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undeadcortez · 1 year

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LOVE IN A TIME OF JEALOUSY

kai anderson x fem! reader | 6.3k words

!! SMUT BELOW THE CUT !! do not read if you are not eighteen or older | oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking, unprotected p in v sex, anal fingering, mentions of anal sex, no aftercare, degrading (kai calls reader a whore, a slut and a bitch), pet names (kai also calls reader baby and baby girl), very hot and cold mixed signals, kai is a warning all on his own

not gonna lie, this one took a while to complete, and the ending is definitely not it’s strong point, but i wanted to leave it open ended in case there was anyone who ached for a part two where kai has feelings and loves on the reader. tumblr gave me a heap of issues trying to get this ready to post so if things don't make sense or if there was a warning i missed, let me know!!

Kai was pissed, to say the very least.

Sitting in his leather chair, elbows rested upon his thighs, hunched forward and legs spread open with a subtle bounce to the left, it was like they could almost see the smoke rising from his ears. The frown that pulled at his lips, the furrowed eyebrows, the tightness in his jaw — yeah, Kai was pissed. And they all knew the reason.

You were late. However, it wasn’t just that you were late. This was the third meeting that they’ve all waited in silence for thirty solid minutes, sitting on the floor in the uncomfortable anger that radiated off of their leader. It was almost suffocating, the awkward silence. Meadow swore she could choke on it, and Beverly seconded that theory.

“Maybe she’s just not coming, divine ruler,” all, but Kai’s eyes fell on Ivy as she broke the stillness, “I mean, she’s so hot and cold about this whole thing anyway, do we really want her here? Is it safe to have her here?”

Kai didn’t answer, and Meadow felt the need to speak up, “yeah, what if she’s out there, blabbing about everything, divine ruler? She’s nothing more, but a liability at this point, and I’m sure everyone here agrees.”

Then others murmured, and Harrison nodded his head. Kai’s gaze focused straight ahead, unwavering on a seam between wooden panels, but he took it all in. He knew you were a weakness to the cause, to everything he built. He thought about it nearly everyday — when he ate breakfast, when he was busy with the city council, when he watched you sleep peacefully beside him in his own bed.

Truth was, though, you never would. Kai had you wrapped around his little finger, and months of manipulation was to blame. If Kai said jump, you’d say ‘how high, divine ruler?’, and he knew it, too. Which is why whenever the thought of you spilling the cult’s secrets to someone crossed his mind, it wasn’t there for long. He knew you never would.

You were strong. The hardest it took to break down into submission, into a mere shell of your previous self. Kai enjoyed it, honestly — seeing you digress from complete independence to someone who lives, breathes, and adores him. And because it took so much to make you like that, because of all the time he poured into creating a woman devoted to him as a leader, he knew you wouldn’t crumble at the simplest of questions.

But, it was only that; him as a leader. You loved Kai, and he knew you did. He trusted you, loved you back in ways only he could. There’s no label here, though, and Kai couldn’t trust every man in the world to respect that you were untouchable, entirely his for the taking.

There were several opportunities to close the door, but Kai never would. Not until you were swollen with his kin, and even then, he debated the idea of getting a ring. What would his men think about him marrying? But, then again, who cared what they thought when he was their ruler? He ruled, made the rules, and if he married, so be it.

That’s not what he wanted, though. He simply just wished for your devotion, spiritually, physically, and emotionally. And though he’d broken you past the first, maybe even the last, that second wish would only be granted the moment he made it official. His girlfriend, or better yet, in your eyes, wife and possible mother of his messiah.

“Kai,” Winter broke him out of his thoughts, and touched his arm with her infamous gentleness, “they’re right. We should really consider cutting her off. Whether that’s kicking her out or killing her—.”

“Would you guys just shut the fuck up already?!” he snapped, standing up from his chair, and lost the staring contest between him and the wall. His eyes were nearly black as they peered down at his sister, and they only seemed to darken as he spoke, “you’re all dismissed. I don’t want to hear another fucking word from any of your goddamn mouths until morning.” He turned around to head upstairs, and slammed the door behind him.

Winter was the first to follow. She didn’t attempt an apology, but simply disappeared up to her room. Ivy was next, passing by Kai as she hurried out the door to her home, followed by Meadow, Harrison, and then Beverly who all, but ran to her car a few moments later. They left Kai alone, sitting on his sunken living room sofa, in the same position he started: waiting for you.

It would be another thirty-eight minutes before the headlights of your car peeked through the curtains, illuminating Kai’s face. The anger written on his face was gone now, and his expression laid flat— the only way one could tell were his eyes, and how they held nothing, but rage within them. Pitch black.

The jingle of your keys rang in his ears, and he grew angrier at the sound of each of your steps, nonchalant as they patter on each concrete stair. The lock turned and the door flew open before him, revealing you with a bright smile and smudged mascara. He remained sitting.

“Good evening, divine ruler,” you greeted as you tossed your keys into the bowl and shuffled off your coat. The casualness of the whole thing only made Kai’s anger worse. “What are you doing up here?” you questioned, and it was clear you had forgotten about the meeting entirely as a smirk pulled on your lips, “I was expecting you to be downstairs, tending to your—.” Kai’s speciality tonight was cutting people off.

“Where the fuck were you?” his tone matched his eyes, angry. The teasing smirk you adorned faded immediately.

“Kai, I—,” you rushed, but stammered to quickly correct yourself, “divine ruler, I told you last week I was going out to visit friends tonight.” You had. At dinner as Kai was stuffing his face full of the grilled chicken you had prepared. You should’ve known better then that the man doesn’t listen while he’s eating, just as much as you should’ve known better than to remind him of mentioning it before.

He stood from the sofa, greasy, blue waves framing his stern features. He towered over you, always did, and you hated it, especially like this. It made you feel incredibly small. His strong cologne, one that wreaked of tobacco, assaulted your nostrils, and a heat radiated off of him that you once found comfort in. A comfort that you knew you weren’t getting any of tonight.

“I’m sorry, Kai,” you whispered, doing all you could to avoid eye contact with the rageful, black globes that peered down at you, “please, don’t be mad.”

He was silent, and as he stepped forward, you found yourself stepping away. It was your natural instinct to flee, and you had hoped you may just be able to, until your ass was flush with the end table, and Kai’s hips were pinned against your own. There was no escape.

His hands rested upon the flat top of the table, completely enclosing you in his aura. It was thick with rage, almost suffocatingly so. Your chest was pressed against his own, rising and falling rapidly with every rushed breath. Breath that was intermingling with his, as his lips hovered above your own. This closeness wasn’t foreign in the slightest, but the goosebumps crawling up your arms it created in its wake were. And no matter how hard it was, you maintained eye contact.

“My people think I’m a fucking idiot because of you,” he spat, and his tone was harsh, but the volume was low, which was something you were entirely grateful for. “They look at me, waiting for you,” he paused and his grip on the table tightened, “for hours!”

You flinched. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Kai frustrated, nearly red in the face over the littlest of things, but it was something you could never get used to. Especially when you were on the receiving end. Maybe a few months ago, you would’ve bit back, stood up for yourself in some capacity… you were too far broken now.

“They think I’m some pussy-whipped bitch, YN!” he continued, “they think I’m risking this whole movement for some goddamn, sloppy pussy! Do you know how fucking dumb that makes me look, huh? Do you know how that makes me, their leader, look? When I’m waiting around for some whore to arrive home before I can spread my word?”

The fear you felt was boiling into rage, nearly matching Kai’s beneath your skin, but there was no fighting back. And if you were honest, Kai had said far worse things than this. So, you stood, breathing in his anger and bottling it up before murmuring, repeating for the third time, “I’m sorry, divine ruler.”

“Who were you with?” he asked, completely ignoring your apology once again. Suddenly, you knew it wasn’t just about you missing a gathering. Kai was jealous.

You were devoted to Kai. Even without the label, your fidelity was unwavering, despite whatever Kai believed. There was opportunity, and it was hard, but you’ve rejected each and every advance. And sure, you craved the exclusiveness, but maybe a part of you enjoyed Kai like this. It showed he had weakness. It showed he was human beneath that thick skin. Not to mention, the primal, possessive sex it resulted in was otherworldly. So, you kept Kai believing he didn’t have you entirely in his clutch, though he very much did.

“Just a few old friends,” you answered honestly, and it only pissed Kai off more. His left hand fell from the tabletop and rather held your waist. His thumb pushed up against the bone, pushing in, and you felt a whimper crawl up your throat. You promptly swallowed it down.

“Their names, YN,” he nearly growled, “what are their fuckin’ names?”

The look on his face made your cunt ache, the anger in his voice ran through your veins, and that rage you once felt in return was burning into lust. You didn’t know why it turned you on so much when Kai got so possessive. It was toxic, and you knew it as much as anyone else. It’s just the way he held you, his strong grasp on you and the closeness and the heat and his musk, it’s all overwhelming and it’s all so hot.

Debating on whether to tell the truth, or to speak at all, you finally opened your mouth, “why does it matter?”

A strong, irritated sigh left Kai’s nose, “you know why it matters.” You did, but you remained silent. “Answer the goddamn question!” he commanded after a moment of silence.

The grip on your hip was gone. He had dropped his hand back on the table, and rather pushed his hips against yours, sandwiching you further between him and the wooden surface. You squirmed. Kai was hard — you could feel the outline, the heat, of his angry cock pushed against your stomach. “Answer the fucking question, YN!” he yelled, and a thick wad of spit landed on your cheek.

“Ethan!” you answered, “I was with Ethan and Maggie.”

They were a couple you were friends with since middle school. It was always Ethan, Maggie, and you, even when the pair decided to hook up in high school and date in college. It had been years since you’d seen them, but it didn’t matter to Kai. No explanation could have mattered to Kai at that moment. You felt his cock kick beneath his layers. “You’re such a fucking whore,” he spat before pushing himself away, leaving you cold and trembling against the table.

There was no way Kai was done with you, and it would have been foolish to think so. As he paced along the length of the living room a couple of times, you remained, watching his every move like a hawk with blown pupils and glazed eyes. He brought a hand up, pushing back his hair from his face, and you could tell a million emotions had washed over it. Jealousy, anger, sadness… You opened your mouth to say something, but were cut off by his hands engulfing your cheeks, and his lips were smashed onto yours.

Gripping the table until your knuckles were white, you kissed back as well as you could muster. Kai’s lips were sloppy, moving against yours in a rageful lust, entirely passionate with emotions you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Instead, you simply basked in your own desires, your own lust which had clouded your mind the second his palms met your cheeks.

His tongue soon wiggled its way past your lips, immediately establishing dominance, and you let him. Smashed up against the table, smothered between it and his muscular body, you let his tongue roam around in every inch of your mouth, moaning. The heavy feeling of his erect cock was back on your tummy, the warmth of it all had returned, and though he was angry, it was everything you needed.

When he pulled away, you swallowed down a disapproving whine. A thick trail of spit connected your lips, dangling between the two of you until it ultimately broke when he opened his mouth to speak again, “did he kiss you like that?”

It took all of your strength not to yell, to not roll your eyes to the back of your head and groan. It was so frustrating, confusing. On one hand, you liked the jealousy. You loved the heat of it all, the tight grip on your body, the furrowed brows, the bruising kisses. On the other, you hated your fidelity being questioned. You slept, ate, and thought only of Kai. It wasn’t fair — after all you’d done for him. “I didn’t kiss him, divine ruler,” you murmured, “I promise, it’s not anything like that.”

Somehow, that’s not what he wanted to hear. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid, YN?” he started, “do you think I don’t know when you lie to me? I know you like the back of my hand, better than anyone ever will. You fucked him tonight. Maybe you fucked that dumb bitch, Maggie, too. You’re a whore, it’s what whores do. Now admit it, or suffer the consequences.”

“I’ve never lied to you, Kai,” you stated, and you felt the tremble of his cock beneath his jeans at your words, “and I’m not about to start tonight. I didn’t fuck Ethan, I didn’t fuck Maggie, and I’m not a whore. Give me whatever punishment you see fit, but let it be known that I am devoted, and that devotion to you, divine ruler, is unwavering. You’d be punishing the innocent.”

His lips were back on yours with no further words. Bracing yourself on his shoulders, fingers curling against the muscles there, you kissed back. Bruises were sure to appear in the wake of his hands as they gripped your hips. The kiss was nothing short of passionate, as his tongue slipped past your puffy lips and made itself at home again. You whimpered into it, giving up whatever strength you had left tonight, and completely submitted there.

His taste was overwhelming now. You couldn’t quite place your finger on just what flavors were dancing on your tongue — it was just Kai. And it was intoxicating all in itself. As tongues rubbed along each other, his harsh while yours simply just ached to be against his, he groaned. His nose was smashed against your cheek, lips moving with fever that you just couldn’t keep up with. He pulled away again.

“I’m sorry, divine ruler,” you whispered, meeting his eyes, your own still glazed over, “please, forgive me. I promise, this won’t happen again. I’ll never be late again. I’ll never leave your side.”

His cock twitched, you felt it again against your tummy. He didn’t say anything in return, but he didn’t need to. You knew he wasn’t satisfied with just an apology, he never would be. His hands began to guide your hips, away from the table, and headed towards the stairs. You obliged.

Your steps were wobbly, stumbling as a strong hand left your right hip to open the door to lead the both of you downstairs. Another whimper crawled up your throat as his second hand fell to his side, waiting for you to make the trip to his bedroom first. You loved his hands, his powerful grasp. It made you dizzy, and made your cunt ache. Whenever it disappeared — didn’t matter if you had it for a while or just a few split seconds — it left you feeling like a newborn deer.

