#THIS HAS BEEN WORMING AROUND IN MY BRAIN FOR A WEEK | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

satorusugurugurl · 1 month

Note

Can i request modern au!sukuna and reader just making out in the living room during gojos house party🫠 established relationship of course🙏

I Got You

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x FAB Reader (MODERN AU)

Word Count: 1,983

Content Working: alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, anxiety attack, making out, suggestive

A/N: This request was so flipping cute! Loving this Modern!Sukuna AU! Like always send me suggestions!! I love hearing about your chaotic horny brain worms!

“Hello, welcome, welcome!” Gojo Satoru yelled over the bass booming from inside the house. “Step inside my humble abode!” You wanted to roll your eyes at ‘humble abode’ as you and Sukuna stepped inside Gojo’s mansion. “I am your gracious host, sober as per usual! Beer pong is in the back; spin the bottle has turned into strip poker, so that's been moved into the basement.” Your blue-eyed friend peered over his dark sunglasses. “There's pizza, edibles, and drinks in the kitchen! Have fun, don't fuck in my room again. Suguru and I are chilling in the hot tub if you need us!”

With the completion of his speech, your host was off towards the back, dodging several drunk people. Gojo’s house parties were always the best. Hell, it's where you met Sukuna. They were full of chaos, laughter, and lots of memories. Usually, you'd be dragging Sukuna to the kitchen by now and snacking on edibles, nursing a rum and coke.

But you were a bit anxious.

Work has been so tense this week. Endless piles of paperwork, long days. Every day was the same: get up, go to work, come home, and make dinner before passing out in bed. You’d been so stressed it didn't help that you hadn't even spent time with Sukuna all week. So when Gojo invited you for a small get-together, you jumped at the opportunity. A party with your closest friends would ease the tension in your back.

What you walked into was not at all a small get-together. This was a full-ass Gojo Satoru party. It had probably started as a small get-together, but word probably spread, and Gojo would never say no to a good time. The more the merrier! But as the smell of weed and shouting echoed through the house, you were beginning to regret your choice.

Sukuna peered down at you from the corner of his eye. He could see the stress etched into your features. He had offered to take you to dinner, something quiet and calm after your hard week. But when you said you needed to blow off some steam, he didn't fight you. He'd been there, raising his two brothers. Work and school had him running to parties like this all the time before he met you.

If this is what you needed, he'd support you.

“Hey,” he bent over next to your ear, “you good? Want to get a drink?”

“Mmhmm!”

Taking your hand in his, Sukuna led you through the crowded halls into the kitchen. You searched for Nanami, Shoko, or anyone you knew, but you saw a sea of strangers. This was fine. It was okay; Sukuna was here. You were going to be OK.

“Want a rum and coke?” Sukuna yelled over the blaring music. His hand released yours. “Or something else?”

In the instant he was no longer holding you, you felt it. Your hands were shaking, and your index finger twitched—the telltale signs of an anxiety attack for you. Quickly folding your hands behind your back, you swallowed hard, heart pounding in your ears. You needed to get away, to find a quiet spot, but the last thing you wanted to do was make Sukuna worry about you.

“Surprise me!” You yelled back, looking around. “I'm going to go use the restroom!”

Your boyfriend had just started towards the drinks when you shouted at him that you were going to the bathroom. When he turned around, he watched you push through the growing crowd, clenching your left hand as you did. Sighing softly, Sukuna headed for the fridge to get what was needed.

You were shaking, eyes darting through the smokey halls, searching for privacy. The bathroom was locked, couples blocked the stairs, and people flooded through the front door. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you needed to get away from the noise and calm down! You rushed down the hall, finding the living room empty, except for a beer bottle on the coffee table. This must have been where Spin the Bottle was being played earlier. Thank fuck it turned into strip poker.

Plopping down on the couch, you stared down at your shaking hands. The index finger and middle finger twitched, pulsing as waves of anxiety slammed into you. To fight back tears, you shut your eyes tight just as your leg began to bounce. This was a nasty attack. Calm, stay calm. It would be okay.

Why didn't you listen to your boyfriend?! From the second you got in the car, you felt off. Something was going to happen, but you had no clue what it could be like a shadow figure was stalking you, waiting for the perfect chance to strike. Now that you were in the midst of your anxiety attack, it all made sense.

“Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.” You whispered to yourself. “Don't cry.”

Despite telling yourself that, it didn't prevent the tears streaming down your cheeks. Fuck. This was not how you wanted to spend your Friday night. Poor Sukuna wouldn't want to spend the night like this, either. He was stuck taking care of his weak-ass girlfriend, who couldn't calm herself down. He deserved more. Before your thoughts could spiral further, the couch dipped under someone's weight.

Turning your head to see who it was, you gasped as Sukuna cupped your face in his hands, kissing you deeply. Your heart skipped a beat as you kissed back. He pulled back, thumb brushing against your cheek before his lips were firmly against yours once more. The second kiss was deeper as he gently eased you back into the corner of the armrest.

Whimpering against your boyfriend's lips, you lifted, still shaking hands to his shoulders. Your fingers trailed over muscles as his own hands moved down the curves of your body. Sukuna’s grip was firm, holding you tight and reassuring you that he was here. That you weren't alone.

Sukuna’s tongue darted out, gently licking at your bottom lip, begging for you to allow him inside. You obeyed simultaneously, opening your mouth. His tongue slid into your mouth, deepening the already passionate kiss. Furrowing your brows, you pulled him on top of you as you laid back. Obliging your wants, Sukuna followed you, his body pressed against you. In all of the movements, never once did he break the connection.

You hadn't had a drink of alcohol or eaten one of the edibles, but you felt hazy. All thanks to Sukuna’s tongue buried in your mouth. He massaged your tongue gently with his as his hands mapped out the dips and curves of your body. Making mental notes of all the places he touched that made you squirm. The second he got you home later, those spots he would pay extra attention to. He'd mark them up, suck on them until you were begging for more.

That would be for later on. Right at this moment, you were his sole concern. He paid close attention to your body and how the tension melted away. Trembling that was driven by anxiety shifted into trembles of pleasure. The kiss meant to ground you slowly twisted into a kiss the two of you found yourselves lost in.

Your hands ran through his soft hair, pulling him closer to you. Your tongue moved against his, gently prodding and massaging it, tasting the faint traces of mint and rum. God, you felt high, so high off of him. Off of the Ryomen Sukuna, the man you were so lucky to call your boyfriend. He left you breathless in every way, shape, and form.

Which is why you pushed him back, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you gulped down the air. While you recovered from the breathtaking kiss, Sukuna eyed you. His chest heaving as he sat back, giving you some space. Fuck, he looked good. His hair was in disarray, his shirt wrinkled around the collar, and his eyes dark with lust. The two of you were drunk off each other, and you had the urge to get wasted, to drown yourself in him and nothing else.

You sprung towards him, sitting in his lap as your lips found his. This kiss wasn't as gentle as the first (if you could call it gentle). You nipped at his lips, causing him to groan against your mouth, his eyes rolling back into his skull. His hands ran up and down your back, encouraging you to keep going. You cupped his face, kissing him like your life was on the line.

Sumina moaned as you made out like teenagers on the couch. His hands tangled in your hair, tugging Y/H/C strands as you sucked and bit at his bottom lip. Fuck, you felt like a teenager. It felt good to lose yourself in his kisses.

“Sukuna! Hey, I couldn't find my ice pack—oh!” you pulled away from Sukuna’s lips, panting heavily. Gojo was wet, towel around his waist as he held a bag of frozen peas. “Well, huh, I guess you have it covered?” Your white-haired friend asked, tossing Sukuna the peas.

Suluna caught the bag, glaring at Gojo with flushed cheeks. “Yes, now go!”

“Okay, okay! Just remember to wrap it up!”

“Fuck you, Gojo!” Sukuna yelled after him as he rushed off. “Stupid fuckin’ bastard.” Sukuna sighed, leaning his head back against the couch, his very hard erection pressing against you. “Ruining the mood.”

You cocked an eyebrow, eyes darting from your boyfriend to the peas, trying to put the two together. While your mind tried to connect the dots, Sukuna sighed. The sound rumbled in his chest as he picked up the bag, pressing it gently against the back of your neck.

The cold jolted down your spine, making you jump, your hips rutting against him. “Fuck! That's cold!” Sukuna hummed, eyes wandering over your face.

“Good means it's working.” Words trailed off before he looked away, flushing a deeper shade of red. “You feelin’ better?”

“Huh?”

“You were having an anxiety attack, right?”

You blinked at his words; he knew he had seen it. “How did you know?”

“Well, for starters, I’m your boyfriend.” His signature cocky smirk graced his lips. “Plus, you kept clenching your hand, taking super deep breaths, and I noticed your fingers twitching.” God, how embarrassing was this? You groaned, pressing your forehead against his. “Hey, it's okay, I got you. I would have been here sooner, but I couldn't find any ice packs.” his hand gently rubbed circles into your thigh. “So, I had to use my kissing skills to get you to hold your breath.”

“You do listen.” Holding your breath to stop a panic attack was something you and his brother Choso had talked about weeks ago over dinner. He had seemed bored, rolling his eyes as you both excitedly gushed over a paper he was writing for school.

“Of course, I listen.” His hand squeezed your thigh. “I've been listening to you since we played Seven Minutes in Heaven six months ago.”

“Seven Minutes in Heaven?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I think you mean an hour in heaven.”

Sukuna pulled the bag of peas away, shutting his eyes as he smiled. “An hour that changed my life completely.” His words had you biting your lip.

“Say Kuna~” you rocked against him, pleased to find him still hard. “What do you say we play that again? I want you to kiss me until I see the pearly gates.”

You didn't have to say it twice. The pea bag was thrown across the room, and frozen green peas rolled in every direction. You squealed as you were thrown over your boyfriend's shoulder, getting carried off to a more private location. You were squirming in excitement when his hand firmly smacked your ass.

“Oh no, look at that. Gojo left his door unlocked~!”

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hollyhomburg · 3 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.3k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

(Four years prior, Hoseok)

Today is the day that Hoseok will meet his future pack, he just doesn’t know it yet.

It always feels like a bit of betrayal but the worst and best days of your life often come close together. Maybe just for contrast. A bit of good in the bad. A slice of cake in a feast of raw meat.

This starts as just another bad day in a long stretch of shitty days. The kind of days were anxiety bubbles up and how afraid you are is all you can think about. Taking one breath and then another like just staying alive means you're guaranteed to get better.

The only place to go from rock bottom is up, and hoseok's sneakers are firmly on the concrete, standing outside of the record store in the rain with no place to go.

Hoseok has been afraid for a long time. He can't really remember even if he thinks hard, the last morning he woke up not afraid.

What hoseok really needs is a day off, but he really can't fucking afford it. He can't afford anything- certainly not a one-bedroom apartment on his own. If he's really really lucky maybe he'll be able to find a closet room somewhere that will cost almost his whole paycheck. Because after today-

After today, Jung Hoseok will be homeless, packless, and alone. His pack dropped the news on him last night…or well ex-pack.

He doesn’t expect that he’ll be moving into the pack's house on this rainy day, he doesn't expect that by the end of the week, he won't be worrying about where his next meal will come from because Jin will be there with it ready. Jimin sometimes too.

He won't be worrying about where he'll sleep because the bed in their spare room that smells like tae tae tae will be his. He'll roll around in it when the door is closed, shy about it because Hoseok has never liked other alpha's scents so much before. And when he comes home and Jungkook has made a nest in it, it will feel like a bit of an impossible silver lining, a bit too much- to have an omega making him a nest, making something special just for him

It takes three weeks for Namjoon to make him a house key for himself. After he gets left outside in a very similar storm to this. The doctor will touch his cheek, thumbing at the dimples that they share. how special is it that each smile gets cradled like a crescent moon? the heavens have left imprints on both of their skin. Freckles for stars and dimples for moon's.

"I don't want you to get sick pup."

"People don't get sick from wet heads anymore hyung."

"They don't. But I want to keep you dry and comfortable in my den. i know you still want to look for apartments but...what if you didn't?"

But neither the weather nor Hoseok knows to prepare for good news. Right now the heavens open up and release its deluge, thick rain the way that only happens at the start of summer. Worms and other wriggly things crawl their way out of their holes to find a good spot to die next to Hoseok's shoes. Worn fancy sneakers that his pack-omega had gotten him a few months ago for their anniversary. They're the nicest thing he's ever owned.

His ex-pack omega.

It's hard to rewire your brain, especially for alpha's. Hoseok is a lone wolf. He hasn't been without a pack in so long, it feels weird to not have someone to call, someone he needs to trail after and cling to. He checks his phone but he doesn't have a single notification from them.

He doesn't have a single notification from anyone.

Hoseok is glad he doesn't feel his instincts as keenly as other alphas do. Otherwise, he might be inclined to gnash his teeth at the people who pass by him on their way to work, umbrellas almost bumping him, perceiving even closeness as a threat. So vulnerable without a pack (lone alphas are always the first to starve in winter).

Hoseok shivers even though its summer, he's soaked to the bone after a few minutes.

He has a key to the record store. He could go inside. Granted- he should be inside already. Opening up shop, making coffee, and letting the place warm up. But standing out in the rain feels too much like penance.

Hoseok likes the rain. The smell of it. The way it makes the whole world ache and go still. He feels every drop on his dark hair, soaking through his thin hoodie. It's cleansing almost, letting the rain soak him through.

(The end of relationships is always hard, let alone the end of abusive relationships, they’re downright terrible).

Hoseok keeps replaying their words in his head, with every slosh of a nearby car, every honk of a taxi. The stoplight red and green bleeding onto the wet concrete. Yellow flashing in contrast with hoseok's dark memories.

“You’re welcome to stay here until the lease runs out, but the four of us need to move back home. You understand Hobi don’t you? We’re just omega’s- we’re just girls- and we think this could be a clean break for all of us. We just don't want to lead you on any longer.”

The worst part is that Hobi had sort of known, had sort of already realized what was happening. he’d seen it in their looks; distant and despondent. Their touches that did not linger longer than necessary, cheeks turned as he comes in for a kiss. The phone calls hushed in the other room that cut off abruptly when he entered.

The lease on their apartment ends today. The place has already been professionally deep cleaned and Hoseok's things are packed in his car in plastic bins. He has 6 of them to his name.

He doesn’t have a place to go yet, he might just sneak into the back room at the record store and sleep there until he figures something out. Hoseok drove to work early because he didn't have another place to go.

This version of Hoseok is not the one you know, this version of Hobi is 23 and hopeless, can’t think about moving back in with his parents a city away, with nothing but a rusted-out Corolla that barely gets him to work let alone through the 200-mile trip. It will die on him in about 6 months and Namjoon will be thankful that Hoseok no longer is driving around in a deathtrap.

He hadn’t even gotten this job by himself, his pack omega- his ex-girlfriend had gotten him this job almost 4 months ago after his last one didn’t pan out. Temporary work for temporary people.

Nothing feels like his. Not his body and certainly not this job.

Hoseok hasn’t smoked in months, but something that feels an awful lot like self-disgust worms under his skin and he can’t resist. Not today of all days. Smoking is something that he doesn’t indulge in often, and hasn’t indulged in since… becoming an alpha to someone. But he guesses it doesn’t matter now without anyone to complain that they don’t like the smell.

The cigarette mixes with the smell of petrichor and Hoseok’s own acidic scent. The smell of a terrified alpha draws him more than a few looks but he pays them no mind. He's thankful for his soaking face, at least the rain keeps out the tears. Cool and soothing against his face.

Hoseok just wants- Hoseok just wants to call them. To talk to someone.

Ending relationships is always like this. You want to keep being good, keep being what they want, but that’s impossible. You can’t act or behave right and dupe someone into loving you. Sometimes the love just isn’t there. (A smaller shyer voice says it was never love at all, you can't possess love, only be given it and Hoseok feels like a cast aside possession. Love and abuse cannot coexist).

Hoseok should have known. He keeps replaying the moments in his head. He’d seen them exchanging knowing looks when they thought he wasn’t looking.He thought he was just being paranoid, until yesterday morning when they’d taken him aside.

“You knew this had to end one day Hoseok" "You knew one day we'd move on." "As much as we appreciate what you’ve done for us, we think it’s time for us to move on.”

“What do you mean? I thought we were leaving next week, you really left me with only a day to find a place to go?”

“We’re sorry Hoseok, your last rut was just too much to deal with. We think it's best if we just stay on our own. It's a clean break this way.”

"Wait, please- I love you."

"We know. We're sorry."

Hoseok is too much for anyone to deal with. He doesn’t call his friends (he hasn’t met up with any of them or returned their texts in months thanks to several pointed words from his pack omega). He doesn’t go inside yet because he deserves the rain. He sits out front of the record store, smoking a cigarette that will probably end up killing him down the line, and thinks Good.

He tells himself the irritation in his eyes is just because of the cigarette smoke blowing in his face, even though he knows it's not. He's not even inhaling right because his breaths come all hitched and pathetic. Anyone would be sad if their relationship of several years had ended. Anyone would be devastated.

Hoseok checks his phone again. Nothing.

Most people on the crowded street ignore him. Though the thick throng of people going about their business, probably going to work at their 9 to 5 jobs that pay enough to afford apartments and packmates. Hoseok is the one soul that stands stationary.

Until one, someone a few feet back stops, tipping their face through their hood to look at him. The only other person without an umbrella.

Hoseok knows his face and his name. It’s just Min Yoongi- his coworker and sort of friend who's coming in for his shift. Hoseok doesn't love Yoongi yet but they're sort of friends already. They might be better friends if Hoseok could get over his admiration and jealousy.

