#it did bleed more than i thought it did. nothing terrible just more than i expected | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shiny-jr · 6 months

Text

from POMEFIORE

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader.

- Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Epel Felmier.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: Hoping its not too out of character.

Ignihyde | Pomefiore | Scarabia

Perfume. The carefully sealed envelope reeked of it, like the sweet smell of lavender with spice. The envelope containing the message looked like something you would find when getting an invitation to a ball or a wedding. The envelope was pristine, and the wax sealing it was done so perfectly without a single awkward edge.

It almost looked unnatural with how perfect it appeared. The thick beige parchment was cut evenly, and not a blot of ink strayed from the elegantly curved cursive words that looked like ribbons upon the page. Looks could be deceiving. It was beautiful, but as you might've already guessed, the interior didn't entirely match what was hidden beneath the surface.

To my darling player,

I am at fault and take full responsibility for my actions.

All I've ever wished for, was to admire you. You are the epitome of magnificence, divinity that I can only dream to one day achieve but knowing I will never truly reach. There's an otherworldly sort of allure to you, which drew me in far too close. Much like the man who enhanced himself with wings of wax, but flew too close to the sun so his wings melted and he met a terrible fate. You are the sun, and I was that reckless fool with fake wings.

I allowed myself to get too close, tainting your light with my imperfect presence. Your grace was the warm sunlight on my skin, when everything around me was a horrible darkness. To think, I attempted to put out that light. It was nearly diminished. For that, I should be burned. I'm sorry, so so sorry.

I've thought long and hard on what I could possibly say to you, what sort of response could be adequate enough considering what you mean to me and the delicate situation. It didn't take long for me to arrive to the answer: no response is fitting. It doesn't matter if I pen a letter long enough to rival the river of tears I shed, coat the envelope in gold and ink of silver, with a message that would have moved the seven themselves to weep. It does not change the betrayal that occurred. I betrayed the trust you gave me, and shattered it into millions of pieces. However, know that I'll be on my hands and knees piecing it back together again, even if the shards cause me to bleed, you are worth it.

The stabbing sensation on my skin would be nothing compared to the one in my heart that I feel when I consider the fact that you might despise me. There's nothing more I would want than to see your face, hold your hands and feel the warmth of your skin that's so unlike the coldness of your vessel. Requesting a meeting would be imperious, as I have no right to ask you of this. But if I could, I would love to see you and discuss what comes next, perhaps over lunch. This is just a thought, a wish of mine, but one you are not required to fulfill.

I'd love to believe that I know you and your vessel better than anyone else could even dream of understanding, but I know that is far from the truth. Even as I pampered and polished your precious doll, your secrets continue to escape me. Did you ever hear me, when I brushed and washed Yuu's hair? When I took their freezing cold hands and painted their nails? When kneeled down in front of them to polish their shoes? When I adorned the best luxuries of brand accessories on their body?

I would kneel down to no one else.

There was always this wish, a dream of mine, that one day I might perhaps one day get to pamper you. Not Yuu. But you. Is that a scandalous desire?

Your hands would be warm, and I would hold them as I file your nails. Your arm wouldn't be so rigid and mechanical, you could actually extend it as I slather a creamy scented lotion along your skin. And if you do desired, I could lift your head and apply lipstick to your lips... This is just the process I commonly used while your vessel was under my care.

Although, I would gladly take up the responsibility of nursing you back to health, or any other role you would give me. There are countless things I can accomplish for you. I commonly deal in potent poisons, but I can just as well deal in healing and comforting. I'm skilled in self-defense and various forms of magic, so I can be your companion to protect you from everything that would wish you harm. You know of my business in acting and singing, so even if you wanted nothing else I could be there to entertain or serenade you. I only wish to be with you again, even though I know I'm underserving. I'm selfish.

If you want nothing more, then I have to be satisfied knowing I was in your thoughts for a brief moment. A twisted part of me wants your mind to be plagued by thoughts of me, just as my mind and heart is full of you.

I have to remind myself, that by getting too close I risk being burnt. But, at this point, I do not care for my own safety. I only care for yours, and I do this to keep my sanity. I truly admire you so much, that I cannot adore you from afar behind a rope like sculpture in a museum. I have to stand nearby, inspect your beauty, polish you to a shine, and value you like the priceless treasure that you are. Should someone threaten to chip off even the slightest speck on you, forcing you through more suffering...

I will shatter them into a million pieces, to preserve your peace.

Yours,

Vil Schoenheit

The wonderful aromatic smell that filled your nose brought back some not so pleasant memories. The smell of the earth beneath your feet, the scent of dew collected on every still surface, but above all were fragrant tangs that immediately alerted you to any nearby presence of a student belonging to Pomefiore.

They had chased you through those deep dark woods, like a pack of rabid hounds tracking and hunting a poor wounded rabbit. Besides their shouts and footfall, their perfume gave them away. There was one in particular which you only caught a whiff of only when you had too closely encountered the dormleader. The scent of lavender and spice hit your nose, the same fragrance on the letter.

"That reeks! Burn it!" A certain feline hissed, covering his little black nose with his paws. You swore the fragrance was beginning to form a migraine at the front of your skull. If the smell was strong for you, it must've been much worse for Grim since he had a superior sense of smell.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if the smell wasn't that strong and it wasn't the particular scent. Like vanilla or freshly baked bread. If that were the case, Grim might've insisted on keeping it or even be tempted to take a bite out of the sheet.

But it was lavender and spice. So the letter was tossed into a corner several feet away, left to an unknown fate that you would ultimately decide later. When you glanced back to Grim, you saw him holding and sniffing another letter.

For a long moment his sniffed the rolled up paper, his black nose twitching as he was likely just searching for another gift to claim as a snack. After a few seconds, he discarded it, sliding it over to you before he opted to dig through the pile like a raccoon digging into a heap of trash. "Meh, this one smells boring."

"Boring, huh?"

Boring wouldn't exactly be your choice of adjectives to describe this letter. It wasn't an envelope, it was a scroll tied by ribbon, attached to an arrow. An arrow, of all things, was likely the messenger for this message. Thankfully, this one didn't smell of anything. Even without a fragrance to match to a profile, the arrow was a dead giveaway.

Opening it up and using your hands to smooth out the curled edges, you blatantly ignored the wax seal over the ribbon. Once it was fully unsealed, a few single flower petals drifted down from the paper. Just another mess you would sweep up later and decide whether to dispose of it or not, like the first letter from the dormleader. For this one you were a pinch anxious. The sender was not like the others who came before.

Trickster,

It relieves me to see that you are finally safe.

To see you rest and heal in tranquility, nothing steadies my anxiously beating heart more than knowing you are sheltered. Well guarded by a trio of ghosts and the courageous feline Grim, I have no need to stress over your wellbeing with them acting as your valiant knights in shining armor! Although, I would also wish to join their ranks, blessed by your grace and fit to serve as your shield. However...

I am conscious enough to know that I am nowhere near fitting, no matter how much I may wish to reach out and shield you from every evil. In that most vital moment, I had failed to recognize you. I may have spared you from the sharpness of my blade, but I couldn't have guarded you from the suffering that was to come afterwards.

I'm so deeply and truly sorry. Many sleepless nights have followed, since and even before our first fateful encounter in those woods of the Pomefiore estate. Before our encounter, I was conflicted. I wanted to detest you, but I could not, I thought there must be a reason this was all occurring. I couldn't slumber peacefully, so long as I knew there was turbulence surrounding your beloved vessel. After our encounter, I couldn't get the vision of you fragile, frightened, and wounded, out of my mind. Raising a blade against you, who were a stranger shrouded in infamy, made my very heart stop.

Now I know why I was so unexplainably drawn to you. It was not due to the wild frenzy that overtook the entire campus, or a burning hatred to destroy, or even my own desire to discover answers I desperately wanted, although that last one may have played a role. The reason as to I was so enticed by you, a cunning 'imposter,' was because my heart recognized you. It must have been my very soul that pulled me towards you, and perhaps my own nature as well. My body recognized you, my heart and my soul led me to you, but I was blinded by my sorrows.

Throughout the few years I've had on this wonderful earth, I've seen countless peoples, and you are unlike any of which I've seen. In the places I've been, I have witnessed poetry be written by masters of literacy, melodies sung by the most angelic voices ever heard on a stage, and devoted worshippers in holy places kneel in solemn prayer. Somehow you as a single being, or entity, encompass all those elements into one. My aim is to admire beauty, and I see beauty in its finest form when I look at you.

I truly understand what you mean to me, and to others.

But at the same time, you remain a mystery. And I believe I'm speaking for all those who admire you when I say this. We could only dream of truly understanding you, when we only had Yuu.

So, I try to make sense of it all in what I do understand, in the beautiful things I adore that I associate with you who I cherish. In literature, music, photography, I see you in everything all at once. When I read poetic lines, I think I could share it with you. When I hear beautiful music, I imagine you might enjoy listening to the tune too. When I discover stunning sceneries, I plan to bring you there someday to share a moment with you.

Now, I can make sense of it. I understand how the poets of old felt as they penned the love and awe they felt towards the Fairest Queen. It's a rare sentiment that cannot easily be put into words, a feeling as if it held my delicate heart and squeezed when I so much as thought of you. When a song and its composer can bring an audience to tears, I understand that now too. Hearing your voice for the first time, formed a knot in my throat that prevented me from saying much. Catching that first glimpse of you, was like gazing at a perfect painted portrait hanging in a museum.

My dearest player, I am a Hunt. I am naturally inquisitive by nature, and my fondness for you comes just as naturally. You may consider it wrong, but I will continue to offer my loyalty even if you may not accept it.

My aim is to one day unlock your secrets, solve your mysteries, and understand you fully, learn what makes you tick and what drives you forward. Perhaps when the day comes when you've forgiven me for my crimes, I can proudly stand in your presence and recite the poems I have written in your name. I could admire you everyday from then on, and remind you everyday of your worth. Then, I will protect you, from all harm, and I will not allow myself to fail you once again. This is a promise.

Should you need me, I will be there.

Yours,

Rook Hunt

There was something that felt... off. Compared to some of the previous letters, these were rather tame. Of course, there was the desperation and fascination evident in their words captured by the ink, but it was nowhere near as extreme as other cases.

Although, it was still chilling, to read the thoughts they penned.

In your hand you held the arrow the letter had been connected to, feeling its thin shape and the sharpened head at its tip that nearly pricked your finger. The vice dormleader had excellent aim, and had he not been so kind, arrows like this one in your hand could've easily been driven through your flesh and caught you against a tree where you would've been helpless in their grasps.

And yet, despite the opportunities he had, he didn't let a single weapon touch you. All it would take was one arrow, one moment and he could've ended you where you stood. But he spared you. However, there's the lingering doubt that maybe the primary reason he did it was he hoped you had answers to the malfunctioning vessel. You couldn't be sure exactly why he spared you, when everyone had wanted to torment and imprison you or worse.

Beside you, there's a large crunch and a content purr. When you look over, there's Grim, happily munching away on an apple he held with his little paws. He sank his fangs into the fruit, content that he finally found an offering that appeased him. In front of him was a small basket, filled with more juicy red apples.

"These are great! And, even though I was the one who found them, I'll let you have some!" Grim picked up another apple from the basket, sticking his claws into the red peel and offering it with his little grin. Nevermind the fact that these were probably meant as a gift for you and not for him, but you didn't mind. They would have likely ended up in the trash anyways, at least someone could enjoy them.

"You should really have one. You haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry, but thanks. You can have them." Ever since everything happened, you weren't too keen on accepting gifts, especially if they were consumable. For now, the only places you'd accept food from, was the cafeteria you'd venture too at the dead of night when no one was there, or Sam's shop.

In the spot of the basket where Grim had removed the apple, there was a white layer at the bottom of the basket. Perplexed, you reached in and found an envelope hidden by the piled apples.

Unsurprisingly, the envelope smelled of sweet things, apples, cinnamon, and freshly baked pies. The envelope itself was nothing special, it had no intricate wax seal or marking. It was loosely sealed shut by a brown piece of string, and covered in some white and pink apples blossoms.

The inside was less impressive, more authentic, which was refreshing in a way. Smooth cursive flowed into slightly choppy print scrawled out in uneven lines, before eventually returning back to cursive at the end of some sentences. It appears parts were rushed judging by the blotted ink stains at multiple periods. The apples were a clue as to who the sender may be, but why would the letter be hidden in a gift?

Dear Player,

If you're reading this, that means my letter got through.

Where do I even start? It seems right that I first say sorry. I'm sorry. It sounds like a load of bull, but I am sorry. Apologizing in all these other ways, won't make this any better, so, I thought this might help. I'm gonna be completely honest with you, no lies, no tricks, just the blunt truth. I'm not going to be showing you these pretty sides I polished to impress and to mask all the ugly. I'll tell you everything that's been going on. That's something only I have the guts to do.

The reason I hid this letter was because Vil and Rook have been checking anything I want to write to you. They want to keep up this positive front, they wanna at least pretend to be perfect enough to be near you. At least, that's what I think. Although I know we won't ever come close to that.

Instead of trying to write a real and honest letter for you, it feels like I was writing some essay for Professor Trein to grade. I'd have to write and write, and even if the grammar was right, the message wasn't. They want to make you think everything's okay, when it's not. I can only imagine what elegant crap they were spewing in their own fancy letters, while we're actually all a mess. We've been like this since Yuu broke down. I try to understand them, and in a way I do, but sometimes they freak me out. Yeah, I got my own problems trying to comprehend all this chaos, but they're different.

Is everyone else in the other dorms this extreme? This miserable and on the verge of breaking? Maybe you won't believe me, or maybe you'll realize that there's some truth to what I'm saying. Here, in Pomefiore, I can only tell you what I've seen. These days, Rook's smile seems strained, like he's about to snap, his eyes are sharp and watchful. The only time his smile is normal is when he's looking at some photo, but he won't ever let me see what it is. Vil, well, the only sign he's still alive and kicking are the packages that come in for him, new makeup and all that stuff, things he's using to craft that perfect mask. I did see him one night out in the hall, I swear there was mascara down his face but I was too put off to approach when he was like that.

Don't ever tell them I told you all this. Vil would probably skin me alive and wear me as a robe, and Rook... I don't want to think about what he would do... I'm kidding by the way, but seriously, don't ever tell them. I told you I would be honest to you, so here's my reason. I thought that maybe telling you all this would score me points with you, get you to trust me again. Even if this is a rotten way to go about it, I don't care.

I am rotten, and I won't hide it like them.

If I can't even be honest with you, then do I really deserve a second chance at all?

Scratch that. I don't deserve a second chance at all after everything that happened. What I did was downright terrible, but I'm trying my damnedest to be deserving again. And I won't stop trying, even if part of me thinks it's useless. I never cared for Yuu, the only reason I acted for them was because it was you behind them. My goal is to eventually be beside you, the real you.

Although, a basket of apples is a crummy way to go about things, but think of it like a peace offering. Just cause I can't get word to you, don't mean I give up. I'm not giving up. Ever. Everyone's going about their own roundabout ways of mending things. If you want to hear more, I'll gladly tell you. I don't think anyone else would tell you the truth of what's happening, because in a sense everyone wants to appeal to you with the best image of themselves they can possible portray. Don't believe all the hogwash they send you. If whoever sends something and seems to be stable, they're not. Not completely.

I'm awfully ashamed to admit it, but I'm not okay. Not since everything started, and not since everything went to hell when shit hit the fan. I'm not okay without you, and I got myself to blame for that.

