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ay0nha · 1 year

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Dead Man Walking | Tommy Miller

SUMMARY: “May as well ask it, sweetheart.” Tommy caught your eye and saw the way you were contemplating every aspect of his being. You hardly knew him. He was convincing, though. Talked of a place that would take you in, no questions asked. A place that sounded disgustingly beautiful.

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x femme!reader

WORD COUNT: 2K

WARNINGS: not too much, pretty fluff/angst oriented, canon-typical things (infected, firearms, etc.), talk of eating/food, etc.

A/N: I couldn’t resist. Look at him. It isn’t anything crazy, a short lil sm sm for fun that’s pretty self-indulgent. This is dedicated to @from-the-clouds who helped me tremendously and has a genius brain for ideas!

Part II

The wind chill kept you static. It made your bones ache with every movement of the horse. But you were grateful that you no longer had to endure it on foot. Or alone.

There was little energy left in your body to keep yourself upright. Tommy could feel how your body threatened to cave and noted how you fought against it as best you could.

“No point in being stubborn.” Tommy’s voice rumbled against your chest as you moved away. The inconsistent conversation shared helped you rally but made you tense with uncertainty. “I’m just as cold as you are.”

Your effort to ignore him dwindled, and so did your willpower to argue. He was insistent on your comfort, offering his waist for warmth and support.

With a confident hand on the reign, Tommy reached for your own, pulling you tightly to him. At first, your grip around him was tight, as if you’d fall. Even with the thick fabric between you and him, the warmth seeped into you instantly.

You meant to keep to yourself, but your sigh was telling of the relief Tommy provided. Days passed with a chill you couldn’t shake and exhaustion that you refused to let consume you.

“We’ll go a little bit further before stoppin’.” Tommy was almost as tired as you, but he held more drive. Maintaining the steady pace of the horse, he almost cursed the weather. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to this cold.”

To be afraid wasn’t strange; fear abounded in your dreams. So you stayed awake, resting your cheek between Tommy’s shoulder blades with some introspection. He appreciated the weight; it was something cathartic.

He provided information about himself easily. It rolled off his tongue as if he was with a lifelong friend. You wanted to hold the same ease, but your voice felt hard to find. You were uneasy; Tommy could sense it. It’s why he always continued to fill the silence.

“You know, I’d kill for a cigarette.” Tommy hummed as if talking to himself, perfectly content. That familiar itch called him back before it all. “Probably best I haven’t gotten my hands on a pack in a while.”

The image suited him well—a smoking cowboy.

Tommy rambled on. He doesn’t know how much you understood, but you thought it was a reasonable bit of nonsense. It helped weave a dream of before as you finally succumbed to sleep.

“Oh, yeah.” Tommy nodded, talking through the cigarette that muffled his words. You could hear the brief inhale of smoke before he continued, "You and me, we're gonna get married."

You laughed as you found your balance on the hood of his truck, "You sound so sure of yourself."

"Can't you see it?" He plucked the cigarette from his lips to be heard clearly. Tone genuine, he held out his hand as if explaining an elaborate painting, "You and me with a couple of kids, not too many- We don't want to be outnumbered..."

"I’m not even sure I want kids." You humored him honestly as he held up his lighter for the cigarette you had bummed.

With the lighter secure in his jacket pocket, Tommy had already devised a solution, "That's fine, then we can get a dog and live anywhere. Anywhere but here. How's that sound?"

"I don't know…" You rhythmically tapped the ash off the tip of the cigarette. You had no idea where you truly were, but you couldn’t stop the confession, "I'm quite partial to this town."

"We can always talk about that in the future," Tommy shrugged, enjoying the amusement he pulled from you, "I want to show you Austin; I think you'd love it."

"I've only just met you." Your smile mirrored his. "How would you know what I like?"

"I thought you might say that," He tutted lightly. Tommy imagined it all, played out every scenario, and there you were. It had just made sense. "Let's say it's a hunch."

You flicked your cigarette to the ground before stepping on it firmly. Hands occupied in the pockets of your jacket, you took a moment to study him. He was handsome, no doubt, and used it to his advantage, which to you, became his only disadvantage.

"Not convinced I can go solely based on a hunch."

—

Stay close.

You latched onto Tommy moments after the coarse instruction. You were sure it was a hindrance, but pure fear dictated your every move.

The gunshot continued to ring in your ears, causing your breath to become tight in your chest. The snow crunched beneath every frantic step toward possible safety. The sound allured danger, meaning it was imperative to move fast and quietly.

“Are you hurt?”

You hardly heard the question over the cluster of infected you’d angered. The shrieking intensified and filled your senses. Tommy repeated his question, yet entirely focused on the path before him.

“Fine.” You faltered, finding your voice. “I’m fine.”

Your hands started to shake. Your gun was gone, forgotten as you fought for your life. Tommy’s horse was mangled beyond recognition, buried beneath a swarm of infected. Your options were becoming extremely limited.

“We’ve got to get to the water.” Tommy was steps ahead of you, already seeing the safety in his mind. Yet, his lightheartedness with you was gone, replaced by years of tactful experience. “We can get leverage there.”

The formation of your relationship would have questioned how you followed Tommy so faithfully. You were reluctant, but you were desperate. And now that desperation morphed into dependence for survival.

“I need you to stay focused now, okay?” Tommy spoke in hushed tones, eyes filtering the mess before you. Even the path of least resistance included immense risk. “When I move, you move.”

He led you purposefully, firing his gun only when necessary and using his strength to his advantage. You felt useless beside him, watching as he ruthlessly cleared the path. But you were no longer controlling your body, moving only on instinct.

That’s when Tommy heard it. He halted, reaching to you again to backtrack the route. His mind turned, waiting to land on a useful thought. But you recognized the panic in his eyes.

“Shit. ”

The curses poured out swiftly. He needed to think.

“Tomm-

His hand was to your mouth, cutting his name short. The forceful silence filled you with fear as your back became met the tree bark. Tommy’s eyebrows were taut, eyes wide with a finger on his lips.

You heard it.

The trees groaned against the wind. Anything that resonated drove the clicker closer to where Tommy encased you in a protective hold. Its movements twitched erratically, following any sound with a semblance of life.

As the pressure grew, you pulled him to your chest by the collar of his jacket. Your bodies were flesh together, unsteady breath mixing as you trembled under him.

You tried to hold it in, breathing evenly to suppress any sobbing urge. It was neither the time nor the place for added emotion. But the clicker was close, close enough that it would soon brush against Tommy’s collar. The very same one you held onto so desperately.

Your tears fell freely, sliding down until they met the palm of Tommy’s hand. You clenched your teeth so hard you bit your tongue and cried harder. Tommy could feel how they burned, how terrified you really were. Your brain lagged when Tommy pulled the pistol from his waist.

In a fluid movement, he used it to deliver a lethal shot.

—

You were staring.

Tommy could feel the burning gaze on his profile since you settled by the fire. He remained quiet, but you stayed silent from the moment the clicking echoed in the dense forest.

The fear refused to leave you, and the repeated question stayed on the tip of Tommy’s tongue. Are you alright?

Anger radiated off of you. If you spoke now, you knew it would be misdirected. Instead, you tore your eyes from him with indifference.

Tommy pulled at the bandana fastened around his neck, using his canteen to dose it with water. You watched him rub it along his face, around his neck and hands. He wasted more water to help the paisley pattern return to its original grungy white.

Your arm's length away requirement diminished the longer you spent with him, especially when he was habitually responsible for closing the distance. “C’mere.”

Although Tommy called you to him, he met you in your spot. You lifted your chin for him as he wiped off any remnants of what shook you. Maybe it was only symbolic, but it helped.

“I don’t trust you.”

You had waited until his fingers rested on your chin to speak. Your voice didn’t even sound like your own. It was soft and airy as if it carried no weight, no life. Tommy’s eyebrows pulled together. He wasn’t confused but intrigued by your choice of words.

“Odd way to say thank you.” Tommy stood with a sigh, bandanna forgotten as he threw it on his pack. Your eyes tracked him as he moved on to prepare the canned dinner.

“Who are you- How did-” Your head cocked to the side. The images of the hours prior were still fresh in your mind. How could he be so calm? “How did you do that?”

You said it yourself; you didn’t trust him. He saw something in your eyes; he believed you.

The past handful of weeks proved that. And yet, he knew you stuck around because he was your final option for survival.

“I was in the military.” Tommy resigned in the truth. He didn’t regret it but always wished things turned out differently. “Joined right out of school, stayed until I didn’t have to anymore.”

“The military’s just a pipeline to FEDRA.” You spat your words. You found any reason to be upset at him. You wanted something to be wrong about the situation—a reason to run.

“You believe that?” He picked at the food, eyeing, squinting just slightly to challenge you. There was always a catch. But he was slowly giving you a reason to believe there wasn’t. “You need to eat something.”

Adrenaline had numbed your body; your legs no longer ached from running, your mind felt blank, and all you felt was dread. Therefore, you failed to tally how long it had been since you ate, the way Tommy had.

You pushed the food around in the can you hadn’t noticed he passed along. You didn’t trust what your stomach could handle.

Tommy seemed so unbothered that it bothered you. His gaze was fixed on the sky, ankles crossed over one another, and fingers settled comfortably across his chest. But the judgment didn’t go unnoticed.

“May as well ask it, sweetheart.”

Tommy caught your eye and saw the way you were contemplating every aspect of his being. You hardly knew him. He was convincing, though. Talked of a place that would take you in, no questions asked. A place that sounded disgustingly beautiful.

“You’re not from around here.” You commented, but you didn’t seem settled with the statement. Sweetheart. Naturally, it rolled off his tongue and paired perfectly with the accent. “Louisiana?”

The more he spoke, the thicker his drawl seemed to become. Maybe it was the stress that evoked it, but it certainly didn’t belong to the land you occupied. It was soft but detectable.

“God, no.” He shook his head. You were able to hear his laugh directly. It was fleeting, more like a quick breath out the nose, but it was a laugh. “Texas.”

“So you’re a real cowboy, then.” You mused. There was a warmth to your words that wasn’t there before. There was a need to put it out, but you continued, “All this isn’t just for show.”

“Suppose not, no.”

It was then you understood Tommy. You clocked him easily; what he was like before it all. He was trouble, a magnet for mischief. He was kindhearted at his core but had the ability to do so much more. He was dangerous, yet you’ve never felt more secure.

A chill crawled up your spine at the actualization. You didn’t know what to do with it but pause before offering an unorthodox thank you, "...Empathy will get you killed."

"Then I'm a dead man walking."

#q #tommy miller #tommy #miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller fluff #tommy miller angst #tommy miller tlou #tlou #the last of us #gabriel luna #tommy miller x femme!reader #tommy miller x f!reader #tommy miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou imagine #tlou fic #tlou fanfic

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malewife-kirby · 2 months

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asks 6 8 27 35 40 45 49 50 65 <3

6. something you did in bed youd love to do again?

hmm!! i’d love to get both my holes fingered at the same time again😳 it was So fun it felt crazy. i havent had the chance to do double pen using toys with someone else yet but i have done it myself and GOD it feels good

8. something you never did in bed and would love to do?

i’d love to do more bondage stuff!! i need to practice my ropework but i’d Love to play with a cutie whos helpless for me💕💕 or even be all tied up and squirmy myself and just have to take whats given 🥺

27. whats an article of clothing you would love to see your crush/partner in?

ouuughh i’d love to see my boyfriend in a suit! i know he’d look So dapper and stunning i’d just have to sit at his feet or in his lap all day. bonus points if theres lingerie under the suit

35. do you like to have rough sex? what so you like the most?

i LOVE rough sex i think it’s So fun!! it just depends how im doing energy wise. i Love play wrestling and pinning and struggling. i love getting bruised and manhandled. i always get a lil nervous being rough w my boyf bc i dont wanna hurt him but i absolutely would love to go crazy on him. but i do be having a kinda high pain tolerance and i just adore being grabbed and smacked and bit

40. what are your favorite pet names to be called during sex?

hmm!! i really like anything thats gender affirming, like pretty daddy, handsome boytoy, but have been dipping my toes into some petplay stuff and getting called puppy or mutt kinda makes me😳😳😳 but i also Looovvve any sort of possessive moniker if you put a my or mine before what ur gunna call me… im putty. i also love dumbification and like. praise/degradation combo i dont like Just being insulted. like calling me a pretty stupid boy or a brainless fuck toy

45. what would you love to roleplay as in bed?

oooohhh there are a few on my mind. i would love to try and be my boyfriends guard dog🥺 test the waters and see how it feels getting in that headspace. i’d love to do a kinda intox scene where (either me or the boy) are being encouraged to keep smoking or drinking at the other persons discretion. i also think it could be potentially fun to pretend to do like a blackmail/revenge porn kinda scene and it might help me work thru some past stuff, but we’d have to tread a lil more carefully

49. favorite thing to do when dominating?

Fucujkkk i Love taking care of my sub. i love being able to take my time and tease and wrow.. im absolutely a pleasure dom so i wanna know youre feeling good and its bc of me. i love reminding him hes mine in all sorts of ways!! i love worshipping him bc he deserves it

50. favorite thing to do when being dominated?

i LOVE getting marked up and i LOVE marking up my boyfriend :3 i love using his back like a scratching post and just feeling him💕💕💕i love to be helpless or like “put in my place” i love being told what to do. i’d love to put on a show and like try and “fight back” or resist but i like it so much its hard for me to even pretend

65. is there a kink/fetish you would like your partner to have? why?

hmm! idk i’d love to explore more cnc, Maybe petplay and perhaps some dom/sub dynamics w my boyfriend but fr fr he’s perfect and i love exploring and trying new things w him

#fave #this would fix me

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delicrieux · 3 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results).

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be.

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children.

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim.

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That��s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do.

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

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“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point!

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus.

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping.

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex.

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him.

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red.

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!!

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling.

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you.

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage.

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her.

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement.

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.”

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

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possessingtheproperspirit · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

Oxford, 2017: In the midst of completing her doctorate, Lily finds herself in need of part-time work.

A theme of this story is implied attempted non-con; please take care of yourselves - don't read if this is not for you.

NOW

Oxford, 2017

“-and that was when I realised,” Mary sighed as they stepped out of the book shop and into the sun-bathed street, “that none of them had listened to a word I’d said.”

Lily shot her friend a grin, looping her arm through hers and tugging her through the clump of pedestrians to their right. Saturdays were always busy in the city centre, and she usually liked to avoid crowds of people if she could. Unfortunately, her social calendar didn’t always allow for that. “Isn’t this a daily realisation, Mare?”

Mary made a noise, a mixture of laughter and frustration. “No. Apparently it only applies to teaching fractions.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them for that,” Lily offered. They stepped to the side as a cyclist barrelled past them, evidently in a hurry to get wherever they were going. “I hear the word ‘fractions’ and my brain starts to shut down.”

“Another way you’d fit in with my classful of ten-year-olds, Lil,” Mary smirked. “Never go into teaching, my love.”

She laughed. “I think I would collapse and die within the first hour,” she pointed out. “I have enough of a time dealing with adults, let alone children.”

“Ah, so that’s why you started your doctorate,” Mary teased fondly. “So you could spend as much time away from humans as you could.”

There may have been some truth in that. Hiding away in the library, or holed up in her flat taking copious notes, she could avoid interacting with all manner of people. It was certainly easier on her blood pressure. “And then I counterbalance it by working menial service jobs to cover my expenses,” Lily said with a sigh.

“You’re nothing if not a bundle of contradictions,” Mary agreed. “A very cute bundle, of course.” She paused to study an outfit on display in a nearby shop window. “When did you say Dor is meeting us? Have we got time to splash a bit of cash?”

Lily glanced at her watch. “You’ll have to save that for after, I think,” she said. “You know how she gets if we keep her from a good lunch.”

As Turl Street opened up to the bustle of the High Street, Lily could already spot Dorcas Meadowes, lingering outside their chosen café with a look of impatience on her face. Ever since Lily had met Dorcas – first year of undergrad, rooms next to each other at Christchurch College and an intense bond forged over their shared obsession with daytime soaps – she had enjoyed her friend’s inability to hide her emotions. Given Lily’s propensity for guarding every errant thought and feeling that crossed her mind, Dorcas’ approach was quietly refreshing. Dor was a blunt, chain-smoking sweetheart who had helped Lily through some difficult times, and Mary, once she’d moved to Oxford post-teaching degree and ready to start her career, had happily embraced her as a new friend too. By now, at an ancient twenty-nine, Lily felt like she’d known the girl all her life.

And known the dozens of different ways her face could express frustration. “Oi!” Dorcas’ voice rang out above the sound of buses and tourists from the other side of the road. “Hurry up, would you? I’m bloody starving!”

Lunch was its usual, chatty affair: Mary had just started seeing someone new, and Dorcas had more tales of woe from her work in publishing. Lily had almost got away with not having to say much about her own life – not normally a concern for her, but today she didn’t have the energy for the lectures – when someone forced her hand.

“I was at Carlo’s last night, Lil,” Dorcas said, swirling the last inch or so of coffee round her cup. “I thought you worked Fridays? I was hoping to get some free garlic bread.”

Lily laughed, just a touch uncomfortably. “Well, unfortunately, the garlic bread train has reached its terminus,” she replied; at her friends’ blank looks, she added, “I was fired.”

“Oh, Lil,” Mary frowned, leaning forward to grab her hand. “What happened?”

She tried to shrug it off. “Carlo’s son came back from his gap year travels in – I dunno, Thailand, probably – and wanted his job back.” She picked at the remains of her slice of chocolate cake. “And, well, last in, first out, as they say. He was very apologetic about it.”

“That’s shit,” Dorcas stated, looking displeased. “I’m sorry.”

This time, she did shrug. “It’s fine. I’ve been looking for something else, but it seems like all the ruddy students have taken the jobs that actually fit round a uni schedule.” Six years deep into her part-time doctorate, and it still rankled, a bit, to have to work such tedious jobs in the name of being able to clothe and feed herself while her closest friends had disposable incomes to spend on fripperies like mochas and Netflix and socks that didn’t have holes in them. But she was going to finish her thesis, even if it killed her. Which, she considered, it might. “I guess I’ll find something eventually.”

Carry on reading on AO3 -- FFN.

