#they need to be more settled into themselves

[bad268]

maybe a story where kimis gf (reader) has curly hair and she does her curly hair routine on kimi. love your writing!! 💓

Curl TLC (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Curly Hair! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (Thank you <3 and as someone with curly hair, I had too much fun with this)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1332

Summary: Kimi needed some help with his curls.

Join my 1K Celly

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

It was something you always noticed. Kimi’s hair was always unruly after a race, but after being with him for almost a year, you noticed the little things. His curls used to be so well-formed and clean, but now, it’s like he was losing his curl pattern. And given that you also had curly hair, you decided to teach him your tricks during an off weekend. 

“I don’t see why this is important,” He complained as soon as you started rinsing his hair. “This seems like a lot.”

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” You laughed as you made sure none of the water got in his eyes. “This is just water.”

“But the number of things you have is concerning,” He replied as he glanced over at the three bottles and diffuser on the counter.

“That’s nothing,” You dismissed as you grabbed the shampoo specifically for curly hair. “Now, this is my shampoo. The first time I do it-”

“You’re gonna do it more than once?” Kimi cut you off as he tried to sit down, but you put your hand on his shoulder to sit him back down in front of the sink. 

“Yes, the first time, I’ll give you a head massage. It helps get all the dead skin off your scalp and It’s just really relaxing,” You explained as you applied the shampoo to his roots. As you began working it through his hair. You knew better than to explain your process when you were scratching his scalp because you knew he would not be listening. As soon as you started, his eyes shut and that was game over. After a few minutes, you turned the water back on to rinse it. Maybe, you let a little splash onto Kimi’s face, causing his eyes to snap open and look up at you. “The first shampoo is to get everything off your scalp. The second one is to get all the dead skin out of your hair.”

“That sounds gross,” Kimi cringed as he settled back into his seat. “It’s just two, right?”

“Two shampoos, yes,” You answered as you started with the second shampoo treatment. “Then, we’ll condition once and put curl cream in your hair. I’ll show you how to form your curls, and then I’ll help you dry your hair with a diffuser.”

“What even is that?” He asked confused as you turned the water off to let the conditioner sit.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” You laughed as you sat on his lap to pass the time. Kimi immediately tried to bring his hands to his hair, but you grabbed them and held them to his side. “No, don’t touch it! Leave it alone!”

“That’s not fair!” He complained but leaned into you to kiss you. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” You dragged out as you pulled away and leaned your forehead against his. You felt his arms trying to pull themselves from your hold, so you adjusted your grip, “And it’s not going to work.”

“How long do I need to leave this in? It itches,” Kimi complained with no real heat behind his words. It did not really itch, but it was a different formula than he was used to. The texture was just weird to him, and he wanted it off.

“A few more minutes,” You said as you looked at his hair. The curls were starting to form back on their own, so that was going to make your job easier later on. “If it’s really bugging you, I can rinse it now and we can move on to the cream and diffusing.”

“Please?” He asked he gave you puppy eyes. He knew you could never say no to him then.

“Fine,” You sighed in mock offense as you stood up and walked around to stand at his side to wash the conditioner out. “I just don’t think you’re used to it, bu don’t worry. You’ll learn to love it.”

“That sounds threatening,” Kimi laughed as he closed his eyes when you turned the water back on.

“Take it how you wish,” You joked as you finished rinsing his hair. You grabbed a towel after turning the water off and gently dried his hair a bit. “Here, stand in front of the mirror and I’ll show you how to define your curls.”

“I never knew it was this complicated,” Kimi groaned as he stood up and stood beside you. You removed the towel and inspected the natural curls he had already formed. You were just planning on working with what he had. They were fairly spaced out right and they were already semi-formed. They just needed a little cleaning up, and that’s exactly what the curl cream would do. “What is that?”

“Curl cream,” You said simply as you put a little on your fingers and started to run it through a section of his hair. “It’s going to help your curls hold their shape and be less frizzy.”

“Is it going to make them hard?” Kimi complained as he watched you through the mirror.

“First off, that’s what she said,” You giggle as you move on to the next section. Kimi laughed a little, but he gently slapped your arm in response. “Secondly, no. It’s not. All it does is help them hold. They’ll still be soft. You’ve never noticed my hair being crunchy.”

“Oh, good,” Kimi said to himself. He watched you for a minute before asking, “What are you doing now?”

“I’m using my fingers to wrap your curls, so they will be more defined,” You explained, slowing down to show him. “Look. I take this piece of hair, wrap it around my finger, and then gently, keynote on gently, twirl it off. You try.” He tried it. Did it look perfect? No. Would it work for now? Yes. He’s learning, but it's a good start. “That looks good! You’ll get better, I promise.”

“As long as you’re here to help,” He sighed. “It’s a lot of work.”

“You don’t always have to do all of this,” You explained. “Some days, just washing with shampoo and conditioner works just fine. Your curls just needed some TLC today, so we did the whole nine yards, but normally, I would not do the curl cream or diffusing. Only when I’m feeling extra.”

“Oh, good to know,” Kimi trailed off as you finished off forming his curls and moved to grab the diffuser. “This is next, right?”

“Yes! If you want, I can show you how to do it, then let you. Or I can just do it,” You offered, but he immediately handed you the dryer. You chuckled at his eagerness to get rid of the object but started to blow dry his hair. “Flip your head down.”

“I feel like this is unnecessary,” He grumbled but did so without question. You did not listen to him as you just laughed to yourself and moved on with blow-drying his hair. “Why is it so cold?”

“It’s cold to start with, but I’ll warm it up as we finish up,” You replied. “Heat ruins your hair, so even though we’re blow-drying your hair, it’s going to be cool air.”

“I don’t like it,” He groaned as he tried to lean away from the cool air.

“Well, lucky for you, you don’t have a lot of hair, so you're basically done,” You said as you ran your hand through a couple of strands without separating them, and you noticed they were completely done. You decided to explain the rules as you started putting everything away. “Don’t brush it, don't run your hands through it, and do not put a helmet on for a while. In a way, it’s a good thing you don’t have a race for a couple of weeks.” 

“About that,” Kimi trailed off, causing your face to drop immediately, “I was gonna go karting tomorrow.”

“You better not! I worked hard to make those curls!”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

#andrea kimi antonelli x reader #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli #kimi x reader #prema team #mercedes amg petronas #formula 1 x reader #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 #formula 1 #formula 2 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 #f2 #f1 x reader #f2 x reader #f2 x you #f2 imagine #f2 fanfic #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

[shes2real]

Drip ♡

Featuring 🌷: solo sikoa + female!reader

Warning ☁️: smoking & drinking, shower sex, drunk sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, unprotected p in v, cumshot, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, squirting, overstimulation, creampie, 18+ Minors, please don’t interact. Thanks! ୨୧

Word count 🌷: 1.3k

Scenario ☁️: Based on Drip by Ann Marie. Solo & his wife indulge in an erotic evening after leaving the club, intoxicated by lust.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Taking off another outfit, she sighed in frustration as she scanned her wardrobe for the perfect ensemble for her night out with Solo. After a moment of deliberation, she settled on a vibrant pink mini-dress and did a small twerk into the mirror as she admired herself. Just as she began to feel more confident, Solo snuck up behind her, his arms enveloping her waist as he planted a tender kiss on her neck.

“You dancin’ in the mirror and shit, you gon do it on this dick.”

She laughed at his nasty joke before giving him a quick kiss. Solo's touch ignited a spark of desire within her, and she responded eagerly, “Yes daddy,”

With a gentle touch, he lifted her, his strength effortlessly supporting her weight, before setting her back down. He playfully bent her over and thrusted into her as if he was giving her backshots.

“Baeee!”

“I’ma get you right later, don’t even worry bout it,” He smirked, stealing a final glance in the mirror, Solo retreated to the bathroom to complete his attire.

After a while, the couple finally made their way to the bar, both dressed to impress. Entering the bar, they spotted their friends lounging by the hookah area, the dim lighting casting a cozy ambiance. The couple found themselves enveloped in a swirl of laughter and conversation with their friends. As glasses clinked and hookah smoke wafted through the air, Solo’s wife indulged in drinks, with each sip, she grew hornier. Her touch became more lingering, her movements more provocative as she teased and tempted him with every sway of her hips. Solo attempted to suppress her advances, though his resistance only seemed to fuel her desire further.

“Chill out ma,” He groaned as she grinded against his bulge. He gripped her hips as she leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

“Daddy please.“ She begged, her breath against his ear, while her cool tongue traced the contours of his face.

“Not here,” He demanded.

He knew tonight was gonna get crazy from the Hennessy she’s been sipping. Solo took a drag from the hookah as he tried to maintain his composure. Meanwhile, his wife pressed against him, her movements sending a rush of heat coursing through him.

“Wanna feel you when you deep inside it.” She slurred as she looked at him with desire.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she began to wine against him, the movement causing her dress to rise up, revealing more than intended. Solo masked his simmering anger with a facade of nonchalance, positioning himself behind her and pulling her close to cover her bare ass. Despite his outward display of affection, a storm raged within him, fueled by a mix of arousal and irritation.

With a firm grasp, he lifted her effortlessly, swiftly ushering her out of the club.

“I’ma fuck yo ass up.”

“You promiseeeee?” She giggled. He rolled his eyes, silently fuming as they made their way to the car.

As they drove home, she babbled and slurred all about their past sexual encounters. Solo's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched as he reprimanded her.

“Yo ass need some water or sum, damn.”

“Ooh, it taste like Aquafina, gon and take a sip,” She hiccuped before opening her legs. As he closed her legs with one hand and the steering wheel clenched tightly under the other, a low, guttural mutter escaped his lips, barely audible.

As they stumbled through the house, the faint aroma of the hookah smoke and perfume clung to their clothes. Despite his own slight intoxication, he moved carefully, guiding her as they made their way to the bathroom.

After a hassle, the couple finally made it into the shower. The warm water cascaded over her, gradually blocking the haze of alcohol yet only adding fuel to the heat radiating from between her legs.

“Can I have some dick, now?”

“Ma—

“Please?” She whined.

He turned her around, making her face the wall. Bending her body and sticking her ass out, she anxiously pressed herself against him. His hands moved down her spine, rubbing his length over her folds.

She stood on her tiptoes to allow him to slide in, leaning against the shower wall. With ease, he slides in and pushes her back against his dick.

“Yo shit drippin’,” He groaned.

Her pussy grips him tightly as she begins to throw it back on him, watching his every reaction.

Solo’s hand moves down to her clit, rubbing her as she moaned out and decided to throw it back harder against him. This angered him as he realized how much she’d been acting up today, he was supposed to be fucking her not the other way round.

He growled before grabbing her neck and slamming inside of her. Her eyes rolled as she screamed out, “Yessssss!”

“You like when I beat this pussy up?…”

No response, just broken sobs escaping from her mouth.

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes! Fuccckkkk,”

“Like it when you make daddy mad so he can get you right,” Solo increased his pace, fucking into her harder. Her trembling hand reached for his hand as he pinched her sensitive clit. She even tried to inch away from his powerful strokes.

“Why you running?” He chuckled, “Stop allat running. Take this dick, you wanted dis shit earlier.”

Her pussy clenched from the overstimulation, she began to chase her orgasm as she backed into his pelvis again. As her orgasm caused her actions to halt, Solo pulled out of her, gripped her by the ass, and picked her up.

Sliding his dick inside of her, he almost nutted, literally. She was still tight from her previous orgasm. His abdomen tightened as his fingers dug into her.

He decided to taunt her from her earlier remark. “You feel me deep inside you?”

She nodded as she gripped his shoulders tightly. He bit his lip as he fought his groans, “This how you wanted it?”

Her body began to shake as her face fell in between the crook of his shoulder, she was gonna cum again.

“Yes— Right thereeee!”

Solo’s hips continued to grind into her g-spot, “Right here, baby?”

She felt a continuous wave of pleasure wash over her as she chanted his name. Her body grew limp, her legs gave out. She was only being supported by Solo’s hold. But her orgasm didn’t stop him as his quickly approached.

"Fuck." he grunted. Quickly pulling out, she shakily got on her knees. She felt his fingers curl in her hair, holding her tight as he came deep in her throat. She tried to keep going before he yanked her head away. “You ain’t slick,” He laughed, breathlessly.

•••

Her knees were draped over his shoulders, her heels knocking against the muscles of his back, as he dominated her sore pussy.

She'd never been this wet. Solo’s stamina and her sex drive were so compatible. The sex was always amazing but tonight? Solo was giving her a run for her money.

"Daddy-“ she whined, "—I-it’s, please, it's too much, I—" She began clawing at his back as she pleaded for him to pull out. She was coming again, her body curled as he pulled out of her, with an endless gush of fluid escaping her. She was a twitching, sobbing mess. Solo was shocked, to say the least, she’s never squirted.

He rubbed small circles on her clit as he slowly slid inside of her. “You good, ma.”

He soothed her as she jerked, “Got yo ass squirtin’ and shit.”

He kissed her as each thrust overwhelmed him. Her pussy was so good, it was no way he was gonna pull out. As Solo finished inside her, he pulled out gently and collapsed next to her. Both of them were completely spent after their intense session, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they caught their breath. They lay there together, still feeling the sensations from the moments before, until eventually succumbing to sleep.

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Thanks for reading babe ☁️🌷

・❥ ・ @kumapassion @romanreignsbae @pittieprincess22 @cyberdejos2 @xoxoril3yyy @rwbypatootie @solefae @empressdede @adoreesun @alyyaanna @shantinextdoor @zombiedixon89 @acknowledge-reigns @nashalis97-blog @browneyedgirlfriend4l @girlnred @theasiaabattoir @glitterywitchstarlight @brienivl @melaninpvssypoppin @nashalis97-blog @truefant4sy

#wwe smut #wwe imagines #the bloodline x reader #solo sikoa fanfiction #solo sikoa smut #solo sikoa #solo sikoa fic #sefa fatu

[acewritesfics]

Say it | Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Request: No

Warnings: An empty threat of no sex. Reader's sister has a name.

Word Count: 1,035

Stranger Things Masterlist | Main Masterlist

"Say it," Y/N commands her boyfriend. 

Eddie firmly shakes his head, "No." 

"Say it, Edward," she says again, adding the name he despises. He glares at her and settles onto their couch. 

"No!" With a defiant look in his big beautiful brown eyes, he shakes his head and gestures his sentiment with his hands. 

"You have to!" she exclaims, her voice rising slightly as their argument heats up. 

"No, I don't!" he shouts at her, his voice rising a few notches like it does when he's annoyed, angry, or overwhelmed. 

"You lost the bet, Edward Munson. It's time to pay up," she continues. 

"You cheated," he claims. 

"No, I didn't!" she protests. 

"Yes, you did," he responds with an accusatory look on his face, his tongue jutting out of his mouth, licking his upper lip, and an arched eyebrow. 

"How did I cheat?" she says, hands on her hips, looking down at him, waiting for his explanation of how she cheated on their bet. 

Steve had visited Y/N two weeks prior to ask about her younger sister, Barbara-Ann (or Annie to most people). It's clear that the 19-year-old has formed a liking for the 18-year-old high school senior. Following numerous attempts to find love again, Y/N was unable to bring herself to break his heart or reveal her sister's secret. 

However, that didn't stop Y/N and Eddie from making a bet amongst themselves. After all, Steve and Robin had a bet going to see how long it would take for Y/N and Eddie to get together. Steve had won that bet, with his bet being 4-6 weeks. If Y/N had waited two more days to make the first move, then Robin would have won.  

Eddie was so sure that Steve could win over Barbara-Ann and had even gone out of his comfort zone to play wingman for Steve. Y/N believed that he wouldn't be able to, being the one who knows her sister better than they do. But as the days went by, it would be evident that his defeat was upon him. 

"Because you've always known Barbara-Ann has a thing for Robin," he replies, surprising her enough to make her forget about the bet... temporarily. 

"How did you know?" she wonders, her face filled with surprise and curiosity. Y/N was certain she was the only one Barbara-Ann had disclosed her preference for the same sex to. 

"I know I'm not the smartest person, and I miss a lot of social cues and stuff, but it's not hard to miss the small glances, flirty smiles, and all the other shit that she gives Robin," he explains. "No offense to Barbara-Ann, but she is not as subtle as she thinks she is, and I'm quite sure Steve is the only one who is blind to it unless he's lying to himself." 

"Steve can be a little dumb at times, but we still love him," she acknowledges, settling in beside him on the couch. "However, you still lost the bet, therefore you still need to say it." 

"You cheated! Nobody wins and the bet is wiped. That is the rules," he disagrees with her. 

"We didn't make any rules," she points out. 

"Fuck," he groans as he realizes she's right. "I'm still not saying it." 

"Fine, but no sex for a week," she adds non-chalantly. It's a hollow threat because she couldn't spend a week without sex with him either, and he knows that as soon as he touches her in an intimate way, she's putty in his hands. It's a useless threat, really. 