This letter is helping. The thought of communicating with you again, even if I can't see your face or hear your voice and its reduced to words on paper, it's more than I could ask for. So, if you want me to spill the beans, just ask. If not, if there's no response, well, I'll get a bit of comfort thinking you might've read this. Besides, I have hope with each attempt I'll make. I'm not just rottenly selfish, I'm stubborn to a fault. And if I have to knock down someone else's chances to get closer, then that's fine by me.

All you gotta do is talk to me.

Until then, hoping to speak to you soon,

Epel Felmier

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twst imposter au #i didn't ask to isekaied #we just got a letter wonder who it’s from #vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit #twst vil #rook hunt #yandere rook hunt #twst rook #epel felmier #yandere epel felmier #twst epel #pomefiore

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assumptionprime · 2 years

Photo

My relationship with mirrors has been a real rollercoaster over the past year and half or so. Don't get me wrong, I can still absolutely rip my reflection to metaphorical shreds on a bad day. But more often I find myself passing by the mirror and liking what I see more than I ever have before.

We're in a better place now, me and reflective surfaces.

Twitter / Patreon / Instagram

(Description after the cut)

[image description: Comic, 12 panels. Panel 1: Pre-transition Robin looking in the mirror. Captions "I used to feel nothing when I looked in the mirror. Not good. Not Bad. Not even "fine" Panel 2: Past Robin's reflection, with no eyes, and cast in shadow. Captions "I was apathetic. I think I had to be." Panel 3: A large iceberg viewed from above and below the surface of an ocean. Above the water it is light blue and average-looking, hidden beneath the blue gives way to the alternating pink, white and blue of the trans pride flag. Captions "I think I had a feeling that if I thought about it too hard-- I would find a much deeper problem." The panel borders are cracked and broken. Panel 4: A mirror with pre transition Robin after admitting to her own transness. She is gripping her head and shirt in distress, eyes wide at the sight of herself. Stubble dots her face and arms. Captions "When I inevitably did find that deeper problem-- Mirrors quickly became terrible for me. I knew that I didn't like myself. I knew why." Panel 5: Severly cracked panels holding bits of Robin, exaggerated in intensity, brows and hairline, nose and stubbled lip, stubble arms. Captions: "And I could see it-- in every inch-- of my reflection." Panel 6: Robin's fingers digging into a stubbled arm. Captions: "If I looked too long, I started to feel trapped in my skin." Fuzzy paint bordered panels, watercolors bleeding through the lines of the images. Panel 7: Female Robin, face indistinct, reaching toward the screen. Captions "Shortly after I started HRT, I had a dream that stuck with me. I looked in the mirror and saw myself as a woman. That part was hardly unique. I'd done that before. (Kind of a lot.)" Panel 8: Bottles of medication, labels indistinct and unreadable. Captions "But in those older dreams it was always that I woke up that way, or something magic had happened. In this dream, I know that this was because I had transitioned, and it had worked. Panel 9: Dream Robin smiling. Captions "I don't remember exactly what I looked like. But I do remember that in that moment, I was happy to see myself." Return to normal panel borders. Panel 10: Past Robin waking up in bed. Captions "At the time, it was just a nice little confirmation that I was on the right track. That, deep down, I truly did want to do this." Panel 11: Present Robin, over year into transition, looking toward the screen in surprise. Caption "The thing I somehow didn't expect was that only a year later-" Panel 12: Robin looking the mirror, smiling. Caption "I'd start having the same moment while I'm awake."]

#comic #art #transgender #trans #trans stuff #when will my reflection SHOWWWWWWW

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silverskye13 · 2 months

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Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

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yandere-sins · 6 months

Note

Ivyyyyyyyy >.< you're the worsttttt(read: BEST) oh my god the thoughts im having abt dilic with a period kink rn. Gawd and he doesn't even know it's a period kink, he thinks it's absolutely normal to do nasty things with his girl while she's bleeding out and feels proud about it that HE can take her pain away

OMG continuing the diluc saga but yan dilic thinks darling's period is the perfect opportunity to finally put his hands on darling. He knows you're in pain so he promises, he's doing this for YOU not him (lies) he'll ease it in gently and make it feel good! Soon darling will forget all about those cramps bc of him him him! He doesnt need to feel as guilty bc he's helping you out.....right? OMG PLS write something abt thissss, it can be any yandere or oc but im going crazy after what u saiddd

Hehe, you're welcome! I began writing this as just a talk, but decided mid-way through to make it a scenario!

a/n: I wrote this before my hiatus and coming back to correct it, I found so many mistakes, it doesn't even feel like I wrote this smh... I did my best to polish it a bit since I can't see myself rewriting it in the future but if you find anything oddly worded just ignore it lol I wasn't myself back then :')

[Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content]

I can just see the cock cogs turning in this idiot's head as he racks his brain about how he can help you. Clearly, you're in pain, but no matter how many more times he calls a physician to have a look, they just keep waving off his concerns. It's normal, they say. You're healthy. That's what everyone has to go through.

And yet he sees you writhing and crying in pain—it's breaking his heart!

Pillow pressed to your stomach, tears in your eyes that you can't blink away fast enough before they fall. You're especially irritable, but it hurts him more when you whine and complain; Diluc wanting to help you now more than ever. He's already gone through the usual stuff, the imported water bottles from Snezhnaya and the chocolate from Fontaine. If you utter so much as a craving, he has the servants scramble to get it to you. Nothing is too expensive or too hard to get. You could have asked for the heads of your enemies, and Diluc would have brought them to you with ribbons and glitter if that had helped with your pains.

But alas, it doesn't.

It's been three days, and his nerves are raw, the bags under his eyes dark, and the burden of your health weighs heavily on Diluc. He can't see how things will ever get better. The other times you were on your period were conveniently skipped by business trips, so this is hitting him full force.

"Exercising might help," one of the maids suggests as he forces himself to consult someone more knowledgeable than him.

"Sometimes, my wife likes a little stimulation to alleviate the pain," a vintner chuckles, winking at Diluc as the word of his helplessness spreads. And suddenly, inappropriate ideas get stuck in his head, making him blush like a young lad in love.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Taking a deep breath, Diluc raised his hand to knock on your bedroom door. It was terribly late, the servants asleep and only the eery flickering of his candle guiding him through the night. Most likely, you were tugged in and fighting for your well-deserved sleep, so he hesitated, fist hanging in the air before slowly dropping it to his side.

What he was about to do was not only foolish but also filled him with the same burning in his body as using his vision did. He could feel the warmth sweep over him from his head to his toes, the latter curling in his shoes while most of the heat was throbbing between his legs, aching to connect with your warmth in a less-than-innocent way.

However, these feelings were nothing compared to the agony of the last few days.

If this was what he had to do to help you alleviate the pain, he would. If it was for you, Diluc would do anything in his power, whether to protect or help you. If he had to become a mere plaything so you'd be freed of the pain, then his concerns were a small sacrifice for all the good he was going to do.

Brushing his hair back, Diluc took a deep breath, reminding himself there was nothing wrong with wanting to help. If the method the vintner suggested worked, everyone would be happy. And if not, he'd keep searching for ways to free you of the pain. Turning the key in the door lock, he pulled it out before slowly entering your room, ensuring he could give you two the privacy needed in this situation.

To his surprise, you were still awake.

You made a half-hearted attempt at a greeting, but when you noticed it was him, you only scoffed, turning away. It hurt when you gave him the cold shoulder so callously, but Diluc knew you were the one suffering at that moment, not him. He could forgive you for being dismissive of him. Your bedside lamp was still on, and he could see you clutching a pillow to your belly, his own stomach cramping up with remorse, even though, logically, he knew it wasn't his fault. He loved you as you were, the good and bad days, your misery becoming his own much too easily these days.

Setting down the candle on your table, he walked over to you. But not before locking the door from the inside, just so he could give himself a few more seconds before his approach. Every step cost him a lot of discipline, being near you never having been this hard. Even when he looked confident around you, Diluc only ever felt weak. You made him vulnerable. Desperate. Longing for your love and affection was all he was allowed to do, so even just watching your chest rise and fall set him ablaze.

Pushing off his shoes, Diluc focused on the little space you left at the edge of the bed. It was the only space he could see that was reserved for him, as he didn't deserve to share your bed, in your opinion. Yet, when he climbed in, pulling the cover over himself and snaking his arm around your waist, he was enveloped in your scent, your hair tickling his skin as he breathed in deeply. Had he known that heaven was hiding so closely to him, he might not have waited so long to come and see you.

"What are you--" you complained, pushing yourself away from him. But Diluc's hand had already wandered beneath the pillow, feeling the hot water bottle you kept secured there, only to replace it with his palm. He was just as, if not hotter than anything the servants could procure for you; his body temperature naturally elevated from his vision. It wouldn't burn you, but with his hand hugging your lower belly, it was much more effective and fitting than any appliance might be.

And you fell for it, even if just for a split second.

For a moment, you leaned into the comfort of his palm, the pain vanishing in the blink of an eye. Diluc even caught you sighing briefly before you came to your senses, jolting and pushing away from him, only to get stuck inside the blanket and pressed up against him. Diluc couldn't help but grin, having read your actions before they even occurred to you, but of course, this was a serious matter, so he quickly composed himself.

"H-Hey!" you yelled as his hand drifted lower, his face burying into the nape of your neck. He wasn't there to dilly-dally but to be of service. To help you in your time of need. By the time Diluc pressed his lips to your skin and his fingers between your legs, you understood his intentions as well, perhaps misinterpreted, but clear as day.

He was going to fuck the pain away.

If exercise and stimulation helped others, maybe it would do the same for you. His fingers were met with warm slick, your body flinching when he moved over your clit. Perhaps his calloused hands weren't made for caressing and soft touches but for teasing and stimulating. Judging by how puffy your lower lips were, worked up from days of rubbing your legs together and your panties aggravating them mercilessly, you were in dire need of his help.

"Don't fight it. You're not alone in this," Diluc reassured you as you squirmed in his hold, biting back the salacious sounds of pleasure you were keeping from his ears. You were so mean, keeping every little taste of appreciation from Diluc, knowing how much it meant to him. But he'd endure. Even when your ass ground back against his cock, making it incredibly hard to not focus on his needs as well, he'd put you first in all of this.

When he slipped his pointer and middle finger towards your entrance, a tremor went through your body, a gasp slipping out from between your lips. Diluc never knew how easy it was to get inside another person, greeted warmly and happily by your hole clenching around his fingers.

His kisses became more fervent against your neck, teeth snapping out as he felt like he was losing himself in your scent and warmth. The pushes of his hips against your ass became faster, your cheeks fitting so well around his shaft. You yelled at him to stop, but he barely heard you through the sounds of your sloppy, wet cunt, blood mingling with eager juices to allow him more reach inside you. It was almost as if he could hear them beg for him to go deeper, which just wasn't possible with his knuckles in the way, no matter how much he tried.

Forgotten was the pain as pleasure raked its claws through both of you, and yet, Diluc still heard you whine and sob as he scissored his fingers through your inside. It wasn't enough. He opened his eyes he didn't know he had closed, staring at your expression curiously. All he saw was anger and disgust, your teeth bared and ready to snap, while he could feel your nails digging into his arm. And yet, when he found your eyes, he saw a very different version of events. Lust, desire, longing. You wanted more, and Diluc wouldn't refuse such a request.

Slipping a leg between yours, he pried them apart, spreading you open wide. You gasped, squirming and trying to cut off his access, but Diluc only had to lean back to steal your balance, your body reliant on his while he gained more space on your bed. The hardest part was freeing his cock from the restraint of his pants, the fabric soggy with both your juices as well as his own pre-cum pearling off the tip of his engorged cock.

Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your wet cunt greeting his eager cock. No imagining of this situation could have come close to the throbbing heat, your walls convulsing around his fingers in eager expectation. Diluc placed his tip against his fingers, planning to slip them out and take the opening to sink into you, but with how wet the combination of blood and juices was, he felt himself slipping away, kissing your clit instead.

And for the first time, you moaned.

It was the sound of angels and everything nice, and he drew his hips back, trying again to fill you with his cock, missing it just an inch. All good things are three, and when he finally plunged it deep inside your pussy, you weren't the only one yowling in pleasure. No matter what he had imagined his first time with you to be, nothing would ever top the mess he caused between your legs, his cock ready to burst as it pulsated violently inside your equally as ready cunt.

He could feel the waves of pleasure going through you, the shudders in your limbs as he began to slowly press forward, kissing the last few inches of his reach. You remained stiff as a plank, but when he pulled out halfway before sinking in deep again, you were unable to keep your mouth shut, an elongated moan making its way to Diluc's ears, letting him know it was the right thing after all.

Immediately, any hesitation fell off him as he dragged his cock out and sunk it back into you. Fingers retreated to your clit, continuing to slip off and assault the little knob over and over while your walls clenched around his shaft, making you feel every one of his throbs and ridges, the heat between you two almost scorching.

Part of him couldn't believe it worked. That he actually managed to help you with this trick. But he'd have been a liar if he said it wasn't a pleasure for him, too. Diluc could never have dreamed about your proficiency in driving him wild, from your hot, puffy pussy wrapping around him to the improper sounds he had never heard coming from your lips before. The blood kept you so wet and loud down there; it was like you were synching your moans with your pussy, sloppy as they were.

It couldn't have been better, a shudder going through you from head to toe, your feet curling as you gurgled. Diluc wrapped his free arm around your throat, pulling you against him and burying his face in your shoulder as you came hard, juices leaking out, red dripping on the clean sheets with the blanket long discarded.

You were gasping for air as he plunged right back into you, waiting but a mere few seconds of yours before pursuing his own orgasm. Selfishly, but unable to stop. Diluc was already too deep in it, quite literally, your orgasm making your inside tight around him, but it posed no challenge with how drenched you both were.

A strained groan escaped Diluc as he buckled, feeling the first squirts of cum shoot out of him before he drew back, popping out of your cunt and covering it in his cum. His tip got stuck on your clit, as his jizz ejected under the pressure of his orgasm, making you mewl as you were once again stimulated. It would be a mess to clean, but it had been worth it.

You two collapsed, spent and dirty, but Diluc slipped his palm back over your lower stomach, rubbing the collection of juices over your soft skin, leaving a red trail. Kissing the side of your head, he was trying to collect his breath and thoughts, barely able to think straight as the feelings of happiness and his relief kept him in a chokehold.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a blissful rumble as he pulled you firmer against him.

But all he was met with was a cold glare and tears in your eyes. "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered instinctively, immediately feeling bad. What had he done to upset you again? Your teeth were biting into your lip as if you were holding back a tirade of screaming, ready to explode.

His cock twitched between your legs, bloody and so, so wet.

"I'll make it better! I promise! I will definitely make it better," he tried to reassure you, dazed with pleasure as he was, unable to see the actual problem with all of this. Your body convulsed in shock as he pressed his tip upwards again, and you gasped loudly as he sunk his inches inside you. This time, he wouldn't fail to make you feel better. And until then, he'd keep going.

All night long, if he had to.

492 notes · View notes

thatfreshi · 8 months

Text

It's Over (Astarion x Reader)

Hella angst. Will most likely write a part two because I can't see them sad for too long :(

Tw - gore, couple arguing, panic attack

Recommended Song: hoax - Taylor Swift

It's time. Astarion rips Cazador's body from the coffin, bloodlust in his eyes. You've had your doubts about the rite, about Astarion ascending, but he seemed insistent. He whispered sweet things about how he only wanted to keep both of you safe, and it made your skin crawl. Your precious lover, the pale vampire you came to love, he wanted that horrific power for himself, but at what cost?

"Astarion, stop."

His eyes meet yours.

"What my dear? Want to drink me in before I become the ascendant?"