#forget me not #jily #jily fic #jily fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #muggle au #sirius black #mary macdonald #dorcas meadowes #marauders #fic #writing

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ninyard · 3 years

Note

more stefan/andrew au? the last one was fucking amazing

(following on from pt 2 kinda following canon a lil bit but imagining their relationship panning out earlier than it did in the series? Fab)

Part 1 / part 2

“Andrew?” Neil was woken up by Seth’s pissed-off, tired moan. “Get the fuck out of here, you fuckin’ freak.” Neil heard the rustling of covers and Andrew’s footsteps coming into the room. “Yo, hey, are you deaf?!” It’d been a couple days since the incident in Columbia, and Andrew and Neil hadn’t really spoken since then. Coach had tried to get them to make up when Neil came back to his apartment, but his attempts futile. They’d only had a short conversation before Andrew got bored and left. All Neil got from Andrew’s lot since then was hostility and cold shoulders. Now, in the middle of the night, Andrew was breaking into the room of the three people he actively seemed to hate the most. Neil pretended to sleep, until he felt weight on the rungs of the ladder on his bed, and hands on the back of his T-shirt. Andrew practically pulled him off the bed, immediately waking him up from any bit of sleep he had left in him.

“Car. Ten minutes.” Andrew didn’t lower his voice for Neil’s half-asleep roommates. “I don’t like waiting.”

“I don’t care.” Neil retorted back in a hushed voice. “Leave me alone and let me sleep.” Andrew got real close to Neil’s face. The dim light of the moon outside the window showed Andrew unsmiling face. He was presumably sober, and Andrew sober was a much scarier sight than him being medicated and violent.

“Ten minutes.” He repeated again, matching Neil’s volume, hazel eyes burning a hole through Neil’s natural blue. Andrew put a finger to his lips and switched to German. “This is the only chance you’ll get.”

Neil had almost forgotten he’d spoken to Andrew in German in Coach’s apartment. He was startled at the sudden language change, and obliged when Andrew finally left the room. He got dressed underneath his covers as best he could, and decided against putting in his contacts, before jumping down off the top bunk.

“Bring that monster around here one more time and you’re moving out.” Seth groaned, but fully meant what he said. He turned around to face the wall and through the muffle of a pillow, Neil heard him say, “Now fuck off.” Matt, sleeping like a rock, was snoring on the other side of the room, totally unphased and undisturbed by Andrew’s swift entrance and exit.

Andrew was alone at his car when Neil pulled the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands in a desperate attempt to stay warm, the door of the dorm building shutting behind him. It was freezing outside, and Neil hadn’t realised it was literally the middle of the night until he saw a clock in the hallway reading an early 3:54am. The wind blew leaves across the parking lot with a whistle and a rustle, the dry fall leaves swirling around like tiny twisters on the tarmac. The campus was silent, on the night of a weekday, so Neil didn’t expect anyone to be out. Yet here Andrew was, leaning on the bonnet of his car with a cigarette between his lips, smoke quickly disappearing in the biting wind.

“You never answered my question on our little night out.” He spoke through the smoke, as Neil approached closer. “We’re going for a drive.”

“Do you ever sleep?” Neil’s voice was groggy from his own interrupted sleep. Andrew didn’t answer, instead flicking away his cigarette and sitting into the drivers seat. Neil walked around to the passenger side and sat in. When he tried to warm his hands on the hot air Andrew had blowing through the air-con, Andrew turned the heat off. Neil was sure if Andrew was medicated he would’ve laughed, but he instead opted for watching the road as they drove in silence. Neil sat back and tried his best not to fall asleep. His head bumped about on the headrest as they drove, and every time his eyes started to close, his sleep cycle begging him to come back to rest, Andrew would snap his fingers in his face or lay a punch down on his thigh. After a short drive, they pulled up into the empty lot of some National Park Neil didn’t know the name of. He was too tired to pay attention to the signs, but figured Andrew wouldn’t bring him to a park to kill him or let him go. Andrew was a man of truth when he wanted to be; He wanted to know why he was on the run and Neil didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Why are we here?” Neil asked at the same time Andrew said “What brought a runaway to Oakland?”They both paused for a moment, but Neil knew Andrew wasn’t going to answer his question until Neil answered his.

“It was the first place she wanted to stop.” Neil spoke through a yawn. “The others before there made her too paranoid. It was the first time she felt like she could close her eyes and actually sleep without feeling like she was…” He thought about his words for a moment. The last conversation they’d had, he told him he was on the run, but Andrew already knew that. Neil thought he’d got through to him by giving him half-honesty, telling him his parents were dead. He never brought up Riko, or his family, instead choosing the option of trying to appeal to Andrew’s inner child, who remembered Stefan. It was a stupid choice, and Neil knew that the second he chose it. “She could sleep without feeling like she had a target on her back.”

“Did you kill her?” Andrew said it so casually it felt like murder was something so normal, like eating lunch or going for a walk. Like asking if he killed his mother was just like asking if he liked the taste of garlic, or if he was having a good day.

“No,” Neil answered. He’d been thinking about what he would tell Andrew about his life since he seen him in Arizona. Who was he before Oakland? Where did they go? Who was he running from? “Riko’s family did.”

And suddenly Andrew was interested. His face was a mixture of disbelief and boredom. Neil told him his manufactured version of the story; that his parents were killed by the Moriyama family, and that they’d been on the run since the execution of his Father. He kept out the part about the Butcher of Baltimore, or the fact that he was actually still alive, but Andrew’s mind was at work as Neil told the story. If he didn’t look awake before, he did now. Neil spoke for an hour, maybe less, maybe more, flowing from story to anecdote to answering questions that Andrew slipped in whenever he wanted. Neil answered it all with mostly-truths, redacting the stuff Andrew simply didn’t need to know. Neil was a runaway, his family were in some bad business, but Neil was the only one left.

“I really didn’t think you could get any more stupid, yet I am constantly surprised.” Andrew tutted as he shook a cigarette out of the packet, into his hand. He rolled down the window on his side and smoked out of it, seemingly unbothered by the wind that just blew the smoke back into his face. “You knew who I was, but you knew Kevin too? How forgetful do you think people are?”

“I don’t know,” Neil told him honestly. “I just- We were so young. I met Kevin years before I met you. I just didn’t think I was important to anyone.” Andrew laughed a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. It was the sound of dismissal, as though he didn’t believe a word that spilled from Neil’s tired lips. “I didn’t think I’d ever be particularly memorable or mean anything to anyone. That was the most important thing to my mom.”

“What, being unimportant?” Andrew didn’t look at Neil as he spoke.

“Being forgettable.” Neil sighed, thinking about his mother’s words that had been drilled into his head. If you’re too interesting, you’re asking to be killed. Be boring. Be normal. Be forgettable. “You fucked that up for me.”

“See, you keep blaming me,” Andrew shook his head as he took a drag from the cigarette that had been half-smoked by the wind. “I didn’t fuck up your life, Abagnale, you did.” Neil didn’t get the reference, but he didn’t ask either.

“I don’t mean it’s your fault. You didn’t do anything,” Neil tried correcting himself. “I couldn’t help it when I was around you. And all I could do every second of my days after Oakland was blame you because I couldn’t deal with the fact that I let you in. Everything I learned, everything I’d done, you came along and turned the place upside down because I just had to know you. I had to.”

“Why?” Andrew looked at him with that same uninterested look he usually had, when a medically-induced smile wasn’t spread across his cheeks. “What made me any different to the hundreds of other kids I’m sure you met on your travels, hmm?”

“You were real.” Andrew scoffed. Neil frowned at that and shrugged his shoulders. “We’ve been through this. Don’t waste my time getting to know me if you just want me to run. You want me to get lost in the park, is it? Is that why you brought me here?”

“Nothing better than some honesty with a view.” Andrew tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “How do you expect me to trust you when you’ve spent your whole life a liar? Be mad if you want, but I’m much less gullible now, you see. Once a liar, always a liar.” Neil sent Andrew a look as he hovered his hand over Andrew’s. When he just stared at it, Neil brought Andrew’s hand up to his collarbone where was a small, raised, pink scar sitting just above it.

“The motels phone.” Neil spoke quietly, as if Mary would hear, as if she was waiting to jump out from behind the car to take him and beat him again for letting his guard down, for being unforgettable. “It was the first thing she could grab when we got into our room. I never told her your name, and she beat me harder for it. I never wanted to let her anger ruin your name.” Andrew dropped his hand from Neil’s grip.

“Pretty unintelligent to take hits for someone you thought you’d never see again.”

Then Neil said, “I knew I’d never forget you.” Andrew tensed up at the almost-promise, and the memories came flooding back for Neil like a tsunami sweeping over every other thought he had. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.” Neil almost reached out to touch Andrew before he remembered the boundary Andrew had set that night in Columbia. Neil didn’t have a right to touch him anymore, and he knew Andrew noticed as Neil’s hand lifted and then hesitantly fell. “Tell me something I don’t know about this Andrew. I’ve told you my life, tell me yours.” He gestured to Andrew, sat across from him with an almost-frown on his face and a thinking mind hard at work.

“This Andrew doesn’t give a shit about what answers you think you deserve.” He looked Neil up and down. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Why doesn’t Nicky know you’re gay?” Neil asked, instead of waiting for him to come up with something himself, it was much easier to get honesty from Andrew by prompting him. Neil watched as his jaw tensed for a second, thinking about the answer.

“Nicky is too involved in being the gay cousin to un-assume.” Andrew barely lifted his shoulders in the form of a shrug. “He hasn’t asked.”

“Why don’t you tell him?”

“I don’t ‘come out’,” He brushed off the thought with the flick of his wrist and a roll of his eyes. “I don’t fuck women in my spare time. Who cares?”

“Yeah, sure, but-” Neil had started to speak when Andrew cut across.

“At least I’m out to myself,” He nodded towards him. “You, on the other hand? Was it just Stefan who was into it or is the unnamed you just in denial?”

“I’m not, like…” Neil hated the sexuality question. It was confusing and messy and Andrew and Andrew and Andrew. “There was no one after you. It’s only been you.”

“By choice or by mothers hands?”

“Neither. Both?” He wasn’t sure how to answer. “The foxes are the first people I’ve let get somewhat close since then. That’s the truth. I haven’t wanted to. I’m just not interested in anyone.” The except for you part was silent, but he knew Andrew had somewhat heard it when he sat back, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm resting on the door, as he took a deep breath that he tried to hide. Neil wasn’t even sure he was still into Andrew like that, because they were so young, after all. Andrew was still experimenting, and they never spoke about those kinds of feelings. They were friends who kissed each other because they wanted to know what it felt like. They kissed each other because maybe they thought they liked it. Maybe they’d have to do it again just to be sure. But that was so long ago, and so much had changed. Neil had had a crush on that Andrew, but this one? He wasn’t so sure. This one was harsh and mean, angry and unmoving. This one had been hard-boiled by life and wasn’t going to crack any time soon. He didn’t know if he felt things anymore. He didn’t know if Andrew was capable of a crush, or a kiss, or a simple, electric touch of fingers to skin.

Without a word, Andrew had switched on the ignition and idled the engine for a moment before pulling out and starting on the drive back to campus. Neil didn’t say anything else, he only rested his head on the window and watched as the morning sun slowly lit up the night sky, the dark navy blue taking over the black sky so slowly it was hardly noticeable.

He had pulled into his usual parking spot not long later, still not looking at Neil or speaking at all. He stayed still in the drivers seat after switching the engine off. Neil took that as his cue to leave. Matching Andrew’s silent treatment, he got up and shut the door without a word. Andrew had rolled down his window again, another cigarette already stuck between his lips. He watched as Neil walked around the car before he tapped the outside of his door twice to catch his attention. Neil spoke before he could.

“Give me a chance.” The wind blew his hair off his face, reminding him how cold it was, and why he should’ve worn a jacket. “Let me stay. I don’t have anything else.”

“Don’t be fooled into thinking I trust you.” He hung his hand out the window finally looking Neil in the eyes again. “It’s a matter of time before your egg timer runs out. Make use of it while you can.”

“I’ll bury Stefan forever, if you ask.” Neil offered in payment for the sudden change of heart in letting him stay, in cleaning his hands of the idea that Neil was after Kevin, or that he was a threat. “Say the word and we start fresh from today.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew took a long drag, one that felt like it was centuries long, like the sun would be up by the time he finished. He blew it out and raised his hands. “Kill what wasn’t real. Prove to me what was.”

Neil wasn’t sure what that invitation meant, but he didn’t ask Andrew to keep speaking. When they broke eye contact, he knew then Andrew wanted him to leave. Neil didn’t look back, heart racing, practically ready to burst out of his chest by the time he reached his dorm room. He opened the door as quietly as he could, careful not to disturb his peacefully sleeping roommates, and he crawled back into bed to try get some sleep before the practice scheduled for the morning. Instead of counting sheep, battling restlessness like a fight for his life, he thought of Stefan. He thought of the heart of Nathaniel that had gotten wrapped up in his blond hair and tiny frame. Neil fell asleep thinking about who he used to be, and what parts of that were real. What parts could he keep? His mind spent its last morsels of energy on dissecting Neil Josten, to make him feel a little more real.

The next time they saw each other outside of practice was when Kevin started coming to find him late at night to go to the court and practice together. Neil realised quickly he was going to become a night owl as a Fox, but it still took him a while to adjust to the late nights and early starts. But him and Andrew kept their distance; they didn’t speak if they didn’t have to, and their conversations were kept to a line or two each. They played their first match of the season, and Andrew had sent out shots for Neil like they were capable of working together. Then there was Kathy Ferdinand’s show, at which Andrew had hands all over him, holding him back from killing Riko on live TV. He had made a deal to protect Kevin, and then he was being psychically held back from doing so. Neil did what he couldn’t, and stood up to Riko, a conscious effort to gain his trust, to prove he was on the side of the foxes. Then there was that touch, that simple, light, barely-there touch, and Neil knew he’d won. He’d earned Andrew’s trust, at least for a moment, but that was all that mattered.

When Andrew ever-so-kindly reminded Neil later that Riko would find out about him, the original “Neil”, as easily as he’d strolled onto that stage to sit across from Kevin, there was no choice but to run. He couldn’t imagine any other option. His entire body went into fight or flight, and he struggled to sit still as Andrew held his collar and told him to stay.

“Why?” Neil asked, throat dry, hands shaking, after Andrew offered him protection for the year if he promised to stay. It was funny to imagine, as if there was anything he could do against the actual, guns-blazing, internationally dominating mafia. “Why would you help me?” Andrew laughed, and just about caressed Neil’s jaw in the most non-affectionate way possible. Neil felt his touch leave blood on his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Andrew was manic, and didn’t care. He looked as if he didn’t even feel the pain of a glass-shattering punch, and was actively enjoying the chaos that the morning had brought with it.

Andrew didn’t give him any sort of an answer until later that night, when he stepped into Neil’s space and told him to remember the feeling; Neil couldn’t run anymore. He had given his word to Andrew that he would stay, and as much as he had started to hate the Present-Day-Andrew-Minyard, he trusted him as a man of his word. Neil had killed the parts of Stefan that were untrue; all that was left was the real emotion he felt when he looked at Andrew. He was an asshole, but he was Andrew, and Neil trusted this five foot blond boy with his life. Perhaps it was crazy, perhaps he was officially, undeniable, finally signing his name on his death wish, ticking down the hours until his past caught up. Whereas running was his old line of defence, his current one was Andrew. Andrew was an unlit fire suddenly gaining embers, and Neil knew it was dangerous to let that fire grow. Especially when Andrew leaned over in Eden’s, crackers on his tongue, a drink in his hands, and whispered in German;

“Mommy’s not here to hurt you anymore.” Neil snapped his gaze towards Andrew, who was coming up on his high, speaking to Neil but watching the crowd on the dancefloor. His breath at Neil’s ear sent shivers up his spine, goosebumps on his arms. “My hands are open to have your back. Give it to me this time.”

#idk if this is bad #I can’t be subjective about my own content anymore #straight up I’ll delete it if someone tells me it’s bad lmao #andreil #Andrew minyard #Neil josten #andreil au #tfc #aftg #the foxhole court #all for the game #aftg fic #tfc fic #as per usual send an ask if u want more/have a specific Andrewstefan prompt

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hypertonicplague · 2 years

Text

I’m v bored so time for more!! Obey me!! HCs!!! Yay!!

So this is the first one n if ya don’t read it ya gon be lost

Also sorry if it ends up being a long post!! I’m on mobile so there’s no ‘see more’ option 🥺🙏🏻

Demon body time! Ofc I’d steal the whole “they have more than two forms” hc cuz it’s super cool!! But what’s cooler than a big ol scary form?? :^0 it’s a finale! Finale form!! One in which none of the brothers but Satan has (along w other full fledged demons). Basically it’s just feelin, or smoke! Or like a bend in the air! It goes well past a feral form an is said to be the most condensed form for a demon. Satan’s one is a thin line of green, Dia’s is a small flame, no one has ever lived long enough to see Barbs one. And while they look small and harmless, they’re completely unpredictable and can accidentally unleash a LARGE amount of magic and energy to kill even the strongest of roaches 🪳. In that form they have no consciousness. Just,,,,,emotion-

Gender time BABEY 😩🤙🏼 Mammon was the first to get his breast removed. When they fell (if ya checked the other post ya should know y they have boóbęś) none of the brothers (but Satan) could wrap their heads around why all demons didn’t have breast. They were just like “?????okay???”. Mammon, our lil party demon, actually ASKED at a party one time abt it n a demon said “well,,,,we can choose what we are when we are, y’all can’t?? Lol” (demon got mashed to bits btw) then he found a doc n was like “well if I miss em then I can just get em put bck on loooool” n woke up, looked down, n history my pals 👐🏼 he also didn’t tell his other brothers he was doin this. It felt right for him so he kinda just went home n lived his life normally. When they noticed it they kinda all,,,, ‘secretly’,,,got their breast removed. It was never talked abt n they kinda keep it that way. It’s not a bad thing, n they never felt like it was that big to ever talk abt it. But ig if they ever told MC that’s how it happened MC would probably not take it that way- (also I say they ALL got em done but Asmo still has his n so does Belphie. Asmo’s reason is in the other post Belphie’s is next)

Baby lazy, at the time that was happening Belphie was adjusting to his sin. So him being alseep all the time it actually took him 4000 years to realize what happened. Beel had explained it to him n he was like “:^0!! We can do that?? I wanna do that-“ then Beel told him abt the appointments and healing n he was like- hmmm maybe later. A binder and baggy clothes will do for now- he’ll get em done. Eventually, just not today, tomorrow, the next day, week, month, r year. But it’ll get done at o n e point.