You could feel his gaze on your back as you gripped the handrail and made your way to the all too familiar den at the bottom of the stairs. His steps were heavy behind yours, and it was something about just hearing the solid step of his boots growing closer and closer… Once he reached the bottom, his hands were back on your hips, this time from behind. His hips were pressed firmly against your ass, and you could feel the thick outline of his cock again, pushing between your clothed cheeks as he walked with you to the bedroom. You didn’t know if it was for the better or for the worse that he still hadn’t said a word.

Once you were at the foot of the bed, his hand left your hip. Rather, it settled just below your shoulder blades and pushed, causing you to crash face first on the spring-filled mattress. Your lips trembled as a whine went tumbling through them, turning your head in hopes to see Kai. It didn’t work. With his other hand still grasping your hip, and his pelvis pushed snug against your bum, he was out of sight — at least his face was. His other hand had slid from your upper back to your lower, forcing you into an arch, and he moaned. That’s when he finally spoke back up.

“Prove it then.”

Your brows furrowed, “wh— what?”

A heavy sigh passed through his nostrils, and you swear you felt the warmth of it wafting against your back. “I said,” he paused, leaning forward and further pushing his dick between your clothed ass cheeks, “prove it, bitch. Prove that you’re sorry and devoted to me.”

You failed at your attempts to swallow down your moans. Letting another slip past your lips, you asked, “yes, divine ruler. How can I prove it to you?”

“You can’t be that devoted to me if you have to ask how,” he bit back through clenched teeth, and suddenly, his warmth was gone. His strong grasp was still present on your hips, and his cock was still situated between your bum cheeks, but he stood up straight. You whimpered and clenched around the painful emptiness, shivering as your pussy began to weep into your panties.

“Lay down,” he commanded, and then his whole presence was gone. Taking a step back, he was no longer holding you, rather observing as you did as you were told. And when he found a problem with it, he clicked his tongue, “nuh uh, with your head at the foot of the bed.”

You obeyed, and had nothing to say in response. With your neck bent over the curvature of the mattress, you watched with an upside down lense as Kai looped his fingers under his shirt and pulled it off. Your fingers clutched the cotton sheets beneath you, pushing your thighs together in an attempt to stop the ache between them. It was no use.

Kai was beautiful. Even as those hurtful spats left his mouth, even as he made you feel so small he could crush you, he was still beautiful. Ethereal — with abs that could cut diamonds, and blue hair that fell in waves and perfectly framed his face. That’s why he was so dangerous, you’ve figured. Draws in the innocent with his Godly features, just to turn against them the moment they see beyond his looks. You watched his hand graze over his tummy.

Calloused fingers ran over the brown, thick hair that kissed his lower belly until they were met with the hem of his jeans. With a watering mouth, you watched as he popped the button and unzipped, allowing his jeans to fall to the floor. The blue, plaid boxers he adorned left little to the imagination. A little wet spot of precum staining the front, and the perfect outline of his hungry cock. They soon met the floor as well.

He stood before you, naked, which wasn’t a sight you were unfamiliar with. Wrapping a hand around the length of his dick, and tilting his head back as he gave it a few warning pumps, you couldn’t do much, but carry on watching. So, you did just that, watching as he inched closer to your mouth, and finally felt the warm tip of his cock hit your lips. It smeared precum across your mouth like lip gloss as Kai spoke, “open.”

Once you parted your lips, your mouth was invaded by his girth. A harmony of your whimpers and his moans flooded the room as he sunk his cock further and further into the abyss of your mouth, right until his tip was kissing the back of your throat. You gagged around it, which was met with a stinging slap to your cheek. “If you’re gonna act like a whore,” he started, voice raspy and lustful, though still harsh, “then you’re gonna be treated like one. No gagging; this isn’t your first time here.” You whined as he slid in further.

The hand that just slapped your cheek moved to your throat, gripping it as he bottomed out in your mouth. His thick bush of brunette pubes tickled your chin whilst his balls sat heavily on your nose. You didn’t have any choice, but to take a deep breath, and groan at the smell of his musk invading your every sensation. You closed your eyes — there was really no point in keeping them open when your vision was blocked by his length anyway — and braced yourself for the raw experience you were about to endure. Kai was right, though; this wasn’t your wasn’t your first time here.

Blowjobs were more popular than sex in your relationship with Kai, especially when he felt you didn’t deserve to get off. Your throat was trained to adorn Kai, so while you’ve never had him like this before, it was better than a virgin throat. He began to move.

A long, stretched moan left his parted lips as his hips pulled back. You took in another breath just as the thick of his dick slid out of the tight confines of your throat. You pushed your tongue against the tip of it, collecting the precum and swallowing it down. Your throat was already on fire. “Atta girl,” he praised, which may seem surprising, but wasn’t rare once you were in the thick of it with Kai. Add it to the many reasons why you love a good, jealous fuck from Kai.

You groaned as he slammed back in, and it stung, but you loved it. Hearing the filthy, guttural noises Kai was making, mixed with the feeling of his strong grip on your throat… you pushed your legs tighter together. You were sure there was a wet spot where your thighs met, staining your pants in humiliating fashion, but you couldn’t care. Right now, you were just for Kai’s use, and you knew it. You kept your hands to your sides, gripping the cotton sheets, and got Kai off.

His thrusts were sloppy. No pace seemed to stay for more than a few mere seconds before he was speeding up, fucking into your throat. His free hand ran down his neck, over his collarbones and down his chest while his head remained tilted back. He was heavenly, if only you could see it. Instead, when you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of his flushed, shiny dick sliding out of your throat, and you watched as he pushed it back with vigor. You whimpered around his length.

A few more thrusts in and his hand released your throat. You relaxed a bit, relishing in the feeling of his hand traveling to the scooped neckline of your top. Rough fingers slipped beneath the soft material and fished your tits out from the confines. He watched them bounce as his thrusts carried on, and you closed your eyes as calloused fingers had begun to brush over your nipples. They hardened beneath his touch in seconds.

“Good girl,” he praised, and his balls tightened, both indications of his oncoming climax, “taking your leader’s cock down your throat like it’s butter… with the prettiest set of tits I’ve ever fuckin’ seen. They’re all for me, right?” You hummed in agreement. “That’s what I thought,” he responded before pinching your left nipple roughly. You arched your back, moaning at the sensation coursing through your body, so overwhelmed by the simplest touch, you didn’t wrap your head around Kai cumming down your throat until after he was pulling out.

Your throat ached at its newly found emptiness. Cum connected Kai’s tip to the back of it as your mouth hung open for a few moments, attempting to catch your breath, but you merely choked on the thick juices as they threatened to climb up your throat. You hurriedly swallowed it down, whimpering as you opened your mouth to catch some air once more, but were met with Kai’s lips instead.

The position was awkward — Kai craning above you, a hand under your head to aid you in closing the space. Your neck ached, but it wasn’t something you were about to complain about. Kai’s tongue was slipping past your lips, tangling with yours, and that’s simply all you could think about. Well, that and the ever growing desire between your legs.

Your hands have Kai melting between them as they reach up and cup his cheeks. His body language, once stiff and angry, softened beneath your fingertips. The only harshness was his stubble, ticking at your palms, but it was nothing compared to the rage that was, just moments ago, filling the room with its hot and stuffy feel. You could bask in that moment for eternity. To bathe in that gooey scene, where Kai’s only concern was to love you, and yours to love him. It’s moments like these where you remember why you do exactly. Love him, that is. And you do love him, just as much as he loves you. All too soon, though, Kai is pulling back, the moment is ending, and the air feels thick again.

“On your hands and knees,” he commanded, a hand wrapping around his dick once again, “now.”

Once in position, Kai pulled down your pants and frilly panties until they hit your knees. Then, he didn’t wait another second to harshly spit on your asshole. You shuddered, moaning as it soaked your rim and dripped down between your drenched folds until it landed square on the sheets below. A firm hand gripped your bum cheek, pulled it to the side and left you further exposed to the man behind you. His other hand remained stroking his, once again, hardening cock. You clenched around nothing, whimpering at the overwhelming emptiness.

“Hmm,” he hummed, and you swear you could feel his gaze burn against your cunt as he pondered, “which hole do I fuck first?”

Your ass was let go, but only for a moment before a harsh slap landed across it. A groan slipped past your lips, and the blood was surely rushing to the surface in the form of Kai’s large hand, ready to bruise into the shape. “I asked you a question, bitch,” suddenly, you missed the loving Kai you had a moment ago, “which hole do I fuck first?”

It didn’t matter what you said here. Kai would choose whichever hole he desired more despite what you say. You didn’t mind that, though — you were just aching to get fucked wherever. An answer was all he was looking for, whether he thought it was right or wrong. “My pussy!” you cried out, “please, divine ruler, I want you to fuck my pussy first.”

Somehow, that was the right answer. “Good girl,” he repeated and without another moment to waste, his swollen tip was passing through your folds. He groaned, hand returning to the globe of your ass to spread you open. The sound was unholy — you were so wet, enough to continue to drip onto the sheets, and as Kai lined up with your cunt, it squelched. “Holy shit,” he uttered breathily, “you’re so fuckin’ wet, baby girl. You really do love being treated like a whore, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” you hummed as the fat head of Kai’s dick pushed into you. A soft gasp pushed through your parted lips, followed by a moan slipping right past them. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, gripping them as Kai bottomed out. You could feel the heat from his balls on your clit and whimpered at the prickly sensation.

He stayed like this for a moment, simply relishing in your warm, plushy walls, and you swore you could feel the tip of his dick in your stomach. His hand was now on your hip, and the grip was sure to leave bruises in the shape of Kai’s fingertips. His other hand remained on your ass, practically kneading the fat of it between his fingers as he admired what was all his for the taking. You whined as he pulled back.

His thumb grazed against your spit-soaked rim just as the swollen, pulsating head of his cock rested at your entrance. If the grip wasn’t so tight on your hip, you would’ve thrown your hips back, pushing him back into the depths of your cunt. Instead, you waited in near agony, relishing in the little friction you were getting on your asshole. It wasn’t enough, though, far from it.

When Kai slammed back into you, you saw stars. Moans filled his room, both yours and his creating a beautiful harmony in the sex-filled air. Immediately, Kai found a rhythm he was satisfied with, nothing short of rough. “You like that, baby?” he asked through his teeth, and you could hear the smile on his lips.

“Yes… divine… ruler!” you answered immediately, each word strained between his thrusts and followed by a smacking sound from his hips slamming against your own. His heavy balls hit your clit, over and over without fail. The sensitivity had you whining, and it didn’t help when Kai began to push against your rim. When his thumb finally breached, you nearly screamed at the stretch.

It sank in and stopped at the first knuckle. You threw your head back, chin resting upon the pillow beneath you. Struggled moans and whimpers left your lips like a never ending fountain. They were loud, but Kai, like in any other aspect of your relationship, overpowered them. Deep growls, grunts, and groans rumbled from his chest as he sped up. He finally pushed his thumb in its entirety into your pretty asshole.

His hand left your hip, and you could already feel the ache that took over in his place. He leaned forward, and rather groaned a handful of your hair. He growled as he pulled on it, yanking you up from pillows, the only comfort you found that evening. He didn’t let go once your back was firm against his chest. He held on tight as the back of your head hit his shoulder, receiving bruising kisses along your own. All the while, his thrusts were growing faster. His trusts were growing sloppy.

With a dropped jaw and wide eyes, you whimpered as Kai had his second orgasm of the evening. Pumping you full in a matter of minutes, leaving you with nothing, but only the subtle building of a coil in your tummy. He let go of your hair, and suddenly, your face crashed into the pillows once again. His cock left your achy cunt, and his thumb slipped out of the warm, plushy walls of your asshole. You could feel his cum dripping down your thighs as he spoke up, “flip around, baby girl.”

Once flat on your back, he tugged your pants and underwear completely off. You worked to take your shirt and bra off until you were both completely bare. His eyes devoured your body, pupils blown so wide you would have thought this is the first time he’s ever seen you naked. His cock was already hardening again, but you could tell his Godly stamina was running a bit thin. The tip was nearly purple, and the head had just a subtle bead of white decorating the top.

“You belong to me,” he stated, and no matter how much you wished for those words to be a lie, no matter how much you craved independence, freedom… you knew they were true, “say it, slut.”

The contrast between his caring ‘baby girl’ to the harshness of his ‘slut’ had your head spinning with whiplash. “I belong to you, divine ruler,” your voice was raw, fucked out, and even though your pussy was begging for release, you would’ve been content stopping there.

You were exhausted. As Kai inched closer, hovered above you, you could tell he was, too. Sweat decorated his forehead, causing the blue strands framing his face to curl just the slightest. His breath was hot as it hit your face, “tell me all of your holes belong to me.”

The wet, heavy tip of his dick rubbed against the rim of your asshole. You shuddered. “All of my holes belong to you, Kai,” you repeated, and every muscle in your body tensed as he prodded at the hole with the head of his cock.

“Don’t you fuckin’ forget it,” he murmured, and suddenly, his cock was disappearing from your bum. Rather, he quickly re-entered your cunt, leaving the hole sticky with precum. You couldn’t complain one bit, though, because his cock was buried deep against your cervix, and his thick bush of pubes was hitting your clit just right. You knew you wouldn’t last more than just a mere few thrusts. And he wouldn’t either.

Your hip fit snug in his hand, and his thumb pulled at the hood of your clit as he began to pound into your puffy cunt. You whimpered, now further exposed to his bushy pelvis as it hit your clit with each and every thrust. His other hand grasped your own, tangling your fingers together and pushing it down against the pillow beside your face. You squeezed, hard.