"You don't know what you're doing."

He scoffs.

"Sure I do. Sacrifice the spawn, get rid of Cazador, leave the past behind! We can leave it all behind."

"You'll become just like him, you can be better than this."

"As if I could ever be the monster he is."

Astarion goes to start the ritual, to become something he was never meant to be. Something in you simply snaps, and you grab for your knife.

"What do you need that for?"

Your breathing gets heavy. Thoughts of your adventures, how long it took you to get here, how badly he wanted this, to finally feel safe. He can't help but stare at your shaking figure, wondering what the sudden stress is all about. You say nothing, instead taking a few steps towards the center of the room, by the vampire lord's defenseless body.

"Tav, what are you-"

And suddenly you're on your knees, plunging your knife into Cazador's chest, letting the blood spurt out of his skin, flying into your eyes.

"TAV!"

Astarion scrambles to fight the knife out of your hands, ignoring your tears. His master is already gone though, long gone, his lifeless corpse bleeding out all over the floor. He's frantic, your limbs crashing against each other.

"What have you done?!"

His cries turn into a shout, somewhere warbled between fear and anger.

"He was mine Tav, you knew he was mine!"

Checking for any sign that the vampire is still alive, he has trouble catching his breath. He quickly comes to his feet, realizing it's a fruitless endeavor. The vampire spawn mumbles to himself.

"It can still work, it has to work."

You get up to follow him, trying to get him to turn and face you.

"My lo-"

"Don't! You said you'd help me, you said you'd help me do this!"

Tears start to form in his eyes as the crushing anxiety turns his breathing into a choked wheeze, the beginning of a panic attack ensuing.

"I- I can't- you said."

"Aster, Aster listen to me, please."

You desperately try to hold onto him as he breaks from your grasp, becoming more scattered. He tries to form another sentence, filled with rage and sorrow.

"You... you lied to me! I-"

His body starts to crumble into yours, unsure of where else to go.

"I know. I'm sorry my love. I'm sorry."

The two of you come to the ground, him lying in your arms.

"I'm so sorry Astarion. I did what I had to, I couldn't see you become that monster. I just couldn't lose you like that."

He tries to choke out words in his mumbling breath.

"Hush, you're not breathing. I need you to breathe."

The rest of your companions watch on, knowing this was the plan if you couldn't get Astarion to give up the rite. Most of them can barely watch as he falls apart. You try to rub up and down his back, setting some kind of pace for his breath, but he just keeps trying to talk.

"How could you do this to me..."

It stings, making you wonder if you were wrong, if he'll hate you after this. He probably hates you right now.

"I know, I'm sorry."

He wasn't wrong. After wishing to complete the ascension for so long, ever since Raphael told him of the rite, it felt terrible to take it from him like this. But you knew better, that deep down you were saving him. You just didn't yet know at what cost. He continues to sit in your embrace, and you keep whispering sweet words. At some point his breathing starts to even out, but he just sobs more and more. You can hear Shadowheart and Gale murmuring behind you, somewhere that feels so far from this moment.

"Why?"

His question distracts you from the conversation off in the distance. You don't even know what to say. What in this moment could possibly convince him that this is for the best? He's just scared. He's always been scared, but he doesn't have to become the fear.

"You would've lost yourself. We all would've lost you Aster. I would've lost you."

He almost tries to argue with you, but loses his voice in the misery. It's over. He can't complete it now. You've made his decision for him.

When it comes time to go, he doesn't walk alongside you. The group makes their way back to the inn, and he simply silently walks amongst your companions, as he often did before you ever fell in love. Shadowheart makes her way to the back of the group.

"You did what you had to do. He'll see that eventually."

You liked her words, now you just had to believe them.

Despite the obvious tension, you end up in your room together, and for the first time in a long time he doesn't yearn for your touch. He lays on the bed as far as he can from you, leaving the blankets and sheets up to your discretion. There's not a thought behind his eyes, just shock, and that nagging fear that won't go away.

"I love you."

Astarion doesn't say it back, instead finding that it's too hard to try and sleep in the same room as you. He quickly gets up and storms out of the room, slamming the door. Your tears fall into the sheets he left you with. He ends up knocking on Gale's door, not sure where else to go. Usually he'd make fun of the wizard for various reasons, but he just averts his gaze, until he lets him in.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Gale asks, clearly very tired from today's events.

"No. I just want to be angry."

The man of the weave sighs.

"We all would've done the same. Tav was just the one to execute it."

"There's a very big difference in saying you'd do something, and actually doing it."

Gale lets the conversation go, allowing a space for Astarion to sleep on the bed, grabbing a spare blanket from the chair in the corner.

"They really love you. I know it may not seem like it right now, but Tav loves you more than I've ever seen anything be loved."

"Did I come here to be lectured?"

"Ugh, no. But you can't stay mad at them forever Astarion."

"I'll be the judge of that."

The next morning join your companions downstairs for a sloppily prepared breakfast. Wyll and Lae'zel look prepared to take on the day, talking about Githyanki fighting techniques. Shadowheart and Halsin look over your stock of herbs and potions, and Karlach helps Gale serve up food. Astarion is nowhere to be found. The wizard must've seen the worry in your eyes.

"He's in my room."

You let out a silent 'oh,' and take a serving of breakfast. After a couple minutes of moving the mixture around, you can't seem to force yourself to eat.

"Just go check on him, you're not fooling anyone."

Shadowheart gives you a sad smile. You pass her your food and go back upstairs, finding Gale's room. A soft knock against the door, the sound of the bed creaking inside.

"Aster, my love?"

No response. Against your better judgement, you open the door slowly.

"I don't really feel like talking Tav."

He's reading some tome Gale had lying around, trying to distract himself.

"I know. I just wanted you to know, I really am sorry."

Astarion sighs, setting the book down on the mattress.

"Alright, so we are talking then! Great, whatever you want."

"Don't be like that."

"Be like what? Be mad that you made a very important choice for me, against my will?"

You close the door behind you, knowing it's probably going to get ugly.

"Don't shut me out and pretend like we don't need to have this conversation, is what I meant."

"Fine. We'll have this conversation then."

He checks his nails, trying his best not to look you in the eye.

"I told you what I wanted, I told you what was important to me, and you lied. You lied and said you'd help me get what I want, what I wanted for both of us."

"I didn't think there would be any convincing you until you saw it all again."

"What? All of my mistakes? All the poor innocent people I lured to Cazador? No, not even Sebastian could stop me from finally having the power I deserved. But you? You thought that was your place?"

You squeeze your fist, trying to think of a way to reason with him.

"Even Cazador was like you once. And you saw what he became."

"You're implying I would enslave people and cut them up for fun? After all I've been through?"

"No! I'm just saying it changes people, that kind of power consumes you."

"And who are you to choose that for me? After I've had a million choices made for me, you thought that's what I'd want?"

He stands now, walking over to finally face you.

"I trusted you, and you lied."

Tears fill his eyes again.

"I wanted this for both of us, so we could both be safe forever, and you took that from me!"

"Do you think that's what I would've wanted? To be your little pet? Sit in some grand palace while you have all the power you could ever want?"

"I'd never treat you like that, and you know that Tav."

"Yes, but a vampire lord would, and that's what you'd be. You're not some special case Astarion! You don't become a true vampire, especially from a rite like that, and still be a good person."

"I never wanted to be a good person Tav. I just wanted to be free."

You try to grab onto his hand. At first he avoids your touch.

"You are free. We're free, we can do whatever we want! I gave us that!"

He almost wraps his hand in yours, but pulls back.

"I don't know that though. I'll never truly know that. Cazador may be dead, but now all those spawns are in the Underdark. They could try to come for me, or there could be some Gur on the prowl."

"And we'll all keep you safe. I'll keep you safe my love, I swear it."

For the first time since you've entered, he stares straight at you the whole time he speaks.

"I don't know if that's enough to keep me from hating you right now."

His words stab holes in your heart.

"You don't mean that."

"Don't you tell me what I fucking mean. No one gets to control me anymore. Not you, not Cazador, no one."

"I don't want to control you!"

"What do you call taking my choice away then? You're no better than him."

You almost gasp, breath caught in your throat, stunned by the fact that he would dare compare you to that man.

"Fine. You think I'm just like him? You think I want to control you? I'll make it real easy then. It's over, you can do whatever you want and you don't have to ever take me into consideration again!"

He tries to throw more venom at you, but you leave and slam the door before he can get the words out. You don't even stop by your room to grab anything, instead you storm out of the inn, walking past all your companions without a word. Shadowheart tries to call after you, but to no avail. You're lost in the crowds almost immediately, not even sure where you're going. Just away from him. Away from the only thing you've truly loved.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst #x reader

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theferrarieffect · 2 months

Text

what the f**k is a kilometer?

masterlist

Logan x reader (3.2k words)

summary: what’s better than running into a cute british boy in london? some might say running with a cute american one…

warnings: slight intoxication, a little injury (nothing super graphic)

Another day, another gray sky littered with clouds. You swear there’s a perpetual drizzle in London, that the beads of water that have formed along your hairline and neck were just as much rain as sweat. But you settle into the rhythmic slap, slap, slap of your shoes against the concrete along with the uptempo beat of your playlist, and soon your normally cluttered mind is blissfully empty of thought.

So empty, in fact, that you find yourself flat on the ground before you even realized you were airborne—let alone feeling your toe catching the cobblestone that started this bona fide calamity.

The public humiliation hurts so much more than your smarting palms, bruised and bleeding knees, the abrasions covering your elbows. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Then a tanned hand comes into view. It beckons you to grab it and let it bring you to your feet.

“Thanks,” you mutter to the owner of the hand, completely frazzled. You follow your gaze up to an arm wearing a navy windbreaker, a chest flanked with a W (and mysteriously, the Mercedes logo?), up to a defined jawline with just a bare stubble, pursed lips, and two narrow blue eyes topped off with a head of sleek blond hair. This could not be any worse, you think. Of course someone that cute witnessed you fully wipe out in front of the entirety of London. Goddamn. He was probably some rich British boy that, in a few seconds, would chide you in a posh accent about being more caahhh-ful.

“Bruh,” Windbreaker Guy says, “are you okay?”

In the most unequivocally un-British accent you’d heard since, well, coming here. You’re so shocked that you just stare, mute.

Windbreaker Guy furrows his brows. “Seriously. Say something before I start thinking you’re concussed or something.”

Yup. Windbreaker Guy definitely bleeds red, white, and blue. To your horror, you can’t suppress the most unwanted giggle as the screeching eagle meme soundbite randomly surfaces in your mind. He looks even more concerned.

“Uh.” You clear your throat. “No, I’m not concussed. I think. Please do me a favor and pretend like this never happened.”

Windbreaker Guy’s face breaks out into a grin. His blue eyes crinkle with laughter. You thought he was handsome before; now you feel your stomach swoop. “Whaddya mean?” He glances around innocently. “I didn’t see anything. Did you?”

You chuckle at the joke. “Thanks for helping me up, by the way. It was super nice of you.”

“Yeah, no problem at all,” he replies.

As you turn around to leave—continuing to run after this would be a Grade A terrible decision—he suddenly calls after you. “Hey!”

You turn around.

Windbreaker Guy bites his bottom lip. “Uh, sorry if this is kinda weird, but can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say with some trepidation.

“Are you from the area?”

You just know that both of you know fully well, that neither of you are exactly locals.

“Hmm,” you say innocently, “I don’t know what makes you ask that.” You fight to keep a teasing smile off your lips.

He blushes, and you have to admit that you’re enjoying every second of this. “Uh, just the way you talk…” he trails off.

“Ah,” you say, fully grinning at this point, “it couldn’t possibly have been my totally not American accent that gave it away, could it?”

To Windbreaker Guy’s credit, he catches on quick. “Definitely not,” he replies smoothly. “Just like how I’m also totally London-born and bred.”

“Okay then, Mr. London,” you risk, “what’s your very British name?” Whoa. Bold. You don’t make a habit of going around asking cute boys their names. Even if they did pick you up off the floor in your time of need.

But Mr. London’s—Windbreaker Guy’s—smile fades. You wish you could yank your words back. Shit. That’s what you get for overstepping. You search his face desperately for signs of being offended.

But then he takes a deep breath. “Logan,” he says cautiously. His face probes yours just as intensely, and you wonder why. “Yours?”

You tell him your name, and Logan’s shoulders relax. The smile returns to his face.

“Well,” he says, “it was very nice to meet a fellow, well, American.” And then he winks.

Now it’s your turn to blush. “Nice to meet you too, Logan. Sorry for interrupting your run.”

“Honestly?” he laughs. “I should be thanking you. I hate cardio.”

“What?” you yelp in spite of yourself. You feel just the teensiest bit defensive of your favorite pastime. “Please. If you hate cardio, all that means is that you’ve been doing it wrong.”

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“People run way too fast. No wonder they think it’s torture,” you press on.

The feeling of something warm trickling down your shin interrupts your rant. You look down and see dark red blood slowly ooze down your leg. A wave of lightheadedness hits you like a bus.

“Hey—” Logan begins, just as you black out.

The first thing you see is a weird, unfamiliar curtain. The second is a whiteboard, where your name is written in an Expo marker, big loopy letters. You turn your head. The third, a navy windbreaker…

It all comes crashing back.

“Oh no,” you mutter.

“You’re awake!” Logan exclaims, relief in his voice.

“Oh my god.” You feel faint again. “Where are we?”

“Emergency. You passed out. The cut on your knee’s pretty nasty…they had to give you a few stitches.”

You make a valiant attempt to climb out of the bed, but Logan’s arm shoots out to stop you.

“You’re going to pass out again,” he warns. “Take it easy.”

“I cannot believe this,” you say feverishly. “And I cannot believe you’re still here. I don’t even know what you were planning to do this afternoon, but it could not possibly have been sitting in the ER with a total stranger.”

“Why not?” Logan asks. “You’re not a stranger, you’re my fellow American.” He does a mock salute.

You can tell Logan’s trying to lighten the mood, but you still feel like crap.

“If it makes you feel better,” he adds, softer this time. “Worse things can happen to a guy than bringing a cute girl to the hospital and having the nurses fawn over you like you’re some kind of Prince Charming.”

You laugh in spite of yourself, and Logan’s face brightens at the response.

“I still feel pretty bad that you got dragged into this,” you say. “Did they say when they’re gonna let me leave?”

And in what has to be the first stroke of good luck today, a nurse pulls back the curtain as if summoned by will. “Feeling better, dear?” she asks.

You nod quickly. “Yes, much. I was actually looking to leave sooner rather than later.”

“Glad to hear. We just have a few papers for you two to sign, then you dears can be on your way.”

You’re so happy to hear that you can be on your way that you don’t register what the nurse said at first. But Logan’s face has gone beet red.

“Uh, wait,” he mumbles. “I don’t think I should sign her papers.”

“Oh!” The nurse gasps. “I’m so sorry, love. I just thought you were together, since you came in with her. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all good,” Logan says hastily. You feel your cheeks burn. You don’t dare to try making eye contact with Logan.

The nurse hurries over with your discharge papers, and Logan helps you off the bed. His eyes narrow when you sway from the head rush, but you assure him you can walk.

“What a bloody adventure,” he jokes as you finally walk out the doors.

“I’m so sorry again,” you say, agitated. “This was…god, what a mess. And you were so nice about it, too.”

Logan blushes again, this time at the word nice. “Seriously, it’s no problem. I hope you don’t mind if I call you a cab to take you back to your place.”

“What? No,” you protest. “I can’t have you spend your money on me, too. Especially not after all this.”