Yoongi has this way of quietly taking care of the people around him. He picks up Hoseok's jacket when it slides off the hook at work, asks him if he wants coffee and even pays for it when he goes to the coffee shop next door. He compliments Hoseok's music tastes when it's his turn to play something, he gives Hoseok the aux frequently in a way that feels a little bit like flirting.

The only two good things about Hoseok's job are the music and Min Yoongi.

He even laughs at Hoseok's shitty jokes when they're stacking new inventory saying cryptic things like "they can't be worse than my omega's jokes."

That's why Hoseok's jealous. Yoongi gets packmates, five of them who make him lunch even when he's only got a four-hour shift. that often linger outside to walk him home or pick him up in their shiney not new not old cars.

(Yoongi's packmates certainly have better things to do than send Yoongi to work with a second packed lunch. "Jin-hyung caught a glimpse of you through the doorway, the only thing that he hates more than Namjoon's snoring is skinny Alpha's.")

Min Yoongi has that look that people do when they're well-loved by packmates. Hair ruffled and neck dotted with bruises that might as well be mating bites for a beta. Beta's don't mate, but these ones certainly keep him close. He wears their scents like a shield. Sometimes so thick that Hoseok can't even smell any of his chocolate scent.

Right now, staring at Yoongi a few paces into the street, all Hoseok can smell is the rain.

When Hoseok had been introduced to him it had felt strange just by virtue of Yoongi's sub gender. A beta? Working somewhere so normal? Weren’t beta's supposed to be like- financial advisors or assistants to the president or something? Betas are supposed to have more important jobs than pushing vinyl and bumping Hoseok's shoulder playfully.

(Hoseok hasn’t seen it yet, the way that the owner hands over little white baggies to people who come in looking hungry for a high that cigarettes or alcohol can’t fix. Hoseok hasn’t yet realized that the record store isn't just a record store. This is just one front business of many that the family has organized across this city and the country for distribution of some of his most precious inventory). Yoongi has worked her for the last year, takes calls in the back for the family. The owner only bows to him when Hoseok's not around.

They only hired hoseok for tax purposes. Having three employees looks less suspicious than just two.

The beta looks concerned, and Hoseok knows he can’t hide the fact that he’s been crying as the beta steps up and pushes Hoseok back under the awning. Out of the rain and into the warmth of the doorway. This kind of movement would make any alpha snap, but not Hoseok. Hoseok just tucks his chin down and starts to cry.

“Oh Hoseok.” Hobi sniffles, and wipes his runny nose on his sleeve. Yoongi's hand curls against his throat, chocolate scent spiking to soothe. “You’re soaking wet."

Yoongi grabs his wrist and Hoseok almost keens at the gentle touch. Whole body shaking, shoulders curling in Yoongi's direction. Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line and then tugs him inside.

~-~

(Now, You)

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner.

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional Korean masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. This one is white with red splotches on the cheeks, like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is a black generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. His hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things; rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house with his musical laughter.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet. You take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away; before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. a place to be safe and nurse your wounds and hearts. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill either. Emotionless and analytic isn't enough and being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Rage has made you skinny and starving, rage has made you timid and fragile. But now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweeter worship (There is no deity above the god of love, not even death. Death cannot take the love from your chest, someone dying does not make you stop loving them).

How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, a thrall both intoxicating and unnerving. Your heart beats loud in your ears. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps no longer light. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

The pain and panic are instant as you’re suddenly tethered to a six-foot-four assassin and struggling to stay on your feet as he stumbles back. You’re pulled off your feet and down the stairs, but you keep it as tight as you can and you don’t let go. Fighting to keep your makeshift garrote tight as he scrambles to get his fingers around where it digs into his skin. Spluttering loud.

The hard wire digs, cutting easily through plastic and then your skin as he tries to pull you off. You don’t let go until he backs you into the entryway wall and slams you against it with a dizzying clang of bone and body hitting something solid. Your head narrowly avoids one of the hooks that the pack hangs their coats on. An inch to the left and he'd have impaled your skull on it. An inch to the left and you'd be dead.

A single inch.

His head slams into your face, and you feel something in your nose pop, flooding your mouth with blood so thick you choke.

He slams you against the wall once, twice, and then a third time until your grip goes slack and slippery with blood. It knocks the breath out of you, and he finally throws you off. You both fall to the ground like stones. Both of you gasp and struggle for breath. At least one of your ribs it broken, but because of the adrenaline you can't even feel it.

When the man lifts his black gloves to his throat, they come away glossy with blood.

(It’s crazy how you never notice the change from the day to day, one day you are begging for a reason to hold on, a reason to live, and the next you’re fighting tooth and nail to keep going. Just about gnawing your own arm off to get out. To survive and live to see another day. Another sunrise.)

By that time the air has returned to your lungs it’s enough for you to scream. “Jin! Jin! There’s someone in the house there’s-”

You try and inhale through your nose and blood makes you choke. You push at the floor with your hands, struggling to stand, fingers slippery and tacky with your blood.

The man tries to scramble up the stairs but you latch onto his legs and make him drop. Doing everything in your power to keep him from going up to them, to your packmates. Hugging his ankle to your chest to slow him down (the same way you’ve hugged Namjoon’s arm and Yoongi’s, the way you held Hobi in the nest on the couch just a few shattered days ago).

The man turns the gun on you, pointing it to your head, you flinch, waiting for the shot-

and open them as He heaves a frustrated roar before he wheels away and turns, aiming at the top of the stairs instead of right in your face.

You could have died right then. could have and should have, but you didn’t. Your brain is too messy with adrenaline right now to make sense of it.

Why didn't he shoot?

The gun goes off, a bullet whizzing by Jin’s head. His face, scared, on the stairs flashes ever briefly. Ducking for cover just in time. The doorframe explodes in a cacophony of dark wood splitters. The doorknob sparks and bursts into a million pieces with another shot. metal clanking against the ceiling, the walls, down the stairs.

One second, you’re holding onto his heavy leather boot, and the next it’s colliding with your face and you’re out like a light.

Getting hit in your face is always such a disorientating experience. You’d never gotten used to it, even with Geumjae. Granted it’s hard to get used to the stomach-churning low vision feeling of weightlessness, like vertigo only worse.

"Hobi! don't- jesus fucking christ-"

You’re not quite sure what happens next only that you can’t see for a moment after the boot hits your face, and you take big breaths through your mouth. Blood, you taste blood. And then your vision comes back. Black spots and all and there’s Hobi’s face in front of you. No assassin, just him, helping you up from the floor. You're not on the steps anymore but at the bottom of them.

“The kitchen, the kitchen," Blood rushes over your bottom lip. Hoseok wipes it away, inhaling a jagged breath. "He’s-”

He pushes at your shoulders. “The car- get to the car.” It feels impossible. This can be happening in your house. Are you about to have a shoot-out in the street? On your quiet cul-de-sac? But then, in the corner of your vision dark movement.

You tug Hobi’s head down the second that the gun goes off- probably saving his life, definitely saving it as the bullet tears through the banister and ends in a hollow thump in the wall. he may not have shot you but he has no quams shooting at Jin and Hobi. The bullets hit the wall- Maybe 6 inches above your bent heads. Too close, close enough that Hobi trembles in your hold. And he rips something- a piece of the doorway, out of his arm with a wince before he covers your body with his own.

The volley of gunshots are so loud, so vicious as they blow things apart, tearing holes through Yoongi’s coat, the doorway, the banister, and the narrow stairway rungs. Pieces of wood hit your curled forms. Hobi shoves your head down when you try to look.

There is wetness, hot, something hot on your hands, your neck, you know it’s blood before you look. You think it’s from you until the Gunsmoke clears and you realize- fingers skimming across hoseok's forehead, a gash above his eyebrow.

A bullet graze by his hairline thats bleeding profusely. head wounds always bleed a ridiculous amount.

There are more bullets behind you but it’s just Jin returning fire.

Jin’s got Tae behind him. Her face ashy and pink from the shower and panic, her mid-length dark hair such a tangle, cowering behind his back. Jin's gun is so much louder without the silencer. Did he bring one upstairs? Or did he get it from Jimin’s stash?

Jin nearly drags Tae to the three of you, and she clings to you. Your hand finds her face. Fingers are red and bloody smudging against her cheek, blink and you're back there a million moments in the past; dotting red blush across her cheeks with a brush- your fingers- kissing it into place with your lips- painting a line of maroon across her eyelids to bring out the lighter flecks in her eyes- Watching her twirl in a red dress. Pressing your red lips against hers in a quiet dark moment in the library room. With her in Hobi's red car- Everything red.

If it starts with red, maybe it's fitting that it ends in red too.

Jin doesn’t give you time to reminisce. Pushing her shoulder down hard. His bare chest splattered with splinters from the door. Covered in wood fragments that stick to his black sweatpants and damp feet. Shouting, “All of you get down!”

You follow your pack omega’s words. Hobi and Tae With their damn alpha instincts blanket you as Jin fires again. The shots are so much louder in the small space. Another shot, another thunder strike. tae grips your wrist tight, your hands.

When you look down, they look mutilated. you can see bone in one place, deep gashes across the centre of your palms.

Your ears ring and you can't make sense of anything over the noise. Jin returns every bang with a boom of his own, bright flashes lighting up the dark staircase. Casing after casing tinkling down to the floor, rolling across the floorboards

But then, for a second- the gunfire goes quiet.

The house creeks and the three of you hold your breath. Jin's still half-concealed. The air heavy and clouded with gunsmoke and the smell of blood.

Hobi tentatively gets onto his knees and then stands when he doesn't immediately get shot at. You make a small noise in your throat, the loudest that you dare, but he’s looking after Jin, standing in the darkness, hackles raising his angry scent of burning sugar acrid in your nose. His hand slides out of yours, your blood on his palms.

And then you hear the rush of boots, echoing in the living room, near your nest- you’d never unmade it after you and Hobi fucked there. You'd been too busy taking care of Jimin. Hoseok bears his teeth.

Hobi turns, sliding out of your hands quicker than you can grab him. Quicker than you can tell him that he’s being dumb, that he’s being suicidal.

“Not my girlfriend! You asshole!”

The world is a dizzying cacophony of gunpowder, pain, bullets, and shouting. Jin yells Hoseok’s name. But the alpha heads after the assassin regardless of your cries. Jin narrowly keeps him from running headlong into no mans land. the open area by the door that would leave Hoseok a sitting duck.

Tae’s standing up on unsteady legs as you all spill out of the stairs into the narrow hall. Out from her hiding place cowering behind the banister. Your attention isn’t on her it’s on Hobi. Neither you nor Jin are looking at her. You’re running after him on shaky legs. Jin holds you both back, trying to corrall you. The air is cloudy with Gunsmoke, hazy and heavy. Her eyes are wide and pretty like dark marbles as she watches Hobi.

They’re just as pretty when the gun presses to the back of her head.

Everyone turns and goes still. The man has Tae in his arms, hand in her hair making her neck arch. The gun pressed to her jaw. Finger on the trigger.

Her body trembles and she doesn’t turn, frozen still in fear a shallow whine building in her throat.Jin has the gun trained on the man faster than you can make to step in Tae’s direction. But it’s no use.

He must have gone around, run through the livingroom through your pantry. A similar path that you took to surprise him. He must know the floor plan of the house, must have studied it to prevent situations like this. You have no upper hand here with tae in his arms.

Tae’s mouth is buttony and parted, but it settles into a resigned line.

Jin’s never been a good enough shot- not for one like this, even barely 10 feet away. He might hit Tae. Shaky, Jin takes his finger off the trigger and stoops down to put the gun on the floor. His other hand is up, already surrendering when the man jerks Tae's head back by her hair. Rougher than he needs to be.

“Don’t shoot her, please don’t shoot- please.”

The man juts his chin at the gun on the floor. “Kick it away now, be a good omega.” Jin grits his teeth but does as he says.

The man’s voice is rough as gravel. Dignified, but with no obvious accent. Not the quiet cadence that you’ve come to expect from the family. Neither posh nor lowbrow. Something in between. Flat and monotone. You're sure that you've never heard his voice before.

“I have to admit, your file said you’d be resistant, but it said nothing about you being dumb as fuck and a poor shot to boot.”

Jin licks his lips and bares his teeth, “Put that gun back in my hand and then say it again.” The masked man cocks his head to the side and then shrugs as if Jin's fury doesn't mean anything to him.

But He’s bleeding, it trails down to the floor so the words can't be genuine. It's a small wound, a graze on his right thigh. Red bright and hot that drips in onto the floor from his pant leg.

His hand tightens in Tae’s hair. “Line up against the wall. Now. Or I’ll blow her brains out in front of you."

You move first, eyes trained on Tae. But he snaps, eyes unreadable behind that mask, “No- not you. I’m not here to kill you.”

He tosses something to Jin and he catches it. Handcuffs that jingle and clink. Your foot hits an errant bullet with a similar tinkle. “Handcuff Jin to the stairs Hoseok.”

Your names, he knows your names. Your mind races over every detail, every moment trying to piece together a way to get out of this. a way to save them.

“Why are you doing this?” Hobi’s trembling, shaking. “Did Jimin-”

“Jiminie did nothing.” The man croons dragging the barrel of the gun down Tae’s cheek leaving a dark smudge in its wake. It's red on her face, the barrel must still be hot, your blood crusty around her lips.

“Honestly though, you should know he was a shit assassin. Truly piss poor even by industry standards. They always threw him the easiest kills."

The three of you are quiet, if he was hoping to elicit a reaction or more of a fight You don’t give him the satisfaction. Although jin grits his teeth, gnashing anger and an omega's feral instinct to protect their pups.

You step forward hands open, barely two steps from Tae. If you can just get to her maybe you can-

“Please- please don’t kill them."

He cocks his head at you, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Oh no, you misunderstand me I’m not going to do any of it.”

He taps Tae’s head once again with the gun and Tae starts to truly struggle. You tremble in fury and horror as you realize what he means with a sickening lurch in your stomach.

“This is how it’s going to work Y/n” You still at the sound of your name. “Taehyung here is going to shoot Jin and Hoseok. And then once we’re sure they’re good and dead, I’ll kill her.” He tosses you another pair of handcuffs, these ones are meant for you.

You take one step closer; Jin's gun is between your feet now. But you couldn't pick it up or else he'd shoot Tae. Time, you just need a minute to figure out what to do. How to get them out of this.

Yourself now, that's a different story. If you where in Tae's position you'd turn your face to the side and bite the mans hand.

“And what about me then? If they're all dead what’s to stop me from fighting?” he seems to consider it only briefly, the gun in his hand tilting so that you can see the dark oval where the bullet will come out, where it will rocket through Tae's skull and take all the little worlds she dreams of, all her poems and words and make them nothing.

“You think you're so precious? I’ll just kill you.” he says it like it's nothing. like you're nothing. He nods to the others, appealing to them and not you. “What do you want? All four of you to die? Or just three? What will hurt Namjoon the least? Do you think Yoongi will survive loosing his mate? What do you think Jinnie?”

You think of Yoongi's mating mark, the spot on his hip where your small curved semi-circles sit. You think of them turning black- a brand of a dead mate. You think of Hobi's eyes opening and never closing again. You think of Jungkook nesting without Jin and you. Of Namjoon holding out his hand and having no one to take it without Jin there.

You won't let any of this happen.

The others shoot each other unsure glances but you shake your head. you shake your head because earlier on the step, the man didn't take the easy shot, the easy kill.

If he really had orders to kill you, he would have done it then.

you step forward and shake your head. “I don’t believe you. I know your orders are to take me. That’s what all of this is about isn’t it?” The man doesn’t drop his weapon. Just presses it tighter to Tae’s jaw.

“Handcuff Jin now Hobi. Or else I’ll-”

You see the darkness settle in Jin’s eyes and before you know it he's turning to you, eyes flat. Endless in their darkness, the way they might if-

You don't let yourself consider it. You won't let it get to that point.

“Pup-”

You guess it does make sense, having you kill each other as opposed to the assassin doing the dirty work and implicating Moonbyul. If you really are on that ‘no kill list’ like Yoongi said at the hospital, having you take out each other is the only logical course of action. Once Tae kills Jin and Hobi, she'll be free game. This is the only way retribution won’t fall back on her. This is so similar to what she tried and failed to do with Jimin and Jin. This is a second attempt.

Only-

Only this time, you have a bargaining chip.

You step forward, in front of Hobi and Jin, blocking them from his line of sight. Barely a pace in front of Tae, but from the way he tightens his grip on her you know that you can go no further.

“You can take me; I’ll go with you. Willingly.”

Jin makes a noise in his throat and tries to move, but dares not when the man tightens his grip on Tae’s hair hard enough to rip a bit of it out.

“That’s what she wants, isn’t it? If you just let them live I’ll go with you.”

The man is silent for a second. Hobi trembles and so does Jin. For a second, you truly think that he’s going to take the bait.

But the mask is directed towards the floor, then back up at you. “Those aren’t my orders.” His finger is on the trigger so close to Tae’s head. “Now cuff him, I don’t want Jinnie getting any ideas.”

Hobi’s hands are shaking as he unwillingly shackles Jin to the steps as slowly as he can. He's buying time too. Every second and every heartbeat is precious. Both ends loop around a single rung and click closed. The rung itself is a little loose from a bullet that blew it apart near the bottom, it’s got to be the loosest one. Hobi turns, and you see the pre-meditation in his eyes; he chose that one so that Jin could still get free if he tried hard enough.