"Baby, you know that I know that won't work," he smirks, moving his hand to her thigh and gently moving it upwards as his calloused fingers brush against her exposed delicate skin, igniting the desire between her legs. 

She hesitates to grab his hand and pull it away from her thigh as he clearly makes his point, but eventually does so and stands up from the couch. 

He raises an eyebrow at her and then follows her with his eyes to the wall-mounted phone. "What are you doing?" 

"Calling Nancy to see if I can stay with her for the week," she says as she begins dialing the Wheeler's phone number. "I'm sure that I can come up with a plausible reason for why I need to stay with her." 

Giving up, he stands up from the couch. Moving quickly to where she is standing, he takes the phone out of her hand and hangs it back up on the hook. He groans, "I'll say it." 

She grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she looks at him expectantly, unfazed by the glare he's sending her. 

He sighs and begins to quote what she had written down for him to say if he lost their bet, even though he hadn't lost due to a technicality. "I, Eddie," he pauses as she raises her brow at him. "I, Edward Munson," he corrects himself, continuing to glare at her. "Enjoy wearing Y/N's panties, especially the pink ones with the lace," he pauses again before speedily adding the last part. "They make me feel sexy and fierce." 

Y/N finally lets out the laugh she has been struggling to contain. 

"It makes me so happy that you find this so amusing," Eddie adds sarcastically, as he stands there with his hands on his hips, appearing to be unimpressed with his girlfriend. 

"I'm sorry, baby," She says, with a small pout, as she threads her arms through his and encircles his waist. "I'll make it up to you."  

"Yeah?" he says. "What are you going to do?" 

"I'll let you borrow my panties," she replies, trying to keep a straight face. 

"How about no sex for a week?" he suggests, repeating the empty threat she used a few minutes earlier. 

She gasps, appearing shocked and offended, before mirroring his previous remarks as she moves her hands up and under his shirt, her fingernails raking along his stomach. "Oh, baby, you know that I know that won't work." 

"That's it," he continues to mutter to himself as he stoops down, picks her up, putting her over his shoulder. 

"Eddie!" she squeals, giggling as he carries her into their bedroom. 

#acewritesfics repost #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things x reader

[marcelshorjian]

hi. I saw your coming out post. Big congratulations!!!!

I, bittersweetly, relate very much. I'm 23. I started suspecting I was trans around 15/16. I can generally repress it for a good long while (a couple months at a time), so the dysphoria comes in waves of "oh I can tolerate this forever, it's fine, its not that bad, they're just words/names/pronouns."

I think I am very soon reaching that point of "oh god this is inevitable, and I can't live as a woman anymore."

But I also know I have successfully bottled it back up when feeling like this before. And likely will again because I'm about to go into my first career, corporate job.

If you can even answer this... how did you get to the point where you felt ready to come out publicly?

Congrats again, truly.

Hi there! I usually don’t publicly reply to the more personal messages I get on here, but yours really struck a chord with me. Thank you so much for sending it.

I know what you’re going through. I have been stuck in similar patterns for many years. I started suspecting I was trans when I was 15, asked my closest friends to be called by a male name and pronouns when I was around 19, but only decided to transition medically and publicly this year, at 26. It takes time.

Every year I would get an intense few months of feeling like I needed to transition, but always decided against it, for the very same reasons you named. Feeling like I could survive just like this. Feeling like if I could do without it, then it wasn’t something I had to « put myself through ». That it also wasn’t something I had to put others through. I intellectualised it to the point of finding many material reasons not to do it, focused on my fears and the vulnerability it would bring, just to occlude that very simple question: what do I want?

Delaying doing it, thinking it’s fine, it’s just a discomfort, is because you’ve lived with it for so long it doesn’t register as pain anymore. But it is pain.

Why should you settle for survival? Why would stating what you want be selfish? What are you really putting others through? Some tweaks in the way they address you, maybe some confusion and questions they’d never asked themselves before, that can only broaden their understanding of human complexity. The hostility often comes from defensiveness, but it's not your problem anyway.

You don’t have to do it all at once. Hormones can be started, stopped, picked up again. The changes are gradual. You don’t have to come out to everyone right away, just a select few you trust. But you’ll see, freedom is addictive.

I got to this point after years of unease by being around my amazing trans friends, and seeing them thriving and caring for each other, and them telling me: you love us like this, so allow yourself the same grace.

#answered

[gabatronnie]

I feel ya sis, with that said can you do "it" with crush!chaggie(Charlie and Vaggie). Reader and them aren't dating yet.

Reader is a strong overlord but suffer from depression, their insanely strong. (This part is my personal headcanon) reader has no limits shapeshifting, like they could shift into anything, lost an arm? Make a new one. Want different hair style? Just change it, something like that.

This takes place after ep 8. The hotel has been rebuilt and everything has settled down, and reader was still overwhelming stressed.

Reader resides in the hotel in one of the many new rooms, they had a anglic dagger(ordered from Carmine herself) and they just had the urge to do "it", and so they did it. But Charlie and vaggie had went to get them for an activity, and saw them do "it".

Basically i just want them to comfort me🥲

No need to do it if it makes you uncomfortable, and sorry if it's too long just thought you might want some extra details. The rest you can do as you please.

Thanks if you can do it, and no probs if you can't do it

chaggie comforting reader after they relapse (hcs)

this piece includes the following: self harm, blood, depressive (possibly suicidal) thoughts

it was vaggie who initially walked in on you whilst in the act, with charlie following soon after, and it’s safe to say that well… they were shocked.

charlie was confused more than anything, you seemed perfectly happy inside and out, and to say she was shocked was an understatement, and even if you weren’t all those things, she couldn’t understand why someone so amazing would do something so awful, especially if it’s to themselves

vaggie was more so personally upset with herself, as we see throughout the course of the show, vaggie can get hard on herself when she feels as if she didn't fufill some kind of quota on how much she's supposed to do for you

but aside from all that, vaggie will softly but sternly tell you to put the dagger down, as charlie softly mutters “what happened..?”

charlie and vaggie approach you slowly, a bit hesitant to push anything, but vaggie takes the dagger from you and softly places it somewhere safe before the three of you have a conversation

it may seem like your being scolded or lectured by these two, but you’re not, they just want to be safe and happy, that’s really all that matters to them

charlie will probably shed a few tears, she feels awful, and feels like she’s failed you in a way - like she hasn’t properly down her job

you three go over that your girls want you to be safe and happy and they understand life gets hard and people make mistakes, but that this isn’t the way to do it

once you three address the main issues and go over a few ground rules, they just wanna hug you, especially charlie

it’s safe to say that after this, charlie and vaggie both try their best to be more aware of your behaviors and emotions, charlie makes sure to include more mental health themed activities for the hotel residents, and vaggie ensures that you aren’t alone for an extended period of time on a regular basis

a/n: originally this was gonna be a oneshot but it didn’t save so i spent like almost all day writing this but as headcanons 😔 either way i hope it’s still enjoyable

© gabatronnie - don't translate, heavily inspire, feed my work to ai, or repost it on other platforms.

#{🎀} gabi’s pieces #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #sapphic blog #wlw #chaggie #hazbin hotel chaggie #chaggie hazbin hotel #chaggie x reader #poly!chaggie x reader #poly!chaggie #charlie morningstar hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie morningstar #charlie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #charlie x reader #charlie headcanons #vaggie hazbin hotel #vaggie headcanons #hazbin hotel vaggie #vaggie x reader #vaggie x charlie #charlie x vaggie

[mikkomacko]

After reading the recent chapter of Him & I, the image of teen Nico and the others trying to adjust to life in NJ has me in a chokehold lol

May I request for any shenanigans our boys may have gotten into during their first few months in the states? 👀

Stop I love this request! Just a bunch of silly teen boys in a new country together haha