I started this a month ago n now have time to finish it lmaooo

Man idc what anyone says Belphie eats bugs. His whole animal thingy is a cow/bull n guess what them mfs eat?? Yea. Bugs, Belphie eats maggots n crickets n stuff heheheh tell ur friends

Speaking of bugs ig some ppl forget abt Asmo n how they’re a bug too. N y’all know what bugs do?? Shed. Everyone wants to talk abt Levi shedding but they forget abt fan fav Asmo 🥺😔. They shed too n it’s- less than pleasant to look at and be around- when they shed they have to go into their lil demon mode thingy, they keep themselves in their room n Dia help ya if ya go in there. Mammon once went to bring them food mid shed n got his hand and half his face shredded. N no, no amount of trust or love from MC will EVER break Asmo into letting them into their room during this time. Sorry MC 💔 they adore you but keep that human ass in ya room for now.

An on the topic of Levi, he doesn’t care, he actually gets Mammon or Satan to help him remove his old skin when it’s his shedding time. Sounds gross but when ya got games to play an ya itchy all over, gotta get ya siblings to help.

Vros Satan has a biting thing going on, not a k¡nk r something. They just gotta bite, n when MC shows them chewerly ya could’ve sworn that demon almost started wanting to protect the entire human race. Now they don’t gotta chew on their fingers or hair?? Bitch bet, they bought a whole store of that good good 😩🙌

Lackin Lucifer so I’ma just say, mans sheds feathers all the damn time. You’ll find them EVERYWHERE. In ya book bag, on ya bed, in the dyer, on the sofa, in pots in the kitchen, behind a bookshelf, EVERYWHERE. N fucked part is?? He doesn’t even notice em, if you point it out he’ll just shrug his shoulders. Bastard 💞

That’s really all I can think abt for now sksksk, I needa do a dateables one too

One day when I get more free time again I’ll throw all my lil dummy hcs out for those dummies too 😌

#mydumbstuff #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #txt #obey me! shall we date?#obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me headcanons #yea my brain can’t think anymore #enjoy em! r don’t #the world is ur oyster

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ezrasarm · 3 years

Text

Before You Go

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: After a mission goes sideways you and Poe find yourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Warnings: Depictions of blood and wounds, medical inaccuracies I’m sure, lil’ bit of angst, fluff, one (1) smooch, I think it’s gender neutral... I think (let me know if I’ve missed something though!)

A/n: At long last this is my first Poe fic and I have to say it’s been incredibly fun to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it! Please let me know what you think, I’m new to writing his character and will take all the feedback I can get! Also a massive thank you to @andriecastana AKA @im-poe-dameron for beta reading!

[Masterlist]

“Skipper- Skipper, c’mon we don’t have time for this.”

“How- what are you doing here-” You mumbled as you came to. The words didn’t hold much force with the way your loss of consciousness still hung like a heavy fog over your head, or perhaps that was the smoke spewing from the engines which had been shot down to throw you into a spin. All sensations seemed far too overwhelming but the more awareness you managed to gain, the more urgency you began to realize filled Poe’s voice as he jostled your shoulders and moved to chuck your helmet off and unstrap you from the cockpit.

“Saving your ass, now c’mon!” He exclaimed, practically dragging you out of the beached and smouldering ship. “Up we get, down we go.” He said as though you were a child, probably because in your daze that’s all you seemed to have the mental capacity of. You’d hardly managed to gain your balance before a blaster shot tore past your shoulder and in a split second Poe had taken a vice grip on your wrist and your feet had no choice but to stumble after him as he tugged you through the thicket of deep green undergrowth until you couldn’t help but match his sprint.

The most you were capable of was keeping your eyes ahead of you so as not to run face-first into a tree. Your heart was racing at the hail of blaster bolts raining down around you and in the one moment you allowed yourself to look over your shoulder to see what exactly it was you were running from you felt a sharp pain rip through your side.

“Stick with me, Skipper,” Poe called over his shoulder, a tight squeeze to your hand to urge you on as he felt your pace falter behind him. And so you did. You ran with him until all you knew was the motion of putting one foot in front of the other. Until you could hardly breathe. Until the searing pain in your side became so unbearable you could feel your legs giving way to jello beneath you.

“Poe,” You gasped out, “Poe, slow down,” You choked but your plea fell on deaf ears.

“Just a little further! I think we’ve almost lost them!” He threw back at you with that same desperate optimism that always made people follow him. That made him the brilliant, impulsive, stubborn, leader he was. But this time, no matter how much you wanted to do good by him, you couldn’t.

You would have told him so but the unmistakable whir of a speeder cutting through the trees hit your ear and you knew there was no chance of either you or him out running that. So you made a quick decision, the type of thing that got you into this mess in the first place, and with the last remaining ounce of energy in your body, you threw yourself at him and used all the force you could muster to tackle him over the ledge you had been running along side and to the ground, concealed only by the projection of earth above you and the thick brush of greenery around you.

The landing was by no means graceful. You had to choke back the wail of pain when he fell on top of you. His hand which you supposed had come to brace you, pressed into the wound just below your rib cage and instead of shoving him off of you as every nerve in your body was screaming at you to do, you locked your legs around him and planted your palm over his mouth.

Your entire body tensed, back and shoulders ridged and neck strained as you listened for the speeder which had been tailing you, it’s hum growing louder and louder until it was practically on top of you, and then it stopped. It couldn’t have been two meters away from you when the trooper hopped off of it. You winced at the sound of boots crunching on the dead and dry leaves over your heads, unconsciously holding Poe a little tighter to you as you struggled to hold your breath, and just when you thought there was no way you were making it out of this alive, that there was no way the mangle of plants you had rolled yourself behind could conceal the neon orange of your flight suits, a staticky voice killed the silence–

“I’ve lost them.”

“What do you mean ‘you’ve lost them’?” Another voice emerged from the comms on the trooper.

“I mean they’re not here.” The stormtrooper spoke, throwing a leg over the speeder before turning back in the direction from which he came.

It was only when the speeder had made its way out of earshot that you let your head fall back to the ground with a long-awaited hiss of the breath you had been holding in. Your voice caught in your throat in a silent sob when Poe shifted his weight above you and it was only now, as you shoved him off of you with shaking hands, that he began to clue into the way you had stumbled behind him as you ran, the desperation in your voice when you’d told him to slow down, the reason you, someone he could rely on to follow him through anything, had just about refused to. The warm, damp sensation on his palm made sense now when he looked down at the deep crimson stain on your flight suit where it had rested.

“Shit.” He let out, looking between you and the wound on your side. “Shit, they hit you? Why didn’t you tell me?!” The panic in his voice coming out more aggravated than he had intended and making you wince.

“We were a little preoccupied!” You huffed out, gesturing in the direction you had come from as if the situation were somehow the slightest bit funny despite the pain that seemed to be intensifying with each passing moment.

“You were shot!” He exclaimed, mind racing for the next step, for a way out of this.

“It’s not that bad.” You lied, clearly not fooling anyone with the waiver to your breath. “Just gotta get my hands on a medkit and I’ll be good as new.” You say, trying your best to play this off as nothing despite the sinking feeling in your gut that it was considerably more than that. “You have a medkit right?” You ask, only allowing the reality of the situation to hit you when Poe’s face scrunched up and he smoothed a hand over his features.

“No. It’s back on the ship I crashed trying to keep you from getting yourself killed.” He groaned in frustration.

“One hell of a rescue mission, huh?” You grumble out.

“I don’t seem to recall you fairing much better. At least I got my landing gear down!” He exclaimed, “What the hell were you thinking, getting down that low?” And here it came, the ‘I’m your commanding officer, you’re supposed to listen to what I say’ card. The one play you couldn’t rebuttal to no matter how close to him you thought you were, or how much you thought you could get away with.

“I was thinking I had a clear shot to take out their fuel reserves in one go if I got close enough.”

“Yeah, a little too close, don’tcha think?” He throws back at you.

“Remind me how you got here again?” You quip, managing to render him speechless for at least a couple of seconds. A deep exhale escapes him, his head falling in resignation with a slight shake before he speaks again.

“Can you sit up?” He asks, tone flat, and it’s now that the remorse begins to ween its way back into your head.

“I think so-” You start but the hiss you let out when you attempt it proves otherwise and Poe is quick to shift around you and prop you up in his lap so he can help you shoulder the top of your flight suit down around your hips. The throbbing in your side doesn’t allow you much room to relish in the way his hands feel on your bare skin when he pushes your undershirt up so he can take a look at the angry wound on your waist but the warmth is welcome.

“What was that you said about it not being that bad?” He asks, trying to mask the panic rising in his chest at the depth of the wound.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you try to defend yourself but he’s already brushing off the answer.

“Yeah, well I’m gonna worry anyway, aren’t I?” He says and you’re not quite sure why that makes this hurt so much more, and not just from the way he’s balled up the sleeve of your flight suit to press into the wound and try to slow some of the bleeding. A heavy silence hangs in the air as you let his words stew before attempting to speak.

“I’m sorry about what I said- for all of this.” You say quietly, “I’m glad you came for me, I’d be dead already if it weren’t for you.”

“Don’t say that-“ He tries to push the thought aside but you had hardly been conscious when he found you, you knew there was no way you would have even made it out of your ship let alone outrun those ground forces without his help.

“I should‘ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have come down here at all, I just thought…” You cut yourself off before you even have the chance to say too much, worrying your lip between your teeth as he brings a hand to cradle your head, his thumb brushing soothing patterns along your jaw line as you force your breathing into control.

“What?” He whispers and you’re not sure what it is that possesses you to finish your sentence, the gentleness to his tone or the overall circumstances but you tell him.

“...I wanted you to be proud of me, Poe,” are the shaky words that slip past your lips and to your surprise and probably his too, his face light up.

“Are you kidding me? I’m always proud of you, Skipper.” You scoff weakly at the nickname as he brushes some of the sweat dampened hair off your forehead. “I’m not kidding, I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve zoned out just watching you fly. Every twist and turn you make is so natural, so graceful, it’s like the ship is an extension of your own body and it’s mesmerizing.” He explains, a hint of wonderment to his tone that causes the butterflies in your stomach to stir before the corners of his lips drop. “It also makes it all the more tragic to watch you spin out of control.” He says and the guilt hits you like a truck all over again. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” You huff out, glancing down at the place where he was still holding firm pressure to your wound, and it’s clear the humor to the comment is lost on him.

“Hey, we’re not going there!” He retorts, not sure if it's more of a comfort for you or for him at this point. “The resistance knows where we are. They’re gonna come for us.” He assures you and you see that same unwavering hope glint in his eye but there's something else there too. A slight mist making his eyes glisten and at this point you’re sure that even he knows without getting proper medical attention soon your odds are dwindling. He’s only reminded of that more when your grip tightens on his forearm.

“Poe,” The first hint of fear makes its way into your voice when you speak, your head feeling heavier in his lap, “It’s c-cold.” You stutter out, and he notices the way your teeth are chattering slightly when he shifts as gently as possible to wrap himself snuggly around you.

“It’s okay,” he lies more to himself than to you, “you’re going into shock. Just stay with me, keep talking. You’re doing so well.” He says, finding it harder and harder to keep his voice even with each word.

“Can I ask you something?” You murmur. At this point in the cheesy holos you would watch back on base the handsome protagonist would have said ‘yes, anything,’ and it would be followed by a deep heartfelt confession but Poe wasn’t like that.

“Depends on what you’re asking.” He smirks and you shake your head. You’d have shoved him in the arm playfully if it didn’t take all of your concentration just to keep your eyes open right now.

“Seriously? Even in death you won’t tell me what happened on Dagobah?”

“You’re not dying!” He protests a little harsher than intended and you bite back your fading smile when you refocus on the question you had meant to ask him.

“Why do you still call me Skipper?” You rasp out and his head tilts fondly towards you. You and he both knew you’d been promoted ages ago yet the moniker had stuck. He had never taken the time to consider if you liked it or not.

“Because you hadn’t even made it out of training in that first battle on D’Quar but you stepped up to the plate when we needed you and were the best FO I’ve ever had.” He explained. “You’ll always be my right hand man.” He said quieter this time and with the way his forehead was practically pressed to yours and the closeness he held you to him with you had to wonder if he meant it in a couple more ways than one. You think he’s about to say more but you’re distracted when your vision begins to cloud with purple spots.

“Poe,” his name is heavy on your tongue as your heart rate picks up and your grip on his arm tightens. “I can’t see. I can’t…” your words trail off as he tries to jostle you back to life.

“Skipper, stay with me.” He calls to you but his voice is distant and the words scramble in your head. “Help is almost here, I’m sure of it, just stay with me.” He tries again, clutching you close as he rocks you in his arms but you’re already gone and he’s left muttering gentle affirmations to no one but himself.

***

It was bright. Way too bright and the fluorescent lights above that you recognized as those from the base infirmary made your eyes sting as you tried your best to cling to consciousness for the second time in 24 hours.

“Finn peed on me.” Your eyes had barely fluttered open when Poe spoke.

“What?” Your throat was hoarse from disuse for several hours and you were sure your ears must have been equally decalibrated with the words you were positive you had misheard.

“On Dagobah. You asked what happened on Dagobah and Finn had to pee on me.” He clarified but your mind was still reeling.

“Wait what?!” If you weren’t awake before you certainly were now, unable to restrain the disbelieving grin rising on your lips. You weren’t sure if it was over the story he was telling you or the mere fact that you were around to hear it but the feeling of pure joy welling in your chest was overwhelming.

“I got stung by one of those crazy looking swamp monster things that live in the water there and it hurt like hell and Finn said he’d heard something about urine making the sting go away so he peed on me and we both swore we’d never speak about it again.” He sped through the story as though he couldn’t get it over with fast enough but the look on his face told you he wasn’t quite as disappointed with telling you as his words let on.

“Did- did it work?” You asked hesitantly, half horrified and half too invested not to get an answer.

“No, it actually made it about a thousand times worse. It was… the dumbest idea we’ve ever had and that’s saying something.” He said, melting at the way you had to clutch your side to keep from laughing too hard.

“Why are you telling me this now?” You shake your head softly as the corners of your lips fall, leaving only the warm look in your eye that gave Poe the confidence to give you an actual answer.

“Because for a whole four minutes I thought I had just watched you die in my arms and it turned my entire world upside down.” He whispered, shifting onto the edge of the seat he’d pulled up to the side of your bed so he could grasp your hand in his. “I had so much I still wanted to tell you and I was too busy trying to will you not to die on me to get it all out.” He said and that misty look in his eyes had returned telling you this was no joke. “I never want to feel that way again.”

“Well we’ve got time, Poe. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon-” You start to say but he’s already shifting up onto the edge of your bed to clutch both of your hands in his and you would be lying if you said the intensity in his eyes wasn’t scaring you just a bit.

“No, no I’ve gotta tell you right now or I’m never gonna have the balls to say it again.” He insists and you shift up in the bed slightly to give him your full attention. “You were right about the Dagobah mission, we never should have gone alone-”

“Well yeah I could’ve told you that-” You chuckle but he’s too focused to pay it much mind.

“-and you technically won that race that one time because I accidentally misread the track markers and cut the course short-”

“I knew about that one. BB-8 told me, and it wasn’t an accident.”

“The little traitor.” He muttered to himself, forcing the corners of your lips to quirk upwards at the corners. “Sometimes I wish you hadn’t been promoted because I miss the feeling I used to get when I flew with you.” He admits rather sheepishly for his usual suave and self-assured demeanour and that's enough to render you speechless on its own but he’s not done yet. “And I’ve been in love with you since the moment you slid into that cockpit with me and only admitted after having to take full control for five minutes mid dogfight that you’d never flown outside of the sim before.”

“Well I knew I was in good hands.” You mumble, thoroughly distracted now by the realization of how close his face is hovering to yours.

“I think you’re missing the point here, Skipper.” He whispers, so close you can practically feel his gaze burning into your lips as he speaks.

“No, I’m just not entirely sure what to say.” You murmur back, the urge to close the short distance between you growing impossible to resist with each passing moment.

“Nothing, you don’t have to say anything...” He shakes his head, just about ready to pull away when you tilt your chin up to catch his lips with yours, feeling the way they curve up into a smile against your mouth as his hand comes to cradle your jaw. You’re not sure when your arms snuck around him in any attempt to hold him as close to you as possible, nor are you aware of how hard he’s working to resist the urge to melt into your touch and cause any more pain than has already been caused today. All you know is how whole you feel being in his embrace and how glad you are that you stuck around.

[Masterlist]

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#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n

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gallickingun · 4 years

Note

YOUR BAKU IS PERFECT!!! may I pls have more??? 🥺👉👈

a/n: AW THANK YOU! i had to start easy bc he scares me lol. well not him so much as writing him correctly!

warnings: swearing, blood, lil tension; everyone 18+ even if there’s nothing going on.

ps, wow, this took a turn. 18+ for a reason now lol aka spicy but tolerable

“Outta my way, Deku!”

“Eat shit, IcyHot!”

“Fuck off, Weird Hair!”

“You know you can talk to your friends without insulting them, right?”

“Shut up,” Bakugo grumbles, dusting the ash off of his uniform.

“Yo!” Kirishima shouts as he trots over to where the two of you are, loitering over what remains of the training bots. He tilts his head, his face guard outlining his features, “Anyone ever notice that Bakugo never calls her anything mean?”

You scoff, “Oh take it as a compliment. Just means that he cares so little about me that he hasn’t thought of a crappy one-liner for me yet.”

“Hey!” Bakugo’s eyes widen, brows raising to form creases on his forehead. He’s growling now and you wonder how far you can push him, “You’re mean to people you like, I’ve figured you out, Baku’.”

He’s gritting his teeth and his jaw is quivering but you can’t help the giggle that parts your lips. The sound only seems to spur him on in his bout of fury, “You take that back, you raging little bitch!”

“There he is,” Kirishima groans, slapping his palm to his face. He sighs and shakes his head, reaching forward to grab Bakugo around the arms, dragging him towards the locker room.

Pissing Bakugo off had to be the best part of training.

You made it your point to say the last thing to frustrate him; it’s entertaining. And you know he’ll never hurt you, not for real. No matter how far he pushes his limits, he hasn’t ever actually harmed his friends beyond repair.

“Same time tomorrow?” you salute the hothead as he’s roughly yanked to the lockers.