Everyone is trying. Everyone is defiant. The quirk of Jin's eyes as he settles, staring with rage at the man, his voice a quiet croon when he says what might very well be the last words he ever speaks.

“Tae you can close your eyes honey, it’s okay.”

"No I can't" She struggles harder against his hold, but it only gets her part of her hair pulled out with how rough the man jerks her, tears clouding her vision. "I can't- don't- please-"

Tae's soul has always been butterfly soft and flower tender. She's not made for this. She's not made for murder or pain or anything that lacks softness. She's never been a killer; Jimin was always that side of their coin. Saint and sinner.

Your body goes cold and for a second, you think you just might pass out, especially when Hoseok grips your wrist. One final squeeze in what can only be goodbye before he steps away and in front of jin. Hair puffed up. Jin is lowering his eyes and no no no.

No.

Tae is staring at you, eyes wide and scared, but you watch in total powerlessness as her eyebrows lower. You see the moment Tae thinks it. Eyes meeting yours, lips mouthing something that you can’t read. Maybe I’m sorry no.

I love you. Sorry.

The truth is that Jimin drilled this with her years ago before she left for college and he couldn’t follow. When Jimin first realized that for the first time in their lives she’d be without him as a constant protector. Delicate delicate Tae with her delicate pink soul. So vulnerable to the world and all its wickedness.

Tae didn't confront him about it until the nightmares were waking him up regularly. They were simple nightmares back then; images of Tae hurt and mugged. Tae beaten and left in an alleyway. Tae stalked through the night. Simple, but enough to keep him awake. Enough to torture him in his wakon hours as well as the nighttime.

If Jimin saw her now he'd pull the heavens down and demand something truly awful in exchange. He'd take one of the knives from the kitchen and gut him from belly button to addams apple. He'd eviscerate him- and Namjoon might help.

Hut there is no one here to do any of that, there is only Tae in the man's hold.

“What are you so scared of?” She’d asked one morning, trailing endless patterns on his chest in an effort to soothe him back to sleep.

“Something happening to you while I’m not there, mostly.”

“Would it make you feel better? If you taught me the basics?”

Jimin's pause is telling, more telling are his eyes, hopeful when he looks up at Tae. “Yes, it would.”

It’s been years and years since Jimin Tae have bothered to drill any self-defense sequences it at all. Since he stopped asking her to refresh the basics with him once a year just to make sure. Jimin never thought that Tae would have to use those skills. Like with most things, you just sort of hope you don't have to fight.

But Tae knows you did fight. It's written all over your bloody face and your bloody hands, tightened to fists by your side. If you fought tooth and nail to save them she should fight too.

Tae has written fight scenes like this before. If she survives the press of the gun to the back of her head, she’s gonna have one hell of a personal experience to pull from for her book. The content will be endless.

She seems to swell in the space, alpha shoulders settling back. Her mouth is moving, mouthing words her eyes on you. Just in case this is the last thing she ever does.

I’m sorry, I love you.

“Be a good boy and pick up the gun Tae.” Tae bends down, syrupy slow. Intentional with her every movement. One heartbeat. Another. Tae's fingers are maybe an inch from the gun when everything goes haywire.

When she's about halfway bent she uses her momentum to hurl her body back, slamming her head into the gun and then into the man’s face. Cracking the mask and from the sound of it, the man’s nose. Tae's almost knocks herself out with the force of her own head colliding with the man’s face.

She turns, she’s not finished, not even close. She might be a woman but she’s an alpha too. Alphas always always fight to protect their pack. She turns and swings.

And drives her elbow as hard as she can between the alpha’s legs.

Hobi can’t stop his flinch. That has to hurt.

The assassin’s gun goes flying, skittering across the dark floor and under the bookcase and Hobi ends up lunging for it. You go after it too but you end up holding Tae instead, crumpling to the floor without anything to hold her up. She’s holding the back of her head, eyes watering.

The traditional mask lyes in pieces around you, shatered by the force of tae's headbut. The man clutches his nose, features still covered by the ski mast. Growling out- "Bitch- fucking bitch! I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill all of you-"

Jin struggles yanking his cuffed hands down as hard as he can- in another minute he might get loose, but not quick enough as Hobi finds the gun and raises it. The bullet hits the molding beside your pantry, missing the man by inches as he dives away to safety. A lucky shot by any standard, let alone for a beginner. Hobi shoots off after him. knocking into the wall before he's up and chasing it.

“Are you okay, Tae, Tae- look up at me.” Tae is clutching the back of her head. Blinking rabidly. That fucking hurt even if it was worth it.

“I’m fine just-” She leans over your legs and vomits, retching loud and horrible. Concussion- she must have given herself a concussion. Namjoon told you months ago how to read the signs of them shortly after the first time Jungkook ever had a seizure in front of you.

You hold her shoulders, watching Jin try and break himself free, yanking his wrists hard enough that it has to hurt. Moving to try and help him.

And then Hobi makes a noise in the other room, a pained ghasp, A thump and then-

Tae is already up and running, stumbling into the wall. You glance at Jin. "Go- just go" Jin grinds out. But Tae has longer legs than you do even concussed.

By the kitchen, Hobi slips on a fallen tangerine. (You remember then, Yoongi clearing the table with a brush of his hands for Jimin, tossing a whole bowl of them onto the floor. Where they've stayed since then) they're fighting, the man must have managed to disarm Hobi somehow because the gun sits under one of the chairs. Both of them are fighting just beside the dining room table. Part of it splintered and broken where someone broke it.

They're grappling on the floor now. Pushing against each other trying to gain the upper hand. you've watched the alpha's wrestle before- small disputes to settle and reaffirm the hierarchy, but you've never seen hobi move like this. You watch the man grasp at his waist reaching for the knife. His hands so slick with his own blood that it clatters to the floor. Hobi may not be trained but he's a fighter too. Gnashing his teeth and growling. Reaching up into the shallow gash at the mans throat and digging in his fingers.

And then he’s got Hobi on the ground and his hands around your alpha's throat. Tae tries to get him off but he backhands her, sending her sprawling to the ground and clutching her cheek. Too dizzy to stand. Big hands that squeeze and squeeze and squeeze Hobi's narrow throat. Spit at the corner of his lips turning frothy as hoseok tries to breathe and can't.

“I didn’t come this far to get killed by a bunch of family rejects; 11 years and 1458 kills later and I will not die. Just give up already- I didn’t come this far to-”

Hobi’s face is turning purple, hands scrabbling, pushing against his face trying to get him off unsuccessfully. Dying there on the floor. Hobi is going to die right there if you don't do anything.

Jin is shouting from the other room and there is a frying pan in the kitchen. On the countertop that you snatch on your way past, winding up for it before you swing it with all your might at the man's head and-

At the end of the day, it’s hard to say exactly what kills him. Whether it's you or Tae who wields the killing blow. It’s more of a group effort between you and her.

Tae has read countless books that described love as some gentle force, but this love has not made her gentle. Tae cannot sit there on the floor and watch Hobi die. She'd do anything to protect him and the pack. She’d kill people like Minnie did, would lie just as Jin had, would have sacrificed anything- even herself just like Yoongi.

Love had always been giving in Tae's mind, and she would give countless sins and untold violence, to have this not be the last day with you and the pack.

The gun is just sitting there under the chair. tae hardly has to lean over to get it. (If she makes it out of this alive, she swears to himself that she'll finally start taking those kickboxing classes that Jungkook teaches.) Tae lifts the gun at the same moment that your hand descends with the frying pan.

Tae turns, points, aims, and fires. She doesn’t even think twice about it. The trigger goes down as easily as breathing.

Getting shot in the throat definitely distracts him enough, definitely makes him let go of Hobi, clutching at his own throat instead of his. blood rushing over his hand and down onto hobi's face. So much that it almost splashes.

And then the frying pan hits his head with a hollow final thud.

There is a placid terror in things like this, a quiet as things go and come. The thumping, the sobbing breaths you let out, the descent of your hand, beating out your terror on the body below, a vessel for all of your fear.

The handle of the frying pan is thick and heavy in your hands. You bring it down on the man’s head, the curved edge of the cast iron connects with the plate of his skull with a hollow thud. One second, he's clutching at his blown-apart throat, and the next he goes limp, blood and brain matter splatters loud and heavy along the floor. Falling on top of Hobi like a lead weight.

Hobi's brown eyes are bloodshot and red in his mouth, heaving one big breath that sends the room spinning. Sends vertigo into his veins and panic-running adrenaline. You lift your arms up again and hit him, descending again and again.

His body is still, so still. His chest gives one open shudder and then goes truly quiet. Frozen in time. You are covered in blood, in your mouth, on your hair, on the ceiling. More and more splatters as your hand goes up and then down in an endless loop.

Dark cotton soaks, matted with blood and brain matter, blurry from your tears. A bit of it hits your face, wet and stinky. People never tell you how horrible it smells when people die.

You don’t stop hitting the man, even when it's clear he's dead. Even when you glare down at him through the tears in your eyes and see half a face staring up at you. An eyeball rolls across the floor.

There are arms around you pulling you off of him eventually. Dry warm arms, big and heavenly. One wrist dangles with a pair of handcuffs as Jin yanks you back from the man. The body.

“Pup- It’s done, pup- he's gone- Stop.”

There is blood all over you. On your face, on your hands, around the frying pan. Tae too, sitting just beside you. Half of her body splattered. Hobi's soaked with it and still struggling to breathe. But both of them, the three of them are alive.

“It’s over pup.” Jin sounds like he might be crying. Tae definitely is.

Hobi puts his head between his knees, gasping for every breath but still breathing. Tae's got him in his lap. Holding on to him as he splutters. face so soaked with blood he can't open his eyes without blinking rapidly.

It’s anything but over you think as you let go of the handle of the frying pan.

It clatters to the ground with a bloody and final thunk.

~-~

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Notes:

if the beginning of the chapter feels weird/different in terms of narration that is because it was mostly written 3+ years ago and my writing style has changed alot! kinda crazy! hopefully people will just attribute it to hoseok's internal monologue. it might be meandering but i kept reminding myself that this is hoseok at his lowest you know?

One thing i want you guys to realize is that the m/c may not be smart, but holy fuck can she take a beating and still get up.

Gun shoot outs are uniquely hard to write because like, just bang and it's done right? idk why part of this writing just felt so tedious usually i love writing stuff like this :(

hobi calls the m/c his girlfriend 🥺 did you guys notice???? he's such a cute pup charecter.

i have more notes for this chapter BUT i can't share them until the next one is out because it involves hobi's secret.

i hope you guys see like- how good the m/c actually is at the crime and thinking on her feet shit- i think that this chapter above all others shows her street smarts. she knows to keep the guy talking and distracted- i think it compliments her similarities to jimin and jin like. the trio of them are very capable people you know? vs hobi who just headlong rushes the assassin and fucks shit up. i'm not saying it's his fault- he does the best that he can in this chapter.

I'm trying to pull from my actual knowledge of how guns work but fun fact, silencers are still fucking loud, like still so loud that you need ear protection. and even blank bullets can still cause serious injury at close range.

I'm again at the stage where i can't tell if the gun shooting scene is clunky and too predictable or if it's actually as creepy as i've made it out to be.

This is one of those situations- the bargaining for each others lives, that i've actually never had to handle. it's actually pretty unusual for me to write about things that i haven't experienced in some way shape or form.

i've only written a few scenes in my life that have made me wonder like "huh- i wonder if people might actually think that i've seen a dead body, been around a dead body, or killed someone before?" and ngl, the scene with the assassin dying is one that makes me wonder that... i promise i just have a scarily vivid imagination.

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grandline-fics · 2 months

Note

love you have given me mihawk brain worms ong, please i need to spend the rest of my days having lots of domestic but sweet moments with him

i just know that beneath his aloof demeanor he is just smitten with his s/o

DESCRIPTION: Domestic life with him

WARNINGS: none, just fluff

CHARACTERS: Mihawk

WORDS: 640

A/N: I know this wasn't an actual request but my health has been bad and I've been waiting over two weeks for test results so needed some indulgent fluff to feel better. Hope you enjoy

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

With what he does taking him away from you so often, the times he does return to you means he enjoys every second he can with you. While you sleep, you’re kept protectively and lovingly in his hold; one arm around your waist and the other cradling your head with his fingers through your hair. Mihawk keeps his head pressed into the crook of your neck and his lips against your skin, not just for indulgence but to also feel your steady pulse. He always wakes first, to enjoy the warmth of your body and the soak up the feeling of calm your presence grants him. He’ll lie still and relaxed in the blissful silence. It’s rare for Mihawk to open his eyes first. He likes to wait for you to stir and turn in his hold and press a gentle good morning kiss against his lips before he’ll pretend to wake because if it’s not your face he sees first thing, what’s the point?

Mihawk has no sense of personal space when you two are together. He’s practiced and aloof enough to be subtle. When you are out in town shopping together he’ll stand close, the back of his fingers just close enough to graze against the small of your back. Or sometimes he’ll stand with his arm against yours. You’re used to it and will always gladly lean into him so to the untrained eye it looks like you’re the one responsible for the lack of space between you two. However if they looked for long enough they’d notice how Mihawk would casually follow you when you hurried to the next stall or store front to browse the wares and how he would always come to a stop beside you once more.

When you’re lounging together, him with a glass of wine and a book and you with the paper in your hands, you like to inform him of the news that he wouldn’t think to look into otherwise. Most of the time though you’re looking for old rivals of his or acquaintances with a smile, already awaiting his dry commentary on their activity.

“Love, look. Your son’s bounty has gone up!” You tell him with a genuine bright grin as you hold up Zoro’s updated bounty poster. Mihawk’s eyebrow always quirks at your affectionate term for someone he would at most call his student. Still he can’t help but feel some sort of satisfaction at seeing the other swordsman’s bounty gaining higher and higher amounts because he knows most of that is down to his instruction.

“They grow up so fast.” He notes and you grin, setting the poster aside to put proudly on the fridge when you get up later.

Mihawk will do anything you ask of him even if it’s something he would avoid. Introducing you to the Cross Guild for instance was something he would have sooner never seen happen. You understood that he was private by nature and neither Crocodile or Buggy really needed to know about his relationship with you. Still all you’d mentioned was that it would be nice to properly meet the men he was working with and as a result he took you to them. Crocodile was more surprised that you ‘deemed someone like Mihawk worthy of your time’ and Buggy couldn’t believe that someone as notorious and dangerous as you had actually settled down and were with Mihawk of all people. Now that they know about you, you do make it a point to visit Mihawk more so he isn’t always coming to you all the time. However with every visit you have to constantly refuse Buggy and Crocodile’s proposition for you to join as an official member as you’re still having fun doing your own thing and being independent from Mihawk makes your reunions so much sweeter.

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece x you #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #one piece fic #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk #op mihawk

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avernusreject · 5 months

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Warning ya'll this is gonna be a long post. But please join my descent into insanity, as I deep dive into the vague wormhole that is the durge betrayal pre bg3 timeline.

Before we start, it’ll help if you have context around the faerun calendar. There are twelve months in total, each having exactly 30 days. Additionally, weeks don’t exist in faerun. Rather months get broken down into chunks of time called tendays, which you guessed is literally just ten days. If that was too straight forward for you, don’t worry, they add in five extra days to the calendar that fall outside of the months (ngl I still have no idea where these are located) to make the full year 365 days.

At the beginning of the game, the nautiloid crash occurs at 20 Eleasis. Which means, the game starts in the middle of summer. Obviously, the way you play the game is going to influence the speed of events, but for my playthrough I reached moonrise towers around 12 elient (total time being 22 days). When you get to moonrise, in Bathazar’s chamber you can find his journal that explains that Kressa (the crazy necromancer chick) managed to keep durge alive. This entry is dated “two tenday ago”. But in game, that makes no sense because we know that the nautiloid should have crashed around that point. So either Balthazar doesn’t understand how the Faerun calendar works (I mean same, my guy) or we have to change our frame of reference. I think its more likely that the implied frame of reference is the start of the game, 20 Eleasis (since the developers can’t control how fast the player goes).

If true, durge was saved by Kressa around 1 Eleasis. Her vivisections took place after this in the following days. However, durge is taken away before the end of the following tendays (at least before 10 Eleasis).

Now when you talk to Kressa in the basement of moonrise, she states that she found durge only hours after they had been given the tadpole.

In the fight with Orin, she states that when she attacked durge she carved out a hole for the worm (ignore the Half-Elf part, that's just from the moment Orin turns into durge during the pre-fight convo).

The part that we're missing is when specifically the tadpole was inserted into durge. But given how the game describes just how utterly fucked durge was, there's a high likelyhood that the tadpole was given to durge moments after their fight. Which if true, places Orin's betrayal at 1 Eleasis. Giving us twenty days till the start of the game.

The piece that threw me for a bit was this piece of the narrator's dialogue when durge examines the pod, stating that durge had no idea how much time had passed.

But the blood in the pod is still fresh enough that Astarion is able to ID it as durge & in another dialogue choice if you examine the blood further the narrator states the blood hasn't been there long enough to rot.

I think this dialogue is more explaining that durge is actively being tortured by Kressa so time feels unending (kressa being the one who put them in the pod to begin with).

I've seen in other posts that Gortash's draft memoir explains that Orin's betrayal occurred during or just around the crowning of the brain (I don't have a screenshot of that unfortunately). But we have to take that with a grain of salt because Gortash is the definition of an unreliable narrator.

Personally, I don't think he's lying though. Orin's betrayal occurred in moonrise and there's really no other reason that Orin and durge would be in moonrise that the game has provided. Not to mention, the warden explains the last time that durge was in moonrise, they never left.