Thanks so much requesting! Let me know if you want some more funny moments between the guys

~~~~

“Nico, I love you man but when am I gonna get my own bed?”

Timo is sprawled out across the queen size bed, McDonald’s fries and a burger resting in his lap. It’s been his obsession food for the last month they’ve been in Jersey and Nico is patently waiting for the day it all makes him sick.

“I’m trying Timo,” he huffs, looking up from the hoard of emails he’s been sifting through. His first order of business when he got to Jersey was finding something in the area to invest in. That something was a beloved bar in the area that had been shut down a few years ago and now he’s trying to build it all back up. “A few more weeks and I’ll look for somewhere new, ok?”

The apartment is nice, not a penthouse but large and luxurious. Enough to keep them all comfortable until he can afford an equally nice place for everyone. Technically leased under Nico’s name, it’s his permanent home now. And the home of the friends he brought with him. Three bedrooms in all, but Jesper and Jonas brought their girls with them, and Nico felt it was best they got rooms for themselves. Leaving him and Timo to double-up unless someone wanted the couch.

“Not that I don’t like the bonding,” Timo laughs, shoveling fries into his mouth. “I just didn’t realize how much of a cuddler you are.”

“Shut up!” Nico grumbles, cheeks heating up. He’s not that much of a cuddler, it just happens. It doesn’t help that Timo is such a bed hog either. What else is he supposed to do when his friend is rolling onto his side of the bed?

Timo snickers, hitting play on the next episode of Friends. Nico goes back to work, approving orders and installs for the bar so that it’ll be ready to open by the end of the month. Eventually the loud, smacking footfall of Jonas float in and the elder Swiss boy’s head is poking into the master bedroom.

“What are you watching?” He ask innocently, and Timo pats the bed next to him. That’s all the invitation Jonas needs before he’s crashing into the mattress, settling against the headboard and stealing some chicken nuggets from Timo.

“Ladies at work tonight?” Timo asks him, and he nods. Nola and Nicole had both gotten work together at a fancy clothing store a few streets down. The pay isn’t great, but they’re able to save up and support themselves with Nico taking care of housing and food for everyone. And once the bar is up and running, him and the boys will have more work to do.

Jonas pulls out his phone, sending a text that’s barely buzzed in the group chat before Jesper is running into the room as well. He shoves Nico’s beanie down over his eyes, leaping onto the bed with the other boys.

Nico yanks the hat off, tossing it towards the closet and refocusing. He doesn’t even get five minutes of work done before Jesper is calling for him.

“What?”

“Come on boss,” he teases “working too hard. Join us in bed.”

Nico rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You’re not my type.”

“Which one of us?”

“All of you.” Nico deadpans, looking up over his screen to find them all staring at him with puppy dog eyes.

“You love friends, come watch.” Jonas tells him. “I’ll let you sit next to Timo so you can snuggle?”

They all bust out laughing and it’s enough to get Nico to close his laptop. Rising from the desk, he pads over to the bed and knees his way up between Jonas and Timo.

He settles into the pillows, crossing his arms over his chest. Timo and Jonas are warm on either side of him, everyone’s biceps pressed tight against each other as they squish together.

Sometimes when Nico’s here, just him and his friends from home without thinking of everything he has to do, everything that comes with being the boss, he remembers his age. Still freshly 18 with too much money in his bank account and a responsibility to take care of the five other people he’s drug into this with him.

It makes him feel small. In a safe way though, because he’s got the people that believe in him and have his back. He’s got the Devs with him.

Maybe Jesper is right, maybe he is working too hard to make this work because he wakes up in the morning to a photo of him sleeping on Timo’s shoulder, a an arm and leg thrown over his best friends body.

#him and i #mob boss Nico blurb #mob boss Nico hischier #timo meier #jonas siegenthaler #jesper bratt #him and I blurb #requested

[afewfantasies]

🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Chapter IV

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Misc references & details

Summary:  Lorena gets her first visitor at The Retreat, her sister Felicia who has absolutely no tact. Both Lorena and Gale are confronted with uncomfortable truths. Gale is confronted with the feelings he's been trying to suppress for Lorena - his unlikely visitor and companion.

Pairing: Gale Cleven x Lorena (black fem oc)

Warnings:  None

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love

Word Count: 2.2

PART IV - SISTER SISTER

It took everything in Gale to keep from smiling at the nerves coming from Lorena. He’d never seen a more nervous wreck of a woman, a ball of nerves and excitement. She had spend two hours on her hair and had Rose press out her clothing perfectly. He didn’t know how she wasn’t working up a sweat pacing in her heels awaiting the train.

“Lorena take it easy” he says with a hand on her shoulder eliciting looks from onlookers. She looks up at him settling at his side.

“Stop laughing at me” she mutters.

“I’m not laughing” Gale smiles.

“You are its in your eyes” she mutters and he breaks his composure for a moment chuckling.

“She’ll be here, and she’ll be happy to see you. It’ll all be fine” Gale says hopefully.

“That’s not what I’m worried about, what if daddy is on the train with her and he hauls me away?” Lorena asks.

“If your father gets off that train you let me know and we’ll make a run for it.” Gale says no longer smiling.

“Major Gale Cleven running, there’s a thought…” Lorena teases.

“You love your father, its the only option” he says as the roaring of the train and sounding of horn get closer. “It’s alright” he whispers down at your head standing in front of you slightly. You both wait near first class and very few folks exit the train. Felicia exits the train as the fifth person, she has a bag in each hand and there’s an attendant holding two more as she looks around in search of her younger sister.

“That’s her” Lorena squeaks running over to her sister she takes her into her arms both women jumping excitedly. Gale gets a trolley putting the four bags onto it and allowing the women to reacquaint themselves. It had been nearly a year now since the sisters had been together. 

“Lolo you do know how to run!” Felicia smiles looking over her baby sister. 

“I do” Lo affirms smiling as she takes her sisters hand. They turn to find Gale watching them. They shared little resemblance but enough. Gale can see the similarities in them, their mannerisms and smiles.

“Well, how do yo do?” Felicia says looking him over. “No wonder you like it out here” Felicia comments.

“This is Gale” Lo laughs at her sisters cantor. 

“Nice to meet you” Gale blushes a little take a back by the forward sister.

“You made him sound like an old man” Felicia fails to whisper.

“Shut up why don’t you, and lets get on the road, we won’t be home until late” Lorena snaps embarrassed by her sisters mouth.

“Why? Are we’re far away?” Fefe asks Lorena who responds with a wink.

“May I put these in the back?” Gale asks motioning to the suitcases.

“Sure and it’s Felicia Clarence, I promise our mother taught Lorena manners she’s just so pretty she’s never needed to use them” Felicia smiles. Lorena scoffs at the irony of Felicia’s so called manners.

“Gale Cleven” he smiles shaking her hand. Both ladies sit up front in the truck leaving Gale without his usual person of space between him and Lorena.

“So how are mom and dad?” Lorena asks to fill some of the silence.

“Same as always, waiting for you to come back home” Felicia says honestly. Gale grips the wheel at the jarring reality.

“I keep telling them I won’t be home for awhile” Lorena reminds feeling claustrophobic.

“So this arrangement isn’t forever?” Felicia asks suspiciously sitting forward to point between her sister and the handsome stranger that was now both her landlord and employer.

“Lorena can stay as long as she’d like” Gale responds. Lorena notes there was o hesitation and raises a brow at her sister.

In not one of the letters had Lorena mentioned his fashion good looks to Felicia, not once had she described his physicality. He was dreamier than Felicia could have ever imagined, younger too. The Gale in the letters was an old man, chaste and probably well past his prime free of vice and with a bucketful of old man hobbies. Gale in person was something totally different.

“Middle of nowhere to let all that pretty and party planning expertise to go to waste” Felicia tuts shaking her head. “What happened to us having large estates across the street from each other filled with the finest china and a distinguished guest list?” Felicia asks.

“Felicia, I’m not like you I can’t just show my face anyways and pretend like the whispering doesn’t get to me when it does. I don’t need anyones pity either, I don’t need sharks circling I don’t need the drama of courtship and planing another wedding. I just need peace.” Lorena sighs being transparent with her sister.

“Whoa, you two really aren’t sleeping together” Felicia says shocked. Lorena and Gale both show healthy blushes, embarrassment burns their cheeks as Felicia says the quiet parts aloud.

“Fe!” Lorena grits.

“Sorry, I mean look at him but mama and daddy raised us with enough sense we wouldn’t morn one relationship while sitting with a man were in another with” Felicia says dismissively.

“Gale I told you she talks too much and she has no decorum. Please forgive her.” Lorena says embarrassed. Nodding he forces back a smile. He’d never seen Lorena embarrassed before.

“My apologies Gale, I’m just trying to figure out my sister. This is the biggest shock to all of us. If you knew where and how we grew up you’d understand my concern” Felicia reasons.

“I understand” Gale mutters.

“Do you?” Felicia pries looking at him. “Do you have siblings?”

“Only child” he responds keeping his eyes on the road.

“That must’ve been boring” she continues with her inquisition. 

“It was alright” Gale shrugs.

“Well, we have a brother and then each other and that kept life interesting” Felicia shares. Gale turns looking at Lorena, she had never spoke about her brother in the past five months, not once, nor did she send him a letter.

“You have a brother?” Gale asks Lorena.

“Well we’re not close” she responds.

“They’re feuding because Kevin had an affair on his wife” Felicia discloses.

“It’s a dishonourable thing to do to your pregnant wife” Lorena mutters.

“He’s family, she’s not - he’s on your side you know. He’s scorned reggie from all social events he controls” Felicia says trying to mend fences.

“Hypocritical don’t you think?” Lorena chuffs still feeling the sting of her ex-husbands indiscretion.

“Him and Maria are doing better than ever. You going MIA scared him straight. You would be proud of him the kids are familiar with him, he’s been home and Maria is happy” Felicia adds but unlike both of Lorena’s siblings her marriage had been full of love and passion. It was alive and well, it was what Lorena wanted, she’d never had the luck of lukewarm love. If her marriage had been that perhaps it would have hurt less.

“Good for them” Lorena mutters trying to hide her smugness from Gale.

“You bitch” Felicia laughs shaking her head at her sister. Gale’s eyes grow in size as Lorena withholds a smile. “You’re pissed at Kev but you write Reggie” Felicia says taking it too far.

“Don’t go there Fe” Lorena warns sharply, Gale watches as the older raises her hands in surrender. Their dynamic is clear to him. Felicia has fashioned herself the antagonist, she’s the digger that’s relentless and doesn’t stop until she’s unearthed the truth. He watches Lorena read Felicia her rights at the gas station and the rest of the ride back is a lot more quiet with Lorena in a sour mood. He wonders if it was a bad idea on his end but only time can tell for sure.

…..

Gale straightens excited to see Lorena after last night, she’d gone up earlier than usual with her sister and he hadn’t wanted to intrude with a cool night. Felicia emerges in the doorway with a smile.

“Good morning” she smiles.

“Good morning, Rose brought by breakfast” he stands.

“Sit, its fine I can serve myself” Felicia smiles fixing herself a plate. Gale finds himself a little uneasy in her presence. “Relax, men show their tail after a month, it’s been about six since she’s been here you're a good man” Felicia says frankly. She’d decided that during the long ride into the Retreat.  Lorena was herself and not a shell of who she had been, Felicia could see her sisters ease around Gale, anyone could see she was well in spite of the heartbreak. 

“Thank you” Gale breathes relieved. Felicia’s personality was a kin to a bloodhound unable to let things go.

“She never had a real shot, she’s been spoiled rotten her whole life. Never had to fight for anything so um, she runs when she should be home giving Reggie hell for his betrayal” Felicia comments buttering her bread. 

“Hell will find him when he realizes what he’s lost” Gale comments but Felicia scoffs.

“No, no Gale she’s not angry. If Reggie and that hussy run their course and his sorry ass comes back begging she’ll take him back. She’s still happy he’s alive. She is my sister but that girl is a special kind of crazy” Felicia says candidly. Gale sits back having lost his appetite at that thought.

“You think so?” He asks feeling bitterness.

“I know men, and I know my sister, that girl can’t hold a candle to her. Reggie still sends her money, people talk and the divorce was the girls doing. My brothers been doing a great job at blacklisting the vain bastard and absence only makes the heart grow fonder.” Felicia says talking like a man. Her words make sense to Gale, worse they scare him. 

“But your folks won’t let that happen, he’s a coward and he humiliated her. She’s only just stopped crying whenever letters come” Gale shares.

“My folks miss their Lorena. They’d rather her up the block then on the other side of the country” Felicia shrugs. Its the opposite of what Gale wants to hear.

“What do you think?” Gale asks Felicia curiously.

“I think Lorena and Reggie were puppy love. I think he’s a scoundrel and doesn’t deserve to breathe her air. He doesn’t appreciate her or value her, there’s an absence or respect. Lorena deserves better” Felicia speaks frankly.

“I agree” Gale nods.

“Major Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven, I did a lot of research. Found out you're a great man, leader of men. You survived a prison camp in Germany and managed an escape during the coldest winter in 100 years.” Felicia says shocking him.

“You're right” he nods attention piqued.

“So fight for her” Felicia says silencing everything around him. The assertive strength in her eyes dissolves into something more soft hearted. “I know you love her Gale and she thinks the world of you. It’s an odd pairing and a peculiar circumstance but I can think of no other reason for her to be all the way here if it weren’t written in the stars” Felicia shrugs. Footsteps sound above them and Lorena emerges from upstairs. Swallowing her heart races at the sight of her sister and Gale who’s white as a ghost.

“What’d she say?’ Lorena asks unnerved placing a hand against Gales clammy forehead.

“I asked him if it’s common to go skinny dipping in the lake?” Felicia lies.

“Swimming naked?” Lorena questions her sister who smiles jostling her brows.

“Gale I’m sorry, her and Clarence her husband are progressive and he encourages this sort of thing. We’re all used to it” Lorena apologizes and Gale has time to recover.

“It’s alright Lorena, no skinny dipping in this spot. You want to do that near running water but it’s not safe now. You ladies don’t shoot and so one of the guys would have to keep watch and uh … no” Gale says turning a little red at the thought. Felicia laughs and Lorena casts an amused yet annoyed look at her sister placing her hand on Gales shoulder.

“He’ll ever invite you back” she scoffs.

“If she weren’t married I’d make an introduction with Bucky” Gale stands taking Lorena’s hand. He smiles holding her gaze until she smiles back and then he nods.

“I’ll be with the horses if you need me” Gale says bidding her a goodbye.

So fight for her. Felicia’s words dance around in his mind as he heads outside mounting his horse. It repeats on a loop. He would in every circumstance that Lorena needed, it wasn’t a second thought. Therein lied the issue. He’d never given specific thought to him and Lorena long enough. He was always rushing those thoughts out of his head. Marge had been sure he was no longer worth it. Yet, Felicia seemed to be convinced otherwise.

Hearing a scream Gale looks over to find Felicia in a puddle ad Lorena laughing hysterically. Finding his smile in hers Gale considered the unthinkable. In his heart, he’s willing to fight. In his heart he hopes Lorena feels the same.

#austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x black reader #mota #master #masters of the air #mas #masterlist #major gale #major gale cleven #major buck #major buck cleven #austin butler x oc #gale cleve #gale cleven x oc #major buck cleven x oc

[stickyspeckledlight]

Waxing, Waning, My Unraveled Body Beheld By the Moon [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The sun is not always shining. But the moon can only shine because of the sun. A companion piece to Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset. This fic assumes you've read it, so I heavily recommend you read it first before reading this. It'll make more sense if you do.

Ao3

TW: Implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, mild gore, violence against reader, choking/strangulation, Stockholm syndrome, Aventurine's Past shows up, EXTREME tonal whiplash due to the beginning (but frankly it's so you can brace yourselves...the calm before the storm), Reader needs a hug, Ratio where are you my man needs therapy NOW, twisted "happy endings" my beloved

Note: This got so out of hand. Aventurine is the most potent brain worm I've had in a while. Poor reader though. They used to be such a cringefail, now they're a poor little meow meow 😔

(Written before 2.2)

You stand on the top of a tower. 

It’s a modest and small thing, but every second and breath you’ve taken is in its service. Time is its mortar, and actions are its bricks. It is stable, for you’ve built it straight up; a wide and strong base, with little deviation. If it had a shaky foundation, then you wouldn’t even bother.

You have no plans to construct it into something grandiose and spectacular. It’s best to keep your ambitions realistic, for it is so very easy to use and dispose of those with dreams bigger than themselves and small enough to be crushed in the palms of those atop skyscrapers. Your tower is modest, and you will keep it that way. You will have to become a cog in the machine for that to happen, but you can meagerly control the stability of your cog. 

It is cruel that it has to be that way, but you aren’t capable enough to change the way things are done. You might as well make the most out of this.

You know this song and dance, by now. The park is closed at this time of night, but, and it might be your greatest achievement of them all, you found a way to sneak in undetected. Granted, there wasn’t anyone to stop you, but you were always good at being quiet, so rarely are you noticed. 

You park your bike, well hidden in the bushes and trees. This is the noisiest part of your visit since the bike is heavy and you can’t suppress your soft grunts as you weasel it into its spot. But it’s worth it. After that, you walk along the trail, and when you’re far enough away, you stop trying to silence your steps and enjoy the sound of your boots falling onto dirt. It’s a soft but firm sound, and it brings you a sense of peace. You hike until you reach it. A little trail to the side; few sets of feet have paved the dirt, and even those who decide to pursue it usually turn back at the impenetrable foliage. But, you know there’s a stop. It’s tucked away, discovered by a much younger and adventurous you. You’re not sure if you found this place because you wanted to pretend to be a fairy princess or a heroic knight who saves the princess, or if you might’ve always been a little bit lonely. Whatever the case, you found this place, and it has since been your reprieve whenever things become too much. 

You know the area like the back of your hand, so you turn off your phone’s flashlight as you make your way. It’s a small clearing of forest, but it’s perfect. Bushes and trees surround you in a half-circle from behind, and in front of you is the ledge of a cliff. From here, the sky has a clear view and it is always lovely whenever there’s a sunrise or sunset. Sometimes, when your mind wanders, you wonder how long you’d fall if you tripped over the ledge. But those are just musings you have no intention of acting on. 

The moon does not grace you with its shine, but that’s alright. You’re here to see it shine on everything else. You’ll bask in the darkness, and admire the silver sheen on the rest of the world; the world which gets a fraction of the sun, even at night. You settle into your spot against the tree trunk, shaped so it nearly encircles you in its embrace. A silly thought crosses your mind: has this tree loved you? Of course not, but it’s just that: a silly little thought. 

You’re not here for any especially soul-crushing reason or anything. It’s the usual: schoolwork ramping up and deadlines creeping up. And the accompanying existentialism of what comes after. It’s just another peaceful night during a stressful time. It will soothe your soul, the comfort within shall ebb and flow, and then it will all fade away when you’ve returned to the world blanketed in the sun’s golden sheen. When it all piles up again, you know you can always come back here: your special place, where you can curl into yourself as much as you want to. And as always, you will fight the urge—so tiny that it’s insignificant but still so omnipresent—to sink your head fully into your stomach and become a mass of unthinking flesh. Becoming smaller and smaller until you aren’t even a speck.