One look at Logan’s face tells you it’s too late.

“Come on, Logan,” you say weakly.

He smiles as a taxi pulls up to the curb.

“Do you think you can get home by yourself? I’m happy to come with…I just don’t want to seem overbearing.”

Impulsively, you say yes, not wanting to take up any more of Logan’s time. But then you feel a twinge of regret.

“Thanks for the adventure,” he smiles, handing you a sheaf of papers. “And—I mean it—it was really nice meeting you.”

On the drive home, you absentmindedly thumb through your discharge papers and stop short. The top of one of the sheets has a messy ballpoint scrawl on it:

Your ~favorite American~ would love to know if you got home safe - if you’re ok with it, text me, followed by a string of digits that were obviously written with a bit more care.

Incredibly, your eyes sting with tears for the second time that day. Studying abroad in London was a lot of fun. But of course there were moments of stress, trying to navigate the Tube during rush hour alone, not knowing what “knackered” or “chuffed” or “daft” really meant (spoiler: you were truly daft about all that), and looking at a perpetually cloudy sky that made you feel homesick for the Florida sun. Logan, well…he was kind of a breath of fresh air. Even discounting the fact that he’d literally saved you today.

So it’s the least you could do to send a text from the safety of your apartment—er, flat.

Me Favorite American, reporting from home base. Safe and sound. 🫡

Your phone buzzes instantly. It’s all you can do to not giggle like a little girl when you see it.

Logan Mission accomplished. 🇺🇸🦅🫡

A week later, the scrapes on your hands have faded away and your knee has scabbed over. You toss your keys and hat onto the table, unlace your shoes, do a couple of air squats to loosen up your hamstrings that always got tight after runs, and plop down on the couch. You reach for the remote and turn on the TV.

Like you’ve done several times in the past week, you contemplate texting Logan, even if that sounds a little crazy. What would you even say? Would he want to hang out—this time not in an emergency room? Would he even remember you?

You figure if he did, he would have reached out by now. You sigh and start flipping aimlessly through the TV channels. News, news, sports you don’t understand, show you’ve never heard of, news…

“And Formula 1, racing for the Spanish Grand Prix!!” an announcer says as two neat rows of cars start zooming across a checkered line.

You’ve heard of Formula 1, of course. At least, you’ve seen the Ferrari scene in Cars. And come to think of it, some of your friends back in Florida had been talking about some Netflix show. Normally, you’d have kept advancing the channels—but you think it’s pretty neat that you just happened to catch the start of a race. So you decide to see what the fuss is all about.

And honestly, you can kind of see it. It’s so different from what you imagined, cars going around and around a circular track. No, watching the cars try to outpace each other on sharp bends and twisting curves leaves you amazed that someone could drive that quickly at all.

Some guy named Max Verstappen wins, apparently “again”. The drivers climb out of their cars and pull off their helmets, revealing hair matted with sweat, hugging a group clad in matching suits. You notice that some of them are wearing the strangely familiar W.

Logan’s windbreaker…

Aha. So he’s a Formula 1 guy. Well, you think, I guess that’s something I could bring up. You start fantasizing about potential text messages in your head—did you watch the race in Spain? I’m a Formula 1 newbie but you seem like a seasoned fan—when the camera cuts to the team wearing the W milling around their car as its driver also stands up, hops out, and removes his helmet.

You gasp. It’s a face you’ve seen before.

And a small banner on the screen—Logan Sargeant—confirms it.

You seize your phone and call your friend Emma. The one who watched that Netflix show. The one you had thoroughly debriefed your disastrous fall and subsequent rescue with.

“Hello?”

“Emma. You are not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“Remember Logan?”

A pause. “Cute Windbreaker Guy? The guy who Prince Charming-ed you?”

“Yes,” you hiss. “Well guess what, I just saw him on TV.”

“Whoa! For what?”

“Wellllll…for driving a car.”

“Huh?” Emma sounds confused.

“Yeah. Cause he’s not just Logan. Turns out his full name is Logan Sargeant.”

“What? Like, Logan Sargeant, the Formula 1 driver?!”

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes glued to the screen. The guy who hated cardio, who blushed when the nurse thought you two were a couple, who cracked those corny British jokes—that guy was now greeting adoring fans, some waving American flags, reporters hounding him for a comment or two on the race.

No wonder he’d never texted you.

Later that night, you replay for what must have been the millionth time the events of last week in your mind. Falling. Logan pulling you up. You leaving, him calling after you.

Suddenly, you remember how uncomfortable he looked when you’d asked his name. It occurs to you that maybe he was so hesitant because he thought you might recognize him. What were the odds you’d run into such a sweet, cute, and caring guy who inspired a week’s worth of daydreams…and said guy turns out to be a freaking celebrity F1 driver?

You sigh. The clock tells you it’s well past 1AM. Your phone buzzes with a text—probably Emma, sending you yet another Tiktok, or Youtube video, or article about Logan—and you reach over to your nightstand.

Logan Heyyyyyy baby. Just thinking about you tonight. Like I do every night. 🥰

Huh? You’re sure this is a prank. But then your phone starts to ring. Logan’s calling you.

“Hello?” your voice shakes a little.

“Oscar—I swear to god, Oscar,” you hear Logan say in the background. Then an unfamiliar voice. “Hello? Is this Y/N speaking?”

“Ummmm…yes? Is everything okay?”

“Yeeeeah,” the voice says in a—British? Australian?—accent. “I’m Logan’s mate, sorry, he’s just a bit of a coward. He just wanted to tell you that he thinks that you’re the most beautiful girl on Earth—”

“Oscar, I swear to god if you don’t give me back my phone—” Some shuffling noises. You imagine Logan making a valiant attempt to wrestle his phone away from his friend.

“Hey, I am so sorry,” Logan says frantically. “Oscar’s literally a troll, ignore him…”

As if to confirm Logan’s words, you hear Oscar distantly shout, “What the fuck is a kilometerrrrrr?!”

You can’t believe this is happening. And you can’t believe you get to hear Logan’s voice again. You giggle. “Are you guys out or something?”

“Yeah,” Logan says in a pained voice. “Just at a bar with some guys. It’s so late—can I text you tomorrow? I’m so sorry again.”

“Of course.” You try not to sound giddy. “Hope you have a good time, Logan.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You swear you see a handsome blond man, running in a navy windbreaker alongside the Thames river, in your dreams.

Logan Hey, so sorry about last night

Me Lolll no problem, your friend Oscar is quite the comedian

Logan 🤦 What are you up to?

Me Nothing much, just at work

Logan Nice :) Okay so tbh I’ve been out of town for most of this week...that’s why we were out so late last night we’re an hour behind But I’m coming back to London today and I was wondering if you might be down to go on a jog and just hang out or something

Me Oooh yeah sure I’m down! As long as we don’t end up in a hospital again 🚨🚨

Logan Hey That’s up to you ;) So it’s a date?

Me :)

Logan’s hoodie is soft against your face, and you inhale his woodsy cologne as you bury your cheek closer to his chest. 21 Jump Street is streaming on his TV, and the setting sun throws golden beams of light through the slats of his blinds onto the wall. An empty carton of vanilla Häagen-Dazs sits on his coffee table, two spoons sticking out of it. It really was the perfect way to wind down after a jog along the river—this time, sans anyone falling. Your eyelids begin to drift closed as Logan runs his fingers through your hair.

The movie cuts to an ad. “Some say Formula 1 isn’t really a sport…” a narrator intones.

You decide it’s time.

“Logan,” you say. “The craziest thing happened on Sunday.”

“Do tell,” Logan teases.

“I was just watching TV in the afternoon, and I just happened to see a driving race in Spain. I think it was for Formula 1, actually.”

Logan raises an eyebrow.

“It was the first time I’ve ever watched a race like that. In fact, I just watched it all the way through…”

“So you thought it was fun?” he asks innocently. You can tell he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“Yeah. But one of the drivers…it’s crazy, he just looked so much like someone I knew…”

“Really now? And who’s this someone he reminded you of?”

“Well,” you say, laughing, “this someone hates cardio, knows it’s called soccer but would rather watch football anyway, doesn’t know what a kilometer is...”

Logan’s laughing now too, and the sound fills you with flickers of warmth.

“This someone…makes me feel a lot closer to home.”

And judging by the way his arm tightens as he pulls you into a kiss, Logan seems to agree.

notes: logan is criminally underrated!! watching some of his interviews in the process of writing this made me realize how lowkey funny and laid-back he is. and so down to earth - he brought lemonade to his 10 things video. wishing him well on his season with williams 🥰

#f1 #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fluff #logan sargeant #logan x reader #logan sargeant x reader

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mins-fins · 21 days

Text

pearls.

&&. its easy to let go around you, mark is so glad he has you as an escape.

pairing: mark lee x m!reader

genre: angsty but it ends fluffy, idol x regular joe

warnings: mentions of overworking

word count: 1.4k

notes: wrote this for the n01 markf ever in the world!!!! if yk who you are, yk who you are 🫶 anw, i am so terribly in love with mark this is absolutely vile 🙁 save me from this insanely pretty canadian man (DONT SAVE ME), if you can forgive me for not updating for literally TEN DAYS, take this as my apology.. i am so so very corny so those little ending love confessions come from real words i have said to my own very real bf 😞 again sorry for not updating for very long my knee is pretty injured AND life is so shitty.. okay i love you all bye 😓

you won't try to come up for an explanation as to why you were up at one in the morning.

yeah you were tired, but you were still up making coffee in your kitchen. your mind was racing with thoughts of work, god your job stresses you out so much, it's going to end up killing you one day, you can't close your eyes without hearing the loud shouting of your manager and overbearing customers who think they own the world.

sleep has never came easy to you, so coffee at one in the morning it is. the aroma of roasted beans makes it's way around the air of your kitchen, a smell that has become a staple of comfort to you, yeah the excessive coffee intake might kill you someday, but right now? right now you felt like you were in heaven.

your coffee drinking is interrupted by a knock at your day, your head shoots up like your a deer caught in headlights, and you blink at the unmoving wooden door of your unit. you're not expecting anyone, and especially not at one in the morning. your mind races with questions as you place the heated mug onto your kitchen counter, groaning silently as you make your way over to the door.

you can't think of who could possibly be at your door, maybe your manager? one of your coworkers? a guy from amazon delivering a package originally for your neighbors?

the last option seems like the most probable one, so when you open your door, you prepare a small sentence for the delivery person you expect to be at your door. "for the last time unit 17 is on the second floo—"

you pause as you open the door, it is not a random delivery guy from amazon. when you look up to meet the eyes of the person who had knocked on your door, you come face to face with a person you had missed more than anything.

mark.

you find a small smile coming to your face at the sight of your boyfriend, but your smile falls as you take in how he looks. his eyes are red and puffy, he's fidgeting with his sweater strings, and he's bitten his lips so hard that they've begun bleeding. your lips turn downward at the sight before you, he looks stressed, he looks miserable.

"oh god, hi babe, i didn't even know you'd come around".

mark blinks at you, continuing to fidget with the strings of his sweater, the sweater he's wearing is one you bought for him back last year when you went on that trip to vancouver. "sorry" he whispers, blinking again. "i just— i don't know i feel overwhelmed".

you tilt your head, immediately getting what he meant by that. you open your door wider, pausing mark's fidgeting momentarily to grab his left hand to intertwine it with yours. "come in" you don't wait for his response, just tug his hand gently, lurching him forward into your unit and smoothly closing the door behind you.

you catch on to mark's heightened anxiousness, but he seems to be want to be avoiding that topic as much as possible. "did something happen?"

mark is quick to shake his head, way too quick, you narrow your eyes at him and his weird change in behavior. "no, nothing, i'm just.. work, it's all becoming just a little too much for me".

ah, a small frown forms again on your lips. mark is a hardworking person, you know that, but it sometimes all gets to his head, those unbearable thoughts that he's not doing well enough, the unbearable feeling of anxiety that settles whenever he thinks about his future as a musician, the feeling that he's not doing enough even though he already does so much.

you hate that this has become a familiar sight. a distressed mark with tears welled up in his eyes, clearly trying his best to stay put together as he stood in front of your door, each time, it seemed to be getting worse and worse.

you've seen mark at so many of his lows, many more than you like to count, and just the thought of him feeling like he isn't doing enough upsets you.

you're not thinking about anything else when you step forward, not your untouched coffee on the counter, not your shitty job, nothing but making mark feel better. your arms wrap around him instinctively, and you loop your left arm around his waist to pull him into a hug, a hug he doesn't try to fight.

you hear a small sniffle leave mark as you tighten your hold on him, a few years escape his eyes, wetting the top of your sleeve, but you don't care, much too busy embracing him. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry" your words are nothing but a small whisper in the expanse of your apartment, as if a secret shared only between the two of you, but mark hears your words well, he hears everything he has to. you raise and press a kiss to his forehead, an act of affection that just makes mark even more emotional than he expected.

"you shouldn't have to feel like this, you work so hard, you do so much.."

your mutters only get a small chuckle in response, and you just snicker as well.

mark has always found it easy to let go around you, it's been a staple of your relationship since forever, even before you began dating. around you, he doesn't feel like he has to put on a show, he doesn't have to live up to all of these unrealistic expectations. with you, he doesn't have to be world famous idol mark lee, he doesn't have to be star trainee mark lee, he doesn't have to be perfect, flawless mark lee.

with you, mark can let go, he can just be himself.

mark has no idea what he'd do without you.

when you pull away, arms still caged around mark, he doesn't let go immediately, head still pressed against your shoulder.

nothing else matters at the moment to you. so, instead of trying to move away from him, you let him begin moving you backward, you just allow for him to, lightly squeaking when he pushes you onto the couch and quickly moves to lay on top of you.

you giggle at his dedication, but he doesn't say anything more, just wraps his arms around you and lays his head onto your chest, listening to the beating of your heart. "you tired?"

mark just nods against your chest, letting out a small sigh as he cracks one eye open to glance at you. "y/n?"

"hm?"

"i love you.." he mutters, grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours. "love you so much, i'm so happy i have you".

you laugh. "mark—"

"hush" he places a finger against your lips, cutting off your oncoming words. "let me finish" he gives a tired smile as he continues.

"i can't believe how lucky i am to have you, your always here taking care of me and i.. i can never figure out how to repay you, you're one of the best things to ever happen to me, everything becomes much more bearable with you, i love you so so much it's literally driving me crazy".

you blink as you listen to mark pour his heart out to you. he has always been like this, oh you're so in love, even at some of his lowest points, he never fails to remind you that he loves you, and that he feels so deeply for you. his words always strike you in a strange place, they always get a smile and red face out of you.

oh mark lee always knows how to leave you speechless.

"hey" you whisper, noticing mark slowly looking away from you. "you don't have to repay for me for anything, i'm your boyfriend, i'm always going to look after you because you're wellbeing is important to me, and don't start with all of that, you're one of the best things to happen to me".

mark snorts silently. "love you".

"love you more".

mark leans closer, moving his soft hand against yours. "i know" he whispers.

you run your fingers through his hair, slowly coaxing him to sleep with your ministrations.

"good".

#mark lee #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u #mark nct #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee drabbles #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #mark lee x male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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vetitiscripta · 7 months

Text

Puppet

Summary: You didn't want to kill Lawrence. You didn't want to kill anyone! You didn't even want to be in this situation in this stupid house! When Ren hands you the knife and tells you to kill Lawrence, you intend to do nothing, to beg him to not make you do it. But Strade has other plans. (AU where MC/reader can see Strade as a ghost (even though it's not talked about in this)).