Your free hand was finding refuge on his shoulder, nails digging into the skin. He growled. There wasn’t a moment devoid of eye contact. His were nearly black while yours sparkled beneath him. Both held immeasurable lust, and maybe even a little love. His tip hit that plushy spot inside of you.

“Oh!” you moaned out, finally closing your eyes in hope to just relish in the pleasure.

Kai sped up his motions, attacking your g-spot over and over. “Look at me,” he commanded immediately, and your eyes fluttered open while your cunt wept around his cock.

It was all so hot. His breath as it wafted in your face, your own intermingling with it and steaming up the room. The coil in your lower tummy was burning, tightening and tightening with each thrust of his hips, each hit to your clit, each clench of your pussy. Sweat dewed on your skin, and the beads pearling on Kai’s forehead began to run down his temples.

He groaned, and you could feel his balls tighten just slightly. “Repeat it, baby girl,” he asked, an almost whine to his voice, though it was still gruff and raw.

The coil was close to snapping. Your clit was tensing up, your cunt was tightening — all you needed was a few more thrusts. “‘m yours, divine ruler!” you cried out as Kai rubbed the hood of your clit a few times. It was over; the coil snapped.

Your orgasm hit like one big wave. Your pussy fluttered around his dick, thighs trembled against the mattress. You moaned, too blinded by the climax to realize Kai was finishing off, too, pumping you full of his cum for the third time that night. You hadn’t even realized you closed your eyes once more.

When you opened them, you were met by the two hands, still interlocked with white knuckles and sweaty palms. You hummed, trembling still from the intense climax, as you moved to look at Kai, whose head was dipped between the both of you, blue waves dangling in front of your eyes. And suddenly, a droplet fell onto your tummy.

It was water, a tear to be exact, wept straight from the eye of the man on top of you. Before you could speak, or even move your hand to wipe anymore that threatened to spill over, Kai was pulling out. And it was only a moment where you caught a glimpse of those glazed eyes before he disappeared from the bedroom. He left you in a flash, the cum spilling over your folds still dewey and warm. You shivered.

Kai’s jealousy was a tricky little thing, but you had never ended an envious fuck like this. He loved you, he wanted you despite all the shit he’s put in motion to keep it from happening. You knew you had to talk to him about what just happened, but perhaps that was a chat to bring up in the morning. Instead, you pulled the covers over your shivering body, breathed in Kai’s scent that riddled the blankets, and thought about the one thing you knew for sure now:

He loved you.

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#evan peters #evan peters x reader #evan peters smut #kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson smut #smut #ahs smut #ahs #ahs cult #ahs fanfiction #ahs fanfic #american horror story #american horror story smut

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undercoverpena · 6 months

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vii. take care of me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter seven of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut - p in v. reader has a bad day, soft romantic fucking.

word count: 4.7k

an: the biggest thanks to @thetriumphantpanda who read this before bake off and left me a bunch of comments that made me so excited, you almost had this chapter yesterday.

You had seemed downtrodden before he rocked up and ‘broke a rule’.

His pretence at forgetting all quickly seen through, as though he’s transparent. He had wanted to explain that he had only wanted to cheer you up, but you looked less in the mood for an apology than you did an explanation.

So he swallowed both.

From the middle of the week, he had suspected something was wrong. When he had finally managed to call you, you had sounded so close to tears, that he wondered whether he should drive back sooner.

Especially when you had barely laughed at a joke he made on one of his commutes back to the hotel—barely even answering when he asked it if was his movie choice or yours.

I don’t mind. You always mind. If I remember right, you have a real thing about me always pickin’ the movie, querida. Well, I don’t today, okay? You can pick—I—Frankie, I have to go.

When the end call tone flooded the bed of his truck, he’d strongly suspected that you’d fought your way off the phone with him so you could crumble. Cracking yourself open into a bunch of shards, all pressure-cooked by the weight of everything you take on, only to say you’re fine.

It’s why he had driven past your place the day before he had made plans to see you. Fighting with himself about getting out and going up to your door. Weighing up the options as to whether checking on you tonight or waiting for tomorrow would be best.

Then there was the fact he wasn’t sure if it was as your best friend or as someone who hopes for something more.

The lines blurred, practically erased. A speech is likely needed, but he’s as poor with words as he is with owning how he feels, so it’s easier to stuff them down—to drive away, wait.

It’s why he grabbed it to begin with. Why he’d been grabbing them since you put the darn rule in place anyway. A habit, a part of his routine seeing you—a thing he did to show you that you mattered, were important, cared for.

Which is why he’d wrestled with him again on whether to leave it in the car when he walked up to your front door or not.

“You broke a rule.”

You look glum, defeated. Whatever your working week had done to you, it had stolen more from you than you’d been able to—never mind willing to give.

And it fractured a part of him. Made his shoulders sink, his heart sinks—because nothing hurt him more than the look on your face. The one which should be full of smiles and twinkling eyes.

Kissing your cheek, he closes your front door behind him. “I think you’ll forgive me.”

You just snort. Momentarily smothering the sadness that had been there before he’d showed you the bottle—whatever had upset you buried, all of it being quickly hidden as you placed the wine down and picked up your water bottle.

It forces more confusion to swirl inside of him, more so as you begin to go back and forth with him on food, on what he wants to watch, and whether he wants to share a blanket or have his own.

He replies in his usual tone, even if his attention is split into equal parts—one part focused on the little things you do, the mannerisms you’re not aware to pretend. The other on the IKEA furniture he built, the memories pricking him, needling, making the zipper of his jeans suddenly feel uncomfortable over his cock.

“Work been okay?”

Your mouth falls open, all set to answer, but then something shifts in your eyes. A shadow—possibly—it dancing across the plain, suddenly all but desperate to thump its way out.

Then the words never come. Swallowing instead, discarding whatever you'd been about to say—pushing it back before any lingering parts of it are blinked away as you offer a nod.

“Yeah. Yours?” you answer, but your tone isn’t right.

It’s flat, without its usual infliction. There isn't any edge to your words, nor a tease or taunt, not even a Morales in sight. And, the smile you paint doesn’t quite reach the eyes.

It’s practically humming now, the fact something is wrong. It simmers, hanging around, whistling through the air.

Yet, you don’t break, don’t confess it all to him like you had once done with such ease. Instead, you just smear another smile on your face, nudging him, phone in hand as you mumble about food options and what he wants as you lead him to the sofa.

He knows on the surface, it looks the same—how the night is playing out. But it’s different. In all the ways he doesn’t want to put his finger on, and doesn’t want to acknowledge. Not as you order food, not as you chew the inside of your cheek as you wait for the order to be accepted.

Even less so when you mumble about the film, reaching for your remotes.

It's then he decides what he wants to do is take the remote from your hand as soon as you pick it up. Frankie wants to hold your fingers in his, even place a kiss on your wrist. He wants to place two fingers under your chin, and ask you again to tell him what has happened—wanting to be let him in, be shared with.

He wants you close, and not like friends do. A need to have your head to his chest, his fingers sliding gentle strokes against your cheek and neck, offering comfort, providing it in plenty.

His own head turns the options over, planning it out, trying to guess what the various outcomes are. Which, by the time he reacts, instead of managing to grasp your hand, he knocks the remote from your hand with a clatter.

Ears burning, he feels your glare before he truly appreciates it. It ripples out over him before it’s blinked away—a momentary flood of fire licking at his skin.

In the oddest way, it’s at least reminiscent of the person he knows. The sharpness in your eyes is more a friend to him right now than the gnawing going on in his chest. Especially, while the rest of you is lost to whatever you’re trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

“What?”

It’s simple, one word.

Almost feels normal. It's all sharp and layered, just like it usually is. Followed by your body sinking into the array of cushions you decorate your sofa with as you pull up his pick, rolling your head to him—nail-picking at the battery cover on your remote.

And he wants to ask again—just like he always would have done.

Instead, Frankie places his hand on your knee, thumb and index swirling over the cloth-covered bone as you look at the television briefly, before flicking back to him.

In the silence, it’s louder—the whistling. It's suddenly accompanied by the noticeable noise of your brain whirring, your cogs turning.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, but secretly he's pleading, begging.

He watches as your teeth pick at your lip, snuggling yourself further into the couch—knee abutting his leg as you sigh. “It's... nothing. Can we... can we just watch the movie?”

“Hey, of course we can. Is…”

He can't ask.

Fearful of asking. A lump forms in his throat, sticking, thickening second by second as he flicks his eyes over you.

Before you can blink it away, he spots it again. The shift in your eyes.

This time instead of a shadow, they fill with water. They vanish any part of your truth that wished to escape in its drowning. Before he can poke and push, you blink it away as quickly as it had first arrived.

And it needles him, pricks at his skin and stabs into his chest, twisting and twisting and twisting—

“I just… wanted my best friend,” you mumble.

“That it?”

You seem to fight it, whatever it is inside of you, before you curl against his arm again, tugging your blanket up closer. “I really missed you this week, that's all.”

It’s been on his to-watch list for ages, and yet he’s one hour into it and he has no clue what is happening.

The pizza box is still half-open on the coffee table, your plate still remaining with picked-at food that you never really made any dent in, and he blames that as to why he doesn’t even know who the good guy is and who is bad.

Because all of the parts of his brain that usually begin working on undoing and arranging what he thinks will and is happening, are working in overdrive on you.

It's also stopping his heart from hammering even louder down your ear. Because, even if the two of you have cuddled before—lots of times—it's not been post the whole sleeping together thing.

And, it feels nice having you against him, normal, right.

He likes the way your fingers occasionally clutch him a little closer, head turned in the direction of the television and the movie he should be watching.

Instead, he's piecing together the puzzle you've thrown on the floor. The one without the box lid, so no image to compare it to. Trying to assess where you missing him, lines up with the way your bottom lip almost wobbled as you confessed it, as though it was a sin and not a virtue.

Frankie tries to line it up with the fact he knows whenever he's found a moment to himself, he’s texted you. The sea of other unread messages piling up, collecting.

It adds to the knowledge that all of the normal conversation he has with you, quickly derails, slipping into something foreign yet wonderful. Casual phone calls, divert into him with his hand around his cock, listening to you breathlessly say his name and that you wish he was there.

And that somewhere between collecting the sweet noises you make and those innocent-but-not-innocent moments, are the soft moments he has where you’re resting—where Frankie has realised, decided and accepted, that there is nowhere else he likes being.

Not a single place.

Because he wants this.

Frankie wants the calmer person he is when he's around you, the thoughts which are less intrusive. He likes that the rain barely bothers him when he has you in his arms, that he doesn’t even overthink, if anything he just plans. Considering things, turning them over, thinking of a future that begins to sketch itself out and colour itself in.

Something which has been doing so since the time in the car.

Your words rolling and rolling, stitching themselves to other phrases you’ve let slip, until he’s sewing things together to create a gallery, a museum of moments he loves admiring and replaying when the world goes silent.

That's when he notices the movie, the shit-show of a plan formed involving a helicopter, and the words roll from him without stopping.

"That would never fuckin' happen. Not—can you imagine, if I said to you—" and he rambles. Feels himself doing so. So comfortable and at ease more and more things just flow and fall from his lips.

Even when the scene changes in the movie, more bright light than the softer one from before, forcing him to blink—he is still detailing how inaccurate it is. Only slowing to nothing when he realises you’re looking up at him. Hanging on to every word as though he's a poet reading something beautiful.

He feels the way they tracing him then, lightly glazing over all his features as he slowly holds your stare.

Because it’s the kind of gaze he sees in the movies you make him watch. The lingering ones—a blend of both fiery and craving. It all peppered with yearning, and swirling in so much he suspects you don’t want to say.

“You’re going to miss the movie.”

Blinking, you smile. Feeling you flick your eyes from him to his mouth. “Am I?”

Your smile slides further into your cheek, and he can’t help but brush his thumb over it. A dire need to touch you, brush your soft skin and remind himself how you feel.

He doesn’t expect it, but he likes that you curl into his hand. It allows him to trace his fingers along your jaw, down the side of your neck. Half-expecting you to tell him to stop, that tonight isn’t about that.

You don’t.

Instead, your hand cups his against your cheek, staring at him, lit up by the flickering scenes neither of you are paying attention to.

Faintly, blooming out in the shimmer of your eyes, he thinks he sees it again—what he thinks is adoration. It mixing, blending, swirling with care, love…

“Thought you wanted your best friend?”

“I do,” you say, low, just above a whisper, “So, take care of me.”

A second passes as your words drip into the air.

So take care of me.

His eyes flick over you. Likely needing you to say it again, give permission, tell him you want this.

You do. Fuck you do.

Your heart hammering against your chest like a drum because of it. All unable to speak, fearful, fucking petrified, with how much you want him.

Because all you do is want him, and if you speak, you worry you won’t stop telling him that.

Let it fall, leak. Slip out and stain like oil on a sheet.

Because you know it's only normal to miss him this much for one reason, and one reason alone. It's the same reason why you want him, crave him, and feel so desperate for him that you can’t think or breathe. It is all-encompassing, looming, forever there in between the days you don't see him and the waiting on replies to texts.

It’s so close to your tongue, held back only by your teeth.

It could come out, could escape. So you keep your mouth clamped shut. It is better, easier, and less bothersome than telling him you’ve been counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until you could have your hands on him. Not for this, not because he makes you feel good and beautiful and wanted, but because you feel better. Happier. More you. You feel safe, like no bad work day could ever touch you.

“Querida…”

“I want y—”

The rest of your words are swallowed, stolen. Frankie seals his mouth over yours, barely needing a sentence, just enough.

And it’s searing, full of ache as his hands pull you close, your body singing, itching to come alive—has been since the scent of just him hit your nose.