The wind picks up. The cold doesn’t bother you much, but your so human, and instinct propels you into nuzzling into your cotton scarf. It does mean you have to wash it often, but the inconvenience outweighs the comfort it provides. Yes, tonight will be a lovely one, spent doing nothing but staring at the moon from the shadows, alone with your thoughts and nocturnal critters that may tussle in the shrubbery. You hear a series of quick rustles—squirrels, maybe? Two of them, considering the frequency of rustling and the fact that it’s their mating season (well, you’re pretty sure spring is mating season. It could be wrong, but it’s useless trivia anyway, isn’t it? In the back of your mind, you imagine someone berating you). Another rustle plays, and you sigh wistfully. And then—

“…Hello,” A voice, shrewd and low sounds out.

Ink makes your vision go black and the only reason you don’t gasp or scream is because you’ve always froze before you ran. But even if you were a runner, where was there to go? You don’t know who this person is, where they are, why they are in your special place and why they’ve come here like a malicious boy kicking down a toddler’s sand castle or could they be here to prevent you from ever coming back to your special—

You swallow your panic and look for an exit before it forces itself back up. It’s not the first time someone’s noticed you, but you never really had to worry; you could just slip into here, and they’d give up when you couldn’t be found. But this is uncharted territory. More importantly, if anyone else were to know about this place, it would be a ranger. And you aren’t very interested in counting empty donut boxes and coffee cups during a run-of-the-mill interrogation. 

Slowly, and as quietly as you can, you make your move. Your hands are clammy, and each step feels like it will cause the earth to crack and you’ll fall into its molten core. You’ll be melted down, and the idea that you may be reforged sends another surge of panic within you. You cannot let a single brick crack. 

“I’m not here to hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking,” the voice says, much much much closer now. The words themselves should be of relief to you, but the fact that he’s closer means he knows where you are—in fact when you turn to look behind you, you can see a vague silhouette. Still, the few seconds you took to turn around also made it so that rather than relief and panic nulling each other, somewhat cool relief washed over you. Even if this entire situation is very, very, very weird.

Should you just leave? He could just be lying to you. You weren’t great at figuring out people’s intentions, but you’d think that the most likely one in this situation leaned toward the malicious. However, you didn’t even notice his existence until he spoke. The fact that at the very least, he could weave through mostly undetected. If he could do that, then you think it’s not very likely you can just get away. 

You accept that defeat, so you decide to do something a little stupid. You talk to the stranger. In the event he’s a serial killer or something, maybe a conversation will let you get a good enough handle on him that he might just…let you go. Your heart hammers and you want to do nothing but shake, but you will yourself into a blizzard. If you are there, then you might be able to freeze and delay the ink that begins to drip. 

“I’m pretty shocked,” you mutter. Your voice is still a bit disconnected, still reeling, “I’ve never met someone here. How’d you find this place? Why’d you come to this place?” You ask these questions, and you won’t mind dying as much if they’re answered.

“Work,” he cryptically says. You just barely pick up on a sardonic lilt.

“So you’re a park ranger,” you deflate, and you nuzzle into your scarf as you brace yourself. But levity is powerful, and you’ll tap into it. “Here to arrest little ol’ me, then? You could’ve waited, at least until the moon started to dip. It’s a pretty solid night, methinks.” Your heart feels a little numb from hammering into your ribs so much. 

The ranger hums, “Moon’s the moon. It’s not bad, but the sun’s always pretty nice. But you’re right. It would’ve been better to wait till the sunrise. Alas, my schedule as of late has been a horribly rigid thing. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“Hmph,” you frown. It feels like he’s a cat playing with a mouse. You sigh with defeat, “Oh well. I’m not exactly known for being slippery, so I’m not even going to try and outrun a ranger of all people,” you extend your hand lazily, “Just get the cuffs already,” you decide to pout, to turn the situation around to something more comical and less soul-crushing, “Any longer, and the suspense’ll bury me six feet under. The records might call that cardiac arrest, but I call it embarrassing—the thought of dying like that is a real heartstopper.” Ha, look at you! A true punster, you little rascal. There is no reason for you to defame or attack a guy just doing his job, so if you go down, you’ll at least go down with a slow-witted joke or two. Across from you is a law-abiding Joe, and you are the evil thief mothers warn their children about. Truly, it cannot be more black and white than this, so it’s best for everyone that you don’t make too much of a fuss. See? You are capable of ethics! Or maybe that was more like philosophy? Eh, what’s the difference? You’re still fucked, and you very much want to die. 

“Arrest you?” The ranger’s voice teeters toward, um…you think it’s some mix of sarcastic, mocking, and—oh wait, you’d call it ‘teasing.’ “Do you want to be arrested?” He teases, but it feels like the way an owner would talk down to a beloved puppy. You don’t appreciate it. 

You frown. “No. Why would I want to be arrested?” You deadpan, “Can you please stop skirting around the issue?” More ink blots your sight, as your palms start to clam with unwanted anticipation. You think they could be gushing with your blood, if this guy keeps dragging your arrest out like this. 

The ranger laughs. Laughs. You aren’t sure if you want to join him or shove him off the cliff. Whatever the case, now you know that there is a nonzero chance this ranger has a bit of a sadistic streak. Instinctively, you take a few steps back, as if that could save you from disaster, from plummeting over the edge of your tower. 

“…Please tell me you aren’t planning anything…” The words you were thinking of saying suddenly elude you, but you’re already speaking. You have no choice but to see what haphazard replacements you make, “…goofy silly. Or something.”

The ranger clicks his tongue. It seems he’s fully dipped into a playful veneer; whether that’s his true self, or the mask he thinks you’ll best respond to in the way he wants, it nudges you a little further to the edge. You defensively nuzzle into your scarf, trying but failing to calm your nerves. You’ll give yourself one point, though: you thought you’d be more inclined to be screaming or crying. That’s probably because you are technically doing something illegal, so there’s really no one but yourself to blame for this predicament. Really, why do you still come here like this, when you know it’s against the rules? It’s not the first time you’ve asked yourself that question, but it’s certainly the first time it feels sort of tangible. 

“‘Goofy silly?’” The words seem all at once perfect and dubious when carried in the ranger’s voice, “Hm…you know what? I do feel like I’m in a ‘goofy silly’ mood!” 

Oh. Well, guess you’re double fucked. It was a good life, the clean record, you suppose. But what is life if not change? You’re entering a new era now, hardened criminal you. Crime will be your lifeblood; anything scared shall disintegrate into something depraved at your touch. You’ll do it all: tax evasion, defamation, shoplifting, parking offenses. Society will not be free of your crime sprees—all will fear the Suburban Terror. Karens will cower before you, the neighbors will hate you, the teenagers will prank you, and the children will scream with fear at you. All because the consequences of your actions caught up with you at the behest of the actions of some guy who just so happens to be able to arrest you. 

“So, about that arresting,” the ranger continues, “I won’t be doing that!” he peps.

Everything stands in place. “What?” 

“I’m not gonna arrest you!” 

“W-well, I heard that,” you stammer, “but why? You literally said you’re here for work!” 

You can practically sense the ranger’s lighthearted shrug, “I am. And I’m not arresting you. Simple as that!”

Everything feels like it's going too fast and too slowly. Whiplash isn’t good for the soul, in your opinion. “But…but the law…”

“Who said the law needs to be followed?” 

“The government and state…” and then something clicks, “Hey, if you’re a park ranger, then aren’t you working for the government? Is this corruption?” 

You imagine the ranger smirks. “What is corruption but a tool of the game?” 

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You find yourself deadpanning. “And why aren’t you answering?”

“Life’s a game,” he breezily purrs, “and conversation is a part of life, so really, it has everything to do with this conversation.” 

“I think I’d rather go through a physics textbook than deconstruct that sentence,” but you find yourself smiling. The ranger has a good sense of humor, you find. You take a few more steps, no longer teetering on the edge. In the back of your mind, you think that he could just be lowering your guard, but honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t doubt a person’s goodwill, even if it’s technically illegal. Well, you don’t care about what’s illegal and not; if hairless monkeys with godless monkey brains are imperfect, then the things they make are imperfect too. Regardless…you don’t know his face, and he doesn’t know yours either. In other words, you’re both complete strangers. If you ever meet each other, you won’t even recognize each other, won’t ever truly register each other’s existence outside this singular shared moment. 

That anonymity, the opportunity to exist without future consequence…it entices you, and you’re drawn into it. Drawn into levity and shedding your superficial guard. 

“Careful, you might insult a doctor of physics or two,” the ranger says with an insinuating lilt. Perhaps he knows a physicist or a student suffering with their doctorate thesis. Information that is all at once useful and impeccably useless. “You might just get a piece of chalk lodged in your skull.”

You shrug. “I’m living my best life while they’re stressing over the mechanics of a rat yawning and how that like. Affects the physics of the air or something.”

That gets a soft huff, like he breathed out a laugh, “I say that too, but then he starts going on about quantum mechanics and wormholes…probably a lot more than that, but the stuff’s so incomprehensible I tune out.”

“Your friend sounds…well, like a scientist,” you unceremoniously blurt. “Sure, they’re called nerds, but for good reason. They can talk your ear off, all the while you nod without understanding a single thing…and then they sigh to go talk to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.” 

“‘Talk your ear off’ is a bit of an understatement,” the ranger says, “though I think it’s better to say ‘gives a tongue-lashing.’”

You wince at the image. “Oof. Sorry about that.” 

“I’m used to it,” the stranger says. “Besides, I have a quip or two to throw back.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure how to react. “That…that sucks.” 

“‘That sucks?’” his tone isn’t accusatory; it’s curious, with a hint of what you believe is wariness. 

It flusters you a bit, for some reason. “W-well,” you stammer, “if you’re used to it, then that means you get, uh, ‘tongue-lashings’ a ton, right? I don’t think people should be getting a ton of tongue-lashings…” 

“But what if I do things that deserve a tongue-lashing?” 

“Well, then you’d get a tongue-lashing. But, I dunno. I don’t think people should be mean to each other all the time, I guess,” you try, practically rambling, “Maybe it’s just cuz I know I’d just be on the floor in a sobbing heap if someone so much as raised their voice at me…but…but…w-well, you know what I mean!” You raise your hands, making desperate gestures as if you could telepathically communicate with them. Unfortunately, you do not live in a sci-fi with magical reality-bending wizard monk powers, not unless you devote yourself to a singular concept. “There’s always plenty of room for, um. Positive reinforcement, yeah! In fact, let’s practice!” Shit, your cheeks are heating and at this point you’re just incoherently blabbering but now that you’ve started you just can’t stop oh dear Aeons save you— “Uh…you…you follow your heart! By choosing not to arrest me out of…out of principle or, or, or pity…um, well, point is, you have defied the law of your own choosing, which is a pretty uh, gr~eat show of your super strong will! Your beliefs! They say within all delinquents lies a heart of gold, after all! And you know how to be sneak of super! I mean sneak super! I mean super sneak! Urgh, I mean suppppperrrrrrr sneaky. And I bet that’s really nice and I know that’s really cool! It’s a super power on par with that of uh. Uh. An Aeon? Yeah, an Aeon!”

You’ve lost your steam, and now you’re left blinking. The embarrassment flusters you, and now you’re something in between a fish being choked in the hand of a cruel fisherman and a wonderfully eloquent failing car engine. You truly are the epitome of grace and elegance. There was no way the ranger wasn’t at least cringing. Maybe he’d change his mind and just arrest you; after all, how else to fix cringe if not rehabilitate it? Well, if he did arrest you over this, you’d be back to haunt him with like, cheese, or something. You’d jump that hurdle when you got there. 

Hm…but you think you kind of wanna crawl into a hole and die…but that expression is too cliche, so instead, you think you wanna crawl into a hole and start a society of mole people. It’ll be like LARPing, except you wouldn’t be role-playing! …Actually, yeah…someone should just kill you right now before you start to laugh and then cry as your embarrassment transitions into self-conscious despair……..that’s how it usually went when you got like this….

It’s a good thing you can’t be seen. 

You think the ranger will laugh, stand in baffled silence, mock you, or just walk away, but he chuckles. “Hmmm…you know, I could get used to this; hearing people stumble over their words to compliment me!”

You’re a little dumbfounded, but you’re decent enough at rolling with the punches. You can come up with a headcanon or two on the spot. “Yeah! That’s the spirit! Now that’s what I call some good old-fashioned character development!”

He lets out a soft whistle, “That so? What trope would you say I embody, out of curiosity?”

“Hm…” you tap your chin in thought. You’re in a forest, and there’s a moon, and you get an award-winning idea. “Maybe…hrmmmm…a mysterious vampire, here to whisk the unassuming protagonist away to a forbidden romance, sustaining your very being on their essence…” 

“Oh? Am I really that charming even without a face?” He teases.

You laugh. “Well, you are pretty charming, but I was just kidding. I couldn’t just let that opportunity slip away,” your laugh calms into a soft chuckle. “No, I’d say…a mysterious stranger, with a past unearthed and a charming veneer, but beneath it all lay an affable man…who may or may not heed the word of law.” Sure, it’s cheesy, but you don’t care about if he likes cheese or not. You like cheese, and that’s all that matters in this cruel world! If the world doesn’t like that, it can kiss your ass! (You think all of the is while very aware that the world can just as easily kick your ass)

“So…you’re just saying you don’t have a single clue about what my deal is.” 

You feel a little offended. In hindsight, maybe you wouldn’t have been great at terrorizing Karens. “I mean, I’ve only known you for like, half an hour. All that I know about right now is that you’re some flavor of anarchist. Probably. Maybe.” But the same applies to him! He knows nothing about you! “But if you’re so confident, then it’s time to prove your mettle!” You point towards him challengingly, even though again, he cannot see you, “You tell me what character trope I am!” (And you briefly realize that you feel light and happy, that your smile is wide)

And at that moment, just at the cusp of truly extraordinary conversation (a claim which may or may not be exaggerated), an annoying thing happens. Your phone vibrates and your screen lights up; your alarm has gone off. Your phone always has the best timing, and you don’t want to scream at it and crush its sorry little body into itty bitty pieces. 

“Oh…” you awkwardly exclaim. You’re wearing a light jacket, so the ranger can see the soft glow just as you do. “That’s…yeah, that’s sorta…alarm. Yeah. It’s my alarm. Not me alerting the IPC or the CFSS or something. I…have to go.” 

“I see,” the ranger’s voice is light and airy, entirely unaffected. “A shame. I really did enjoy our conversation.” Your mind tells you it’s all empty, but your heart is aching to soar to heights unseen. Because you are only human, those with lone hearts die first.

You want to ignore it so badly, to just converse with this ranger a little bit longer but…but you really can’t. You must abide by it if you want to mitigate your suffering in the morning (re: you’ve run out of energy drinks and coffee at home and it’ll be hell to start your morning without slugging around like a zombie). And just like that, the ranger and your conversation will fizzle away into a distant memory. And you’ll still live, the same as you’ve ever been. And because you’re both strangers, there is no reason to ask each other for anything. Because if you do, then you will both have to live with the consequences of your words. And who knows? Maybe the ranger has only spared you this night because he was in a good mood. Maybe he won’t be so affable the next time you meet. 

But there’s something to it. Some allure—no, the same allure of your special place. So you offer something, and you think your face might melt off, with how your cheeks fluster to the point its searing. 

“...I come to this place a lot. It’s like…my special little place,” you awkwardly offer. “If…if you were curious about that, er, sorta thing. Yeah. Bye, have a good night.” You stutter awkwardly, stiffly and uncertain. And then you walk away, simultaneously desiring and afraid of hearing what his response to that would be. Of having your fear being validated with rejection. 

If there was one moment you could point to that sealed your fate, it wouldn’t have been that conversation by a longshot, nor was it your second, third, tenth, or even your final conversation before he revealed himself to you; it was your offer. After all, people only think fate is immediate whenever it comes to hit them straight in the face. In truth, fate is gradual, of many bricks stacking up into a skyscraper. That offer led you to swim in ink; to traipse into fields of cotton; to weather against frozen infernos; and then finally, to dance in a flowering meadow, your feet raw and bleeding, sanded against the soft blades of poison ivy and oak. 

—

He sees you’re on the balcony.

(Only right after when he woke up and felt that you weren’t in his arms and nearly tore apart everything and anything with a scream and that you were gone and had left him like everyone else—)

He’s rather taken aback by this. He was sure you wouldn’t even be able stand come the dawn. But you still unwittingly find ways to surprise him even now. You should really give yourself a pat on the back! Even if it seems like you’re leaning onto the railing for dear life. 

The moon covers you in its silken silver sheen. The breeze tussles your hair and makes your robes softly billow. It’s a heart-throbbing serenity, and he finds an iota of respect within him to make his ambush on you gentle. You’ll squeak, pout, insult him, banter, and hiss before you resign and then he can hold you in peace. It’s a predictable song and dance, but he hasn’t tired of it. Seems even he can surprise himself.

(But oh, it’s because it’s something resembling something warm which has become so familiar…and a sturdy rock he can hold onto)

The smile spreads on his face easily (but whenever he’s around you, it’s a little less weighted, a little less about pitiful survival), “Sick of me already?” he adopts his signature lilt, albeit weighed by sleep, as his arms encircle your form. “We’ve only been a couple for a few of months.” You squeak, comically so, and violently flinch as he settles his head in the crook of your neck. Your reaction almost immediately invigorates him, like he’s wide awake in the sun. Your heart rate beats more rapidly, but your tensed muscles relax, just a little. You’ve been practicing, he thinks, to lessen your own burden rather than increase his pleasure. Maybe there’ll come a time when you can mold yourself however you please, and he’ll be none the wiser in your embrace when your hand snakes into his back. 

(Don’t do that. Please, he just asks that you melt in his touch, melt right into him and stay—)

He inhales—his chest expanding into your back, and he feels your own breath hitch as if it slices into you—taking in your scent, all at once overwhelming and (newly) customary. A pungent ink comes to burn his nose at first, but underneath it comes moonlit snow, fresh and cool; dancing within a floral and earthy aroma, a dusty cedar scent with wilting flowers; and the afternotes of a decaying musk, passionate and vying for an end. He hums in appreciation, exhaling with contentment. You shudder in disgust because it’s him and you still aren’t used to the way his breath feathers and scratches your skin, over the bits of dried blood speckled over your neck. 

