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#wait why are the tags all mixed up god :
nientedal · 2 years
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Your dog is not "neurotic." Your dog is half-poodle.
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anothertimdrakestan · 9 months
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Batboys Toxic Traits Headcanons
because no one is perfect, i wanted to get a little dirty with it and imagine what the boys are like when they're a little... too obsessed with you.
tw for romanticizing possessive, obsessive, jealous, aggressive actions haha xoxo
Jason Todd
- scary dog privileges wherever you go with jace, but he is ALL bite with one and only one warning bark.
- when a hand that isn't his brushes your thigh in a club, fingers get broken. when a cat caller thinks his compliment just has to be said to you, he most likely won't be able to speak again for weeks. And god forbid any villain try to use you as bait for jason, they've all learned if they value their life to never touch you. He's all for justice not vengeance until anyone tries to mess with you, then those words always get mixed up in his head.
- sometimes you cant even complain about people, they end up getting randomly harassed by a certain someone until they just move town
- jason is adamant as long as he's alive there won't be a problem of yours he can't solve with a little violence
- your biggest problem is that he struggles to let you have guy friends, obviously the ones he knows especially fellow heroes are more than fine, but he's been known to burst blood vessels when he sees you close and person with men he's never met
- he's proud of it too: "let another man try and touch y/n, it's been a slow night for me." or "i just don't get why you need him as a friend when you have me, myself, and i"
Tim Drake
- tim gets... obsessive.
- he tends to fall hard but with you he brought the house down with him
- before you were officially his he had hacked every security camera in the city to have eyes on you at any given moment
- both for your safety and his own maniacal flirting strategy: you admire shoes but frown at the price tag? tim's buying you the matching bag to go with the shoes he bought the second you looked at them.
- before you knew how insanely in love with you he was, you truly thought he was a mind reader
- well he kind of was, seeing as he scrolled through your search history every night to know which talking points to bring up with you
- once you finally fell for him and set some stronger boundaries he still occasionally found himself double checking your location when you weren't by his side, or lazily purchasing every item on your pinterest boards, he just can't help but dote on you
Damian Wayne
- damian doesn't really get close to people, but as always you were his exception
- however, this means his list of people to hang out with is extremely short, and he saw no problem in wanting to be around you wherever you went whenever he could
- like a kind of tall, dark, and brooding puppy, he quietly followed you everywhere, and when you strictly told him he couldn't follow along, you always noticed a perched shadow just a few building away
- eventually you got used to rolling over to damian coolly watching you sleep or patiently waiting to pick you up from your classes/job, happy just to walk you to your car
- just like jason, damian had a brutal and heartless style of problem-solving when it came to anyone giving you trouble
- too often you found yourself standing in between his rage a massive mistake whether it was nearly assaulting a friend of yours who tried to ask you out or threatening to buy out your entire workplace when you didn't get the promotion you wanted
- forever cooling his rage was worth having his adoration though, and you were happy to have your overbearing shadow follow you throughout your days
Dick Grayson
- for such a bubbly leader, dick often struggled with communication
- always used to bearing his problems alone youd spent too many nights tracking down your own boyfriend only to beg him to tell you what's wrong
- he never understood that you didn't always want to solve his problems, but hold his sadness or hurt with him
- it was the worst when he was upset with you, whether it was jealously or insecurity that crept into his mind
- he'd take off in a rush hoping you wouldn't notice but you always did, either hunting him down or simply waiting with open arms for him to come home
- it would take years to teach your traveling-circus-raised boyfriend that you weren't going anywhere, ever.
- but, this made for many heartfelt nights where he held you and promised you the world, as if you'd opened him up in a way no one else could, pulling forward the most magical and loving side of your sweet boy
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skylarsblue · 1 year
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I still have more. More Incorrect Quotes.
(Accidentally had a lot more fem!Y/N than intended but it's overall GN!) Alex: What made you think you’d be good for the military? Y/N: I worked at a Waffle House in America. Alex: Ah, alright, that makes sense.
-- (Interrogating Valeria)
Y/N: Look, Gaz, you know me. I can't- I can't do it. Gaz: Why not? Why can't you interrogate her? Y/N: Because I'm a bisexual with mommy issues, Gaz. And she's as pretty as she is scary. I'm already not that intimidating, she'll laugh at me when I start stuttering and then I'll just be horny. It can't be me. Gaz: ....okay, I'll ask Alejandro-
-- Y/N: I just realized something...I had a bad childhood. Gaz: Yeah we know. Y/N: What do you mean you know? Soap: Look at how you stand! People who had good childhoods don't stand like that. Y/N: How do I stand?! Gaz: Like Ghost. Ghost: ...I don't appreciate the call out but fair-
-- Price: Where are you going?! Y/N: To either get ice cream or commit a felony, I'll decide in the car!
-- Ghost after watching Fem!Y/N do an incredibly risky move: I just...Is she blind?? Suffering some form of brain damage?
-- (Tw; Hollywood Undead unalive song)
Y/N: My legs are dangling off the edge, the bottom of the bottle is my only friend, I think I'll sli- Price: EXCUSE ME?! WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?? Y/N: Wh- No Captain, it's just a so- Price: GHOST GET THE BASE PSYCH ON THE PHONE Y/N: CAPTAIN IT'S A SONG I'M FINE- Well I'm not bUT NO WAIT HANG ON-
-- Valeria: *screaming in spanish* Y/N: ... Gaz: Don't. Y/N, blushing: I'm trying-
-- (During movie night; watching Venom)
Y/N: *pauses on that scene where Venoms sticks his tongue out at the guy in the street* ....Hear me out- Gaz: NO! NO. Y/N: NO NO LISTEN, LISTEN- Soap: Let them speak. Gaz: Don't encourage this! Y/N, pointing at the screen: LOOK AT IT! LOOK! Objectively you have to understand- Gaz: NOOO, it eats people! Soap: THAT TONGUE IS THREE FEET LONG AT LEAST! Gaz: No, I will not be hearing anyone out! I- GHOST, Ghost, back me up. Tell them they shouldn't want to fuck the ALIEN. Ghost, looking at the screen: Ethically, it's wrong. Gaz: Thank you. Ghost: ...objectively- Y/N: AHA! SEE?!