The worst of days doesn’t matter when he’s around you, less so when his lips marry to yours, when he licks into your mouth, when he breathes you in, and you breathe him.

No one else has ever made you feel like he does.

Not the way your feet almost kick out when his message arrives, a smile gracing your mouth without control when he calls you.

Because he’s different, but then he always has been.

There's always been something, it thriving and growing, embedding vines you pretend are just because you're good friends. But you know, you do. It's hard not to.

Frankie saves you, oblivious to the silent plea for rescue—he just knows. He gets you. Understands every inch of you now, you're unsure how anyone else can ever read you as well. He's someone you could confidently rely on, knowing he’d never leave you alone, not even in the dark—forever a light, a way home.

You think you’re that for him too. Hope so anyway.

He moans your name. Kissing you like he never wishes to stop. He acts like he wants to drown in you, be overflowed by you, and fuck you want the same.

Mine. That’s what you want to say.

Instead, you bury it in a low moan when his mouth captures yours, tongue sliding past your teeth as his hands come to rest on your cheeks. Each touch softer, gentler—from the way he moves his fingers over your cheek, to the way he slides them over your jaw, landing on your neck.

Then, his mouth comes to your ear, breath dancing, all flooded with the flickering television—let’s go to your bed.

He doesn’t rip, he peels your layers off, leaving a trail leading right to your room. He smothers your body with his, his palm remaining flat to your spine, leading, hooking his fingers around the back of your neck as he steers you.

Careful, hermosa.

The consideration dripping from his lips like syrup, all adorned in affection, a taste you have to capture, spinning in his hold, hooking your arms around his neck as you pull him flush, close.

“Tell me you want me,” he hisses.

There's an edge that isn’t usually there but it’s pounding now, all sparkling and fucking shimmering.

You’re more sure of it when he lies you back on your sheets, his mouth exploring, taking his time, taking you to the edge with his mouth as you plead and plead—one hand sliding up over the softness of your stomach, as your back arches into him.

And you shudder, so close to your high—hips held down by his arm. “I want you, Frankie. Always want you. Want you inside of me.”

He pauses—cool air blowing over you as he flicks his eyes up from between your thighs, his skin flushes, a light beading of sweat at his hairline as he comes up onto his palms.

Watching him crawl up you, eyes enamoured, unable to look anywhere else even if they were commanded to. Because he’s more than a sight for sore eyes, he is the sight. He’s the best-looking thing you’ve ever fucking seen, clutching his face in your hands, feeling him drag the head of his cock through your slick walls, staring at you in waiting, like he couldn’t believe this is happening.

“Again,” he asks.

Taking your hand in his, he slots his fingers between yours, fitting, ever so perfectly, before he places your conjoined hands above your head. Eyes tracing up and down your frame, more so as you arch into him, hearing the breathed-out expletive as you wait for his stare to land.

“I want you.”

And, thankfully, Frankie doesn’t let you linger on it. Doesn’t allow you to hyper-focus on it, slowly sliding in, pushing in by inch until you’re full of just him—no more of him left that you can greedily take.

“Always take me so well, baby—“

“Frankie.”

You’re breathless. The air punched from your lungs—his hand remaining knotted in yours, grounding, your nails digging into his skin as his other hand finds a place on the back of your thigh, eyes dropping, all fixated on where the two of you are joined.

“Y'so good for me. Always so good for me,” he adds when his hips are flush with yours. “Take my cock so well.”

Letting his gaze return to you, you’re suddenly so grateful for the bedside lamp you’d left on hours ago because now you get to see him. Admire him, so much so, it makes your throat dry.

Able to watch his muscles contort when he moves, lips parting as he slowly cants his hips into yours, all deep strokes.

And, you know it’s still fucking, but it’s also not.

It’s a unique blend of need that feels right, and also wrong—lips messily finding yours, burying confessions as you eagerly swallow them.

Hoping your throat, lungs or stomach could begin to decipher them as you feel his hand slide down your wrist, and arm until it's cupping your face. His lips slide over your cheek, resting close to your ear, whispering compliments. Because he has to tell you that you’re gorgeous, he says; that you're always so stunning.

Each word that lands has more than an effect on you, as he stutters when you clench around him.

Mouth wrapped around an exclamation of his name as he slides out and sinks back into you.

Frankie has always felt big, but from this angle, like this—he’s somehow deeper, filling you more. He's in your soul. It all filthy and romantic and obscene, but it feels so good, makes heat bloom through your hips and up into your spine, it twisting, eroding the bad day, the bad week.

In a sense, he’s the perfect antidote. A person you trust, care for, lo—

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

Frankie’s hand slides back to grip yours, pressing it down—lightly against the pillow above you, before placing the other beside it. And he’s enveloped in part shadows and the light from the table, blessed in golden hues, giving just enough to see how wild his eyes are and how deep the brown in them goes, how blown his pupils are.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?”

You feel your cheeks warm, your ears—every bit of skin on show suddenly inflamed because of his words. His mouth lapping at your breasts, all arched into him, hips steadily meeting his.

“Always are, really.”

“Well. You’re handsome, Morales.”

It’s intentional, adding his surname. Taking the softness out of it, removing what you can, and adding barriers and throwing up walls.

He still sucks in a breath, eyes lingering on yours, fingers dropping to brush a line up and down your cheek as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you. You moan as the head of him keeps kissing that part deep inside you.

It’s different.

You know it; he likely does too. Thankful he slants his mouth over yours. Slowly rocking with you, thrusting into you as you murmur his name, it falling enriched in moans.

From the way you both kiss, to the way you keep an arm around his neck, desperate to keep as much of him against yours.

“You feel so good, Frankie.” Your fingers scratch at the base of his neck. “Always make me feel so full.”

Stuffed really. Packed in. Clenching around him, all tightening, purposefully wrapping your walls around him until he groans right into your ear. Each drag of his cock in and out feeling exquisite, perfect, amazing.

It’s never been like this with others, never been like this even with him. His fucked out face, the grunts and groans coming from deep within make your thighs unable to stop their twitching as fire floods up your spine and the way he plunges you in lust-filled brown.

And you clutch his face, feverish from him, quivering, shaking. Burying the words, “So close, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m close baby,” against his mouth.

Pressing each letter in, stamping it—ensuring he knows it’s him doing this to you. Making a mess of you. The only person you ever want to make a mess out of you.

It thumping inside of you, hammering—all balled up fists and desperation because you want to tell him. Shout it at him. Paint the walls in it as he paints yours in white.

“Need you, Frankie.”

It’s close to the truth. Barely an inch from it.

“I know, need you too. Need to feel you come around me, hermosa. I need it, please. Please give it to me. Let me feel—fuck—feel you coming around my cock.”

And you hear it, the way he pleads—as well as realise the double meaning. You in the car, whispering words so close to the ones he’s spilling now.

“I will if you stay.”

He doesn’t still, but he does jolt. A hesitation in his pistoning.

Then he drops to his elbows around your face, cradling you, caging you in, as he kisses you—sloppily, messily, sweetly. It’s soft, but also full of heavy moans he wishes to force down your throat. It’s indulgent, a thing you never thought you’d have so now you take as much of it as you can get.

“Course I’ll stay. Never—fuck—anywhere I want to be but here, baby. Nowhere else.”

His eyes fix on you, digging the words in.

And, even if you knew it before, you realise how under your skin he is. How he’s woven in around tendons and ligaments, found a home, left marks against your bones you never want to rid.

You’re sure it’s that and not the words which make everything else mute.

Even if it’s all you can hear. Not the television in the other room, not the headboard clattering against the wall, not the sounds you’re making each time he drags his cock through your walls.

Just his words. Whatever he blesses you in. Your thoughts are all incoherent other than that. All shaky, practically vibrating; all gasping and torturous heavy heat, all unable to breathe and yet never wanting any of this to stop.

His hand slides around your thigh, pulling on your knee, bringing it closer as his grip almost grows bruising on you. He’s deep. Fucking into you so hard, hearing the concoction of his hisses, gasps and moans, before his mouth lands back on yours.

It’s overwhelming. The height you’ve reached, the way your mouth is only able to say his name as you watch him lick his thumb and distinctly feel it slide between the two of you. Finding it. Barely struggling to press the pad of it to your bundle of nerves before you lock up, the knot tightening, almost ripping inside of you.

It fraying from how much you’re fighting it, so close to bursting—

Then he draws quicker circles, all persistent, expertly, and you snap.

It surging, all white-hot, all blistering and mind-melting. You become both light and heavy all at once, your nails finding purpose in his side and your sheets, twisting, knotting to root yourself in this, in him—in how much you fucking love him.

“Fuck, querida—that’s it.”

You can’t respond, can’t even think up a response, but you do yank his mouth to yours. Pressing those three words there, laying them down, as well as thanking him, over and over until you slide your mouth against his cheek.

“Be good for me now, Frankie.”

His eyes flick to you, all ablaze and engulfed in want. And so you nod, knowing he can see it, feel it.

“Look so good, baby,” you add.

The noise is strained that comes from him, all sucked in breath. Then, his hips stammer, convulsing, all strangled, tightly entangled in a mess of your name and fuck.

And you kiss him.

Happily licking into his mouth to taste how delicious his moan is.

You try to fight the way your heart drops when you return from using the bathroom. Biting the inside of your mouth as you see the bed empty, sheets a mess, your throat swallowing back whatever sob wishes to escape.

Because the edges of your happiness crumble, your arm wrapping around the other, bottom lip almost wobbling.

That is, until you feel his hand on your lower back. Your head turns quickly, seeing him there. All hair-wild, and soft smile.

“Water, baby?”

Smiling, you thank him, taking several sips before handing it back to him, watching him do the same. Studying the way his throat bobs as he does, the faint marks of your mouth still lingering there on his skin.

“C’mon,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. “Let’s get in bed.”

“Oh, but the—“

“I’ve sorted it. Turned it off—folded the blanket, put the plates in water.” His hand wraps itself around yours. “So, let’s sleep.”

All you can muster is an okay. It leaves soft, slightly webbed at the edges from the way it catches on the growing lump in your throat.

It isn’t until you’re curled against him,

“Is this okay?” you whisper.

He lets out a laugh, little and breathy. “More than okay, hermosa.”

Guiding your leg to hook over his. Keeping his body flush as the two of you cuddle. His thumb swipes across your cheek, forehead close to yours as his fingers fan out over your hip, and he presses a kiss to the space between your brows.

You’re pretty sure your heart just tripled in size.

And those three words, the ones which have amassed into a chunk in your chest have suddenly begun pulsing all on their own—a beat completely separate, you find, to the one which pumps blood around your body.

CHAPTER EIGHT ->

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waywardxwords · 1 month

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Chapter 8 - Save Me

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: Slight language; there's a ton of dialogue in this one but I feel like it's necessary to prep for the chapters ahead

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~3k

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If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know how you felt about going to Kansas for the unforeseeable future. While it wasn’t like you went into an office everyday and you could really work from anywhere within the United States, you had still built your life in Virginia. You had friends—especially Jen—and it felt weird leaving her here, unable to defend herself. But Dean had assured you she would be taken care of, and you knew that you were unable to defend yourself against these monsters Dean and Sam knew how to fight.

“You about ready?” Dean asked as he tapped softly on your opened bedroom door.

A heavy sigh fell from your lips as you looked at your packed-to-the-brim duffel bag and backpack. Dean said it was important to pack as light as possible, but without knowing when you’d be back, it was hard to be selective in what you brought.

“I think so,” you mumbled, your lip caught between your teeth yet again. You released it as Dean stepped into the room.

“Hey, I know this is a lot to take in,” Dean started slowly. Both of the boys kept treating you like you were made of glass, which was a little bit annoying but also made sense. It felt like you were all waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’m okay,” you said out loud for him, but also for yourself. “I’m not really a big fan of the unknown…I’m a planner.” You mumbled as you looked around at your things.

“Not big on taking chances, huh?” Dean chuckled softly as his eyes watched you move. Again, it was like he was waiting for it all to set in and for you to crumble.

“Nope,” you sighed as you finally looked back at him. “Rule follower, remember?” You managed a half-smile as you remembered the first time you met in Atlanta.

“Oh, I remember,” Dean smirked back. He took a few steps towards you and you both sat on the edge of your bed. “Just keep in mind–this doesn’t have to be forever.” Your head had dipped a bit, so he moved his to find your gaze.

“I get that,” you nodded. You didn’t want to offend him; this was his life. He was used to packing an ‘oh shit’ bag and getting out of town. He was used to all of the things that went bump in the night. You, on the other hand, were still trying to wrap your mind around it all. “I just wish I could circle a date on the calendar and know when I could come home.”

Dean nodded as he processed your words. “Tell ya what,” he started. “How about we take it one day at a time, for now,” he paused but you waited for the ‘and then’ part. “Once we get back to Kansas, we can sit down and come up with a plan. Figure out what it looks like so we can get you back home.”

You didn’t want to be presumptuous, but there was a tone in his voice that almost sounded like he wasn’t looking forward to that. But since everything had happened, you really hadn’t been given a moment to figure out what this was between you and Dean.

“That sounds fair,” you answered honestly. Dean smiled and seemed hesitant, but leaned over and kissed the side of your head anyway.

“Good,” he seemed okay with your answer. He sighed and looked around at the rest of your room. “Anything I can do to help?”

You pushed your hair behind your ears and followed his gaze as you, too, looked around. “I don’t think so,” you said softly. “I’ve packed just about everything that will fit into my bags. I’m just worried I’m forgetting something.”

“We do have stores in Kansas, ya know,” Dean winked as he stood and reached for your duffel. “Jesus, woman.” He muttered as he slung it over his shoulder. “You got a dead body in here, or what?”