I don't think durge came to moonrise more then once given the fact that the warden, who had clearly been there a while, had no clue who they were. I find it hard to believe their identity would be kept under wraps had they been at moonrise multiple times. Employees have to gossip about something.

I think its likely that Ketheric, Gortash, and Durge tamed the brain in the days leading up to 1 Eleasis (like ~20 to 30 Flamerule).

In summary, the dead three had a Phineas and Ferb summer vacation by deciding to create the cult of the absolute.

And yes if you are wondering this is how I look now.

#the durge timeline makes me want to scream sometimes #the dark urge #durge #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #enver gortash #orin #kressa bonedaughter #balthazar #durgetash

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blingblong55 · 5 months

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The tiny problems- 141

Based on a request:

I've had this brain worm for the last 2 weeks and I cant get it out. Do you think you could write something with Cod G/t? I'm thinking like a fic with a tiny!y/n, ghost, soap and gaz and giant!price. Maybe something like Price finding little borrowers in his office taking things off his desk? Thank you sm! I love your writing so much!! P.s. I might be sending this same cod g/t kind of prompt to other authors as well. I WILL BE CHANGING THE PROMPT! I just want to see everyone's take on cod g/t. So if you're uncomfortable with multiple authors also writing something maybe similar to this, I understand and you can just ignore this. Thank you🩷🩷 ---- GN!Reader, tiny/giant au, tiny!RN, tiny!Soap, tiny!Gaz, tiny!Ghost, gentle giant!Price, fluff, platonic!relationship ----

A/N: I Fell in love with this idea so…here I am

It is unique, to be Price and live in a comfortable home and have his kind of problems. He lived alone, far from society, and in the woods, it was cosy. Cosy cabin, with delicious food, and a nice fireplace. What more could a man his height need?

Every day, he would sit on his desk, and read the local newspaper and some books. He would laugh or shake his head when he would read some paragraph. Little did he know, he had some of the cutest and tiniest infestations in his home. Ghost, Gaz, Soap and R/N, tiny humans that live in the woods and who have found a home in the Giant Man's home, Price. As the day went on for John, he noticed a few things move around his home. His coffee mug, reading glasses and bonnie hat, all moved around his home.

At night, he heard something move and he rushed to look around his home for any intruder. And then he saw it, his hat moved across his desk and a little foot could still be seen. He sighs, a baseball bat in hand, he lifts the hat and the four tiny humans scream. Price is about to swing the bat when he puts it down, "What the hell-?" he kneels and looks at the tiny humans on his desk. Soap has R/N hidden behind him, Ghost guarding Gaz. "What are you doing here?" Price asks softly. "We needed shelter for the winter." Ghost responds.

"Shelter?"

"Yes, the winter is coming and our home was ruined." Soap says.

"hm, and you have been without a home so…you came to mine?"

"Yes and we are sorry for not saying a word but we didn't expect a.. well-" Ghost replies.

"Giant?"

"Yes, a giant like yourself to live here," Gaz says

"Who is the other little one?" Price asks about you.

"Oh this is R/N, they are a little shy."

From behind Soap, you wave at Price. "Look, you all look old enough to be adults, so we'll make a deal, I let you live here as long as you don't go moving my stuff around or disturbing my peace."

"You got a deal," Ghost took his hand out, Price confused gave his index finger to shake hands with Ghost. "So, what are all of your names?" "I'm Ghost, this is Gaz, Soap and R/N." "Right, well, good night." Price walks back out, probably thinking this was just some weird dream after eating that soup for dinner.

By morning, he woke up to the smell of wood burning and after a rush to the fireplace, he found the four tiny humans all cuddled together near a small fire. He sighs and goes to his room for something to cover them all up with. After looking through clean laundry, he finds an old scarf, which he then places on you all and sighs. He cooked breakfast, went out of his way served a small plate for the four humans to share and then whistled. Soap being the first to get startled wakes the others up. "Oi, I made breakfast, you either come or I give it to the dog." And just like that, he found himself helping the four tiny humans to the table.

Days turned to weeks and months. Price eventually stopped rolling his eyes at Soap's jokes or Gaz's questions and soon found himself making little chairs, spoons, plates, beds, and ladders. He dedicated a room all to the four humans who brought purpose to his life once more. As the harsh January winter arrives, he finds that his little companions begin to sleep in his bed. When asked, R/N responded, "You bring us some comfort and…your bed is the cosiest and warmest of all."

These little friends he created became his lifeline, if he was sick, if he was tired, sad, happy, or emotional, they were there for him and him for them. Soon enough, when Spring arrives, Price lets them know it is okay to stay, that they have become a part of his daily life and he would enjoy their company all year round and when he says it, Ghost appears with an offering.

A handmade scarf, made from the tiny hands of his tiny and funny friends. Now, as he finds new things he is passionate about, he also finds new things to love about the world around him. For example, he loves that now, he doesn't have an empty home, there are people he can finally talk to and even though his problems seem different to theirs, the problems all seem to be equal in some ways.

Tiny problems, now becoming his reason to smile and laugh and even the very reason why he finds himself learning how to cook and wrap birthday or Christmas gifts. In this world, there are many problems and sometimes, if John knows he is looking too deep into them, he can take a step back and look at his four favourite tiny problems.

Tags:

@warenai @liyanahelena @avaleigh16 @the-royal-bee @enarien @johfaam0 @froggy-anon @goldenmclaren @frazie99 @spicypicklesoh @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @luvecarson @willowaftxn83-87 @saoirse06

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shima-draws · 5 months

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An idea took root in my brain last night and won’t even pay rent so yeah uh consider. Modern AU where Luffy grew up in the countryside but moved to the city for schooling. He probably dropped out at some point bc it’s just not for him but he made a lot of friends in the city growing up. So during winter break Nami invites Luffy to stay at her place with her so they can catch up and do some sightseeing. Which leads to Luffy knocking on her door THINKING it’s her apartment but it’s actually Zoro’s bc while Luffy’s sense of direction isn’t nearly as bad as Zoro’s it’s still not great!!

Zoro is like yeah okay that was a little strange and that guy is really hyper but he seems friendly enough. I’ll probably never run into him again so it’s fine. Until he does. He keeps running into Luffy all around the apartment building and Luffy slowly but surely worms his way into Zoro’s heart 😏 And Nami, who had only spoken with Zoro on brief occasions (due to them being neighbors), starts getting to know Zoro better too. It escalates to the point where Luffy sneaks into Zoro’s apartment in the mornings because Nami sleeps in too late and just starts crashing there all the time. It’s been like three days since they met. Zoro has NO clue how he got here. But suddenly with Luffy things are so much better and brighter and then Zoro’s suddenly hosting all their friends at his place for a game night and now all of Luffy and Nami’s friends are HIS friends too and how does this keep happening.

Anyway cue Zoro catching feels for Luffy because who wouldn’t and he slowly starts to dread the day Luffy has to go back home to the countryside. Luffy’s only there for like a week or two so it’s the shortest most cheesiest “fall in love with this guy you just met” scenario in the history of ever

Also they go ice skating together at one point and it’s very cute and Zoro is inwardly questioning “Is this? A date???” The ENTIRE fucking time

#I could not sleep last night so this is what my brain thought up. Cheesy sitcom modern AU romance. Sorry not sorry #Zolu #Zoro #Luffy #One Piece #Yeah you know what it’s about TIME I started coming up with stupid ass AU ideas for OP I’m over 200 episodes in now. YEAH.#Monkey D Luffy #Roronoa Zoro #Nami #Shima speaks

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ushiwhacka · 1 year

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BUY MY SILENCE | college au! eren jaeger + fem! reader | 2,064 words | mdni | just smut, eren has a huge dick <3

.⋆｡⋆☾ summary: your neighbour has an annoyingly overactive and loud sex life. but all you have to do is fuck him to shut him up forever. .⋆｡⋆☾ warnings: fingering, rough sex, public exposure, pussy slapping (once), a bit of corruption kink, mentions of daddy kink, slight degradation

It’s been an hour. A whole hour since you last wrote even a word in the nearly blank document - a lab report due tomorrow at noon. A whole hour since your neighbour started fucking his new whore, the latest in a very, very long line of whores. At 9 PM. On a Tuesday. And it’s the same scenario with each one. They moan and scream and moan some more. Call him daddy. Giggle as he orders them to swallow or be a good slut for him. And you can always hear it all through that thin napkin excuse of a wall.

And you try to ignore it, try to ignore how you can feel the drag of cotton against your nipples with each breath you take, try to ignore the way your pussy is just throbbing. But it always ends the same, with your hand in your panties and teeth pressing painfully into your bottom lip, trapping little gasps and shaky moans.

Then comes the shame, as you lie in bed and try to convince yourself that he cannot be that good. A sinking feeling in your chest that makes it hard to inhale. An ugly, worming thing that has you teeming with unexplained anger. They must be faking it. They must be. And you almost manage to convince yourself. But thoughts of it - of him - occupy your mind constantly. In class. At lunch, when you’re trying to keep up with your friends and their extremely boring conversations about the student council. Or some charity. Whatever. When you speak to your mother on the phone. You’re disgusted with yourself, you really are, but you always end up pressing your legs together, your soaked panties sticking to your thighs.

Eren. You’ve heard his name many, many times. Cried out, moaned, and screamed by many different voices. You don’t know what he looks like, but you know what he sounds like when he cums. The kind of porn he likes to watch (extremely loudly). And if you listen very, very closely, you can even make out the squelching noise as he pumps his hand around his length.

But when you lie in bed, eyes pressed shut, trying to ignore your throbbing pussy, you wonder how it would feel to have his fingers inside you instead of yours. How much deeper could his fingers reach? Would he also call you his good little whore as your walls squeezed around him, your little cunt leaking all over his hand? And then shame washes over you once again as you cum with his name on your lips.

The exact moment you lose your temper is when you’re woken up at an ungodly hour by the squeaking of his stupid bed and the stupid slut he’s fucking into it. This one annoys you more than usual, for whatever reason. With your patience running thin and your brain still foggy with sleep, you march into the hallway and bang on his door with weeks worth of accumulated rage.

“What do you want?”

Rage that quickly dissipates into earth-shattering embarrassment as he opens the door completely naked. Blood rushes to your cheeks, skin almost burning with the sensation. But you can’t look away. And you can’t help the way you gulp at the sight. You really can’t look away from his cock. Long and thick with two veins curving up each side, dripping with her slick and precum. Despite his irritated tone, Eren doesn’t seem too annoyed at the interruption. If anything, he’s rather amused as you unsuccessfully try to say anything at all. And then he’s fully smirking when he notices the cute little wet spot on the front of your panties.

You could die of humiliation as you slam the door behind you. He’s completely insane. Rude. Shameless. And he seems to be fucking her even harder now. Grunting with every thrust, telling her how good her tight little cunt feels. Almost like he’s mocking you.

A few days pass and he’s standing in front of your door, leaning against it to hold it open. Again, your tongue twists around itself and there is not a single word that forms in your throat that doesn’t make you feel like you might choke on it. He’s intimidating. The way he’s standing, almost like he’s looming over you. Predatory eyes following every little movement of your body. And he definitely notices when your eyes flicker down to his crotch, the outline of his cock clearly visible through, of course, grey sweatpants.

“Do you always stare at people’s dicks?” His lips curl up in a smile that feels sinister. “Haven’t you learned it’s rude to stare?”

Standing so close you can feel his breath on your face. You wish you could get a grip on yourself but it’s so hard to swallow.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. “You know I can hear you moaning my name, right?” It feels like your lungs have been deflated like your body is so heavy with embarrassment you might turn to stone. “You think of me when you play with your little pussy?”

God, you wish you the flames of hell would devour you already, “N- no.”

“I wanna play with it too.” He takes a step and you stumble backwards, trying to create some distance between your bodies. “Make you scream my name properly.” And you feel like your heart might stop.

Courage seems to find you unprepared and you speak before you have time to consider the consequences. “They’re probably faking it anyways.” You scoff, voice filled with venom as you try to salvage at least some of your dignity.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we should test it out.”

He cannot possibly be this arrogant, this vulgar. But he is. And the way he’s looking at you, the way his tongue peeks out to lick at his lips, confirms it. “If I can’t make you scream then I’ll try to be quiet.”

“You’re insane.”

“Aww,” he coos. “Scared you can’t take it?”

Truthfully, you’ve never had anyone as big or as thick as him, but, admitting that to him and his obviously overinflated ego is not something you’d allow yourself to do. Not that you’re considering it. Not like you would ever sleep with someone like him.

But you are right about him, you must be right about him. And if can get the peace and quiet you’ve been dying for just by letting him fuck you. Would it be that wrong? It’s like you’d be using him. Just once, obviously. It’s not like you’ve been thinking about his cock for days. It will be fine. And, well, you can’t even remember the last time an actual man has given you an orgasm.

“You get five minutes.”

Eren can barely hide his satisfaction. You look so cute in your tiny little skirt, with your pouty lips and bratty attitude. He can’t wait to pound it out of you, really. Wasting no time at all, he picks you up with a squeal, makes himself comfortable on your bed and manhandles you over his knees. Your ass up and face pressed into the bed as you call for your phone to set a timer. In five minutes only, he gets his ego crushed and you get silence.

Once again, you’re soaked and he knows it’s all because of him. He pulls your panties down, the pink lace digging into the fat of your thighs. There’s something so embarrassing about the way he’s running his hands over your legs and ass. It feels like your whole body is shivering, and just like that, your confidence starts slipping away. You can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips as he pinches your clit. Then runs two fingers down your slit, and inside of you. And they feel so much better than yours, longer and thicker, pressing down into that squishy spot that you can never quite reach on your own. And maybe you’re enjoying it more than you’d like to admit.

This position offers him such a pretty view too. Your puffy lips glistening with arousal. The way your clit is swelling at his touch. The way your hole is gripping onto his digits, pulling him in. Plus, he can easily hold you in place so you can’t run away as he bullies your soppy cunt.

“You act all innocent but this slutty pussy is gushing all over my hand”

You hate that he’s toying with you, like he can sense the desperation within you. And you hate the way he’s stretching you out so well. And you especially hate that you can hear how drenched you are. And the way you can’t stop yourself from moaning no matter how hard you bite down on your bottom lip. Cheeks burning with embarrassment at how exposed you feel. Still, you refuse to give in to his teasing.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so uptight if you got properly fucked, huh?” He’s talking to your cunt, not to you. So transfixed by how it twitches and clamps down around him at every degrading word that comes out of his mouth. “All nice and wet for me.” Then his thumb is running over your clit and you cum with a muffled scream, legs shaking. Your slick running down his hand.

The timer hasn’t gone off. Your brain is too foggy from your orgasm so you don’t even notice until his voice cuts through the haze. “Three minutes and forty-seven seconds.” He huffs out a laugh, so pleased with himself. “I think she likes me.” He gives your pussy a little slap, a sharp sting as his fingers connect with your already sensitive clit.

“W- wait,” Your voice weak as you try to pull yourself together. “It’s not fair, it’s been a while.”

“So what I’m hearing is-” Eren moves you off of his lap and brings his wet hand to your face, smearing your juices over your lips “You want my cock.” Then he pushes his fingers into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue, making you clean every last drop of cum.

“Just set the timer.”

He’s repositioning you once more and your pussy throbs at how strong he is, how his big hand feels pressing down at the small of your back. It’s filthy. Never before has a man treated you so disrespectfully, like you’re nothing but a toy for him to get off in, to use for his own pleasure in any way he wants. And the worst part is that maybe that’s why you like it. Maybe you’re tired of the nice boys who make love to you so tenderly and touch you as if you might break underneath the weight of their hands. Maybe you want to be held down and fucked within an inch of your life, have every single thought pounded out of your brain. To know that your other next-door neighbour is stroking his cock to your moans and to the sound of skin slapping against skin.

And maybe you’re just about to get your wish.

Chills are running down your back as he slides his cock between your cheeks. You can feel it, heavy and dripping precum on your lower back. Then you’re seeing starts the moments his flushed tip presses into you. It feels even bigger inside you, a bite too big for you to swallow.

“Eren, ’s too much, p- please.” But he loves your pathetic whimpering, your squealing, your choked sobs. He wants to absolutely ruin you.

And then he does. He starts slow, pulling out completely and rolling his hips against your ass, his hands firmly gripping your waist to stop you from sliding down. And each time you can almost feel his cock in your throat. He picks up his pace, now slamming into you. You’re making such a mess on your bed, cunt dripping with every thrust. Your sheets wet with drool and tears, skin taut around your knuckles as you squeeze around them. There is nothing that can stop you from babbling and sobbing out his name at this point, no matter how much you push your face down into the mattress, or bite down on your tongue, it comes. Slutty and obscene and shameful. Just like all those other girls before you.

Maybe you’ll fuck him just one more time. But that’s it!

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

#eren jaeger x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger smut #eren yaeger smut #aot smut #snk smut #eren yaeger x you #eren yaeger x y/n #eren x y/n

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brabblesblog · 7 months

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Fear

Part 5 of the Goodnight Moon series

Visiting the githyanki crèche goes terribly wrong. Inspired by recent events in my second playthrough.

(The illithid skill transfuse health does exist btw - and it’s pretty useful!)

A fair amount of angst- and someone confesses.

Read on AO3.

Part 1

Part 6

Masterlist.

Finally, the githyanki crèche. It had taken a fair amount of time to get there, with all of the grove’s problems occupying most of the past weeks. You are cautious with interacting with them; other than Lae’zel, you really didn’t know much about them and how they would perceive you and your group.