-- Ghost: *bends over* Y/N: *silently flips out* Soap, quietly: Wh-what? What are you-?! Y/N: SHHH *grabs Soap's jaw and turns him to look* Soap: *slack jaw* Damn- Y/N: fuckingdamnindeed- Ghost: *turns around* Soap: So it's your turn to pick dinner, what're you thinking? Y/N: Oh I dunno, maybe something pork related, uh, or cake- Soap: Aha, yeah...cake. Ghost: ....??
--
Fem!Y/N: I am not the mom of 141, that's ridiculous. Someone: You make all of them lunch every day with fruit cut into shapes, IN PERSONALIZED LUNCH BOXES Fem!Y/N: They need nutrition! Someone: You color code their items- Fem!Y/N: Look, if you were there for the item mix-ups you'd understand. Someone: YOU ARE LITERALLY FOLDING AND LABELLING THEIR LAUNDRY WITH A SHARPIE ON THE TAGS. Fem!Y/N: *holding Simon's skull boxers, writing his name on the tag* That- ...oh my god I'm the mom.
-- Ghost, watching Soap run past: WHAT DO YOU HAVE?! Soap, grinning & sprinting: A FUCKIN' BOMB Ghost: NO!!!
-- Price: Y/N, this is Lieutenant Riley, you can call him Ghost. Ghost: Y/N, looking him up and down: ...you got daddy issues? Ghost: ....maybe Y/N: Cool, same. Pleasure to meet'cha, sorry life gave you shit. Ghost, shaking their hand: Ditto. Price: *concerned sigh*
-- Price, walking into the common area at 10 pm: What in the world- Gaz, Soap, and Y/N: *all in there pyjamas with face masks on, eating snacks* Y/N: *slowly keeps chewing* Gaz: ...heeeyy siiirr... Price: It was lights out an hour ago, what are you lot doing? Soap: *slowly raises another face mask* ....Self care, sir? Price: ... Ghost, walking in at midnight for water: ....what. Soap, Gaz, Price, and Y/N: *stop gossiping* Gaz: ....hey. Soap: Evenin' L.T. Y/N: Howdy. Ghost: *looks at Price with a face mask on* Ghost: ...*sighs and sits down* Pass the Goldfish. Soap: Yeaaaah, good man! Welcome to the party!
-- Shepard: Is anyone here straight?! Price: ...*hesitantly raises hand* Laswell: *pushes his hand back down*
-- Valeria: *angry ranting* Y/N, a captive: Stop being so mean to me or I swear to god I'm gonna fall in love with you!
-- Ghost: What in the hell are you doing? Y/N: Laying in the rain. Ghost: Why? Y/N: If I lay here long enough, it feels like it washes the sad away. So I'm gonna lay here until the sad is gone. Ghost: You'll get sick. Y/N: Better sick than sad, sir. Ghost: ...*looks at the sky, back down, sighs* Ghost: *lays down on the tarmac* Y/N: Got a lot of sad? Ghost: ...Yeah. Y/N: If the rain doesn't take care of it, let's trade sads. Then it'll at least be a different kind of sad. Ghost: Not sure you want my sad. Y/N: Maybe not, but I don't think you should have to handle your sad alone either. Ghost: ...alright. Y/N: Cool.
-- Price: Simon, it's three o' clock in the morning. Why on earth are you making chocolate pudding? Ghost: Because I've lost control of my life.
-- Soap, with a gunshot wound: Do I regret it? Yes. Will I do it again? Most likely.
-- Y/N after doing something so badass it would fit in a movie: ...DID EVERYONE SEE THAT?? CAUSE I WILL NOT BE DOING IT AGAIN.
-- Ghost: You kidnapped the prime minister's daughter? That's illegal! Soap: Okay, Ghost, but what's more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing the prime minister's daughter, or destroying 141? Ghost: KIDNAPPING THE PRIME MINISTER'S DAUGHTER, JOHNNY! Fem!Y/N: Do you guys have like, a water or something? Snack maybe? No?
-- Y/N: I think there's been some confusion. I'm not the one in trouble here. Enemy Soldier: ...What? Y/N: There are only four of you. You'll need more than that. Gaz, hearing it over the intercom: ...they're gonna whoop-ass but we should probably go help them.
-- Someone: Why are you doing their straps for them? Price: They don't like velcro. Someone: Just do it yourself! Y/N: I'm not touching that stuff! I'll get neurotypical cooties.
-- Y/N, high on painkillers: If yo leg get cut off, would it hurt? Soap, in a hospital bed beside them: ...DUH Y/N: How though? Soap: Cause your leg got cut off! Y/N: Where you gonna feel the pain? Soap: In your le.... Y/N: Exactly bro! How you gonna feel the pain in yo leg if- Both: If your leg is gone! Soap: Whoooaaa... Y/N: Bro I swear, we're geniuses. Ghost, on his last brain cell: Fuckin'ell.
-- Ghost, about to lose his shit: Dear lord, I know we haven't spoken in a long time but if you could give me a little patience-
-- Gaz: Do you believe in God? Y/N: ...Yes & no. Gaz: Yes & No? What do you mean? Y/N: I believe there is a higher power, I believe a God exists. But...believing in God? Now that...haven't done that in a long time.
--
Gaz & Y/N: *dancing* Ghost: Can you two be serious for five seconds? Gaz, bustin' a move: Dunno sir, can you have fun for five seconds? Y/N: *stops and looks at Gaz* Gaz: *stops and is filled with instant regret* ...uh, sir, I- Ghost: Tell you what. I'll give you five seconds...to start running- Gaz: *turns to run and sees Y/N already yards away* YOU LEFT ME?! Y/N: I WANNA LIVE!!!!
-- Ghost: What are they doing? Price: Arguing in morse code. Soap: - .... .- - .----. ... / .-- .... -.-- / -.-- --- ..- .-. / ... .... --- . ... / .-. .- --. --. . -.. -.-- Gaz: -.-- .- / -- --- -- -- .- Soap: YOU FUCKIN' TAKE THAT BACK-
-- Soap: Keep your eyes closed, I have a surpriiisee!~ Ghost: You did your paperwork? Soap: I said surprise, not miracle.