A/N: based off an AU i want to write where ren still kidnaps MC/reader and forces them to be with him but MC/reader can see strade's ghost after finding his body in the basement. enjoy! ٩꒰ ˘ ³˘꒱۶~♡

“I want us to share something really special.”

Ren’s voice faded out as you stared at the knife that he handed you. It was silent in the room, only the sounds of breathing could be heard. You don’t know whose you heard the most; Ren’s slightly fast breath from what you would assume was excitement, Lawrence’s muffled breathing that was full of panic, or your own breathing. Despite it being so quiet, your ears started ringing. The silence was deafening.

You glanced at Lawrence, his eyes watching you as tears gathered in his eyes. It’s crazy to think that this was the same guy you met in the pub a week ago. Yeah, he might have chased you down the street after you left but you never thought that either of you would end up in this situation. Had you known, you would have stayed home to relax instead of going out to that stupid pub.

Ren’s tail caught your eye, pulling your gaze from Lawrence’s horrified one. It moved slowly, moving from side to side before placing itself on Lawrence’s hip. As if it was waiting in anticipation like its owner.

You looked at the knife once more, your reflection staring back at you. Despite sleeping well since you’ve been with Ren, you looked tired. What was standing behind you in the reflection should have made you gasp and drop the knife in shock. Or rather, who was standing behind you. Especially considering you had just seen his body in the basement’s freezer last week.

Strade, as you unfortunately learned his name is (was?), stood mere inches from you. The hair on your arms stood as you felt his breathing on your neck (do ghosts even need to breathe?), making him feel as real as the other people in the room.

“Do it.” Strade’s voice sounded as if it came from inside your own head. There was a look in his eyes that was different from the one in Ren’s. This one was more intense. Hungrier.

“You… want me to hurt him?” You don’t know if you were speaking to Ren or Strade.

Ren flashed you a fanged smile again, “Hurt him.”

Strade stepped closer to you, his chest almost flush with your back, “Cut him.” His voice was rougher, almost as if he was growling.

“Make him bleed... cry…” Ren glanced at Lawrence before looking back at you.

Strade’s hands ran down your arms, “Cut deep enough to…”

“Kill him.”

Their voices mixed together into one, their hunger and anticipation for what was to come causing you to shake. You held Ren’s gaze for a few seconds before looking at your hands as Strade’s own engulfed them. You noticed how rough his hands were. Probably had something to do with what he did in the basement. He’s told you some stories as he began following you around the house. You hated being the only one that could see him and he knew it.

“Go ahead, Liebling,” You shuddered as he spoke right by your ear. His hands tightened around yours as he continued to whisper persuading words to you. If his hands weren’t holding yours, you would be shaking worse than before.

You didn’t realize that Strade was making you walk forward until you stood in front of Lawrence. His eyes- so blue now that you actually had a chance to look at them, to focus on them to distract yourself from the terrible situation you were in- stared up at you, tears threatening to fall as he attempted to form words behind his gag to plead with you. Your breathing quickened as Strade maneuvered the knife into one of your hands and, still holding yours in his, moved your hand with the knife to your side.

“Please don’t make me…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, tears you didn’t know you were holding back falling down your cheeks. You heard and felt the chuckle that Strade gave you.

“Oh, you don’t have a choice.” His grip on your hand tightened, making you wince.

You turned your attention to Ren, “Ren… I’ll do anything else… Just please don’t make me hurt anyone…” Voice wavering, you hoped that he would change his mind before you did something that you regret, whether the actions were your own or not.

His gaze softened, “Just don’t have the stomach for it, do you?”

Before you could finish shaking your head in response, Strade had moved you closer to Lawrence, the knife aiming for his arm as he intended to make this drag out as slowly as possible. Wanting this all to end, you focused all your strength in your arm and swiped it to the side forcefully, surprising Strade and causing him to lose the control he had over you. You were relieved to no longer be his puppet, but your relief was short-lived when you noticed blood spreading down Lawrence’s chest. You gasped and found the blood pouring from the cut on across his neck. In your attempt to regain control, you were too close to Lawrence.

More tears streamed down your face as Strade began laughing, at you or the display in front of you, you were unsure.

You dropped the knife and fell to your knees as you watched Lawrence stop moving. His blood dripped on the floor beneath him, the steady sound of it flooding your ears as Strade’s laughing calmed down.

You killed someone. You killed Lawrence.

You looked at your hands, blood splattered on the hand you held the knife in. You were shaking again.

Ren’s arms snaking around your waist pulled you from your thoughts. You didn’t even realize he had moved from Lawrence’s side. “You sure surprised me! I thought you weren’t going to do it.” He pulled you closer to him, his breath fanning your neck like Strade’s had, “I knew we’d get along.” You could hear the smile in his voice.

“We are going to get along just fine,” You felt Strade’s hand on your head, stroking your hair in either an attempt to comfort you or to antagonize you. You don’t know which one you preferred at this point. “Just fine.”

You sobbed harder at his words, hands coming up to cover your face. You should have stayed home instead of going out to that stupid pub.

#boyfriend to death #btd #btd x reader #ghost strade au #btd strade #btd ren #ren hana #ren hana x reader #strade x reader #(kind of implied kind of not can be read either way tbh)

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shotmrmiller · 4 months

Note

(so not too terribly dark, but still wanted to give the warning just to be safe)

but say that one of the boys get a pet. and they can't stop gushing about how cute and perfect you are, how you look so pretty in his collar. especially when they're on missions, you're all he can talk about. hundreds of photos of you, as his screensaver and lockscreen and everything in between. they show their brothers-in-arms the innocent photos of you. maybe the ones bordering on indecent, but nothing of your body or how you look underneath him, taking his cock and being stuffed full of him. absolutely does not show them the videos he has of you alone, the ones you send him for when he's away on missions to keep him company where you're whining and mewling and sobbing for him because your toy can't compare and you miss his cock so badly. definitely also doesn't show them the videos he has where he bends you over the counter, the sink, the couch, his cock fitting so perfectly in you, or the ones where you're on your back and your eyes are so glassy, so full of love and warmth and safety.

you meet the boys at the pub, after you've been with him for a couple months (more or less, depending). and they love you. coo and fawn over you, your ears and tail and the collar that sports your handler's name proudly. pressing up against him, all shy smiles and sparkling eyes and fitting into their little group seamlessly.

well, all except one, who spends the evening holding his tongue and masking his sneer, this darkness consuming him and eating him from the inside out as he watches your handler press soft kisses to your skin, plays with the charm on your collar and keeps you tucked safe to his side.

he hates you. your handler is supposed to be his.

and so he starts his game of getting your handler to distrust you, make him suspicious and wary of you.

you don't actually love your handler, he says. how could you move her into your flat after only knowing her such a short time. so trusting, too trusting of you, when you could be out playing with others while he's gone, fucking and fawning over someone else and maybe even bringing them back to his.

you're no good for him. he feels it in his gut, that there's something off about you. and your handler knows just as well how important gut feelings can be. they've saved his life — and his mates' — more times than he can count. maybe he's just blinded by you. it is a little suspicious how perfect you seem, never seem to put up much of a fuss and practically never disagree with him.

and slowly, your handler starts to let these thoughts bleed into his own. he's known his mate for so long — far longer than he's known you — so he'd be amiss to not trust his judgement. he'd do the same if he were in his comrade's position.

your handler starts to change. out with the boys longer, changes his lockscreen to something else — his favorite team, him with his friends, an actress he fancies. he's not as open with his affection. doesn't want to play as often. doesn't kiss you as much, doesn't bring you out with his friends anymore.

and you don't understand. because now his words are colder, harsher. and you cry and beg and plead for him to tell you what's wrong, what did i do please i don't understand but he won't give you an answer because this is another one of your tricks, manipulating him.

it comes to a head after a mission that took months. he didn't text you as often, definitely didn't call. you offered to send him videos, film some before hand for him, but he waved you off and told you there was no need. and then he comes home and he cuts your collar right off and he still doesn't tell you why.

but you're not his anymore, and you wonder how long you haven't been his, and it breaks something in you. but you eventually move forward — definitely don't move on. not yet, not now. maybe not ever, because you were so in love with him and you've never been so happy. didn't even think you could feel that kind of happiness before.

but you try. go out with your friends, maybe get more drunk than you should. and one evening, you and your group go the bar that he frequents. maybe he's gone, maybe he won't be there.

but he is, because of course he is. he doesn't see you. but you definitely see the arm he has wrapped around his mate, the kiss he presses to his jaw like he used to with you. and he sees. gives you a wicked, satisfied smirk as he leans more into your former handler's touch, makes you watch as he gets a kiss and pulled in closer, until your eyes travel down to where his throat is, and a collar rests there, your handler's name proudly etched.

Ah. I thought you were gonna send something about non-con or something spook.

yikes. im about to be dragged to the slammerrrr. anyway.

ouch. my heart.

TW: thoughts of death, suicide? drinking far too much alcohol and vomit, er anything else lmk

There is nothing left for you there. You simply accept the bitter truth. No point in hanging around where you aren't wanted. It hurts, of course it does.

But he is a part of your past, now. He's moved on, clearly. There's no telling yourself some self-soothing nonsense like how karma will get the new pet because you don't believe in that.

What you do believe in, is that the world is unfair, and there is just no changing that.

Every day, you wake up and there is no color in your life. Everything is just grey. Dull. Lifeless. Kind of how you wish you ended up, sometimes.

Occasionally, you see them both out in public. The ache is there in your chest, eating you alive, threatening to swallow you whole. You watch them for maybe a couple of seconds and turn your attention elsewhere because to do anything other than that is foolishness.

The truth will either come to light one day, or it'll be shrouded by the dark forever.

It is what it is.

Your body at this point, is just trudging along. Moving through the motions of staying alive.

How miserable.

You go out with your friends again, simply humoring them because 'you just look so sad, let's go out and have fun', only to see him there again. This time, you barely even glance in his direction.

Shot easily turns into shots until you're acting sloppy. Not in a violent sense, mind you, but your inhibitions are lowered. If you can't open your heart back up again, opening up your legs will do for now.

Stumbling inside the bathroom, you pull the random you're with inside, and shut the door, using your heeled foot to keep it closed.

He's pawing at your chest too rough. It hurts, yet it reminds you that you are still here. Alive. Finally, a different type of pain than the one in your sternum.

Your fingers are fumbling with his belt buckle, only for the flimsy door you're both behind is almost broken off of the hinges, and the random is ripped off of you.

You don't recognize who's interrupted you because you're seeing double, and you're far too pissed to try and resist the hand that grabs your wrist and drags you out.

Your head is starting to spin violently, or maybe it's whoever is manhandling you that's pirouetting, but it doesn't matter because your mouth is starting to salivate heavily, and there's an acrid taste on your tongue.

"I think...I think I'ma throw up."

Now you're definitely being tossed around because there's a hard, blunt pressure on your stomach, and the world is now upside down. Your skin is clammy with cold sweat, and you can physically feel liquid coming up your esophagus.

"P'me down. Put m'down. Now."

There's a harsh sound of a door being slammed open, and then you're outside. The frosty air bites at your flesh, pricks stinging at your arms and legs, and you're quickly placed on your feet, where you pivot and hack up all the shots and sugary drinks you've had all night.

The brick wall digs into your palm where you hold yourself up with a trembling arm as you empty your stomach on the grass and over your heels, and you can vaguely feel your hair being pulled back, away from your face.

You wipe the strings of saliva that hang from your lips away with the back of your hand, close your eyes, tilt your head up, and take in a deep, shuddering breath.

You are too sloshed to be coherent, and you try to slur out a thank you when the person who brought you outside cooly responds.

"Didn't think you to be the type. In the bathroom of a dingy bar? Really?"

A tiny rush of clarity runs through your body, and you're frozen in fear? shock?

It's your ex.

You dig your nails into the wall painfully, grainy stone stinging your fingertips.

"T'wha' do," you pause to swallow the excess spit in your mouth as bile tries to come up your throat again, "do I owe th' horror?"

He sounds sober, clear. Much unlike yourself.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

What were you doing, indeed? Nothing. Suffering. Poisoning yourself. Wishing you weren't alive. Hating him. Hating his new pet. Feeling nothing. Drowning in your own misery. Wishing you were drowning in water instead.

"Wha' y'want?" you slurred.

"You're proper pissed. Let's take you home." He grabs your wrist from behind you, and the bottle that held all of your emotions spills. Your reaction is visceral, turning around to look at him as you rip your wrist out of his grip.

"Don't touch me!" you shriek, "Don't fuckin' touch me!"

The shout was so vicious it scraped your already hoarse throat, and it sends you into a coughing fit.

He takes a step forward, attempting to reach for you but you flinch back and away from him, tripping over a mound of grass and falling onto your behind.

"Get, no, stay away f'me, yeah? You're no' needed."

You won't cry. Not in front of him. So you bite your tongue, and let your agony turn into a burning fury.

"Go away! G'the fuck away from me!"

His hands come up in a defensive stance, like someone trying to pacify a cornered animal.

"Will y—" You don't let him finish, instead you start screaming. It's blood-curdling, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. And it does exactly what you wanted.

You get people's attention.

A group of strong, burly men forcibly haul him away— far away— from you.

Other women come running to your aid, crouching beside you and patting you down, making sure that you and your clothing are intact.

You start to feel overwhelmingly dizzy; your body is going slack and then there's nothing.

Your head pounds furiously inside of your skull, and you can't unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

Where are you? is your first thought, quickly followed by, I need water.

You attempt to sit up, only to lie back down with a loud groan when you feel a hammering inside of your temples.

"You're finally awake."

Who the fuck is that?

"You met me back when you used to wear a collar around your neck, doll."

Oh. You said that out loud.

You recognize that nickname. Definitely one of his little friends. Pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes, you let out another groan.

"How chivalrous of you, taking a drunk girl home, but you—" his tone is stern as he cuts you off.

"I know what happened."

Sigh.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do."

"I know why he cut off your collar."

"Is that why you brought me here?" you irritably asked. "You brought me here to gossip?"

You hear shuffling and his voice sounds farther away when he speaks again.

"There's water on the nightstand, also two pills for your headache."

You snort. "Not a whole bottle?"

"If I was sure that you wouldn't try and swallow the whole thing, sure."

Of course.

"Get some rest, I'll bring you back some soup for your hangover later."

His gentle tone as he offers to take care of you makes you irrationally angry. "You're not my fucking owner." What a Freudian slip.

"I could be if you gave me the chance," he offered. You don't move until you hear the door clicking shut.

What the fuck?

#this was PERSONAL #IM BLAMING YOU FOR MY TEARS #ALL TWO OF THEM #because only a lone tear rolls down my cheek #btw this is giving owner simon new pet johnny #what a piece of garbage #141 pet angst #i live for angst #task force 141

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stellarbit · 17 days

Text

Confess

3k words NSFW Echoxreader

Someone requested some Echo smut and so I gave it a shot.

You catch Echo off guard and he has to deal with his feelings for you.

Laid up in the dimly lit corner of Cid's parlor, Echo grumbled under his breath as AZI-3 performed a body scan. Flanking him were you and his brothers, forming a protective semicircle. Omega, always eager to be involved, stood near Echo’s head, her eyes darting between you and the rest of the Batch as you all did a bit of bickering.

Chuckling, you lowered yourself into a bedside chair, “Wrecker, when are you going to learn to keep your eyes up.”

The burly clone rolled his eyes and head in the same exasperated expression. “I do keep ‘em up!”

“Considering you nearly made all of us fall, I’d say you didn’t this time.” Tech drolled.