You had sat in the zaith’isk, and when you needed reassurance, Astarion was who you turned to. You look to him quickly with worried eyes, hoping that the others wouldn’t realize how afraid you were.

He hesitates, and then answers in his usual way.

“I’m all for it, but… well, you first.”

Was that a bit of fear in his eyes? Concern? You probably only imagined it. But when the process goes wrong and you thrash in the chair, almost numb to everything else but the pain in your head, it is his voice that breaks through to you.

“It’s too much, you can’t take it. Get out of there, now!”

You are able to - just barely - wrest yourself from the clutches of that infernal machine. As it explodes, you find yourself in the rubble. That pain was gone, thank the gods, but you take a moment to reorient yourself before standing up. Before you even manage to sit up, a hand grabs your wrist and tugs you upwards, a little too roughly.

His eyes are wide, filled with an expression you can only guess was fear. But before you could say anything, it is replaced with a stern look.

“This is what happens when you trust the gith: they strap you to a machine and try to kill you.” He lets out a soft tutting noise and looks at you from head to toe, making an assessment. “At least there’s no permanent damage done. Or not too much permanent damage? I suppose time will tell.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Thanks, Astarion. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” You sweep the dust off yourself and head off, a little miffed by the too-nonchalant way he was reacting to your near-death. You miss the way his shoulders drop from relief, that you seem to be yourself and alright, and the hurt that crosses his features for a fraction of a second.

The others make sure you’re okay, and you all proceed. You take a moment to calm yourself down as you make your way to the hatchery.

You take a measured breath and turn around. You knew he’d been sticking close to you since you snapped at him, as though he were a lost puppy trying to appease you.

“Um.” You meet his eyes. “That was- sorry. Just really not in the mood to be joking around.”

He waves you off with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Understandable. You’ve never been the best conversationalist, even in the best of times.”

You sigh and open the doors.

To no one’s surprise, you inevitably offend the gith and fighting your way out was the only way.

Astarion runs ahead of you, which he has been doing lately. You wonder if he thinks you unable to keep up with him anymore; you used to fight back to back.

You see the gith all attack what’s nearest to them - him. You see them cutting into him, his resolve and strength weakening. No, this cannot be. No.

You feel the worm bristling in your brain, the power flowing through to you. You raise your hand, keeping him in your sight and thoughts, and in a split second you feel yourself sag as your own vitality is sapped and is transfused into him.

He stops for a moment to turn to look at you, his eyes like saucers - surprise, bewilderment, fear…? And before you register the source of the fear a blade erupts through your chest.

You fall to your knees, and the blade is pulled out of you as your assailant moves to fight someone. Someone who moved in a blur, daggers catching the light as they moved with breakneck speed. You clutch the wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but you are too weak. You fall to the ground. Everything starts to swim, figures blurring together. The last thing you feel is arms cradling you and someone shouting.

“No, you can’t die! Get up, damn you!”

Astarion. You want to tell him it’s okay, but somehow you can’t. Your eyes close and you go limp, the last of your strength failing you.

He has never seen true fear until this moment, he thinks. He hears your heart sputter out a few final beats before it stops, and screams as it does. He had seen you go down. The moment you gave him half of your life force, the gith youth had snuck up behind you and taken the rest of it. He had torn him apart, but he’d been powerless to save you. He carries you in his arms, snapping at everyone else.

“Scrolls! NOW!”

Gale and Wyll both look through their packs, and Astarion through yours and his, but there are none.

“I have one at camp,” Gale offers. “We can bring her there and-“

Before he even finishes his sentence, Astarion had already run off with you.

He arrives back at camp, breathless. He ignores the others as they gather around him to ask what had happened. He knew he looked horrible; gore all over his body and endless streams of tears in his eyes, but he didn’t care. He carried you to his tent, setting you down gently.

Karlach quietly hands him a scroll. He doesn’t even look at her to thank her, just quickly reads the incantation, then tosses the scroll aside and holds your hand in his. Work, please, he begs. He knows it will, but what if -

He shakes his head roughly. No. He won’t entertain that possibility.

It takes a moment, but he hears your heart restart. At first, shaky and irregular, but it slowly starts becoming a more regular rhythm. He quickly pours potions down your throat, then dresses your wounds. He’s done this numerous times over the years, treating himself whenever Cazador had hurt him, but his hands still shook.

Shadowheart approached him cautiously. “I can help heal her-“

He shakes his head. No. Right now he didn’t- couldn’t have anyone else touch you. She quickly assess the situation and found his work suitable. Without another word she leaves, gathering with the rest of the group as they ask Gale and Wyll, who had just arrived, what had happened.

Astarion never left the tent. He stayed by your side, just staring at you. After a while he finally mustered the energy to close his tent and huddle in the corner, sobbing in small hiccups, lest he woke you up. The sun set, and the moon rose. He was hungry, but he would not hunt tonight. He stayed there unmoving, until a hand wrapped around his wrist.

“A-star..” you mumble weakly.

“Darling? I’m here,” he whispers, voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll-“ he stifles another sob, and the fear slowly morphs into anger.

“Why did you do that anyway? I know you’re not the brightest bulb but that was far beyond the level of stupidity I thought you had!” The anger bubbles and twists in his chest.

You open your eyes and look at him. He looks positively feral, fangs out and eyes livid. But behind it you can sense mind-numbing fear. You slowly lace your fingers through his and squeeze gently. It was probably time for him to know, and time for you to let your secret out into the world.

“Because… because I care for you. Very much.” His face goes through a million different expressions before it resettles into that anger that he hides behind.

“Care about me? Like you care about the tieflings? Like everyone else? I am not a charity case! I do not need your help!”

You shake your head and squeeze his hand again. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what? That you care for me because I’m useful? Because I satisfy you like no one else does? Is that it?! If it is - you are pathetic,” he hisses, all barb and not really thinking of what he was saying. All he was trying to do was to defend his heart, which felt all too tender at the moment.

The hurt clouds your eyes, and he immediately regrets what he said. Before he can remedy it, you continue. “Astarion. Before I say this… know that I do not-“ you wince as you shift and the wound sends a jolt of pain through you. “I do not expect anything in return. I’m merely stating a fact.”

You brace yourself, meeting his wide eyes.

“I love you.”

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion fic #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #pale elf #bg3 astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 tav #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3

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skribblezcorner · 2 months

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Corset-Trained

HEY YALL!!! comes back after like 2 weeks and drops this. hgnhg small waist Sanji gives me brain worms (they do the same to Zoro trust) so have this fic about it!!1111!!!!! It's also up on my Ao3 if you wanna view it there!! okay buckle in children ~~~~~~~~~~~

Sanji loves dressing nice.

Ever since he was old enough to fit in them, he’d never step foot outside without at least a dress shirt on. The constant dressing up was more of an insecurity problem than anything, when he was younger.

Coming back from Momoiro, Sanji’s learned a lot more about himself than he anticipated - now he just wears suits ‘cause they look really good on him. Sanji has a nice figure. He knows he does. He keeps lean because of the way he fights, and the three-pieces he wears do wonders for showing off his legs.

When he feels like it, he’ll even put on a corset underneath his button-down sometimes. he’s noticed that it’s gotten easier to put them on in the mornings the longer he wears them, and he doesn’t necessarily mind his waist getting smaller with time.

Looks like someone else noticed too.

~o0o~

For some context, It starts when his crew finally reunites.

Reuniting in Sabaody surrounded by the crewmates he’s missed for so long feels so rejuvenating. Everybody’s laughing, gossiping, and he feels home again, for the first time in two years.

Everyone’s almost here, besides the marimo - lost in transit, Sanji guesses. Luffy’s already complaining about his empty stomach, whining for Sanji to make him something

Sanji prepares to kick the idiot in the head, when suddenly the ground shakes.

He looks over to the commotion, and finds two halves of a ship crashing into the shoreline. Unfortunately he has a lucky guess as to what - or rather, who - caused this.

“Shit,” Sanji mutters. Why is it always something with that algae-headed fool?

As it turns out, Sanji was right. upon returning to Sabaody (without his eye, might he add), Zoro had somehow arrived first and proceeded to get himself lost on a completely different ship. Instead of getting off and looking for his crew like a normal person, he cleaved the entire thing in two to ‘get to shore faster’.

“It’s been two years, and you’re still as much of an idiot as the last time i saw you, marimo.” Sanji huffs, pulling said marimo by his ear towards the Sunny.

On the contrary, Zoro has not said a word since Sanji picked him up from the ruins of the ship he destroyed. It’s a little concerning, considering all the pair really do is bicker when they’re together.

Sanji turns around briefly to examine the man he’s dragging behind him. “are you even paying attention to me, or has all the algae on your head clogged up your ears?”

Zoro stumbles over his words before he splutters something something about Sanji’s collar being wrinkly, which the other man knows is a lie (because he steamed his button down this morning…)

Even so, Sanji narrows his eyes at the green-haired idiot before feeling around the collar of his shirt just in case. “No it’s not, you idiot!” He hisses, and flicks Zoro on the side of the head, and they fall into their usual banter as they head back to the rest of the crew.

Every time he looks back at Zoro to deliver a scathing remark, though, he swears something’s…off about the other. He leaves it be for the time being, hoping it’ll resolve itself.

~o0o~

It does not resolve itself, unfortunately for Sanji.

Everyone boards the Sunny joyfully, the ship exploding in laughter as they make their hasty escape from Sabaody. They settle back onto the ship in a matter of hours, and it’s like they never left.

A few days later, Sanji finishes up stocking up the galley’s storage room earlier than he expected, so he makes smoothies for the crew as a sort of welcome-back gift. He leaves his jacket in the galley because it’s pretty sunny where they are right now.

As he bustles around the ship and hands the drinks out to the crew, he feels a set of eyes boring into his back from the edge of the ship. It seems the marimo’s developed a staring problem - ironic, seeing(HA!) that the man is missing an eye.

When he comes around to deliver Zoro’s plain matcha, Zoro’s eyes are closed and he acts like he wasn’t staring a hole directly between Sanji’s shoulder blades the whole time the blond was on deck. Sanji pauses to study the other man for a moment, wondering if Zoro knows his fluttering eyelashes betray the fact that he’s awake.

“Hey. Hey, you lazy fuck!” Sanji kicks at Zoro’s shoulder, careful not to jostle the drink he has in his hand.

“ What? ” Zoro snaps, his eye snapping open.

Sanji crouches down to place the drink next to him, and levels Zoro with a suspicious glare; like trying to say ‘ you’re not slick ’, but telepathically.

Zoro seems to realize what’s gong on, and instead of answering he takes an obnoxiously long (and fucking loud) sip as he stares the blonde down with a blank face.

Blue stares into gray (were Zoro’s lashes always that long?) as Sanji tries to puzzle out what exactly is going on with the marimo. The longer he stares, the more he notices Zoro’s eyes creeping downwards, and the blush materializing on Zoro’s (and subsequently, his own) face, and Sanji looks away because what the fuck ? Is he? Doing that for?!

Sanji straightens up with a huff, trying to cover his embarrassment as he scuttles back to the galley.

When he looks outside the window after a few minutes of calming himself down, he sees the swordsman looking down at his hands, doing…something. He’s cupping both hands into a C-shape and putting them closer and farther apart like he’s gauging something.

What a fucking weirdo , Sanji thinks, and tries to preoccupy himself with something else in the galley.

~o0o~

It all comes to a head one night a week after.

Sanji’s washing dishes after dinner, the rest of the crew presumably settled down and tucked into bed. He’s frantically scrubbing ketchup crust off one of his favorite plates when he hears the door crack open.

“Luffy, you’re not-” Sanji turns around, expecting to defend the fridge with his life - and it’s not Luffy.

Instead, It’s Zoro, who hasn’t come into the galley to steal booze in like… a while. There goes Sanji’s hopes that he might’ve broken that habit.

“Oh,” Sanji says, while the other man stands awkwardly in the doorway. “You’re more welcome in here than he is, I guess.” He nods to the chair, gesturing for Zoro to sit as he turns back around to continue washing dishes.

Zoro sits, evident by the scraping of the chair. “Don’t go looking through my cabinets, marimo,” Sanji quips, “I’ll get you a bottle as soon as I’m done.”

Zoro grunts an affirmative from behind him, and Sanji finishes washing up the last few cups and shit before wiping his hands off and heading towards the wine cabinet.

Sanji feels Zoro’s eyes on him as he bends down to reach for a bottle of rum, and here’s where things start to spiral.

Sanji decides this is the perfect time to have a talk . So, he sets down two glasses on the table where Zoro is sitting, and fills each to the brim before slamming the bottle down derisively.

“Okay,” Sanji starts. “I know you’re a man of few words, or whatever, but you really gotta start talking. Now.”

Zoro snorts into his drink, setting it down before speaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, like the smug shit he is.

“Yes you do.”

“Nope. I don’t.”

“You’re fucking insufferable, you know that?” Sanji gripes, taking a long sip from his glass. “Let me lay it out for you. You either tell me what’s going on, or, stop staring at me before i take out your other eye, asshole.”

Zoro stares resolutely at the table, picking up his glass of rum and mumbling something into the rim without making eye contact with the man across from him.

“What’s that, marimo?”

“I just wanted to see something,” the green-haired man says, a little louder this time.

“Well, if it was that simple, you could’ve just asked.” Sanji shrugs. “Stop being weird about it.”

Sanji hears something faintly like 'no, I couldn’t have' from the marimo before he sighs in resignation and gets up. “Cook, stand up.”

Sanji is confused. “What? Why?”

One of Zoro’s hands move to pinch the bridge of his nose. “This is me asking! Just…do it.”

Oh, so that’s where this is going. “Marimo, even without my shoes on, I’m still taller than you.”

“Okay, whatever, come closer.” Zoro says, still managing to look anywhere but Sanji’s eyes.

Sanji expects a hand at his forehead to, you know, measure height. Instead, Zoro does that weird C- shape he’s been doing with his hands all week, and Sanji feels a warmth around his midsection through the light blue dress shirt he has on.

Zoro’s staring with half-lidded eyes at something and Sanji follows his gaze lower, as they both look at the tan hands resting around his waist.

Zoro’s thumbs touch - no, they overlap - where they rest above Sanji’s navel, and oh, oh .

The two stand there, stock still, in complete silence, and Sanji can't help the fast beating of his heart as his mind conjures up the image of those firm, calloused hands touching there without the stiff cotton in between -

The silence in the galley is broken by the drip of liquid, and Sanji belatedly realizes it’s coming from him as a splat of red falls onto Zoro’s hands.

“ Hoooo-ly shit, ” Zoro whispers, and, yeah, holy shit is right, because this has unlocked something in Sanji that he was very unprepared for.

Sanji snaps out of whatever fucking trance he was in and frantically tries to save his shirt, moving to get a paper towel from the counter (and mourning the loss of Zoro’s palms touching his waist). “Fuck, fuck! ” Sanji dabs at the stain on the front of his shirt, but to no avail. He settles for wiping his face clean instead.

When Sanji turns around to face him, The marimo is staring at him with wide eyes and the deepest flush Sanji thinks he’s ever had. “Okay, okay.” This is fine , Sanji thinks, and takes the opportunity to stride up to the table they were sitting at and down not only his rum, but Zoro’s as well.

He coughs as the liquid goes down his throat, and he kind of regrets doing that, but he needs the courage (and the chance he won’t remember this tomorrow).

“Cook-”

Sanji holds up a hand. “Don’t - don’t say anything.” Zoro falls silent.

He takes a deep breath in, collecting himself before he speaks.“Is that a thing? For you?.”

“Well, I mean-”

“Answer the goddamn question.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Zoro admits, his tone more confused than anything now.

“So,” Sanji calmly says, “Would you be open-”

“Are you propositioning me-”

Yes. “I swear to god , Zoro.”

He seems to get the message, swallowing thickly before nodding once. Great.

“Good,” Sanji sighs, unbuttoning the two topmost buttons on his dress shirt. “Then, you mind doing that again?” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

errmmmmm i hate beta reading so there might be a buncha mistakes in here please lmk if you spot one!! anyway these two are my little meow meows i cant stop writing about them.

#ronoroa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #zosan #one piece #zosan brainrot #i cant stop thinking about them #zosan gives me brain worms #small waist sanji....#WHY do you have a small waist.#FOR OTHER MEN (Zoro) TO GRAB>?????!??!?!#big hands #big hands zoro go brrrrr

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leathfaic · 11 months

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Ghost and Soap tattoo headcanons because the brain worms demand it right now!

In my mind at least Ghost has a lot more tattoos than just his sleeve, it's just not common knowledge because until he gets together with Soap no one ever really sees him undressed except maybe for medical staff.

The sleeve was the beginning but he's adding to them whenever leave allows, on his chest and back, on his legs and his other arms and even his hands. Ghost is also the kind of guy that is very stoic while getting tattoos, the pain doesn't really bother him, he's been through so much worse, but he's not the guy who's chatting with the artist either. He just sits through it. Similarly afterwards he's pretty disciplined about the aftercare required. Sun rarely is an issue with the way he dresses and he plans his leave times around the appointments so he can take it easy for a while.

When the inevitable itching starts he just glares at the spot, never actually touching it, but he gets fucking irritated for a few days.

And while he's not the best at taking care of himself in many aspects of his life I can actually see him take good care of his tattoos in the long run, because I imagine him getting them to cover up scars, especially those left by Roba and his men. It's his way of reclaiming his body. The motive itself often isn't as important as the fact that he chose to have it put at that spot. The meaning isn't in the design either it's in the fact that it was his decision to wear it, unlike the scars that were forced upon him.

And then there's Soap, he's only got the one tattoo that we know, at least when he meets Ghost.