-- Y/N, on tiktok: FOR ALL YOU NASTY ASSES IN MY DMS- *shows the team* THIS IS MY TEAM. STOP SENDING MY DICK PICS OR I WILL SEND THEM AFTER Y'ALL. Ghost: You've been getting dick pics? Soap: Who the hell's been harassing you online?! Y/N: SEE?? THEY'LL WHOOP YA ASS, SO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!
-- Y/N, on tiktok again: Alright, backfired on me. For all of y'all who are now trying to be nasty by THIRSTING for my teammates, uh, no. Stop askin' for my Captain's marital status, I'm not gonna tell you. No you may not get my teammate's dicks, I will not be giving you their social media, stOP ASKING I KNOW THEY'RE HOT BUT NO-
-- (I've fallen down the rabbit hole of Karen compilations, so, that's why I thought of this)
Y/N: Goodbye sir! Male Karen: Fuck you bitch! Go suck off your captain you fuckin' whore!! Y/N: Sure, I'll do that, goodbye! Male Karen: Suck my dick, whore! Y/N: Can't! It's too full of military dick, you'll need to make an appointment, GOODBYE!! Soap: *wheeze* Gaz: Jesus. Christ. Ghost: I told you all America is shit.
(Bonus Note cause I can't put in anywhere else; on the topic of Venom + C.o.D. I know we have Soap in place of Eddie & Ghost in place of Venom, but hear me out. Y/N! being Ghost's host and Johnny being a third part. P o l y ! A u !)
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margowritesthings · 8 months
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A Job Well Done
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pairing: Arthur Morgan x reader (f) word count: 4944 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, oral (f giving), rough oral, a little choking, a touch of voyeurism, explicit language, it's pretty much a blowjob fic authors note: idk what to say... this started as a little drabble because me and my fiancé love having a little smoke together at night and.... well, here we are I guess?? i hope you enjoy you lovely lot, and if you've asked to be tagged and you're not please let me know!! I have a new system for keeping track of my taglist and I may have lost some requests in the transfer
taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i *if i've missed you please let me know!!!*
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You pull Arthur’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, settling into the old wooden chair while it creaks beneath you. Thanks to being in the middle of the Lemoyne swamps, it isn’t too cold despite the moon hanging so high in the sky above you, the jacket is more for comfort. From where you sit, you can see near the whole camp, watching lanterns flicker off incrementally as each member of your makeshift family retires for the night. A few of the boys stay up, drinking by the fire, their voices muffled and distant in the thick air.
It’s been a week to the day since you last saw Arthur, before he left to track a rather sizable bounty down and attempt to cushion out the camp funds, and God do you miss him. The days feel so much longer, nights so lonely you’ve considered saddling up and finding the bastard yourself just to bring him home sooner. Comfort can be found, though, in the ways Arthur’s presence has bled so deeply into your life that his physical being doesn’t even need to be here. 
His smell lingers on the jacket he left (the one he wore every day before he had to leave just so you could wear it when you missed him), that perfect mix of tobacco and whiskey and something so ineffably Arthur that you soak up every time you wrap it around your frame. 
He’s there in the routines you've built your lives around, intertwined as they are, the ones you can’t shake even if he’s not beside you. The cup of coffee in a morning, his so much better tasting than yours but you try anyway. The first morning after he left, you made two, ending up giving the extra to a very grateful Abigail to save face.
There’s a nightly routine, too. The one where you get ready for bed, then climb through the window to meet him on your balcony. He’s always there waiting with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting his lap ready for you to crawl on. He’ll drag a match across his boot, (or sometimes the bottom of yours, if you’re still wearing them) lighting up the smoke before handing it to you. You’ll pass it between each other, catching up on your days, limbs entangled just how they should be as you watch Shady Belle fall asleep around you. 
Without him, those routines bring you comfort, grasping onto the remnants of your cowboy until his safe return. That’s why you’re sitting in this spot, pulling a cigar out of the little tin stash box Arthur left behind. Normally it’s just a cigarette, you could never survive a cigar a night and have the throat to tell the tale, but there’s something inexplicably Arthur about this brand of smokes, something you’re seeking tonight. 
You pluck a match from the tin, striking it against the table beside you, never having gotten the knack of igniting the thing on your boot as effortlessly as Arthur does, and light the cigar between your lips. The all-familiar woody essence dances across your tongue, your tired muscles relaxing from the first few tokes. 
It’s just you, the moon and the crickets as you sit on the balcony, Arthur’s smoke between your lips. You wonder what he’s doing. He should be sleeping, but knowing him he’s probably up planning, or doing exactly what you are right now. You pray he’s safe, hasn’t been gotten by the law or worse, gotten himself killed. You can’t let yourself even think about that, the very idea bringing a tremble to your limbs. To combat the sudden spike in anxiety, the next time you bring the cigar to your lips you drag in just that bit more smoke, letting it soak down your spine. Not nearly as experienced in smoking as Arthur, you cough a little, but you recover much quicker than you used to. 
Memories of that first time, of Arthur offering you the little brown stick and you nervously nodding, bring a little smile to your face. Oh, how you spluttered, Arthur giving you his drink on instinct, only realising that the whiskey burn would do the opposite of help once it was too late. You’d have been in your right mind to be embarrassed as hell, but by the way he chuckled as he rubbed circles around your back told you that he found it nothing but adorable. 
You sit there for a few minutes, basking in the precious peace so seldom found nowadays and taking a drag every now and then, the smoke riding a sigh from your lips. Your eyes slip closed, trying to shut off as many senses as you can to really connect with that smell and taste, imagining him emerging from your bedroom window to be here with you. 
He’s much less graceful than you are, often catching some part of his person on the windowsill when he climbs out onto the balcony. So many nights spent patching up little holes in his pant legs, right where that out sticking nail used to be in the frame before he ‘bested it in combat’ (i.e. pulled it out with a hunting knife and threw it ceremoniously in the lake). 
Manifestation is a powerful tool, you’ve always believed that, but you still nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a large hand grasp your shoulder just as you imagined, Arthur’s gruff, hushed whisper tickling the words “hey, sweetheart” into the skin of your neck. It takes you a second to catch your breath, heart racing from the shock before everything registers and reality sets in. 
“Arthur?”