You managed a laugh as you stood to follow him and slung your backpack up on your shoulders. “No, Dean, I think I’ll leave the dead bodies to you.” You patted him on the shoulder and walked just beyond him, but you heard him laugh as you rounded the corner into the hallway.

“Everything locked up?” Sam asked as you closed up the front door and headed to meet the boys in the driveway.

“Yep,” you sighed and readjusted your backpack a bit. “I mean, it probably doesn’t matter when it comes to demons, right? They can get through locked doors, I’m guessing.”

They didn’t answer you directly but nodded slightly. “I’m guessing you want to bring your car to Kansas?” Dean asked as he eyed your garage door.

“Oh, absolutely,” you answered quickly. “I just figured I would follow behind you guys, if that’s okay.” You said as you used the keypad on the side of the garage to type in your PIN number that opened the door.

Sam and Dean stared at you, confused for a minute. “Sam’s flying back to Kansas,” Dean said. “This is a rental so I figured I’d drop it off on the way and hitch a ride with you, if that’s alright.” His words made you turn around slowly and your brows pulled together in confusion.

“Wait,” you started carefully. “You flew here?”

Dean caught why you were so surprised and flashed his white teeth in a small smile. He pulled at the back of his neck as Sam watched you both look at each other. “Sweetheart, I don’t own European cars. Don’t drive ‘em either, if I can help it.” He shrugged as he thumbed to the Volkswagen Jetta in your driveway.

“Okay,” there was more you wanted to say but you decided not to rub in how much Dean hated flying in front of Sam. You weren’t familiar with their dynamic at all, but Dean had told you that he didn’t like being afraid, and that he always tried to be strong for his brother. You didn’t want to embarrass him or say something you shouldn’t in front of Sam. “Do I wanna know why you have to get back to Kansas quickly?” You turned your gaze to the younger Winchester.

Sam chuckled softly and shook his head. “Work…related,” he mumbled. “So probably not.”

You nodded once and turned back to your car. “Okay, then,” you breathed. “I’ll follow you to the airport and wait for you to drop off the rental.”

You loaded up your backpack and Dean tossed your duffel bag in the car. As you both turned away, you faced each other, maybe a foot apart.

“I’ll see you at the airport,” he said softly.

“Be safe,” you said back as you studied his features and tried to read what he was thinking. He nodded, and after one more look, he went to walk back to the rental car.

Before he could step away, you took a chance. You reached for his jacket and tugged so he turned back to you. With his jacket still between your fingers, you pressed your lips to his in a rather quick, but hard kiss. For a moment, he paused but then his hands cupped your face as he kissed you back.

As the pop echoed around you, you didn’t notice how Sam had turned to give you some privacy and scratched awkwardly at the back of his head. “What was that for?” Dean asked as his eyes looked between yours.

“To say I’m sorry, again, for not believing you,” you started softly but continued before he could say anything. “And for saving my life.” A small smile tugged up the corner of his lip just enough for his dimple to appear.

“I don’t want you to apologize to me again, got it?” His thumb caressed your cheek gently.

“No more apologizing from either of us,” you stared into his eyes until he nodded.

“Deal,” he agreed, though somewhat hesitantly.

“Okay,” you pulled back and waved at Sam. “Thanks to you too, Sam.” You called after him. He turned back around and nodded. “And I guess I’ll be seeing you in Kansas.”

“I’ll see you there,” he nodded as he waved. “Drive safe.”

You nodded and watched Dean walk back to the car. Just before he climbed into the driver’s seat, he called out after you. “And I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Even after everything, you couldn’t help the heat that radiated in your cheeks or the way a smile pulled across your lips.

Dean had dropped Sam off at the drop off area at the airport. Once he had gathered his backpack, you followed Dean to the rental car return. It only took a few minutes before you popped the trunk to your Toyota Camry and waited for Dean to toss in his duffel bag.

He pulled open the passenger door and leaned down. “You want me to drive?” He asked carefully. Dean seemed like the kind of guy who preferred driving, but you smiled and shook your head ‘no’ anyway.

“How about I take the first shift? And then we can switch,” you suggested. He seemed content enough with that response and climbed in. “Sorry it’s not the Impala.” You offered with a small smile.

“Ah, it’s alright,” he sighed as he pulled on his seatbelt. “I’ll get you in a Chevy or Ford, eventually.” He smiled back. You chuckled softly and shook your head as you pulled away from the airport.

“What’s the address?” You asked as you toyed with the navigation on the dash.

Dean grumbled, something about fancy cars and shitty navigation systems but you just rolled your eyes. He plugged in an address for Lebanon, Kansas.

“Jesus,” you mumbled, as the screen totaled your drive time at 20 hours and 32 minutes.

“Buckle up, sweetheart. Hope you’re ready for a long drive,” Dean chuckled. It was already late into the evening, pushing midnight by now.

“It’s weird, I feel like I’ve been up for days at this point,” you muttered as you adjusted the air and your seatbelt.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” He eyed you carefully. That was the thing about Dean’s gaze: you could feel it even when you didn’t see it.

“I’m alright. We can switch when we stop,” you shifted the car into drive and eased on the gas. Dean unbuckled his seat belt to pull off his jacket before he buckled it again. “I’m supposed to call Jen tomorrow. I’m not even sure what to say to her, she recognized you from the photos we found online.” The sound of your voice was anything but strong as your stomach flip-flopped.

“I’m guessin’ the truth isn’t an option?” Dean asked.

You shook your head no. “And say what? She got possessed by a demon named Meg, her eyes turned black and she flung me against the wall a few times? Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’d have me committed,” you fell into a comfortable speed as you got on the interstate and hit cruise control.

Dean half chuckled and shook his head as he glanced out the passenger window and then back to the windshield, his features illuminated by the headlights of drivers coming down the other side of the highway. “That probably wouldn’t go over too well. It’s a lot for anybody to take in.”

You muddled over a thought before you said it out loud. “How did you take it when you first found out?” You asked him as you glanced between him and the road ahead of you.

His brows kind of pulled together and you took that as his thinking face. “I don’t really know how to explain that,” he started softly. “It’s all I’ve ever known, really.”

Shock had to have graced your features but you tried to calm your expression. While you recognized this was all new to you, it wasn’t to Dean. And you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“When did you find out about the things that go bump in the night?” You asked him carefully.

“When I was four,” he didn’t look at you when he answered. Instead, his gaze went out the passenger window again as he watched the trees pass by in darkness.

“Four?! Dean, you were a baby,” you breathed. And then you remembered. “You were four when your mom died…”

There was a moment of silence that you took as his acknowledgment that you had the right idea. But then, he continued.

“My Dad kind of went into overdrive at that point. Trying to find what killed her,” he explained. You nodded as you tried to absorb it. When he didn’t offer up anything additional, you broke the silence.

“You were just a kid, Dean…” you felt a pang of sadness for the man next to you. It made you angry, even. “No kid should ever have to go through that.”

“No kid should have to lose their parent to some supernatural asshole, either,” he said back firmly. You somehow knew he wasn’t upset with you by the comment, just trying to make you understand. “Seeing my Dad go through that, and having to make sure Sammy was okay…” he shook his head as he trailed off.

The dots started to connect for you. Dad was busy fighting the monsters, Dean had to take care of his brother, you kept your thoughts to yourself but made a mental note. He had to be strong—couldn’t be afraid.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat and resituated himself in his seat. “All that to say, I don’t know what it’s like, really, to be thrown into this world that I live in. But I know it can’t be easy.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me, Dean,” you answered quickly, and you meant it. It seemed as though Dean was worried about protecting everyone in his life and being strong through it. “I don’t want to burden you with that.”

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna worry about you whether you’re sitting right here next to me, or you’re thousands of miles away in another state,” he looked at you when he spoke. “And it’s not a burden.”

“Can I ask you something?” Your bravery to ask the hard questions surprised you. Something about being in the car with him for almost a full day made your usual resolve soften.

“Shoot,” he stole another glance at you.

“Do you like it? Fighting…monsters?” You asked, for lack of a better word.

Dean mulled it over before he answered right away. “I like helping people,” he said simply. “I like being able to save people so they won’t have to go through the same thing we did.”

“But who saves Dean Winchester?” Your eyes found him in the dark car once again.

“I don’t need saving, sweetheart,” he smirked again, a hint of confidence to his tone.

“Everybody needs saving sometimes, Dean,” you answered softly.

The only noise around you came from the hum of the engine.

“I guess Sammy does,” Dean looked out the window. You could tell he didn’t want the conversation to continue at that point, so you switched gears slightly.

“Does it ever scare you?” The idea of fighting monsters terrified you, but you were curious if Dean was ever afraid.

He seemed to process the question like it was something he had never been asked, which shocked you considering the line of work. “I mean, I guess sometimes. Usually when one of us is in trouble.” You nodded, but he continued. “When one of us is knockin’ on death’s door, I guess that scares me.”

Each new fact you found out about this life Dean lived in brought on a new wave of shock. “Death?” You asked him as you looked between him and the road.

Dean chuckled, but you could tell it was from him being a bit uncomfortable. “Let’s save that one for another day,” he shifted in his seat.

Maybe that was a good idea. You redirected the conversation slightly. “Where does your fear of flying fall on the scale of being scared?” You smirked.

“Oh, that one’s still at the top of the list,” he winked with a wide smile that reflected the light from the streetlights as you drove, welcoming a lighter conversation.

“But you got on a plane anyway. To get to me,” you stole another glance in his direction.

“Well, yeah,” he said simply. “Sam said I should let it go, that something must have made you change your mind. But when I couldn’t reach you…” he shook his head. “I just had to be sure you were alright.” His words caused a flutter to form in your stomach, and you smiled, but that was shortly followed by a yawn that tugged at your jawline. “Getting tired?” Dean asked.

You shrugged a bit but couldn’t help the nod that followed. “It’s been a really long day,” you sighed. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“That’s what happens when shock starts wearing off,” he reached to place his hand just above your knee over your denim jeans. It was obvious it was meant as something comforting as his thumb traced small circles on the fabric there. “Why don’t we pull off? I can switch with you.”

“Dean, you need sleep, too,” you argued.

“We can stop eventually if I get tired, too. But I’m alright, sweetheart,” his voice was gruff and raspy–you could sense the exhaustion there, but you obliged.

There was a rest stop up ahead and you took the exit slowly. Once the car was in park, you opened the driver’s door to switch with Dean. As you both got settled in your new seats, Dean pressed a quick kiss to your temple before he adjusted the mirrors.

“You just get some rest,” he said gently.

You nodded against the headrest of the seat and closed your eyes. “Night, Dean.” It wouldn’t take long for sleep to find you.

A/N: Happy Thursday, friends! I know this chapter probably felt a bit "filler" with the dialogue, but it was important for the development of future chapters. I promise things will get more interesting in the next chapter!

Let me know what you think! I appreciate all the likes, comments & reblogs more than you know!

Chapter 9 will be posted on (or maybe before, TBD) Thursday, 4/25!

Chapter 9 Preview:

One blink, then two. The hum of the engine and vibration in the seat of the car reminded you where you were. There were so many emotions that coursed through you as you remembered: demons, monsters, Dean.

Your nose twitched as you smelled the air and your eyes were drawn over to Dean. The sun was out now–high in the sky.

“Dean?” You cleared your throat as you shifted in the passenger seat to sit up fully. He did a double take and you saw the smile spread across his lips.

“Morning, sunshine,” the gruffness to his words and the look on his face made your stomach flip–or was that hunger? You settled on a mixture of both.

“What time is it? Where are we?” You asked as blinked a few more times to try to take in your surroundings.

“It’s about 8:30,” Dean answered as he glanced at the clock. “And we’re about an hour outside of Louisville, Kentucky.”

“Jesus, I slept for eight hours, Dean! You should’ve woken me up,” you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and felt around your hair inconspicuously. You didn’t want to give away that you were slightly concerned with what you looked like after passing out in the passenger seat. God, what if you drooled?! You swiped your fingers across your mouth quickly.

“Nah, you needed the sleep,” he answered simply. “You had a rough few days there.”

“Thanks,” you breathed. Suddenly your stomach groaned and you hoped he couldn’t hear it. “I’m starving. How about we stop and switch off again?”

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hervoiceinthedark · 3 months

Text

i was there when the goddess was killed.

it's true, i shouldn't have been, but when i heard the execution was happening so close, i was overcome by curiosity. i snuck to the outskirts of town, the small shack they built for this purpose.

no one knew why, but there were rumors.

"i heard it's 'cuz only the regency's best-trained can even look at it without melting," one of the rumors said.

"i thought it was because when it dies, it's going to burst into a ball of flame that burns everything around it!" went another.

no one could agree, except on this:

whatever the reason for the closed execution, the goddess was dangerous, evil, and it was for the good of all.

but i didn't know any better.

"none of you have even seen her," i kept saying. "how do they execute a goddess, anyways?"

they just told me i was a childish fool.

when i got there, i saw the shack was small and shoddily built, with no windows and no lock on the door. i guess they counted on people's trust in the regency, or their fear of the goddess.

i had neither. when i heard them coming, i hid in a tree and watched.

there were four of them, the witch-hunters, and her in the middle. they tromped down the path, talking loudly with each other, laughing boisterously. they didn't seem afraid, or apprehensive about what they were about to do.

and the goddess... seemed so small.

this was not like what we'd been told. she stumbled when pushed, her bare feet bloody and swollen. the bag over her head obscured her features, but she didn't struggle, or speak. her hands were bound, and she wore a rough dress; prisoner's garb.

i held my breath as they passed.