Its faded from sunlight exposure and because he never took proper care of it while it healed, even caught himself scratching it once or twice when the itching started. Its always exposed and he rarely thinks of putting sunscreen on, so naturally the tattoo has a hard time and the colour fades quick.

So at some point Ghost asks him if he wants it touched up. He's making an appointment with the artist he trusts anyways and he'd be happy to bring him along. Ghost knows that for Soap his tattoo does have meaning, that he's fucking proud to have made it into the SAS and that he got kinda sad comparing the crisp lines of Ghost's tattoos to his own.

Soap ends up agreeing although he's wary since he can't see it go better than it did last time. But if anything the fact that Ghost is allowing him to come along for this is such a huge sign of trust that he just can't refuse it.

And Ghost's tattoo artist is going to have to recover for a moment because Soap is so fucking chatty compared to Ghost, the pain is kinda exciting to him so he talks more and more and the artist hears more words out of Ghost in response to Johnny than he ever did before. Would wonder if it was the same man if they weren't literally continuing work on a tattoo they had started.

Once they are both done Ghost makes sure Soap takes proper care of the new ink. Threatens to tie him to the bed if he starts scratching at night (something Soap finds entirely too exciting). Shares his care products with him and makes him wrap it up for the first weeks and months. Is always at hand with some sun screen, at least for the arm, even when they are in the middle of nowhere. It's worth the trouble to squeeze some sun screen in his pack when he gets to see Johnny so happy about how good his tattoo looks again.

And once he sees how a properly taken care of piece will look Soap wants more. Ends up accompanying Ghost to the studio whenever he goes.

He's creative, most of what ends up on him is based on his own sketches, always with meaning behind it for him. The next thing he gets is a certain skull based on a specific mask that he wears close to his heart (making Ghost go through emotions he wasn't aware he was capable of having). He also helps Ghost with giving some of his ideas form often redrawing endless variations to make sure Simon doesn't just pick one that seems okay and fitting for its purpose but one he really likes to look at too. Poor man almost loses it when he sees one of his sketches inked on Ghost for the first time and its a good thing they are on leave because he's not gonna let him out of their bed any time soon. Purely to protect the new ink from the sun of course.

#ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #soapghost #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #cod #cod mw2 #cod hc #this hc has nothing to do with the fact that i just got a new tattoo #not at all #also i'm lying #tattoos

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shinycollarboneapologist · 1 year

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an opportunist

(part 1 to clandestined or the one where matty piques your interest.)

content: mentions of drugs and alcohol, no smut but heavy petting, matty’s insufferable, matty is also george’s best friend, slight age gap (3 years), and bending of irl timelines

a/n: special thanks to @hereyeswerefilledwiththestars for inspo and for letting me rattle my silly little ideas to you.

matty healy is nothing if not insufferable.

his very presence evokes a roll from your eyes and scoff from your lips nine times out of ten. he’s got an ego that often takes up all the air in the room. he’s always jumping down your throat, always has to be the one that wins every argument (you always give him a fight, though, never one to back down too easily), and always has to have the last word.

matty healy is insufferable. but he’s also your older brother, george’s best friend.

it started when you were thirteen. george had accumulated a new friend group and a new after-school hobby of playing the drums so loud you thought your ears were going to bleed. with george came matty by association, the boy a few years your senior and george’s best friend. he had curly hair and lanky limbs, and he always smelled a bit like weed when he would kiss you sweetly on the cheek and hug you hello. and when george tells your mum he’s joining a band and has to trek over to the healy residence five days a week, she tells him that he can go anywhere he wants so long as you go with him because realistically how much trouble can a group of teenage boys get into when there’s a thirteen-year-old thrown into the mix. in truth, the answer is a lot, but you were sworn to secrecy with a few crisp bills and the promise that when not if they make it big they’ll have a chapter dedicated to you in the tell-all book. it’s enough to keep your lips sealed, plus you get a place to go after school to kill time and get homework done. though george is begrudgingly dragging you along, matty never once batted an eyelash. he embraced your presence, welcomed your ideas, and made you feel special (all before joining in as the other guys held you down and shoved worms in your face until you cried and begged to go home). but you felt special, nonetheless.

matty healy is insufferable and your older brother’s best friend. but he’s also the long-term object of your desires.

while george slowly grew out of his distaste for your presence at band rehearsals and gigs and grew into the adoring and protective older brother you have now, matty planted his seeds in your brain. he was george’s friend first, but with that came the extension of him being another older brother figure to you. he was a good listener (when he wanted to be) and gave sound unbiased advice. when he spoke to you, he kept eye contact and made you feel like he was really listening (even if he wasn’t he was good at keeping up the charade). and when you would mindlessly ramble about some stupid boy in your science class or how much you hated the switch from lime to green apple skittles, he was good at making you feel like your opinion mattered- even if he would take the piss out of it all when you left. he made you blush when he complimented your hair or your outfit. and when the other guys would make fun of your heated cheeks and bashful gaze, matty wouldn’t join in. instead he would tell them to fuck off, and would flash you a cheeky smile. he was equal parts annoying and fascinating.

he’s always been the one, you’ve known that much since you were sixteen. you admit that to your roommates one night after a few glasses of wine and a conversation about lost loves. and though they tease you about it until your cheeks burn and you’re hiding your face in your hands. they tell you to go for it, to just bite the bullet and confess already. but that’s a loaded request. he’s matty, probably only seeing you as a direct extension of his best friend and you’re you, said direct extension that hasn’t been around recently due to the stress of work and classes. you haven’t realistically been in his presence since last christmas, you presume, minus all of the gigs you attended and george’s birthday party. it’s silly really. the way he still has you blushing and giddy all these years later. you chalk it up to the wine, though. especially when you’re scrolling through your socials later and see a few posts of matty belligerent on george’s story and it turns your stomach a bit. but people often mistake butterflies for moths, right?

you keep telling yourself that over and over as the brisk wind whips around you while you weave in and out of cars and you’re pulling your jacket tighter around your chest. the occasional horn blares at you, but you satiate it with a flip of your finger. you have places to go, people to see, drinks to consume and you’re running late. they have to be at least getting on stage for their set now, meaning you’ve missed the ceremonial pre-gig toke and you know you’re going to get the stink eye from all of them for it. the four of them, especially matty, are big on their traditions, citing some karmic return if they’re not completed. you just hope it all goes well so the blame doesn’t fall onto your shoulders, as it playfully often does.

when you approach the club, the line is already wrapped around the block. so much so that you can barely make out the dark facade of the building. you’re groaning. time is ticking away and four oversized toddlers are going to rip you a new one if you’re not in there and fast. through some bribing and squeezing and lying and smiling, you make it toward the middle of the line; the door is visible and you can vaguely see the bouncer checking id’s. you’re thanking a bunch of religious deities at this point.

“sorry, we’re at capacity and the show’s about to start.” the bouncer rips you from your self-reflective glee. your eyes widen immediately, a plethora of pleas babbling out of you.

“no, no, no. you don’t understand, my brother’s in the band and he’s gonna be so fucking pissed at me. i need to get in there,” you plead, eyes big. you’re trying to connect with the bouncer at some level at this point, eyes scanning for a name tag, something, anything. “c’mon,” you try, “daniel, you get it right?”

his eyes soften, giving you a once over.

“yeah i get it,” here it is, your golden opportunity, “now go get in line with the other sisters, wives, girlfriends, and boyfriends over there,” he nods his head over to the line of people behind you who were also denied entry. you groan, defeated.

the one night you want to go out and you’re stuck warding off frostbite in a skirt that’s too short, a jacket that’s hardly even warm enough, and the stupid, uncomfortable-heeled boots that your roommate let you borrow. calling george would be a moot point by now, but you try it anyway. as predicted, his phone goes straight to voicemail. you try a few more times, but each time it follows the same route. you wallow for a few minutes, trying to ward off the frustrated tears that have already started to sting at the corners of your eyes.

“no, dude. i don’t know where she is. yeah, i’ll keep looking, calm your balls,” a familiar voice is pinging through the air and before you can even turn your head, there’s an even more familiar mop of curly hair in front of you.

“found you. where’s my reward?” matty grins, pulling you into a tight bear hug. if it was any other time, you probably would have shoved him off and pinched his arm. but he’s warm and smells good and you’re still freezing. “we thought you bailed on us!” he confesses, and you can tell there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“me? never. the train was late, the knob at the door won’t let me in, and it’s cold. and i’m pretty sure i almost got hit by a car coming walking over here,” you groan. he pulls away and you almost want to cry as he takes the warmth with him.

“no wonder you’re cold. look at you!,” matty chides, “really, look at you.” his voice falters as he mumbles the echo of his words prior.

he gets a once over at you. his eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual, darkening a bit at the sight in front of him. you suck in a breath, feeling your cheeks burn and your skin prick with goosebumps. matty’s eyes trace you again and in a self-conscious fit, you wrap your arms around yourself. there’s a familiar feeling bubbling in your stomach, those god-damned moths won’t let you have a break.

“let’s get you inside, yeah?”

you nod in return, fingers intertwining with his as he leads you to the front of the line again. you flash the bouncer a smile and he only rolls his eyes in return.

it’s crowded inside. the crowd is at least twenty people deep on the floor, and that’s not including the people wrapped around the bar or those on the balcony. matty’s grip on you tightens and he weaves you both in and out of the small huddles of people to get to the makeshift backstage area.

“precious cargo acquired,” he calls out to the guys, pushing through the dark curtain that separates the band from the gig’s patrons. there’s an eruptive cheer as your figure pushes through after matty’s. “thought she was gonna freeze to death out there.”

george is the first to envelop you in a hug. you hit his shoulder as he pulls back, furrowing your brows at him.

“hey, what’s that for?” he shrieks and you narrow your eyes at him.

“learn to answer your phone, dickhead. almost got hypothermia out there,” you grumble. he retaliates by mimicking your voice, turning up his nose.

“she would’ve frozen to death without me mate. m’her prince in shining armor. or whatever that’s supposed to be,” matty calls over and george just rolls his eyes. your cheeks feel hot, much like they did when you were sixteen and staring up at matty with wide eyes after he said he liked your eclectic music taste.

“s’knight in shining armor,” adam quips. matty just waves him off with an utterance of tomato-tomato as he lights up a cigarette.

“are you guys still playing my favorite song?” you chirp.

“nah, matty scratched it from the setlist,” ross sighs.

your eyes go wide, “what?”

matty, preoccupied with his cigarette, only shrugs. “doesn’t fit the vibe anymore.”

“and what vibe is that? emo sad boy virgin pop?” you huff.

his eyes meet yours, softening as he seems to rethink what he was about to say. there’s a twitch of a smile at his lips. he runs his tongue out over the plush flesh. the intrusive thoughts take over your brain and you’re trying to tell yourself that it would not be a good idea to tell him that you’re jealous of his tongue.

“watch it,” he’s snide, tone alluring as smoke fans over the room.

you blink a few times, exhaling slowly as you regain your composure, “or what?”

“i’ll make you go sit outside in the cold again.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“you’re right, i wouldn’t.” his eyes travel over you. he lingers a bit at your hips and you swear you can see the wheels turning in his head. you go to comment, but adam’s already rounding all of the boys up to get them on stage. his head tilts at the proximity between the two of you (which isn’t much as matty’s made his way to be a few inches in front of you now), noticing the way matty’s looking at you. he hits him on the shoulder, giving him a look and jerking his head towards the curtain. matty’s hand brushes your waist as he passes behind you. it’s there for a fragment of a second, but the repercussions weigh heavy in your brain. there’s a phantom of his hand remaining on your heated skin, heart thumping hard in your chest. and as they walk away, you can hear the harsh whispers between the two men, but you can’t make out what they’re saying.

matty ends up playing your favorite song. and it’s the only think you talk about the whole cab ride back to his and george’s apartment. the others try their hardest to switch the conversation but as soon as you see an opportunity, you’re circling back to the fact that they played your favorite song. you’re an opportunist at heart, living for the way they groan.

the five of you are sitting around on matty and george’s balcony. you’re curled up on the beat-up couch, knees pulled to your chest. you’ve changed, thankfully, into some old sweats you left here at one point. and it all feels normal and a bit nostalgic, an air of their early days. the guys are asking about your classes at uni, and how your roommates are treating you. and when you answer, you find yourself catching matty’s eyes lingering on you for a little longer than normal.

he watches you intently as you bring the bottle of cheap wine up to your lips, taking a long sip. he thinks a lot about what your lips would taste like, probably a mix of the wine and the cherry chapstick he had seen you use earlier. matty’s head feels heavy and he’s chalking it up to the wine and the weed from earlier and not from the lingering thoughts of you swimming around in his brain.

he’s bringing up a cigarette to his lips, expert fingers flicking the lighter as he inhales. matty catches your eyes on him that time, half-listening to what ross is rambling off to you. he grins at you from across the table, loving the way you’re rolling your eyes at him and returning your full attention to ross. there’s a fire burning within him, an antagonizing thought screaming that all your attention should be on him and him only. he loathes fighting for your attention, even more so now that you just look at him that way. it’s just pointless banter. that’s what he hushed back to adam as they walked to the stage. adam was being ridiculous in his accusations that matty was pushing the flirting with you thing a little too far. if you didn’t seem to mind, then why should he? it wasn’t like the both of you were going to do anything about it.

the night is settling down. adam and ross had both abandoned the remaining three of you to head home; they had an early morning tomorrow with some radio interview and they all had to be on their a-game.

matty’s got his hand in the snack mix bag, grumbling to himself.

“who ate all the pretzels?”

you laugh to yourself, hand coming to cover your lips. he’s quick to hear it though, eyes narrowing, “you’re just like george, i swear to god.”

“hey! what’s so bad about being like me?” george huffs in mock offense.

“i’ve got a list.” you and matty drawl at the same time, heads already snapping to gasp at each other.

george only laughs, stretching his arms above his head. “think i’m gonna call it a night. need my beauty sleep. matt, you’ll lock up right?”

matty nods.

“goodnight,” george hums and presses a kiss to the top of your head, “pillows and blankets are already on the couch for you.”

a warm smile finds its way to your face, thanking george.

you can’t find the will to get up as george exits the balcony, limbs feeling like liquid and head still swirling with the weed-induced daze.

matty pulls another cigarette out from the pack. you raise an eyebrow at him.

“i’m quitting, i swear,” he scoffs.

you only laugh and lean your head back, “i didn’t even say anything. you’ve just got a guilty conscious.”

“don’t need to say anything, it’s in your eyes,” he comments, “you want one? feel like i’ve been rude in not offering one to you all night.”

you nod, pensively. he holds the pack out and you take a cigarette for yourself before you place it between your lips. george would freak out if he saw you like this right now despite the fact he had done far worse at your age. before you can even ask for a light, matty’s already bringing the open flame up to the end of the cigarette. you blink a few times. his eyes are trained on yours, tongue poking from between his lips. it feels like ages go by. the intensity of his stare is consuming you, goosebumps littering your limbs.

“you’re supposed to inhale, love,” he remarks.

you shake your head, flustered and embarrassed, “no… yeah... i know. yeah.”

you inhale as he brings the ember up to the end again. matty’s intense gaze falls to your lips. the plump skin is curling around the cigarette, puckering as you exhale and his mouth goes dry. this is wrong, so wrong. and although there’s a part of him that just wants to pack up for the night, he knows there’s a stronger part of him that just wants to be close to you and feel your skin prickle with goosebumps again.

matty’s lips are cherry red, indicative of the way he keeps licking over and biting at them. his pupils are dilated; dark black bleeding into chocolate brown irises. his hair is awry as his fingers kept running through it. and in a fleeting thought, you wonder just what it would feel like to run your fingers through it and pull at the curls- not enough to hurt just enough to elicit some kind of a reaction. the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine, which he notices, and you feel your molten limbs get pulled toward him. the blanket that adorns his body is soft. he wraps you up in it, properly tucking you into his side as he pulls the frayed hem taught around you. you’re close enough to feel him breathing now, close enough to watch his adam’s apple bob up and down. he’s lost in thought as you stare down his side profile.

“the guys treating you alright up there?” matty asks. it’s not a far-off question seeing as you’ve told him nearly everything about any male interests when you were younger.

“I’m bored-,” you hum, voice listless. the carefully curated consonants hang in the air before dispersing like the smoke that’s exhaling from matty’s lips.

“well fuck you, too, then,” matty snorts as he cuts you off, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “didn’t want to babysit tonight, anyway.”

you shake your head, and you can almost feel your thoughts rattling around as you do so.

“i wasn’t done talking,” you glower at him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. you watch as he shifts under your gaze. maybe he was just peeved with you, or maybe you catch the hint of a flush rising from his neck.

“go on then. we haven’t played therapist in a while, what’s on your mind?” his focus is back on the second joint he’s now begun rolling. you watch his fingers carefully, throat tightening. you’re not sure if it’s the after-effects of the weed or the absolute filth in your mind that’s causing this reaction, but it’s caught matty’s attention. he grins at you, “i said-”

“i-i heard you,” you scowl.

he purses his lips at you, shaking his head, “don’t frown, sweets, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

“like you?”

“oi!”

“you already compared this to babysitting so i’m allowed to make all of the old man jokes i want.”

he holds his unoccupied hand up in mock surrender, “touche.”