“Aw, nuts…” you softly curse, but there’s no surprise to be found. Your words are laced with sleep, but there’s something else to them, he’s noticed. Your words still drip with vitriol (though it’s always been measured with ink, and it makes him purr in delight and it makes him feel even more empty—), but they’ve gotten softer, for lack of a better word. Exhausted, the same way one is when they’ve walked through a blizzard or sandstorm for long enough. How one gets frozen in the bowels of hell’s fires, or how one burns in solitary inferno in the frigid arctic. 

And still, you haven’t reached your limit and killed him. 

Surprisingly, you turn to face him, and he turns down the urge to lean in and kiss you. For now, at least. He’ll take it when you’ve said your piece. 

You probably think yourself expressionless, but there’s a certain way your mouth subconsciously curls in displeasure like you want to scream or vomit your organs. Your eyes can host anything from enraged clarity to dull acceptance. The latter has only appeared a few times, but he anticipates that it will be a common sight as the months pass by. He wipes that look from his mind, and smiles wide as he looks intently into your eyes. The scent of ink burns his sinuses. Right now, your eyes are exhausted, disgusted, and a touch confused; nothing he isn’t used to. His smile goes soft, for he is more than willing to swallow poison you gift him. And as lovers, you’ll have to reciprocate, won’t you?

(Stop. Let him apply thinner to that ink, let him wash it all away and please please stop drowning in it)

“I was sick of you the moment you revealed yourself as the orchestrator.” you bluntly say, as if it’s an obvious fact—and it is—and for a moment he feels like he’s touching ice. You shake your head and sigh, looking back to the moon. You don’t want to discuss the matter, so you move on to another. “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s nothing personal. Happens all the time.” 

“‘All the time?’” He echoes and slides his hand into one of yours, where you lean on your arms against the railing. Your hands have been clamming; gosh, he really was something, to get you so worked up in a matter of minutes! His self-restraint is already on a thread when it comes to you. He gives in and gives you a chaste peck. Your lips slightly pucker with disgust, like you’ve sucked on a rancid lemon. But the kiss was meant to be brief, so that’s not an issue he’s too hung up on in the moment. He’ll just work on it with you, later. He trusts that you’ll cooperate, anyway. 

(That you do not immediately hurl in his mere presence is miracle enough. He’ll take what he can get, and work from there. That’s how he got here)

He tilts his head boyishly and gives your cheek a playful pinch, “I mean…lately, you’ve been able to fall asleep without medicine—” your eyes widen and your cheeks flush as you’re caught off guard—but he doesn’t cut open your stomach or slice at your ribs to let your own body be the weapon which kills you—and he’s, his goal is always to win, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight. Right now, he’s merely having a heart-to-heart with you, sweetheart. So he doesn’t bother to point out the red on your cheeks, because he knows you hate it. Knows you understand it on a logical basis but still hate it so, so, so deeply and intricately. He doesn’t mind pushing you, but he would rather not see you bashing your head on the wall, crushing your skull and mind into lumps of grounded flesh, to try and ‘fix’ it. He sees that you’re mentally dismembering yourself when you locate the opening you gave him anyway. He doesn’t really need to try with you sometimes; it’s not an insult, it’s the truth, and he still loves you so very much. “These nighttime stirrings of yours aren’t going to be the norm, you know. If you’re able to fall asleep in my arms once, you can do so twice.”

Your eyes flit through a captivating kaleidoscope of disgust, intrigue, disgust again, pungent ink, and then victorious confusion. You scoff, but you don’t entirely deny what he said. “Waking up in he middle of the night and not falling asleep is a common thing. You shouldn’t misconstrue these sorta things y’know. Makes you seem desperate.” 

“‘Desperate?’ Coming from you, should I consider that bonafide or just another desperate act?”

You frown. “I was only desperate because of you. The shit you pulled gave me no other choice.”

“Really?” He smirks, letting out a mocking huff, “You weren’t desperate before that?”

You scoff. “If you’re talking about school, then fine, I guess I was desperate to graduate as soon as possible.”

“Errr,” he mimics a buzzer, “two strikes.”

“Are you just projecting?”

“Make that three.”

“Bruh.” You deadpan. You’re quite amazing to be able to momentarily take yourself out of reality, he muses. “I’m not desperate,” you insist, practically hissing the words.

(He’s a bit jealous)

“If you weren’t desperate, then why’d you blindly befriend someone whose face you didn’t even know?”

“…I don’t know my online friends’ faces,” you weakly respond. You’ve conceded, and all you did was for show. For him or for you or for you both. He’s not sure either. 

“Alright,” he pretends to concede, “Putting aside that they could just trace your information and learn everything about you…” his hand strokes your neck, goosebumps blazing in its wake, “They wouldn’t have been able to just…snap your neck, with you none the wiser,” He presses a kiss to your uneven pulse with a soft huff of laughter. 

“It’s not like I didn’t think that,” you shoot back, “I figured at the time that if you could sneak up on me like that, then I’d be helpless to your whims.” 

“Ah, but then…you offered me something: another night, in your special place, underneath the moon…who’s to say that I wouldn’t have been able to carry out any malicious actions? To continue to gain your trust and then stab you in the back?”

You frown. “Well…I…”

“Cat caught your tongue? Well, as I’ve said, the word you’re looking for is ‘desperate.’”

You swallow, and then you say, meekly, softly, like your voice is about to crack, “…I guess. And in the end, you did stab me in the back.”

He did, it’s true. That same iota of respect emerges, which makes him gently kiss you instead of speaking. Anything he’d say would only dampen your mood. You both may know about how disposable—

(Yet when it comes to you, something unpleasant twists his tongue, whenever he calls you disposable and he can’t truly come to vocalize such a statement)

—the two of you are. Nothing more than dots in the universe, nothing more than pawns in another’s game. The hand that moves him is the IPC, and it’s only natural he’s found a pawn of his own: you. Even if you’re not particularly valuable on the grand chessboard. 

[Do you even want them on the chessboard in the first place?] 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. But you don’t believe him. 

“You can make it up to me by never showing your face to me.” Ice encases his hands, stabbing into him; but it also roots him right at his spot. He is unused to the ice’s painful cold, but for as much as it is a deterrent, ice has a tendency to trap.

“Hmmm…how about no?” 

“You half-ass…” You groan, tired and defeated. He feels a thread fall. “Seriously, people like you who use others to make promises you can’t and don’t keep are just…well, you know just how much you disgust me.” 

(But he admits. He admits that your vitriol is tiring. He admits that he wants to hear you whisper in his ear, the same way he does to you, that he wants you to harbor the same carnal adoration he has for you—that he wants you to tear into him and expose him and then kiss and embrace him and that he wants to feast on you devour you consume you infuse you with his heart and soul so that he knows you’re here and will always be h—)

His jaw expands and closes down. Blood spreads along his tongue like wine, bitter, salty, metallic, and well-aged. You let out a scream of pain, and he only bites harder so that he burns himself into your skin to prove that he has you and that he is hu—

“Ah—ow…ow ow ow owwww—” you hiss, muddied by a sob, “W-why…?” You whimper, “When you already—AH!” His mind is blank, excited by the sweet flesh, only focused on devo—

“S-s-stop! Please!” You beg, and he feels you struggle uselessly, “H-hurts! I-I, what d-did I do to—?! Gh!”

Satisfaction and triumph weave into him. Your screams mean you’re here, means he’s carved himself into you, means he’s indulging in wine. 

(But that’s a bit of a leap. He wishes he was as calculated as he makes himself out in front of you when it comes to you)

He pulls away. You breathe laboriously, looking at him with hate and terror, cradling your weeping neck with your hand. You aren’t completely exhausted, but he has made you even wearier if such a thing was possible. “Sorry,” he emptily apologizes, and presses a soft kiss to irritated skin, before moving on to your tears. Blood quickly smears your skin.

You growl, the pain making way for your unfiltered words. “You keep doing it, and it’s always so fucking painful.”

“It doesn’t help with how irresistible you are, sweetheart,” he smiles, and you bristle. “You know it’s because I love you,” he says, to rile you up a little. It helps that he means it. 

(So you don’t notice the fact that he was in a hypnotic daze) 

“‘Love.’” Your voice shakes. Your eyes are wide, angry, disbelieving, and blank. 

“Yep.” 

You shake slightly with anger. “Eat shit.” You spit. “Whatever the fuck this is, don’t call it that. Don’t you dare twist that word like that.” 

He blinks. It’s not the first time you’ve lashed out over the word or the admission, but he still doesn’t quite know how to answer you. He settles, then, for what he’s always said. “Then what is it?” 

“I don’t know. Obsession. Hate. Sadism. Loneliness. Whatever it’s called, it’s one hell of an insatiable beast. All that matters is that it’s hurting me.” You grunt, and bury your face into your hand, sighing blearily. “It’s late. Let’s…let’s not,” you exhale, tired, “Let’s not,” you repeat as if it were all a hopeless prayer. It might be more fitting to see you as a beggar, however. Leave me alone, you beg. Get buried beneath the sands already you Sigo—

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” he softly mutters, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and presses a kiss to your cheek. The lingering blood on his lips blossoms into a weeping flower, a venomous and invasive species. They can be found throughout your skin, dried and wilting, but they’ll always blossom back. “You can sleep in.” Translation: he’ll still wake you up, but only for a kiss before heading to work. Though you’re still hesitant to exercise any bit of freedom he offers you. To be fair to you, you’re so very well aware of where your freedom and “freedom” lie. One has been crucified, and the other is merely its poorly preserved remains. 

His mercy isn’t lost on you, but the hope in your eyes is quickly simmered by your hesitation and dread. You look away and grunt, likely hoping he’ll just shrug and walk away. Or at least delay the inevitable. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know. So painfully aware of your complete lack of power, so painfully aware that any outright resistance just isn’t worth it; isn’t worth risking the pain you fear so, so, so much. But that doesn’t mean that a reminder is remiss. Hesitation is fatal for the gambler, after all.

He hums and grins. He pulls you back and flips you around so that you lean against the railing, slightly hiked up so the tips of your toes just barely press against the ground. It grants him an unfettered view of your expression, almost comical shock morphing into fear as you register your newfound positions. You may not be entirely dangling over the railings…but you’re still at his mercy. You don’t hold onto his hand for dear life because that’s just what he’s decided. And you don’t want him to pursue that option or even fancy it. 

[You mean…you want to point a gun into their heart, again?]

Fortunately, he has other plans. As much as he loves staring into your eyes, it’s the only thing he likes about you. He moves his head against your chest, right against that sweet heart of yours. It misses a beat before it resumes its cacophonous rhythm. “Wha…what?” your mortified tongue manages to get out. “Put…put me down!” He gives a content hum in response, nuzzling further into your heartbeat, tracing patterns into your back with one hand and securing you by the waist with the other. His silence only intensifies the cacophony, but he could never bear to shut down any sound of yours. He chuckles. You shiver. He can see you fight not to struggle, fearing that it would send you plummeting.

“It could be so much worse. You know that, don’t you? You live without chains and in a land where dawn shines, but that’s all my choice.” He finally speaks, when he’s decided you’ve had enough. Sure enough, the sound of screams and crumbling cities joins the cacophony. He pushes so he may discover all of the cacophonies your heart plays. He giggles, to twist the point further, “Relax! You haven’t done anything to warrant that! Yet.” You take a sharp breath. “But you still do things. Small things, but still bad things,” you quiver. “I’ve had a few thoughts. A tattoo,” your heart skips a beat, “of a peacock’s feather, maybe, tickling your thigh, or an ace of spades. Nothing too extravagant. Hm, although,” you’re frozen in place, so he moves his hand up to drift around your chest, clutching your waist tighter, “maybe we can just have my name, somewhere here…or…” he hums, for any and all matters pertaining to you need great care and thought, “....maybe we can just go with them all!” He exclaims. 

(What is he doing what is he doing no he knows what he’s doing yes he needs to see and feel and taste your ink he’ll take what he can get but what is he doing why is he doing why why why is he doing but why’s he asking it feels so so so good to be the one towering above)

He resists the urge to look up at your expression. Not yet, he’ll save it for when it’s truly exquisite, for when ink burns up into his skull. “Oh, and now that I think about it, maybe something fancy on your back? Ah, haha, but it can’t be super big. It has to complement you, not overtake you! On that note, a piercing or two. Your ears are a no-brainer, but…” he takes on a teasing lilt, like he’s a boy unsure how to act around his crush, “...where~ else~ do we go? The belly button? That’d be pretty cute! Or…” his hand drifts further along your chest, “here…” he giggles, “that’d be so awfully adorable, wouldn’t it?” Your unease rolls out in waves. His grin widens further, foxlike, silently thanking you for giving him so many openings. “Ah, but doing all of that’s like saying you aren’t enough, isn’t it? I’m sorry for implying that,” he purrs the faux apology, “and maybe those kinds of accessories would get in the way of your full resplendence.” He sighs, similar to the way he does whenever he’s done talking. After a few moments, the cacophony quiets down, the ink merely stings, and you breathe close to steadily. Poor thing. You think he was done? “Clothes, too.” Your heart plunges into the depths. His hand teases dipping into your robes, “Why have a wardrobe when it can’t possibly do you justice?” He clicks his tongue. “That just~ won’t~ do~,” he singsongs, and then transitions into a friendly tone, “and hey! You can just think of it likeeee…going full-on commando!” He feels you seize up with disgust drawn out from the very depths of your soul. “That’d be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughs, “And comfy. A self-proclaimed couch potato’s dream is to endlessly lounge away the days, right? So, then,” he slightly dips his fingers, featherlight against shadowed skin and bitten gifts, “you really should just spend all day in bed. It’s not like you could go outside anyway. And just think about it—” An image pops into his mind, widening his smile, “Wrapped in my blankets, tangled in silk, entrapped into a web of it…” he slides a hand around your trembling wrist, his thumb rubbing over your thundering pulse, “this would look so beautiful, in red ribbon,” he presses a chaste kiss to your thundering pulse, “your ankles, waist…a mess of them over your chest…” he sighs, but he isn’t a negligible man, drifting his touch to lovingly wrap his hand around your neck, “and that pretty little neck goes without saying. You’ll be just like a little gift and I’d really . And,” he chuckles, “I don’t imagine you’d want to leave, either.” You shudder, tremble, make a sound a cross between disgust and a gasp choking on ink. “Hm, actually, that’s a good question,” And then he finally looks up. He is not disappointed in the slightest. You are choking, and completely pale and the only signs of life on your frozen face are your infrequent blinks and quiet breathing. “Do you want to leave me?” He wonders: what will you do? Say? You both know the answer, but for him to ask it would have you second-guessing yourself on what to say. Should you be honest? Should you give him the answer he wants to be true? Should you merely say that the two of you know that already? Or do you just say nothing, as ink clogs your throat? 

[Do you really think you’re playing a game? With them of all people? How do you think they even ended up here in the first place?]

The cacophony of your heart cracks and twists the earth into pieces. You shake like a leaf, slowly but surely devoured by a caterpillar. Soft and innocent at first glance, but it only knows how to feast and gorge itself. Your breath comes out in short gasps, as burning ink drips through them and into your stomach. It forces itself out violently, as your sensitive skin clams up, as it painfully inches out of your skull, to thrust itself out through your eyes.

You’re beautiful. 

It’s an honor, he thinks. 

(And stand so highly elevated) 

Although your terrified silence was anticipated, he doesn’t quite appreciate having a one-sided conversation, sweetheart. It seems you need a bit of encouragement, but he’s more than happy to provide. Regrettably, that means fully raising his head, but at least he won’t have to strain his neck to get a look at your face. He hikes you up, and you shriek in with fear, vaulting to wrap your arms around his shoulders as you struggle in vain to give yourself any semblance of contact with the ground. But the tips of your toes just barely graze the smooth concrete. “Dar~ling~,” he sing songs, “don’t keep me waiting, now.” 

He smiles kindly. He takes your left hand into his own, gently rubbing in soothing circles. Your heart beats louder, as you’re forced to rely on him even more. You take in a sharp breath, stifled by a flood of ink. He leans his head down, over that nigh-on unbearably beautiful mark on your neck, placing his lips on it like a fleeting feather brushing past. He looks up into your eyes, blackened and blurred, while his own are rounded and soft. He coos and kisses the few that fall, a delightful flavor of vulnerability flowering on his tongue that he can’t get enough of. He tilts his head when he’s done, his expression lovesick and deviously innocent, and goes caress your cheek, to chain you to place. You stay still so that it doesn’t go from choking to cutting. He gives your hand a maliciously reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures, “you’re safe, with me.” The words are heavy and loaded yet he says it like he’s holding you close in the afterglow, whispering sweet nothings that mean everything into your ear. Impressively, a scoff is drawn out of you, yanked out through a sea. 

(It reassures him, in some strange way) 

You clutch at him harder, almost pulling him flush against you in an effort not to fall. Adorable. You’re still enveloped in ink, so looking up at him, you seem little more than a trembling newborn fawn. 

Something dark flickers in your eye; the same dark thing he saw on the luckiest day of his life, as the sun shined so brilliantly on the gun held against your forehead. That dark thing which he didn’t foresee, and hadn’t seen since that day, until now. 

You tremble, but you purse your lips, and, as resolutely as you can, give your answer.

“Yes.” And then you lean back. Your feet do not touch the ground. 

His instincts are far more trained than yours. Pulling you away and into the room is a simple affair. You whimper in pain, struggling against his hold, but it only takes a slight twist to your wrist, an effortless suggestion, for it to cease. 

(It’s his whole body that trembles, but you never seem to notice, when you tremble so much yourself and are so often a prisoner in your own mind) 

“My friend,” he says, dropping any semblance of emotion in his voice. You nearly shriek as you’re engulfed in an inferno, hyperventilating in vain as smoke from your own burning body clogs your lungs. You’ve brought this upon yourself, though. Trapped in the fox’s jaw, you have nowhere else to go but right here. He smiles emptily, knowing that it makes you want to die. “Why don’t you come back to bed with me? And we can have a chat.” 

(He hides his arm behind his back)

Just before he opens the balcony door, a drop of rain hits his cheek. The clouds obscure the moon, sealing its light shut. The sun will not shine on you two. 

—

You aren’t shoved onto the bed, to skid across it like a sea of sharp rocks, or anything like that. That makes it worse, you think. Though, with how heavy your mind is, with how much ink fills it, you could see a blossoming flower and think that doomsday was nigh. 

Trapped in his hold, out of endless possibilities, Aventurine elects to merely guide your forms to sit on the edge of the bed. He releases you, but whatever relief you felt was burned away when he slots your hand with his own, the other held behind his back. Like this, you two must look like a normal couple. One that had a fight, but then cooled down enough for them to sit and have a serious conversation; to communicate their feelings to one another, leading to a gentle reconciliation and promises to do better. But Aventurine…you’re sure that he holds a butcher knife, hidden behind his back, in moments like these. 

You almost don’t hear him over the pounding in your ears eyes heart and lungs and everything. “Just what were you thinking, acting like that?” 

Thinking? Thinking? Why would you tell him that? Actually, thinking? Did you even think? You feel your hand get squeezed like a lion clamping its jaw into a gazelle. “I—I, I…I,” you stammer. 