At the mention of the fall, Echo gingerly touched the swelling bump on his head, a reminder of the chaos when Wrecker lost his grip climbing a cable to the Marauder, resulting in both of them plummeting twenty feet to the ground. Your voices were gradually sharpening the dull ache in his head.

A streak of red on Echo’s hand caught your eye. A tear in his glove exposed a cut you hadn’t noticed at first glance. As Tech and Wrecker continued their argument, oblivious to the new development, you reached out and gently grasped Echo's wrist.

“Echo.” You said warily, as you pulled his injured hand closer for a better look. He kept his eyes shut, already knowing what you were about to say.

"Just a scratch, nothing to worry about," he murmured dismissively, trying to withdraw his hand, preferring to ignore the injury than address it in front of everyone.

You kept a firm grip on his hand, the pressure pushing a fresh drop of blood to the surface. Before he pulled away again, you took his bleeding finger into your mouth. The feel of your mouth around his gloved finger sent Echo lurching to attention. He was so caught off guard that he smashed his head straight into AZI.

At the same time Echo shoved away AZI and snatched his hand back. His sudden outburst had you reaching for him again, at least to stabilize him, but he had already scrambled up from his prone position, his eyes wide with shock. "What are you doing?" he blurted out, still wincing from the collision.

You opened your mouth to explain, but Echo cut you off, raising his hand to halt your words. He glanced down at his hand, then back at you, his cheeks coloring slightly.

Echo noticed the questioning look on your face and quickly averted his eyes. His voice carried a biting edge as he stammered, "I-It’s not clean."

Like every clone you’d ever met, Echo was a terrible liar.

You were about to respond when Hunter intervened, patting Echo on the shoulder with a light-hearted remark. "Glad to see you're okay." This gave Echo the perfect opportunity to divert attention from the awkward moment.

As AZI began to relay the results of his scan, your gaze lingered on Echo. You leaned back, puzzled by his intense reaction. During your time together, Echo had never before recoiled from such a simple touch. Well except once.

Echo soon walked off with his brothers, his attention drifting as he replayed the moment you had taken his gloved finger into your mouth. The warmth that spread through him was something he thought the Techno Union's modifications had stolen for good. For the most part, his duties as a soldier kept him from thinking about it.

When the Batch reunited with you after Order 66, Echo knew he was feeling what you had when he was lost at the Citadel. His feelings only became more reoccurring.

He would be lying if he said he’d never thought back to the singular night the two of you used each other as a distraction. For Echo, it wasn’t just a distraction, you were so much more to him. You saw him as more than a number and he saw you for the soul you were beyond a Jedi. Fearless, proud, and beautiful. But he also saw you for what you were, a Jedi bound by selflessness.

Before Skako Minor, during a night spent in a medbay. Echo had been severely injured and, late that night you snuck in to see him. The weight of almost losing him overwhelmed you, and comfort turned into an embrace that quickly heated into staying the night wrapped around each other.

In the gray light of dawn, and under the threat of being discovered, you had mutually decided to confine that intimacy to just one night. However, Echo found himself frequently revisiting that decision. The memory of how you looked beneath him, the feel of your body pressed against his—these thoughts had been his companions through many lonely nights on the battlefield.

The warmth your mouth stoked in him spread, reminiscent of the heat from a kiss—his mouth on yours and then not just his fingers.

To be exact, the warmth of your mouth felt like it was around his cock. Even though your lips had touched him only briefly, his world narrowed to nothing but the memory of you.

A part of him felt undeserving and ashamed. You loyally spent years beside him, followed him to join the Bad Batch, and saw him as your most trusted friend. He wondered what you’d think if you knew what had transpired in him.

As the evening faded and days passed, you watched Echo, noting the careful neutrality he maintained in his interactions. He brushed off the incident as if it were nothing, but you weren’t fooled. You remembered too well the last time he had reacted like this.

After the night you spent exploring each other, the next time you whispered close to him, he had jumped as if blasted in the ass. He'd stammered some feeble excuse before quickly excusing himself. This time, though, you were determined not to let history repeat itself without a proper resolution.

This time you weren’t letting him off so easily. The war was over. You were no Jedi and he was not bound by his role of a soldier.

You were kind enough to wait until you got him alone to push him. A few days after the incident, you finally noticed Echo heading towards the Marauder by himself. You made no attempts at hiding your presence, in fact you sing-songed his name on sight. When the only response was a soft chuckle and an “Over here,” you continued towards Echo.

He sat at the navigational screens, only turning slightly as you neared him. You smiled and leaned down, positioning yourself to look over his left shoulder for a shared view of the screens. The unexpected rush of emotions—loud heartbeats and butterflies—surprised you.

Before second thoughts could hold you back, you reached out and gently touched his shoulder, your hand trailing down his arm until it rested over his. "Echo," you whispered softly.

At your touch, his back straightened. You angled your face close to his, maintaining the contact. You kept your hand over his until he finally turned to look at you, his expression a mixture of caution and curiosity. His head still faced forward as you delicately laced your fingers through his.

He reared his head and looked at you full on, his pale hazel eyes wide. Maintaining eye contact you picked up his hand in yours and pulled his glove off with your other. A light pink mark running up his forefinger was all that was left of his gash.

You turned his hand over, inspecting the healing mark, then looked back to him. Echo swallowed and you couldn’t help doing the same.

"I’m glad to see it’s healing," you commented softly, your thumb tracing the faint line. "Looks clean, too."

"What are you doing?" Echo's voice was tense, a sharp contrast to his usual composure.

At the same time, you asked, "What happened when I touched your hand the other day?"

Echo’s grip on your hand tightened, pulling you a fraction closer, almost as if he was challenging you. "You didn’t just touch me," he said, a hint of accusation in his tone.

You blinked at him, not suppressing your there it is smile. “What did I do then, Echo?”

His usual straightforwardness faltered, making this avoidance all the more telling. He sighed and his grip loosened slightly. "Please, just let it go," he pleaded, trying to pull away.

But you were quick to act, gliding your tongue along the length of his finger, a bold move that turned his hand rigid in yours. You ended with a soft kiss pressed to his lips, cherishing the contact and the rush of emotions it brought.

It took a bit of courage for you to meet his eyes again, lips still on his finger.

His eyes were shut, lips pressed tight, and heat scorched his cheeks. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was suffering. The thought made you panic.

Feeling suddenly foolish, crouched before him with just the simple kiss of his hand, you realized the irony of the situation. You had been far more intimate before, yet now, in this small gesture, you felt incredibly vulnerable. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you kissed his skin again, softly whispering an apology.

“It made me think of you,” Echo's voice broke through the silence, a choked and hurried confession as his eyes fluttered open to briefly plead with the unknown before settling intensely on you. “When you licked my cut,” he continued with a heavy sigh, surrendering to the moment, “it made me think of our night in the medbay.”

That night had only been spoken of maybe twice over the years. During the war, you both had buried any thoughts of what could have been without the conflict. Because, without the war, you wouldn’t have Echo. But that hadn’t stopped you from recalling the things he whispered to you, or from clinging to the memory of how he felt during lonely nights.

Gently, you rolled his hand over to press his palm against your cheek, turning to kiss his touch tenderly. “Is that a bad thing?”

Echo leaned closer, his prosthetic arm pressing lightly against your shoulder, grounding the moment with its weight. “Of course not,” he replied sternly, his voice softening. “It’s just—”

“Because I like the idea of you remembering,” you interjected before he could voice his doubts.

His hesitation wavered as he searched your face, looking for something that might tell him this was real—that it was okay to feel this way. Finally, a gentle smile broke through his stoic facade, and he whispered back, "So do I."

Smiling into his skin you stuck your tongue out and licked him again. “And this?” You said between kisses.

His eyes fluttered at the sensation. “It doesn’t feel like that’s my finger.”

The sight of him, relaxing back and a smile on him made you pounce. You took two of his fingers into your mouth this time and he took a sharp breath as he watched his fingers disappear past your lips. Echo felt you hum and a shudder ran through him.

Echo withdrew his hand, leaned forward, and scooped you up by your arms. He effortlessly lifted you, pressing you against the control panel of the Marauder. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned in, his face hovering inches from yours, his gaze dropping to your lips

Overcome by the moment, you instinctively pulled your legs over his hips, drawing him closer. His hand moved quickly, silencing the beeping controls and sealing the hatch with a soft click, ensuring privacy.

"Careful," you whispered, your voice a playful taunt, even though you were completely alone. "Your training is showing, trooper."

Echo's response was a low chuckle, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. "Say my name, please," he requested, his voice thick with emotion, turning the moment into a deeply personal plea rather than a mere flirtation.

You whined out a yes and said, “Echo.” Before pressing your lips to his. You felt him groan softly, his tension melting away as he leaned into the kiss with ease. His tongue sought yours without hesitation, initiating a deep, earnest exploration rather than a wild rush. Each moment was about savoring the taste and feel of one another, deepening the connection that had been simmering between you for so long.

Echo eventually pulled back slightly, his nose brushing against yours in a tender gesture. "I think I've known since the moment we met," he confessed softly, his breath mingling with yours.

Your one hand slid up to his face, gently kissing, “And what is ‘this’ exactly?”

Echo responded by capturing your bottom lip gently with his before he released it to murmur, "That I’d fall in love with you."

The words resonated deeply, sending a shockwave through your entire being. Every cell seemed to freeze, the significance of his admission striking a profound chord within you. On a reflex, you pulled back, creating a small space between you as you placed your hands on his shoulders to gently push him away.

Echo’s expression quickly changed to alarmed as he blinked at you, eyebrows raised. When he started asking what was wrong, your hands fell to your pelvis with fingers quickly working at your pants.

His breath hitched as he realized what was going on and made enough space for you to pull your legs back and wiggle out of your pants. Your pants hadn’t hit the ground and he’d already pulled at his own clothes enough to expose himself fully to you.

Neither of you broke eye contact as you nestled back together. A smile and hum bubbled from you when you felt him glide over you.

Echo, leaning on his hand for support, choked out a curse when he felt you drip over him. Using your legs as leverage around him, you slid against him before positioning yourself at the head of his cock.

With your hands cradling the sides of his face, your thumbs gently stroking his cheeks, you looked as if you may plead for your life. In a way you were.

“Say it again,” you whispered, your voice a blend of demand and desperation.

Echo responded to the urgency in your voice, his actions mirroring the intensity of his emotions. As he closed the distance between you, joining your bodies slowly and thoroughly, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation. Though it felt like both of you could barely breathe, Echo's voice emerged clear and warm, filled with unwavering conviction.

"The moment I laid eyes on you, I fell in love with you," he confessed again, each word deliberate and heartfelt,

The words themself sent a thrill through you, they hit you so hard you swore you could’ve came. You bit back a moan and he responded by pulling out a few inches and steadily pushing into you. He picked up a rhythm and his metallic arm steadied you against him.

Your hands held onto his shoulders for support as you pulled him into a kiss. Your body felt like it was thrumming, every move he made pulled a noise from you in some way as you came undone for him.

“Echo.” His name was a panicked plea.

"Yes?" He replied, his forehead resting against yours, both of you sharing quick, shallow breaths in the intimate space.

Your eyebrows drew together, your fingers tightening on his shoulders as the words spilled from you, heavy and raw. "I’m so in love with you."

It was Echo this time that stilled, his sudden stop left him throbbing inside you.“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever met.” He said in awe of you. It felt like he released something deep inside him by allowing himself to say that. His eyes squeezed shut as another shudder ran through him. He let out a controlled breath. “I’m about to-”

It was you who now moved below him with quick, small thrusts, “If you love me, do it inside.”

Echo dropped his hand to your hip and rammed himself fully inside you in one last thrust. The entire time he’d been inside you he had been stretching you, but him fully sheathed and pressing deep inside you was the point of no return. You writhed against him and contracted around him.

“A-Are you?” Was all he could manage when he felt another sudden wave of pleasure.

“Uh-huh,” was all you could utter through the thrill of your orgasm. Knowing you were cumming for him, on him, made Echo move against you again, throbbing and filling you again to the point his cum finally spilled out of you.

Your foreheads touched, still caught in each other’s close orbit, and for a few moments ou simply breathed in unison, the storm of emotions settling into a calm. Echo looked into your eyes, his gaze steady and clear.

“That was a long time coming,” Echo said, his voice low and sincere. There was a hint of wonder, as if he was still processing the reality of the moment. The quiet between you was comfortable as you started pulling yourselves together.

As Echo buckled his gear back up he said in a teasing tone, “So, should we schedule our next confession for a few years from now or just surprise each other like today?”

Your laughter rang out. “Maybe without so many life-or-death settings.”

Echo’s eyes met yours again, reflecting a shared happiness and a forward-looking optimism. It was clear that whatever the future held, you would face it together, with no hesitations and no barriers between you.

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #bad batch #the bad batch echo #the bad batch x reader #echo x reader #tbb echo x reader #tbb reader insert #echo x you #tbb echo

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inkyycapp · 7 months

Text

how i think characters would react

if you got (very) hurt: adventure time edition.

tw/cw : angst, fluff, blood, violence, gore?, terrible story building, implied romance, fionna and cake spoilers, a lot of cringe, self-indulgence, character hcs, etc...

[a/n: this is very sloppy and rush as i made this between classes so it's half edited half not and not at all proof read. forgive me. thank you for the love on my last posts!! i wasn't expecting my adventure time hcs to get the attention it did, thank you so much!! i have finished fionna and cake(twice) so, my hcs might slightly shift a bit. at the moment. thinking of cross posting on ao3. reader is usually always gender neutral in all my posts unless stated otherwise. that's all! i'm open to requests and my dms/pms are open. thank you! new additions as well!! this is all i have, i'm sorry. a few more are in the drafts. please tell me if i missed anything tag and cw/tw wise! thank you.]

[holy shit, fionna and cake's finn. honka honka. i don't deserve a platform.]

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

|| it all happened so fast. you could barely recall what happened. one moment you're up-right, after the next you're trying to pick yourself off the ground. your breathing grew more labored at every attempt, and the smell of iron hung heavy in the air. the warm liquid on your hands was a stark contrast to cold that began to wrack your body. it wasn't long 'til your vision faded to black, leaving only questions behind into your last fleeting thoughts. ||

finn.

(the favorite. my favorite.)

-the both of you were exploring an old cave. deep, dark, and damp. it was said to hold treasure far back into the cave, and out of curiosity you both went to explore. what you didn't know was that many people sought out that treasure. many dangerous people.

-going deeper into the cave, you and finn found the treasure, though nothing cool to take back except for a few cool rings. turning on your way out, with your back to the entrance, a sharp pain was felt through your body. looking down you saw the bloodied blade of a sword. you had no time to react as you were shoved off the blade and onto the ground. from there, it was a blur.

-finn would (violently) remove anyone involved. while brutal, he makes sure to end it quick--he doesn't have time for them when you're bleeding out on the ground.

-finn never stopped talking to you, even if you're asleep. it's always optimistic-- he talks about; new things he's found, friends he talked to recently, any new news, old and new stories, the next date he'll take you on, etc... he rambled hours on end in a one-sided conversation. it's how he copes.

-finn's trying to be uplifting. but, by himself he's a mess. he rarely stays at the treehouse because he's too restless. he feels weak, and unable to do anything. when finn's not at your side he's fighting through his feelings. finn had learned it wasn't healthy to use violence as his only outlet, but it makes him feel something that isn't the heavy stone in his chest when he sees you.

-he's a patient man, he knows you'll wake up soon. he just had to be patient. but after around a few days he doesn't want to be "patient" anymore. he wants you to wake up now. finn knows he can't make that happen, but it was a selfish want to keep himself going.

-when you did wake up, he was all over you. there wasn't a time when he wasn't with you, or at least in the same vicinity as you.