"get in there," one snarled, kicking the bound figure into the shack. i heard her gasp in pain as she fell, unable to catch herself.

the hunters entered, and the door closed. i couldn't quite make out their voices from my hiding place, so i climbed down to get closer.

the door was as cheap as the rest of the shack, and one of the boards had a large hole rotted into it. closing one eye, i peeked in.

"...some goddess," one of the hunters was saying. the rest laughed. they weren't looking at her, still collapsed on the dirty shack floor.

after exchanging boasts and making jokes, one reached down and yanked the hood off, and i saw her.

she looked so... human. so frail. but not scared, not in the slightest. in fact, she looked almost calm, gazing up at her captors as though they'd invited her to a tea party.

they quieted then, boisterousness curdling into awkwardness.

one of them cleared his throat. "any, any last words, fiend?" he tried to growl, gruffness belayed by his stutter.

"No," she said, and her voice rang in my ears, clearer than the bluest sky, as bright as the sun.

"I will speak, but these words will not be my last, despite this crude attempt to cut them short," she said.

the men looked at each other, seeming almost ashamed. "we—it's just our orders," he started to say, but the goddess turned her eyes to him, and he stopped.

"Do what you must, and face the consequences," she said. "Just know that in doing so, you end this reign of men like yourselves."

the hunters shuffled their feet, and didn't meet her eyes, or each others'.

eventually, one drew his sword, and the others followed suit.

without another word, they raised their weapons above their head.

"Now it's all up to you," the goddess said as the swords came down.

her eyes bored directly into mine, maintaining contact even as her head fell to the floor.

there was no blood. there was no sound.

as we all watched, the four hunters and the secret spectator, her body unspectacularly crumbled into dust, leaving nothing.

except... her final gaze, and words, were burned into my eyes and mind.

when the hunters, seeming disoriented, began to turn, i ran as fast as i could.

back at home, i locked the door, and put a chair up against it for good measure. the goddess's words continued to echo in my mind, and i couldn't shake the feeling that they really were meant for me.

and her eyes...

i gasped, wincing as a burst of pain shot through my head.

i stumbled over to my closet and fumbled around for my mirror. there was an intense pressure in my skull, like it was being squeezed from all sides. my eyes were watering, and i could barely see. my throat, too, burned as though i'd swallowed a live coal, and i coughed and coughed.

i pushed aside garments, choking and crying. the tears that dropped onto my skin burned where they landed, and brushing them off did nothing to stop the sensation.

by the time i finally found the hand mirror, a small, round thing that had cost me a fair deal, i could barely see.

i blinked the tears away, realizing as my vision cleared that there were streaks of bright crimson running down my cheeks. my mouth, too, was flecked with blood, and as i failed to contain another cough i watched it splatter the mirror.

and my eyes... all i could see were Hers.

Her eyes, overlaid on mine like in a dream, piercing through the pain that filled my skull. as i stared into the mirror, the crushing headache faded slowly, as did the burning in my throat.

Her words repeated in my head, louder and louder, swirling around the fog of my mind.

"it's all up to me now," i whispered, and it was not my voice.

[It's all up to Me now,] She repeated in my mind, and i tasted sweetness on my lips.

i cleaned up the mess i made, wiped the mirror, unblocked the door. by the time they came for me, i knew i would be long gone.

She was so weak, then. we hid for a long time, moving from place to place, binding our eyes and speaking as little as possible. we helped where we could, using Her words to help, to lessen hurt. every small thanks we were offered, every small offering in return grew Her strength.

these days, She barely needs me. i exist in the back of Her mind, scarcely aware of how She uses what is now Her body, and i would have it no other way.

i only hope that, should what i have offered not be enough, whoever She plants Herself in next grows to love Her as i do.

#microfiction #short fiction #a story #empty spaces #a witnessed execution #her voice in the dark

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katrinasis · 2 years

Text

anyway the final stage of belos’ character is probably going to be the complete collapse of every lie he’s ever convinced himself of.

we saw beginnings of this in clouds on the horizon, where they make a point of showing belos’ nervousness and how badly he reacts to the thought that the human realm has changed, and then again towards the beginning of king’s tide when luz straight up tells him that no one hunts witches anymore and his drip is trash. it’s pretty clear that, to belos, the idea that the human realm has at all deviated from his idolized fantasy version of it is a Bad and Unacceptable thought that he’d rather just ignore. he doesn’t want to think anything’s changed and he refuses to think he’s changed, either. the man is literally a goo monster playing pretend with human skin and he still believes that he is a regular human. he gets violent towards luz and the collector when they tell him he’s changed because he cannot bring himself to consider the perfectly reasonable idea that they’re right.

and then we have the scenes in which gus pulls up his worst memories and belos calls hunter “caleb”, which are like a minute total combined and also i think the most important scenes Of All Time for belos’ character.

his rationalizations for the murder of his own brother are so flimsy that literally just thinking about the event itself is enough to make him flip his shit. he knows what he did was unforgiveable and he knows there was no real reason for it and he knows the grimwalkers are not caleb, will never be caleb, he’s been playing god with his brother’s body for centuries when he KNOWS that caleb is gone and he will never get him back. and then, right off the heels of belos finally being forced to confront what he’s done, we see him calling hunter “caleb”. he looks at hunter, the grimwalker that looks the most like caleb, the one now holding caleb’s palisman, and suddenly he doesn’t see hunter anymore. he’s watching caleb “betray” him again, and he doesn’t want to see because it’s forcing him to think about why caleb did it. he was never corrupted or lost or in need of a merciful death, he just wanted something different than philip and that was unacceptable.

and finally: the collector! belos thought he could use the collector and then throw them away when they weren’t useful to him anymore, just like he has for literally every single person he came across for the past 400 years. the man has been acting essentially consequence-free ever since he murdered caleb, and then the collector is freed and immediately shows him that the manipulation is not going to work anymore. for once in his life he is facing the consequences of his actions, both in the past and in the now.

what happens now that belos is a small pile of slime on a completely different earth? what happens now that he can’t deny that luz was right, that he isn’t even human anymore? that his home is a place unrecognizable to him? that the childish goals he’s built his life around are considered a joke? is he going to double down or is he finally going to have to realize that he is a joke? that everything he’s done was for literally nothing? that caleb died for nothing? that maybe, just maybe, he could have led a happy life had he not been so obsessed with his own warped sense of righteousness and revenge?

the walls in belos’ mind are going down and brother, they are going to go down hard.

tl;dr: the show is making a point of showing that belos’ worst fears and memories are actively being brought to the surface in ways he can’t rationalize. he finally has to face what he did to his brother and the fact that he’s in a form that can’t even pretend to be human anymore. this man is going to try desperately to hold on to anything he can before the walls come crumbling down and we get the third-act breakdown we’ve been waiting for.

#the owl house #toh #toh spoilers #emperor belos #philip wittebane #caleb wittebane #hunter toh #the collector #toh analysis #yes i HAVE been watching the caleb scene over and over again. how could you tell #anyway im pretty sure belos' obvious anime inspiration is going to be envy from fma #so if i had to guess his death will probably be some final soul-crushing realization followed by him ending his own life #long post

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crybaby-bkg · 1 year

Text

okay but like……….toxic Dabi that wants everything you two have built together to crumble so badly. not because he hates it, or is getting bored of you, but because the calmness that falls around you and your relationship with him is…..baffling, to say the least. he’s used to destruction and chaos and flings and heartbreak and angst. he’s not used to being invited in, to being welcomed, to being accepted, to being loved. it’s foreign, and it’s starting to make a knot form in the pit of his belly every time he’s with you.

he’s fucking you one night, rolls you over so he’s on top again, and gets this look on his face. you can tell by now what it is—he’s in his head again, wondering how he can fuck up your relationship this time. so you take it with a grain of salt when he opens his big, dumb mouth suddenly.

“What if I just trapped you right now? Just held you down, and came inside of you? Put a baby in you?” His voice is eerily quiet under the sounds of your skin slapping together, the squelching from between your legs. you only reach up to stroke his cheek, pulling him down to kiss him quiet, whispering against his mouth,

“If you wanna get me pregnant, then just say that.” You tell him, eyes fluttering open to watch his squeeze shut. “I can make an appointment with my gyno to start preparing my body for it.” You’re so reassuring, that it disarms him. Dabi only nods, quiet finally, and doesn’t pull out when he cums.

or other times, when you’re making dinner for him, standing in your brightly lit kitchen in your underwear and his ratty shirt. he watches you with his chin in his palm, that same look gracing his face. you can practically feel him burning holes into the already hole filled shirt, and prepare yourself for his questions again.

“I could just whisk you away right now, you know that?” He mutters, eyes never leaving your form, your ass that peeks out. “Put you in a basement, far away from here.” And you disarm him again, walking over to where he sits with a wooden spoon in one hand, the other holding a palm underneath it.

“You wanna move? My apartment is feeling a little cramped these days.” You mumble, offering the spoon to his mouth. Dabi watches you for a few seconds before he opens his mouth, accepting the spoon, chewing as he eyes you warily before swallowing.

“Where were you thinking of moving to?” you ask him, wiping the corner of his mouth as he glares at you. but he tells you anyway, that he’s been looking at houses a few minutes away from here, that he saw one with three bedrooms and a big backyard.

other instances include him telling you that he could chain you down and keep you at his side forever and you ask him, when do you want to get married? or, that you try to kill him every time you cook and you ask him, what flavors am I missing for you? or, when he hides his face in your neck and curses about how much he can’t stand you or your stability or your stupid face or kind words and you ask him, when did you realize you loved me this much?

#self destruction king #I hope this makes sense tho #it’s late and my head hurts lol #I just think he’d try to ruin something good since he’s not used to it #it’s a learning process with him tho #you think he genuinely hates you at first before realizing what he’s doing #what a nerd #—new treat in the streets! 🍫#dabi treats! 🍬#also ignore me saying I’m going on a writing hiatus this one time AKDJDKDJ

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valenhui · 1 year

Text

[ 8:43pm ]

pairing: wen junhui x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

wc: 800 and then some

warning(s): gender-neutral!reader, rusty writing (my bad), jun calls reader ‘love’ once, that’s about it really

notes: my first piece of writing here hello :o i hope you enjoy this little drabble in the meantime while i work on a longer full length oneshot. edited: 06/12/23

Junhui knew you better than you’d like to admit.

Having met by pure chance during your sophomore year of college, he had refused to leave your side—or life, rather—after breaking down the walls you had built up so high to protect yourself from the uncertainty of the world.

He had sheltered you from the crumbling rubble and proved, time and time again, that he’d be there for you no matter the circumstances. He’s never done anything to make you believe otherwise and he knows that—he reminds himself of that—but it doesn’t provide much aid when he realizes you have been succumbing to the harsher side of your mind and he only just realized it. A part of him blames himself for not being more aware of the signs and being too caught up on work but he doesn’t dwell on his guilt for long. Not when he met your gaze from the kitchen island as you closed the door behind you and he saw the look of utter defeat on your face and he understood. Neither of you said anything–there was no need–and yet the silence surrounding you was so loud. You wished it was actually noisy, wished you could go unnoticed by everyone and everything but you couldn’t, because through a single glance, you had already told Jun everything.

Your bag fell to the ground with a thud as you began stepping in his direction only for him to close the distance between you two before you could take another step. He doesn’t even waste a second before pulling you towards him and letting you bury your face into his chest as his arms wrapped around you. It was only then that you finally allowed yourself to fall apart, sobs wrecking through your body as Jun brought a hand up to hold the back of your head.

“I’ve got you, love.” He cooed while stroking your hair as his free hand held you closer to his chest. “I’m here now, I’ve got you.”

He repeated the words softly, contrasting the strong—but comforting—hold he held you in. It was almost as if he was scared that you’d fall apart if he let you go even an inch but when he remembered the look of defeat painted across your face, he held you a bit tighter anyways and closed his eyes as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

The two of you remained like that for a while, him whispering soft reassurances against your skin while you buried your face into his shirt, your hands balled up into fists clutching the sides of it as he held you. By the time you had calmed down, a majority of your body weight was leaning against him and in a softer scenario, he would’ve laughed. But this wasn’t one of those times. Instead, he supported your weight and asked if you’d like to go to bed, when your response in the form of a silent nod came, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and carried you in the direction of the bedroom. Before you even reached the bed however, Jun had taken you to the bathroom where he helped you wash your face—kissing at your cheeks where the salt had turned the skin red and irritated—and helped you change out of your outdoor clothes into one of his shirts.

When he finally brought you to bed, he wasted no time in wrapping the blanket around you and making sure you were comfortable, missing the way your brows slightly furrowed when you noticed he wasn’t actually under the covers with you. As he went to leave the bed, your hand had grabbed onto his wrist and was gently tugging him back. He glanced down at the sight and smiled before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then lips, and saying he’s just going to turn off the lights, squeezing your hand reassuringly before you reluctantly let it go.

You watch as he first pulls the blinds shut before turning to switch off the light then finally coming back to bed as promised. He’s still adjusting the blanket to cover you both when you suddenly latch onto him, burying your face against his chest as he finally manages to fix the covers and is wrapping his own arms around you.

“I love you.” He says, though it’s mumbled as he presses a kiss on the top of your head. He repeats it again, soft but clearer this time, and he smiles as you nuzzle closer to him.

A beat passes and suddenly, “Jun?”

He hums in response, glancing down to see you looking up at him looking a little more relaxed. He bites back a small smile though it is no use when you say those four words back that has his heart fluttering every time he hears it: “I love you too.”