“What did you say?!” He’s screaming from across the yard, his hands ferociously animating in midair. He raises a fist to you before flipping you off with both hands, “You’re lucky Weird Hair is here, or else I’d totally come beat your ass!”

You chuckle as you turn to go to your own set of locker rooms, a hot shower calling your name. There isn’t enough energy remaining in your body to send him another taunt or insult. You also know when is enough with Bakugo - you don’t want to have to have a full fledged one-on-one with him unless you have to. You’d never admit it, but he might overpower your quirk if he were angry enough.

It seems to become a thing then, because now you can’t stop paying attention to the way that Bakugo says your name instead of calling you some rejected insult. Even though he’s moved into an apartment with Kirishima, and he and Midoriya spar on the regular, he still keeps the same nicknames he gave them in high school.

You allow the tiniest of thoughts to wonder if maybe Bakugo just thinks highly enough of you to allow you to have your given name instead of giving you one himself.

The next time you bring it up, you’re pinning him down with your forearm on his throat, hips pressing harshly to him. You’re enlisted in the same agency, have been for about three years now, and you’re both working your way up the charts and the pay rates.

“Why don’t I get a cute nickname, Katsuki?” you tilt your head in genuine confusion.

He’s growling and before you know it, you feel a stinging explosion set off against your thigh and you’re rolling over. He takes advantage of the moment and pins you right back. Your head bobs against the training mat but the rest of your body is rendered immobile. His shins are on yours, successfully pinning your legs down as his hands make quick work of your upper body.

“Why does it fuckin’ matter?” Bakugo grits his teeth and narrows his eyes down at you, unsure as to what you’re getting at. His forearm is cutting off your breathing and he knows it, pushing into your esophagus as he repeats the question, only harsher this time.

You try to move your hand, signaling your surrender before you pass out.

Once he realizes, he’s leaning off of you, watching as you sputter and cough. You even thing you hear him mutter some sort of an apology as you work through your fit.

“I guess it doesn’t,” you manage, voice hoarse. “I’m just curious, since Kirishima said something.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes, resting his palms on the top of his thighs, “He’s talking out of his ass, is all.”

You find your hands are on his knees, casual as if this were normal. You chew on your lip and he gets impatient, brows knitted together as he snaps, “If you’ve got something to say, then say it!”

“You don’t see us as equals, do you?”

He smirks, “Well, I am the one on top of you while you beg for mercy, so you tell me.”

Your face burns bright red at his words and he falters, his breath hitching. He didn’t really mean it, it just slipped out. Or, rather, he didn’t mean for it to come across so honest.

Bakugo is clambering off of you then, his ears burning beneath the tails of his bandana. He offers you a hand, helping you stand to your feet. Your fingers linger a bit too long and you feel the sweat gather in his palms. You wonder if he’ll light you on fire for looking at him like that.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone as an equal.” Bakugo’s voice is rough, hidden behind his arm as he wipes the blood from his face. He smirks and you wonder why you’ve never seen him as he is, “But maybe I could start. Get better, and then we’ll see.”

As he walks away, you make it your personal mission in life to be seen as an equal on the battle field and in real life.

You train harder, longer, putting every part of your being into becoming better. You research strategies, researching the other heroes, playing your strengths off of theirs. You stay up late and wake up early, your body begging for rest but you are unyielding as you climb the sidekick ranks.

It’s another seven months before you’re face-to-face with him again.

You’re paired up as sparring partners, the two of you going head-to-head for a full thirty minutes without even using your quirks. You’re both sweating, his quirk daring to go off if he really willed it to. You know the strength to withstand using his abilities must take a lot of concentration.

“Wow, you’re not half-bad,” he chuckles, swinging a right hook at you. You dodge it easily, reacting by kicking him in the side. He chokes on his own saliva and you smirk at him, “What, you scared, baby?”

You’re not sure why or how that slipped from your lips, but it takes him by surprise. Either way, it leaves you with an opening to jump in the air and swirl your knees around his neck to pin him to the ground. Your legs are around his waist and you’ve got his arms barred upward.

The sight of his sweating palms so close to your eyes makes you a little nervous, but you have enough faith in him to hold back his anger and his explosive fists.

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter. He squeezes his eyes closed and wraps his palm around your face, fingers pinching your cheeks, “You asked for it.”

He swings you by your neck, your legs releasing him as your body falls to the ground with a loud thud, a small wave of energy tousling the ground next to you. Bakugo has you by the throat now, eyes wandering over your face as he inspects you.

“Been training, huh loser?” Bakugo juts his knee into your stomach and you force yourself to withhold from choking on your own spit. Your eyes bug out of your head at the pain but all you do is scrape and claw against his arms and torso, silently begging him to release you.

You glare up at him before reaching out to lick at his palm, thankful for once that neither of you are in your full hero get up. You’re somewhat surprised to taste ashen sweetness on your tongue, but it takes him off guard long enough for you to slap his arm away and stand to your feet.

“You fucking licked me?!”

You shrug, running towards him while he’s still on his knees. Your knee cap pushes into his chest, toppling him to the ground. You’ve knocked the breath out of him, his eyes rolling back in his head as he settles in the ground.

“Yield,” you ask of him, holding him by the throat. “C’mon, Baku, call it.”

The scent of smoke drifts to your nostrils and you barely have time to shake your head before a non-lethal explosion takes your attention away from him. Before he can get the jump on you, you propel yourself backward, flipping twice until you’re far enough away that you feel safe.

“Shows you, fuckin’ lickin’ me,” Bakugo rolls his eyes and his palms are like lighters, sparking as he stalks towards you.

You won’t be bested by him, not after all of the hard work you’ve been putting in for the past few months. You’re thankful that your own quirk is something opposing to his - water manipulation. In the same way that he can pool his sweat and light it on fire, you can turn yours into a weapon.

You call forward the water from your body and the water in the air into your palm, molding it into shards of ice on your fingertips. You start to sling the projectiles towards Katsuki as he walks closer. He dodges them with ease, but the final one slides across his cheek, drawing blood.

Everything inside of you churns at the sight of his eyes hardening, jaw quivering under the stress of his teeth as he grinds them together. He chuckles and it’s dark, but it stirs something in you - now you know he’s giving it his all, so when you win, it’ll be a justified win.

“I’m about to kill your ass,” Bakugo swipes the collected blood off of his face with his thumb, staring you down. “You’re damn lucky that I’m not wearing my gauntlets. I’d light your ass on fire before you even had time to use that shitty quirk of yours.”

You start working on pulling more water from the air, thankful that it’s a rather humid day. Now, if only it could rain. Then Bakugo would be completely out of his element and you would be more than comfortable.

“My shitty quirk just marked up your pretty face, ‘Suki.”

He charges at you and the two of you trade blows for what feels like hours. You have to stay at least a little ways away from him at all times if possible, his quirk only short range without his gauntlets. You’re glad that your quirk is able to become a ranged weapon if necessary.

Bakugo is much faster without his heavy suit, though, and you’re not ready for him to chase you, right on your heels as you try to put distance between the two of you. You lean down and swipe your feet around his ankles, but it seems he was ready for it because he jumps over the top of you and lands just in front of you.

“Not gonna get that one over on me again,” he snarls but it’s just on this side of a smile, his eyes lifting upward as he tangles with you again.

You tilt your head as you block one of his punches, “Am I turning you on, ‘Suki?”

“Shut the hell up,” he grunts.

“Your face is bleeding again,” you comment, twisting his hands in your grasp, hearing his wrist pop under the action. You wince but he shows little reaction to the pain, “Why don’t you clean it up, huh?”

The comment stops you in your tracks and allows him the opening to slam into you, pushing you across the greenway until you’re stumbling over your own body. You suck the water out of the surrounding plants, balling it up in your fists to create your own version of his gauntlets.

“Get over here, and maybe I will!” You call, raising your fists. He’s already sprinting toward you, but you use the remaining water on the ground to propel yourself upward, the spray of it blinding him long enough for you to encase his body in ice.

You’re gritting your teeth, keeping this part of your quirk is especially difficult given that you haven’t had time to hone it, unlike the other ways you know how to manipulate water. You can barely get the words out of your mouth, “Yield, Katsuki!”

You know that he’ll die from asphyxiation or hypothermia before he can blast his way out of your trap. His eyes widen from within the crystalline cage and your lower lip shakes - you were really hoping not to have to use this move, but he’s proven himself to you time and time again that he’s continuously climbing the ladder to get better.

“Yield!” you shout, your blood vessels straining against your skin.

His eyes close and it’s the closest thing to a yield that you’re going to get. As soon as you can, you drop the ice, the surrounding area flooding, the ground turning soggy beneath his feet.

Despite the absolutely enraged look on his face, you approach him and brush your thumb over his cheek, using the water from his face to heal his scratch.

“There,” you let out a breath at the exertion, “now you’re pretty again.”

Bakugo snatches your wrist harshly, glowering down at you, “Enjoy that, because you’re not going to beat me with that stupid quirk of yours again.”

Your jaw quivers but you ask the question anyway, “C-Could you ever see me as your equal, now that I’ve beaten you?”

“If I had my gauntlets, your stupid ice cage would have been toast!” Katsuki is shouting, his grip on your wrist tightening. You try your hardest not to wince but it does not go unnoticed by him as he makes the connection.

He shakes his head, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you that hard.”

“No, it’s fine, I,” your breath catches in your throat, “I shouldn’t have made you angry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you get it?” he growls, yanking you closer, only softer this time. “You always make me angry.”

If you weren’t confused before, you sure are now. You know that Bakugo has a naturally hot-headed temperament, but you never expected him to attribute some of it to you.

“Gah, you’re such an idiot!” Bakugou runs a hand through his hair before blowing a breath out of his mouth, attempting to calm himself down. He really doesn’t want to screw this up. “Every time I see you, I get this, this stupid knot in my stomach. And it just pisses me off! Why are you different?”

You want to laugh because it appears he’s experiencing feelings for the first time, but you don’t want to make him feel humiliated. Instead, you reach your palm upward and wrap your fingers around his wrist, “You make me feel different too, Katsuki.”

He rolls his eyes, “Great. So we’re both fucked.”

This time you do laugh, but only because he’s so blunt. You know better than to touch him excessively, especially in public, “I guess so. Maybe we can fuck together?”

You’ve never seen Bakugo Katsuki’s eyes go so wide.

a/n: well, that was a bit different but still the same lol. not tagging anyone this time bc i don’t want to be a bother :) i hope you guys liked that. feel free to request more/others!

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bnha x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #bakugo x you #bnha x you #my writing #morgan writes bnha

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rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years

Text

oneirataxia, but make it comedy | marcus pike x reader

A/N: Part of the Sleepover Weekend. Oh, shit, did I ever get carried away. “Write a blurb,” they said, “it’ll be fun,” they said. “You won’t write 3.3k words of a fake-dating Marcus Pike fic. Surely not. Surely the fuck I will. Buckle up, babe. I hope this is what you were looking for!

Pairing: Marcus Pike (The Mentalist) x fem!Reader

Warnings: Romance is its own warning.

Word Count: 3.2k of fake dating tropes, bad jokes, Marcus getting a lil sassy (he gets it from his mom, apparently), and coffee abuse.

Summary: Marcus invites you home for the holidays; but there’s a bit of a string attached to the invite. Based on the prompt: “Your mum hates me.” “She doesn’t hate you…she just doesn’t like you.”

NOT MY GIF

You were absolutely going to kill Marcus Pike.

Okay, not kill. Maybe maim?

As you met his mother’s eyeline over the rim of her tea mug you could have sworn she sneered at you a little.

So, no. Most definitely kill. Marcus was number one on the list. And his mom? Number two.

Let’s back up a little here--

You and Marcus were both agents at the Bureau together. You were part of the Art Squad, and have partnered with Marcus on missions a time or two. Honestly, you thought he was kinda cute. He had a sweet vibe to round out his killer intensity when he was in the field. And once you started talking to him, he had a kind of puppydog energy you found so darn endearing. But in your sporadic interactions with Marcus, it never felt like he was being his fullest, true self. Like he was holding back a bit.

Still, you didn’t press. Pike’s business was Pike’s business.

Beyond him bringing you coffees a few times at team meetings, your interactions were limited. And he brought coffee for other people sometimes, too, so you tried not to read much into it and to damper your little crush.

It wasn’t until the two of you were partnered to go undercover together at a gala that you think Marcus really, truly saw you. You two had made an excellent team-- posing as a husband and wife undercover to sniff out some art thieves.

Marcus, in his pressed suit, had looked every inch of just dashing. You tried not to let yourself get too carried away in your daydream. Your dress was uncomfortable, and rode up a bit, if you were honest. You hoped Marcus didn’t notice.

But he told you you looked nice, ever the gentleman. And you were so busy looking for your mark that you didn’t notice how often Marcus was really looking at you.

After the gala, Marcus approached you more.

The idle, “Hey, how was your weekend” became, “Have you heard the new Black Keys album?”

You started to feel like he really understood you-- and the agency must’ve thought so, too, because they partnered you more and more.

Sure, Marcus knew you. So it was honestly fucking baffling to you why he’d even ask this of you--

“You want me to what?” you asked Marcus, your tone taking a slightly interrogatory edge.

“Uh, come to my family’s house for the holiday? I know you were going to spend it alone anyway, so really, you don’t have to--” Marcus sputtered a bit, his invitation seemingly sweet on its surface. But you were no dummy, you knew what you’d heard.

“No, Pike. Don’t act like you’re doing me some huge favor. I fucking heard you--” you started.

“Then why’d you ask me to repeat myself?” God, he could be so smug at times. That sinful little smirk around his full lips making you want to smack said smirk right off of his handsome face.

“Pike, I’m not going to pretend to be your little girlfriend at some family holiday shindig just so you can convince your mommy you’re not a perpetual bachelor, or whatever asinine reason you have for this request,” you chided.

The nerve of this guy! And to think, you’d had an Alicia Sliverstone-sized crush on this sweet, good-looking Paul Rudd wannabe!

“Come on, it’s not like that,” he protested, trying to win you over to his (obviously terrible) idea.

“Then what’s it like?” You demanded.

“It’s, uh.. It’s complicated. I was just hoping you’d do this for me? Please? Partner?” He implored. You almost gave in. Those damn puppydog eyes slightly too endearing for their own good-- but, no, you have always been a stick-to-your-guns kinda girl. Marcus Pike’s failed, mid-2000s rom-com of an oddball request wasn’t gonna change anything. But still… you were curious.

“Nope. No way, Pike. If you can’t be honest with me, then why would I do something so obviously-insane for you? Don’t act like I’d be doing you the favor when it’s obvious it’s a favor to you… especially if you won’t even tell me why. We’re partners, we’re supposed to trust each other.” You were resolute.

Marcus looked like he was going to tell you. In that moment, maybe he would have… He opened his mouth slightly as if to speak, before shaking his head slightly and closing his mouth again. As if he’d thought better about trusting you. Fuckin’ insulting.

“Sorry, Ace. I can’t tell you that.”

And with that, you left the room. Screw Pike! Screw him screwing with your feelings. A favor. Honestly!

Two days later, Pike walked into your office with your coffee of choice in one hand, and an apologetic look on his face.

“Look, I’m sorry about the other day. You’re right, it was crazy… it was crazy,” the second time sounded more to himself than to you.

“Bring me caffeine, babe, and all is forgiven,” you chirped, trying to lighten the mood. But it was clear Pike was thinking about something deeply, churning it over in his mind, his ochre eyes swimming with the sea of his own indecision.

“Pike, don’t think too hard. It’s not good for you. I can smell the smoke coming from your ears,” you teased gently.

“Teresa,” he said softly.

“Excuse me?”

“Her name was Teresa. She was my fiance… briefly. It… ended badly. Embarrassingly. I’m not-- I haven’t really been the same since. But I fucked up,” Marcus rambled. You nodded, trying not to interrupt him so he could continue. “I dove in too fast, proposed too soon. She didn’t really want me.”

Your heart panged at his confession. You’d had no idea. Honestly, your status as newbie agent didn’t really afford you to the inner workings of Marcus Pike, and you didn’t want to incite gossip by asking around too much. Being an inquisitive agent because it’s our job isn’t much of a guise if your crush becomes too obvious. Poor Marcus.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Marcus. I really am,” you placed a hand on his shoulder. “No one deserves that. But, um, what does this have to do with you asking me to spend the holidays with you?”

Marcus sighed.

“I told my mom about Teresa. When we were together, anyway. She knows it ended badly. I couldn’t take her smothering. Her pitying glances. Her everything. So, when she asked me about coming home for Christmas, I said I couldn’t because I was spending it with my girlfriend. I panicked. She then insisted I bring said girlfriend to Christmas at their place,” Marcus rushed out. “The problem being, of course, said girlfriend is fictional. Imaginary. Just like some bogus forgerd painting,” he chuckled a bit at his own attempt at humor.

Of course, of everything Marcus had just said, you were most surprised to hear that he was, in fact, single. File that one away for later.

“And your first thought was to ask me to be your fake girlfriend? Pike, that’s a little Hollywood. And not in a good way,” you chided.

“I know,” he moaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “And now she won’t let it go. So please, please, kid. Have pity on me? Come be my girlfriend for a week at Christmas?” He gazed at you pleadingly. “And you were an obvious first choice. You’re a stunner in the field, and smart. I thought you could handle it.”

Damn those eyes. Damn that face. Damn Marcus Pike.

If you hadn’t been caffeinated and in a better mood than the other day, you probably would have said no. Regardless of your caffeinated status, you definitely SHOULD have said no. And yet, here you were, drinking your coffee like it’s your dumb bitch juice.

But still, you couldn’t resist teasing a little.

“Don’t try to flatter me, Pike, it won’t work. I know I’m a good agent. But here, now, I’m just imagining you whining to your mom.” You put on your best, piteous John Mulaney impression, “Can my giiiiirlfriend come?” you mocked.

Pike rolled his eyes at you.

“Fine,” he said, popping himself up from the edge of your desk where he’d been irresistibly leaning since entering your office. “Enjoy your Christmas alone with your cats. I’m sure the ugly sweater looks great with cat hair stuck to it.” He started to walk out the door.

What possessed you to do what you were about to do?

“Pike,” you hollered, stopping him in the doorway. He turned.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll do it.”

