after the service to talk to lorelai’s family for a little longer.

lorelai’s family had opted to have her cremated after seeing the state of her body. a lot of other families did the same after the events of cherry bomb, not even wanting to entertain the idea of a closed-casket funeral. you can understand their feelings about it if you push through the haze in your mind to consider it for long enough. though the morticians have done the best they can over the past week, sometimes knowing that your loved one has multiple stab wounds and eviscerated organs beneath all the makeup and fancy clothing is too much to handle.

when veronica finally comes out, the three of you walk outside to join the rest of the people who’ve started getting in their cars. some still linger in small huddles, shaking their heads and wiping their faces.

jungkook, who’d driven you and veronica to the memorial, waits outside for you all, leaning on the side of the building. you both thought it was probably better for him not to attend the service considering lorelai was never fond of him and he didn’t know her that well.

“is it finished?” he asks.

“it is.” veronica sighs. “god, funerals are so damn…bleak.��

you notice a man waving at your group from the other side of the parking lot and realize it’s camille’s dad. her posture straightens when she catches sight of him, and she hurriedly tries to wipe the rest of her tears before shoving her tissue into her pocket. “i-i think my dad is waiting for me. i…i’ll see you guys later, alright?”

“okay, camille.” the strange absence of emotion that you’ve been trapped in for the past few days suddenly cracks open when you notice camille’s anxious demeanor as she speed-walks away from the rest of you. intense sorrow overtakes you; you don’t want her to leave, but she has to go.

you are crying before you fully understand what’s happening. veronica puts her arms around you and squeezes you against the side of her body. jungkook reaches a thumb up to wipe away your tears, though you don’t let him get very far before turning your head away and into veronica’s shoulder.

“y/n…”

“how am i supposed to go on?” you exclaim, catching the attention of a few people nearby. “the police said maybe she’s just staying with friends. and now look. plus, the killer knows where me and my sister live now…maybe he always knew.”

“we don’t even have a clue who the killer is…” jungkook mumbles. “there’s no one you know of who might have a grudge against you?”

“no, jungkook. the police already gave me all that questioning. and it doesn’t help me feel any better to think maybe all these deaths are somehow my fault.” you scoff.

“y/n, nothing’s your fault because some freak decided to go around killing people; that was his decision.” jungkook argues.

you nod slightly to his words but say nothing else, not wanting to go further into that topic. you don’t know if you can believe him about that.

the parking lot is emptying out now, so you try to pull yourself together so the three of you can leave. “well…you don’t need to keep staying with us if you don’t want to. we have those assigned bodyguards now, so…” you glance in the direction of one other car sitting beside jungkook’s—inside it are two men the police force appointed after the polaroids of the bodies were planted in your sister’s mailbox.

jungkook looks at you as if he’s trying to gauge your expression; he himself looks surprised, though he attempts to play it off. veronica glances between you both, recognizing the awkward shift in the air.

“you don’t want me there anymore? i mean it is your house—” he glances at veronica “—so that’s fine with me if—"

“what? i didn’t say i don’t want you there, neither did veronica, it’s just if you don’t want to be there—"

“i never said i didn’t want to be there, though?”

you both become quiet, jungkook looking at you and you returning his gaze for a few seconds before looking off to the side. veronica is still standing between you both like she’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

“i just figured that maybe…” why are you being so concerned about me? isn’t this the part where we go our separate ways? is what you really want to ask. you have seen and learned enough from your friends’ and even your acquaintances’ experiences to realize that any other one night stand would not have cared so much. that’s how these things go, right? but he isn’t really a one night stand anymore, either.

you don’t even know if you’re considered friends with benefits, but what would that change? you’d still seen others tossed aside without much thought by their FWBs while in times of need. considering his history, you don’t understand why jungkook isn’t following the same template now, and you don’t think you should ask why for fear of breaking the illusion.

fed up with your own confusion, you decide now isn’t the time to lament on your lack of knowledge about these things. “nevermind. that’s fine. so you’ll stay?”

the corner of his mouth lifts in a brief smile. “i’ll stay as long as you won’t try to kick me out.”

you aren’t in the mood to attempt to smile back, but he seems to understand that. “right, well...good.”

“…now that you two have figured that shit out, can we leave?”

--

FRIDAY, NOV 17

jungkook thought that getting outside a bit more would help you feel better and prevent you from developing a complete fear of leaving the house, which is why you’re sitting in this claustrophobic little diner now with him, yoongi, and camille—and of course, your ever-present bodyguards in the booth behind you all. but this outing isn’t doing anything to mitigate your fears.

nearly 10 minutes in, you have to ask jungkook to switch seats with you so you’re not on the outside of the booth, as you’re afraid that it’s too easy-access if anyone—say, the killer, though you’ve been trying not to think so obsessively about him—were to come in and start stabbing you to death right where you sit. being on the inside calms you for a little while until you become anxious about the window beside you; what if he has a gun again and simply shoots through the glass? all he’d have to do is stand on the sidewalk and aim, his werewolf mask laughing at you with its eternally frozen growling expression, and your brains would be all over the table just like that frat guy’s.

your meal sits half-eaten as you get increasingly lost in your anxieties. the others are talking about something, but you can’t hear what. it’s like some of your senses have shut down or begun working incorrectly. the strawberry sauce in camille’s sundae looks too much like blood and even smells like it from the occasional whiffs you get, and you find yourself staring at the sundae dish and wanting to throw it across the restaurant.

jungkook’s hand touches you on the back, and the tension in your body increases. he feels it and draws away, though he keeps trying to meet your eyes. “are you okay?” he whispers.

“why ask that? she obviously isn’t,” yoongi says, like he’s annoyed with the obviousness of jungkook’s question.

“hyung, i’m just trying to help.”

“it was your great idea to come out here when she didn’t want to, though.”

“y/n—” camille starts.

“can’t you throw that out? it smells like blood.” your mouth feels useless and hard to maneuver, but you manage to say those words.

“what?”

“the…that. that thing.” everyone looks at camille’s melting sundae. yoongi raises his eyebrows.

“blood?”

“do you mean it—looks like blood?” jungkook suggests.

you raise your voice in irritation, not understanding how everyone else is unable to perceive the same scent that you do. “no, i-it does, but it smells like blood too! just get rid of it!”

one of the waitresses comes over to the table. “is everything okay over here?”

“um, we’re fine! i’m finished with this though.” camille hurriedly hands the sundae off to her, trying to keep the situation calm.

“oh, well—the rest of you too? that’ll be it, then?” she gathers everyone’s plates and leaves with a smile that attempts to be cordial but is still colored with unease.

her departure leaves a stiff silence in which you all spare glances at each other but try to avoid directly meeting eyes. camille is the first to break it.

“i’ll ask my dad if i can stay over with you,” she suggests. she suddenly sounds much more tired. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow slightly at her words; yoongi silently glances at the younger man. “just, you know…maybe the extra company would help? he’s been treating me like a kid again, but we should be safe with the bodyguards there, so…”

“you don’t have to do that,” you say, though you’re too exhausted to truly argue.

“you’re in shambles, y/n. and it’s not just for your benefit. i’m feeling pretty fucking alone right now, and it’s hard for my dad to understand the emotional side of it, so…” camille plays with her fingers and doesn’t look at anyone as she speaks; you know talking about her father can be a sore spot for her sometimes. “uh, anyway. not to trauma-dump or anything. just let me do this.”

you sigh. “fine…okay. do whatever you have to. can we just leave?”

as you’re all walking outside, jungkook pulls you aside.

“i still worry about you after that incident at the store, you know?” he admits.

you shrug his hand off your arm and glare at him. “you think i’m crazy.”

“i don’t. i just want you to be able to relax and not feel like you’re being hunted 24/7. i don’t think the killer is constantly waiting around the nearest corner for you, y/n.”

“you don’t know how close the killer could be. he knows where i go to sleep at night. so stop the bullshit, jungkook.”

“you’ll be okay. you have me, remember? i protected you that night…i can do it again.”

you examine his face for a long moment and find that you are too overwhelmed with stress and fear to be moved by his words. “i’d like to trust you…but the killer might just murder you too. then who’ll save me?” you don’t wait for his response before walking away to catch up with the other two.

--

LYING IN WAIT...

it’s strange to see the police bodyguards in veronica’s driveway and backyard everyday. it’s not the same two all day—they switch off so that there are two doing a day shift and two doing a night shift.

the security team at the hospital where your sister works is aware of the situation, so you try not to get too worried about her safety when she’s away from the house—but it’s difficult.

there have been no more kills connected to your university since lorelai. it seems like half the town has forgotten their fears and tried to go back to some sense of normalcy while the other half still hides away and lives in perpetual panic, including you. the former group of people has started muddying the waters for the police, with some teenagers getting brave enough to sneak around in wolf masks and vandalize buildings with red-lettered virgin graffiti just to fuck with the cops. there have even been a few people who turned themselves in claiming to be the killer—only their supposed confessions never matched the details of the case.

reporters have tried to hound lorelai’s family and your family several times for any speculations or answers on the killer’s identity, but none of you are willing to spread misinformation just to give them something to write about. however, that hasn’t stopped other residents of your town from sharing their speculations and even implicating their own relatives or neighbors—whether as a fucked-up joke or as genuine revenge just depends on whoever’s speaking. with all of these false leads, the police are still no closer to finding the killer than they’d initially been.

everyday feels like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, though the chances of any more kills are starting to seem improbable; the university is practically empty. but it doesn’t matter to you if the school is nearly deserted, because the killer has his aims set on you now, and you only wish you knew why.

up in your room, you and camille sit on your bed gazing out the window—the window that must always remain locked now, for fear of unwanted ingress. you’ve never been uncomfortable in your sister’s house, but lately you’ve been feeling like you’re boxed in with every wall pressing towards you.

sitting up from your lying-down position, you have to find the appropriate words for a moment before speaking. “camille—i can’t stop feeling like maybe we aren’t entirely safe,” you murmur.

camille raises her eyebrows. “why not? those guys stay outside all day, and we keep everything locked up day and night. literally, the only time the front door opens is for veronica to leave and come back from work everyday.”

“i don’t know. there’s no particular reason for it…it just seems like we’re waiting for something.”

“…yeah? for the killer to be caught.”

“but he’s made no moves recently. you remember the policeman’s daughter, right? i even texted her and she hasn’t heard anything new that we don’t already know. seems like things have slowed down at the police station. it’s not like that abandoned house was in the killer’s name or anything, so what leads would they have?”

camille frowns and rubs her eyes like something’s in them, but when she looks at you directly, you see her eyes are red from unshed tears. “…i want things to be okay, though. i’m tired of living like this. you know how i had to beg just to get my dad to let me leave the house. he’s constantly on edge.” you feel even more unsettled to see camille so distressed lately, as she’s always been the only one able to pull something funny out of a terrible situation—something enough to distract you from the horrors. “all i know is they’ll have to dig his ass out of some hole in the ground at some point. he can’t hide in this town forever.”

“yeah…i guess you’re right.” you still don’t feel reassured, but you don’t voice your doubts.

--

WEDNESDAY, NOV 22

“i think i might go mad,” camille says from her position on the armchair, her limbs splayed haphazardly across it and one hand stuck in a bag of chips.

you sigh. “you’re the one who wanted to watch this thanksgiving movie marathon.”

“the most mid holiday of the season,” jungkook adds.

“no one cares what either of you think, thanks.” it isn’t long before the program is over and the ending credits are rolling. with an exaggerated exhale, camille gets up from the chair and crunches the bag of chips in her hand. “i’m going to your room, y/n. you two just do whatever it is you do down here, since you hate my movie choices so much!”

“means we can finally turn the channel.” jungkook snatches the remote off the coffee table and does just that.

camille goes into the kitchen to throw out the chip bag and wash her hands. your focus returns to the TV. a few seconds later, you hear the upstairs flooring creak above the noise of the water pouring from the tap.

“what’s up, sis? i thought you were sleeping.” veronica is known to be a deep sleeper, so it’s not common for her to be getting up in the middle of the night. there’s no answer to your question. you glance upstairs, but your sister isn’t standing there; she isn’t standing at all, instead being carried by someone wearing an all-too familiar mask.

you scream as the killer tosses your sister over the stair railing. her torso has been sliced open from collarbone to navel, her body leaving a large splatter of blood on the floor where she lands. jungkook jumps to his feet but is momentarily immobilized as he gazes at your sister’s body crumpled on the floor. you slide off the couch and crawl over to her, still crying out, but there’s no life left to try and salvage.

the screaming brings camille rushing to the kitchen doorway. she can barely vocalize what’s wrong? before spotting veronica’s body and stopping in her tracks. in a moment that feels like it takes forever to pass, the killer pulls a gun from his waistband—you recognize it as one of the guns the policemen carry and realize he must’ve killed the bodyguard posted in the backyard—and shoots her in the chest twice.

“camille!” when you go over to where she’s lying on the ground, she is still alive but bleeding intensely and struggling to breathe. your knees slip in the blood that begins pooling around her. “shit, camille…p-please don’t die…” you press your hand against the wounds, but they’re bleeding so much that your efforts don’t help, and the pressure of your hand causes her more pain.

there’s the sound of a gunshot at the front door as the lock is blown off, and the door is banged open a few seconds later by the remaining bodyguard. he has virtually no time to fire off another shot before the killer is shooting him in the head first.

the killer throws the gun aside, taking his knife in his other hand and making his way down the stairs. “your sister left her window cracked open. i waited for days for a slip-up like that. see how much harm can come from a simple mistake? well, she was collateral damage anyway.”

even in your panic, it’s as if all your bodily functions freeze when you recognize the familiarity of the killer’s voice. camille reacts with a rattling gasp, but her body is becoming too weak for her to utter anything; all she can do is watch as the man stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his mask off.

“yoongi…” your voice breaks as you try to speak again, but nothing coherent comes out.

he drops the mask on the floor and brushes a hand through his hair. “i guess you weren’t expecting that. good. we kept it up ‘til the end.”

your lips form around the word we, but your vocal cords won’t cooperate. you twist around to look at jungkook, who is still standing by the couch.

the man who you’d gotten too close to for your own good and done so many firsts with, who’d promised you that he’d protect you and was even there for you on the day of lorelai’s memorial, looks at you now with eyes glowing from the thrill as his mouth twitches into a smile—small at first but growing into a full grin. “i almost can’t believe we staged all that shit and it actually worked. you really believed it all, y/n.

not all of those kills were hyung’s, of course...there’s no way i’d miss out on the best parts. you don’t know what it’s like until you kill a person for the first time. crashing cherry bomb was his idea, though. and lorelai was mine. that bitch would’ve kept you away from me, and i needed her gone for this kill to work.”

through tears, you finally muster up the strength to ask, “wh-why have you done this? that night…y-you mean to tell me none of that was real? being shot at—why would you—” your voice rises until you’re shouting. “you-you’ve killed so many people. what was the purpose?!”

jungkook’s smile fades somewhat as he pretends to think about it, acting like he’s reminiscing on wistful memories. “i realized that killing and fucking aren’t that different, y/n. the real ecstasy of it is in taking someone pure…and doing something to them that has never been done before, and can never be done again. there’s a certain eroticism in killing someone, stabbing them, entering them…it’s like sex in the most profane sense.”