“‘I don’t know?’” and you almost demand for how he was able to guess your answer. He hums and leans in further and further, boring those terrifying eyes right into you; you fear that he’ll bore a hole right through your eyes and fill it with himself. So that even in death, a part of him would always infect you. 

Your mind, badly addled, nods. 

He hums again, betraying no emotion, “I know what you were thinking. And you will, too. I’m sure the two of us are eager to get back to sleep, so it’s best to cut to the chase.” 

“Cut…to the chase?”

“To the takeaway.”

It happens slowly, or quickly, or something, you don’t know you don’t really know at all everything drowns in ink—

He leans toward you, and gently pushes you on your back. You reactively scramble, but it doesn’t take much for him to make your struggle useless—and he wraps his hands around your neck and squeezes. Softly, then firmly, then roughly, then chokingly. He doesn’t butcher you, doesn’t spill your blood, doesn’t dismember you and put you back together, doesn’t meticulously carve himself into your skin, he just simply squeezes. That might’ve been the truly shocking thing about this. But you can’t think about that when you breathe and nothing comes in. You gasp, but it comes out as a silent, dying wheeze. You kick, but it’s useless. You try and pull his hands away. Useless. Useless useless useless everything is useless your future and very being are an endless abyss devoid of hope and life and everything you do have done will do is useless meaningless meaningless meaningless you’re dying you’re going to die you are dead you are hopeless and miserable and scared and dying dying dying dying dying he’s bored of you sick of you hates you he hates you hates you hates you hates you hates you stabbed you in the back choking you choking you you cry cry cry cry cry but your tears are searing ink that burns your flesh you’re burning burning burning burning there is no sunlight or moonlight—

You think and think about everything and nothing. You think about your cotton scarf. You think about your parents. You think about your degree and how useless it’s been. You think about the tiramisu you made earlier, and how it needed to set in the fridge overnight. 

But no matter what you think about, or what you stop thinking about, you cannot stop thinking about Aventurine.

It hurts, but you can’t say that. It hurts so much, and you feel that your neck will be sliced off your head. You must look so ugly. You feel your eyes bulge, expand from out of your sockets, just a few seconds away from popping out and hanging by a nerve that could so easily be cut and gushing blood that Aventurine will lap up before throwing your corpse out of the window, to throw the trash out of the house. Your nose uselessly tries to inhale, but all it does is marginally slow the hideous mucus that leaks. Your mouth is equally useless, and it isn’t long until you give up and your tongue ungracefully lolls from your mouth. You feel all at once overwhelmed—the tears from your eyes burn your flesh, your eyes will become weights that shake with every movement, the snot will leave behind anguishing trails of acid, your tongue feels like a dumbbell crushing your face—and floating. You decide to float. You think about your cotton scarf, nuzzling—

You dimly realize you’re nuzzling into the grip that’s killing you. 

Your body becomes lead. 

Aventurine’s expression betrays nothing. But you feel something shake—your body? It’s surprising because you can hardly even blink, let alone move. It’s mostly around your neck. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen. Your hands have gone limp, uselessly falling to the side, but you haven’t died yet. Aventurine is still busy killing you, and looking at you like you’re nothing and that he couldn’t care less about your reaction. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to die with his face as the last thing you see. You’d rather die looking at the moon. But against his ironclad grip, your head doesn’t move. You struggle, but Aventurine’s face remains. Your mind begins to fill with cotton, and your eyes start to glaze, but it's burned away by a particularly forceful squeeze, which quickly lightens, but the damage has been done. 

Your tongue is drying. Your vision spots. Not with black, not with the shade of ink you’ve grown used to, but it spots with light. Sunlight. You’re being cradled in the sunlight. Warm and soft, but you’re wretched out of that false sense of security when your body begins to blaze.

And then he lets you go after what feels like years. Something burning and cold and wonderful enters your nostrils and mouth—air, air, air air air air you need air air air air air—

The air doesn’t come rushing in like you’ve seen described in books. It painfully pumps into you, but it’s vastly preferable to the pain you were experiencing just a few moments ago. Your head slumps, turning to the moon's salvation—but you see only the clouds.

When your lungs stop burning, and your breathing returns to normal, Aventurine gently pulls you up into his lap, where he leans against the headboard. A single arm draped over your waist confines you to his chest. His other hand is out of sight. When he’s sure you aren’t getting away, he takes a breath, and his hidden hand comes to tip your head up. 

His eyes all at once resemble an aphotic ocean and a flooding dam. You aren’t sure where it comes from, but you realize that, for this brief moment, he has dropped his facade. 

“If you want to die,” he says, quietly, softly, almost vulnerably. You must have brain damage, if this is how he sounds. “this is how it’ll happen. By my hand. By my choice. And trust me when I say it’s infinitely better than anything you could do with your own hands,” he removes his hand from your chin to intertwine it with your own, all at once invasive and sweet, “I promise, (Name).”

Your chest begins to flood with a sob. It comes out wrangled and inhuman, but he only clutches you closer. Strangely, he doesn’t lap up your tears. Like many nights before and to come, you pass out, weighed by the agony of living with a man so obvious and indecipherable.

Your last thought before finally shutting your eyes is that Aventurine won’t be throwing you out anytime soon. You do not celebrate the thought, not entirely, anymore. It’s only much later that you realize why: he finally succeeded in forcing a small part of him into you. 

—

When you pass out from complete exhaustion, Aventurine quietly tucks your head deeper into his chest. He thinks about yanking apart his ribcage, forcing you into it, and then pinning you there as he forces it to close. It’s begun to rain outside. It pitter-patters, booming in his ears, and nearly shreds his ears apart.

[But a part of you likes it when you drag them down to your level, right, Kakavasha?]

—

His master swirls a glass of red wine. It may as well have been blood; bought by blood, drank in the wake of blood, and spilled into blood. Kakavasha pursues his lips, to not scream in agony as the wine sears his wound; but it will be okay. He is used to weathering the sun, trudging through heavy sand, with his mouth drier than the environment. He can withstand this searing heat. He’s already withstood iron-hot metal pressed into his skin for minute after agonizing minute, no matter his involuntary cries and tears and pleas to stop. 

But that was an exception. The desert has long dried his tears. 

Besides, this is a ‘reward.’ For triumphing yet again. For surviving yet again. So the master sees it fit to briefly lavish him in luxury. At least it’s fitting for the occasion, Kakvasha thinks, the wine puddling out like blood. He waits for it to end. He’s already battered and bloody, beaten down, and he doesn’t need his neck chaffed and bleeding. Every yank of his chain evaporates energy he cannot afford to lose, cannot sacrifice or else there won’t be a bet he can emerge lucky from.

And, he admits. He’s a little (no, very) afraid of being brought to the edge between life and death again. He doesn’t want to be chained to the wall again, and have the chain around his neck pulled further and further away—

A sneer that would get him tortured spreads across his face. His face is already forced to the ground, so he’s not too worried. 

“My lucky hound,” his master drawls, “stay with me. You did pretty well; it’d be a shame if I had to reevaluate you if you pass out just from this. C’mon, gimme a lil’ bark.”

He wipes his sneer and looks up with a practiced expression: defiant, but sanded down with fear; feisty, but compliant. Just enough fight to entertain, but not enough to be a nuisance. “Alive and kicking,” he grunts. It’s a strange mix of genuine and manufactured, biting back his cries of pain. It took him a bit to figure out what his master liked, but all that matters is that he got there. It’s fine, he tells himself. He doesn’t need to know how much he’s using him, too. “And savoring your gift.” He’s sure it’s the right answer, but the slight tremor indicates the awful anticipation he has for the results. If it isn’t, then everything he’s done to get here would all have been for nothing. He cannot afford to fumble his gamble now. 

Luckily (ha!), it was the right answer. He’s given something his master can poke and prod at, and he’s gladly taken it. “I thought I asked you to bark,” he snarls, and the flaming wine ceases. But it’s for a reason, as he soon gets a kick to the stomach. It knocks the air out of him, but if his master were truly offended, he would’ve done much, much worse. Kakavasha coughs, just enough to suggest that he’s sorry and begging for forgiveness, but not enough to seem desperate and begging for a release and to stop stop stop— “Speaking is for humans. Honestly, I don’t even know why you Sigonian hounds were born with mouths. Universe’d be a better place if slaves like you were born with their mouths sewn shut—by the Aeons, do you disgust me!” he scratches before a smirk twists his face, “Though, ‘suppose that would mean I wouldn’t be able to hear the dogs whimper.” A shoe grinds into his stomach. He wants to see Kakavasha’s face then. “So, you gonna bark, or what?” 

Kakavasha doesn’t need to act much, this time. His face falls into grim acceptance; the face he made when heat emanated from his neck; the face he made when the doors to his cell closed; the face he made when he saw the sand bury his sister’s body. Although the expression this time isn’t genuine, it’s not quite fabricated, either. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. This is but one gamble. Acquiesce to his whims just enough, and then strike. 

Soon, wine pools at his feet. But the wine in his master’s hand hasn’t all spilled, yet. Memories flit by in his mind: his master, flaunting his wealth in front of him. 

“Humans wear clothes, accessories, and jewelry…dream all you want, but an animal can never become what it’s fated not to be.” His master’s voice echoes. 

His limp and cold hand is adorned in rings. His still wrist holsters a beautiful watch and tasteful bangle. Kakvasha takes a sip of the wine. It burns, dripping down his throat. It leaves his tongue rancid and as dry as the desert. 

He supposes that’s what it means to be human, then. 

—

When you wake up, pain radiates throughout your neck and legs. Absently, your hand goes to your neck to relieve it but meets soft cotton. Gauze. Did he disinfect your wound (brand, that bastard branded me get him out of me I’ll—) when you passed out? 

You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but to no avail. With a moan, and then a hiss of pain, you roll over on your side. You see a note, a couple of pills, and a glass of water have been placed on your nightstand. With concentrated effort, you sit up and read the note. 

Darling, dearest, love of my life, (you’d scoff if it didn’t hurt like hell to even breathe)

A painkiller. One every three hours. I suggest you take it if you want to get through the day comfortably, so please don’t spend your day staring at them in contempt like they’ve killed your dog. Contrary to what you might think, I do care for your comfort. (You feel a jolt of anger through your spine) I’ll try to be back a half hour or so earlier, but if fortune’s on my side, I’ll be back to you a full hour earlier. Wouldn’t that just be amazing? Actually, let me do a coin flip to gauge today’s fortune—oh! Look at that! Seems that it’s an hour. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise. (You frown) Business is wrapping up, so we’re leaving today, but I’ve already packed your bags. Focus on yourself, sweetheart, and get plenty of rest. And before you start overthinking things, I’m not worried at all. You won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and you’re not going anywhere. (You grit your teeth)

Use lots of ice on your neck! It helps a ton. And eat soft foods that go down easy; broth, oatmeal, the works. Now that’s what I call a good excuse to gorge on ice cream; not too much though, you *might* just throw up. And no, you can’t break the windows. Literally. I know you have your impulsive moments, but you’ve gotta be conservative with your energy today. I’ll make sure you are. If not…well, you like guessing games, right? Haha, now I really do have to go. I can’t believe you got me writing such a long letter! Alright, see you later, sweetheart. 

Love, Aventurine. 

You stare at the signature. Love, Aventurine sounding over and over in your mind, hitting the walls and coming back in a cracking echo. Love—a knife impales you—Aventurine—and you’re eaten alive.

Love, love, love, love, love.

You force yourself to look at the painkillers. You have no reason to believe him, but he doesn’t have any reason to lie to you. You decide not to take them.

Instead, you take a few slow sips of water, letting it coat your throat and tongue thoroughly. Then you force your sore body to the kitchen. You stumble, you trip, but you still make it to the countertop. It’s not complicated. Your mind can’t process complexity in its current state anyway. 

It’s simple. You yank a knife from the block and plunge it into your chest, through your ribs, and into your heart. Blood gushes out like a waterfall, glistening like a ruby in the light of the dawn. You grin, pain wobbling your mouth, and swiftly cut open your stomach. Bile creeps up your throat as you gag violently, until you finally retch on the elongated mess of your intestines, unraveling into a bunch. You laugh hysterically when you notice that it looks like a horribly butchered plate of spaghetti—hilarious. It’s all nearly too much to bear, but there’s more work to be done. You’re still thinking; that just won’t do. You raise your knife, the tip shining in the sun and sparkling through your tears, and slam your forehead into it, finally putting an end to your existence.

That’s what should’ve happened. But the knife hasn’t taken that first plunge, yet. You will your arm to rectify the mistake. It shakes harder. And then everything from the night before rushes to your head, and ink clouds everything and everything and—

You can’t do it. Not by your own hand.

You violently throw the knife into the sink and collapse to the ground in a brutal sob.

You never attempt it again.

—

He was wrong about something. Your shattered limit would never end with his demise—it was yours. 

(Is he really surprised? Or was he in denial this whole time?)

He’s not sure how to feel, that you’d rather destroy yourself than kill when backed into a corner. But he can at least understand that urge of yours to take someone else down with you; only, that person isn’t him, this time. 

The wall you have built crumbles, and he wonders if you care if your destruction ends up killing another unintentionally; if that part of yourself has been killed, or if it has been twisted so you are born anew. But that’s a bit silly. You can destroy yourself, but you won’t ever lose yourself, even if you become fractured. That’s what experience has taught him, and it is both excruciatingly painful and relieving. 

You’ve pinned him down. Your eyes are wide and dilated, and that spark of life within them is just nearly dimmed out; and yet, beneath that spark, something awful and alive pulsates. They hold an unabashed focus, yet they also look past him. For a rare moment, he is completely taken aback, and cannot conceal his surprise and dubious, almost hesitant delight. But he drops the hesitation. It’s fatal for him.

(His heart nearly stops. Is he pinned to the ground, or is he looking into a mirror? He almost feels like he’s been turned inside out)

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” It’s your voice, but he can’t help but think it takes on a cadence similar to his own. He can see that awful creature brandish its claws.

As much as he enjoys seeing such a creature, he cannot allow himself to be ripped apart by it. He’ll assert his control, and you’ll back off, the same as it’s always been. But he doesn’t quite mind being pinned down by you, so he’ll allow it for the moment. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” He tilts his head, knowing just how much it pisses you off. “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

Your jaw trembles, like a dog, he thinks, on the verge of barking and biting an intruder. Yet, a part of him also tells him that isn’t quite right. “You played Russian Roulette.” Drip, drip, sounds the blood of his challenger, but such a sound has been white noise all his life. 

He smirks. “Are you jealous?” he teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?” 

You, ever so slightly, begin to shake. “No,” you respond, without any sense of the word. “Answer my question,” you demand. He’s a little surprised because you so rarely make demands. He can see the beast grind its teeth, gnashing at the mere idea of his flesh, drooling its filth in gluttonous anticipation. But he knows you so, so, so very well. He can smell your fear—but of what? Fear that you might not be able to personally exact vengeance? He’s a little lost, for once. But he’ll know soon enough, he supposes. He continues with his usual demeanor.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, making you shake in agitation. “Well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.” He knows you don’t believe that entirely, having spent so much time with him. The look in your eyes tells him it was the answer you were expecting. But you still aren’t satisfied. You still haven’t strewn his guts about the floor, to join the foolish challenger. 

You do not respond, remaining as still as you can be. He decides to encourage you; you can’t just lead him on like this, you know. 

“What’s wrong?” he goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?” 

The blood’s aroma has wafted over. Your eyes glaze impossibly further. The beast breaks its chains. 

“I want to hollow out your chest,” you admit. His heart stops, and it’s only through years of practice that his face doesn’t instantly break out in shock. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you shake, nearly violently, and you take each breath as if it’ll be your last. His own heart begins to beat erratically; he’s excited, he doesn’t know what’ll happen, but whatever it is he needs to have have have it— “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing—” Aventurine feels a thread be pulled apart. “—on nothing but you!” You cry out, leaning in closer as you collapse to your knees and elbows, practically exchanging air. You’ve finally begun to cry, and with it, the beast has come—

No, he thinks. It’s already ripping apart his flesh. Your tears fall onto his face. His heart beats faster and faster; just as fast as when he ran away into those bloody puddles all those years ago. 

“If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” you sob, face contorting in a way he finds so breathtakingly pathetic and beautiful. For a moment, your mouth curls down, not maliciously, but with a determined promise. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

Oh. You…you remembered. Of course, you did. You never would forget. You couldn’t ever forget. His chest feels numb with how brutally his heart has beaten it. 

He feels something cool seep into his pants and legs.

He is well acquainted with the touch of ice. How could he not? The time spent with you feels like a (fragile) eternity, and in it, he has glued himself to you; and you’ve, however unwittingly, froze him in place. Even if he’s always been able to force you into the desert with him, there are still those moments when a nigh unbearable cold seeps down into his bones, threatening to kill him, to preserve his dead body to be dusted ogled at whenever the master of the house needs to showoff their private collection to guests. But he feels it melting. He feels the cold you’ve desperately embraced crackle. 

You sob a sound of euphoric despair that has him resisting his every urge to cradle you, and confess the truth; confess your want.

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp. 

His heart explodes. It is then he realizes that he, too, has gasped, and is breathing irregularly. That his composure has shattered without his realization. 

“I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back your breakdown, the volcano of your emotions erupting in a destructive blaze that killed a part of you; the part of you that’d been holding on. Flora and flowers burn, snow becomes hellfire, and any and all life is replaced by a hungering beast desperate to keep itself satiated. 

But only Aventurine can satiate it. A blush dusts his cheeks.

“I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, repeating the mantra like a prayer (to a devil in velvet), I love you I love you I love you I love you.” And then you finally collapse on him, a pile of bricks and rubble and dust. You curl into his chest, over his violet heartbeat. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…” he immediately secures your waist. It’s a disgusting implication. Why would he do that to you of all people? “I need you,” and his heart soars. A smile finally cracks his face, shattering something deep inside of him. 

[No, no, Kakavasha, that’s really quite wrong. You haven’t been whole for a very, very long time.] 