-good luck trying to pry yourself away from his arms. this man has fought monsters thrice his size for fun. even your prettiest please wasn't going to work, not this time. you almost died. you could've died and he couldn't do anything about it. those memories never left his brain basket, even when your recovery was going smoothly.

-very anxious about letting you tag along, but knows you'll probably go off on your own if he refuses to take you along. he feels it's safer to allow you to come along, rather than go off on your own. with him, he knows that at least this time he could do better. he won't ever have a repeat of last time.

-finn keeps you close during each adventure, even losing sleep watching the surroundings to be sure no one sneaks up on you. he will refuse to sleep, so you'd have to force him. please give this man all the reassurance, he really needs it. it won't stop his anxiety, or his fear of it happening again, but it puts him at ease. even if it's just a little bit, it helps, nonetheless.

fern.

-the green knight has plenty of enemies. of course, fern could protect himself, and you could do the same. however, even if you could protect yourself, there wasn't any chance to protect yourself getting jumped, and a dirty stab to the back. the most dishonorable way to lose to a foe. the amount of ever growing disrespect.

-he loses his shit. sure, he gets mad quickly, but if you were awake to see him like this: holy shit. he grows plentiful thorns, and poison flowers all over himself subconsciously. (he's actually very pretty like this.)

-he's livid, and you're not conscious to do anything about it. and that's just it, you're unconscious, bleeding out on the ground. fern couldn't quite process it just yet. normally you'd stop him from going too far, but you can't right now. that's supposed to never happen. he's confused and angry, and you're not waking up. you're not moving. so, he cuts down anyone involved in a quick motion. he doesn't care how brutal, as long as it's quick. fern wastes no time in picking you up (after managing the thorns and flowers) and taking you to doctor princess.

-fern can't stand seeing you like this. laying weakly on that hospital bed.

-if you think finn's not good at coping, fern is much worse. he doesn't even cope. he's just...there.

-he's so confused, and just shuts down a bit. like he's still there, he's still the green knight-- fern. but, he's just distant. not quite himself-- off.

-fern is unable to wrap his head around what happened to you, but he goes about his 'normal' life. he tries to just go about his casual life without you there, and he's just confused. it doesn't take long before he grows upset, allowing the rage to boil.

-'they used to do that.' 'this was their favorite color.' 'they were supposed to fix that.' 'they like bird houses.' everything reminds him of you. it's impossible to go a single day without a reminder that you're still unconscious.

-i think it gets more apparent when he's out and about as the green knight. he's more violent. but, he doesn't mean to be. it just...happens.

-he's likely not there when you first wake, but when he gets there fern's complaining about everything under his breath. but when he sees you up, that bed isn't just for you anymore.

-he's holding you close, with a firm hold and refusing to let go. he's scolding you for not waking up sooner, and complaining about how life without you was too different. he tried to be casual, but he missed you a bit too much.

-there is also no prying fern off of you-- a common thing between all of them. once you're up, there is no separating you both for a few hours at the least.

-fern is also hesitant about letting you rejoin him on the adventures, but as long as you stay close, and keep weapon on you at all times, he'll agree. but, all of your wounds-- every. single. one.-- had to be medically evaluated as ok, and no threat to your health before anything.

farmworld!finn.

(post crown -- pre fionna and cake.)

-he's in shock, not moving for a few moments. he knew why he'd be hated, or hunted down, killed even, but why you? why did they have to drag you into this?

-someone in the many gangs around the parts found you somewhere in the clearing waiting for finn. you both had previously planned a picnic out in a nice clearing in the woods. he was running late. but, once he found you bleeding out and onto grass, he's thrown way off guard.

-finn is quickly trying to pick you off the grass, trying to get you out of there, and dragging you back to his cabin. finn manages to tend to each of your wounds. though, the moment he's done, and you're in a stable condition-- he's leaving the cabin for a few hours.

-he finds whoever did this to you, and doing what he couldn't earlier. finn is driving in the same injuries they gave to you over and over again. he doesn't let up until he's in tears. finn knows that this changes nothing. he knows this won't make him feel better, but he needed to do something. anything. even if it's for his own sadistic pleasure to see the regret on their faces-- to see them like this. pathetically clawing at the dirt in an attempt to ground themselves through the pain-- trying to crawl away from his bloodied hands.

-(robot hand included.)

-finn leaves them with their lives(barely), and a warning before disappearing into the woods.

-he is struggling to cope. finn hold your hand in his abnormally cold one running his thumb over your knuckles. he's constantly checking in on you, and rarely leaving your side. sleeping, and eating could wait. after all that's happened with the crown, you're all he has left. he can't lose you too.

-he stays by your side as much as he can. finn knows he should probably take his mind off of...your condition and stay productive but it's difficult. the only reason the cabin is warm is because if it got too cold you'd start to shake. he makes food only because if you wake up you might be hungry.

-he doesn't know what to do for the most part, just waiting and hoping that you'll be better in no time. a fear lingers deep inside him that you'll worsen the moment he closes his eyes. so, finn stays up. there are times when he has passed out around the house, and when he wakes up he's absolutely terrified; running to check on you, checking to make sure your wounds haven't reopened, making sure you're alive.

-a deep seeded fear the you'll wilt away in his arms. it keeps him up at night-- it eats at him day by day.

-you're finally awake, but even then the fear doesn't fade. he's at you're every call so much that it begins to worry you.

-you'll have to force him, and i mean force him to sleep. you're ok, he's ok-- everything is ok. he can finally rest.

-he's just happy you're still there with him.

prismo.

-you? hurt? nope. not on his time watch. prismo has you out of the situation in seconds, without a scratch. he refuses to ever see you in any pain.

-though, hypothetically, if there's ever a time where you do get hurt, and your wounds cannot be fixed with his wish master magic, and he's "too late", he's not so well.

-you're on a comfy little bed in the wishing room, laying on top of him. your wounds are bandaged up, and cleaned, with your breathing finally stable.

-he never leaves you side once. (sensing a pattern in everyone.) it's either him, or a copy of him. when he's granting wishes to whoever manages to make it to his wishing room, he keeps you in the cube with a copy of himself to watch over you.

-tries to make small talk with your unconscious self...it doesn't go well. the owl visits more often only to lay it's eyes upon the slum prismo is in.

-the cosmic owl tries to ease the depression, though fails miserably. if jake is still alive; his visits, brings gifts, barber sessions, the whole mile for his other best bud. it does kinda help, even if it was just a bit-- but, he's greatful nonetheless.

-while he could be doing better, prismo is doing the best out of everyone to be honest(if jake is around). jake's visits have been more than helpful to this guy, and honestly without jake, he'd be worse than just a mess.

-when you wake up he doesn't believe it at first but he's ecstatic. there is never a time where he's not with you, talking your ear off on how horrible it was without you. and while prismo wants to contuine talking you to your grave, he can't deny hearing your voice after so long does wonders to him.

-bonus if jake's around and prismo's like "and i like...really miss her. y'know? like she's right there but she's not..." "no, dude, i get it..." "i'd kill just to hear her voice just once..." "...prismo..." "ah, shit now i'm hallucinating!!" "no prismo, behind you." "jake, don't play into my delusions!" "god dammit prismo." "YOU'RE AWAKE!? FINALLY."

scarab.

-this man is already insane. he already needs therapy. the anger issues on this psychotic man are insane.

-he loses all sense of morality(that he had left) but surprisingly holds off and tends to you first. by sending you back to headquarters for someone to tend to your injuries while scarab spends the next few hours tearing their molecules apart.

-honestly the worst out everyone. like, if he has a chance to off someone, they're going to die but in the most unconventional, painful, most gruesome way possible. he's....coping?

-at this point it's hard to tell with him, one moment he's rambling under his breath about annoyances, the next....he's offically lost it!!

-sadly he can't be at you're side at all times even if he really wants to, but with his job and all that. when given any chance he's right there next to you. he excuses this behavior as protecting you against anyone who might try anything, but in reality: it's just hard to stay away when you're like this. he wants to stay close even if he can't sometimes.

-scarab has difficulties with intimacy, so he finds it difficult to express his concern the "right" way. others see him as uneffected, and taking it too easy, but he is genuinely scared. he's scared that he loses the one person who can see him for what he is. an emotionally fucked up person who can't stand rule breakers.(joking).

-he finds holding your hand a way to ease the tension.

-when you wake up, he just sitting there, holding your hand.

-he's never letting you go anywhere without a weapon three times your size. of course he teaches you how to use it, but just because he wants you to protect yourself when he cannot. scarab views your injuries as him failing as a partner in more ways than one. he should've made sure you could protect yourself even when he couldn't.

-later on after your wounds have healed you're allowed with him on his missions. he denies being scared. reassure him anyways, he really needs it.

e/n: sorry prismo's and scarab's are short! first time writing them :')

#adventure time #finn mertens #finn the human #finn mertens x reader #fern mertens x reader #fern mertens #the snowman #fionna and cake #fionna and cake x reader #icefinn x reader #the scarab #the scarab x reader #prismo #prismo x reader #adventure time headcanons #adventure time x reader #fionna and cake headcanons

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chelemlem · 4 months

Note

For the prompts: 5 times Oscar takes care of Lando and 1 time Lando takes care of him Back!

ty anon! hope u don't mind that i combined 2 prompts + made it LOVE ISLAND AU ↓ (why is this 1k)

"Watch your step," their driver says sharply, half a second before Lando's loafers slip on a particularly wet patch of earth climbing out the car.

"Cheers, mate," Lando says, heart thundering. Jesus. Fine way to start off his reality T.V career. Week one and out of the running 'cause he split his head open on some fucking rocks.

Lando extracts his fingers from around the guy's bicep. Huh, not bad. He wasn’t trying to cop a feel, but.

"Anytime."

And he’s back to squinting at something on his digital notebook. Pale and rumpled, he looks out of place in the Majorca sunshine. There's a subtle furrow between his brows, like he’s got a long list of tasks to get through, and Lando’s just the first.

"That was close," George fusses, strategically sliding an arm around Lando's shoulder in a way that both highlights their height difference and show off his delts. One of those posh Cotswold types; harmless enough. Lando'd picked him for his first date because at the end of the day, they wanted the same thing—to win.

"Yeah, scary," Lando blinks up at him. Giggles for the cameras.

Lando's going to quit.

Or like. Sue someone. He stares down at his pre-packaged meal, stomach turning. This was the one thing, the one thing he listed as part of his dietary restrictions, and still—

A shadow falls across his lap.

"Here," the PA from before says. Brown hair, thighs. Oscar?

Lando eyes the unmarked takeaway box hovering in front of him with suspicion. It smells okay. And anything's better than fish.

"Chicken rice," Oscar clarifies, handing him a spoon to match. "Thai okay?"

Oh. Lando gives him a smile, small but genuine. So someone did read the profile they made him write. Who would've thought?

Oscar clears his throat. "If you need anything else, just—I'll be over there."

He hightails it to where Luisa and the other girls are holding court around the firepit, sliding his headset back on as he goes. Nice arse too.

Crew aren't allowed to speak to the islanders, if Max’s rudimentary Reddit trawl is to be believed, but whatever. Lando's not one for rules anyway.

He tucks into his chicken rice and tries to think of other things he needs.

"There's a new bombshell arriving today," Oscar casually lets slip at mic-up. Quietly, under his breath.

The fuck? It's only been forty-eight hours since Nyck got here. Or maybe longer—who the fuck knows with the way time passes in the villa. There's nothing to do but tan and flirt, the sun setting on the same listless, lazy day forever. Forever.

But more importantly—

"They hotter than me?"

Oscar's face does this put-upon little thing before sliding back to neutral. Instead of responding, he winds the mic pack around Lando's waist, bending down to secure it at his hips.

Lando knows how to do it himself by now. Oscar knows Lando knows.

"By a fair bit, I reckon," he says finally, and escapes before Lando can call him a liar.

"Also, you've got a terrible poker face. At least pretend to be touched when he surprises you with breakfast."

"He made me eggs and toast, mate. Not exactly Michelin-star, is it?" Or chicken rice, for that matter.

Oscar sighs. "Next week's vote's going to the public. Just so you know."

Lando's not worried. He's survived this long—longer than Daniel, even, who won fan favourite, week two—so clearly there's something he's doing right.

He sort of wants out, anyway. He misses his phone. God, he misses sex. Everyone talks a big game, but when it actually comes down to it they're fucking, like, shy about doing it in front of the cameras. And the cameras are bleeding everywhere. Lando would know.

The only reprieve, or something like it, is—Oscar.

He's not exactly forthcoming with chatter, but through the power of being cute and annoying, Lando learns a lot about him anyway.

Like how he's a fan of the cricket. And he's got three sisters, none of whom give a fuck about the show. And how apparently being a former cub scout makes him some kind of authority on tying people up.

"Just saying those knots seemed loose, is all."

Lando feels a smirk coming on. "Watching, were you?"

Oscar rolls his eyes. "I review the Hideaway footage to make sure it's fit for broadcast, yes."

"Kinky."

"Good job. Really defended my honour there."

"Fuck off," Oscar says, surprisingly calm for someone with bruises trawling the side of their face.

"Dunno why you thought you could take him. He's got like two stone and six centimetres on you. And Charles heard he's done amateur boxing—"

"Got one decent one in there, at least?"

"Element of surprise, s'all it was."

Lando gives up with the bandages. He has no idea what he's doing—and his hands are shaking too much to be of any real use. Best leave it to medical.

"Oscar," he says, rubbing his eyes. His thumb comes away damp. Christ, this better not end up on telly. "The fuck were you thinking, mate."

Oscar exhales long and hard. His voice is softer when he says: "Sorry. Wasn't really… thinking."

Lando punches his arm lightly—the good one.

"Next time, just. Ask me out normally, alright?"

"They're not firing me," Oscar's voice sounds stunned through the phone, coloured with relief. It's the most emotion Lando's ever heard out of him. Well, second most. "Did you—?"

"My agent said me and Carlos can call it quits two months after the finale," Lando interrupts. It's important, after all.

There's quiet over the line. He can hear Oscar breathing. In out, in out.

"And what did you say?"

Lando leans forward, against the dash of his borrowed McLaren. The one he's being paid to drive around in, posting selfies with wine and roses in the passenger's.

Runner's up is first loser and all that, but. It's still a pretty good deal.

"Told her I'll do two weeks."

#landoscar #ch. fic #love island finalist and tech heir lando norris spotted getting HOT AND HEAVY with SOME GUY #who is this MYSTERY MAN. he is SO UNREMARKABLE #op81 #ln4

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zhonyua · 7 months

Note

YUA ESCREVE SOBRE O BLADE OU O LUOCHA 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

your wish is my command.

soft injuries

blade x gn!reader

context: you're from the stellaron hunters and you see blade struggling with his bandages.

content: mentions of injuries, blood, cuts, bandages; a bit suggestive? but nothing more than it.

notes: sorry if blade is a little out of character; some things about the stellaron hunters are made up; i'm sorry, it's really short </3

you could say that today was a rough day. maybe because you had to 'deal' with annoying people or because you had to be scolded by kafka because you did something without thinking again. you just knew you were tired.

it wasn't easy to be great like them. they were good at everything they did. silver wolf was a great hacker, kafka was great at fighting and making strategies and blade... well, blade was truly awesome.

you could see how he usually dealt with his problems, even if he always found a way to injure himself. he was a difficult person, but maybe that was why you were so fond of him.

you didn't know how, but blade always found a way to take over your thoughts. if you were fighting, you would remember how hot he looked while threatening his enemies. if you were resting sitting on a couch, you would remember how his eyes shined when they narrowed at you. your mind was always thinking about him.

and today wasn't different. you were tired, yes, but your mind was already full of thoughts about him. you almost tripped on the stairs because you got distracted again. maybe thinking about blade wasn't so good for you. and when you saw him, alone in a room, struggling to wrap a bandage on his waist, you knew that you were already lost.

you slowly walked towards the room, trying really hard to not make any noise so he wouldn't notice you, but that was blade, so of course he heard the small creak your shoes gave each step.