“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, glaring at him through your tears. you can’t help but feel shame to think of the times you’d had sex with him. had he simply been imagining murdering you during those moments? it makes you want to throw up.

yoongi steps closer until he’s right in front of you and camille. “and as for me…i just enjoy it. practice really does make perfect. you wouldn’t believe how entertaining it can be to see someone beg for their life.” his lips turn upwards in a dark smile resembling jungkook’s. “but instead of raging at us, i think you have bigger matters to be concerned with.” yoongi gestures his knife hand to camille, and when you look down at her body, you realize she’s no longer moving.

you lift camille’s head up with your hands as if that could make her return your gaze, though you can find no sign of breathing or pulse. “god, no…” you scream in frustration, your hands slipping in her blood. you check once more and again for any signs of life, because there is just no possible way this could’ve happened, but there are none present. “please—i’m sorry…”

“time’s up.” yoongi grabs your arm and yanks you away from camille, jostling you to try to get you on your feet. you flail around in his grip, fruitlessly scratching at his arms that are covered by his thick jacket, before managing to elbow him in the groin with your frantic movements. “shit!” this causes him to loosen his grip, which is enough for you to scramble away from him, slipping in the blood as you go.

you make it to the other side of the room where the officer lies facedown—though there isn’t much left of his face from yoongi’s shot. you snatch the gun from the dead officer’s hand and point it in the direction of both men. the safety is already off; all you’d have to do is pull the trigger and kill either one of them right now. before you can act, yoongi uses his free hand to pull another gun from his waistband—his own.

“as i said before, i know how to take care of myself,” he says, flicking the safety off and aiming for you, though his stance shows he’s still in pain. “please don’t assume it’ll be that easy. do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

you and yoongi are at an impasse as you both point your guns at each other, jungkook looking on with casual amusement coloring his face. “fuck you,” you spit out. you remain hesitant to fire on him, knowing that even if you succeed, he could fatally shoot you at the same time.

“let’s not do it this way,” yoongi says, his voice low and soft in an attempt to be persuasive, though you just find it disturbing. “you were supposed to be a clean kill. a few stabs and it’d all be over. i’ll even let jungkook do it, since you seem to like each other so much. do you really want to be shot down like a dog like camille over there?”

“you and him can both fry in hell!” you shout.

yoongi glances over at jungkook. they both nod before yoongi hands the knife to him, and the younger man takes a few steps in your direction. you don’t know whether to point the gun at him or keep it trained on yoongi; your head is pounding with a headache that you’ve only just realized you have. “don’t come over here. stay away from me!”

you press your back to the wall as jungkook comes closer, inching towards your right side with his knife at the ready. you slide away from him as you keep your back against the wall. “hand it over, y/n. it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“hand it over and let you kill me? are you insane? you lied to me this whole time, you fucking piece of shit.”

jungkook scoffs and looks at yoongi as if to say can you believe this? “why wouldn’t i lie to you? you were always meant to die.”

he won’t stop coming towards you, and you’re running out of room to slide away from him. you grasp for anything to try to reason with him, though you know it’s futile. “you realize that if you kill me now and you conveniently survive, everyone will know it’s you? you’ve been living here for weeks, you jackass!”

“hyung and i have that covered. it’s not for you to worry about, considering you won’t be worrying about anything soon.”

jungkook lunges for you with the knife, thinking he can catch you off guard and overpower you. you scream and pull the trigger in your frenzied state of mind, shooting yoongi. the next few things seem to happen almost simultaneously:

you hear the crash of yoongi’s body hitting the TV stand and the TV falling to the floor.

you feel jungkook’s knife piercing your shoulder, causing you to fire a stray round into the wall from the unexpected burst of pain.

you hear another gunshot that’s not from you; you see and feel jungkook stumble into you, the knife sliding from his fingers and to the floor.

you realize that he’s been shot when his hand flies to the bullet wound on his lower back; he’d been standing in front of you, and yoongi meant to hit you, not him.

“jungkook!” yoongi’s shout is furious and regretful as he steadies himself on the TV stand.

trying to push the pain into the back of your mind, you clumsily grasp jungkook’s fallen knife and run for the stairs. more shots follow you and most of them miss but one, which strikes you in the thigh.  while you cling to the stair railing and try to regain your footing, you are suddenly staring mortality in the face and understanding with a freezing-cold clarity that you will die right now if you don’t do something.

your nervous system vibrates with fear and adrenaline as you tighten your grip on the police officer’s gun and shoot yoongi with it twice—in the same area he’d shot camille.

these last two bullets finish him off immediately. you don’t think it’s fair, with how camille suffered and bled and died in your arms. for a moment, you’re so outraged that you wish he’d come back to life so that you could kill him again. you’re torn from these thoughts by jungkook.

“you bitch…he was my only family after everyone else threw me away. do you understand? i’ll fucking kill you!” jungkook is nearly writhing in the ground from his upset and from the hurt of his injury; it frightens you that this same man is someone you once thought you could grow fond of.

you aim the gun for jungkook next, but the chamber is empty. either way, he currently has no weapon, which leaves you with a small chance to get away before he re-arms himself. throwing the gun away, you stagger up the rest of the steps while his screams continue echoing up to you.

you give no thought to the blood trail you’re leaving behind as you rush to veronica’s room and to the window yoongi had entered through. you begin squeezing yourself through, keeping your grip on your knife all the while, but your injuries make it difficult to move. a few more tears slip out as you try to balance your injured leg on the tree branch beneath the window, and the desperation of wanting to give up clings to you.

you hear jungkook’s heavy and limping footsteps coming up the stairs, and you attempt to hurry, but you’re only halfway out of the window. when he crashes into the room, it’s unnervingly easy for him to grab your arm and yank your body back through the window, uncaring of how you get scraped up in the process.

he jams you up against the nightstand with one of the kitchen knives to your neck to stop your movements; his harsh maneuver causes the objects on the nightstand to rattle. the nightstand’s edge digs into the backs of your thighs, the pressure causing your wounded thigh to hurt more.

“you want to know why i picked you?” jungkook hisses, the knife’s blade stinging your throat as it begins to break skin. “you were just another choice out of many, but i decided you’d be the first one that i’d fuck and kill.”

it’s painful to hear, but it angers you at the same time. “fuck you!” in your rage, you spit in his eyes. jungkook jerks back and the knife shifts from its previous position at your neck; you take those few seconds to grasp the alarm clock off the nightstand and crash it against his head.

“shit—!” he cries out, stumbling and grasping the side of his head. he tries to grab for you again, but you jump onto the bed and crawl away from him, your stomach lurching at all of veronica’s blood soaked into the sheets. you spot a small decorative glass bowl on the dresser—the one filled with little candies that you’d always teased veronica for, saying she was so much like a grandma handing out treats to her grandchildren. when your feet touch the ground again, you clasp your hand around it like it’s a lifeline and fling it at jungkook’s head as hard as you can, just as he makes it around the bed to your side. the shards cut his face when it breaks, slowing him down further as he grabs his slashed and bleeding face. one of his eyes is blinded from the blood and glass.

this will probably be your only chance while he’s struggling to gather himself. you rush towards him with the knife handle tight in both of your hands and drive the blade into the middle of his chest, putting all your strength into that movement—just as his own knife impales your abdomen.

you are both simultaneously struck from the shock of being stabbed, and it takes you a few long moments to piece your mind back together as the pain radiates throughout your body. jungkook groans when you shift the knife around in his wound as you pull it out, letting his blood flow out freely. his breaths become wet and rattling as he chokes on his own blood, the red fluid staining his mouth and dripping down to his neck. he jams his knife further into your wound in retaliation so that the handle is flush against your body, causing your head to spin.

“i-if i die, i’m taking you w-with me.” jungkook gasps with his remaining effort. his body starts to sag from its standing position as he weakens, his hand slipping from the knife handle. he loosely grasps the comforter with one hand as he collapses to his knees, his torso becoming soaked with blood and his head bleeding from your earlier hits.

you drop your knife and lean against the bed too, shifting your body to find a position that could lessen the pain, but it’s impossible with a knife lodged in your abdomen. you know enough to understand that you’ll bleed out faster if you remove it, though, so you resist the urge. “you can rot in hell alone, jungkook.” you watch him struggle for what feels like minutes before his breaths stop altogether and his body slumps to the floor. he is just a blur of clothes and blood through your tears. you’ve never felt so lonely in your life.

you have a thought to call 911, but you’re becoming more and more lightheaded from the blood loss, and you can already hear sirens approaching on your street. you figure one of your neighbors must’ve called after hearing the gunshots; perhaps the bodyguard sent for backup before he was shot. your rescue has come much later than you would’ve preferred—or maybe everything just happened much faster than it seemed. you can’t tell anymore.

you can’t tell anymore, and you no longer want to look at the carnage around you, and nothing makes any sense. so, you close your eyes to it all; and when you feel someone lifting you in their arms—this sensation is so familiar—and maneuvering you onto a stretcher, you allow yourself to relent to it and empty your mind of everything.

@ihatemen55 @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @yunhofingers @heybabesposts @twilight-loveer @whipwhoops @mrsminho @junecat18 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @okayiamkassandra @witchbitxhxx @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @thaiika @goldentea10 @iloverubberduckiez-blog @katie-tibo @ohsweetmimosa @dream-cvtcher @hoseokteardrop @lpgirl2324 @vanillacupcakefrosting @gukiemochi @jkslaugh97 @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonjklibs @bangtans-momma @screamertannie @kenzietaetae @han-nah-banana @00frenchfries00 @taiwan0618 @laurynne5 @monvante @ynisthatyou @thiccthighs19 @jeonwiixard

[safination]

Partners in Death…and Life

Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself

| Part 1: Radio's Not Dead |Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should be Trusted| Masterlist | ao3 Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason. Hello, I’m back :D This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got busy. Anyway, thank you for all the likes so far. It motivated me to really finish this chapter. Also once again, I have everything planned out, it really is just a matter of writing it down. *Updated 28/02/2024 Just added some stuff that I thought made sense*

Flick…

Flick…

Flick…

Lights flicker above you with a slight buzz. You drape an arm over your eyes when the gleam of the bulb blind you.

The hardwood floors chill your skin, but it’s the sensation of casual loose clothing on your back that warrants your exhale in peace. Just a second. You just need a moment on these hard and chilling floors to ground you… just… one … single … moment to…

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

A stray feather pricks into your arm. The vane tickles, but the barb digs your skin. You’ve called this body ‘yours’ far longer than your human one, yet the feathers that grow on your skin still astound you. You twirl it around your fingers, and wave it in the air like a wand—it’s a proper animalistic feather.

Your nose scrunches into a hard scowl, and you jump up, stomping into the kitchen toward that untouched coffee mug on your counter. Grabbing it, you splash the contents down the sink, letting it flush down the drain.

The sponge is rough against your hands as you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub a̵̯͒n̴̤͝d̶̫͌ ̶͚̇y̶̤̎o̷͔̓u̶̢͐ ̸̓͜s̵̪͗c̸͎͂r̷̀ͅṳ̴̎b̸͖̀ ầ̷̩̯͍̙̳̍͗͘ń̵̰̞̰̕d̴͇̻̮̫̝̓̎̈́ ̶̡̬̬̮̺͗͒́̌͑y̴̙̘̻͇̿̉̐͆ǫ̷͉̟̍̅̑̏ŭ̸̖͓ͅ ̴̛̝͇̭̥̌́́̂s̸̠̑̽̏́c̷̥̺̃̾̊r̶̲̯̈́̈̄͆͊u̵̼̝͕̼̇̍̈́͘b̶͍͖͖̐̾͝.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You rinse the mug, slamming the cupboard door shut when you drop it next to your own clean one. Fingers run through your feather-hair…hair-feather, or your ‘whatever that grows on your scalp’. Some questions you’ve stopped asking.

An audible grumble… well, uhhhhh…. grumbles from where your stomach is placed in this body, and you munch on your lips to keep the inhumane screech from erupting into the kitchen and breaking all kinds of glassware and little knickknacks that Alastor filled your home with.

(These days, the old trinkets collect dust on your shelves. There haven’t been any new ones in years.)

Chopping Hell’s equivalent of carrots calms you. (It’s honestly the use of some type of razor-sharp object that calms you. You’d prefer a different razor-sharp object, but a sharp knife is a sharp knife, no matter the size.) You chop until there’s enough food to make a proper and decent meal that your stomach will accept.

You crash on the couch, dinner secured on a plate, and flip the television switch. Light flashes into the room when you do.

Ad about some impish business—Not interested.

‘Yeah, I fucked your sister, So what?’ — Boring.

Cooking Venison with Vox— Lame.

Settling on the lifestyle network, you munch on your food. Some poor slimy creature flashes across the screen, and it's her home that will be remodeled because of…something. You’re not sure what that something was. You don’t care enough to find out.

The sounds from the television swap with the silence of your living-room as you take each bite. It’s one of the sadder habits you’ve picked up since purchasing this noisy picture box.

Your eyes wander to that half-filled coat rack, while your ears listen in on the show and that woman did not just say that pink would go with brown. Only your singular coat drapes on the hinge, when this particular design was made to hold two.

A commercial plays for some-thing called the Hazbin Hotel.

Your eyes are stitched to the screen until the final note of the song plays, and a different advertisement takes its spot. You take a sip of your drink.  Just ą̷̖̯͈͂ ̷̡̧͚̤̩͎̙͇̞͓̟͈̤̝͉͉͉̘̉͐̓́̆́̇̍̐̿̈̄͜͜͜͝͝s̶̨̢̛̥̣̻̱̰̬̩̹̥̞̟̳̝͔͓͙̗̗͕̟͇̆̉̿į̴̡̢̠͇̱̤͔̙͎͕͛̑̓̒̀̔͆̓͂̃̚͘͘͠ṗ̶̡̢̨̳͙̦̮͍͓̻͎̲̪̲͕͛̔̐́̐̈́̒̒̉̎͛̆̈́̈́̉̔̑̃̕ͅ.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You blink, and you find your keys locking your front door.  Already, your legs are trekking down the garden stones. A flower snarls at you as the gate locks with a click.