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beanghostprincess · 5 months

Note

Usopp has chronic pain specifically headaches and migraines

It used to be chronic headaches after alabasta. They would dull but would last all day. He'd stay inside and avoid bright lights when he gets them. He doesn't really try to get ready in the morning due to the pain. He loses his appetite and is not as cheerful as he usually is. Sanji of course is concerned as is every one else, but usopp says he's fine he can handle himself. It's very noticeable that he's uncomfortable but seems to be functioning he tells them not to worry about it so they respect his wishes. Sanji does keep an eye on him letting him have private moments of vulnerability, holding him kissing his head and whispering words of comfort.

After Skypia after Luffy dropped that weird fruit on his head (He really could have killed him 😭) and mainly wano his headaches got worse and quickly started becoming migraines. Something he kept to himself not wanting his friends to worry about him. He'd power thru them the best he can going the whole day in pain without anyone noticing.

It started to become difficult to hide when it started affecting his vision and hearing. They found him in the bathroom sick from the pain. Franky carried him to his bed while copper brought strong pain meds that knocked him out. Sanji would be in bed with him feeding guilt for not noticing his pain sooner.

Why would you say this-- I had enough with the headcanon of Zoro having chronic pains, I did not need this,,, But I love it, though, big fan of the angst.

After everything they've been through (especially Usopp, who's not built different like the monster trio) it's just normal that he ends up like this. He keeps saying he's fine because he doesn't want to be a burden, but Sanji knows something's wrong. You can't help somebody who refuses to be helped, though, so Sanji just tries to keep an eye on him and give him private moments to rest.

I think Usopp ends up telling Sanji about his pain, but only Sanji. He's the one who takes care of Usopp when his head hurts too much to work. Usopp gets frustrated because he really wants to be helpful and not turn into somebody they have to carry around, but everything hurts too much to even complain about that. It breaks Sanji's heart to see his sniper act this way, and even if he normally would ask Chopper for help, he doesn't say anything because Usopp told him not to. At least not yet. So sometimes they go to sleep earlier than usual. Sometimes Sanji stays up with Usopp when he's the one watching the ship. Sanji hugs him close, kisses his temple, and keeps whispering sweet nothings to him in order to help him sleep. Usopp is only this vulnerable when it comes to his boyfriend. Sanji is being optimistic, though, everything will be okay. He won't let it become too much for Usopp to handle.

But he doesn't notice when it becomes too much because Usopp starts hiding it from him too, and when they find him in the bathroom and they have to take care of him, Sanji feels the weight of the world crushing him completely. His whole universe is crumbling down. Chopper gives something to Usopp to help him sleep for a while before they start asking him questions, and Sanji literally goes into breakdown mode instantly. He repeats "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should've helped you sooner. I should've known. I'm sorry. Love. I-" next to Usopp's bed. Nobody wants to say anything, but Nami is the one to approach him and tell him that it's not his fault. Nobody noticed anyway. But Sanji shakes his head and explains that he should have known because he knew he was in pain, he just didn't know it was that bad. And then something like this happens:

Chopper: Sanji! I'm not mad, but... If you knew something was wrong with him, you should've told me. I'm your doctor, after all. Sanji: I know. I know. I'm sorry, Chopper. I know. I- Zoro: This is not something you can keep to yourself, curly, you should have said something. If something happens to him- Sanji: Do you think I don't know?! What the fuck did you want me to do?! Zoro: I don't know, tell somebody instead of keeping it a fucking secret and risking his life? Sanji: ... He told me not to tell you. Zoro: Awesome. Next time I get stabbed I'll just not tell you. Nami: You don't tell us now, anyway. Sanji: See? This is the fucking problem. It's not the same! You wouldn't understand and that's exactly why he didn't want you to know. If marimo gets fucking stabbed, he'll sleep the pain away. If Usopp gets hurt, he'll- He won't be a burden. He could never be, but- But he'll think he is. Do you have any idea of how hard it has been for me to see him like this?

Long story short, Zoro and Sanji fight like always but Nami stops them and Sanji stays with Chopper and Luffy waiting for Usopp to wake up. They will eventually find something to help Usopp deal with the chronic pain, don't worry. I just really like angst.

#thinking thoughts about sanji saying that if he could take usopp's pain he would and that zoro doesn't understand this #'you don't get what it is like to carry the pain of the person you love the most in secret'#and this all happens before thriller bark so it works as foreshadowing bc i promise you zoro knows-#why do i always end up making mini fanfics with these asks lmao somebody take my laptop away from me #one piece #black leg sanji #usopp #roronoa zoro #sanuso #tony tony chopper

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thathermitweirdo · 10 months

Text

Sibling Issues

Hi everyone! This is a oneshot I wrote over TWO years ago. Kinda crazy, but here we are. I wanna start moving some oneshots over here to tumblr, but if you’d like to read more, check out my Wattpad :)

Anyway, Enjoy!

Xisuma sat on the edge of his storage tower, just as the sun began to descend over the jungle. The dusty orange glow of the horizon caused the leaves to gleam in the sunset. With the wind brushing through his chestnut hair, the admin took in a deep breath of fresh air. His helmet sat on his lap, allowing X to breathe freely.

Hermitcraft season seven had come to its end. Xisuma had let the hermits head to season eight, while he stayed behind to wrap everything up. The quiet was nice, to take a few moments to enjoy the peacefulness of the empty server. No pranking or firework rockets in the distance, the only sound was the rustling of the leaves that shook with the wind.

Xisuma watched silently as the sun slowly crossed over the horizon, the sky turning dark as the moon began to take its place in the sky. Stars twinkled above, gleaming down on the quiet little server. The admin shut his eyes, feeling the wind against his face, the gentle breeze brushing against his cheeks.

"Alright Xisuma. Enough wasting time. Get back to work." The Brit spoke to himself with a heavy sigh, placing his helmet over his head as he got to his feet.

The admin snapped his fingers together, a purple screen appearing before him. Xisuma typed away at the keyboard, hesitating as his hand hovered over the 'enter' key. This could risk everything that he had worked for. The identity that he had built, the life that he had created from scratch, it all could come crumbling to the ground if something went wrong.

"This needs to be done," Xisuma said to himself, trying to reassure his decision, although he didn't sound saddened or hesitant, even as he continued to speak. "I can't just leave him in the void. I never should have banned him to begin with."

He quickly pressed the 'enter' key on the screen, and within moments, Xisuma had spotted the chat message popping up.

Typing in another command, Xisuma hit enter once again, his brother suddenly teleporting right in front of the admin. Ex was stunned at the unfamiliar method of travel, dazed after returning from the void. It had been so long in the silence, the cold, empty, darkness that he had been locked away in.

Ex ripped off his helmet, dropping to his knees as he gasped for fresh air. He had breathed in the air of the void for so long that it burned his lungs to breathe the air of the overworld, but the evil hermit didn't care. It felt so fresh and warm, it was the greatest thing that Ex had felt in months.

He looked up at his brother, Ex still breathing heavily as his eyes flashed with burning hatred. There were deep scars across the Brit's face, much worse than the marks across Xisuma's face. The cuts and slashes were covering the majority of his face.

"Why...why am I here..?" Ex panted, his eyes trailing to the ground, unable to meet the steely glare of his brother. Xisuma smiled.

"I couldn't leave you there."

His brother laughed at that. "Oh, you couldn't leave me there? Well, you took EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME!" Ex snapped with his eyes looking up from the ground, the fire in his glare quickly burning out as he looked back to the safety of the ground.

"It would have been better if you had just left me there." He muttered underneath his breath, Ex placing his helmet over his head and adjusting it with a scowl across his face.

"I know," Xisuma said, staring down at his helpless brother. "But you also know I couldn't do that."

The two were silent for a couple moments, neither attempting to lock eyes with one another. After what felt like an eternity, Ex finally spoke up.

"W-...what season is it..? Last I remember, I was in season six, then I was suddenly back in the void."

"It's going to be season eight soon enough," Xisuma explained, "we just finished season seven. You and I are currently in my season seven base."

Ex smiled cruelly. "So, you're letting me join season eight?" He asked jokingly, Xisuma letting out a weak chuckle in response, his eyes narrowing.

"You'd tear everything apart. I can't let you do that."

"What? Just because you don't want the hermits to know the truth about you?" Ex asked tauntingly, his tone mocking the admin. Xisuma pulled out his blade, he and his brother locked eyes with one another. Ex grinned at this.

"There he is. There's the Xisuma that I know.." he said with a flat chuckle, Ex's words causing him to be met by the tip of his brother's sword.

"You don't know me at all." Xisuma growled, Ex audibly laughing.

"I know you better than any of the hermits ever could. I know the real you. You, Xisumavoid, are a heartless, cruel, monster. You kill anyone who figures out who you really are, just like how you killed Python and Biffa, along with anyone else who stood in your way."

Xisuma grinned, dragging the sword across his brother's neck. "They were the smart ones. But everyone else is too dense to realize. They all think that I'm just a derp, that I'm just 'good old Xisuma'. And they'll never think any differently of me."

Ex cussed underneath his breath, knowing that it was true. Although, the cussing turned into quiet laughter underneath his breath. The evil hermit smiled at his brother.

"So you're going to kill me? So no one will know?"

Xisuma smiled. "You know me so well, brother."

"Then, let me at least ask one question."

Xisuma thought for a moment, but he slowly nodded in agreement. Ex looked up at the admin, his eyes no longer filled with hatred, but with sorrow.

"Do you regret it? Any of it?” His brother asked earnestly, eyes filled with what seemed to be pleading.

“You stole the life that I was going to have,” He went on. “And you put me in the void while you ran off to join hermitcraft. I could have come along, I could have had something more than this worthless life in the void!”

X rolled his eyes, slightly raising his blade, but his brother persisted and he continued.

Ex stood up and stepped closer, almost taunting his sibling. The pleading gaze changed, shifted to a cold, yet burning determination. “But instead, you discard me while constantly lying to the people you called your friends! You gave me all these scars and made me this way! So tell me, brother, do you regret any of it?! From ruining my life to killing those hermits you called your friends?!"

Xisuma thought for a moment, then slowly, yet reluctantly nodded. "I do. I do regret one thing..." he said, lowering his sword away from his brother's neck.

Ex could barely react as the sword was shoved through his chest, Xisuma's face practically glowing with insane joy as a crazed grin spread across his face. Blood trickled down the netherite blade, dripping off the sword and into a small puddle on the ground.

"I regret not getting rid of you sooner."

Ex chuckled drowsily at that, it was clear he was beginning to lose consciousness. Xisuma pulled his blade out of his brother's chest, causing Ex to fall to the ground. He looked past the admin, looking out at the jungle, a weak smile coming across his face.

"T...the one thing I wanted to see while I was in the void...more than anything…” He began to cough and choke, blood running up his throat and spewing out his mouth as he tried to speak. “—was the sun..nice to see you w-waited just s-so I couldn't get the thing I wanted m-most.."

"Quit whining." Xisuma growled as he stabbed his sword into Ex's side, pulling out the blade once his brother had stopped breathing. A warm puddle of crimson blood surrounded the body, the admin dropping his weapon beside his dead sibling.

"I never really did like you. You were nothing more than a nuisance if you ask me." Xisuma said carelessly, shrugging it off as if Ex had meant less than nothing to him.

"Messing with you, the hermits, anyone really, all of this is more fun than you could ever imagine, Ex." Xisuma said, speaking to his brother as if he were still alive.

"The rush of killing, it's incredible. You wouldn't know. You were nice compared to what I've done, and that's why you're dead.” He said, dragging his gloved finger through the warm blood on the edge of his blade.

“This is all a game, and you just couldn't figure out how to play it right."

—

Xisuma stepped into spawn, the other hermits waving at him. They had been waiting for the admin before starting the new season. The large group of hermits all smiled and greeted him, unaware of what he had just done. Xisuma grinned and acted like his 'regular' old self.

The season started and all the hermits ran off to gather materials. Keralis had joined Xisuma in a small group with a few other hermits, gathering wood and stone to start. He noticed X joining the server, waving happily before coming up to the admin when everyone else was out of earshot.

"What took you so long, Shiswami? I almost thought you weren't coming!" He laughed, smiling at the admin. Xisuma chuckled, his smile sweet and his voice calm.

"Oh, you know, just sibling issues."

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fandom #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitweirdo writes #hermitcraft au #xisumavoid #hermitcraft xisuma #evil xisuma #oneshot #hermitcraft angst #hermitcraft oneshots

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raspberryslushie · 1 year

Text

What Does "Forever" Entail?

Ft. Xiao x gn!reader sheeehshhs

Warnings: the big sad, death of major character (no details), cringe teehee hELP

Prompt: What happens when immortals make promises they can't fulfill?

When you sat there that April evening holding his (rather cold) body in your arms, there was nothing he wished for more than an eternity spent with you, watching the sun rise and set everyday, just like you were doing then. He dreamed of gazing at churning clouds in the sky, and counting stars with you until you ultimately lost track to allow your dreams to take over. Xiao wanted to ask you so many things in those times, but for the sake of his own dignity, not a word was uttered. (Then did he really trust you?) So just to prove to himself that some part of him really was capable of loving, capable of being the one who deserved to stand next to a person such as yourself, there were times where he did let a part of him slip through into your embrace. And he had confessed (though it sounded more personal), the deepest thoughts troubling him.

“Xiao?” He looks up to meet your gaze and you give him an award-winning smile (he does adore it- though it’s the one thing he would never admit).

“Hm?” The scrutiny of your gaze is overbearing, and Xiao can’t help but crumble under the amount of attention you’re giving him.

“What’s on your mind?” Perceptive as ever. It takes him a moment to form his words, and what comes out was nothing short of a mess, yet the message gets through anyways.