And then something brief surfaces in you, a small piece of useless reasoning, “and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…” That’s very true, which is why he needs to take responsibility. Which is why he has to continue keeping you, caring for you, and brutalizing you. The blood has trailed down to his back.

And then you’re back to sobbing, and practically howl, “Please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” you beg, and entirely break down into a concentrated sob, distant from reality. You blabber, likely unaware, utterly lovely and incoherent words. The blood has reached his head.

His entire body shudders, rapturing him into a pile of broken flesh. He can’t hold back. He holds you tighter than before. It snaps you out of your daze, your body instinctively flinching away, but his grip doesn’t cease; it can’t cease, because if it does you two may never truly meld with one another. He sits up, positioning you so you straddle and completely rely on him for support. He looks at you. His long-lasting appetite has finally been satiated, but now a new one takes hold of his shaking form, his excitement electric and bloody.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders breathlessly, just barely keeping himself from pouncing, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he pants, as his hunger grows painful, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession? You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…”

[Took you long enough.]

“...yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.” Because you aren’t leaving him, nor could you survive if he plummets back into that land. But you’re still coming with him because you need him (and so does he).

The dawn shines on the two of you, and finally, he kisses you. You’re too dazed to reciprocate, but you offer no resistance at all. But it’s a (relatively) chaste kiss, as he pulls back to whisper against your lips, wholly reverent. “I knew you were the one,” he confesses, and he sees your blush deepen, your eyes widen, “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me,” he brushes your cheek, “It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”

You blink, eyes wide with tears, and just as he’s about to caress them away your mouth twitches—almost like you’re glitching as if the very expression was some bug in a game—and then you laugh. And it isn’t crazed, it isn’t weighed by madness, nor does it carry that familiar undertone of despair and fear he’s become so used to hearing from you—it’s warm like the dawn has cut through the rain to shine on him.

It’s that lovely laugh which the sun shines overhead and erases any shadow of doubt:

You’re insane. You’ve frozen over in hell, and have shattered yourself into pieces to melt into it.

If ‘I love you, Aventurine’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back, then your laughter is what made the camel burst and seep into searing, soulless sand.

It makes sense. Only someone destroyed and insane could love Aventurine.

(Kakavasha was dead. His hands are sticky, his chains rusty with blood and his throat burns)

[Is he? Or do you just need him to be dead? No matter how you slice it, I still see that same boy who clung to his Big Sis till the very end.]

But he’s a selfish man. If you give him your love, then he’ll gladly take it. 

[Tsk, tsk. A desperate man, Kakavasha.]

But more importantly, there’s a feeling in his heart. It’s the feeling of a peaceful day beneath the scorching sun, of when he wins a game, of when he and his sister were just themselves with each other. All of it coalesces into something he hasn’t felt in—no, something he may have never truly felt until now:

Happiness. 

[The closet thing you can call happiness, you mean.]

And is that feeling that has him lift you up, and spin and twirl with you in his arms. It is sheer elation, a hedonism that is so self-serving yet selfless all at once—sheer bliss—that fills him this: this is what he wants to feel. Your laughter is infectious, permeating his body and sapping it of rationality, but he does not try to fight this virus. For he is happy. The corner of his eyes crinkle; he is unused to the feeling.

He laughs and laughs with you. His clothes and shoes are tracking blood. Normally the thought of even rain getting on his clothes disgusts him, but now, all he can think about is basking in this crimson victory. The dawn shines on you both, commemorating your unholy union. 

You really are perfect for him, he thinks. Because he must be insane too, when he laughs like a crazed dog—the same dogs he nearly drowned in bloodied water to get away from. 

—

You both deserved a treat. He whisked you away to a room—he can deal with the casino room later, call on a few favors—because you deserve his utmost attention, as he does yours. The prospect of your complete attention, entirely unfettered, excites him.

It’s a fine room. The bed is large and soft, the bath is large and pleasant, and the view is utterly breathtaking. But neither of you cares about that. You could be rolling in sewage and shit and you’d still look at him the way he looks at you, still enter demented laughter and twisted joy, still parade under that veneer of love. 

He gets his fill, as do you—but you both know neither of you will ever be sated, not when you two can’t be joined together in the ways you want to. 

The dawn is rich and bright, shining on the waking and sending the begging crawling away into the shadows. You breathe softly, utterly exhausted. A complete 180 from just a few moments ago, too. Your arms wrap weakly around him, tucking yourself into him snugly. His kisses, imprinted with your blood, create a field of flowers on your face. As does his own. …He makes a note to tip room service extra for the bloodied sheets. There’s a reason he doesn’t dress (as) extravagantly for when he needs to get his hands dirty. 

Perhaps after this, he’ll gift you something truly special, he thinks. His earring’s twin has just been gathering dust. And it would be quite romantic to get your ears pierced by him, too. His heart beats at the thought. He’s sure you’ll agree to it if it’s by his hand. Maybe, after this, you’ll wear his gifts of your own accord. Small things, for when you go out, a modest bracelet or watch, a tasteful necklace (of ownership). Nothing overt so as to not draw any thieving eyes, but something to signify to those that know what to look for that you aren’t to be messed with. As for when you’re inside and home…he still remembers how red your face got, and the curses you threw at him. And you’ll finally concede that his taste is actually pretty solid (but, and he will clarify just for you, it's not a sore spot in the slightest! He’s more mature than that). 

He feels a bit of pride at your exhaustion (“I…erm…wanna…well, I can d-do some of the work,” you said, flustered and embarrassed by the mere admission. He found it endearing, that you could confess your desire to burrow into him and then stammer when asking him for something. You really did hate the idea of using him, didn’t you?) The remembrance of that moment makes him smile.

(He doesn’t bother dissecting what kind of smile he makes)

However, a single moment is on repeat in his mind. His hand absently drifts to the crook of his neck, weeping but a few minutes ago. Your teeth, sinking in so deeply, intimately, just on the verge of ripping a chunk of his flesh out; you were practically dining on him. It sent him over the edge. 

When you pulled away and looked at him, he was again taken aback at what he saw.

Your lips, slightly parted and utterly breathless, speckled with rouge. Your cheeks were red hot with adoration. Your eyes, brimming with love and care and everything he couldn’t believe someone besides his own family could direct toward him.

(But your love is very different from his family’s. They wanted to nourish. You want to devour. But he sees nothing to criticize there—indulge, and he will gladly indulge back, until there’s nothing left of either of you)

But what truly pushes him over the edge, is the smile you give, softly stained in crimson. It is pure and untainted, angelic and sweet, soft and warm like how the dawn kisses his cheek. It is as if this love of yours was born not of a tower’s rubble but of whispered secrets and touches shared in the shadow of moonlight. It’s as if the love you show him now would’ve been what he got if he was a more selfless man (if he were any other man). You both know he does not deserve the love in your eyes—it is the last thing you owe him. Yet you give it to him anyway.

You are utterly insane. And now that he knows what insanity on you looks like,

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

But before he can shut his eyes for an hour or two of respite, there’s something he has to do. He promised many things as you both feasted, but there are two absolute ones he has to reaffirm. Two absolute ones you wanted so badly that you unleashed a frozen inferno. 

“I’ll never leave you,” he promises, “And never would. I admit, it stung a bit for you to fear that from me, but…I’ll make it up to you tenfold, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way ever again,” He kisses your cheek gently. He pictures your response and giggles. “Yeah, I’m being sappy, but you’re,” he boops your nose with each following word, “just~. As~. Guilty~.” You stir, groggily groaning but it’s not enough to rouse you. After a short while, you nuzzle your head further into his neck with a sleepy sigh. Something tells him that even asleep, you’ll somehow know what he’s telling you. Your lips come to rest on the gift you gave him, as if even in sleep you’d rip him apart. His heart flutters. “You’re so sweet…” he exhales with a shudder, “seriously, how do you manage it? Not that I mind, of course…” he plays with a strand of your hair. Candy and clouds and raw flesh burst on his tongue all at once, and he can’t get enough of that flavor of sickly sweet rot. He smiles, a soft and predatory thing, and his lips drift to his favorite spot.

But don’t get him wrong—every part of you is lovely and he would kill to vivisect you if only it didn’t mean killing you and putting you in extreme pain. It’s those two latter thoughts that quell his desire to do so. 

(Maybe he would enjoy it, but only for a moment, only for so as long as the euphoria and awe of seeing all of you lasts. If you did die—especially with cries and shrieks of pain—he would sob, curling around your body…and then he would take you with him, so when he goes to that place, you’d be with him on that very first step)

It’s where he first bit you on the luckiest day of his life. It’s bruised and tender, red and ugly and scarred. Renewed countless times, it is beyond repair. Moments ago it held a crimson sheen, but its been smeared throughout your collarbone and shoulder. The way it smears makes it appear like a red mist, like a curling wisp of smoke that dirties clouds and infects rainwater. He brings you impossibly closer, to keep you from becoming red mist. At the same time, should he squeeze just a bit too hard, then away you go into the mist.

(As if to keep you far, far, far away from the rainwater which had swirled with a thick, red mist—to keep you from breathing in it, from having to hide so you didn’t become like the cold bodies which floated beside you)

His lips seemingly slot in with the spot perfectly. It only makes sense. It was today where you’ve melded yourself to him.

(And he’s melded himself to you for a long time. Against his better judgment and sense, he melded himself to you; at the time it was only the idea of you, but it didn’t take long for it to be you. 

He sighs in content, but he still has another promise to make. 

“We’ll be together, you and I. Two sides of a single coin can face away from each other, but they can’t exist separate from each other. You’re pretty smart, so I’m sure you get it,” yes, he has plenty of faith in you, sweet thing, but he can’t help but ramble, “and it’s because I love you, (Name).” He says it so tenderly, your name, and unexpectedly (or very expectedly) something he thought he’d never feel ever again invades his chest, and it forces itself out, “I love you, I love you,” he thinks his grip has tightened and that his heart has started to race and that he’s shaking but he doesn’t care about that right now and he doesn’t care if he has been losing composure without his notice. “I love you I love you I love you. You have no idea just how much I want to devour you, just how much I want you tethered to me. How much I need you to be unable to live without me. If I’m alive, you’re alive. If I’m dead…you said it yourself. You’ll follow me. It just needs to be by my hand, and you’ll follow me. You won’t have to worry about being alone, being without me. And it’s all because…

I love you.” 

He dimly realizes that something salty has trailed to his lips. Are you awake? Or are you having a nightmare? Either way, he moves like he has so many other times, to remind you that he’d be there, even at your most vulnerable. He goes up to kiss your eyes and lick your cheek, but nothing’s there. 

Something flutters against his cheek. You’re awake, and he feels something warm and wet travel on his cheek. He’s not sure what he feels, when he looks up to you.

(What does his face look like?)

You blink, eyes bleary with sleep and weighted with content. But tinged with the sleep and contentment, there’s another thing, which makes everything within him burn. Which makes him shake and his heart nearly explodes.

Dimly, he realizes that your destruction didn’t just kill a part of you. He’s buried beneath the fire and rubble, too. 

[And it’s lovely.]

And then (at that moment), for some reason (for all the reasons), he buries his head in your chest (into your heart), 

To sob in the sunlight, soothed by the hands that unraveled him.

#yandere #yandere hsr #yandere aventurine #destroyed onset #aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere x you #yandere hsr x reader #tw noncon #tw suicide #next fic is gonna be sitcom esque #the calm before the storm 😉 #and also because i need to write the reader being happy in a #not fucked up way LMFAO

[healingheartdogs]

WHY DO THEY WANT TO SLEEP IN THEIR FORMULA BOWL?! ARE Y'ALL TRYNA DROWN?? Please learn how to eat without wearing most of it all over your body. 😭 The amount of baths I have to give them currently...

#mice posting #q-tip baths of course #thinking i need more than just water for those baths now because they are determined to be sticky with milk #but i need to figure out wtf kinda soap/shampoo is safe for baby mice first #the good news is that they seem to like baths now #they did not when their eyes were closed #but now they just settle into my hand and fall asleep while i take my time cleaning them off as well as i can #need to find an extra mascara brush or something to brush them too #i was not intentionally trying to hand tame them because ive been worried that will make them less likely to survive when released #but because of how much i have to handle them for baths and had to handle them for feedings before their eyes opened #it's just... happening anyway #cry #please properly retain your survival instincts and healthy fear of large animals little ones #also the 'bowl' referred to in this post is the cap off a dasani water bowl #not an actual bowl #because they would definitely manage to drown themselves in that

[talentforlying]

constantine: turned out pearly gray was sorta grateful about that one, actually. stepped in to fill the power vacuum after the coopers went to their just reward. chas: yeah, i heard you an' pearly was tight again . . . but that's not why you helped me out, was it? constantine: no, it wasn't. chas: so. i know we said were quits. but y'know, all bollocks aside. i s'pose what i'm sayin' is, y'know, if you ever need someone to do you a favor . . . constantine: you are doing, mate. you are.

there is no one in the WORLD that john constantine loves more than chas chandler, in any sense of the word, and that is a FACT!! chas is the one who stays!! chas is someone who could be his anchor!! chas is the family he chose and chas is the person he would end the world for!! chas motherfucking chandler is just a guy, just a taxi driver, just a family man doing his best, but he is also the trigger on an occult weapon, because anyone who touches a hair on his head is going down in flames, damn connections and consequences and maybe even the fate of the world: john constantine is lighting cigarettes off them as he watches them burn.

#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS. #ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NORMAL ABOUT THEM THANK YOU i am NOT fucking over how soft john looks in the lower left #genuinely the best way to get constantine to do something he absolutely wouldn't do otherwise is to go through or threaten chas #like it's not gonna end Well for you if you do! but you will have him where you want him! #also let's get into the fact that it's absolutely unfair of him to keep dragging chas into his world over and over again #the fact that he Knows how much chas feels like he owes john. that he Knows they've settled that debt in full YEARS ago #but john will keep tugging on that string if it gets the pull-toy to march where he needs it to go. will keep risking chas #AND ALSO the fact that chas KNOWS how unfair it is. KNOWS when he's being relied on more than he's willing to support #and KEEPS CHOOSING to help. CHOOSES to take that risk and stand in front of the bullet of john constantine's life #soulmates not by fate but because they dug their heels in and carved out a niche for themselves in each other's lives #and there's no erasing that mark. for either of them. there is no constantine without chas and there's no chas without constantine #( r. chas chandler. ) I'VE BEEN RUNNING THROUGH THESE PROMISES TO YOU / THAT I MADE AND I COULD NOT KEEP. #( visage. ) AND I'M A BASTARD.

[camifornilla]

*Greywaren Spoilers* I know that Declan and Ronan are supposed to be around 1-2 years apart but also like some of this timeline doesn’t make a lot of sense, y’know?

Cuz how much time existed between Mór leaving, Niall creating Aurora, and Ronan being born? Is the abruptness of it why Declan is Like That with all of his parents? Is Ronan Mór’s son that she left as a parting gift?

And what about that dreamt copy of Niall? Did Niall and Mór create each other a copy in dream space, manifest them at the same time, and parted ways to go through their adventures as they please, with Niall exploring the adventure of parenting and Mór exploring the adventure of Boudicca? What is going onnnnnnnn????

#I’m not done yet so don’t spoil me I’m on chapter like 28 or something #if that last bit is true or not mentioned I want to think that in the shared dream #they both created versions of themselves that the other would want or need for their respective lives #a more motherly and settled version of Mór for Niall #and a younger wilder adventurous version of Niall for Mór #but that’s wishful thinking I think #Greywaren #The Dreamer Trilogy #The Dreamer Trilogy Spoilers #Greywaren Spoilers #I’m so obsessed with Them Lynchs #I’m glad Maggie made this series #she’s really great at world building and merging the magical world with the normal one #while still keeping the story hella epic

[paralien]

Hey, I accepted responsibility over 1 cat. why am i takong care of 3 cats w 0 communication from the owners of the other 2 cats?

#fanya.txt #my brother snd his gf have 2 cats. and theyre currently staying in an empty room at my moms house while they #get settled into their new apartment b4 they bring them home #thing is. they were supposed to be picked up on friday i what i was told. by mom #its now Sunday. the gf said she'd pick them up this morning and its now 11pm and she hasnt talked to me all day #and their litterbox is fucking overflowing rn and need to just be emptied 100% and that is not my responsibility #like i feel awful for it bc theyre just in a room by themselves rn alone all day but i did not agree to this #and also the room stinks like old litterbox shit so. i really dont wanna be in there either #Mika and Lily (the cats) are sweethearts bc im not going in there to throw up no matter how many pets Mika wants #bc i didn't agree to watch over them for more than an evening and theyve now veen under my care for 2 days too long #and its not that i mind per-say. but its the fact that no one asked this of me. they jusy assumed like hey. #your watching a house w a cat anuways so whats 2 more cats yeah? w/o saying anything to me #mom said theyd be picked up friday night the same day they left #and its now sunday night and ive still got 2 cats that arent mine and 0 updates or sny kind of communication from neither my bro or his gf #anyways TLDR: didnt sign up for this and im mad that i feel resposible for these cats when no one asked me yo care of them #they just assumed it was ok w/o communicating that to me

[neverendingford]

.

#tag talk #I'm against people having to work every single moment of their waking lives. not just for me but for the cool and cute and nice men I meet #it is unfair that a man who really just wants to spend a nice afternoon with someone has to squeeze them in on a single day #not even just for me. but like. on principle. people should have free time to socialize. people should have time to spend with others #imagine never having the free time to relax with friends because you're working 16 hours a day and then you get home and have chores too #why does it take working double jobs to pay rent in some places. why do people not have thd time to relax. #why do you need to rely on the charity of others to be able to live anything less than a maximally productive life #anyone who doesn't work themselves to the bone has to settle for a lower standard of living simply because you're not making more money #hot take: maybe it shouldn't be this way actually

[runa-falls]

FREE USE WITH MIGUEL? LIKE ANYWHERE ANYTIME?

a/n: YES NONNIE, ANY--FUCKING--TIME. AND HERES ONE OF THOSE TIMES :^) idk if this is free-use or feral!reader or both. anyway, just enjoy it lol. like every time, this got away from me