He’s here.
“C’mere, darlin’.”
You fly out of your seat, the rickety old thing nearly splintering under the force, launching yourself into his open arms to burrow yourself into him.  Every part of him consumes your senses and you drink it all in like an addict. The smell, the real thing, much more of that Arthur essence than the whiskey or cigars, probably because he forewent breaks in his journey for those little pleasures to get back to you sooner. 
He seems to be taking you in as much as you are him, inhaling long through his nose and sighing it out contentedly, feeling whole again after so long without you in his arms.
“I missed ya’, beautiful.” He says softly into your hair, holding you tight against him, his knuckles brushing up and down the small of your back through layers of clothes you’ve stolen from him. 
“I missed you so much…” You mumble into his shirt, hardly able to breathe through the wall of hard chest muscle you’re pressed against, caring even less. 
It’s only then do you remember the cigar, forgotten and abandoned, smoking away on the table propped up on a jar lid turned makeshift ashtray. Most of the boys don’t bother with one, and neither did Arthur, until a fateful night a few months before you started dating when you first handed him the jar and told him you read something about birds and rabbits eating the butts of cigarettes. He kept the little piece of junk right next to his bedside, waiting for you to find it after that first night together. 
Arthur spots your momentary pull of attention, pulling his chest away to raise a brow down at you with a little chuckle rumbling his chest.
“Having a fancy smoke of a night, are we?” 
A cheeky little smirk- Arthur’s favourite, actually- tugs at the corner of your lips, waiting patiently for him to kiss it away.
“The smell reminds me of you…” you play coy, earring yourself that kiss when Arthur lifts you up to his height, kissing you softly, letting his world and yours fall back into place together. 
“Well I’m here now, angel. Wanna sit? Could do with a nice cigar with my girl to celebrate a job well done.” 
You’re eager to nod, heart fluttering at the prospect of getting to sit with him and hear all about his trip. He untangles from you to sit down first, patting his lap for you to crawl into. You fit perfectly together (you should do, you were made for eachother), head resting on his shoulder, legs splayed over his thighs with your arm draped over his shoulder. The cigar has gone out, so Arthur strikes a match so expertly on his spurs before shaking it out and placing his hand on the small of your back for support. You lean into him, watching him take puffs of the cigar and feeling the tiniest bit of tension leave his joints. He looks so natural with a smoke between his teeth, commanding an air of power with each movement he makes. Smoking doesn’t suit just everyone, you think, but God, does it suit him.
“We’re celebrating? You got the bastard, then?”
“Sure did,” he says, smoke spilling from his lips with each syllable. Arthur looks you over again, drinking in the dearly missed view, before kissing you on the forehead and flipping the cigar between his fingers to offer it up, “Eventually found him up in Fort Brennand, but he weren’t alone. Nearly lost a damn eye, but luckily only Woffard had to be brought in alive, so I dropped the other bastards and ran.”
You hang on his every word, your hero. You know he’s downplaying the fight, the danger of it all, but he does it so that you don’t worry every time he’s gone. It never works, and you always do, but you love him for trying. 
“Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re alright…” You coo, pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the weeks worth of stubble scratching against your palm. He nuzzles into your touch, not unlike a cat, and your find yourself keeping your hand there to mindlessly play with his hair, tipping his hat off to put on your own head. He chuckles, reaching to adjust it on you.
“Course I am, couldn’t leave you here all alone with this buncha’ fools, could I? Besides, someones gotta bring home the bacon around here, and you know Marston’s too trigger happy to bring a bounty in alive.”
“So you got the full price?” Your eyes gleam, the proudest smile on your features as Arthur nods and shifts both your weights for a moment to pull out a stack of bills and smack them on the table dramatically.
“You’re damn straight I did, baby.”
Of course he did. Arthur never fails, and God knows how much the camp needs this right now, freedoms diminishing by the day as Dutch makes more enemies and plans jobs that just seem to keep going wrong. But you don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, there is only you and Arthur, and the promise of a whole night spent with him uninterrupted. You hand him the cigar back, along with a stolen kiss, and he takes another mesmerising drag. The way he holds it, every so often tipping the ash into the first gift you ever gave him, it does things to you that you just can’t explain. It’s just a cigar, and yet you’re pressing your thighs together tight to futilely subdue the tightness coiling between them. 
“I’m so proud of you… I always am.” Unkempt locks of hair are twisted between your fingers, your face so close to Arthur’s you can pepper his cheek, temple and lips, whenever not occupied, with little kisses, Arthur’s hat sometimes tipping up against his forehead on your head. The two of you are always like this after a few days apart, unable to get enough of each other or keep your hands off one another. You shift your weight to access him better, catching his bottom lip between your teeth to press a long, tender kiss there. He hums under you, hand splaying under your jacket to grasp at your shirt. It’s seconds before you feel it, that hardening that nudges up against your thigh, prodding and reminding you just how much Arthur has missed you.
You pull away from the kiss, just enough to raise a teasing brow at how sensitive your cowboy is to your touch. He shrugs, unashamed, with that cheeky grin and those glistening eyes directed right at you. 
“What? I missed ya…” His words are accompanied with a pinch of your ass, which makes you writhe on top of his stiffness, the friction dragging a low growl from deep within his chest. 
“I can see that, cowboy… I missed you too. I missed you more.” You emphasise, nipping at his lip again and splaying your fingers across his chest. He rises to your touch, and you feel him stiffen more so under you. It takes a second of manoeuvring, but you’re soon straddling him, hovering above him like the angel he sees you to be. From this angle, with the moon behind you, you’re glowing. 
“You absolutely did not, you little siren…” He growls again, pulling at the flesh of your ass so that you’re grinding against him, the friction of denim against denim igniting you both and burning so wonderfully. 
“Oh, yeah? I can prove it.” There’s a little cock of your head, a raise of one teasing brow as you start to slide off him. He looks confused, disappointed, even, until your knees rest on the planks of wood on the balcony floor and he instinctively spreads his legs to give you the space between them. Your fingers splay across his thick thighs, and they tense under your touch, as does Arthur’s jaw. He’s starved after a week without you, clearly trying to reign in a control he’s struggling to possess. There’s no wonder, having his girl knelt before him like this. 