Another blink.

 Huh…you’re on the bus.

The sign says it’s headed into the city. Living on the outskirts has always been beneficial for you. Not today, though. Today, the one-hour commute makes your feathers bristle.

You read the barely eligible address scribbled on the note, and pat your hair, smoothing the flared feathers sticking out. It seems…

Hmmmmm.

It seems you did not think this through. H-how…How are you going to get to the hotel?

Tagatha calls you a fossil for using one of those flippy telephones. You considered purchasing those fancy telephones with the lights and screens, and loud robotic voices telling you where to turn left, but learning to use a flip-phone brought enough stress for two lifetimes. You’ll happily stay a fossil.

Turns out, you don’t even need the address.

The Hazbin Hotel sticks out. It’s a humongous building with its name written across what you call the sky in blinding neon lights. Your vision zooms in, and you see that the hotel rests on a giant hill at the other edge of the city. Three large neon-lit arrows point to a crudely attached radio tower. Below it, a wooden ship hangs to the side. Circus light bulbs flicker with electricity.

The Hazbin Hotel is an eyesore – it’s exactly what Alastor prefers.

You reach the dinged-up metal gate on the bottom of the hill and reset your hand on the rusted latch. Trekking through the city took a lot, and you were already here. So, why are your legs frozen to the cement? Why does your heartbeat thump in your ears?

“Excuuussseeeee me.”

A snake towers over you. It’s your first time seeing such a slithery specimen as large as him. His hat rests on his hold, and it blinks at you. His hair … or was that skin … puffs out with two red sets of red eyes.

“Can I help you?” you say, warily. Sinners are in hell for a reason.

“Yessssh,” he says, his tongue slithering out. His flaps stick out, all four eyes staring right into your own. “I’d like to be a guessst at this hotel!”

You glance at the eye-sore that’s called a hotel. “I don’t work here.”

His flaps droop. The snake takes a deep breath, and slides the gate open, slithering in with determination in his … er… snake body.

You follow in silence.

The snake matches your pace. “Will you be a guest at this establishment as well?” he asks you. “Or were you given the same sssssuper secret mission?” Just like before, his tongue slithers out—what a funny little odd man.

Bangs grab your attention. When you focus your vision, you see an inky shadow servant striking a nail into broken wood. “Not at all,” you say slowly. “I’m just here to visit someone.”

His flaps open, and three pairs of eyes and a hat meet yours. “I am the great Sir Pentious!” he says with a proud hand on his puffed-up chest. “Inventor. Architect of destruction. Villain extraordinaire!”

You give him your name “….Doctor.”

“It is only the coward who attacks a battler of health.” His flaps droop as he sinks into himself. “You cannot be my rival, I’m afraid.”

“I guess that makes you brave,” you say, humming. The decorations for the hotel are rather dull. Drawn on the middle of the hill, a giant pentagram is etched on the ground. The flowers dwindle on the cliff edge, and do little to combat the grayness surrounding you. “What a shame to hear—I rather love good rivalries.”

The eyes on Sir Pentious’ hat brighten at the same time his own do as well. “Ssssso do I!”

One of the inky shadow servants waves at you.

You wave back.

Light streams from the glass doors. You blink a few times, adjusting to the sudden change of brightness. Circus-themed stained glass decorate the front entrance. One of the less tacky – but still tacky – designs of this hotel.

Sir Pentious taps the glass with the tips of his finger, clinking with each tap, and his eyes water in excitement. His nose crinkles when he takes a deep breath. You weren’t aware he even owned a nose. Sir Pentious fiddles with the flap of his hat, and bangs on the door.

Your smile strains after a minute of banging.

A young lady with long, white hair creaks the door open. You recognize her from the commercial.

Sir Pentious’ flap open and close with each word as he says, “Why, hello, my dear –”

A punch to the face is his reply.

“Oh dear!” you screech. Sir Pentious drops to the ground, and you kneel next to him, a steady hand on his slimy shoulders. “Have you no manners?”

This insolent girl points her spear and stomps a foot on Sir Pentious. She snarls, and her glare hardens.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sir Pentious’ tongue slithers out as he holds a peace-sign. “I come in peacccccceeeee”

“What are you doing here?” Her spear inches closer.

“Vaggies,” another voice calls out. A blonde with a red pantsuit and a bowtie pokes her head, eyes in a squint. O-oh! You know this lady from the commercial. The Princess of Hell … Cady … Char …Charlie Morningstar! “What’s the problem?” Charlie’s eyes widen when she spots you and Sir Pentious, an honest smile drawn on her face. “Oh, hello again! And hello to you as well!”

“Can you please tell this insolent girl to get her food off this gentleman,” you spit, tilting your nose into the air. Your feathers sharpen when you bristle. “And your weapon away from my face.”

Vaggie takes her foot off Sir Pentious. She holds the spear close, but it’s away from your face.

Sir Pentious straightens into a stand, and the group prattles on.

No one bothers to help you. A huff escapes, and you brush the dirt off your skirt. Absolutely no manners. Insolent and ill-mannered.  Would Alastor stay in such a place?

You’ve never laid an eye on someone as unique as this Vaggie. Her hair patterns are similar to wings. It’s almost unheard of to see such a prominent ‘x’. Her flared eyelashes resemble a bird. It strikes you silly. Almost everyone in hell resembles a human body with animal characteristics hidden somewhere. This insolent girl doesn’t appear to have any of that – only miniscule feathers made to appear native to Hell.

“Absolutely!” Charlie exclaims to who you think is Angel Dust. (The porn-star, not the drug. Obviously.) Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile on his face. There’s a squeak every time he bobs his head. That hat of his looks nervous.  “This place is about second chances and who deserves one more than this…slithery…slippery…special little man.” Charlie takes a peek at you. “Oh, and this feathery…sheddy… and round-eyed woman.”

You do not shed.

You smile at Charlie, and give her your name, “…and I expect it to be used.”

Angel Dust whips to Vaggie. “Aren’t you supposed to protect this place?” he says and turns to you. “How are we even sure we can trust this lady – no offense, toots.”

“None taken,” you say, dryly.

Charlie’s eyes water when she turns to Vaggie, who easily relents with a sigh.

You’re thrust through the apple and circus-themed doors, squinting at the chandelier. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the design—it reminds you of those old rolled films. Charlie leads you and Sir Pentious further down the hall, all but pushing you in. Vaggie and Angel Dust lag a few steps behind.

Charlie waves her arms to go into an enthusiastic point. “So…this is our bar,” she says. Husk drops his drink, a scowl on his face, “and the bartender. This is the curtain, and this is the new wall after Sir Pentious broke the last one. And this is—”

Vaggie calms her down.

The bar clashes with the red wallpaper of the hotel. It’s almost as if someone just dropped it there, and etched it to the very wall. The wood is firm underneath your touch and feels exactly like what wood should feel.

You turn towards the bar and take your seat. Husk focuses on his drink. “Hello,” you say with a gentle voice that should not be mistaken for kindness. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Husk chokes and splatter out his drink, but you only smile at him. He coughs and his ears droop low. “Uh…yes,” he starts. “Good to see you as well.”

“There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

 “Good.”

You run your finger across the skeleton wrapped around the bar post. A memory tickles your brain. This is one of the many specimens you owned. It took one whole month to strip the muscle off its tight hold on the bones, and another month just to clean, bleach, and wire together. The heads above the bar sign were a gift to you, and the skeletons were your gift back.

The neural spine pokes your finger as you tap each one. “I see you’ve set up shop here.”

Husk scowls, taking another swig of his drink. “Not much of a choice.”

“And tell me,” you start, “how long have you been here?”

Husk doesn’t answer you.

Charlie calls your name, and waves you over. “Over here,” she says pointing to where Niffty plays with some kind of one-eyes cat, “we have our maid—Niffty!”

Niffty hops on Sir Pentious. “The bad boy is back!” she exclaims, pulling him closer, eyes wide and shaking. A bead of sweat drops from Sir Pentious’ hat. “Never leave me again.”

“We’re about 80% sure she’s harmless….” Charlie prattles on.

“Hello, Niffty.” You smile at her.

She jumps off Sir Pentious, landing with a small ‘humph’, and strides to you with her pointy short legs. She calls out your name.

You squat, meeting her eye. “It’s great to see you again—Is Alastor forcing you here?”

Her eyes shine with an innocent type of glee. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She claps her hands. “I get to chase all the bugs here.” Nifftly leans closer to you, giggling. “Can I be strapped to your table again? I love it when you slice me open.”

 “Maybe next ti—”

Charlie grabs your arm, hauling you forward. “Oh! Uh, Alastor! Our gracious facility manager! You've met our newest guest Sir Pentious…hehe…,” she tells him. Charlie keeps pulling you, only stopping when you stand before a grand staircase. “These two will be our special wonderful guests!”

Alastor does little to show you what he feels, there’s just that same empty grin.

He bought a new coat, you note. This new one has white streaks on the new collar and less stripes. Guess some things were more important than others.

You slip out of Charlie’s tight grasp. “I think you’re mistaken, my dear,” you say. “I’m not a guest— just a visitor.”

You hold your husband’s gaze and greet him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“It’s good to see you,” you say, a smile drawn on your lips. “How are you doing on this wonderful morning?”

Alastor turns to you, drops an item into his grocery basket, and blinks. “I am amazing!” he says. He grabs your hand with his gloved ones and shakes it. His hands are warmer than you expect them to be. “Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite the pleasure.”

You chuckle at him. “Yes, I’m aware of who you are.”

“Oh, how lovely!” He waves his fingers. “ are you on of my many fans?” His smile strains, and there, you see it, on the corner of his cheek. His nose flares and his smile takes the appearance of a snarl. Maybe it was the other way around.

“A bit,” you admit, adjusting your hold on the basket. “How are your stitches, Sir?”

His eyes widen—brown eyes, you note. “The good doctor!”

“I think you mean the good nurse.”

“Oh yes, yes,” he hums and inches the basket away from your gaze. “I’ve been taking my medicine, and replacing my dressing every three days, just like you said.”

“Good—that’s great to hear. No more accidents?”

“None!” He laughs. “And if one does happen, I’ll be sure to present you with an injury that is only hours old.”

A giggle slips through your lips. “That’s even better to hear,” you say. You clear your throat, tightening the hold on your basket. “I’d hate to take even more of your time. I’ll let you go on with your day.”

A firm grip on the basket handles keeps your feet planted on the glossy floor of the general store. “Not so fast, my dear. I think you still owe me,” he says. Your teeth bare into what you hope is a polite smile. “You promised to show me your marvelous embroidery the next time we meet! You’re not the type of lady to go back on your word now, are you?

“You sure do know how to put such ladies into a tight spot.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light. “I assure you; I don’t mean to. I tend to get very excited about art

“Well, with you holding my integrity hostage, and the addition of such lovely enthusiasm, I find myself having trouble refusing.” You reach into your purse and pull out a clean handkerchief. “Sadly, I wasn’t expecting the general storm to be an art gallery, so this will have to do.”

And there it is again, that same breathy and light laughter. “They really do have everything in here

Alastor takes your handkerchief with steady enthusiasm, studying each stitch carefully. It’s one of your simpler designs—tiny flower bouquets scattered across the fabric. Your eyes are drawn to the contents of his basket: rope, strong acids, latex gloves, rolls of plastic wrap, and other such interesting items.

“You have such beautiful handiwork.”

“You can keep it if you wish,” you tell him. “I have thousands back home, and I’m always weak to such flattering compliments— a real boost to my ego.”

“Splendid!” Alastor slips the handkerchief into his coat. “I love receiving gifts from fans.”

You smile at him to hide your frown. You are not some fan-girl. “Of course.”

Alastor is following you.

The conversation ended several beats of silence ago, but he trails behind your every step. You skip the aisle where they sell produce, stop to grab some eggs, ask the butcher for 50g of chicken liver, and smile back when he smiles back. You sigh and lead Alastor to the end of the general store, and into an aisle.

You snatch a glass bottle of chemicals off the shelf—they really do have everything here. “Going for a hunt soon?” you ask, and read the label.

His smile brightens as he says, “Why yes! There was this wonderful prey that I spotted the other day, and I’m just dying to have his head hanging on my wall.”

You offer him the bottle. “You have a lovely coat. It would be a shame for it to be ruined by stains,” you say. “This always does the trick when dealing with the redder parts of my job.”

He takes the bottle from you.

“Take this as well,” you say and reach into your basket. “It’s the last bottle of 12% hydrogen peroxide in this store, but you need it more than I do. A ratio of fifty-fifty of this and a bit of hair developer in a bucket of water should brighten up your bones. Just let it soak for a day. Oh…and just in case, those two chemicals are safe to mix. You should avoid doing so, but an accident wouldn’t hurt you.”

Alastor offers his basket, and you drop the bottle along with the other hazardous substances. “You sound certain.”

“That is because I am.”

Fate has granted you a humorous shopping companion, and you decide to stop fighting it. Alastor follows you to the bread aisle.

You point to the top shelf. “Can you…?”

He drops the bread into your basket, and stares at you with what you think is curious tenacity.

“My father works as a butcher,” you say, sighing. “He prides himself on catching the venison he sells. We don’t believe in wasting a precious body, so we use it until there is nothing left to give. He came back from his own hunt and wanted to add another antler to his display

Alastor hums. “Won’t you need these then?”

“There’s still a bit leftover sitting in his workshop. I just came to get an extra bottle.”

Alastor continues to follow.  “Do you often aid your father in his work?”

“Not as frequent as when I was a teen, but I still aid him when I have the time to do so,” you say. “It’s how I got to be so normal around a knife —the sharp ones are the best, they cut right through the skin, and with enough force, the bones as well. I keep a little collection of bones at home.”

“Such interesting hobbies you have.”

You pick up two coffee bags and hum. “Thank you.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him and reach out to straighten it. Alastor jerks away and spins to reach into the shelf behind you. “I rather detest owing favors, and you have done me two,” he says, offering you an entirely different brand of coffee beans. “I suggest you try this one. It’s flavors are far richer.”

You offer your basket and Alastor drops it right in.

You eye his basket once more. “Will that be all you’re purchasing?”

He nods, smiling at you.

You smile back.

Well, isn’t this just lovely? Well-dressed gentlemen really are your favorite.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie whips her head, mouth wide as she stares at you and then at Alastor. Angel Dust has an arm on his hips, his brows furrowed and mouth quirked to the side an awkward but rather cute frown. Sir Pentious’ hat squints at you with what you assume is confusion—you can’t really tell. Sir Pentious’s tongue sticks out of his bewildered and crooked frown. “Oh! How nice,” Charlie says after a beat. “So, you two know each other?”