"Can we stay like this? Forever?" He knows now how foolish it was to request something like that from a mortal. But how could he help it? Xiao doesn't let many things get past the walls built around his heart, but he really does wish to finally settle down and not have to worry about, well frankly, everything.

"Then…tell me how long ‘forever’ is." Your eyes absent-mindedly stare off into the distance.

What a ridiculous reply– was what he had wanted to say, but instead chose to kick his boots against the inn's laminated floors in defeat. No use in prying anyways. He knew very well what you had actually intended to say, because a strange part of him could understand you just as you could him.

The next time he held you to watch the sun slip under the Liyue mountain ranges, nothing seemed as impossible as the ever-lasting promise he had made to you on the night of his birthday.

“Do you understand now, Xiao?” He grunts in response, but it’s broken and littered with half-sobs that he did his best to hold back.

“Tsk, save your breath.” He does nothing to try and keep you quiet, though, so you ignore the remark and take the warm hug he’s wrapped you in as a sign to continue.

“You know you don’t mean that…” Then your eyes absent-mindedly stare off into the distance once again, and in his mind are the memories of what you once had. To him and his muddled view, you’re simply gazing at those churning clouds and shimmering stars. But then your pupils lose focus, and there’s nothing Xiao fears more than what comes next.

“We’re okay, right?” But before he could reply, you mumble something incoherently.

“Right.” There’s a pause in between when he tries to hold his breath to stop the tears from falling out. “Fine.”

“I didn’t know that ‘forever’ could be so short.”

“What?” Then he realizes what you meant. Of course he understood now, you needn’t ask him. Your breaths were getting heavier, and a part of him could’ve sworn it was from how tightly he was grasping onto your fragile build.

Yet no matter how hard he tries to hold onto your soul, the night passes with you.

Well the intricacies didn't matter at this point. He was upset, about something that he could do absolutely nothing about, and for a powerful being such as himself, helplessness to save you from your final fate plunged Xiao back into his past.

But "Adepti don't cry", and Xiao has long forgotten how to. They learn to accept and move on. Because "forever," is just a sweet word to cover up the bloody mess underneath, the pain and struggle that gathers over so many centuries. They outlive and learn to disconnect, because what brings them the most pain is something so laughably human– the idea of being able to spend eternity surrounded with the people they care about most.

When the first dawn breaks through the clouds the next day, Xiao knows a new era has begun. He will continue to endlessly slaughter the beasts that plague Liyue’s outskirts like he always has– nothing will change. For just a moment, he was hopeful. Hopeful for a new beginning to the endless “forever” that his duty binds him to. But it’s no use when you’re already gone. So ultimately, your passing was only one of the thousands that he has witnessed, yet no matter how hard he tries to believe it was just that, Xiao knows that there will always be an empty cavity in his heart where you once belonged.

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errornameredacted · 7 months

Text

through thick and thin, i'll be here

note: this isn't about the actual life series, just a rp server based on them (the one I've been insane about for the last 2 months)

Bdubs had grown used to the shadows that curled and twisted, stretched out as if they are just short of reaching something most desirable. He'd seen them many a night, watching them warp and disfigure with the setting sun. Like the sun that ever so slowly dropped right now. Bdubs was sat on a little patch of grass, one of the very few not covered in flowers or weeds, head rolled back to embrace the golden glow. It was just reaching twilight. It wasn't very often he gave himself a break like this, so he made sure to soak up the moment. The way the clouds drifted through the air, the way the leaves danced with the light breeze. His hand dug into the ground, but no dirt was lifted. Ah. Bdubs had forgotten he was a ghost.

The last few days had been...quite the ride. It was another on of the games, with the watchers monitoring their every move. But this one was different. Not everyone felt that pull, that need, that bloodlust. Only some had that little voice that told them to burn the world to the ground. They were given the name "The Hands," and they had one mission: leave no one alive. And there was only one other difference, but it would change everything for everyone, Hand or not. There was no second chances, or third chances , or any for that matter. One life, that's it. And, of course, Bdubs lost it. Skizz had somehow made his way into the Crastle, and it was like killing a fish in a barrel. He'd tried to defend himself, but there was no point. A 6'1 behemoth of a man versus a 5'4 stick isn't a fight up for debate.

Which is why he's sitting here now, the light passing through his semi-transparent body, most notably the ebbing gash ripped through his gut. Void only knows why it hasn't closed yet, though it's probably a dead thing. But a positive (depending whether your a glass half full kinda guy) is that things like food, water and, most obviously, sleep. He didn't do anything incredible during the night, just watched the mobs stumble around brainlessly. And watched over Cleo, of course.

Once everyone was gone, when the town lost its final stand, only Cleo was left. She never could die, so they left her to rot. Only the ghosts could stay with her, but they all went their own ways. Bdubs didn't have anything against that, they had all been through absolute hell, but he just couldn't leave Cleo. He had nowhere else to go anyways. So, he just, kind of, stayed. He stayed by her side, desperately trying to play a part, even though the credits have already rolled.

Cleo was alone. Well, mostly, but we don't talk about Skizz (no no no no), and Bdubs and Sausage stayed with her. She was nothing but a shell of the person she was. No more cocky remarks, no more piercing laughter, just hatred and fire. The flower valley was the first to burn, the memorials of the fallen lost in the blaze. Next it was the crumbled remains of Dogwarts, then Monopoly Mountain, and the simple but Shelby and Katherine lived in, and the Plainer's house. Last of all was the Crastle, tore down and built back up, Bdubs could only watch as it fell once again.

There was nothing left for Cleo then, so she left it behind. All over the world, she wander hoping for a way to end her misery, but the two ghosts still followed her. Now, Bdubs can't speak for Sausage, but for him, staying with Cleo was a easy choice. He had made a promise to her, they're still a team, and that means no abandoning the other. Despite only talking twice since coming back to this hellhole, despite her tearing down the one thing that distracted Bdubs from the chaos outside, despite everything, he stayed.

Cause they're still a team, right?

Right?

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

soooooo i did a thing m'lao. I wrote this in like, 2 hours in the car and. honestly, im happy with it. planning a sequel now, it's probably exactly what you think it'll be.

#writing.exe #←new tag? here??#ill probably use it like #twice but sure hey #should I tag chai?#nah #edit:#mafia peeps #lifeseriesmafia #adding the game tags cause yes #im so dead once they find this #i have no regrets #:3

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occasionally-good-authoring · 2 years

Text

A Bit Broken

tw: interlaize homophobia, homophobia

if you like it, please reblog

simon lewis

it's not like you intended to / hurt me or make me feel this way / and I'm not tryin' to complain / but it just sucks to try and explain / why I feel like this every day

Simon will always be the one to jump in front of the bullet. The one to throw themself in front of the demon. The one to push someone out of the way and get hit by the car. The one to take the stab, the barb, the shot, the ichor, the poison.

The one to give up his memories. Even when he’s made the best memories they’ve ever had. Even when they’ve met people who will give when they take, and love him just as much as he loves them.

But he gave that up, because that’s just what they do. He gives and he gives until there’s nothing left to give and he crumbles because he doesn’t know how to take.

And no one fucking notices. He can’t blame them, but god why won’t they notice. They’ll give to him, and that’s enough most days. But they don’t notice as he gives away all they have, all he is, and crumbles under the weight of his own giving.

So he’ll sacrifice and give and break again and again. They’ll scream and cry at night then smile and laugh all day because letting them know would be taking and Simon Lewis doesn’t take.

They’ll braid Clary’s hair, take Izzy shopping, practice archery with Alec, make dinner with Magnus. He’ll kiss Jace in alleyways and dark rooms. Love him in secret and know Jace is lying each time she says soon, I promise.

jace herondale

it’s hard to ignore all my problems / gonna regret being too honest / calling it love, but this isn’t falling / im gonna drag you right down to the bottom

Jace knows better than to believe she’s worth anything. He may not have demon blood, but with the pain they bring they might as well. One look at the Lightwoods is all he needs to know she’s poison.

He’s the reason Max is dead. He’s the reason Robert won’t even fucking look at Alec anymore. Sure, Alec is happy with Magnus, but the way he trained all Father’s Day tells Jace everything they need to know. And they can’t even count how many times Izzy has left the room because he came in.

And even without the Lightwoods, there’s Clary. Untouched Clary who met them then got thrown into a war she never asked for. She was just a normal kid, and then she was Jace’s sister and it all fell apart.

She thinks she screwed Simon over the worst, though. Simon didn’t have any ties to this world. No reason that they should end up in it. No reason he should be waking up from nightmares with panic attacks right after, no reason they should have the scars they do. No reason he should’ve lost their memories.

No reason he should be sneaking into Jace’s room when everyone else is asleep and kissing him until his lips are bruised. But Simon does it anyway, loving her in secret because he’s too fucking scared to let anyone know.

They can see it in Simon’s eyes, the mistrust each time she tells them soon, I promise. They both know it’s a lie. She doesn’t know why he stays.

magnus bane

hello, my old heart / it’s been so long / since i’ve given you away / and every day, i add another stone / to the walls i built around you

Immortality isn’t fun. It isn’t some centuries long party where you never have to worry about getting hurt.

Magnus knows this better than anyone should. He’s lived lifetimes, and watched as he outgrew his own life, over and over again. Eventually he stopped. He leaned the lesson everyone does eventually when they live that long.

No matter how much you love someone, they’ll leave. He knows this, it’s been drilled into his mind after years of lives. But yet, here he stands with Alexander Lightwood beside him.

Only other immortals will stay, and Alec isn’t immortal. But Alec is the one taking brick from brick from walls it took Magnus centuries to build. He’s there, kissing away the scars from his past while bearing his own for Magnus to see.

It won’t last forever, it never does, and it never will. But Magnus thinks it just might be worth the pain this time. For all the tears he’ll cry when he’s outlived another life, Alec will be worth it.

When he’s lived another four hundred years, watched as civilizations rose and fell, it’ll be worth it.

clary fray

and im so sick of 17 / where’s my fucking teenage dream / if someone tells me one more time / “enjoy your youth,” im gonna cry

She remembers wanting to grow up, that time when she was a kid grasping for any trace of adulthood. She used to dream of the days where it would just be her and Simon, alone in the world.

Now, she’d give anything to go back to when it didn’t feel like the world would end next Tuesday all the time. She doesn’t think it’s too much to ask, to go back. To be a kid again who didn’t have to worry about this all.

The worst part is people still calling her a kid. Looking at all her scars and the way the light that used to sit in her eyes went out, and asking her how her ‘Fun Teen Years’ were going.

They reminisced over their own childhood, while looking at her lightless eyes and asking her how much fun she was having.

They’re lucky punching everyone stupid is frowned upon by most of society, even with Shadowhunters. She hopes they’ll understand how much it hurts someday, and someday soon.

She doesn’t know how many more “Enjoy it while it last”’s she can take.

isabelle lightwood

you say that i’m kinda difficult / but it's always someone else's fault / got you wrapped around my finger, babe / you can count on me to misbehave

Izzy hates how her parents see her. Their innocent baby girl with the swords, and a perfect Shadowhunter. She thought she could get the point across when she dated her first Downworlder, a cute werewolf boy named James.

They didn’t. Her father talked to her about how werewolves couldn’t be trusted, and that she should be careful if she was going to befriend them.

So she dated a vampire. Then a nixie. A few fey. Another werewolf. It was remarkably easy to get them to love her, and she always hated herself when it didn’t work out, to drag them into her arms then leave them in her wake.

Still, all she got was the occasional “Be safe” from her father and a “That won’t work out” from her mother.

She gets a new wardrobe, one that would make most parents feint or at least ground her and get rid of them. Her mother and father are disappointed, but they tell her.

It’s not enough, it doesn’t make them care. Not in the least. It’s all about Alec and Jace, and Jace doesn’t even want the attention. She’s begging to be noticed and he’s getting it all.

She doesn’t hate him for it, she doesn’t. It just hurts a bit.

What finally makes them care is when she doesn’t want to. Turns out the line she had to cross was kissing Clary until Clary’s lips were stained the color of Izzy’s lipstick.

She’d rather not have that attention now.

alec lightwood

feel the rumors follow you / from monday all the way to friday dinner / you got one day of shelter / then it's sunday hell to pay, you young lost sinner

He used to bury it. Smile painfully when his parents asked when he would get a girlfriend. Ignore how much it hurt when his father looked down on what he called ‘Mundane impurities” all June.

Alec used to train a lot in June. Not that anyone ever noticed. To his parents he was just a good Shadowhunter. He liked that, their approval. He hated how much he wanted it, but he did anyway.

Maybe that’s why it scared him so much, his own feelings. The way he knew his parents would always be asking when he would get a girlfriend. And maybe eventually he would, just to make them happy.

Still, he found himself whispering it to Izzy one night. She hugged him when he cried, scared that she’d hate him as much as their father might if he knew. She told him to never feel bad, and that there was nothing wrong with him.

Alec didn’t believe her for a second. He was a mistake, a Shadowhunter with a few broken gears.

When Magnus came along, he started to believe Izzy, just a little bit. Being with Magnus felt natural, felt right. Something so good couldn’t come from something broken, could it?

And Magnus was so sure, so proud of who he was. Magnus was good, he wasn’t what his father was talking about. He’s a Downworlder, sure, but he’s nice and good and all the things Shadowhunters are supposed to embody.

In the Accords Hall, his mother and father find out. Robert is mad, even more than Alec thought he would be. He ignores it for now, letting himself be happy in the fact he’s with Magnus, and that he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It still hurts, and he can’t bear Father’s Day anymore, but it’s better. He’s happy, and in a way he never thought he’d get.

He finds he doesn’t want his parents approval anymore, just that feeling that comes when you get to be who you are without fear.

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