“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” He growls out, abandoning the still smoking cigar in the jar lid. You look up at him, peeking out from under the rim of his hat. 
“No.” You reach for the cigar, taking a few drags yourself before flipping it in your fingers just like he did and placing it between his teeth, “Finish your smoke.”
A distant laugh captures Arthur’s attention for a second, reminding you both just how close you are to the other gang members. You’re somewhat hidden by the railing, but if they looked in your direction, Arthur is fully visible from the chest up. A simple bob of your head- and you’re planning on plenty- would bring you into view. 
The look Arthur gives you when he quickly diverts his attention back from Marston and the others is downright feral, especially when your hands reach for his belt buckle. Nimble fingers make quick word of the obstruction, and you’re soon pulling Arthur’s thick, long length out from his jeans. He groans at your very touch, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your hand. 
You laugh, the sound a tempting little giggle as you tell him “Patience, cowboy…” 
He almost snarls in response, clearly having been goddamn patient enough over the last week where all he could do is fuck himself with your name on his lips and the thought of you knelt just like this between his legs at the forefront of his mind, always. 
Just as you lean in, when your soft lips trace over his rosy, swollen head, he pulls you back by plucking his hat from atop your head and throwing it to the side. He rests the cigar between the fingers of his free hand to free his mouth to speak to you.
“Need to see you while I fuck that pretty little moutha’ yours, angel…”
His words soak through you (and soak you through), and you just can’t wait a second longer, needy to have his cock deep down your throat, desperate for the burning of your lungs and the stinging in your eyes when he loses that control he so often vehemently clings to. 
Unable to wait a second longer, you run your tongue from base to tip, feeling every vein pulsing under your muscle and eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. When you finally take him in your mouth, his hand reaches to cup your cheek, following you down as you take as much of him as you can. 
“Fuck.” He groans, fingers reaching to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp. He’s probably louder than he should be, your eyes flickering to the general direction of the others as a warning, but they soon snap back to your cowboy, an intense eye contact burning at your skin as the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. Arthur never takes his eyes off you, guiding you up and down his length and bringing the smoke to his lips. The tip of the cigar flares a deep, fiery orange, and smoke billows from his mouth with each laboured breath you coax from him. The way he’s sitting, fingers of one hand pulling at your hair, controlling your movements, and the other limply holding the smoke, he exudes a power many seek to master but never quite get. It makes your heart swell and your cunt throb for him, knowing on your knees before him is the only place you ever want to be, knowing only you inhabit it. 
You can taste Arthur, his salty essence leaking from the pure ecstasy you’re providing and spit pools in your throat, mixing with it and dribbling down your chin. Arthur catches it with his thumb, guiding you off his cock to push the digit into your mouth and let you suckle from it. You do, hungrily, adjusting on your knees to better take Arthur deep down your throat and-
“Arthur! That you?” 
Marston. 
For eyes widen at each other, Arthur instinctively pushing you a little lower by your shoulder to keep you out of sight. John hasn’t seen you, and you’d like to keep it that way, being in the incriminating position you are between Arthur’s legs. 
You spot the irritated sigh, the twitch of Arthur’s jaw as he plasters a fake friendliness onto his features and peers over the balcony to see his brother standing on the clearing below. 
“Sure is. Whatchu’ want?”
Straight to the point.
“We didn’t hear you get back. How long’ve you been here?”
All that tension you’ve worked so hard to dissipate comes back to Arthur’s form with a crashing force. You can almost hear his plea for just one second a’ goddamn peace, merely by the way he sighs before answering. 
“Not long, thought I’d try and sneak past you fools and get some shut eye.”
Subtle, cowboy.
Ever oblivious, or simply not caring, John continues, “How’d it go, then? You got the bastard?”
He has you pressed against his thigh to hide you from sight, cock standing to attention right beside your face. It’s too tempting, especially with a none the wiser Marston stood right below. When your tongue darts out, hovering above Arthur’s twitching, aching cock, his eyes flick down to you, warning residing deep in his eyes. You take it as less of a warning, more a challenge.
You wouldn’t.
Oh, but I would.
And you do. You lift up, just enough to fit the head of his throbbing cock past your lips and slide the whole length in. It bumps the back of your throat, but upon hearing Arthur’s strangled, poorly hidden groan, you can’t seem to stop yourself.
“Y-uh… Yeah, I got ‘em…” 
It’s impressive, how he can just about hold a conversation despite his cock being so far down your throat his balls rest on your chin. 
You can’t see John, but you can only imagine how his head must tilt and his brows must pull together at the strange response from Arthur. 
“You alright, brother?”
He won’t be.
You blink up at Arthur, feigning an innocent, near angelic expression as you inhale through your nose and push him even further into you. You hum, low and quiet, letting the vibrations pass through him. Arthur whimpers, instantly knocking any and all sounds you’ve ever heard from top spot and replacing them as your favourite in the whole world. 
“I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tries to hint again, to no avail. His fingers are digging into your shoulder with a bruising force, that control slipping bit by bit with every passing second, every little movement. Tears prick at your eyes, that burning in your lungs you’ve been reaching for finally igniting. You’re stuffed with him, feeling so full that it’s hard to breathe. When you go to release him, to be able to gasp for precious air, you realise you can’t, Arthur’s huge hand holding you right in place with his palm flush against the back of your neck. Revenge. 
“Where’s the Mrs?”
A raise of a brow. You’re not married, but everything is so naturally right between you and Arthur that the gang just seem to have defaulted to that. It makes you beam, wanting nothing more than to be this man’s wife, the kind of wife that makes him cum down your throat while he has a menial conversation. 
“S-She’s- fuck…” When he grips harder at you, you gag around his length, tears now streaming down your cheeks and mixing with your spittle and the little bits of precum that leak out from Arthur. “She’s in bed. I-I better go check on her, a-actually.” He whimpers again, fingers now gripping into your hair to keep you in place. You’re not sure how much longer you can last like this, struggling to breathe, overflowing and, God, so wet for him. 
John sounds unconvinced. You’d giggle, if you could.
“Alright… Well, g’night, brother.”