You couldn’t put your finger on it. Maybe it was because you really did feel for him. Which you did. Maybe it’s because you didn’t want to be alone. Which you didn’t. But maybe it’s because you were still carrying a torch for Marcus Pike, and the idea of spending Christmas with him was too good to pass up. Even if his whole family was there. Oh, shit. You are so screwed.

He jumped up, wrapping his arms around you quickly.

“Great!” He intoned. “Because I already told my mom it was you.”

“I’m gonna let that one go for now, Pike,” although you were secretly imploding. “Because we need to set some ground rules.”

“Fine.”

So, here you find yourself, days later, standing in the threshold of the Pike family home, where Marcus’s mother had been smothering her son with kisses and coos, waxing poetic about how glad she was that her “baby is finally home!”

And then, like a demonic switch has been turned, she turns to you and greets you (if you want to call it that) nothing short of ice-fucking-cold and a chirp of, “So this is the tart you work with!” before turning on her heel and walking to the kitchen, hollering for Marcus to put his bags down and follow.

The rest of the week passed like that, Marcus’s mother flipping moods so fast it made your head spin like the little girl from “The Exorcist.” Ironic, really, since it was Marcus’s mother who was the damn demon.

“So, Jennifer, where is your family from again?” She’d been calling you “Jennifer” for the entire time. She knew damn well that wasn’t your name. You grinned and bore it, for the sake of her beautiful, idiot son sitting at the table at your side.

You mumbled your name, trying to politely correct her.

“Is that not what I said?”

Honestly. This woman was a piece of work.

“You know, Mrs. Pike, we could get to know each other a lot better if you started with the right name.” You were just trying to lighten the mood a little, but not able to resist a slight jab at this old goat of a woman.

“I’m sure I’ll learn your name, dear, if you stick around long enough for it to be important to remember,” she replied primly, sipping her tea. You wanted to knock the china cup out of her little rat hands.

UNBELIEVABLE, you thought. Here, you were suffering this horrid woman because at the behest of the ghost of Teresa Lisbon, the recipient of a punishment for a crime you’d done nothing to incite. Guilty by association was still guilty, though, apparently according to Marcus’s mother. If another woman had broken her son’s heart, she obviously felt entitled to regard you with suspicion and disdain.

Marcus was nothing short of apologetic in the peace and quiet of his bedroom, expressing profuse regret from his spot on the floor where he slept. Because of course he would be a perfect gentleman to you and allow you to sleep in his bed during this whole whatever-it-was. And if he was trying to be a gentleman, he was failing. That tight white t-shirt stretched across his fine, firm chest was just fucking rude.

“Marcus, it’s fine,” you insisted. “You have no control over her or her opinions. And I’ve seen and dealt with worse. Federal agent remember?”

As the week pressed on, you were able to temper the rudeness of Marcus’s mother with the intensity of your ever-growing feelings for Marcus. Seeing him at home, in his element, in relaxed clothing was doing something to you. And you weren’t quite ready to admit it. You spent quite a bit of time together, reading in front of the crackling fire in his family’s cozy living room. You played boardgames against his younger brother and his sister-in-law, teaming up to destroy the competition at Codenames.

You’d thought maybe, just maybe, Marcus was developing feelings for you, too, his touch lingering on your waist as he shuffles past you in the kitchen, sending you soft smiles over the pages of his books as you two read. But the more you thought about it, the more you were convinced that Marcus was just being nice and putting on a show for his family.

Until that old goat opened her mouth.

The family dinners were the worst. Marcus’s mother always seemed to sit across from you just so she could glare into you with that unyielding gaze of hers.

“Jennifer, a word?” She asked, as you got up to help clear the table.

Yeah. Where were we? Oh yeah, you were DEFINITELY gonna kill Marcus for talking you into this.

Marcus put the dishes he was carrying down, and squeezed your hand gently.

“It’ll be fine,” he whispers to you, before pressing a soft kiss to your temple, your brain instantly going dumb and numb at the contact, like you were listening to the people in the room from underwater. Nevertheless, you followed her into the kitchen, where you stood, alone, a marble-topped island counter the Switzerland between the two of you.

“Yes, Mrs. Pike?”

“I’m going to be frank with you, dear, I don’t like you,” she stated.

You’d had enough. The wrong name, the cold shoulder, the glares, the hmphs of disdain whenever you talked about the cool cases you were working on. You’d just had enough.

“No shit, Mrs. Pike? I just assumed you’d greeted all of your guests this way, and that’s why there were so many of them here. Because of your warm hospitality,” you snipped.

“Don’t get cute with me. I’m not about to applaud a relationship with my son if it’s just going to end badly.”

Now that gave you pause.

“That Teresa girl really did a number on him. So excuse me if I’m not going to sanction any old relationship. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. Not if you’re just going to break his heart. You’re just his co-worker and it should stay that way. Unless you’re serious, especially with the way he looks at you,” she stated firmly.

And you could honestly forgive her in that moment. Almost, anyway. “The way he looks at you” ringing in your ears. You had to say something-- and snark was getting you nowhere. So, you spoke from the heart-- before you could think about it too hard.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pike. I wasn’t around for any of that. I don’t know much. Only the little Marcus has told me. And I'm not keen on making him relive any of that, or cause him heartbreak,” you paused. “But I wouldn’t do that to him. Because I care about him. Deeply. I really do,” and you just kept going... “I know I’m probably not what you envisioned-- I’m too dedicated to my job, it’s not glamorous, I’m not some subservient little housewife. I’m brash, I’m annoying. All of these things are true. But the biggest truth? Your son means everything to me. And that I won’t apologize for.”

And with that, you left. To go find Marcus and give him a piece of your mind.

You marched upstairs to Marcus’s bedroom, where he was perched on the bed with a book in his lap. You fist your hand into his sweater before yanking him up and planting a firm kiss on his mouth. Marcus stilled in shock, before reciprocating, kissing you back, cupping his hands to your cheeks. You pulled away, heat pooled in you cheeks, blazing in embarrassment at what you’d just done.

Honestly, what the hell did you just do??

Marcus regards your silence by raising an eyebrow.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell was that?” Marcus asked.

You rushed the words out, knowing you’d retract and redact them from your brain if you waited too long.

“I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m so sorry. Your mom just really got to me… she thinks I’m another… her,” you spared reference to Teresa’s name, mindful of Marcus’s melancholy that followed when she was mentioned. “But I’m not her. I love working with you, Marcus. And I’ve always had a thing for you, if I’m honest. Which I am. But it wasn’t until she really started pushing me that I realized… I care about you, Marcus. I want you, I really do. All of you, even the parts that hurt. I want you,” you professed.

Marcus stood there, shock etching his features, eyes widening and mouth starting to gape.

You bowed your head, blinking back furious tears as you stared hatefully at your shoes. Why would you do that? You thought. You’ve ruined everything, all because that old grackle dug at you too much. And now Marcus hates you.

Marcus’s hands were suddenly in your downcast eyesight, palms resting on your cheeks and urging your face and eyes upward to meet his gloriously shimmering midnight ones.

“I want you, too. God, you drive me crazy, you’re such a punk at work. But, fuck if I can’t stop thinking about you. You make me crazy. And I thought I was the only one. I’d go back to my apartment at the end of the day sad, because I knew you wouldn’t be there. My love is not really the overwhelming kind. Jesus, I just go home and drink rosé and watch ‘Remains of the Day,’” he implores. “But I mean it when I say I want you, too.”

And with that, he slides one hand from its resting place on your cheek to the back of your neck, scooping your face upward for a soft, slanting, warm kiss.

Needless to say, you were fine with Marcus relinquishing the spot on the floor in favor of lying next to you in bed for the remainder of the week.

Now, you held hands while going for brisk, winter-air walks around his neighborhood, despite his mother’s withering gaze. You were always touching, never far from the other’s hand or mind. Marcus’s brother teasing you good-naturedly about your interlocked fingers being “PDA.”

You head back to your lives and back to reality, but still on cloud nine. Sharing kisses before separating to one another’s respective offices at work. Spending weekends at one another’s apartments, making out against any and every surface you can find, your thigh slotting between his as you press together during every conceivable moment you can.

One of these nights finds you laughing about the inception of your relationship, when, inevitably, Marcus’s mother comes up in the conversation. You had spared him the gory details of your kitchen scene in favor of a simpler retelling.

“Honestly, Marcus, your mom hates me,” you implored. “She told me so.”

“She doesn’t hate you…,” Marcus trailed off, “She just doesn’t like you. I’m pretty sure that’s what she told you, if the grapevine was correct,” he smirked.

You slapped him on his chest. The nerve of this guy!

“But that’s okay. Because I like you enough for the both of us,” He said, smiling as he presses his lips to yours for a sugary sweet kiss.

#this was supposed to be a blurb #sleepover weekend #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike imagine #the mentalist fic #the mentalist imagine #marcus pike fic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #my writing #rachel writes #writing prompt

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campeyourdiems · 3 years

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Hello! I was wondering if I could get a camp camp matchup :))!

I am ftm, and Mlm/Mlnb!// I am 5’10, I’m a stoner, I have dyed purple short fluffy(ish) hair with bangs that cover my eyes, my eyes are blue, I wear roundish glasses, I have freckles that cover the bridge of my nose and my cheeks, aswell as some on my arms, legs, stomach and back!// I am a pagan, however I am currently taking notes satanism (I just think it’s really neat, and have a few friends who are satanists :)) )!// For my personality, overall I think I am a very laid-back and cheerful person. I am extroverted, and I love meeting new people and making new friends! I have been called the “dad friend” by most of the people who know me, and yeah that checks out 😅 I am very optimistic and positive about most things, and I try to see the light and beauty in everything around me, and encourage others to do the same. I am very nurturing as a person, and I care for everyone around me. I use a large amount of slang that doesn’t make sense to the context 99% of the time (this is a personality trait wydm🙄/j). I carry things like extra water bottles and snacks and medical supplies on me in case I run into anyone who needs it. Most the time I act very confident in myself, but it tends to come off as almost egotistical. I try my best to hype up those around me and make others feel confident about themselves. I also, am however a very protective person who would go to great lengths to protect my friends and family, and people who can’t protect themselves. I can tend to be rude and snappy to people I see mistreat others, and I tend hold grudges for a long time but make sure nobody knows but the person I’m holding a grudge against. My bad/negative traits are I can be overprotective and possessive, I am very spontaneous and tend to do things without thinking about them, I bottle up my emotions and it can lead to me lashing out when pushed too far, I am naive and a bit dumb, and I have mood swings where I’ll be very energetic and happy for several months but then for a few days (even to weeks or months if it’s a partially bad episode) I’m just kind of a completely different person (sad, low energy, etc.) // my hobbies are baking, painting, making pins, writing(mostly songs!) singing, exploring different areas in nature (where I live there’s a big forest/wood area behind my house :)) ), cosplaying, and I’m learning to play guitar!// my hyperfixations atm are dragons, possums, rocks, cults, true crime, 80-90s music, musicals, and painting!//

For my aesthetic/style, sometimes I dress in a Victorian style, sometimes I dress vintage, sometimes I dress hippie, sometimes I dress grunge fairycore and sometimes I dress in a grunge and punk style :))

Sorry this was a bit long! This was very poorly put together But tysm and I love your writing :)) I hope the best for all the people who run this blog! Sending positive energy your way :))🧡🧡

Hihi! You sound really cool tbh. =w= I don't mind how long it is, it just gives me more to work with! :D Thank you so much for the compliment and sending this in, I'm so happy someone decided to send one in dcgth i might be a lil overhyped h a Right back atcha with that positive energy though! Okokok, onto the actual matchup! Ha, I'm so excited about this! Ok so, I think David would be the best match for you! I personally think he'd be supportive of your smoking. [Maybe even use some himself.] He'd absolutely think your hair's neat too. Your personalities seem pretty similar! Though your laid-back nature might prove to be a bit helpful to him given how high-strung he can be at times. It'll be nice for him to have someone to pull him back down, y'know? Your slang might remind him of Jasper actually, so I think he'd appreciate it. As for always having snacks, water, and a medkit he'd...really appreciate it. He's usually the one who needs things from the kit though. =w=' He'd appreciate how protective you can be, though he might try to talk you down from grudges. He can relate a lot when it comes to the bad things and tries to be there for you during mood swings. He'd love to bake with you if you'd like! Ofc he'd also love to see your paintings and listen to your songs. Maybe you could even play guitar and sing together! Though he'd often want to be out in the woods behind your house, he loves being in nature after all. Oh, maybe you could make some pins for him! He'd love to show them off on his vest! :> Now he's never cosplayed but he thinks it's neat that people do it! Maybe he'd be willing to try doing it with you! :D I feel like he'd also be pretty into possums and rocks tbh, along with 80's-90's music [for nostalgia] and some musicals. I'm not sure if he'd be too into true crime and cult things but he'd be willing to engage with it a bit for you! Dragons are always cool though. =w= He'd think your style is so pretty! It's not really his thing, but if he finds something you might like he'd probably get it for you. :> I feel like outside of camp he'd have...a cozy sort of cottagecore style? Lots of earthy tones, sweaters, stuff like that! I hope you like your result, sorry it took a while and all that. =w=' I do worry that I may not have done too well and I sincerely apologize if I didn't. QwQ If you have any headcanons reqs I'd love to hear from you again! ~ Mod Cirque

#incorrectcampcamp #camp camp #camp campbell #camp camp david #cc david #david x reader #camp camp david x reader #camp camp matchups #matchup #anon matchup #anon #camp camp fanblog #camp camp fandom #tw long post

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honeytea8 · 4 years

Text

@redbeanb0i, @fyre23, and @pun-in-ten-ded asked for Morioh next, so you know I had to deliver the goods! Stardust Crusaders HC’s here, in case you missed it.

✨The Morioh Crew and Their Song Picks✨

(based off SOME of my playlists/tastes)

Yukako Yamagishi

Honestly, her music reflects her pretty well for the most part. She’s got unapologetic bad bitch vibes (and I highkey stan)—she’s also a girl in high school with big simp energy (for Koichi lmao) and it can make her a little crazy. Yukako is like a sour piece of candy with a sweet center—she a little feral, kinda chaotic but also has a cute side you can’t help but like.

Maneater — Nelly Furtado

Freak — Doja Cat

Sorry — Beyoncé

Moonlight — Ariana Grande

ocean eyes — Billie Eilish

Smack a Bitch — Rico Nasty

Okuyasu Nijimura

Ca$h Money Okuya$u gives me cool hip-hop vibes with a bit of alternative and pop on the side; he’s surprisingly cultured. I can totally see him as one of those people constantly wishing for the “old Kanye”. He has pretty diverse music taste, but don’t bother asking him for recommendations. His shit is so disorganized, because he likes everything so his music is literally all on one giant playlist and it’s hella chaotic (like 300+ songs and over 1000 hours of music on one playlist, sickening!!! 😭)

G.O.M.D — J. Cole

Kill Your Heroes — AWOLNATION

Hey Ya — Outkast

Through the Wire — Kanye West

I’m Not Famous — AJR

Ride — twenty one pilots

Koichi Hirose

I feel like his taste can go several different ways. Koichi is that timid guy steadily growing into a more confident person, but then his stand is all “let’s kill dat hoe beeeetch” like literally that’s his soul talking. For him, I’m just going to go with chill rap/nerdy rap, and then some alternative. Koichi and Okuyasu could probably rock the same playlist, but Koichi’s music would be more lowkey where as Okuyasu’s is more mainstream.

Rigamortus — Kendrick Lamar

Stressed out — twenty one pilots

Check the Rhime — A Tribe Called Quest

Hurt Feelings — Mac Miller

EARFQUAKE — Tyler, the Creator

Soul Food — Logic

Josuke Higashikata

Josuke is a sap if I ever saw one! Besides groovy pop music (or Prince’s whole discography), his playlist is mostly RnB love songs lmao (I fully believe Josuke has all of Usher’s music on CD and I take no criticism!!) He’s a romantic at heart so I think some of the music he listens to reflects that quite a bit.

Let Me Love You — Mario

We Belong Together — Mariah Carey

Take Care — Drake

That’s What I Like — Bruno Mars

U Got it Bad — Usher

You & I (Nobody in the World) — John Legend

Bonus: If I Ain’t Got You — Alicia Keys (Josuke would cry like a baby to this song and then vow to play it at his wedding, no, I’m not joking)

Rohan Kishibe

His nutty ass probably doesn’t even listen to music while working. It’s just silence. Rohan is attracted to powerful voices that evoke a lot of feeling, poignant lyrics are his weakness, they hit different and he loves it. He’d probably stan tf outta Adele or Lady Gaga. Essentially, when he listens to music, he wants to be impressed.

Skyfall — Adele

Young & Beautiful — Lana Del Rey

Hearts A Mess — Gotye

Movement — Hozier

Shallow — Lady Gaga

Midnight Mischief — Jordan Rakei

Chandelier (piano ver.) — SIA

✨Extras✨

Yuya Fungami

Hella rap, hella turn up. Master of the aux when it’s time to get hype! Dude has a chin tat, yakwtfgo 😂 Yuya’s like that one guy in the neighborhood with cleanest fits/sneakers, has hella hoes, does forex, drives a hellcat and wakes everybody up with his car and loud music whenever he leaves for work at 6am 💀💀 (some of y’all know what I’m talking about)

Flex — Polo G

High Fashion — Roddy Ricch

Topanga — Trippie Redd

Suge — DaBaby

Bank Account — 21 Savage

Walk It Talk It — Migos

Dior — Pop Smoke

Reimi Sugimoto

Easy! Reimi’s a sweet, friendly, cheerful, young sixteen year old girl. So I’d say her playlist is mostly pop music; bubbly, upbeat dance music. Lots of boy bands, girl bands. I can see her probably being a really big kpop and jpop stan too.

One Thing — One Direction

Sugar — Maroon 5

Work from Home — Fifth Harmony

Black Swan — BTS

Boy Meets Girl — Rude-a

Only One — BoA

Sunny Girl — Awesome City Club

Toshikazu Hazamada

Hazamada’s lowkey (highkey) a troll! The type to boldly say 6ix9ine is the best rapper in the game with a straight face and it gets everybody upset (especially Yuya and Koichi), wears all black air forces, rages while playing 2K. Probably wants a girlfriend so bad, but they always go for guys like Josuke and it makes him upset.