"what do you want?" his stern voice resonated through the empty room and you jumped slightly from the startle. you sighed, giving up on your slow and quiet pace and walking normally towards him.

"what are you doing?" you peeked over his shoulders and he moved so his back could cover your vision. "none of your business." he said in that same tone of voice. you felt an urge to keep annoying him.

"it looks like you're struggling there." your voice sounded terribly teasing. "i'm not." blade's words were interrupted by a low grunt when the bandage roll he was holding fell on the ground. you quickly kneeled down to grab it and he immediately tried to take it from your hands, but you moved it away from his reach.

"i could help you." you said and he rolled his eyes in an annoyed way. "i don't want your help." his face had a stern look that just made you insist even more. "don't be so annoying." you said and he frowned.

your persistence was irritating him so much, that he gave up after a few more tries. "alright, i give up. just do it quickly." blade said in a low voice, as if he didn't want anyone to hear it. you couldn't hide your victorious smile, while you carefully approached him, as if he was going to bite you.

he was leaning on a table, his arms behind him, so you could have more space. you could feel that, even if he was sighing annoyed all the time, he was liking how close you were from him. your eyes traced his bare chest without any hesitation, while you slowly began to wrap the bandage around his waist.

he had bleeding cuts all over his torso, and you carefully wrapped the bandage around them all, touching his skin even so slightly. you could see how he was holding his sighs, every time your fingers rubbed against a tiny cut.

you felt his stare at you, but you ignored him. you pressed an injury a bit too much and he grunted, grabbing your hand, roughly. you looked up at him, just realizing how close your face was from his.

"you're doing it on purpose." blade's voice sounded low and his eyes didn't leave yours. "am i?" you tried your best to give him the most innocent eyes you could. "oops." you pressed the spot again, smiling when he grunted.

"stop it." his voice sounded hoarse and his eyes narrowed at you, but that just made you want to keep doing it. "and what if i don't?" you whispered, teasingly. that was the last thing you said before he grabbed your face with one hand and pulled you for a kiss.

your eyes widened with surprise, but soon your lips curled up in a smile. you couldn't hide how much you wanted that, and now that it was finally happening, you felt like it was a dream. but blade's hands sliding down to firmly hold your waist, reminded you that it wasn't.

your hands, on the other side, ignored the bandages completely, brushing his chest until your arms wrapped around his neck. his mouth felt warm and he bit your lips in the most possessive way possible.

you sighed heavily between the kiss when his hands began to move lower, but he suddenly pushed you away before you could even react. before you could ask what happened, you heard a familiar voice calling for his name.

"hey blade, did you see my..." silver wolf entered the room looking around, but when her eyes stopped on you she fell silent. "oh." she had a neutral expression, but you could feel that she was going to laugh it off later. "well, sorry, i'll ask later." she left, not before giving blade a wink.

you felt your cheeks warming and you looked away from blade, but he didn't look bothered at all.

"we're going to continue this later." it was the last thing he said, before grabbing his things and leaving you alone in the room.

suddenly, you didn't feel tired anymore.

it was the first time that doing something without thinking led you to a good thing.

#hsr blade #honkai star rail #blade honkai #blade x reader #im embarrassed

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pandoa · 1 year

Text

when you're gone

~where the prefect has died, and he is left to pick up the pieces they shattered~ ~how they cope with your death~

~headcanons~ ~twisted wonderland x gender neutral reader~

warnings: angst, death

if you think i'm going to sugarcoat anything you're dead wrong i am here for tears :>

on the outside, nothing about him seems to have changed. in the mornings, he still wakes up and goes to class. in the afternoon, he still playfully attends club meetings and meets up with his other friends at nrc. in the nighttime, he doesn’t even spare the lifeless walls of ramshackle a glance as he walks back to his dorm. he seems… normal. however, everyone around him can sense that something is wrong. through his fake laughter and sugarcoated lies, everyone around him can see that he incredibly misses you. you left a hole in his heart that he covered up well in thick, scarlet paint. his lies to his friends bring him a toxic kind of comfort. but his lies to himself bring him more pain as each smile suffocates him with every day that passes.

CATER DIAMOND, lilia vanrouge, KALIM AL-ASIM, ace trappola, rook hunt

he works. he works, and works, and works until every fiber of his body begs him to stop. he just wants to forget about you. why can’t he let you go? he misses you every minute of his day and every second of his night. you infected his mind like a haunting curse sent to bring him down, and so he chose to work. to take his mind off of everything you. to ignore the fact that your absence affected his grieving heart the way that it did. you were his greatest distraction, after all. but why deal with grief when there was a perfectly long list of to-do’s to complete right before him instead?

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, VIL SCHOENHEIT, ruggie bucchi

he sits at your resting place a little longer than he should. most of the time, he is simply just sitting next to your grave, quiet and lost in his thoughts. when no other person is around, he talks to you. he speaks about his days, the latest shenanigans your friends have been stirring, the new shops that have opened since your passing, the inexplainable emptiness he feels whenever he turns around and remembers you won’t be there by his side like usual. he watches as the flowers around the cemetery bloom and wither with the inevitable work of time. on his days off from class, he stays by your engraved stone as the sun rises and sets, sitting beside you to keep you company. he dearly yearns for your warmth; however, he supposes the cold touch of your gravestone against the caresses of his fingertips was good enough.

jack howl, cater diamond, EPEL FELMIER, ruggie bucchi, jade leech, LILIA VANROUGE, idia shroud, malleus draconia

he’s irrational. angry. rage seems to be the only thing on his mind. if you think he made livid choices before, then you clearly did not see him the day your death was announced. when crowley had confirmed that you were, in fact, dead, he couldn’t believe it. wait—no. he wouldn’t believe it. someone as strong as you couldn’t die so easily. he knew you all too well. and from that day on, he made it his mission to be the most difficult and obnoxious person to have ever set foot in twisted wonderland, regardless of the chaos he caused because of it. he doesn’t care if others are appalled by his actions. he doesn’t care if his actions caused by anger affect the people around him. fine! let them suffer! their agony cannot compare to the ache he feels, though. he may be blinded by his emotions, but what does it matter anyway? his heart was bleeding and it wasn’t fair.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR, floyd leech

he dreams of you every night. whether those dreams are joyful ones or replays of terrible memories, he dreams of it all. you cloud his mind like a never-ending mist, and he can’t seem to get rid of you. you were his star in the darkest shadows of the night. however all stars must burn out eventually, and it seems that you decided to burn out sooner than he thought. each new dream of his unlocks an unwanted image of you. images of you and him laughing along the sunlit pathways of his dorm. images of your precious face, rosy from something he just said. images of you and him together—the way it should have been. it’s to the point that he wishes he could sleep forever just so he can see the image of your face and the sweetness of your voice, even if only in his imagination. the moment he closes his eyes, he does not wish to wake up. he only wants to dream of you again and again until even he is sucked into the depths of death as well.

riddle rosehearts, SILVER, azul ashengrotto, idia shroud, trey clover, rook hunt, malleus draconia

he doesn’t believe it. you couldn’t have died, you just couldn’t! what would happen to all the memories you made? the future the two of you would make together? the future you both had dreamed about? it was impossible. you can’t be dead. conflicted emotions boil within him as he convinces himself that you are still alive. that you are simply taking a short break from nrc and would return home to him soon. everyone around him is pained to see him being in such shambles—the innocence in denial was just too sweet of a spell. even as he watched your coffin descend six feet to the ground on that mournful day, he remained chained to the shackles of disbelief as tears began to stain his crestfallen face.

deuce spade, epel felmier, kalim al-asim, sebek zigvolt

a/n: there was one point where i got so into imagining these hcs that i literally could not see what i was writing bc tears were streaming down my face 💀

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travlersjoy444 · 7 months

Text

2012 Karai x reader Incorrect Quotes

A spiritual followup to the incorrect turtlexreader quotes, because honestly Karai is the only one of them who I actually have a crush on! Definitely more niche tho lol

***

(Y/N): *in a jail cell* What about my Miranda rights!? You’re supposed to say I have ‘the right to remain silent’”! NOBODY SAID I HAD THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT!

Karai: *in the cell next to them* You have the right to remain silent, what you lack is the capacity.

April: Can I get a waffle?

(Y/N) and Karai: *fighting and yelling at each other*

April: Can I p l e a s e get a waffle?

Karai: If I was married to you I would put poison in your coffee.

(Y/N): If I was married to you I’d drink it.

(Y/N), to Karai: One universe, nine planets, seven seas, seven continents, and I had the unfortunate luck of meeting you.

Leo: Hey, that’s not very nice-

Karai: There are only eight planets, you uncultured swine!

Leo, forgetting about (Y/N): VIVA LA PLUTO, SCREW YOU!

(Y/N): Y’know, maybe things aren’t so bad. I’m here. I got the nice forest breeze. Just alone with my thoughts.

Karai: Hey, (Y/N).

(Y/N): GODDAMNIT!

(Y/N): Karai has only knocked me out three times this week. Our friendship is really developing.

(Y/N): You know, Karai, you are the sun in my life.

Karai: Why? Cause I'm smoking hot?

(Y/N): Because it hurts my eyes looking at you.

(Y/N): *angrily presses Karai against a wall* WHERE'S THE MONEY?!

Karai: ...

Karai: Are we about to kiss-

(Y/N): What’s up with you?

Karai: What do you mean?

(Y/N): You’ve been nice and helpful and considerate all day. What’s your game?

(Y/N): So what’s the plan?

Casey: I don’t know. You’re smart, *points at Karai * they’re mean, come up with something.

Karai , writing in their diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

(Y/N): Let’s not Karai this into a worse situation than it already is.

Karai: Did you just use my name as a verb?

(Y/N): This is a bad idea.

Karai: Then why are you coming along?

(Y/N): Someone has to get your injured self home.

(Y/N): Did you have to stab them?

Karai: You weren’t there. You didn’t hear what they said to me.

(Y/N): What did they say?

Karai: "What are you going to do, stab me?"

(Y/N): ...That’s fair.

(Y/N): What's gone wrong, Karai?

Karai: Hey! That’s one hell of a thing to say to a person. Just because I’m calling doesn’t mean there’s a crisis.

(Y/N): That’s technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling?

Karai: Well... There’s a crisis.

Karai: *on the phone with (Y/N)* I can’t talk right now, I’m doing hot girl shit.

(Y/N): You’re pulling Oreos apart and saving off the frosting to make a mega Oreo, aren’t you.

Karai: Maybe.

(Y/N): You use humor to deflect your trauma.

Karai: Awww, thanks-

(Y/N): That’s not a good thing.

Karai: All I’m hearing is that you think I’m funny.

(Y/N): What are you doing here?

Karai: I could ask you the same question.

(Y/N): I live here. This is my house.

Karai: I should probably ask you a different question.

(Y/N), holding an unconscious Karai: Oh no. Please don’t be dead.

(Y/N): You know, I really wish you’d just admit you made a mistake sometimes.

Karai, stirring their coffee: I prefer it with salt.

Karai, looking in the first aid kit: Why did you fill this with pop-tarts?!

(Y/N), bleeding out: I thought it was funny at the time.

(Y/N): Do you want to explain the text you sent me last night?

Karai: It was autocorrect.

(Y/N): Autocorrect wrote "You're so hot. Please step on me."?

Karai: Yes.

Leo: So you’re dating (Y/N)?

Karai: What? No! I’m just buying them an accessory since they have terrible fashion sense.

Leo: That’s literally a wedding ring.

(Y/N): Love is weakness and an evolutionary mistake.

Leo: You are literally making a Valentine’s day card for Karai.

(Y/N), pointing their hot glue gun towards Leo: You’re on thin fucking ice.

Mikey: That shirt looks great, (Y/N).

(Y/N): Thanks.

Mikey: But I bet it would look even better on Karai's floor.

Karai: Are you hitting on (Y/N)... for me?

Karai: Hey, babe, remember how I had to go to the pharmacy to pick up my ADHD meds? (Y/N): Yes? Karai: Well, it turns out they're all out for the next five days. (Y/N): Fuck. Karai: It's gonna be a fun week! (Y/N): I'm going to Leo's house. Karai: Nuh-uh. Through sickness and health, motherfucker.

Leo: (Y/N), gather the others. We need to have another Karai-is-doing-something-stupid-again-and-we-have-to-stop-them-before-they-hurt-someone convention.

Leo: So, how long have you and Karai been together?

(Y/N): No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Karai and I are not together. No. No.

Leo: Really? Sixteen ‘nos’? Really?

(Y/N): Where are you going?

Karai: To get MYSELF a gift cause somebody didn't get me one!

(Y/N): I told you I did! Its coming here on Friday!

Leo, knowing full well that (Y/N) got Karai an engagement ring: *eating popcorn*

Karai: *kisses (Y/N)*

(Y/N): !

Karai: ...Did you steal my chapstick?

(Y/N): Did- did I what?

Karai: My chapstick, (Y/N). Did you steal it?

Leo: Karai, for the love of God, not this again.

(Y/N): I- No, I didn't steal your chapstick. We use the same chapstick.

Karai: No, there is absolutely no way we use the same chapstick, because it was only sold on one Etsy shop two years ago and they discontinued it, and I loved it so much that I bought the last of their stock, and I keep it in my freezer so it doesn't go bad. It's been discontinued for three years. No one uses the same chapstick for three years. So unless you've been eating a whole fuck ton of something that's flavored like chocolate and popcorn, you absolutely stole my fucking chapstick.

(Y/N): Chocolate and popcorn?

Leo: Why do you think it got discontinued?

*(Y/N) and Karai flirting with each other yet again*

Leo: And you two are sure you're not dating?

(Y/N): 100%.

Karai: Of course not! Why would you think that?

Leo: I wonder why that possibility would even cross my mind, Karai. I fucking wonder.

Leo: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room.

(Y/N): Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you.

*Karai walks in*

(Y/N): Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know.

Karai: Hi.

April: Hey, did you do what I said? Did you tell them?

Karai: I did.

April: And what did they say?

Karai: “Thank you.”

April: You’re totally welcome. What’d they say?

Karai: They said, “Thank you.” I said “I love you” and (Y/N) said, “Thank you.”

Karai: How do I make a date really romantic?

Shini: Be mysterious.

Karai: Okay!

*later, while on a date with (Y/N)*

(Y/N): So where are we going?

Karai: None of your fucking business.

Shini: Hey, (Y/N), are you free on Friday? Like around eight? (Y/N): Yeah. Shini: And you, Karai? Karai: Umm... yes? Shini: Great! Because I'm not. You two go out without me. Enjoy your date!

Karai: I’m this close to falling in love with (Y/N).

Shini: Your fingertips are touching.

Karai: Exactly.

(Y/N): Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much.

Karai: Oh, you’ve been?

(Y/N): Once. In Monopoly.

Shini: Truth or dare?

Karai: Truth!

Shini: Do you-

(Y/N): I dare you to kiss me.

Karai: *kisses (Y/N)*

Shini: They said “truth”, right?

#tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #tmnt karai x reader #tmnt 2012 karai x reader #karai x reader #tmnt 2012 karai #karai hamato #tmnt karai

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