Arthur barely manages a grunt, and you can feel his thighs tensing and twitching from the sheer effort of not bucking his hips up into you and giving the pair of you away. He stills, most likely waiting for Marston to fuck off already, before he rips you away from him and pulls you to your feet, gripping your aching jaw with force enough force to keep it open. 
“You goddamn siren.” He isn’t mad. He’s trying to be, but you know Arthur far too well, and he’s burning with a fire far hotter than mere anger. Need. 
The mischievous glint in your eye is all you can offer for response, what with his iron grip on your face, but you do manage to slip your tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, tasting the mixture of fluids still lingering. 
It’s all getting too much, knowing what you just did and who you did it around, hearing Arthur unable to string a sentence together because of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so desperate for a release that you’re pathetically writhing in Arthur’s hold. He notices, forced anger on his features replaced with a cockiness that only comes from knowing he’s regaining the power in the situation. 
Your cheeks tingle when he releases you, sitting back in the seat and leaning back, one elbow resting on the arm of the old wooden chair and picking the cigar back up. God, you could ride him in that chair till morning, if you thought the wood wouldn’t splinter under the force. 
“You gonna finish what you started, my little siren?” He asks, taking an especially long toke from the smoke while he waits for you to drop to your knees before him. Your cunt throbs, screaming out for his attention, but it would seem your antics have earned you punishment. 
Your knees hit the wood with a force, though an involuntary whimper escapes you, hips grinding pathetically against nothing. Arthur notices, smirking like a goddamn cheshire cat at his little wanton whore. 
“Patience, angel.” Your own words echo back to you like a slap in the face. You definitely deserve this.
The grip you had on the power in this game you’re playing with Arthur officially disappears when his hand snakes around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair and winding it around his wrist like a leash. You have to tilt your head so the tugging at your scalp is a mere burn rather than a sharp pain, but that’s just where he wants you. 
“Now, little siren, I’m gonna teach ya’ some manners, and you’re gonna finish what you started, alright? And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll think about getting that sweet little cunt of yours off…”
It’s all it takes, the promise of Arthur’s fingers deep inside you while he sucks on your clit just how you like it, lapping up your juices like a man starved, and the defiance in your eyes dissipates. Arthur bends you to his whim, messy, sloppy putty in his hands as he drags you onto his weeping cock. You’re all but drooling for him, leaking out of the corners of your mouth when he slips into you. Your scalp tingles with the pull, especially when Arthur involuntarily tightens his grip with a hiss of his breath. His tip bumps the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop even when you’ve fit all of him in that you can.
“Fuck, good girl, just like that baby girl…” he groans, and when you open your eyes to look up to him, he is watching you with a gaze so intense you feel like it could tear you apart. The tension burns between you, coiling so tight the chirp of a nearby cricket could snap it. 
There’s an unspoken question in your eyes when you start to nearly choke on his length of when you’ll be released, but his eyes darken, “Come on, baby, you can take more, can’t you?” 
He seems to register your fear, but it phases him little. It seems more a challenge, really, coaxing him into rocking his hips into you, pushing you even further onto his cock until you feel it start to breach past your throat in a way you didn’t even know possible. You splutter, wriggling and writhing as you try your hardest to breathe through your nose. 
“Shh… good girl,” he coos, a ravenous look taking over your usually so lovable cowboy. You’ve pushed him, and God do you live for it. “Not much further… wanna see you take all of my cock, alright? You gonna do that for me, angel?” 
You can’t nod, but it isn’t much of a question, not much choice available with your limited movements and the way Arthur has completely commandeered your body. You’re irrevocably his, body and soul. 
It doesn’t feel possible to fit more of him in, your throat burning for relief that won’t come until Arthur is satisfied, but when he bucks his hips into you, you feel his base press against your nose. He groans hard, the noise initially from the sensation of having your throat wrapped around his cock, but when he sees the sight of you, tear stained and gagging on him, the moan is pulled out into a noise of pure ecstasy. 
“Good girl… my good fuckin’ girl.” 
His thumb rubs lovingly over your wet cheek, a sensation you cling to as the corners of your vision get fuzzy. Fuck, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, but you’re so desperate to feel Arthur’s spend trickling down your throat, feel him lose control and moan just for you that you’d honestly be willing to die for it. 
Your expression, complete with lust-fogged, watery eyes, and beautifully flushed skin, teases the last of Arthur’s restraint like a razor thin blade against that final thread. When it finally snaps, you’re allowed one gasp for air, before he’s thrusting back into you hard. You can feel him stiffen, even more so than before, as his hips splutter into your mouth and he starts to tumble over the precipice into that realm of pleasure that only the two of you share. 
“F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” But he interrupts himself with a visceral, primal groan, the vibration of it shattering the both of you. You take advantage of his practically inebriated state to regain some of your own anatomy, managing to swirl your tongue around his pulsing head inside your mouth. The hot, salty spend blooms across your tongue at that, Arthur guiding you by the cheek to bob up and down on his cock while he paints your throat white. His moans are a melody you’ll never tire of, animalistic and vulnerable all the same. 
It feels like it never stops, Arthur’s spend filling your mouth up and leaking out from the corners of your lip. You can hardly stay still, writhing your needy cunt against your own heel, desperate for a reward you’re earning when you look him in the eye and swallow it all down. Pride blooms across Arthur’s features, saturated with a love that warms you from the inside out. His thumb caresses your face softly, wiping the tear tracks as you finally release his cock from your mouth and he guides you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.
“My good girl…” He coos, barely above a whisper as you breathe each other in, both as breathless as the other. Your throat aches, your jaw burning, but you’d do it a thousand times over to experience what you just did all over again. 
“Now…” He splits the sentence with another kiss, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Get on inside, sweetheart, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”
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angelltheninth · 23 days
Text
Very Bloody Affairs
Pairing: Michael x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, mention of killing, sex while covered in blood, name calling, degradation, rough sex, choking
Word count: 0.8k
A/N: This is very bloody. Like very bloody cause I looked up what he gets off and... I don't have the stomach for that so this is the best I can do with it.
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He always came back to your covered in blood. It was never his blood and he never bothered to wash up before kissing and embracing you close. His cock was already tenting in his pants by the time he was fully pressed up against you.