“now, let me finish before you interrupt me yet again,” you narrow your eyes at him, playfully this time, “i’m bored with guys, i think. s’not one guy that’s caught my interest and i’ve been away at school for months. they’re all so boring, or they say dumb things and i just, ugh, i haven’t been properly kissed in ages.” you’re playing it up for dramatic effect now, honestly, and it seems to have the desired effect because he stills for a minute.

this piques his interest enough that he’s abandoning the joint that once preoccupied him to glance at you, eyebrows knitting together, “is that so?” he guffaws, smirking softly. “i think your problem, little miss, is that you,” he pauses to lick the edge of the rolling paper. it’s meticulous and calculated and your thighs squeeze together under the blanket. he knows what he’s doing, knows the dangerous game he’s playing, “you waste your time on boys. you need a man.”

“you’re a man, right?” you ask.

“uh, yeah? what are you on about?” he laughs. he’s still not paying attention to you, eyes focused on the joint in front of him while your whole brain, whole being even, is screaming out for him.

“so, why don’t you do it?” you’re leaning in close to matty, his eyes shut as he feels your breath against his neck. the scent of your perfume is intoxicating. it's so sweet; reminds him of you and your lilted laugh, something that’s never changed.

“what?” he sputters, blinking incredulously.

“you heard me,” you murmur. he can feel the ghost of your breath against his jaw now as you make your way toward his ear. “show me what it’s like to be kissed by a man,” you purr.

his resolve dissipates in a low groan of your name. he turns to look at you again, eyes tracing over your lips once, twice, thrice. but it’s taking too long for you. lunging forward, your lips press to his heatedly. and though the weed has lowered your inhibitions, it’s doing little to nothing to calm your nerves. maybe you read the signs all wrong. maybe this was a mistake. and oh, god, you’re still kissing him but he’s not kissing back. you pull away quickly, eyes wide and ready to begin your apology parade. this was not how this was supposed

the slew of apologies are ill-fated, though as he growls lowly and pulls you close to him. his hands cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him in the eyes as he speaks, “you’re playing with fire, sweets. if you’re not careful, you’ll be burned.”

matty barely gives you a second to process what he’s doing before his lips are pressed to yours indignantly in a bruising kiss. it's slow at first, his lips working with yours as his hands fall from your cheeks to your waist. he’s pulling you even closer to him, your knees knocking against his thighs. you take the initiative and climb into his lap, straddling his waist and fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. matty’s hands wander from your waist to the hem of the t-shirt, nimble fingers traveling just underneath. you feel his cold fingers on your heated skin. they send a shiver down your spine, nerves ablaze with him.

your mouth falls open in a gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. he tastes of the remnants of his cigarettes and the wine he was drinking before, it’s dizzying. there’s a certain sense of pent-up desire behind his movements, a fever that you can’t quite put your finger on. you’re left only to whine against his lips, threading your fingers through his hair like you wanted to only minutes before. he’s kissing you like no one ever has before and you’re not sure anyone ever will.

matty pulls back just for a second, allowing you both to catch your breath. when your eyes flutter open, his darkened pupils meet yours. his lips are swollen, smudged with the rogue of your lipstick. you want to imprint this sight into your memory and tuck it away so that you’ll never forget how he looks in the moment. his lips are back on yours before you can comment on it. his movements are not as soft as before, not as calculated or contrived. you give in to the passion, let your desires drive you as your hips start to move against his. it’s his turn to gasp, and judging by the stiffening in his pants you can tell he’s a fan of it. he doesn’t pull away though, instead, he lets his hands grip your waist to control your movements. there’s some satiation from the friction, but it’s not enough. you want more, want him to completely ruin you.

his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, tugging as he pulls away. a whimper, deeply rooted in your chest, falls from your parted lips. there’s a smirk on his lips. you’re left panting on his lap. he leans up, cups your cheek and presses a softer kiss to your lips. your lips move against his slowly. and just as you’re about to part your lips for him once more, he’s pulling back.

an exasperated sigh leaves your mouth and he laughs at you, actually laughs, “you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

you’re breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly. you try to find the words to rebuttal him, but they’re lost on you. the only thing you can think about is him, he’s completely encompassed your thoughts and your brain. matty’s lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down the sensitive skin. he nips gently and you moan, waiting for your reaction as he flicks his tongue out to soothe the area. he drags his hands languidly up your waist and you think that he’s going to lift your shirt and let you have it like you want. but, the notion is lost. he lifts you off his lap and kisses your nose.

“i’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” matty murmurs, “goodnight, sweets.”

he’s walking into the apartment before you can even formulate your own goodnight. the words feel lost on your tongue, thoughts feel lost in your brain.

you’re fucked. absolutely fucked and not in a good way.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy one shot #matty healy fanfic #matty healy #✏️ - matty.#bbf!matty #my writing.#.... yeah.

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playertwotails · 17 days

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Okay so this has been circling around in my head for like two weeks like a fly hitting windows in a sun-room.

So I'm back on my Tails kitsune AU bullshit and I've also recently gotten into Cult of the Lamb so now they've mashed in my brain into a hodgepodged gloop.

And it's all going below the cut if you wanna read my brain worms cause it's long

***Trigger warning for like blood and cults and kidnapping and drugging. Just to give people a heads up (nothing too graphic or detailed but just in case and let me know if you think I missed anything I might need to warn people about)****

Little side note before jumping into this: do not tag as shipping, there is no shipping here it's all platonic and familial. If I see a ship tag I will block you.

Starting off it doesn't matter if Tails is actually a kitsune or not (I personally prefer that yes he is just for the post situation of the gang all being like "okay so what species is Tails actually???" )

I've just had this idea in my head where some cult somewhere is started and they worship kitsune's as godlike entities. They then catch wind of Tails in the news or rumors and their target is now locked.

So this cults leader gets the 'big brain but head actually empty' idea to kidnap Tails like any sane cult leader would.

Now these people somehow stumble ass backwards into kidnapping Tails and keeping him contained. And by keeping him contained they're basically drugging Tails just enough he's conscious but nonreactive. And they basically dress him up and drag him to their ceremonies as more of object than a kid. Tails is hating it and actually scared cause what the hell is wrong with these people let him go home.

Meanwhile Sonic and the gang are all freaking out cause "WHERE IS HE??!!!!" Cause lets be honest kidnapped by a cult was not on any of their bingo cards and at this point they don't know that's what happened, they only know Tails is gone and none of the usual suspects have him.

Rouge starts going through her contacts on the side looking for any crumb of information and gets a lead. And in typical Rouge fashion splits off on her own to look into it. She then comes across the cult and infiltrates their compound.

During her snooping though she overhears the leader of the cult and his subordinates talking about "living forever through the blood of their god's mortal form", sees a statue of a multi-tailed fox and all the red flags are immediately up for her. Internal panic button is smashed. 2 + 2 = fucked up situation.

She's already pressing the "get your asses here" button on her communicator and tears off as quickly but quietly as she can looking for Tails. When she finds him he's in a locked room just laying in bed, all dressed up in a white outfit. Which strange for her to see him just laying there since normally he'd be out and gone long time ago She sees what they've been giving him next to the bed and she's now double pissed off. (I like to think it's at least been over a week Tails has been missing, but if you wanna get really angsty make about 6 months, just as long as Sonic was locked up in Forces).

As gently but quickly as she can she bundles up Tails and carries him cause at this point he's got so much in his system he can't walk or talk, blinking is kinda his only form of communication at the moment. To which Rouge doesn't know what's worse, for Tails to have been asleep for the whole time unaware or to be awake for the whole time and know what's happening.

Tails on the other hand is just so happy to see her and scared that he starts crying. Which is just breaking Rouge's heart to witness as she starts to backtrack out of there with him, with him just silently crying nonstop in her arms.

Unfortunately only about halfway to the exit they discover Tails is gone and the place starts going into lock down with cultist swarming the halls of the place. And even though Rouge is an excellent fighter, she's in close quarters with a kid who can't walk so she's quickly overrun by cultist who tie her up and take Tails back.

The leader then using all of his one brain cell figures she's already signaled to the other's where they are and he knows it's only a matter of time before the fastest thing on the planet busts their door down looking for his little brother.

The leader announces to the group they're moving up the ceremony to now much to Rouge's horror and they drag her along too kicking and screaming cause they don't have time to drop her off in a cell or anything.

Everyone is now in this big ceremony/chapel room that has a big stone table covered in white flowers, that suspiciously is the perfect size for an 8 year old fox to lay down on. And the leader does just that laying Tails on the table.

Rouge is throwing an absolute fit and cursing everyone out cause no way in hell is she gonna let this happen, it's to the point multiple people are having to hold her down even with her tied up cause she's kicking up such a storm of rage.

Meanwhile, Tails is mentally absolutely freaking out in a panic and is terrified out of his mind, especially when the leader brings out a large ornate knife and starts chanting something.

As the leader is finishing up and reeling back his hand with the knife Sonic busts in and sees all of this. Immediately rushing to the table just as the cult leader goes for the downswing.

Sonic just barely catches the knife about an inch from Tails' chest grabbing on to the blade of it and cutting his hand which drips onto Tails.

Now Sonic finally has a moment to process all of this and what exactly is happening and for obvious reasons he is beyond pissed off. He's probably not far off from turning into dark Sonic or it's creeping around the edges of him. And just as he's about to send the cult leader to meet his maker he glances at Tails' face and that's the only reason he doesn't kill the leader right then and there. Cause Sonic thought Tails was asleep but now he notices not only is Tails somewhat awake but tears are streaming down his face.

So Sonic does the next best thing in this situation, knocks out the leader in less than a second and just pulls Tails into a hug off the table and starts just sobbing with Tails in his lap curled up on the floor. Cause the horror of what about happened and the relief Tails is okay and he found him in time hits Sonic all at once.

The rest of the cultists are still frozen cause for Sonic, Tails and the leader all that happened in less than a minute and the group is still catching their bearings of everything that just happened. Which is a good thing cause in that moment everyone else catches up and runs into this whole scene.

From their perspective though they just see Sonic sobbing over a limp Tails with blood on his chest (from Sonic's hand but they don't know that), a guy knocked out (or possibly dead??) next to them, a big stone table that suspiciously looks like an alter also next to them, Rouge who is still cursing up a storm tied up in the corner and held down by like 5 people, and a room full of people in matching robes that look like the guy up near Sonic and Tails.

The rest of the group now splits off with Amy and Knuckles running over to Sonic and Tails, Shadow going for the leader on the ground, Omega going to help Rouge, and the rest of their friends they had helping them splitting off to take care of the rest of the cultists.

From here everything gets resolved, cultists and leader locked up, Tails getting what ever drugs they were giving him out of his system and going home and everyone somewhat going back to their lives. Sonic however does not leave Tails' side for a while and hovers around him which for the first few weeks Tails appreciates cause if he's honest he doesn't want Sonic to be far from him either after everything and really doesn't want to be alone for long. Tails get constant nightmares about the situation and is snuggling with his big brother almost every night. Which is great for Sonic cause he's also getting terrible nightmares from the ordeal and feels better when he wakes up and Tails is right there.

It does get to the point though where after a bit of recovery and time healing the mental scars Tails has to convince Sonic that he can be go back to running around and exploring without Tails right next to him. It takes a lot of convincing and scheduling regular check-ins (like 5x more than they previously had) but Sonic and Tails slowly get somewhat back to their normal lives.

If you wanna get angsty though have it so Sonic is just a second too slow in saving Tails and the fallout from that. (couldn't be me though I'm a hurt/comfort girly at heart, give me the angst but everyone's okayish in the end)

#miles tails prower #tails the fox #tails kitsune au #kitsune au #enjoy my brain worms #this has been eating away at all my other ideas for a while now #feel free to add on if you like just keep me in the loop #i might post the little comic I'm attempting to draw about that one scene at the altar with Sonic grabbing the knife #that scene is so vivid in my head #I've had bad art block and burnout for like 4 years now since coivd hit and my job got STRESSFUL (call center life sucked)#but I'm slowly trying to knock the rust off my skills #a whole art minor I have not used in a while #my drawing skills are like the Tinman in the Wizard of Oz #someone give me some oil so they move again

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becasbelt · 6 months

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held your hand (suppressed a scream)

Summary: Fate had a funny sense of humor.

Or Shin was just legitimately unhinged. Which, again, Sabine wasn’t ruling out just yet.

or, an enemies to lovers soulmate au where Shin and Sabine are incapable of inflicting physical harm on one another, which definitely isn't frustrating for either of them.

Words: 6.6k

Rating: T

Notes: so @somewillwin posted a prompt a little while ago that's basically enemies to lovers soulmates who physically cannot hurt each other, and needless to say my brain worms went WILD.

so here's this

They seriously had to stop meeting like this.

Sabine ducks low to avoid a high swing from Shin’s orange-red blade. The ends of her hair sizzle from the close call, and when Sabine straightens, she sees that the scowl on Shin’s face has deepened in frustration; too many almost hits that resulted in Shin becoming angry and Sabine feeling shaky with adrenaline.

A smirk slips onto Sabine’s face – okay, maybe she was feeling a little cocky, too. But she’d been dancing circles around Shin since the fight started. Who wouldn’t be feeling a little cocky?

Sabine touches the singed hair on top of her head and raises her eyebrows at Shin ever so slightly. The look only serves in enraging her opponent even more and Shin comes at her again in a whirl of orange-red and gray.

It’s not like they meant to meet up like this – or, at least, Sabine didn’t mean to. She had no idea what Shin’s intentions were, though hunting down Sabine every week and trying to kill her wasn’t incredibly out of character for the dark jedi. Sabine would much rather they just stay out of each other’s way, and being two of only a handful of inhabitants on Peridea, she thought they would have an easy time of that.

Apparently, fate had a funny sense of humor.

Or Shin was just legitimately unhinged. Which, again, Sabine wasn’t ruling out just yet.

Read the rest on AO3!

#idk if someone has already written something for this idea #but this is my humble attempt #wolfwren #wrenwolf #sabine x shin #shin x sabine #fanfic #my writing #no i'm not scared to post star wars fanfiction how silly of you to ask

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fortheloveofwonderland · 9 months

Text

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 14 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - Spencer makes a decision regarding Cat. But before he has a chance to follow through he makes a startling realisation that could very well be his undoing.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - mentions of Cat Adam’s, talk of death penalty, therapy, brief mention of masturbation, swearing.

WC - 4.7k

Chapter 14 - Sympathy for the Devil

Another few days passed and there was still no sign of you. Either this really was all in his head or you were avoiding him. But honestly, Spencer didn’t have any free brain capacity to think about it.

His every waking thought revolved around Cat Adam’s and her death sentence and whether or not he had the strength to see her one last time. He wrote about it extensively in his journal, hoping getting it out of his head and onto paper would help him make sense of it all, but it didn’t.

If I see her then I’m basically admitting defeat, I’m playing my hand and letting her have a front row seat to the destruction she’s caused. There’s no hiding what I am. I can put on a smart suit and wear my best poker face but she’ll see right through me.

Cat always does.

She’ll see it in my eyes, the way she’s broken me beyond repair. She’ll be able to tell the full extent of the damage she’s done to me and I don’t want her to have the satisfaction.

But on the other hand, I’m still alive. I may be barely hanging on by a thread but I am alive. And she’ll be dead soon and a part of me wants her to see that she didn’t ruin me completely.

Just mostly.

One thing I do know absolutely is that this is the most I’ve wanted to relapse in weeks. I would kill a man right now for one more hit, one more shot of dilaudid.

I would wrap my hand around someone’s throat, squeezing until their pulse became thready beneath my fingers and watch as the life drained from their eyes. All for one more release.

That fucking bitch shattered me into so many pieces that I’m not sure I’ll ever be whole again. Yet I’m still thinking about seeing her because for whatever reason, I feel bound to her.

She wasn’t wrong when she said we were the same, prison showed me that I am more like her than I could have ever dreamed. When I hurt those men, when I poisoned the drug supply, I became bound to her in ways I never believed possible.

Maybe because she’s the only one who would understand. She’s the only person who could identify with the fact I liked hurting those men. And somehow that enslaved us. It bonded us in ways deeper than if her baby had been mine.

Don’t get me wrong, I hate her more than I ever thought it possible to hate another human being. I would have killed her with my bare hands if JJ hadn’t stopped me and I would have slept well. But her dying doesn’t change anything. Her dying doesn’t suddenly make me a better person. It won’t change the fact I was in prison, it won’t change the fact I am a drug addict.

Her death won’t make my life better or worse. The damage is already done, there’s no way to change that. But at least if she’s dead she might stop haunting my every dream, worming her way into every facet of my life.

Still, the question remains: am I strong enough to see her one last time before she’s put to death?

Maggie glanced up from the journal in her lap to Spencer who was fiddling with his sleeves and chewing on the inside of his cheek. He’d barely spoken in their sessions for days and he still didn’t want to talk about Cat, but reading his journal would help her get an insight.

“Who is Cat?” She asked placing her hands on the pages as if to absorb more information.

“She’s the reason I went to prison. She was a hitwoman. I outsmarted and arrested her so in return she had me arrested.” Spencer didn’t look at her.

“You know I have more questions, right?”

“I assumed as much. Go ahead.” He grazed his slowly growing nails over the back of his hand, able to scratch himself lightly now.

“You wrote about poisoning a drug supply and hurting people? What happened?” Her fingers drummed lightly on the page.

“I was being threatened in prison. If I didn’t help them move these drugs they would have killed me. I needed to buy myself some time. A lot of men ended up really sick, and I didn’t feel bad for it.” He scuffed his shoe on the carpet, watching the way his foot moved back and forth.

“I imagine it was dog eat dog. You had to look out for yourself.”

Spencer suddenly looked up at her, an almost dangerous look in his eyes.

“You don’t understand.” He frowned. “I wanted to kill those men. And not just for self preservation. I wanted them dead because I wanted to see how it would feel. I only felt bad that they didn’t die.”