“Partners,” you say

“Friends,” Alastor says

Your smile strains as you say, “To be called a friend by the Radio Demon is quite the honor.” Alastor wipes his monocle with a proud puff.

Angel Dust whistles, leaning on the railing with the first set of arms crossed, and the second propped on his hip. “Didn’t think Freak would be the type to have friends.”

“Neither did I!” You say with a loud laugh. “Well, that’s what I am – a f̵̼̎r̴͔̃i̶̦̍e̶͕͠ṋ̸̀d̶͚̋.” You smoothen your puffed-up feathers. “Apologies.”

More introductions are done. Charlie insists on giving Sir Pentious his first lesson on apology. It goes about as well as you think.

Charlie winces a bit “….Ooooookay,” she says and inhales to plaster a huge smile. “Why don’t we… uh… take a look at the kitchen!”

Angel Dust takes one look at Charlie’s enthusiasm, winces, and says he’s getting a drink.

Charlie’s death grip on Sir Pentious stays firm as you trudge to the kitchen. She stalls at every painting to explain its history, and introduces every crack on the wall, showing it off with an enthusiastic glee. Even the water-stained wallpaper gets its own special moment during the tour. (Where is that ill-mannered girl when you need her?)

You lag a few steps behind. “Alastor…”, you say as a greeting.

Alastor matches your pace, using his microphone as a cane. With the very tip of his fingers, he plucks a stray feather off your hair with a coy smile that reaches from ear to ear. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering how I’ve been fairing these last few years,” he says, spinning that microphone of his and waving his hand like some kind of street performer.

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yes, I know I’ve been absent for some time,” he starts. “It’s nothing serious; I assure you. It’s nothing I cannot handle as well.”

 “My goodness, and here I thought you were occupied at work.” Your teeth flash when you smile. “But in any case, it’s quite… kind… of you to soothe what little worry this friend might have for you.” Alastor and his microphone laugh at you, but you hum with satisfaction when his eyes narrow into a glare.

Charlie and Sir Pentious wave their hands, calling you from across the hall, and you hasten your steps.

The kitchen intimidates you. So many large and metallic machines. You’re sure it would be a living hell should you ever need to operate such an unorthodox set of appliances.

Copper-red tables fill the space, and similar colored cabinets stick to the wall. Such peculiar stoves they have in this establishment. There seems to be no space for the gas tank, nor a gas burner, just some flat glass with weird markings. You prefer the appliances stashed at your home.

“This…,” Charlie starts, winding her arms to a point, “…is the kitchen!”

Sir Pentious’ flaps extend, his arms rocking with excitement. “Such lovely metallic inventions.” He slithers to counter with a dip that appears to mimic some kind of skin. There’s some type of yellow liquid. “This bubbly torture deviccceeee is my favorite.”

“Uhhhhhh…I love that you love the kitchen appliance,” she says with an honestly gentle smile. “But that’s actually an oil fryer.” Charlie crosses her arm into a big ‘x’. “But no torturing is done here, no siree.”

“What a peculiar shape for an oil fryer to be,” you say, taking a look. Alastor glances over your shoulder to take a peek as well. “And there’s so much metal around—did you run out of paint, perhaps?”

Charlie frowns, her shoulder dropping low. “I��d love to add different colors to the machine, but Vaggie says it would take up too much money and time.”

Her frown lasts a second before she’s smiling again.

 “Oh oh oh! You should take a look around. See if there’s anything you might want to add.” Charlie drags you towards one of the cabinets at the back. “We each have a shelf dedicated to our own snacks, but I always love to leave cookies on the communal snack pantry.”

Charlie prattles on, introducing each section of the cabinet. You watch Alastor warily when he shows his teeth. He wiggles his fingers across the air, reaching towards the shelf where Charlie just mentioned Vaggie storing her personal snacks. You slam the cabinet door before he reaches them.

Soft static fills the kitchen air.

“Go on,” Charlie urges. “Take a look around – I know some species of Sinners have specific dietary needs.” She props a hand on her chin. “Like Angel! He can’t seem to be able to have any milk—I wonder why? But he just keeps drinking it anyway for some reason.”

Does the Princess of Hell not know what Lactose Intolerance is? Maybe because she’s never lived as a human. It’s quite humorous, you suppose. A hell-born trying to guide a human, with little to no insight about humanity. Could this be the reason why she’s so naively optimistic?

Sir Pentious’ smile widens, and so does his flap. “You’re… giving…me permission to poke around?”

“Er…yes?”

You open a random cabinet door, and huh…

On the shelf, towards the back, you have the same set of spices in your own kitchen. One of the bottles here has its label stained and fraying at the edges. Another bottle is nearing empty, and the corner of the cap has been chipped off. There was a time, when your own set of spices was stained with oil, and its label frayed because of the constant picking to the edges.

Yesterday, you threw out a set of unopened bottles of spices, its seal still clinging to the caps and brimming with unused flavor, and replaced it with the same set of sealed spices. It’s a waste of your money to keep throwing out something that you never use, but…but…you find it in your grocery basket every single time.

Alastor closes the cabinet with a gentle click.

Your smile fades, and he holds your gaze.

“You are shedding all over my kitchen floors.” Alastor presents you with a bundle of your feathers bunched up on his palm. His grin mocks you.

You turn away, heading where Charlie and Sir Pentious converse. You do not shed.

Alastor pops out of your shadow, towering over you as he inches closer. “Long day?” he says with a hum, that smile still on his face. “You don’t usually start molting until the mid-summer.”

“Oh yes,” you say with a hum, that frown still on your face. “This day has been quite long. How very generous of you to check up on this friend of yours.”

He holds the feathers he’s collected, examining them with a careful eye. “With this rate, you’ll be able to gift a whole pillow.”

Your frown deepens. “Lovely,” you murmur. “I’ll make sure to do so.”

Alastor twirls his microphone and lands it with a soft thunk. He studies you for a second. “Rosie’s last husband got eaten by a shark,” he says. “Not even a loan shark—just a proper dead shark. She swore vengeance on the creature for taking a bite before she had a chance to.”

“What?” you say, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Is that what happened to him? She would be so vague about it when I ask.”

Alastor draws a line along his face, mimicking a smile with his fingers. “Much better, indeed.”

Charlie insists on showing the view from the top of the Hotel. Her arms cross around your own as she chatters about everyone and everything. It’s refreshing to meet a soul as honest as hers.

The elevator ride is painfully slow. The music strains your ears, and this battered metal death box jerks with every floor.

Sir Pentious and his hat scowl at the ‘absolutely inferior ssssmmelting of this handle, Charlie’ and ‘this piss poor wiring. The endsss are not aligned to the proper sssssafety guidelineeeesss’ or something.

Charlie listens in on every word, nodding to indicate that she hears each and everyone. It makes you smile. Alastor picks at your stray feathers with the tip of his fingers, preening the areas you have difficulty reaching.

Moments too late, the elevator doors open with that heavenly ding.

“The view up here is helltastically a-mazing!” Charlie informs the group. “Alastor, you often hide up here or inside the radio tower. It’s really good, right?”

Alastor switches his hold on the microphone, swinging to catch it. “Quite helltastic indeed!” he says. “ I get to see the whole city underneath my very feet.”

Sir Pentious nods. “I, too, would love to sssseee the city underneath me!”

Alastor swings a door open, gesturing for the group to enter like a gentleman.  Charlie whispers an audible ‘awww’ at the sight and saunters right in. Sir Pentious follows along, slithering behind her.

He shuts the door when you take a step forward, separating you from Charlie and Sir Pentious.

There’s still that never ending smile on his lips as Alastor strides to the other end of the hallway, playing with his microphone. You follow behind in silence. Alastor opens a different door, and this time, you step through.

Alastor closes the door, leaving you and him together, alone, on this flimsy balcony. He beams at you, taking a step forward—

You slap him.

Radio static glitches from his microphone. There, on the corner of his cheek, you see the strain in his smile. His eyes harden into a glare, his nostrils flare, and his smile takes on the appearance of a snarl.

The air around you starts to gray with static. Symbols carve themselves into the space.

You slap him again, staring down at him.

“Is that all you came to do?” Alastor says to you with a low snarl, but the symbols dissolve and his antlers shrink.

You turn towards the view, propping a hand on your chin. “Such harsh words for a friend,” you say with a sarcastic smile. “It’s a wonder why you don’t have more with such a dazzling personality. At any rate, it’ll be impossible to find yourself a wife.”

His eyes twitch, and Alastor strikes the ground with his microphone. “Well, consider it an honor,” he says, inching closer, mimicking your smile. “Not many can say such words to me, much less be able to strike my flesh

“Maybe they should—someone certainly has to.”

Alastor still has a smile—he always has a smile. You watch as his eyes morph into radio dials, and the absolute audacity of that man to look at you like that.

Your feathers sharpen and crack at the sight. “D̷̝̈́o̷̞͊n̷̟̂'̷̗̏ť̵͔ ̴̱̀f̷̳̓u̴͍̓c̷̛͕ḳ̵͝ ̴̲̽w̸̞̑í̵̞t̴̼̐ḥ̷͝ ̵̫͌m̸̻̔e̸̡͘!— you never have, so don’t start. Don’t test me—not today, my deerest,” you say, hissing at him. 

“What is it that you want, exactly?” he says, glancing down at you. “Unless you are a child, I expect you to use your words.”

“You know I’m not just some friend — you do not allow yourself to make such connections. We’re partners,” you tell him, and you don’t know why you remind him when he should already know. Was it in fear that he forgot? “But you left without as much as a word.”

“Was it that I left? Or was it that I left you?” Alastor says with casualty as if to show you such dismissal, and oh…yes, your husband can be a cruel man, indeed. Time and sweet smiles made you forget.

You rub your hands on your face, taking one deep breath. “I want what I deserve—an explanation,” you say. “That’s all I need as your wife.”

It’s his silence that makes you turn away. 

“I see…” Your face falls. “Perhaps, it was a mistake to seek you out. A fool’s errand.”

You study the sinners below. The whole city really can be seen from underneath your very feet. (You ignore the trembling of your fists. You’re a doctor, for fucks sake. Your hands don’t tremble…at least, they never have before.) 

Hesitant, but gentle touches pick at your feathers. Alastor preens you with warm hands. “You are not a fool, my love,” he says. “I would not be yours if such were the case.”

You harden your heart for you cannot let this man see the cracks. “This is not what I wish to hear,” you say, voice steady.

Alastor does not answer you.

“Will you just stay silent every time?”

“Yes.”

Finally, you meet his gaze. You hold it as much as he holds yours. “ There is not a thing in this world that you do not do without reason,” you say slowly. “However,  I’m not sure if your silence is because you cannot or if it’s because you will not explain yourself to me. Which is it?”

There is nothing on his face that you can read, just a small steady smile that tells you nothing. “I will not.”

“I know you, my deerest, and I know that you’ve never once led me astray.” Your grip on the railing tightens painfully. This day has been long. “Then all I need is your word that you will return to me with that smile of yours when you’ve accomplished what you need to do.”

Alastor smiles at you, twirling his microphone. “We can even shake on it.”

You shake your head. “This is not a deal,” you say. “This is your wife demanding that you do so.”

“Then it shall be done,” Alastor says, inching close enough for his warmth to spread.  He turns to you and pokes his cheeks to indicate a smile. "You look much more radiant with one."

You bare your teeth at him, giving a dry smile. “Much better?”

“Indeed.”

You study the sinners below once more, but this time your hands stay steady next to Alastor’s own. Well, Charlie was correct, the view is helltastic. The entertainment district blinds you, but only for a second. And when you sharpen your vision, you can faintly make out acid clouds forming on the outskirts of the city. You should have grabbed an umbrella on your way out.

“I heard you on the radio today,” you say.

He glances at you, his smile widening ever so slightly with smugness. “And you came all this way for me?”

“Well, that is what good friends do for each other.”

Alastor points his nose to the air with a huff.

“I only jest, my deerest,” you say, chuckling at him. “ I came all the way here to see if I’ve been widowed a second time, or just dumped like a common rag.”

“Is that so?”Alastor hums with dissatisfaction. “I’m sure you mentioned something about not noticing such a long disappearance.”

You hold his gaze, inching your hand to cup his cheek. You stop inches above his skin, and your palm hovers enough for Alastor to feel the warmness you hold on your hands. “Don’t pout, my deer,” you tell him, softly, oh so very soft as you caress the air. “Of course, I noticed your absence.” 

You clap your hands together with the brightest and most innocent smile you can muster.

“But if I told you that, my deerest,” you start, “I feared that big head of yours would implode if I fed your ego.”

Alastor laughs, and his real voice bleeds in as he does. “That humor of yours has been my most wonderful companion all these years.”

You smile with satisfaction. “My, my, you make such fine compliments.”

His smile relaxes. “I do, indeed!”

“Just as you say that my humor makes a fine companion,” you say as you laugh, bright and heavy, “that smile of yours has been mine.”

A knock breaks the moment.

The door swings open, slow and hesitant. Charlie pokes her head, and her hair droops to the sideways. Behind her, Sir Pentious waves at you. You wave back.

“Oooooooohhhh….yikes,” Charlie says, shrinking deeper into the door. “Am I interrupting? I could just go an—”

“Not at all my dear,” you say. “Come right in. You have such a lovely view, and things like this are better when shared.”

Charlie swings the door wider, sauntering right in, and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “You could live here as well!” she says. Behind her, Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. “We accept everyone.”

You flicker your gaze to Alastor. “I already have a home,” you find yourself saying. “And this place is far too close to the city. So much honking and blasting aren’t good for my ears.”

Charlie pouts, but she doesn’t press you.

The view is better when shared. Charlie points at every detail and explains everything you see. The sky darkens to a red, and too soon, it’s time to leave.

There’s a warm, but firm, hand resting on your back when you walk out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator. Alastor keeps his hands steady, even when you reach the common room.

Vaggie is the first to greet your group—well, it’s more appropriate to say she greets Charlie, and you just happen to be there. There’s a bag by her feet. “I was able to find the costumes you need for the exercise,” she says. “Even the giant lollipop is here.”

Charlie squeals. “Thank you thank you thank you!” Her excited gaze filters to you. “I have this wonderful game in mind, and then we could fo a bit of some of that good ol’ roleplay.” Angel Dust quirks a smile from the couch. “You should totally sta—”

“I’m afraid not,” Alastor says, drumming his fingers on his microphone. “I think it’s time for our visitor to head home. She’s had quite a long day.”