"Why are you always so gross about it?" It being the way he kills people. Always in ways that gets the most blood on him as possible. "And so... ah-!" You sucked in a shaky breath as his cock pushed inside of you in one smooth motion. "Forceful with me every time." Michael paused for a moment, his mismatched eyes staring down at you, "Good god are you needy. I didn't say stop. I asked you to be more considerate in the future. At least wash up."
His eyes rolled in amusement, "Miss out on marking you? Do I seem crazy to you?" The cock inside you stirred when you didn't answer. "Well, I may be crazy but you're the one spreading her legs open for his cock."
You chuckled and combed through his hair, cringing at how bloody your fingers looked after, "I guess I am." He always fucked you differently after a good kill so how could you resist. "What are you waiting for? Move." You tried to press him closer but he wasn't budging, his hands trapping you.
"Beg for it." His face darkened immediately, his soft grin becoming wider, more psychotic by the second. "Beg for me. Beg me to fuck you like those lowlifes begged me not to kill them! Let me hear those screams again! Call my name. Call His name. Let us both hear how much you need this." Michael chuckled as his hand came to wrap around your throat, "I could kill you too you know? Yeah. But your holes are much too entertaining to get rid of. For now. You are only human after all."
"You're fucking crazy." You managed to laugh, voice shaking only a bit before he cut it off by squeezing his hand around your neck.
It was never a secret that he was crazy. But you always seemed to need a reminder of it. Michael was different with you but every now and then his true nature came into the light. Your pussy got drenched every time. You were crazy too.
Michael's smirk turned into a groan when he felt you clenching around his cock. "So you say. But I know you love getting fucked like this, being marked by their blood, being marked by me, inside and out." He drew his hips back and snapped them back against yours, causing your body to jump.
If you were to scratch his back now, to give him injuries of his own, his own blood would be mixed in with that of his enemies. But you wouldn't be able to tell anyway and he wouldn't get the high he normally received. You still chose to do so, your nails digging hard into his pale skin and leaving long marks all the way down to his hips, harder and harder as Michael fucked you faster, rougher, keeping you from speaking a full sentence. His hand squeezed harder, making you gasp his name, winded and eyes tearing up.
"Such pretty noises coming from you." His thumb pressed against the side of your throat, making you choke on his name.
Even when you wanted to talk back you couldn't. Torn between the pleasure his cock was giving you and the constant pressure around your throat, not to mention the smell of blood, you pulled him closer because that was all your body was capable of.
"What a sight. You have no idea how much pleasure it brings me to fuck you right now. I wonder what they would do if they knew? Or if you were the last sight they saw before death. It would be a mercy on my part. Giving them on last glimpse of bliss before I kill them." Michael bend down to lick a path from your neck to your mouth, bringing the blood with him. "Seeing you come from my cock just before their death... you're lucky yours will be much more pleasant."
You held onto him like a lifeline, moaning into his mouth, hissing when he bit down to draw your blood as well, "S-Slow down! Too fast to- fuck, God!"
"Oh I'm sure He would be flattered. However you'll have to be content with my cock." Michael teased as he held you, let your orgasm edge away, his cock still inside you, waiting until you're calm to start again.
"You fucking jerk!" You didn't protest against his thrusts any longer when you felt his cum flooding your insides, but you could do so after, "You... forgot to pull out. Again." Thankfully the Angel couldn't have kids of his own, but the mess was still annoying to deal with. Then again, Michael always enjoyed making a mess.
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jkloserdazai · 28 days
Note
give me one where tom fucks the reader so much she passes out
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𝐓. 𝐊𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐙. 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟗
ᴛʜᴇɪᴠɪɴ', ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴ'
ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿ' ʷʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳˢ
𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃' 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈, sɹnoʎ ʇou sʇɐɥʍ ,uıʞɐʇ
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𝓼𝔂𝓹𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓼: he just went a little too far, but sometimes a little too far can feel good
𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓽𝔂𝓹𝓮: headcannons mixed with full fiction
𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻: female
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"ah-ah, keep your hips up. you asked for this, so you're gonna get it."
Tom was doing it too good, he always did but this time it was much different than usual. Your body couldn't stay up and his tight grip needed to pull you back up, and his groans would emit feeling your walls clench down on him, and slick drip from between your folds meanwhile your head was burried into the soft cotton pillows.
"tom..please, i can't take it anymore.." a sharp breath would be taken from your throat, his hand coming down with a harsh slap on your thigh and a subtle squeeze as his hips would pound forward which would cause your thighs to shake and squeeze together from the impact. "what did i say? you asked for it so you will get what you wanted."
and it wasn't a lie, you had been whining in his ear all day about; 'wanting him so badly, needing him now you couldn't wait another second.' ironic isn't it? his hand would slip between your thighs, spreading them apart making your back arch momentarily. your hair was messy and dishevled, the burn up your legs wouldn't stop each time his tip would aim deep in your cervix— and he knew what the hell he was doing, he knew what you did and didn't like and used it to his advantage.
"if only you could see yourself, see how good you're taking me hm?" his voice would be close to your ear, the tone of his voice making a whimper bubble from your throat due to being embarrassed as it was. he loved the sound of your voice, each and every time he would make sure only his name was being heard in this bed and out of it.
"God tom— it hurts.." his eye brow would raise, a few kisses trailing from your jaw giving you a little tickle down your back. "it hurts now does it?" a 'tsk' would his through his teeth, he shook his head as if he had little to zero mercy for the words you spoke. "this is why you think before you do."
fingers gripping the sheets, a squelching noise came from your damp and soapy cunt when the white and sticky cum would drip between you. and fuck, you couldn't tell gow many times you came already your head was so foggy and you felt so dazed with your brains fucked out of you.
with each and every moment passing, you'd become less responsive. the stinging feeling would be replaced with a small headache, but the feeling was still good. you weren't fully sure what it was, but the feeling of slipping away had turned you on more than you thought, and more than it should have.
"fuck, you with me baby?" yet those were the last muffled words you heard till the foggy feeling caught up with you.
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tagging: @itsmealaiah @evieskiesss @tokio-motel
if you want to be tagged, please tell me.
ALSO MY INBOX WORKS??? LIKE FUCK
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heaartzforcupid · 5 days
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hii!!! omg im so scared to reauest from someone so good at writing as you!!! please dont feel the need to respond!!
can you do a female!cat!reader thats in heat and catnap helps her??? that would be so hot!!!