special thanks to mona (@whatthefishh) for letting me scream this shit to her over discord + for helping me figure out exactly what 'free use' is lol

cw: smut (18+), free use kink, small very small bit of somnophilia (CAN'T ESCAPE IT), non-explicit oral (m-receiving), afab!reader, mentions of ovulation (+ period) horniness, fingering, cockwarming, fucking w/ multiple orgasms, the same Spanish pet name used over and over, reader is basically a bothersome cat, writer is so all over the place it's confusing.

wc: 2.4k (this was supposed to be a quick thot but wtvr)

---

miguel is a gracious boyfriend, he practically lives to please you. so when you approach him in the middle of the day with nothing but his shirt draped over your figure, he has a hard time rejecting your advances.

sure, he tries, but every time he gives you what he wants.

you're spoiled, really.

miguel works at home as much as possible. he hates having to leave you before the sun rises, walking away from a perfectly cozy bed and wet cunt (😳).

miguel convinces himself that Spider HQ can survive a day or two without him on site. he has several capable Spiders that do most of the heavy lifting for him and LYLA isn't afraid to take charge, sitting her holographic ass in the boss' chair.

he can set up mission plans and keep track of everything from his laptop, and he's always on call if he is needed for anything. the only issue is that working remotely doesn't work when he can't get anything done.

he's trying to go over notes from a meeting that was held earlier this morning.

he was supposed to be there, but you physically wouldn't let him out of bed. he swears you're a Spider yourself with the strength you have when you're especially needy and sleepy.

he smelled it when he woke up in the middle of the night to you mouthing over his boxers, that decadent sweetness that indicates you're ovulating.

you were desperate to get a taste of him, to fill that unbearable emptiness inside of you, whimpering with relief when you finally feel his fingers bury themselves in your hair to push your further against his bulge.

he learned early in your relationship that your insatiable appetite for him increases tenfold during your window of fertility (don't even mention your period). and so does your need for sleep. so he caters to your needs accordingly.

you passed out after convincing him to fuck the heat out of you, to snuff out the fire until your neediness recedes. apparently, the only time you aren't horny is when you're sleeping (though that isn't true... you wake up horny all the time??).

you've been sleeping soundly ever since, utterly exhausted by his thorough support, but he knows that once you wake up, you'll be crying for him again.

he crawled back into bed with you after telling LYLA to take over for the day, but after a few hours of almost suffocating because of the way you curl up on his chest like a cat, he got up to get some coffee and finish some computer work.

as soon as his warmth left you, you fussed. eyes still closed as you whined and moaned for his body. he shushed you, gently smoothing down your bedhead until you settled.

it didn't last for long.

you padded out of bed with bleary eyes, clearly looking for him when you walked into the living room. he offered you a quick "morning, cariño." before focusing back on his computer. he had to limit as much contact with you as possible if he wanted to finish his work.

just a few more pages and a couple of emails, and then he can give you all the attention you need.

his shirt brushes against your thigh like a summer dress as you make your way through the room.

he looked adorable with his loose white long sleeve on and black dad-glasses. his hair is still curly and fluffed, telling you he wasn't planning on leaving you anytime soon.

you shuffle over to the couch, sitting next to him with a sigh.

he doesn't react.

somehow, the minimal recognition that you're there, his adamant refusal to look at you, turns you on as much as it irritates you.

he's really trying his best to be a good boss, hm? trying to resist a temptation that's barely a foot away from him.

it makes you feel dirty and deprived. you blatantly rub your legs together, urging him to look. your gaze washes over his sharp jawline watching as it clenches at your soft coos.

"...baby."

"'m working, amor." his voice is still soft, despite the efforts he's taking to ignore you.

you huff.

"but--"

"not right now."

you scoot closer to him, strategically allowing the hem of his shirt to ride up on your thighs. so he's really going to make you do it...

you tug at his sleeve, taking his arm away from his work (though it doesn't look like he was working on much at all, he's been sitting on that exact page for 5 minutes now).

"not right now, mi vida..." he protests lightly, but he doesn't move away. he's not even trying, you think.

you smirk at his empty words. you can see the way he's looking at you: your messy hair, bare legs, the shadow of his shirt hiding away your most sensitive spot. his breathing grows heavier and so does his stare.

"i have work--" miguel is always so soft and sweet to you, melting in your hand though he has all the power to stop it.

"please, miguel? just one, for me?" his lips part as you place his hand against your bare thigh, slowly dragging it upwards until it meets your center.

he doesn't take his hand away, doesn't even pull back a single inch, instead, he instantly complies, cupping his warm hand over its entirety. he chokes out a low groan. you're not wearing anything underneath.

"ok, i guess if it's only once..." he whispers, already breathy. he's leaning over you, almost on top of you, forcing your legs to spread impossibly wide.

he watches as his finger rubs against your slick center, spreading your wetness until you're glistening for him under the late morning light. he pushes in slowly, so slowly, eyes flicking up to your face to witness the small o your mouth makes as he presses in deeper.

his mouth waters as he fingers you, he wishes he had enough time to go down on you, and taste your slick straight from the source. he knows how much you love it when he fucks you with his tongue and suckles on your clit. but no, he has work to do. he needs to get you off so he can finally focus.

"this what you needed, cariño?" it's all but growled into your space, his voice low and taunting. all you can do is nod with bleary eyes as your hands grip onto his thick bicep for support.

he adds another finger and thrusts them into you quicker, angling them just so his palm can gently nudge at your clit. he can feel you tightening around him already, fluttering with each pass that he makes against your g spot. he presses harder, drinking in your choked gasp and shaking thighs.

you're so wet, spilling over his fingers and dripping against his hand. the noises between you are deafening. a mixture of sopping thrusts, heavy breathing, and quiet mewls fill the still silence of the living room.

he's so good at this, too good at this.

how can he make you fall apart with just his hands, caress every sensitive nerve with a single stroke?

you're at the cusp of euphoria. your body, filled to the brim with pleasure, urges you to let go, to take what you want. but you don't want to. you want to stay at the edge forever with his hands on you, to be at the center of his affections, always just one breath away from transcendence.

you're not ready for him to stop touching you anytime soon, you realize. you still need it and after you'll need it again. you need him.

his glasses start sliding as he looks down at you, dropping until they're barely at the tip of his nose. he's focused, eyes locked on how he fills you again and again.

his fingers speed up, expertly aiming against that special spot inside of you. your hips rise from the couch, needing him as deep as possible. then it all falls apart.

you cry out, back arching and eyes rolling. your body is barely touching the couch under you and it feels like you're being lifted up by unknown forces as you reach your climax. white fills your vision and heat thrums through your limbs. you can't hide your one orgasm from him, it's too intense.

before you could recover, he slips his fingers out of you.

"alright, honey, we're done." he casually sucks your essence off of his fingers before propping his glasses back to the arch of his nose.

"ok, ok, i get it. you're busy." you pant, still pulsing from your high. and...he's already back to work. he wasn't kidding when he said he had stuff to do. "i'll just...be sitting here."

so you watch him get back to work, or you try to. the incessant scrolling, typing, reading, and muttering thoughts that accompany his work is usually enough to put you to sleep. it's an unusual lullaby that's attached to him. one that brings you the comfort of knowing he's near.

but he's hard.

he seems so relaxed, so content to work, but his erection presses so desperately against his sweats, outlined perfectly by the grey fabric.

so how could you not touch him? he clearly needs your help... and if he doesn't, then you need it.

you want to be good, you do, but when he types so effortlessly like that with the fingers that were just stuffed in your cunt, or when he looks over his dad-glasses to look at something like a hot fucking nerd, you can't help it.

it's been, what, 12 minutes? that's enough work for the day in your opinion.

you start slow, hesitantly, watching to make sure he's not looking at you (though he can clearly see you from his peripheral vision). you stand up on the couch right next to him. you're a bit unstable on the squishy cushions so you use his shoulder for support.

he looks over at you, confused as to why you decided to walk all over the furniture like a toddler.

you carefully maneuver over his arms to settle yourself on his lap. you're a koala around him, holding your torso to his, looping your arms around his neck and sharing your shimmering lustful body heat. he grunts when you scoot even closer to him, your bare pussy pressing entirely against his covered cock.

but he ignores it.

he doesn't say anything, barely even moves, and just continues to work. you pout a bit, but let him. you convince yourself that you're content with just sitting here and enjoying his company (despite the large distraction that pulses against your pussy, pressing so sweetly under your needy clit).

you listen to his steady heartbeat and slow breaths, the occasional sound of tapping keys. you nuzzle against the soft shirt that stretches over his chest. you're fine.

it's not like you're leaking all over his sweatpants, leaving a puddle at the apex of the fabric. you're not crying on the inside, so empty and fluttering around nothing. you're fine.

until you arent.

you lazily lift your hips above his, nearly head-butting his chin in the process. his arms lift to help you get settled, hands resting on your waist, as patient as ever.

you reach below you and he stiffens. he wasn't expecting you to--

your hand buries itself under his sweats, delicate fingers brushing over his erection. he breathes out your name when you squeeze him teasingly before pulling him out.

"what did i say?" he grunts, hand swiftly wrapping around your wrist. the words are lost on your ears as you caress the silky steel in your fist. it pulses at your touch. he needs this.

he says your name once more.

"you're working."

"then why are you trying to fuck me?!"

"i'm only going to sit on it." you give him an innocent look. you slowly lower yourself so your dripping center meets his before sliding your glistening lips over his hardness. "won't move or say a thing, promise!"

"cariño..."

"just wanna warm you, baby." you position him right against your entrance. "is that so wrong?" you lower yourself before he can say anything else.

you take him easily with how wet you are, and he fills you perfectly. he sucks in a breath at the feeling then growls out, "don't move."

well, you do move (is anyone surprised). you move a lot. but he moves too. harsher and more competitive. who the hell fucks competitively?

you moan over him, bouncing on his cock eagerly. his hands hold your waist, guiding your movements just how he likes it: fast and hard. his laptop, somewhere on the other side of the couch, is forgotten and probably long dead by now. so much for working at home.

you've cum at least four times already, but who's keeping count (you're not. you're so fucked out, you have to manually breathe now.)

he won't let up anymore. you asked for it and you're getting it.

"do i gotta fuck you to sleep, hm? is that the only way you'll leave me the fuck alone and let me work?"

you only admit now that you're eyes were definitely bigger than your stomach. you're practically drooling as he takes control once again, snapping his hips from under you, harsh and punishing. as if this is a punishment.

he has to carry you back to bed that afternoon. he couldn't just leave you on the couch, naked and shivering. plus you'd be a distraction with your bruised hips and fucked out cunt.

you murmur adorably in your sleep as your body unconsciously nuzzles further into his arms. he places you lovingly on the bed and you immediately curl up. he sighs, brushing your hair out of your face because he knows how much you hate it when it gets in your eyes or tickles at your nose during the night.

you look so cozy and comfortable. but so alone in this huge bed.

he debates laying down with you, only until you're in a deeper sleep.

maybe just a few minutes?

LYLA had a few choice words when he woke up in the morning....

#anon #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #atsv #2099

[ursie]

Brennan’s statement on Palestine :

[ ID: Statement from Brennan Lee Mulligan, on Instagram. It consists of three black squares with plain white text. The text reads as follows:

"I'm calling on my government officials to immediately demand a ceasefire and de-escalation in Gaza.

I applaud anyone and everyone calling for peace, with the understanding that real peace only exists if it deeply and honestly accounts for and fully ends violence in all its forms. Real peace addresses and corrects wrong-doing in the past and guards against it in the future. It goes hand in hand with justice and requires truth, restoration, reconciliation, reparation.

Peace cannot co-exist with collective punishment, ethnic cleansing and forced displacement. It cannot co-exist with blockades, embargoes, or with 2.2 million people, half of which are children, trapped with no hope of escape or political recourse. it cannot co-exist with murdered journalists, bombed hospitals, or years of protesters being shot and killed at the border. it cannot co-exist with illegal settlements, segregated roads, and the silent, imperial chill that settles over the gaps in the violence - the unspoken geopolitical consensus that a group of people need to unflinchingly accept permanent subjugation and occupation.

My hear breaks for every Israeli person who lost loved ones during the attacks of October 7th. It breaks for every Ukrainian person who has lost their loved ones. It breaks for every Congolese person who has lost their loved ones. I do not speak on behalf of Palestinians now because some lives are worth more than others. I speak on their behalf because I, and all Americans, have a responsibility to pressure our government because we are responsible for this. Some have said that this situation is complicated. The Unites States government clearly disagrees. It has definitively, categorically, militarily chosen a side, and I do not agree with that decision.

In wiring this, I have been wrestling with what I am sure many people like me wrestle with: There is a powerful narrative surrounding violence in the Middle East that asserts and ever-moving goalpost of self-education and study in order to even be qualified to have an opinion. As someone with a love of research, I have at times in my life fallen into the trap that I am not educated enough clever enough, or aware enough to have a worthwhile perspective, and that three more articles and two more lectures and one more book will do the trick. Unfortunately, democracy doesn't work that way - we, the citizens of any democracy, cannot possibly be experts on every aspect of the policies of our governments, and yet if we do not constantly weigh in an make our voices heard, the entire experiment falls apart. Not only do people constantly doubt themselves and the things they can see with their own two eyes, but old shortcuts for political action can fall apart as well: This specific issue exists along a raw, charged and unique faultline in American Politics. Nobody I grew up with has ever challenged me on my support for abortion rights, LGBT rights, Black Lives Matter, anti-capitalism, anti-fascism, none of it. The people in my country who would despise me for those positions are, for all intents and purposes, strangers to me. But there are people who I've broken bread with and shared honest affection with who will see the words I've written here and incorrectly conclude that I do not wish for the security, dignity and happiness of them and their loved ones, and that breaks my fucking heart. Full-throatedly condemning the actions of the Israeli government while battling rampant anti-semitism at home is an urgent moral necessity, and doing so is made unnecessarily challenging for the average person to navigate by the pointed obfuscations of cynical opportunists, bigots, and demagogues on all sides of the political spectrum who see some advantage in sowing that incredibly dangerous confusion.

So, I'm calling my representatives. I'm having hard conversations with friends and family. I'm here, talking to you. I should have done it sooner. If you're Israeli and hurt by this statement, know that I want freedom, dignity, security and peace for you, and that every ounce of my political awareness believes whole-heartedly that the actions of your government are not only destroying innocent lives, but doing so to the detriment of you and your loved ones' safety. If you're American and feel lost and confused - I understand and empathize. This, the whole country, only works when we get involved. I am constantly haunted by the specter that maybe I missed some crucial piece of information on this, or any, important world event. I'll just have to make my peace with that self-doubt and trust my gut by going with Jewish Voice for Peace, Amnesty International, the Geneva Conventions, the United Nations, etc. And if you're Palestinian and reading this: I unreservedly support your right to life, to freedom, to happiness and human flourishing, to full enfranchisement and equal rights, to opportunity, prosperity and abundance, to the restoration of stolen property and land, and to a Free Palestine." End ID ]

#if anyone wants to do the id I will love you forever btw #brennan lee mulligan #d20 #dropout #free palestine #dimension 20 #I babble

[sakurarisen]

If asked today, would your muse say they were happy? How long have they been happy?

Headcanon/Development Questions!

If asked today, would your muse say they were happy? How long have they been happy?

Sera would hesitate, but ultimately, say yes, especially after she has her family and settled down. Actually saying she's happy is such an unfamiliar feeling for her, she can't help but to hesitate when asked - All her life she's said she is, and it's been a lie. She's never been happy, yet Sera has always tried to convince herself she is; after everything she's been through, shouldn't she be? She'd had clothes to wear, a place to sleep, and (usually) something to eat, and that alone should mean she's happy... Right?

It's not until she settles down with Zack and their family that she realizes: She hasn't been. She's been doing her best to say she is to avoid worrying others, but overall, saying "Yes I'm happy" has also prevented her from having to admit to herself she's not okay, and never has been. That she's dealing with more than anyone ever should, and doesn't know how to cope - Reasons why it's shoved down and covered up, a means to keep her on her feet and functioning. If she doesn't face it, it doesn't exist.

Yet it's also at that point she can confidently say that now, she is - Truly, fully happy, and has been since she's had a chance to actually settle down and enjoy her life with her family. It's only been a few years, and sure, it's still got its struggles; she's still dealing her traumas and finally facing the fact she isn't okay with the tools in hand to deal with it, there's threats still to her family and even her own life, her childhood is still chasing her... But she's Alive.

She has a wonderful family in her husband and their children and even been accepted as part of the Fair family by his parents. She has her older brother, Thoma, determined to help keep her on her feet and make up for the years they've missed out on. She's able to face the nightmares she's been avoiding all her life and the darkness within her, and tackle it head on to the point she knows how to smile in the face of it and dig in her heels when it bites back, and how to keep herself from crashing as hard as she used to.

Yes, she's happy now - but that's a hard won happiness, and she'll fight anyone and everyone to keep it, with everything in her.

#Questioning A Flower [Asks] #Warofthebeasts #Colors Of Sakura [Sera Headcanons] #She's only been REALLY happy since getting Zack back in Remake verse - But she was still pretty happy before that? <3 #I would say she's not in OG but would still lie and claim she is for Shayan's sake #Those four years without Zack? She just can't be #He's missing and she knows he's not dead but can't explain why #But she knows she needs to find him and she just can't be happy-happy until she does #After their family is reunited? Fully and totally happy for the first time in her life <3 #And in Genshin verse that takes place once they settle in Mondstadt and set themselves up with a peaceful life #She can't quite say that in Spellbound YET #BUT I should've seen this coming after the ones I've sent you XD #Sankyuuuu <333 #Sera and Seph both need more happiness in their lives TwT <3 #Petition to give them more smiles capn'? <3 #Now that things offline have calmed down and I can actually reply to things XD