“Oh, of course. No worries!” Charlie says, giving you a bright smile—a real genuine and honest smile. “Feel free to come by anytime. The Hazbin Hotel’s doors will always be open should you change your mind.”

Vaggie scratches her face. “Before you go, I want to apologize for this afternoon,” she says. “It wasn’t right of me to be so hostile—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, my dear. I understand,” you say quickly, ignoring the static behind you. “You were protecting something you cared about. I find great value in those who do.”

Vaggie smiles, and maybe she’s not too bad after all. “Thank you.”

From the couch, Angel Dust props his legs and waves at you. “And you’re welcome to open these doors any day.”

Alastor leads you to the door. You wave back at Niffty and Sir Pentious, whose eyes water as he frowns. Alastor’s hand stays firm as you trudge down the hill, past the rusted gate, into the city, and to the correct bust stop.

“You sure know how to find the most interesting groups of people, my deer,” you say. “Charlie and that hotel of hers are wonderful.”

Alastor adjusts his monocle. “Well, you know me. I see potential, and I follow it wherever it leads.”

“Should I be worried?” you say, chuckling. “The last time you saw potential, it ended with us married.”

“Not at all, my love.”

“You should continue to stay at the hotel,” you find yourself saying. “There’s just something about it—I think you’ll pick up quite a lot from your time there.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him, and reach out to straighten it. Alastor inches closer. The fabric is smooth underneath your touch. There’s stray lint on the shoulder of his coat, and you brush that away. You grab the lapes and adjust its fit, smoothing the fabric beneath your fingers.

“Much better?” he asks.

“Indeed,” you say, softly.

“I will see you soon,” he says, and you hear the unspoken promise and question hidden beneath his words.

“Good.”

Alastor tilts your chin with the tips of fingers. (And oh…oh. His gloves are off, and his hands are warmer than ever) He presses his lips on your cheek.

That blasted bus arrives too soon. You step inside, but turn to your husband and say, “Next time, when you disappear for several years, I expect to be informed and not just left with a vague note,” you say with a huff. “And when you return, I also expect to be the first to be informed.”

“Of course.”

“See to it that you keep your word.”

The bus door closes, and you take your seat. You smile to yourself and lean back on the crusty bus fabric. Patting your pocket, you take out a single gold band, slipping it on your finger.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

That habit of recklessness in moments of excitement was something your father hoped you’d grow out of. Thinking things through never really was one of your many strengths when such an exhilarating opportunity presents itself.

You scold yourself for not double-checking for gloves. Measure twice, cut one, and all that. But no matter, you’ll push through as always, clawing and digging to unearth the treasure left behind.

Your scalpel fits into your palms. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You sigh, breathy and exhilarated, and begin.

‘First, do no harm’

But this…this does not harm a single living being.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should Be Trusted| If you guys know who Olivia and Stolar are, that's what I imagine when I think about the reader's hair. Also, maybe some of you noticed, but I'm very relaxed when it comes to formatting my writing. Its why I use quite a lot of ellipses and em dashes and utilize italics and spaces. But the one thing I was very strict about was not to use the word, "miss". So there are no "You miss..." and "I miss..." But the words are there and spoken beneath actions and thoughts, hidden and unspoken, but known. My inbox is always open because I'd like to know what your favorite unspoken "I miss you" is/are. I have my own favorite ones as well.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 1)

Cregan x reader

A/N: this is just gonna be a miniseries methinks

word count: 1,171

Next chapter

Series Masterlist

“You look like an angel, my love.” Rhaenyra says as the handmaidens pin back your hair but you don’t feel like an angel; you feel like a pawn.

You have been meeting with suitors for nearly four moons and none have seemed to be good enough for you. Lannisters are too proud, Tullys bore you, and you can’t stand a single person with the name Baratheon. Your mother said that she was showing you a great kindness in allowing you to choose, a kindness that she didn’t appreciate enough when the young queen had the chance. You don’t care. You know you are just like she was when she was younger. You often wear that with pride but you know what it means in this scenario. You’re ‘too stubborn to appreciate what has been given to you’. Rhaenyra gave you the opportunity but she was no longer patient. A husband had to be chosen.

“Winterfell is very far.” Is all you say in response.

“Lord Stark is a good man. I would not have chosen him for you if I wasn’t sure of it.” She presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Just walk through the gardens with him. Get to know the man who will be your husband.” She pets your hair in a loving manner. You can’t seem to understand that she would only have the best for you, her only daughter.

You have yet to meet Cregan Stark but you already hate him, your betrothed, the man who will whisk you away from your family to the cold North. You resent the freedoms he is taking from you. You resent being separated from your family. You resent everything about him.

“He will treat you well, sweet girl. I know it.” You stand up now, wrapped in a silk gown and decorated with jewellery like a lovely little present for him. When you get to the gardens, he is already waiting for you with a blinding smile on his face. You have to admit that he is incredibly handsome. He is tall and his physique looks strong from years of training with the sword. A real Northern man.

“Princess, it is my pleasure to meet you. Our engagement brings great honour to my house.” He walks over to stand in front of you and you let him take your hand up for a kiss, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Lord Stark.” Your voice is cold which seems to surprise him ever so slightly. You don’t give him a chance to say much else as you begin to walk through the gardens, leaving him in your dust. He looks at you in a bit of a stupor before quickly following after his pretty betrothed. 

“Would you like to take my arm, princess?” He politely offers his right arm to you. How proper.

“No.” You say simply as he speeds up a bit to stay in step with you.

“No?” He looks a little confused but chalks it up to teenage girls being a little strange. You give him no other response so he makes another attempt at conversation. “Have you ever visited Winterfell?”

“No.” He awaits to hear a sentiment of your excitement to see it soon but is disappointed when none comes.

“I am sure you will love it. It’s beautiful when there's a fresh dusting of snow on the ground. I’d say it’s the greatest place in all of Westeros but I suppose i’m biased.” He grins, mostly to himself, and then looks at you, hopeful for more of a response.

“Hmm.”  Is all you offer as a reply. Cregan finds himself dejected at his future wife’s lack of interest and he tries his best to shake it off.

“It does get cold of course but you’ll be more than warm enough in the castle. Most actually find it very cozy.” He gives you another smile that likely has most women melting in a puddle at his feet. For some reason it just irritates you more.

“Dragons don’t do well in the cold.” Your curt reply makes him cringe. He can’t understand what has given you such a sense of distaste towards him. Things are silent for a moment. He has no idea how to respond directly to your comment.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Another attempt it seems. The question makes you sigh. What a boring change of subject. 

“We don’t really need to speak.” You shock him with your words, with your bratty attitude. He’d expected you to be entitled but he didn’t expect you to be outright rude. He is a lord after all, the Warden of the North. He deserves some sense of courtesy from you.

“That is going to be difficult seeing as how we are to be wed.” He scoffs and you begin to fiddle with the rings that decorate your fingers.

“The only thing you need from me in this marriage is to fill my belly with your heirs.” You say. You know it’s harsh but it isn’t necessarily untrue. He seems to be taken aback slightly by your words.

“You don’t wish to get to know the man you’re going to marry?” He asks in disbelief. He seems like a romantic. You didn’t think people of nobility were allowed to be romantics. Though, simply knowing your husband better is a sad definition of romanticism.

“You ask many questions.” You roll your eyes and he does his best to hold his tongue and not say something stupid.

“And you answer practically none, princess.” There was a bit of bite in his words. He clearly believes that you’re acting like a spoilt child. 

Awkward silence fills the space between you both. You wonder if he may apologise to you and he earns a bit more of your respect because he doesn’t. It’s quiet for quite some time and you try to walk faster so that you may get to the end of the gardens before he tries to make conversation again. He never does and it isn’t long before the promenade comes to an untimely finish.

“Good day to you, my lord.” Poor Lord Stark looks like he’s rethinking all of his life choices when you say the words to him. What an ill fate for the man, marrying a cold Targaryen princess.

“To you as well, princess.” You don’t lift your hand up for him to kiss again and based on the fact that he looks like a kicked puppy, you know that he wanted to.

You leave quickly. You did your duty… technically. Your mother asked you to walk through the gardens with him and you did. Mayhaps you simply forgot about the getting to know him part. You wonder if he will retract his proposal, but who would ever retract a proposal to a princess? Maybe you’re delaying the inevitable, maybe you’re just full of old fashioned Targaryen spite but you have no wish to create a relationship with the man you’re meant to marry.

taglist(comment to be added): @valeskafics @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo Chapter 4

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

Also @twistedcece @cenatour @ursinaw @xiaopleasecomehome @bearshideout @koebishrimpuwu @v-sh @help-whatdoimakemyusername @secret-potion @magmdnv @sunshine-for-serotonin @mel-star636 @silkkorchid @thatpersonuouknow @the-ace-reader @pamv11 @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @hrhqueenfox @goseew @luxthestrange @juno-of-wonderland @who-mst @despairingy-obsessed @lanxianschoenheit and @thisisafish123 wanted to be tagged! Let me know if anyone else wants to be tagged for future chapters. If you no longer want to be tagged, please tell me! (Some of the tags might not have worked, and I’m sorry if so!)

Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you. 

Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.

Previous Part: Chapter Three

Next Part: Chapter Five

WARNINGS: none for now

Note: All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.

Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.

Note 2: I was in a “blushy” mood when I wrote this

—----------------------------------

The parrot had returned to his perch and was watching you curiously as you pulled out your notebook. You decided that you might as well go over and study him first, since he seemed eager enough to talk earlier.

“Hey, I never got your name,” you said, waving at the colorful-winged boy. 

He gave you a big smirk, “Ace is the name, don’t forget it.”

You couldn’t help but think he was even a little more cocky than the peacocks. The way he smirked at you made you feel like he was grating on your nerves a little.

“Well, my name is (Y/n), it’s nice to meet you,” you said, smiling brightly.

“I’m not going to remember that,” Ace said matter-of-factly, “Too many keepers, you know?”

You tried to keep the annoyance from showing on your face, but it must have shown a little, because Ace’s grin was widening. For whatever reason, he was toying with you.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking some notes,” you said, holding your notebook up for him to see.

“I do mind,” Ace shot back without hesitation.

“What do you want to do then?” You asked, biting back a sigh, “Did you want to talk?”

For the first time, the mask slipped. The smug grin disappeared, revealing something more vulnerable, “Everyone that comes through just makes me repeat things like I’m some sort of circus freak.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, heart clenching at his confession. You could picture little kids trying to get him to repeat after them like a… well, a parrot, “I won’t do that to you. We can just have normal conversations.”

Ace’s eyes averted from your figure and a slightly blush rose on his cheeks, “Yeah, I mean, I’d like that.” He raised his arm to shield his blush from you, “Ah- I, um, we can talk next time.”

“Are you sure? I’d love to talk with you.”

“Yeah…” the redness spread to Ace’s ears. You hadn’t meant to make him blush, but you couldn’t help but think it was cute. You were disappointed when he spread his wings and flew off to the birdhouse, disappearing inside.

You pulled out your notebook and began to write:

DAY 1

PARROT

The parrot halfling’s name is Ace. His wings and hair are more orange than red like in normal parrots. Other than the wings on his back and the way his feet curl into talons, he looks human. 

He’s able to hold conversations easily and probably knows more languages than the average human. He seems to like retreating to his birdhouse to eat and have privacy.

Next, you decided, you’d go to the raven, since his cage was right next to Ace’s.

The cage appeared empty and you quickly realized he must be inside his birdhouse. Because of the color of his hair and wings, it was impossible to pick him out among the shadows in the entrance. 

“Deuce!” You called out, “How are you doing?”

Immediately, there was movement inside the birdhouse and Deuce’s head poked out, staring out at you, eyes glittering with excitement despite his calm expression. Dark blue wings spread and, before you knew it, his talons were digging into the perch at the edge of his cage.

“Remember?” Deuce asked.

“Huh?” Your mind went blank, unsure of what he was trying to ask you.

“Remember?” Deuce asked again, this time pointing at his chest.

“Oh! Yes, I remember you.”

A soft smile spread across Deuce’s lips and you returned it with an even brighter grin. 

“You? You name?” Deuce pointed at you and you startled. You had forgotten to tell him your name!

“I’m (Y/n)! It’s nice to officially meet you, Deuce,” you held out a hand for him to shake, but he merely stared at it in confusion.

“Deuce, you idiot, you're supposed to shake her hand,” someone’s voice snorted. To your surprise Ace had emerged from his birdhouse to poke fun at the bird in the cage next to his own.

Deuce reached out and grabbed your hand and shook it. His hands were so smooth you were amazed he wasn’t using moisturizer. You released his hand but he kept holding on to yours.

“Um, Deuce, you have to let go,” you laughed awkwardly. 

Deuce’s face hardened and he tightened his hand around your own. You tried to pull away but he still didn’t let go.

“Let go Deuce!” You said sharply. 

Deuce looked startled and dropped your hand. His face fell and he hunched his shoulders, looking ashamed.

“It’s okay,” you tried to reassure him, but it was too late, he was already flying back to his birdhouse.

Ace made a disgusted noise and disappeared into his own birdhouse once more.

Sighing shakily, you pulled out your notebook again.

DAY 1

RAVEN

The raven halfling’s name is Deuce. He doesn’t seem to know much English. Earlier, he had trouble opening the salad container. 

He seemed to like holding my hand, as he didn’t want to let go.

“Let’s go talk to the flamingos,” you said to yourself, walking over to their cage.

The flamingos were on the opposite side of the cage, but you were hesitant to step inside. The enclosure was designed to look like the wetlands, and you were afraid your shoes may get absolutely ruined. 

Oh well, you figured, I can just get new shoes if that happens.

Cater and Riddle looked up as you entered the cage, the gate closing noisily behind you. They watched you curiously as you cheerfully made your way towards them. Suddenly, the ground gave way and your left leg sank up to the knee in water. You lost your balance and started to fall towards the large pond taking up half their exhibit. You let out a strangled cry as the water grew closer.

Then, everything stopped. You were suddenly aware of hands holding your waist and forearm, keeping you from plunging straight into the water. 

“Nice catch, Riddle!” Cater gasped, his hands joining the smaller man’s to help pull you onto dry land. 

Shakily, you said, “Thank you guys so much!”

Riddle turned his head away, but nodded bashfully, a light pink dusting his cheeks. Cater grinned at him knowingly.

“I just wanted to say ‘hi’ to you two and introduce myself,” you explained, “I’m (Y/n), and I’ll be visiting you every few days.”