All Girls Are the Same — Juice WRLD

SAD — XXXTentacion

XO Tour Llif3 — Lil Uzi Vert

Falling Down — Lil Peep

Messages — The Hxliday

I Fall Apart — Post Malone

Y’all want Bucci gang next or nah? 👀

#yukako yamagishi #koichi hirose #okuyasu nijimura #josuke higashikata #rohan kishibe #yuya fungami #toshikazu hazamada #reimi sugimoto #diamond is unbreakable #jojo #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure

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little-wicked10 · 4 years

Text

Fragile (Unamed OFC x Negan)

Summary: It’s not everyday the devil meets a woman he wants to be gentle for.

Warnings: SMUT!!!, cursing, mentions of smut, mentions of sexual assault

Her life before the sanctuary she wants to forget. It was a time when she was more afraid of the group she was with more than the walkers. The Saviors had found her hidden away in the back of a truck, terrified, and shaking like a leaf. When Simon lent out a hand to help her out of the truck, she cowered. None of the men that had taken over the small camp could understand why she feared such a small gesture, but she did. The men in her group assaulted her. There was never a night when she was safe from their rough and invading touches. Dirty and drunk words would be slurred in her face as they roughly pawed at her body.

There were nights where she had wished they would rape her and leave her for dead; to finally get it over with and let her die. Life wasn't worth living anymore when you had been violated in both mind and body. She'd begged them once to end her suffering, but her pleas were only met with laughter and the explanation that she wasn't worth the energy it would take to take their belts off. She had lost hope after that, even after she was being rescued there was still no hope left in her body that she'd would ever feel whole again.

This fragile girl caught the attention of the leader of the Sanctuary upon arrival. Her natural beauty is what he noticed second about this young woman. She feared that caught his attention. An aura of something dark lingered around her. For him, it's easy to write it off as a fragile mind traumatized by the new world order, but how he would come to be so wrong.

When a man in a leather jacket gave her the option to marry him or work for points, she didn't know what to do. Negan wanted her to be a wife. Besides her being smoking hot, he knew she wouldn't be able to work for points with her veering away from men so easily.

"Listen, honey. I'm gonna be straight with ya. There isn't a job in this place that you could do to earn enough points to feed yourself. That makes you a target to some not-so-friendly guys that are walking around with a constant hard-on," he blatantly admitted as he sat behind a metal table. Her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip, most likely about to bleed from the nervous habit.

"Now I don't tolerate rape or mistreating women in my Sanctuary. With you, I'd rather not run the risk. Here's my offer. Marry me, and you will never have to worry about any man rubbing up on ya that you don't want to," he bargained.

She looked at him with fearful eyes, "B-but that means that you can…."

He quickly cut her off, "I don't touch a woman that doesn't wanna be touched. If you marry me, you can lounge around all the livelong day. I'd just have you around to look at somethin' pretty, but don't tell anyone else that."

"W-why are you o-offering me this?" her voice unintentionally shook.

Negan looked at the woman head to toe, carefully overseeing her entire demeanor before speaking, "Because I know you've seen shit. I don't like seein' pretty girls like yourself scrounging around for points. I keep women safe in this joint."

After that meeting, they never spoke again. She agreed, and her life began as Negan's new wife.

—

It had been months, and Negan kept his promise. She never saw him unless he was picking a wife for the night or showcasing his harem to some recruits. No one knew of the traumas she had faced except her. She had no friends and kept to herself. The other wives spoke ill of her, but she didn't care for their catty nature or false accusations. The depression and anxiety that rattled in her mind kept her isolated, but it didn't keep her from observing her so-called husband.

Any time she's around him, she watched him. How he carried himself with such self-confidence and dirty humor. His over the top personality was frightening and intriguing to her all at once. Negan came off as an asshole, but it often became overshadowed by the memory of his words he'd said to her on their first meeting.

'I keep women safe in this joint.'

As far as she'd seen, he stood true to his word. She'd heard the stories from the other wives of Negan's cruel punishment for those that been caught in the act of hurting women. Information that should've frightened her, gave her a strange feeling. A feeling that hadn't been felt in some time. Safe.

—

On a particular night walking through the halls of the sanctuary, she'd heard something strange. Ragged breaths. She knew that sound and listening to it made her want to run away and hide. She about turned away when the sound of a familiar voice growling a very familiar cuss word pierced the breathing. It was Negan's voice. Logic told her to get the hell out of there, but curiosity began to lead her feet towards the door.

She's crazy for wanting to see what's happening, who he's with, what he's doing even though it frightened her to no end to see such intimacy. The door was cracked open with dim light pouring out into the hallway. Upon peeking in, she could see clothes scattered everywhere: heels, a black dress, dark jeans, and a leather jacket; a symbol of power throughout the surrounding areas.

Her eyes fall upon a scene unlike any she's seen. A woman, who she thinks was named Sherry, kneeled and bent over a couch with Negan behind her thrusting deep and powerful. Her nerves appeared and she gnawed on her bottom lip, brain processing exactly what was happening. Never before had she seen Negan like this. He's so…powerful and dominating. It frightened her at the same time that she almost wished that was her.

The dirtiest and filthiest words poured from Negan's mouth as he yanked Sherry's hair back, his mouth pressed against her ear. The anxiety began to creep its way into her body, but she couldn't bear to look away from the spectacle that was Negan having sex with one of his wives. For how much Sherry said she despised Negan, she seemed to love this side of him. The truth became clear: saving Dwight wasn't the only reason Sherry married Negan. The wives often talked about Negan's ferocious appetites for sex. A lot of how he fucked not made love to his wives, but she didn't believe it until now.

"Fuck! Take daddy's cock, baby!" Negan growled.

Sherry responded with a moan.

Negan knew she was watching. He'd seen her figure appear in the cracked door and decided to put on a little show for the wife he hadn't touched. He planned to show her what she was missing out on. Negan let loose the dirtiest things he could think of before he finally let it be known he knew she was there. Negan made eye contact with her and continued to fuck the brains out of Sherry. It didn't register with her that they were staring into each other's eyes until ten seconds later. The ego boost he felt in the moment made a smirk adorn his face and throw a devious wink her way before going back to work.

After that wink, she quickly ran away back to her room. So many feelings and emotions filled her being at what she'd just seen. Flashes of memories mixed with images of Negan fucking Sherry swirled in her head. Confusion plagued her the rest of the night causing her to be restless. She was afraid to sleep. Afraid that what she'd seen would trigger nightmares. Afraid to stay awake for fear of still hearing Negan's moans and them turning into the men's she despised. The last thing she wanted was for Negan to be like those men. Logic told her he wasn't, but the irrationality of her anxieties told her he could be. By the time the sun had risen through her window, she'd come to a conclusion: She did want Negan. She's just afraid of what might happen if she gives in.

—

"Well, my little peepin' tom, did you enjoy the show last night?" A deep voice whispered in her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she whipped around, and her husband stood before her with a mischievous smirk on his face and his hands clasped behind his back. A blush of embarrassment spread from her face down her neck.

Her stammering words trying to find an explanation were halted by his words, "Come with me. We need to have a talk, dear wife."

All the wives in the room watched with utter shock as Negan led her out of the parlor. He'd never chosen her since she'd arrived. She'd most likely be interrogated by them when she got back….if she came back. The silence was almost unbearable the entire walk to Negan's room. He kept a chirper and amusing atmosphere, but stories had warned her that, that mood could change very quickly. She didn't know how Negan felt about her invading his private time with one of his wives, especially his favorite.

Negan opened the door to his room for her before walking in after her and shutting it, silently turning the lock. "Now what do you have to say for yourself, little missy? Sneakin' around late at night and spyin' on me havin' an intimate moment with one of my wives," his voice was unusually amused. She began to shake, unable to conjure up why she'd peeked in on him with Sherry. Negan watched as she stared down at her feet and bit her lower lip. He took note of her shaking hands clasped together and the tears threatening to pour down her cheeks.

"Hey now. No cryin'," he came closer to her and placed her chin between his thumb and pointer finger so she'd look him in the eye, "I just wanna know what you were doin', baby. I ain't gonna punish ya."

Hazel eyes stared into her soul. Confused feelings made her more afraid. She calmed down knowing he wasn't going to punish her for eavesdropping, but there was still the underlying feeling that something else was about to happen.

"Because I think…you want a little freaky deeky. Am I right?" he assumed.

Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out, just stuttering.

"I think I'm right. That lil' pussy get wet last night seeing me go buck wild on Sherry?" he was unaware of the dangerous waters he was treading with her, "You want daddy to take care of it?"

She hadn't noticed he'd backed her up against the door until her back hit the hardwood. One of his hands began to wander with much dominance and aggression that was all too familiar in a terrible way. Pure, unadulterated fear gripped her being, making her lock up against him. His smile suddenly wasn't charming, it was terrifying. Memories flashed in her head. Their voices, their disgusting breath, their touches. It was becoming too much.

"P-please…d-don't," was all she could manage to say.

Negan froze, hand disappearing from her body in an instant. The gravity of her tears had a new meaning. Before, he thought they were tears of fear that she might be in trouble, but he realized they were tears of trauma. He moved away from her body slightly, giving her room to breathe. She released a shaky breath.

"What did those men do to you, sweetheart?" He finally asked.

Silence.

"Tell me," he demanded.

This was the first time someone had asked her, or cared enough to ask, what happened. She didn't believe that he cared, but the worry on his features told her otherwise. "They touched me. Said awful things to me. Made me suffer," she whispered. There was suddenly relief in her chest. Not much of one. It was slight. As if speaking it into reality, to someone that cared, began her journey to healing. She felt like she could finally speak. Now was her chance to say everything. She didn't want to lose the momentum she felt. Negan suddenly felt like a huge piece of shit. He should have known better.

"Negan,…I know I'm not exactly…whole, but you make me feel safe. You don't want anything from me. You don't want to force yourself on me. Y-you care, in your own way, for my well-being," she admitted, "Which is why…I do want you, but you probably won't want me because I can't give you what you want."

"And what do I want, sweetheart?" he asked, a bit stunned with her confidence to admit all of this.

Her blush made him want to smile, "What you had done with Sherry. I don't want that. I'm terrified of doing stuff like that. The girls say that you don't…do slow. That you just fuck."

Negan rolled his eyes at the mention of the dumb idle talk of his wives, but there was some truth. He hadn't taken it slow with anyone in a long time. A violent world made a man want the same in bed. Negan sighed before taking a good look at her. He could tell the words were genuine. Not ones she managed to conjure up to tell him no.

"I want you to touch me, but....not like they did," she added.

He'd be damned if that little statement didn't warm his heart and tickle his balls all at once.

"Are you sure, darlin'? You know I ain't about forcing women to do what they don't wanna do," he stated very clearly.

"Yes. I'm sure. You'll just have to be patient with me," she said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Negan chuckles a bit, "I'm the one you're gonna have to be patient with. I ain't use to this whole slow thing."

"You mean....you're gonna try?" her voice was small but hopeful.

"I will do my very best, doll," he reassures.

Once again, her teeth found purchase of her bottom lip as she waited for something to happen. Negan had to reassess his approach. His previous one wasn't the way to go with her. He swallowed the lump in his throat and quietly approached her again. His rough calloused hand gently stroked her cheek before traveling very slowly down her body to secure itself on her hip. The rise and fall of her chest told him she's nervous, but her reassuring nod and slightly shaking hands coming to rest on his shoulders told him that she's ok with what was happening.

Negan grasped both his hands on her hips and gently brought her against his chest. Small arms wrapped around his neck, their lips an inch apart now. His breath tickled her cheeks until finally, chapped lips met soft ones in a very cautious and gentle kiss. A spark ignited in her body upon feeling his kiss and his hard body pressed against hers. It was one that she hasn't felt for some time. She assumed it had been extinguished long ago.

One of his hands came up and pressed against her lower back to bring her body flush against his. The other threaded into her hair, not daring pull a strand until he hears some sort of approval. Negan was used to taking control and being rewarded with very satisfied women, but in this small woman's case, he was going in blind. For the first time in a while, Negan was hesitant in his actions.

"You can move a little faster. If you want," she whispered.

Negan smirked against her lips, "Don't wanna go too fast for ya, honey."

She nodded, small voice approving a slightly faster pace. The sudden courage surprised even herself. Negan took the advice and carefully picked her up, making her wrap her legs around his waist so he could walk towards the bed. His boots thumped against the wood floor until he finally stopped at the foot of the bed, gently setting her down.

The innocent and fearful look in her eyes made him want to go beat those soulless sons of bitches that hurt her. They'd hurt her to the point that a mother fucker like him made her feel safe. It didn't feel right for this to be real, but it was. Negan was brought out of his trance when he noticed she'd taken her shoes off and was starting to unzip her dress. A large hand around her wrist made her stop and become fearful that she'd done something wrong. "Let me do that," he ordered. A silent nod was his only reply before he slowly got down on his knees. She felt his callused hand take her right leg, slowly going up her calf before letting his lips follow the path he'd just made.

Goosebumps appeared on her skin as his salt and pepper scruff scratched against her skin. Negan's other hand gently pushed against her abdomen, signaling her to lay down. Following his silent instruction, she gently laid back and let him do as he wished. A terrifying thought she quickly chased away with focusing on the feeling of his lips that were now on the inside of her thigh. As he alternated to kissing her other thigh, his hands began to push the skirt of her dress up. Sudden warm breath against her covered center made her shiver, and Negan smirked with approval.

'Such a slut for us, aren't you?!?'

Muscles tensed and tears pricked in her eyes, trying to close her legs at the memory. With Negan stuck between them, it wasn't possible. "P-please don't do that," she shook as her words trembled, "T-they use to bite me. M-make me b-bleed and hurt." Negan contained his growl of anger. How could someone treat a woman like this? The gentle call of her name made her look at him.

"Darlin', I'm not gonna do that. I promise it'll feel good," he reassured. Her white-knuckling the sheets told him she didn't believe him.

"Trust me," he whispered, slowly running his hands up and down her legs. Her grip relaxing on the sheets gave him the go-ahead. Negan knew he wasn't the most patient man in the world, but he didn't expect every ounce of it to disappear once he took her panties off. The sight of her glistening and spread out for him sent a primal hunger straight to his mouth and dick.

"Good God, woman," he groaned, "I've seen a lot of good pussy in my day, but this takes the cake."

He noticed her cringe a bit, and he silently cursed himself. Bad Negan.

To rectify his mistake, Negan gave her center a kitten lick. Hot damn did she taste divine. He did it again on the outer part of her clit, and she gasped as he growled at the taste. How he would love to dive in and just make her cum over and over again. His patience was wearing thin, but he didn't want to hurt her so he took her hands in his.

"Darlin'," he took her hands in his before urging her to grab onto his slicked-back locks, "You got control. Yank me around if ya like."

She looked a bit confused but rolled with it as his tongue made full contact with her center. She cried out at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation that came from his slow and painstaking devouring of her sticky sweet pussy.

His moan vibrated against her and added to the pleasure. Her whimpers, moans, and mewls motivated him to keep going. He hadn't noticed he'd sped up to a pace that frightened her until she hissed and tugged at his hair. He pulled back a bit but went ahead with his idea of teasing her leaking entrance with a finger. The feel of her hips at first moving away from his impending intrusion made him reassure her that he would take care of her. The reassurance made her relax against him, legs opening slightly to allow him more room to work. When he finally penetrated her with his middle finger, he cussed out loud at how her walls gripped him tightly.

"Christ, baby," he groaned, taking a breather himself to keep from just standing up and fucking her brains out.

She knew she was asking a lot of him to do this for her, to quiet the beast in him and try something different. Her walls burned at first when he began to finger her, but his mouth lapped at her clit and suddenly the whole thing felt amazing. Whines and whimpers escaped her lips that were better than any pornstar Negan had ever heard. He roughly shoved a second finger in her with great ferocity. The great pain Negan felt in his scalp told him his action was not welcomed.

Unfortunately, the pain mixed with the taste of her on his tongue only made his jeans more uncomfortable than they already were and increased the desire to do what HE wanted. Her whimpers of pain were what made him slap himself mentally. "Gotta bear with me, doll. I'm really tryin'," he grunted out, hooking his fingers up suddenly and coming into contact with her g-spot. The fingers locked his in hair suddenly went flying to grasp the sheets as her back and hips arched. Negan's chuckle was heard over her panting.

He stood up, fingers still locked in her, and leaned over her, "Never had a man find that spot, baby? Tell me, how's it feel?"

A strained moan was the response he got, her mind too focused on trying to comprehend the amount of pleasure-pain she was feeling. The pad of his fingers started to slowly stroke her little spot, and her legs began to shake as she grabbed a tight hold of the lapel of his leather jacket.

When his hand began to speed up, her small fingers wrapped around his wrist, "E-easy. P-please."

Negan nodded, "Alright, alright."

He could feel her walls fluttering around his fingers, but she wasn't quite there yet. With the lick of his bottom lip, Negan pressed his thumb against her clit, and the reaction was instantaneous. Her whole body shook as she nearly screamed, both hands grabbing a tight hold of him and legs closing around his hand to keep him from leaving her depths. Stars exploded behind her eyes and tremors racked her body. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that she'd ever feel something so...amazing. What helped her come back to earth was the feeling of Negan's lips delicately kissing along her face and neck.

"C'mon back, doll," he whispered, lightly (very lightly) nibbling on her ear lobe.

Her body went slack against his and released his hand so he could gently remove his fingers from her quivering pussy. Normally, he'd let his women suck his fingers clean while he praised them with all matters of dirty and filthy words, but he opted to get another taste of her sweet honey. The taste made him groan in satisfaction.

Negan felt her warm hands trail down his chest and then under his shirt, "Wanna feel you."

There was no response. He stood up, his warmth leaving the side of her body he was laid against and began to take his clothes off. When he had pulled his shirt off, she sat up. Her post-orgasm look was one he'd file away in his brain for a later jerk off session. Hands explored his chest. She lightly touched his faded tattoos, going over all his muscles before allowing her hands to go around his waist and feel his tense back muscles. Her lips connected with his neck and her fingers delicately traced the muscles, a way of trying to calm down the beast that made his chest rise and fall rapidly. Negan took this opportunity to unzip her black dress, making her pull away from his body so he could pull it over her head and off.

"Goddamn," Negan bit into his lip as he felt his hands, and dick, twitch at the sight of her completely naked before him.

She instantly hid her body from his hungry eyes.

Negan took her hands and removed them, "Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of, baby. You got a super hot body!"

His cheeky remark made her giggle slightly.

"There's a smile. You know you don't gotta do this if you don't wanna, darlin'. I'd understand," he reassured.