He saw Maggie swallow before she tore her eyes off of him and looked back at his journal.

“And you mentioned a baby?” She changed the subject. “A baby that wasn’t yours but it could have been?”

“We never had sex.” He was quick to say. “She uh…she claimed to have me sexually assaulted by her partner but I never believed that was true.”

“Burying your head in the sand?” Maggie narrowed her eyes on him.

“No. The science doesn’t add up. The drugs she used to make me hallucinate flood the brain with serotonin. Its effects are similar to MDMA in that it’s nearly impossible to…uh…” he averted his gaze as his cheeks started to burn. “It’s difficult to get an erection.”

“I see.” Maggie was, as usual, unphased. “So this woman had you arrested and then pretended to be pregnant with your child. It all sounds like a power play.”

“Oh it is. Everything is a game to her. And I’m her pawn.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Maggie closed the journal and focused on him.

He thought it was fairly obvious.

“I need you to tell me what to do. She’s being executed in two weeks and I need to know if I should see her or not.” He continued scratching at the back of his hand. It wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying as when his nails were longer but it helped.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Spencer. That’s a decision you need to make on your own. You say you’re already struggling with your sobriety just thinking about her?”

“Yes.” He grinded his teeth. “Very much so.”

“Well then seeing her will only make that worse, surely?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“But if I don’t see her, she’ll think she’s won. I can’t have her going to her grave thinking she beat me.”

“So maybe you should see her.”

“You’re no help.” He growled.

“I told you, I can’t make this decision for you. Only you can decide if you’re strong enough to handle seeing her.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs.

“I don’t think I am.” Spencer huffed. “But I won’t ever get another chance.”

“Think about it. You don’t need to make any rash decisions.”

But Spencer was the king of rash decisions. And so no sooner was he done with his therapy session he found himself at the bank of phones patients were allowed to use, dialling a familiar number. Luke answered on the second ring.

“Luke Alvez.”

“Hi, it’s me. Spencer.” Spencer leant against the wall, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Hey, is everything ok?” Luke sounded concerned.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He took a breath and closed his eyes. “I want to do it.”

“To do it?” Luke’s frown could be heard down the phone.

“Yes. I want to see Cat before she’s executed.” Even as the words left his lips he wasn’t sure about them.

But he didn’t think he’d ever be sure. He could sit and think about it until he was blue in the face but he’d never be sure what to do either way. He’d regret seeing her and he’d regret not seeing her.

It was a catch twenty-two with no possible good outcome. So ultimately he just had to go with his gut. And his gut told him he needed to see her one last time. Saying it out loud made him instantly wish he had a needle of dilaudid waiting for him.

“You…seriously?” Luke swallowed.

“Yes. I need to prove to her she didn’t break me. I need her to see I’m still standing.” Barely, but I am.

“Ok. If you’re sure.”

He wasn’t sure, not in the slightest. But he was doing it regardless.

“Will you go with me?” Spencer suddenly sounded small and scared.

“Of course I will. We’re away on a case right now but we can do it as soon as I’m back.”

“Thanks Luke. And uh…don’t tell the others. They won’t understand.” Spencer opened his eyes and pushed himself away from the wall.

“I promise. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.” Spencer hung up the phone, his hand shaking as he did so.

No good could come of him seeing Cat again. He just hoped it wasn’t the final nail in his coffin.

***

Spencer quite often found himself feeling as though he was drowning. Most of the time he barely kept himself afloat, sinking in a pool of his own misery. But actually drowning was a whole other thing.

“Keep kicking! Come on, you can do it!” Nick cheered him on while Spencer frantically waved his arms and tried to keep himself above water.

Now his walking was getting better Nick had suggested swimming to build up his strength. Spencer had never been a fantastic swimmer, but he was ok. He could at the very least stay adrift.

But with his injury, drowning seemed inevitable.

“Kick! Come on Spencer. You’re almost there!”

Spencer flailed his arms hoping he could reach the other side without using his legs too much but it only made his lower half sink and when his lower half sank he started to panic.

His t-shirt clung to his body, the water sodden fabric making him feel heavier. Nick had tried to get him to remove it but Spencer refused. It was bad enough not having trousers and his sweater on.

He needed to regroup. He needed just a second to fail before he could continue. He stilled his movements and let the water encompass him, rising over his head until he was completely submerged.

He told himself he could do this. It was only a few more metres and then he was done. He wasn’t giving up, no matter how much it hurt. He pushed himself back to the surface and inhaled deeply before forcing his legs to kick in time with his arm movements.

He blocked everything else out that didn’t strictly relate to kicking his legs. The side of the pool was getting closer and the burn spread down his thigh but it was a good kind of pain. It was the kind of pain that told him he was achieving something, he would make it to the other side both physically and mentally.

“Come on Spencer! You can do it!” A voice goaded him but it didn’t belong to Nick this time.

He frowned to himself as he pushed himself the last few feet and grasped the wall for dear life. When he wiped the water out of his eyes and the hair back off his face he looked up. You sat on the edge of the pool right in front of him, legs crossed and a proud smile on your face.

“You did it!” You cheered as Spencer just stared at you dumbly.

Soon Nick was by your side, helping Spencer out of the pool.

“That was great!” Nick grinned, helping Spencer sit up as he caught his breath.

He blinked a few times, briefly wondering what it was about Nick he’d thought so similar to Morgan. Sure they looked kinda alike, but not enough for Spencer to have made that connection. He shook his head and looked between you and Nick.

“Uh…you can see her right?” He frowned as he focused on Nick.

“Is that a trick question?” Nick asked in confusion.

“He thinks he’s imagining me.” You spoke with an amused smile. “Tell him he’s not crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.” Nick chuckled, squeezing Spencer’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

His parting gift was to toss a towel at Spencer which he wrapped around his shoulders and obscured himself with. You kicked off your shoes and rolled your jeans up to your calves before dipping your feet in the water.

“So, are you going to stop doubting yourself now?” You smiled while Spencer continued to stare at you.

“Never.” He scoffed, with a roll of his eyes which made you giggle. “I wish it were that simple.”

You stopped giggling at the change in his tone and narrowed your eyes on him. He hugged the towel close to him as though it was a security blanket. His wet hair fell on his forehead and small beads of water rolled down his face. His eyes were full of nerves the way they always seemed to be around you.

“The paranoia that comes with heavy drug use takes a while to kick.” You shuffled a little closer to him and you practically saw the beat his heart skipped.

“The thing is,” he chewed on his lip. “I don’t want you to be real.”

“Uh…wow thanks.” Your eyebrows knitted together.

“I don’t mean it how it sounds.” He was quick to counter. “It’s just…if you’re real…you’re not who I thought you were.”

You mused over his words for a moment knowing he wasn’t about to say anymore on the matter.

“You’re very cryptic sometimes, you know that?” Your lip up tugged at the corner.

“It’s all part of my mysterious charm.” He chuckled lightly.

You couldn’t agree more. There was something about him. Something you couldn’t put your finger on. Something that made you want to succumb to him, let him consume you.

You shuffled even closer and leant forward, placing your hands on his wet thighs. You saw his breath catch in his throat as you edged closer to him. Goosebumps flared on his flesh as you ghosted your fingertips over his skin.

He let go of the towel and his hands settled onto your waist but his eyes never left yours. You moved closer still, until your noses were brushing against one another’s.

He swallowed hard, completely engulfed in you. He could see every little freckle, every little blemish that graced your beautiful face and he tried to memorise every single one of them. He could feel the heat emanating from you and it wrapped around him, comforting him in ways he’d never felt before.

Your eyes fell to his lips and he instinctively ran his tongue along them. Your hands moved up his sides and your arms wrapped around his neck. He wanted to get lost in you. He wanted to throw caution to the wind and let you devour him. He wanted to belong to you again in the ways he’d missed so much.

Even if you weren’t real. Even if none of this was real. It was even more reason to take the plunge wasn’t it? But for some reason he couldn’t. He let his hands drop to his sides and his back straightened a little but you stayed close, clearly not sensing his hesitation.

“W-what are you doing?” He whispered, his breath fanning across your face.

“I don’t know.” You giggled lightly.

“You said…recovery. Your recovery comes first.” His breathing was heightened and he could so easily crash his lips against yours.

But he didn’t. Instead, he surprised you both when he sat back and shuffled away.

“It does.” You frowned. “But I…well now I just feel stupid.”

Spencer sighed and wrapped the towel around himself again.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel stupid. I just…you have no idea how badly I want to kiss you, Y/N. But you and I both know it’s not a good idea. Not like this.”

You chewed on your bottom lip and nodded although you weren’t sure you agreed.

“I’m scared too.” You blurted out, averting your gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you were scared that this isn’t real, but I’m scared that it is.” You glanced back at him and he saw the tears behind your eyes. “In my experience fantasies last. Realities don’t.”

“Agreed.” He gave you a tight lip smile. “Maybe it’s better we just keep the fantasy a little while longer then.”

You nodded before pushing yourself up to your feet and then helped Spencer stand too. The sparks you felt when you took hold of his hands was undeniable, and judging by the way he looked at you, he felt them too.

You stayed in silence as you walked back towards your rooms but it was a heavy, palpable kind of silence. When you reached Spencer’s room you stopped and smiled softly at him.

“So do I get to see you flail about like a dying fish again tomorrow?” You teased him but Spencer didn’t seem in the least bit amused.

His back straightened and he tugged the towel tighter around his body.

“Uh…I’ve actually got a thing tomorrow.”

“A thing?” You frowned a little.

“Day release.” He sighed as he spoke.

“You got some big fancy plans?” You chuckled but he shook his head sadly.

“No.” He ran his fingers through his wet hair. “I need to visit someone.”

“Someone? Someone important?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He sighed again, louder than before. “I’m visiting a prison inmate before their execution. I’m visiting the woman who ruined my life.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Clearly he didn’t want to elaborate and it wasn’t your place to make him.

“Right. Ok.” You nodded, not wanting to pry.

“It’s a really long and messy story I don’t want to get into right now.”

“Fair enough.” You smiled a little as you stepped backwards. “I hope it goes…well? Not really sure what to say.”

“Me too.” He half-smiled, reaching for his door handle. “I’ll see you soon?”

“You surely will.” You smiled one last time before turning on your heels and continuing down the corridor.

Spencer heaved a sigh as he let himself into his room and collapsed on his bed. Tomorrow was going to be his hardest challenge yet. Coming face to face with Cat again would either make or break his recovery.

Although he already had a pretty good idea which one it would be.

***

He was silent for the entire car ride from PIW to Mount Pleasant. Luke tried making small talk but after getting nothing in return he gave up.

Luke had brought him a suit from his apartment along with a white shirt and red tie. It had been weeks since Spencer had dressed so well and admittedly he missed his comfy clothes he’d grown so accustomed to. The shirt felt scratchy against his still healing wounds. The tie felt like a noose around his neck.

He stared out the car window and scratched the back of his palm willing his nails to grow so he could pick at his skin. His chest was tight as though someone were sitting on it, like the weight of the situation was physical and pressing down on him.

He came close to several panic attacks, only just managing to pull himself back from the brink in time. Diverting from his scratching his fingers nimbly shimmied up his shirt sleeve and gripped the crook of his arm. The track marks had all but faded by now but he could feel the heavy pulse of his vein beneath his fingertips.

He pressed against it, wishing more than anything else that it was a needle and not his fingers. He squeezed against his vein in the hopes it would alleviate some of his cravings.

Maggie would tell him to masturbate. But even if he weren’t in a car with Luke in a completely inappropriate environment, he was sure his thoughts of his impending meeting would not allow for him to get it up. Instead he pressed harder against his vein, closing his eyes and imagining the dilaudid coursing its way through his body.

He envisioned the feeling of euphoria that flooded over him when he shot up. He remembered the sensation so well.With his eyes closed he didn’t realise Luke was watching him out of the corner of his eye. And when he felt a hand on his leg he jumped and his eyes darted open.

“We can still turn back. If this is too much for you?” Luke spoke softly.

Spencer recoiled his hand back out of his sleeve and shook his head. He had to do this. There was no turning back.

***

A shiver passed down Spencer’s spine as they stepped inside the women's correctional facility. His temperature plummeted the second the doors were closed behind them. He glanced at Luke who didn’t seem to notice, telling Spencer it was all in his head. Most things these days were, why should this be any different?

They were checked in and scanned by a metal detector where Luke had to hand over his service weapon and cell phone. Spencer remembered it well. He recalled coming here that day he was released from Milburn as though it was yesterday.

He recognised the long, dimly lit halls as they followed the guard to an interrogation room. The air was as thick and heavy as it had been the last time he was here. The last time he was here when Cat made him believe she was pregnant with his child. The last time when she’d made him think she’d had his mother killed.

The last time when he’d thrown a table across the room and shoved Cat against a wall by her throat. The last time when he’d growled at her that he was going to kill her while JJ tried to pull him off of her.

The guard silently led them to the small viewing room where Luke was supposed to wait while Spencer came face to face with the devil. The guard left them alone and Spencer kept his eyes trained on the floor, refusing to look at her through the two way glass. Luke was at his side and he soon felt the other man’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s ok, I’ll be right here the whole time.” Luke whispered but Spencer shook his head.

“I need you to leave.” Spencer croaked out the first words he’d spoken since leaving the institute.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well I don’t very much care what you think, Luke.” Spencer looked at him, eyes filled with anger. “I need you to leave. Go get a coffee or something but I do not want you witnessing this.”

“Witnessing what, exactly?” Luke raised an eyebrow at him. “You going to finish the job you started last time? Choke her to death?”

“I don’t need to, do I? She’s going to be put to death soon. I just need you to trust me and I need you to leave. Please?” Spencer grinded his teeth.

A small part of Luke worried what might happen if he left. A tiny piece of him actually believed Spencer might kill her. And as much as Luke wouldn’t blame him for doing so, he didn’t want his friend going back to prison. Spencer couldn’t handle prison again.

“Promise me you won’t murder her?”

“I promise.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Come find me when you’re done.” Luke patted his back before skeptically leaving the room.

Once alone, Spencer took several deep breaths whilst rolling the purple and gold bracelet around his wrist. He kept his eyes trained on the floor the whole while, scared that he might break the second he saw her.

His heart beat furiously against his chest making him feel a little nauseous. His vein in his left arm felt like it was pulsating, begging for drugs. He was five weeks sober. This would not be the thing that pushed him over the edge. She couldn’t turn his life upside down again. He had to be stronger. He had to survive this. He had to prove to her that she hadn’t destroyed his life.

Taking one last deep breath he forced his eyes up and through the glass. The breath got caught in his chest as he laid eyes on her for the first time in over two years. She looked much the same, haggard and tired; fed up and frustrated.

She crossed one leg over the other and picked at a thread on her orange jumpsuit much like he did when he was uncomfortable. He gave a thought to what might have happened to her baby, the baby that wasn’t his but he had wished was.

“You’re not pregnant with my baby. That isn’t the secret. It’s too easy.” He slid the chair back out and sat down opposite her again.

“You think getting pregnant with your baby was easy?” She clicked her tongue.

“It’s not my baby.” He shook his head, leaning forward on the table closer to her. “But I wish it were. It should be mine. Because the truth is you and I probably belong together.”

A sentimental smile plastered across her face but he knew it wasn’t genuine. Sociopaths didn’t feel sentiment.

“You think so?”

He leaned even closer to her, not wanting JJ to overhear what he was going to say and hardly believing what he was saying himself.

“I do.” He confessed. “You’re the only person who really gets me. You’re the only person who understands that I liked hurting those men. So yes, I think you and I belong together. In some fucked up, twisted way, you and I are perfect for each other.

And I wish your baby was mine but it isn’t. I wish it were mine so I had something tying us together. And that fucking terrifies me to admit because for the most part, I hate you. For the most part I want you dead. But there is a small part of me that truly believes we are perfect for each other.”

He sat back, straightening his tie while Cat looked at him amusement.

“You’ll always be tied to me, Spencie. Baby or no baby. We’re bound to each other. We’re the same.”

He rubbed his eyes with his palms trying to rid himself of the memory of the last time he’d seen her. It didn’t do him any good to dwell on that now.

Only he couldn’t help himself.

Had he been thinking of you when he’d said those things to her? As much he wanted to deny it, he’d meant those things he’d said.

But what about you? You were who he belonged with. How could he have said those things to Cat and meant them while you were…

…while you were, what?

It all hit Spencer at lightning speed. The puzzle pieces that were his life started slotting into place right in front of his eyes. Everything became clear with startling clarity and suddenly Cat Adam’s was the last thing on his mind.

He quickly darted from the room, heart racing more fiercely than it ever had before. It all made sense yet nothing made sense. And there was only one goddamn person who was going to be able to provide clarity on the situation.

He was hyperventilating by the time he found Luke, sweating and shaking and barely able to breath. Luke was quick to his side, wrapping an arm around him and stroking his back.

“Reid, what’s wrong? What happened?” Luke panicked, eyes wide in fear.

“Need…need to…” Spencer choked out through ragged breaths.

“Just breath, Spencer. Don’t try and talk.” Luke tried to calm him but Spencer pushed him away.

“No.” He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on his words. “I need to speak to Emily right now. You get her here Luke. Get her here right fucking now!”

“Spencer, calm down. Take deep breaths.”

“No!” Spencer raised his voice. “Call Emily and tell her to come here. NOW!”

“Spencer, what’s going on? What happened?” Luke reached for him but Spencer batted him away.

“It’s time Emily and I had a talk.” He panted. “It’s time for her to tell me the truth about Y/N.”

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