“Not every day?” Cater pouted. Maybe it was your imagination, but Riddle looked a little disappointed too.

“No, sorry,” you apologized. 

“Tired,” Riddle said sharply.

“It is getting late,” Cater nodded.

Curiously, you asked, “How do you know English so well, Cater?”

Cater beamed, “I was a pet.”

A pet? Keeping a wild halfling as a pet somehow felt worse than keeping them in a zoo, but you couldn’t explain why. At least Cater didn’t seem to be bothered by his past.

You looked up at the sky and cursed- it really was getting dark. If you wanted to see the peacocks before darkness fell, you’d have to hurry.

“I’m sorry, I should go say ‘hi’ to the peacocks,” you told the pair.

Riddle nodded and began to walk away. Cater pouted but nodded as well. You quickly jotted down a few notes in your notebook.

DAY 1

FLAMINGOS

The two flamingos are named Riddle and Cater. They’re different from the other birds in that they have webbed feet instead of talons.

Cater is a former pet, so he knows English pretty well.

You felt like your notes were getting shorter and shorter, but you were feeling tired today. In the end, the notes were for your eyes only unless you made a discovery. So far the only thing out of the ordinary was Deuce’s hand holding, but even that wasn’t anything surprisingly. Halflings wouldn’t know what makes humans uncomfortable, after all.

You found yourself slipping into the peacock enclosure without even thinking about it. All three of them looked at you, so you smiled and waved at them. Rook waved back enthusiastically, but Epel continued to stare and Vil looked away haughtily.

Once you were close to them, you found yourself admiring Vil. Despite his attitude, he really was gorgeous, “You’re so beautiful, Vil.”

Vil’s eyes went wide and he looked at you in surprise for a moment before a gentle smile spread across his lips, “Thank you.”

Epel and Rook looked just as stunned as you felt. Maybe he wasn’t as prickly as you had originally thought. 

“You’re Epel, right?” You asked the adorable lilac-haired peacock.

Epel nodded and, before you could say anything else, he sternly said, “Not cute!”

“What?” You couldn’t figure out what he meant. Was he saying Vil wasn’t cute? You weren’t cute? 

“Mademoiselle,” Rook smiled and brushed his fingers along your arm, “He not like cute.”

“He doesn’t like being called cute?” You asked.

Rook and Epel both nodded.

“Alright, then I won’t call you cute,” you reassured him, “Is handsome okay?”

Epel nodded, tucking his chin against his chest in embarrassment.

You giggled and introduced yourself, “Well, I’m (Y/n)! I’ll be visiting you every few days.”

“Nice to meet you, Mademoiselle,” Rook said.

Epel stumbled over his words, “Nice to… meet you.”

Vil didn’t say anything but he gave you a nod of acknowledgment. You pulled out your notebook.

DAY 1

PEACOCKS

Peacock halflings have a fan of feathers protruding from their backs, setting them apart from all other bird halflings. The peacocks at the zoo are named Vil, Rook, and Epel. 

Rook is friendly, but the other two, especially Vil, aren’t as interested in me.

Note: Don’t call Epel “cute”.

The peacocks looked tired, Epel having already sat down and pulled his wings around him. It was best if you went to the bird you had saved for last- the owl.

You waved goodbye, only receiving a responding wave from Rook. A few moments later, you were closing the gate behind you and heading over to the owl’s cage.

The green-haired owl was awake and chowing down on his salad. He looked at you curiously, a gentle smile gracing his lips as you approached him.

“I’m (Y/n), I never had the chance to ask you your name.”

“I’m Trey,” the owl responded, his voice smooth. You were surprised to realize that he wore glasses, and wondered how on earth they did eye tests on halflings.

“How did they know you needed glasses?” You asked. After all, it’s not like they could have him read something out, since halflings couldn’t read.

Trey smiled, “I hit things. With my wings. I fly. Fly into things.” 

“That makes sense,” you mused, “So it’s better now?”

“Yes, better now,” Trey nodded.

You couldn’t explain what it was, but for some reason, the way Trey looked down at you made your stomach twist unpleasantly. It was like he was the one researching you. His eyes were sharp, greedily taking in every movement, while the simple smile remained glued to his face.

He put you on edge.

“Well…” your smile wavered, “I’m going to take some notes.”

“No more talking?” Trey asked. You couldn’t tell if it was your imagination or not, but the smile seemed… off. As though he were mocking you.

You had a feeling this halfling was much more intelligent than he let on.

“Sorry,” you forced a bright smile, “I’m going home soon, so I need to do this.” You pulled out your notebook and began to write quickly.

DAY 1

OWL

The owl halfling’s name is Trey. He has a barn owl’s wings, but he has green hair. He wears glasses.

Note: Keep your eye on him.

You were so tired, you were probably imagining things. Either way, you were ready to get home as soon as possible.

[marvelwinchester67]

I’m gonna need 5-10 business days to recover from the Hazbin Hotel season 1 finale.

Hazbin Hotel episode 7 and 8 spoilers (because I’m going feral) and my thoughts/unhinged feelings about it because no one else can understand quite like tumblr can

Read at your own risk

What. The. Fuck. Guys.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

IT WAS NIFFTY WHO KILLED ADAM?!

AND SIR PENTIOUS?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! IM NOT OKAY BUT IM GLAD HE IS

Lucifer “now I’m gonna fuck you” Morningstar everyone (plz I love him so much)

So Carmilla knew who Vaggie really was and just, didn’t give a shit? Love her for that

I love Rosie. Her design, her personality, she’s amazing. She was so sweet to Charlie when she didn’t have to be and actually listened to her and encouraged her (points for the relationship advice)

So Alastor is on someone’s leash and he’s trying to wiggle his way out of it, the Vees are plotting (of course they are), and LUTE KNOWS LILITH?! THEY MADE SOME KIND OF DEAL?!

I’m so so curious about how Lute and Lilith know each other and why Lute would want her to deal with her daughter

But this implies that Adam had a previous deal with Lilith regarding something we don’t know yet, since Lute said she was in charge now that he was dead and that their deal pertained to her now

ALSO?! You’re telling me that’s what Adam looked like under his mask?! (I still loathe him but lowkey he was hot I’ll be honest right now)

Sir Pentious telling Cherri he loved her was so sweet

I soaked up every single scrap of Huskerdust I could within those last two episodes they own my soul and I’m so excited to see more of them in season 2

So it looks like Vox thinks Alastor is missing again which is why he’s plotting with the other Vees, but Alastor showed back up at the hotel during repairs so that might not last long

Alastor’s fight with Adam was so good holy shit omfg plz give me more of Alastor’s powers that shield was so cool and his verse in that final song gave me chills like, oh my god he was so mad and I’m here for it

And Lucifer showing up and telling Charlie she changed his heart and mind about the sinners? He is so precious plz protect this duck loving man at all costs

Charlie and Vaggie’s More Than Anything Reprise? Please I am sobbing they love each other so much it hurts

To top it all off- Alastor having beef with literally everyone will never not be funny. Fucking Susan? Are you kidding me. I was laughing so hard. Rosie seems like she deals with Susan a lot and Alastor calling her an Ornery Bitch was so fucking funny for no reason.

Everyone has beef with Susan now.

There is so much I have to say about this show and I could literally talk about it for years but for now I will be repeatedly listening to the soundtrack and impatiently waiting for season 2 because I no longer have the will to live after I sobbed on my bedroom floor over this show. VIVIENNE I AM IN YOUR WALLS-

[3typical3]

Tip for non Hispanic ppl writing Spanglish

*I initially wrote this at 1 am so like, keep that in mind as you decipher this lol

*context is key when speaking Spanglish, if your character is in a professional setting they probably won’t speak Spanglish unless it’s to a fellow co worker who also speaks Spanglish. It’s more of a casual way a speaking yk?

Also parents, I avoid Spanglish with my parents unless we’re switching from just speaking Spanish to just speaking English. But that’s depends from family to family.

It’s typically like switching sentences and not dropping in random words.

Example “ es Que fui a la tienda, and they were out of milk”

Example “ te ves cansada, did you sleep last night?”

“La neta” is and extremely common Mexican slang term, typically means, honestly. It can also be used to mean ‘really?’

Honestly example:

“La neta, Im tired”

Or “La neta, estoy cansada. Im going to bed”

In the case it means “really?”:

ex.) “Neta?! They said that?!”

I personally say “ de que” which is basically saying “like”, it’s a filled term, before saying a sentence in either English or Spanish

example “ de que idk it won’t work”

I’m Mexican so I use “ósea” a lot in both languages. Another substitute for words like:

“I mean,” “it'd be,” ”like,” “so,” “that is,” “therefore,” and “or.”

Ex. “ ósea, it looks weird idk”

The famous “ pero like” I personally don’t use a lot but an example of how it’s used in Spanglish is “ pero like, how did it happen?”

Sometimes I Just say “ fuck” but like in my Mexican accent or in a sentence.

“ fuck, perdí mi pulsera”

When I get startled I cuss in both English and Spanish but a Spanglish example would be

*insert random startling noise

“ ala verga! That scared me” or “ hijo de tu puta madre!” when something REALLY scared the shit out of me lol

“Chingada madre, where did that come from”

Rlly insert any cuss word in there and it probably works in Spanglish.

Edit bc I thought of this the morning after

In Mexican Spanish for whatever reason the word “madre” can be used like kinda like a cuss word lol.

Example “ Me vale madres”

Which in English would translate to “I don’t value mothers” but in practice means “I don’t give a shit” or “I don’t care”.

Another Mexican deep cut is the word “pedo” which yes, means fart but we’ve really given the word so many alternative meanings like

“ no es mi pedo “ = “not my problem”

“Estoy bien pedo” = “in rlly drunk”

“Vas a la peda?” = “ are you going to the party/kickback”

There’s more but that’s like the basics lol.

Also another Mexican term is “Aguas”… which literally translates to “waters” but it’s used as a warning.

“Aguas, there’s car coming”

The most famous of Mexican slang has to be “wey” or “guey” depends on how you spell it. But it just means dude. Another term that goes in hand is, “no mames” which basically means “are you kidding me”.

*men for whatever reason hate when the girl they’re dating or are into calls them wey. I think it’s because it’s seen as either improper or as like friend zoning.

“Wey, you’re not gonna believe this”

“No mames wey, look at this”

Another term is “equis” which basically means whatever

“How was the party?”

“Estuvo equis”

Another example

“ now was she dressed?”

“Equis, nothing crazy nothing wow”

*I recommend for Mexican characters looking into the words, or you can just ask me I just don’t wanna make this longer than I already have lol, “mamar”/“mamo”/“mamon”, each you would think is the same but no, no they are not and using one in the wrong context could be catastrophic lol. They are vital words to our vocab

If you’re writing to a character from a specific country, take the time to learn some slang. Sometimes slang crosses over, sometimes even we use slang we learn from each others dialects. Personally I love “joder”/“no jodas” because of the shows from Spain.

But take the time because if you write a Colombian character using most of the slang I’ve used above, you’d get a lot of hate from Colombians lol.

Some bad Spanglish examples would be

“ why didnt you eat your comida?”

Like no. Just no. Inserting a random Spanish word doesn’t equate to Spanglish, at least not in most Latin peoples lives

“ you look cansada” also just no.

*Edit I saw someone post abt this and I felt like adding it in

If you do insert a random Spanish word or vice versa it’s because you forgot the word but that involves a lot of blanking and being annoyed you can’t dig the simplest word out of you sub conscience lol

Example: “ you look, FUCK what’s the word! You know when you’re cansada…TIRED. You look tired”

Another commenter addition I’ll be adding is using “eh” as a filler instead of “um”. I use both but even in English I default to using “eh” or “ehmmmm”

The worst is when you don’t remember the word, only to have it appear in your subconscious hours later lol

Another fav filler word is “deste” which equates to another more Central American term “vaina” but a less refined way of saying it. Essentially they mean “thing” but that thing can be anything. It’s kinda a word when you’re to lazy to say the actual word.

“Pásame el deste”

*passes them x ítem

“No I meant the remote”

*trying not to kill the person because they could’ve said remote the whole time but chose not to

Sometimes we use bad Spanglish on purpose just to be funny

“Que sad” “Que cute”

* i personally love inserting the word cute into my vocab in Spanish just cuz so to each their own

Something I do is like say something in English and immediately say the exact same thing in Spanish. Or like I’ll say an exclamation in one language then end in the other.

“ GO GO GO, VÁMONOS APÚRATE”

“Que asco, gross”

“WOW, que bueno”

Also if you’re writing like couples tbh nicknames in Spanish would be reserved for when you’re speaking in Spanish and same for English, but each couple is different so if you rlly want to leave a nickname in Spanish in go for it. If you rlly want the endearment to be “ mi amor” please remember that after like the first or second time the Spanish speaker would probably just refer to their S/O as “ amor” or switch between the two.

Which brings me to the terms “mami/mamita” and “papi/papito”. Now, while they Can and are by some used in a sexual manner, they can also be used as general terms of endearment. My mom will sometimes call me mamita or my brother papito.

Amongst couples though it’s just kinda said, I saw someone describe it was you just give motherly energy so “mami” is said lol which I get oddly enough.

Once a couple is well established or just comfortable the woman can refer to her S/O as “ viejo” which is old man lol, but it’s like cute. On the flip side idk it’s typically seen as offensive when a man calls his S/O “vieja” but that depends on culture to culture.

Again mami and papi don’t have to be sexual but can be.

Another simple thing you can do is look up nicknames for certain names.

Examples:

“Mike” pronounced “Mique” for Miguel. Some people like to use “Mickey”, that gained popularity from an old Mexican singer lol.

“Ponchó” For Alfonso

“Ale” Can be used for Alejandro/Alexandra/Alejandra

Another thing I thought of is amongst siblings when referring to our parents we will say like

“Haz visto a mi mamá”

Which means have you seen “my mom” even though she’s both our mom… idk it’s weird but a nice little touch you could add to your writing lol

I get rlly annoyed reading bad Spanglish, sometimes it’s just painfully cringe and just obvious a non Spanish speaker wrote it, and I realize it’s bc most of y’all didnt grow up with it so like this is just what is typical Spanglish most Hispanic ppl grow up speaking, obviously not everyone speaks like this but figured I’d give tips from someone who actually speaks English and Spanish and switches between.