She shook her head, "I want this. I want you."

Even though she was frightened, the idea of Negan claiming her in the most intimate way possible made her feel so much different than before she had walked into this room. The fear was slowly being replaced with a warmer feeling. A feeling of safety and wholeness. Being in this room, with him, in this fortress made her feel safer than she had in a long time. Negan directed her to travel farther up the bed and lay down. As she did, she watched him crawl his way from the bottom of the bed to hovering over her body, jeans completely abandoned on the floor. When she looked down at his manhood, she gulped.

He must have heard it because he chuckled, "I know what you're thinking. Yes, it'll fit. No, I haven't torn a woman in half…yet."

She giggled but still felt nervous. Negan leaned down and kissed her gently, trying to distract her from her thoughts. Her fingers wove into his thick locks as one of his hands brought her leg to meet his hip. His dick laid against her womanhood. The animalistic groan that left his chest was downright sinful. The feeling of her warm wet center against his throbbing dick was heavenly. The rut of his hips against hers made her whimper. Negan wanted to ram himself home and fuck her into oblivion. He knew he could make her cum over and over again, but that would earn him a one-way ticket to the dog house. He'd feel like shit if he treated her like some piece of ass.

This one was different. Negan didn't know why. Never in all his days did someone so fragile and delicate come to him for safety. This was the first woman in a very, very, VERY long time that made him want to change, even if it was for the night. When she gripped his dick in her hand and placed it at her entrance, Negan nearly lost his cool. He growled, but stopped his hips from ramming at full force.

“Gotta warn a guy, doll, before you go around grabbin’ dicks,” he chuckled.

She blushed and released him.

“Gonna take this slow now,” he said.

She nodded and let him take the lead once again. Negan wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed he’d still have a shred of control when he got inside her. The moment of truth...grasping his dick, he started to push in. Her whimpers were accompanied by her legs tightening around him. He knew she was tight but not this tight. Negan’s grunts and groans were directly in her ear as he pushed in more and more. The sudden clench of her inner muscles and cry of pain made him come to a staggering and breathless halt. He was definitely gonna lose control.

“Baby, you wanna be on top? I don’t wanna hurt you, and I’ll lose my grip if I keep goin’ like we are,” Negan grunted.

The idea made her nervous, “I don’t know.”

Maybe she was asking too much of him?

“I’ll help you out,” Negan started to shift, pulling out of her gently and laying on his back before putting her over his lap.

She seemed a bit awkward as she was hovered over him. His hands gently ran up her body and back down to her hips, a comforting reassurance that everything would be fine. Negan took the time to help her ease down on to him. He held his dick still as she took her time to slowly push him inside of her. Her face contorted in pain as his tip stretched her open.

She went a little bit further down onto his dick before stoping and whining in pain. “Hey. Just breathe,” Negan encouraged, he himself having trouble continuing with his tip being squeezed in a death grip, “You take what you can, baby. Hell, I’d be fine with just watching you fuck yourself on my tip if that’s all you want.” She could tell he was trying to lighten the mood and help ease her mind. She knew she needed to relax.

With the way her body was so tense, it was going to hurt even worse. Her body craved for more of his touch while feared it all at once. Negan was surprised when he watched her start to take more of him, her inner muscles a little more relaxed. He moaned as her very tight warm walls encompassed him more and more. The grip on her hips was definitely going to leave bruises.

“Breathe, beautiful,” Negan urged as she continued to let herself be stretched. The urge to rush herself for fear of upsetting Negan plagued a part of her thoughts, but she pushed past it when suddenly he bottomed out inside her. Never in her entire life had she felt so stretched and so full.

Negan’s head fell back and he tightened his grip on her hips, “Oh my….fuuuck!” She was tight. She was tighter than most of the women he’s been with. How long had it been since this woman had sex? Or, had she even had sex before? He looked back at her face and could tell she was struggling with the feeling she was feeling. “Am…am I hurting you?” She stuttered. Negan let out a breathy chuckle, “Hell nah, baby. You’re just so tight around my god damn dick.”

She let out a curt giggle, placing her hands on his abdomen and trying to find some relief to the pressure she felt. Negan reacted quickly by letting his fingers work wonders on her sensitive clit. Her hips bucked making her cry out. Her over sensitivity from her first orgasm and the overwhelming feeling of being full had her arching her back. “There ya go, baby. Negan’s gotcha. Just take your time,” he kept reassuring her.

It didn’t take long for his fingers to coax her into moving, her body seeking out the pleasure it was craving. Negan could hear her holding in moans and small whimpers as her body began to find a rhythm. This little woman was doing wonders to his body. HIs dick was trapped in the warmest, tightest, wettest hug, and his eyes couldn’t stop looking at the little minx in his lap. It was better than porn. Pressing his rough thumb more into her clit made her whimper out and arch her back once again.

“Am I makin’ ya feel good, sweetheart?” his eyes dark with lust.

She nodded.

“Nuh uh. Use your words. I gotta hear ya,” he encouraged.

“Yes, Negan, yes!” she moaned while biting her bottom lip.

Suddenly she felt an overwhelming feeling. It was so intense and unfamiliar that she stopped her movements. Negan saw her fall from the precipice of probably the best orgasm she’s had and took action. “Oh hell no,” Negan suddenly flipped her over and gently hovered over her, “Baby, I’m about to give her the best pleasure you’ve ever felt.” Her eyes were a little fearful but it was quickly drowned out when she saw the genuine look in his eyes. She trusted him.

Negan took it as the go ahead and began thrusting into her, quickly bringing her back to the edge of bliss. Just as he expected, her body began to writhe against his to get away but he held her stead fast in place. “I-it’s too much!” she cried. Negan gently shushed her as he continued his thrusts and then quickly moved his fingers down and rubbed her clit.

It was as if the earth shattered for a moment. Legs shook, nails clawed into his back, and eyes rolled into the back of her head as the most mind blowing orgasm washed over her. Negan couldn’t hold it any longer and let himself drown in the pleasure and release into her. The feel of her nails dug into the skin and muscles of his back mixed with her quivering walls was all he could take. A shiver ran through him as the last of his seed was in her and he became spent.

When he had finally caught his breath a bit, he began to check on her. Her eyes were closed and her chest was heaving. She wasn’t quite back to earth yet. “You ok, darlin’?” he asked.

“Y-yeah,” she panted.

“Glad I didn’t lose ya,” he chuckled.

She attempted to chuckle but it came out as more panting.

He took his time pulling out of her overly sensitive walls and took it upon himself to get a warm rag and a glass of water for his spent wife. Returning from the bathroom, he found her still laid in the position he left her. Setting the glass aside, he gently placed the cloth against her center, but she quickly jerked, clearly too sensitive. He continued his task at cleaning up the mess he made of her and placing her under the covers.

It was rare that Negan was at a loss for words, but he found himself unable to say anything. The moment they had just shared was absolutely something else entirely. Slipping into his own bed beside her felt strange. He felt as if he should have said something, but what should he say? On the other side of the bed, she was having the same dilemma. Her brain was a bit fuzzy at the moment, but she’d never been in this position before. She was so use to being used. Her brain was having a hard time comprehending whether what just happened was good or not.

It felt better than good. Nothing in a very long time had felt even close to that. Then why was she scared that this was bad? She had let him have his way with her, be inside her. She had lain with him intimately, an act she had once swore to herself she’d never do. That there was no one in the world she could trust enough to be that intimate with, and yet here she was. Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. Her body was too weak to protest or even tense against Negan as he cuddled her. She felt his fingers delicately moved her messy hair aside to lay a sweet kiss on her temple.

“I hope this is ok,” he whispered.

She smiled a little, “It’s ok. I like cuddling.”

He smiled and kissed her again.

“Negan,” she whispered.

“Hm?” He answered, sleepiness beginning to take hold of him.

“Put a hickey on me,” she suddenly said.

Negan went a bit stiff and looked at her. Did she really just ask him to do that?

“Please,” she opened her neck to him more, “So people know not to touch me.”

Her pleading voice touched his heart strings. She wanted everyone to know what they had done. She wanted them know what they couldn’t do to her, that he was the only one with the privilege to do anything like this to her. He obliged. His mouth lightly fell upon her neck, delicately kissing his before latching his mouth onto the skin. She hissed and wound her fingers into his hair as his teeth nipped at her flesh. The slight pain of his mouth mixed with his scruff was a feeling she needed to remember for if they ever did this again.

After a few moments, Negan pulled away to see a large hickey in the shape of his mouth appearing on her neck. His mark was on her physically. It wasn’t permanent, but it was sure to be there for some time. Her fingers released his hair and touched her wet skin where the bruise was forming. Once she was finished inspecting her skin, she turned and nuzzled into his chest, fingers lightly playing with his chest hair.

Trapped in an embrace, the two lovers fell asleep with a strange warm and hopeful feeling washing over them both.

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seizethesam · 4 years

Text

Ode to an Angel-Chapter 9

A/N: Hello everyone! After a week, chapter 9 is here for all of you to read and enjoy! I hope you will like ‘cause it’s an angsty one! Thank you all for reading, liking, reblogging, and of course leaving comments! You honestly make my day better and truly motivate me to continue writing! Thanks!

Happy reading.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Warning: Death. Buckle up, it’s angsty with some gore!

The recommended song for this chapter is Make It Rain by Foy Vance.

Chapter 8

Gif's not mine*

Chapter 9

“No way.”

“Hey, calm down alright, I’ll go with him.”

“This is a shitty plan Y/N and he’s dragging you with him,” Glenn talked as anger took over him. He and Maggie had been through so much since returning from Woodbury. He was on edge.

“No, I’m going with him to make sure he doesn’t screw up,” you reassured him with a low voice.

You did everything in your power to prevent any scene between Glenn, Maggie, and Merle. “You, let’s go,” you said pointing your finger at Merle, sounding a lot harsher.

“Whatever ya say, peach,” he said as he eyed you. He left the cellblock ahead.

“I’ll be careful, okay? Don’t worry.” You told your friends as you hugged them one by one and went after Merle.

When you came near one of the cars, he extended his hand to driver door. “Hey! What are you doing?” you yelled, as you rushed to his side.

“Somethin’ wrong sweetheart? I ain’t doing anythin’.”

“I’m not letting you drive.”

He looked at you surprised but raised his arms in defeat and moved to the passenger side.

Merle was suspiciously quite for the first few minutes of the drive which was very unusual for him to ever shut his mouth. It was the least you’d learnt about him in two days.

“You think you can kill him?” you asked out of the blue, “the Governor?” you weren’t sure if it was smart to get him talk.

“So yer bangin’ my lil’ bro, huh?” he didn’t answer your question, instead he put one topic that you’ve been dreading for the past few days.

Now that you’d ruined everything, you weren’t.

The kiss with Daryl wasn’t like how you hoped it would be. The minute your lips touched his, he became stiff as a brick wall. He didn’t move, he didn’t’ breathe. He definitely didn’t kiss you back either. It was a moment of utter embarrassment.

You had left him where you’d kissed him when you realized he wasn’t even looking at you. He was just staring at his feet. You were a jabbering figure of awkwardness with all your ‘I’m sorry’s, ‘umm, shit’s, oh god’s.

You didn’t see Daryl that night, and the day after that he was gone with Rick to talk to the Governor. A part of you wanted to talk to him about the kiss, about everything to clear the air between you and him, another part of you hated yourself for ruining the friendship you had with him.

“If you must know, no,” you answered as you tightened your grip on the steering wheel. “It’s not like that.”

Not anymore, it wasn’t.

“He don’ belong with y’all people, ya play with him all ya want, but I’m his damn brother,” there he was. He talked as he kept his gaze on the road.

“So why couldn’t you be a brother when he needed you,” you said, voice a little bit louder that you’d expected.

He just laughed with his raspy voice. “Sweetheart, there’s a whole damn lot you don’ know about us, ya best keep yer pretty mouth shut,” he warned as he reached the inside of his boots and drew out a large blade, his face was turned to you all the while.

You didn’t respond, you just chewed your bottom lip and looked at the road.

He sharpened the blade with the metal around his arm creating an annoying shinking sound, almost fatal. When he was done, he shoved the blade inside his metal armor and started to secure it with duct tape.

“Was afraid I’d kill him, or somethin’” he started speaking, surprising you, “my pops.” You refused to say anything, wanting him to continue.

“He was a real piece a’shit, I didn’t know he was doin’ tha’ same shit ta him,” he continued taping his blade, he was taping a little too much.

“Doing what?” you finally asked.

He let out a raspy chuckle, “see hon, whole damn lot ya don’ know,” he teared the rest of the tape and threw the remaining out through the windowpane.

“Left here?” you asked as you drove through the forest.

“Ya got it,” he replied, and you turned the steering wheel to left.

The next few minutes were quiet, which you appreciated. You didn’t have the energy to put up with Merle’s bullshit. But he didn’t feel like talking, either. His lips were a straight line and the lines on his forehead were even more visible due to his frown. You could say that he looked nervous.

After a while he finally spoke.

“Now,” he raised his voice, “Sorry ta ruin tha’ pretty face like yers, but I gotta do this alone, sweetheart,” he continued as he turned his body towards you in his seat.

“What—” you couldn’t even process what he was saying when you saw his good hand approaching your face with a fist. Then everything went to black.

Smoke. Smoke and gasoline.

That was everything. Smell of smoke and gasoline. No, that wasn’t all. You realized the throbbing pain on your right temple. So, you were alive.

Where the hell were you?

You weren’t dead. You weren’t sleeping in your bed, either. You were sitting, no you were stooping. And your head was on a somewhat uncomfortable place.

You fluttered your eyes and saw the blurry gear shift. You’re in a car. That’s good. Then you remembered.

Merle.

Shit.

You snapped open your eyes with realization and lifted your head from the uncomfortable place, the steering wheel. The sudden movement made your head dizzy, the seat beneath you were sliding under you. He punched you right in the face.

Now, he was gone.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself as you held your head in between your hands and saw the blood. You checked yourself of the rearview mirror. Blood were spilling down the left side of your forehead and there was dry blood on your right eyebrow, where Merle had hit you.

You could sense the black eye coming.

You were awakened, but the smell of smoke and gasoline was still here. And that was when you saw the smoke raising out of the hood. The car was crashed against a tree and the gas tank was probably leaking.

“Fuck,” you cursed, this time much louder. You needed to get out of the car before it blew up.

You started fumbling with your seatbelt buckle. You were pushing and pulling, but it wasn’t coming off. “Come on,” you groaned. With one last strong pull you were able to get out of the seatbelt.

You turned left and opened the door to get out but just as the door was opened just an inch, a walker threw itself on the door and closed it back. There were two more behind it, limping towards the car. “Okay,” you gasped and pushed yourself towards the passenger door, which was open.

You summed up your remaining strength and threw yourself out. The three walkers were still scratching and scraping the driver door.

You got up and started limping away from the car as fast as you could. You turned to see the car, and the minute you turned your head, the car went up in flames along with the three walkers with a horrid boom that almost made you go deaf.

The hotness of the explosion surrounded you as you started walking again. You needed to arrive at the meeting place as soon as possible. You already screwed up, allowing Merle to take off without you.

You weren’t close but you weren’t far either, maybe half an hour walk if you were lucky.

By the time you got there, the place were already emptied out. There were few of the dead ones on the floor. The skull of one of them was bashed on the wall, the others looked like knives.

Where was everyone?

You didn’t expect this place to be so quiet. You didn’t want to admit but you were scared that it was so silent. You walked through the small building to get to backyard. There, you saw the angel wings.

He was kneeling in front of a body, not making a sound. No. Was he? No! Your steps were slow and silent, and hesitant to see what was in front of you.

“Daryl?” you called for him, but your voice was not loud enough. He didn’t move. Was this a good thing? “Daryl?” you tried again.

His face slowly turned to your direction and you shut your eyes closed. You weren’t ready for this. “I ain’t dead,” he growled, and you sighed, feeling the weight lifted from your chest.

You took another step towards him and finally saw the body. The sight brought shivers down your spine and created a lump in your throat. Instantly, your hand went to your gaping mouth. Merle. He was lying dead on the floor with a hole in his chest and a bashed skull.

His brother, his fucking brother was dead, and he had to put him down. You were out of words to say. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you still had your voice to speak. The only thing you did was kneeling next to him.

He was scooping in front of the body and had his palms facing up on his thighs.

You’d lost your brother once, but he lost his twice. There was no comparing in grief, but he had a second chance with him to maybe make things right. For the second time he was gone, for good this time. Nothing you said could make him feel better, so you didn’t try. You were just there for him. You were there. He wasn’t alone. And that was enough.

After what seemed like hours you shifted your weight on one leg and turned to him.

“Come on get up,” you whispered as you put a hand on his shoulder. He got up from the floor with your help even though, he didn’t need you supporting him but he didn’t flinch away either. “We’re gonna bury him alright?” you suggested.

“Nah, s’ waste a’time,” you murmured.

“No,” your voice was a little harsher than you’d expected, “we are going to bury him.”

Even though you didn’t know Merle that much, he deserved a proper grave. Or it could be just a personal matter now, your brother didn’t get to have a grave, so you made sure Daryl’s had.

He didn’t try to argue with you. He sensed the confidence in your voice. You looked around for something to cover the body, not wanting Daryl to see his brother like that anymore. You gazed around the area and saw a large tarp at the back of a beat-up truck.

You walked up to the truck dragged the tarp out. It was heavy in your hands. Daryl saw you having trouble in carrying the thick layers of plastic sheets and came to you to help you carry the load.

You carefully wrapped the body and carried it back the truck. In the meantime, neither you nor Daryl said a word. You two were moving synchronized like all of the movements were scripted. You didn’t need to say anything.

The sun was getting lower and lower. There wasn’t time to find any place to bury the body. Even if you’d found a place you didn’t have shovels. So, you suggested to go to prison and bury him there, next to the others.

The archer seemed to hesitate at first but subtly nodded.

By the time you had gotten to the prison, the sun was barely holding up on the horizon. You waved at Maggie as she opened up the gate for you without saying anything. You drove the truck next to the graves and got out, Daryl following you.

He opened the back of the truck and dragged the body of his brother out while you took the shovels from the ground next to the fences. He took one and started to dig.

You continued not to say anything during the burial. You stood up and looked at Daryl as he shoved the last shovels of dirt on the grave and finished burying. He looked tired and somewhat angry. The lines around his face visible, even though the sky was even darker.