If I missed anything feel free to add on or if you disagree add examples

[thementalshawty]

PAC Your FS’s Vibe

So hello again the ghost is reappearing sorry to my babies, work is heavy and wearing me out I work at FedEx y’all. Package handling heavy ass boxes everyday for the week! I’ve been worn out, but that don’t mean ion love you guys and I feel like shit for not being more consistent. So I’m back with a quick PAC reading so you can get a quick little vibe of your FS just something to tickle your fancy. If you’d like more material and details even readings every month join my patreon which shall be featured on the bottom of this reading! REMEMBER! This is a GENERAL reading so take everything lightly and let the rest flow to another thank you. Let’s begin shall we.

VIBE 1:

VIBE 2:

VIBE 3:

VIBE 4:

VIBE 1:

You Got The DEATH card. So your FS regardlesss of gender is intense! They’re Scorpionic! They may be a Scorpio or have Scorpio in their natal chart. They’ve been through a lot of transitions and changes, some of them could’ve been surrounded by a lot of death actual people dying around them, so I’m hearing they may not get close to people they feel everyone they love dies type shit. This person is hella strong and mysterious, they have a lot of admires I’m hearing the word smolder so maybe they do that with their eyes. Something about their eyes stand out 👀 They know how to make people swoon. They will have you always giggling and rolling their eyes, you’ll always be trying to figure them out. Everyday is new and exciting with them you just feel so eager to learn about them, they’re enticing I’m hearing. They look good and they give me vampire vibes some lestat, and others Louis from interview with a vampire show on AMC and not money or anything just their swagger and vibe. Some even looks. They’re very serious to they take no shit and they’re not the ones to mess with! They’ve been through some shit I’m feeling. Also looks good in hoodies or wears a lot of them. A boogie with the hoodie vibes too for some reason. By

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Vibe 2:

HOLY FUCC You Guy Got The SUN ☀️! Your FS is very Sunny, upbeat, positive and full of energy! They like to see the brighter side to everything! Half glass full type of energy! The sun is very masculine energy so they can be masculine irregardless of gender. They are so happy and they just want everyone around them to be happy too, very innocent vibes too I’m getting youthful so they can be younger than you are or just makes you feel young too, I also get they look younger than they are. They have come full circle in their lives, I feel they have struggled, begged and pleaded in their life and now they’re finally doing things their way and they couldn’t be happier with it. They’re very self aware I feel! They know about their good shit and bullshit and if they’re not working on it or haven’t it’s cos they’re at peace with it and who they are and I feel they are so motivational and supportive to those around them! The cheerleader of their group. They want to see everyone win! I think they are Leo dominant or have Leo in their chart. Loud and proud very prideful so that can be an issue! They treat themselves like royalty, they may live in a warm place, they may like to lay out in the sun. They may have blonde hair some of them, longer too esp if it’s a feminine. This person is just awesome their vibe is so lit I love them already they just want to smile and have a good time! They have gotten lucky so many times in their life I feel they’re very a happy go lucky kinda person, they’re a joy to be around! Warm, loving, accepting, embracing I’m hearing they’re like a hug!

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Vibe 3: You Got The Star ⭐️! So I’m seeing your FS has got very healing energy and vibes going on, they’re very inspirational and people go to them for advice and hope. This person always tries to help others and uplift them. Motivational speaker right here! I’m feelin like for some not all! Your FS is a celebrity, they could have star power if anything, locally known. Your FS is the type to wish upon a shooting star! They’re incredibly sweet and loving the type to adopt animals and kids even! They believe in the betterment of the world and the planet, man in the mirror by Michael Jackson is what I’m hearing they are basically too good for this fucking world! They are such an angel on this earth people feel lucky just to be in their presence! They are humanitarians! They philosophical too, brown hair for some, they can be an Aquarius or have Aquarius in their chart. They keep their heart open to faith. Not religious well some are but they do hold strong faith everything works out for the best.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Vibe 4: Aww You Got The Knight of Cups. Your FS is so sweet, they’re loving, passionate and creative asfcc! They’re an artist, they can be a water sign. Cancer & Pisces most likely! They are so beautiful too I feel they look really cute! They have can have tattoos. They hella romantic they want love! This person has style too hella swag 😆. They are the type to write love letters and songs for you, to create a beautiful picnic and surprise you for a date. They are the pursuer. Big dreams! They follow their heart, sometimes they don’t connect their mind and they need too, they’re hella emotional but it’s balanced and controlled. They are the type to woo you, sweep you off your feet! They will court you! This person has a big heart. Your white knight! They are the type to go save their homie at 6am in the morning and they’re still in sleep mode. They don’t care they are down and I feel since it’s cups they just flow too, they aren’t really against pushing against the current, they can probably play guitar some of them. They’re an Angel and they love hard!

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

Well

That’s all you guys I hope you liked it and it resonated I promise imma try to be better also if you’d like to join my patreon we have unlimited openings lol the link is here!

THANK YOU GUYS LOVE YA!!

[mammomlette]

OBEY ME OLDER BROTHERS AS SOULMATE TROPES!

part 1 part 2 part 3 (WIP rn)

Includes: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, GN! Reader/MC, possible cringe

Notes: This is literally my first ever fan fic I’ve published (if head cannons count as fan fics lmao) so apologies for any mistakes or weird formatting! Constructive criticism is more than welcome, I’m ASKING for it if you have any🙏

Alsoo they just kept getting longer and longer, I don’t know why and I’ve gone through lucifers to try and make it longer but I just can’t so sorry😭

LUCIFER: you can’t see their eye colour until you meet them.

* It wasn’t really that bad, being unable to see red.

* Being unable to see the colour of your blood as it oozed out of a cut wasn’t really that bad, even if it just looked like grey tar pouring out instead which is equally gross

* It wasn’t really that bad to just never be able to see a single colour, everyone had to put up with it at some point

* But it was sad how rose bouquets always looked dull, and how hearts would always be grey

* It was sad how you couldn’t just imagine up a new colour to fill the void that not being able to see red left

* You knew that the colour you couldn’t see was called red, and you could learn as much as you’d like about it but that didn’t meant you could imagine it let alone see it for yourself

* Not until you were teleported into a large, court-like room one day

* You looked up from whatever you were doing and stared up at the man who had begun to cheerfully talk in front of you. His hair was that familiar gray that you recognised as red

* He introduced you to your situation and the school, and in your panic your eyes darted across the room

* Then, you suddenly made eye contact with a man in a dark coat, hair a matching colour and eyes that were also a dark colour

* but a new dark colour

* Not that gray you had been familiar with your whole life, but a fierce mix of orange and pink, the way the colour red had been described to you your entire life

* You saw through your periphery some orniments on the wall and the previous man’s hair and jacket come to life with colour, but you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the dark haired man before you

* He had frozen, just like you, afraid to blink, afraid that he’d lose this enticing new colour again after missing it for so long if he were to let it go for less than a second

* When he finally looked away, he saw how different decorations in the room that had previously been gray lit up with the colour of your eyes, the world never seeming so alive in all the thousands of years of his life as they did in that moment

* For the first time in his incredibly long life, he saw the beauty that was your eyes and all the beauty they brought with them.

MAMMON: the red string of fate.

* Your entire life you had been accompanied by that obnoxious red string.

* Whenever you glanced down to your non-dominant hand, the first thing you noticed was the red string all tangled up and wrapped around your hand

* Sometimes you’d get bored and tie nots in it or rest it on a surface and pull it to make shapes, but as soon as you took your attention away from it it’d return to normal, pointing in the direction of your soulmate

* And for some reason, the direction would always be down

* Not always directly down, sometimes diagonal, but it always managed to go into the ground.

* Was your soulmate miner or something???

* You had tried and tried countless times to follow it, going into basements and even considering going cave exploring in case your soulmate was some kind of cave creature trapped down there

* There was even a time you considered that they could be in hell, because where else could they be that’s so low down?!

* You had grown to hate it, the way it would taunt you and while it showed your friends their soulmates, it just showed you the dirt on the ground

* Hopes of finding your soulmate and curiosity to where they could be grew into despair, concluding that your soulmate was either a mole person or dead

* Both results meant that you’d never meet them and would forever be tormented by that hideous, obnoxious, torturous red string that was eternally tied to your ring finger

* You were waiting in a lobby for a job interview when you suddenly popped into the devildom

* A man was happily introducing you to the courtroom(?) and all of the people sat inside of it

* There was a man named Lucifer, followed by his younger brothers, all of which noticeably sharing names with demons. This place was called the Devildom, they’re demons, is this hell?Someone must be pulling your leg or something, right?!?!

* You were cut of from your thoughts by the dark haired man- Lucifer- telling you to call his younger brother.

* You hesitantly took the phone-like device called a ‘DDD’ from Lucifer’s hands and dialed the number you were told to, fidgeting with the string on your ring finger that nobody else could see

* You waited for Lucifer’s younger brother, Mammon, to show up, still fiddling with the string, when you felt a sudden jolt on the string

* You looked down, to see the string moving slightly, left to right to slightly up, and noticed that it was no longer going into the ground. It was right at the doorway to the room.

* A man stormed into the room, immediately charging in your direction and shouting about your ‘nerve’ to summon ‘the great Mammon’

* Safe to say the shouting died down when he took a look at your hand and noticed how your strings were connected

* Awkward silence filled the air until it was interrupted by the Avatar of Lust, cooing at the situation when he put two and two together and realised what was going on

* You were too focused on the red string connecting you to his hand to noticed the red slowly covering mammons face

* Internally, you laughed. Of course you found your soulmate in Hell.

LEVIATHAN: you make choices for your soulmate.

* You woke up to the sun shining through your curtains. Your soulmate, for whatever reason, didn’t allow you to shut your blinds. He didn’t even decline it, just left it on read.

* Why did you even have to request to do something so mundane?!

* Your soulmate forgetting to respond to your requests was a common occurrence, usually in the morning, but any time could be victim to your soulmates negligence to your requests.

* You went downstairs and opened your fridge and grabbed the first thing you saw: a pancake filled with red bean paste, in a box labeled ‘Azuki-tan, cute companion!’

* You had zero clue what that meant, you just remembered seeing it for sale at a grocery store a couple days ago

* Again, you had to send a request to your soulmate over whether you could eat this or not.

* Almost immediately, it was accepted. You didn’t really stop to think about the fast reaction time to the request, just thankful this wasn’t another ignored request

* Just as you were about to put it into your mouth, you were teleported to a large room that resembled a court room and contained a lot of chairs and 6 scary-looking men

* You kind of zoned out for most of that discussion until you started asking questions, but safe to say the pancake was forgotten, still in your hand.

* You made your way to where you would be staying with the demon assigned to look after you, Mammon, when a request from your soulmate popped up:

* ‘Soulmate would like to: Ask his brother for his money back.’

* You accepted, wondering what harm could be done, and entered the building with Mammon.

* You were just chatting with the white haired boy when all of a sudden a boy with purple hair started yelling at him “How about this? I vote for YOU to die, Mammon!”

* They started to yell at each other about money, which you found to be an odd coincidence. Would this even be considered as asking for money though? It’s more like bullying.

* You watched the argument unfold and brought the pancake to your mouth, about to take a bite, when the purple haired boy froze and stared at you, which made you stand there awkwardly with your mouth about to bite into the pancake for a few seconds waiting for him to say something

* “Is that Azuki-tan?!”

* “Umm… I think that was on the packaging… why?”

* Very awkward. Oh look, a request!

* ‘Soulmate would like to geek-out about Azuki-Tan and The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl franchise.’ You accepted. How random.

* You had no time to ponder the randomness of the request because the purple haired boy, Levi as Mammon had introduced him, began to spout random nonsense about the pancake? No, a girl called ruri hana- wait no, now he’s going on about voice acting- who’s that voice actor?- wait what show is he going on about now?!?! You really wanted to tell this guy to slow down or shut up!

* He paused for a quick moment and pressed a button in the air, continuing with his tangent when you yelled at him to just slow down!

* He paused. He stared into your soul. He looked like he was rebooting, or something.

* “You’re my soulmate?” He said, voice shaky. You asked him what he meant, and he just started going on a rant about an anime where this very thing happened and- he’s off topic again, he’s going a mile a minute! You asked the voice in your head ‘can I please tell him to shut up?!’

* He stopped and stared at you, now yelling how you were asking him to shut up and how rude than was!

* Oh shit. He’s right? He’s your soulmate? And you just asked your soulmate to shut up the annoying guy in front of you?? Whew boy.

* You awkwardly mutter apologies to eachother, flustered, both the pancake and his older brother forgotten.

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 3: Double Penetration - Steve/Bucky

Kinktober Day 3: Double Pentration -  Steve/Bucky x f!reader

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, hatefucking, threesome, nicknames, size difference, choking, lots of swearing, discussion of masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), multiple orgasms, piv sex, anal sex, anal fingering, cum swallowing no use of y/n

my main masterlist 📚 // kinktober masterlist😈 // AO3 Link 

You couldn’t get away from them quick enough, feet aching with each stomp as you exited the quinjet into the Avengers tower.

Tony was waiting at the entryway, “good mission then?” he smirked, having already listened to the argument on the comms between you and the two assholes and Tony being a smug prick rushed to welcome you back to the building. He had also been the other option to go on the mission but nope, you had to draw the short straw and endure the suffering of the two super soldiers.

It wasn’t like you attended these missions in a foul mood, prepared to argue, you were always keen to follow the instructions given by Fury. However, like usual, the two men had nearly caused you to be compromised thanks to Steve’s superiority complex, putting himself directly into the middle of the action instead of following the stealth instructions. This meant that you spent more time fighting off people than trying to save the captors and by the time you were aiding them out of the hell hole they were being kept in, you were shattered and bruised. Especially as you were not able to heal as quickly as the other two, it wasn’t as simple as having a drink and walking it off before continuing with the action.

This led to a shouting match on the journey home, with Bucky backing up Steve’s actions leaving you 2 vs 1 as per usual. You were fed up following them around, nearly getting killed AGAIN because of their stupid decisions, you weren’t going to let them get away with it for much longer.

Dropping your bag onto the floor beside Tony, you huffed irritated, “I’m never going on another mission with those assholes ever again Stark, keep them out of my way”. Your feet couldn’t walk you quick enough as you rushed to the tower elevator, not stopping to listen to whatever shit Steve and Bucky had to say, relief easing your muscles as the doors finally closed and you were alone.

It was hours later when you were finally in bed, having showered, applied cream to the forming bruises on your arms and legs and had some shitty film on in the background.

Just as your eyes were dropping with exhaustion, did a firm knock sound at your door. Your heart plummeted in your chest, not having any energy to have a discussion with anyone right now.  “Yes? What do you want?” you asked dryly.

No one answered which only caused you to roll your eyes and release another exasperated sigh as you heaved your body from the bed, once again stomping to show your displeasure and hastily swinging the door open.

“Oh for fucks sake, what do you both want? I thought we agreed to debrief tomorrow?” Stood before you were the two men you least wanted to see in the world. Gone were their expensive superhero suits and instead replaced with matching grey SHIELD t-shirts that hug their muscles, along with some dark grey joggers, hair slightly damp from recent showers.

Bucky was the one to respond, chuckling deeply and rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension and displaying his obvious annoyance. “It’s not the debrief Doll, that’s not why we’re here”.

Moving your weight from one foot to another, folding your arms sternly across your chest as you moved, glancing between the two men you replied, “well, what the fuck do you want, I was just about to get some well-deserved sleep”.

Steve now inched forward, standing to his full height, making your neck strain back further to look him in the eye, “let us in, this isn’t a conversation for the corridor”.

For some reason his words sent a panic through your thoughts, he never spoke to you in that calm tone, maybe something had truly gone wrong in the mission and needed discussing.

Contemplating it for a moment and glancing behind you to check your room and to see it in an organised manner, you moved to the side, holding the door open further for them both to enter.

Steve and Bucky stepped in and you noticed the way both of their eyes flicked to every inch of your room, assessing it, even this pissed you off, it was your safe space they should stop being so nosey but you refrained from sighing again as you shut the door, turning to face them, leaning into the wood.

“Well? What is it then?”

Neither answered immediately, both still walking around the room slowly.

Bucky spoke first, but not about why he was here, “I didn’t have you as a book reader” he mumbled, hand skimming over the book you’d left open at your desk.

This time you couldn’t hold back the sigh and rolling of your eyes for what felt like the 100th time that day, “so you’ve come to my room to talk about books?”

Steve turned to you now, pointing in your direction, “there you go again, sighing like being in our presence really is some horrific burden”.

“I mean it is, I’ve not exactly kept this a secret, Rogers” you retorted, walking further into the room.

Bucky shook his head in a condescending manner. “You’ve got a real mouth on you, you know that Doll?” 

Snapping your head towards Bucky you couldn’t help the aggressive tone as you snapped, “I’ve asked you to stop calling me Doll, I’m not one of your stupid dames from the 1920s”.

Neither men responded, instead, they looked towards one another, still wandering slowly around the room before Steve settled on the edge of the bed, a sight you never thought you would see and one that you weren’t sure how to feel about, it sent a sort of thrill through you but you shook it off as he began talking.

“You know, Stark mentioned something to us after you stomped off like a child”.

You scoffed, “fuck off Rogers-”

“Let me finish. He mentioned something that we initially shrugged off, in fact, it sort of repulsed us at first but the more we thought about it, the more it started to make sense”.

Steve left you pondering on his statement, “well? What did Stark suggest?”

You watched as Steve stood, taking strong steps towards you, distracting you from Bucky as he too stepped closer from behind. It wasn’t until they stood only a step away that you became a little apprehensive, neck once again straining to look up at the blonde.

“He suggested that we all needed a god, hard, fuck to get over whatever tension there is between us”.

You laughed. Hard. Like really belly laughed until tears were dripping from the corner of your eyes. You had also expected both of them to laugh as well at the ridiculous notion that had been presented to you but they both were watching you with hard expressions. “Wait, you aren’t joking? You can’t be fucking serious, do you really think I want to touch either of you? What a joke.”

Bucky’s cool metal hand was quick as he cupped your throat, cutting off your laughter, his grip hard enough to have you struggling against him but still be able to suck in small breaths. “What the fuck are you doing Barnes?”

Steve began tutting, “No, here’s the thing, you are going to listen to us for once”, he raised his hand to grip your cheeks so that your mouth smushed together so you reached up to hold onto his thick wrist, hoping to ease the grip he had but of course, he didn’t budge. It also didn’t help the situation that you were dressed for bed in only an oversized t-shirt and underwear.

“You have been a pain in our sides since you joined the team, but, we won’t take away that you are an asset on these missions but that doesn’t explain the reason as to why you decided to fight us tooth and nail with every single fucking thing that we do”.

Steve took a breath to calm himself before continuing, “now when Stark said his stupid idea we both brushed him off, but then we thought about it more and more. The way the tension was always thick in the air when the three of us are together, the way my cock twitches in the shower when I think about you in that uniform of yours. We all clearly just need to get things off of our chest or at least…get each other off”.

His lips smirked up as you contemplated this. But surely they couldn’t be serious right? This had to be some big practical joke… but then again, you couldn’t deny the initial attraction that you had when you’d first seen them. I mean, who wouldn’t be attracted to Captain fucking America and the Winter Soldier? They were tall, handsome, incredibly strong, you couldn’t help the schoolgirl crush the first time you’d been introduced to them.

However, after spending more time with them and seeing their arrogance and self-righteousness attitude, you’d ignored that impulse that had struck through you. So no, there was no way that you were actually contemplating this, he had to be making this up.

You were about to try and shove him off again but as your eyes dropped low, you could see the very prominent and remarkably sizeable shape that had formed in his joggers, maybe that serum did more than grow them in height and strength.

Steve caught you staring at his erection, glancing wickedly up to Bucky behind you as he stepped closer, both of their bodies now touching yours so that you could now feel Bucky’s firm rod being prodded into your lower back.

Ok so they were both definitely into this and your mind was racing, images flashing through your mind as to the potential of whatever it was that they were asking for, and your body betrayed your strong willpower as arousal hummed through and in between your legs, causing you to rub your thighs together to ease the tension.

The blonde noticed, his eyes lowering to watch before glazing back towards your face with half-lidded eyes, his pupils widely dilated with arousal.

Pushing on his wrist that was still firmly gripping your cheeks, he let go as you tried to speak with confidence, “fine, if we do this, it doesn’t mean that I’ll stop hating you guys because I still fucking do, but I’ll do whatever it is that you want to do”.

Steve didn’t seem convinced, “not quite what we were hoping to hear. It’s not just what we want to do, I need you to say it’s what you want as well, otherwise, we’re walking straight out of here and not returning and you can continue to think about us whilst in the shower, rubbing between your legs, shouting our names like our super soldier serum can’t hear between floors at just what you do after a mission”.

Your cheeks were burning hot, it had only been a few occasions that you’d done this, you just felt so wound up that you needed to relieve the tension and they both just happened to be the first people you thought of whilst masturbating.

“Fine Rogers, I want this ok? So hurry up and fuck me so I can kick you both out of my room”.

Steve chuckled darkly, squaring his shoulders as he looked above your head towards Bucky and gave a quick nod in his direction.

Bucky’s metal arm finally released your neck, allowing you to take a deep breath in for only a second before you were having his hands grip your thighs, lifting you up until you were folded up against Bucky’s chest, legs now spread in his grip. Scared that you might fall, you reached behind to grip the back of Bucky's head, pulling on his shoulder-length hair.

Steve took a step back, admiring the view before him, and without wasting another moment, he gripped your underwear in two places and effortlessly ripped them in half, chucking the offending material somewhere over his shoulder, now leaving you completely exposed to him.

“Even though you are the fucking bane of my life, I’ve always wanted to do this”, his voice was dark and gruff as he spoke, face inching forward before finally pouncing onto your moistening cunt. Your shout for euphoria made your ears ring from the volume but you couldn’t help it as he didn’t hold back at all, eating you out like a man starved.

His tongue delved deep between your folds, making sure not to miss a single nerve ending, spending specific time to push it into your eager hole, loving how he knew the exact spot to flick his tongue to have your head falling back against Bucky’s shoulder. He then spent time concentrating on your clit, kneading it with his tongue, rotating in circles, sucking it into his mouth, everything so deliciously pleasurably that you were pulling Bucky’s hair harsher, shout out as it all came crashing down, the waves of pleasure pulsing through you.

Steve released your clit slowly, looking up at you with hungry eyes as you tried to regain your breathing, the man definitely knew what he was doing with his tongue that's for sure. Tapping on Bucky’s head, he understand that you wanted to be put down, slowly easing you to your feet.

“My turn”, you seductively whispered, dropping to your knees, ignoring the pinch of pain from the bruises that were on your knees from the mission as you looked up expectedly, mouth wide open and ready.

Both men eased their cocks out of their joggers, leaving the material halfway down their delicious thighs, hands tossing themselves off as they down at you.

“You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted to see you on your knees like this” Bucky explained as he directed you to his cock, pointing it in your face. You were mesmerised by the sheer size of them both, thick and long, it had your mouth watering and also cunt pulsing in anticipation.

Reaching forward you gripped the base of Bucky, making sure to hold his eye contact as you licked along the underside of his cock, wetting it before sucking on his tip and enjoying the way he sucked in a breath at the sensation.

You were only able to take half of his cock to the back of your throat before you were gagging, so you made sure to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks as you moved up, enjoying the salty taste of him. Reaching out with your hand, you gripped onto Steve’s cock, not wanting him to feel lonely as you were able to suck off Bucky and toss off Steve at the same time, loving the sensation of having two of the world's biggest heroes in front of you, falling apart as you used your body.

As tears started to form in your eyes due to gagging over Bucky’s length, you pulled off and started to suck Steve’s cock, alternating between both men’s cock with your mouth or hand. The duo were groaning, hands on the back of your head to hold you there causing strings of saliva to dribble down your chin, mixing with the tears that were flowing down your face from the stimulations

As you tried to take Steve as far as you could into your mouth, the other hand gripping onto Bucky’s member so that it tensed, Steve finally tapped your cheek. Pulling off him, he signalled for you to stand but your knees were wobbly from being in that position so he effectively picked you up, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the bed.

He placed you in the centre of your unmade bed, pulling off his clothes to match Bucky who had already stripped off. As they stood there watching you lean up on your forearms to inspect their every move, Steve asked, “who do you want first, me or Bucky?”

Smirking up at them, you responded, “why do I have to only pick one when I could have you both”. With that you turned on the bed, lying face first and lifted your arse into the air, presenting yourself to the two of them.

Bucky whistled at the sight, “you really think you can take us both?”

“Oh I know I can take you both, now hurry up and fuck me already”.

Bucky chuckled, “always so demanding Doll”, he knelt on the edge of the bed, pulling your leg back causing you to slide and then turning you so you were once more on your back. Looking down at you with an eyebrow raised he asked in a deepened voice, “What? Not going to chastise me for calling you Doll?”

Scoffing you refrained from rolling your eyes, “there's no way I’m having a go at you right now, not when you stand in the way of providing me with orgasms, Barnes”.

“Hmm”, he leaned over you, forearms resting on either side of your head, his mouth close to yours that you thought he might kiss you but he didn’t, instead he shifted his hips closer. “See, I think you secretly love that name, shall we test that theory?”

“What are you-”

Your words became caught in your throat as he began thrusting into your cunt, slowly and tentatively as to not hurt you, doing a good job at really stretching you out, feeling as if you were nearly at your max already but he kept going and going until finally he brushed against your cervix.

“Fuck” you cursed loudly, eyes rolling back now for a completely different reaction as he allowed your time to adjust until finally, his voice snapped you out of the blissful state.

“So how are you feeling… Doll?” Your pussy squeezed around his cock at the nickname, revealing another one of your well-kept secrets that you did, in fact, enjoy him calling you that name.

Bucky’s face was alight with amusement, loving that he had discovered this about you, “I had the suspicion that the name was turning you on, is that why you so desperately fought us to not call you that, was it because you were becoming aroused?”

“Fuck you, Barnes”.

“Actually, I think it’s more fuck you, Doll” he eased his cock out before sliding back in again. Bucky’s hips snapped into yours, starting off slow before building momentum, your cunt clinging to his cock desperately with each thrust.

It turned you on further to think that Steve was standing just beside Bucky watching you being fucked and with the hyperstimulation of his girthy cock and the fact that this was even happening, your orgasm came on quickly and suddenly. You only just had time to warn Barnes that you were cuming, hands grabbing onto his back as your cunt convulsed around him, squeezing him thoroughly.

Not giving you any time to come down from your high, the brunette whilst still balls deep, turned you both over so he was now underneath and you were now lying on his chest. Tiredly, you looked over your shoulder, smiling as Steve climbed onto the bed and remained behind you.

“Come on then Rogers, let’s see what you’ve got to offer”. Steve smirked at your taunting, reaching to your lips to press his fingers against them, hoping you would open them which you did, and sucked on them, coating the two digits with plenty of spit.

Pulling them out, he aimed them towards your puckered hole, easing one finger in at a time, making sure to thoroughly stretch you out, and adding three more fingers until he was satisfied that you would be able to take him without hurting yourself.

All the while Bucky had remained sheathed in your cunt, still thick and hard, you guessed that this had something to do with the serum that he could stay like this for so long. Without any further waiting, Steve’s cock brushed against your asshole, his warm tip taking its time to tease before being eased in. You felt your body trying to tense at being stretched from the second hole but you willed it to relax, and inch by inch disappeared into your hole.

Just as you felt like you were going to explode from fulness, he stopped, breathing heavily himself. “You’re so fucking tight” he muttered between breaths. The sensation was extremely intense, all of your vulnerable nerves were being touched in both the front and the back.

Steve’s hand fell into your hair once he had composed himself, pulling back harshly, effectively lifting you up from Bucky’s chest so that you had to lean your hands on his pecks whilst his hands rested against your breasts, which were still covered in your oversized shirt.

As Steve began to move, making sure to work with Bucky’s movements, you couldn’t believe how incredible pleasuring it felt, it was almost too much as each graze of someone's cock had you twitching to cum. 

It was an endless cycle of smacking hips together, orgasming hard and then them continuing. You weren't even sure how many times your pussy had convulsed around them both but by this point you had more dribble leaking down your chin and your mind was filled with white noise. The boys noticed that you seemed to be nearing your end and willed themselves to stop holding back their own orgasms.

“Fuck I’m going to cum” Steve stuttered first, pulling out at the same time as Bucky and man-handling you onto your back on the bed. You couldn’t even feel your legs, you had been well and truly fucked as the two super soldiers knelt over your face, tossing themselves off vigorously.

Noticing their plan, in your deliriously fucked out brain you managed to open your mouth and stick your tongue out in preparation for their cum. Steve was the first to shoot his load into your mouth, not missing a single drop as you eagerly licked your lips to make sure his salty goodness was drunk. Bucky followed him soon after, also cuming in your mouth but having to catch a drip with his thumb, pushing his white seed back into your mouth which you eagerly suck and drank down.

Closing your eyes, you were completely exhausted, only just being able to hear the boys beginning to redress themselves. Smiling to yourself, you managed to croak out, voice laced with tiredness, “could you both kindly fuck off and close the door behind you”.

Both of them chuckled as they exited without another word, leaving you to sleep peacefully.