It had pained you to see him like this, for the first time you preferred to see him pissed off rather than like this; upset and broken.

There were so much that you wanted to tell him.

It wasn’t easy to get over what he was going through. You’d known. You were just getting over yourself. And you wanted to help him out, take his hands and drag him with you to the sunlight, to the comfort of people who still loved and cared about him.

He stood straight and looked back at you, chewing his lip. He wanted to talk but the words got stuck in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say. Your voice cracked, not being able to carry the weight of all the other things not being said.

He responded with a nod and that was enough.

He knew you were there for him.

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dreaming-gamer · 4 years

Text

DMC week Day 1: Weapon – V & Nico

Gen, no shipping.

Warning: Angst towards the end.

V had never expected such an atmosphere, but there was something tranquil about being able to sit on the couch in Nico’s RV, just quietly reading the pages of his beloved anthology for perhaps the hundredth time. A soft purr rumbled against his sandal-clad feet. It was usually harder to tell his feline companion’s feelings, compared to Griffon, but at the moment, Shadow seemed perfectly content with a nap, as well as keeping V off his feet for a bit.

The summoner couldn’t deny the recent days of fighting was starting to leave an aching strain in his muscles. This moment of rest might be short, there were still many demons about after all but until Nero returned, they could only wait in this safe spot that Nico had parked in.

Speaking of the self-proclaimed Queen of machines, she was currently happily tinkering away at the latest piece of demon parts V had salvaged for her and V could admit it was a relaxing sound to hear in the background. Gears being twisted, her small exclamations of discovery, the clink of tools and metal meeting. Her work left a smell of oil in the air, but it was not unpleasant compared to the stench of demon blood and guts he had gotten so utterly used to by now.

“Oh-hee! I am a genius!”

The sudden shout was louder than most of her exclamations during the last hour and made Shadow lift her head. V kept his gaze on the book, just as fast footsteps thundered his way.

Making a mental note of which page he was on, V raised his gaze but had no time to ask what she had now figured out before she let out a huff.

“What, Nero’s not back yet?” Nico’s hand went for her tool belt, found the package and pulled out a cigarette for herself.

“It would appear not.” V agreed matter-of-factly, softly closing his book. “Did you need him for something?”

The grin that grew on Nico’s face matched a cat that just got a bowl of cream, she grinned all around the cigarette as she took a drag.

“That thing ya brought back resulted in something real special. Wanna have a peek? Free of charge!”

V felt a smirk tug at his lips.

“Well, if you are being so generous…”

Shadow moved just enough for her master to get up properly, using his cane for a bit of support to rise. Making his way through the small space of the RV, the sight that greeted him at the artisan’s workbench was certainly… odd. The design was quite unlike any of the earlier Devil Bringers she had made and V had found the Pasta Breaker an interesting enough design choice. This Devil Bringer didn’t look like a hand even.

This object was blue, didn’t resemble an arm at all really, though V could see where it was supposed to attach.

“I call it the Mega Buster!” Nico proudly declared, just as the soft ruffle of wings left V’s tattoos.

“Oh yeah, what does it even do? I don’t know if you noticed but it’s not even a hand!” Griffon snickered, setting himself down on one of the cupboards.

“That’s because this one shoots. Maybe ya wanna be target practice, little chickee?” The artisan replied, lowering her voice.

“I had enough of those damn blasts fighting the thing! You could thank me!” Griffon exclaimed, his feathers ruffled so he took to disappearing into his host but V couldn’t help smirking a bit at the exchange. He knew his familiar had not forgotten the threat of the steel pot. As for the battle itself, V did not miss those energy blasts either, the lower hem of his leather coat was singed off. If Nero could harness that power, well, wouldn’t that be useful? The showing of her recent creation sparked a question he had been wanting to ask for a while.

“If you do not mind me asking…” V started as Nico took another drag of her cigarette. “...how did you come up with the idea for these Devil Bringers?” V was genuinely curious, Nero’s case was certainly special, considering how one of his arms had been lost. But V had never heard of a prosthetic limb being built with such potential for combat. Boisterous she might be, but Nico did have quite a knack for the mechanical, that he could not deny.

Nico snorted, letting out a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s a fun story alright. So Nero came wobblin’ back to Fortuna right, demanded I’d fix an arm for him. Sure, I was onboard, but then the psycho dropped a one-month deadline! Hell, he didn’t get that something like that would take half a year at least!”

V nodded, letting her continue while swatting away the cloud of smoke she blew out in his direction. Either she didn’t think about diverting the smoke, or she just did not care. The RV was her castle, after all.

“So we stood there arguing about it, when there was this guy who barged in and told Nero there was demon trouble! I told the jackass to get in, ya could tell from his face he wasn’t skipping that fight.” Nico grinned, exhaling a small cloud through her nostrils. “Damn, never seen a fight like that up close. The demon was called a Blitz or whatever. That didn’t matter though. What mattered was the way its remains were all sparky after Nero turned it to shish kebab. And that’s when yours truly got the idea for the Overture.” She stated, a proud glint evident in her brown eyes, smoke dancing around her grin.

“An impressive feat, for such a short amount of time.” V nodded as her story appeared finished.

“I know, right? So, you want me to have a lookie at what ya got? Maybe I can give ya an upgrade since Nero’s new toy’s all done.”

Before V had time to consider her offer, the mechanic snatched the cane from his light grip. V let her even though the gesture was quite rude, he felt a bit of… curiosity. Along with no small amount of doubt, considering the cane’s origins as well as well as other factors. Yet a bit of curiosity if her self-proclaimed, and quite proven genius, could find out anything about the cane that he had missed. He stayed silent as she examined his cane, just curiously watching while leaning lightly against the counter while she tapped the cane with a tool. Turned it over from every angle and checked it, even brought it close to some slivers of demonic remains to check for a reaction. There was a tiny spark as she brought the cane down on it and then, the small piece of demon flesh disintegrated.

“Metal seems good for conducting demonic energy. But is that all it does?” She sounded a bit disappointed at the lack of findings.

“It lets me finish off demons, as long as they’re weakened. I believe that will have to do.” V didn’t really have any other expectations of it, at this point.

“Oh, wait, maybe I can make some kinda coating on it? Let’s ya cut through demons more easily.” V could almost see the gears in her head starting to work, the spark of inspiration coming to life.

Admittedly, it didn’t sound like an impossible idea. But…

“I thought you used up today’s materials.” V stated, his gaze falling on the slivers of demonic remains that now looked like nothing but grains of what had once been.

“So what if I did? There’s still demons roaming about out there. Oh-hee, Nero might even bring something back!” Excitement was alight in her eyes as she took out her cigarette, put out what was left of it against an ashtray on the counter before handing back V’s aid.

V took the cane, leaned on it slightly, finding the inspiration that seemed to hit her at the mere thought of more work to be quite interesting. She clearly lived for this, just as she had claimed she wanted to be legendary like her grandmother.

“You just might become that…” He said in thought, slightly to himself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, pardon me.” V smirked and she just raised an eyebrow before grabbing for another cigarette.

”Just ya wait, I can equip ya with something better for kicking demon ass. Or maybe ya want a nice frying pan, for when the lil’ chickee gets too much?” Nico snickered, her grin almost sympathetic. V smirked, maybe she could come up with something brilliant for him as well. But for now, it was much better if she concentrated those efforts on Nero.

”I appreciate the offer. But I believe I’m properly equipped, for now.” V knew his reality did not include running around with a sword on his back, swinging it around was not in his cards. A gun might be another thing but he felt no need to start wielding one now. He had to resort to other means, his familiars. Shadow materialized herself, as if on cue and put her large head against his leg, pushing softly.

Ah, he had not noticed how he was starting to lean just a bit more heavily on the cane, an ache returning to his knee, making the nerves tremble.

“If you excuse me, I have some reading to do.” He said, warmed by his familiar’s silent insistence. If he had an opportunity to rest, he should make use of it. Nico didn’t seem to notice his trembling, nor his familiar’s… caring behavior.

“Pff, sure. But the offer stands, ya hear? How about a cane that suits yer height?” Nico joked, walking past him as V sat down on the couch again.

“It’s not necessary.” A joke it might be, but V nevertheless felt a warm feeling in his chest over her insistence to try. Along with a slight… ache, wrapping around his heart and squeezing.

An ache that persisted when Nico suddenly dropped a blanket in his lap.

V looked up, letting just a bit of his confusion show on his face.

“What? Ya looked chilled, trembling like that.” Nico said with a shrug. “Ya gotta speak up sometime, I can’t read minds. Well, yet.”

How utterly terrifying it would be if you could. V thought.

“Thank you.” He said. “For the… insight of your genius, as well.” Nico grinned at him, obviously pleased.

“Ya might gonna have to pay for it next time!”

“Perhaps…” She made it sound so very… certain, it was tempting to get swept up in the enthusiasm. V’s smirk fell as she continued on to the dashboard, her back to him.

“Is that jackass gonna take forever?! I wanna see him put this to use! And give me the cash.” The last bit was barely audible as Nico grabbed for the phone to dial.

V smirked to himself. Yes, Nero would be able to put Nico’s latest, as well as future weapons to good use. The summoner gently scratched behind Shadow’s ear as the panther settled over his feet again. Slowly, he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and bare arms, his trembling might not be because of a chill, but Nico’s gesture still made him feel warm, more so than the soft fabric that smelled lightly of detergent. And with it, that ache inside just seemed to grow, to squeeze tighter but he tried to shove it aside. Nico’s energetic speech as she chewed out Nero on the phone made that feeling of tranquility settle over him again along with a will to just enjoy these moments, while they lasted. So V opened up his book again, to the same page he had left earlier, while she chatted away.

Just under the leather bands on his left wrist, a tiny crack in his skin peeked through.

#dmcweek2020 #dmcweek #weapon #devil may cry fanfiction #day 1 #devil may cry v #devil may cry nico #my writing #fluff #angst

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furyfought · 3 years

Text

abernathy is a small town, surely you’ve met AGATHA KLEIN ; they can be a little IRREVERENT & OPPORTUNISTIC but have no fear , the TWENTY SEVEN year old definitely makes up for it by being IMPISH & SENSITIVE . most of the time anyway . they’re usually seen around KLEIN & ASSOCIATES, LLC , as a CRIMINAL DEFENSE ATTORNEY . you know, i hear they’re affiliated with the local mc, iron kings as an ATTORNEY . they’ve got this vibe of A HEART GROWN RAVENOUS, A CYANIDE CENTER ENCAPSULATED BY SACCHARINE FRUIT, AND A SOUL IN THE FORM OF A SCRIBBLE WITH FANGS going on , makes them easily recognizable.

loosely inspired by jennifer check (jennifer's body), wendy byrde (ozark), ginger fitzgerald (ginger snaps), elizabeth sloane (miss sloane), john silver (black sails), & BBHMM.

+ pinterest, stats.

hey, friends. i’m devin (or dev) & very tickled to be here. agatha’s a combination of two of my favorite muses, and i can only hope that you’ll love her as much as i do. 🤎

"𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒. 𝐍𝐎. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓."

agatha’s story isn’t one that she likes to tell anymore. she feels it’s useless: to be defined by the actions of others, to attempt to battle the preconceived notions that run rampant regardless of what one says or does. she doesn’t want to beg for understanding anymore, or to claw her way from beneath the filth she’s made of her life. all that most know is all that she can bear to have known. the rest? it’s confetti; a meager concession in a game of chess. if you know her, is that a fact or a weapon to be used against her?

when it comes to the stories that can be told, however.. perhaps the most important is background. agatha’s an abernathy native: raised in grandiose park, flew the coop for college, only to settle back down in bordeaux apartments. klein & associates, llc. has been in her family for generations, each forefather serving increasingly questionable clients. agatha’s life, like that of many kleins before her, was already planned before she’d ever even been a thought in her parents’ minds. under her mother’s rule, there wasn’t any room for straying from that path. agatha would be smart; she would be clean; and she would be, without fail, someone. in other words, she would be her perfect replica. imagine the disappointment when agatha was anything but.

agatha’s childhood can be summed up by three things: a door slammed shut in her face, an ear-piercing howl, and the chronic longing to go home — wherever that was. it’s another thing she doesn’t talk about, another thing she tries not to think about. those three things have followed her into adulthood, but they’ve taken different forms now. no longer is agatha a child screaming her throat raw — no; now, she cries out in other more productive ways. if you were to ask her, she’d tell you that she’s a woman grown; the past is behind her, buried in the sand where it belongs. the truth is trickier, less absolute. agatha is a child in the form of a woman; forever in the midst of a metamorphosis, unsure if for better or worse. she lacks foresight & lives largely in the now. she can’t imagine a future for herself and her choices in life reflect that.

agatha succeeds because she’s pretty, powerful, and convincing. wherever she falls short, her father is sure to more than make up for it. it’s amazing what people will do for the right price, and when they want to keep certain secrets from ever seeing the light. nepotism & immense privilege have done wonders for her, but she does.. actually work hard, too. she has an incredible memory & is really good at digging for more information & making her case. if she tells you that she’s going to do something, then she’s going to do it right no matter what. she’s dogged in that way, blinded to the outside world by her stubbornness. she works long hours & values her career above all else. she thinks it’s the only sure thing she has & views it as the one stable, secure thing in her life.

agatha is lonely to the point of defect. she lacks a sense of security in her life, which is why she’s so career-focused. she genuinely thinks that the only person ever looking out for her is her dad. she becomes very predictable once you realize that she will always pick the winning team; that she will forever follow the money; and that she is always going to make the decision that most benefits her. that isn’t to say that she doesn’t have any friends omg, but.. she doesn’t really trust easily. if she trusts you and considers you near and dear to her heart, then she’ll choose you. but until she has that reassurance? you’re on your own, bro.

but like.. you literally would not know that unless you got burned by her. agatha is really good at listening and really good at playing parts for people. the thing with having no story is that she’s free to create her own. if you need a hero, she can be that. if you need a villain, she can definitely be that. she’s eerily good at getting chummy enough to make people think she’s close, only for them to realize.. they don’t actually know anything real about her? fun stuff.

i think.. her entire life is a vie for power while also wanting to let go of that desire while also being afraid of what might happen if she were to let go of that desire. she’s not tht bad. she can play decent, be a guy’s guy. and she does come off tht way. it’s jus.. underneath there’s tht like .. tht rot tht she can’t scrub away. n it rears its ugly little head smtimes. but. :^) she can be cool n shoot the shit u kno.. heheh.

anyway.. lighter stuff<3 puts the gaslight and gatekeep in girlboss. talks just like her daddy, except for when she’s in the courtroom. egocentric without ever meaning to be. (spoiler: it’s a smoke screen.) she can, must, and will find a way to twist your words into something she can make sense of. believes in mixed drink supremacy. will absolutely smoke all of your weed + play dumb about hogging the blunt. plays dumb a lot actually, until it’s time to be smart. she’s touchy-feely, but freezes up whenever someone touches her. stares — a lot. can’t ever be the person to pick you up after a rough night out, because she’s likely there with you egging you on to do one more shot. every event is a tits out event / she has to be the most overdressed person in the convenience store at all times. can, must, and will be your unsolicited sugar momma. YOU SPIL-DBFDHFDJHBF LIPSTICK IN MY VALENTINO WHITE BAG? energy. thinks everything is a competition because it is. if she loved you once then she loves you forever. thinks going 20 over the speed limit isn’t speeding, actually. a bit of an emotional anarchist. can’t actually take what she’ll dish out. teases u if she likes u. teases u if she doesn’t like u. doesn’t care abt the feud as long as she’s gettin’ tht shmoney. big fan of an emotional sucker punch.

"𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋." + below are some ideas open to any & all muses no matter the age, gender, affiliation, etc !

i’ve left how she got involved with the mc totally absent from this intro bc i was hoping to plot it out! i’d love it if someone wanted to be her “in”. could be they were a childhood friend in need of help, a client she got close to, jus smth tht happened by chance.. whtever we come up with works! <3

if anyone needs an evil ex gf .. She’s Here. she will lie, cheat, scam, trash yr car, empty yr bank account.. whtvr you need, baybee<3

conversely.. not-so-evil ex gf? agatha can be nice & caring without there being a catch sometimes. maybe they still talk. maybe they’re friends. u tell me.

fwb / ex fwb? she do be sending them ‘u up?’ texts.

someone tht agatha only got close to bc she wanted them to testify/be a character witness in court oopz<3

omg actual friends pls.. ppl tht Know her. tht See her. ppl tht she cares abt n would actually do anything for. friends!!!!!!!!!!!!

agatha has “get off my lawn” energy so i think it would be very funnie if someone needed a place to crash n she let them stay at hers thinking it was temporary n then they jus.. did not leave. n she’s like 🤨 hello?

an almost smth? anything weird n awkward n unspoken tht maybe fizzled out or maybe still lingers under the surface?

agatha doesn’t have a budding drinking problem but if she does no she doesn’t but if she does then<3 drinking buddy? someone that she’s gotten into questionable shenanigans with? poor bartender tht has to deal w her trying to “help” them as she waits for her uber to come? the possibilities are endless.

agatha’s all bark n very little bite but i still think it’d be funnie if she had a hateship. jus putting tht out there<3

if yr muse wnts an ego boost via unrequited crush.. lmk. i’m willing to hulk smash all of agatha’s dignity jus for u.

omggg a dealer? >.> who said tht omg #hacked..

on n off again thingz? lorde wrote tht "i am my mother's child i'll love you til my breathing stops / i'll love you till you call the cops on me" line abt her</3

budding friendships!!!!!!! ppl tht she goes to pilates or yoga with; people she gets brunch with; ppl she keeps running into n its like heeey u :); little platonic crushes jus . all of the cute platonic thingz tht make her go wtf is this 🤨.

i mean.. if anyone wants a sugar momma.. I MEANNN..

college friends!! law school friends!! ppl she met over the summer while interning somewhere!! i left tht purposely vague, hint-hint.

tinder dates gone wrong. ghosted tinder dates. tinder thingz.

agatha’s been attending galas / banquets / office partiez for ages now so if anyone wants to be her plus one or her lil fake date... :^) could be cute. cld be angsty. world is our oyster.

speaking of which.. coworkers n maybe even a lil personal assistant would be so sexie.

#abernathyintro #omg arriving unfashionably late thirty yrs later. >.>#[vine vc] heeey.. . ..#nt rereading this. simply not strong enough. if there r errors then no there aren't<3

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