“Heat.”
Relationship(s): catnap x cat!reader
Warning(s): smut, heat, degradation
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You had been acting weird all week. Staying away from the kids, neglecting your duties , not talking for the most part. but you wouldn’t let catnap anywhere near you which pissed him off quite frankly. he was your partner. so what the fuck was so bad, you didn’t want him around you?
catnap had ignored this for the last couple days. just hanging around the children and going to his home, which he had been barely doing ever since you two had got together. one night, he couldn’t take it any longer. he got out of bed and headed to your home. almost immediately he was hit with a strong smell of your scent. not your natural one. the one where you were in heat. so that’s why you’ve been acting like that. why the fuck didn’t you just open your fucking mouth and tell him?
he stormed inside, a wave of pheromones hitting him in the face. he growled lowly as his animalistic instincts were getting harder and harder to suppress. first, he was angry that you didn’t come to him for help. what? did you not wanna have sex with him? did you think he couldn’t help it? or were you wanting to be a slut and wait for someone to find you this vulnerable?
He watched from the doorway. it was dark but he could see and you were too lost in your own pleasure to see him. he watched as you played with what was his. he watched as you fucked yourself with one of his themed dildos. he watched as your cunt squeezed the toy, oh so tightly. and how your hips rutted against the toy, trying to find some relief. he watched as you came, tears streamed down your face as it still wasn’t enough and you began your pace again.
“next time, open your mouth and tell me. or are you too dumb for even that?”
your heart stopped and you looked at the door. Catnap stood there, a grin on his face like the Cheshire Cat. “W—what are you doing here?” You asked, taking the toy and putting it behind your back. “oh, don’t mind me, continue.” you shook your head and looked up at him. You whimpered, pathetically as you sat up. “Please help me, master..”“see? was that so hard, Midnight?”
Catnap had put you in DoggyStyle, he knew you hated it since you couldn’t see his face. you whined as he placed his tip on your hole, pushing in slowly. agonizingly slow. you gritted your teeth as you yelled “god, master, please!” just then Catnap began to thrust his hips against you. his balls hitting the back of your thighs, making a harsh flapping sound as he fucked into you like a beast. “fuck, tell me how much of a good whore you are for me. you can do atleast that, can’t you, bitch?” “such a w—whore for you! make my cunt feel so good~!” “Damn right, I do.”
he pulled your hair and slammed against you harder as you came against his cock. he chuckled and kissed against your ear, biting and nipping. he let out a mix of a moan and whimper as his cum spilt into you, thickly. both your pheromones mixing. that scent was gonna be hard for higher ups to wash out. but you wouldn’t think of that right now<3.
A/N: request done! I know it’s abit short, I just didn’t really have any more idea or detail to say. hope you enjoyed! again, I’m not that good at details but I hope this was still up to standard.
TAGS: @2faced-fairy
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tourettesdog · 2 years
Text
DP x DC prompt where Danny winds up in Gotham and, after expressing that he’s all alone and just wandering the city aimlessly, he finds himself adopted by Bruce-- as Phantom. 
Because if you’ve already adopted a bunch of kids, why not throw a ghost into the mix?
Danny just goes along with it, nervous but not really having any other options. If Bruce Wayne wants to adopt a ghost and feed him, why not humor the man? If they figure out he’s not actually a full ghost, he can always skip town and they’ll never see him again.
Only... Danny’s not sure how he keeps up the charade as long as he does. The moment he finds out he’s not only been adopted by Bruce Wayne, but the Batman, Danny’s just waiting for the inevitable. Surely, Batman will eventually find out who he is.
But it just... doesn’t happen. The family doesn’t really have any reason to assume that a ghost is somehow still alive. They assumed he might be a meta at first, but the kid literally has no pulse and doesn’t breathe. And sure, Danny disappears sometimes (to sleep) and it’s a little weird he eats-- but he also speaks in tongues and can fly through the ceiling, so what do they know? Constantine’s been no help, claiming he “doesn’t want to touch this situation with a ten foot pole”, so they’re just sort of figuring out ghost brother shenanigans on the fly. 
They’re more curious who Danny was while living, but (due to a mixture of ghostly interference in Amity, Tucker purging files, the GIW fucking with Amity Park’s exposure to the outside world, and Danny giving them no answers), the bats haven’t been able to find jackshit about Phantom and it’s a bit of a sore spot where egos are concerned. There’s a secret race going on to find info on Phantom first. Danny is aware of it and thinks it’s very endearing and funny. He also desperately wants one of them to succeed already.
The longer it takes for them to (not) figure it out, Danny gets more and more annoyed. At the very start he wanted to keep his identity a secret-- new place, new people, how was he supposed to know how they’d react?-- but he quickly grew enamored with the family and now trusts them. Besides, they’ve already accepted him as a ghost so, really, what’s there to lose? He’s pretty sure one of his new brothers is like 1/4 ghost anyway.
Now Danny’s just been waiting-- begging-- for them to figure it out. He could just tell them. It would be so easy, but god he’s so committed to this now. Why is this taking so long.
It really starts to come to a head once the family develops non-ghost related nicknames for Danny. Jason in particular likes to joke about how Danny has severely broken the “blue-eyed, black-haired” mold and gives him nicknames like “Wildcard”, “Dove”, and “Uno Reverse”. 
Danny is about ready to snap.
One day, a few of them are about to head out on a mission and Danny asks to tag along. Jason jokingly says, “Sorry Dove, black hair club only.”
Danny just transforms on the spot, keeping his face comically neutral (as much as he can while watching his new family have a collective breakdown.)
“How about now?”
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yellowflowerbean · 7 months
Text
𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐁𝐘 | 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘— You have always been there for your sons, so when you died at a young age (in the middle of your twenties after being a mom at 21), you started to protect Sam and Colby through their investigations as their guardian angel. Specifically Sam because of his attachments often being demonic..
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒— ghost investigations, talk of murder, investigation of murder, ghost attachment
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆— no pairing more like a ghost!guardian!fem!reader
Requested by @hex-max
Sorry again for everyone who waited so long for Part two! I got a lot on my mind rn and had a writers block besides being in my final school year with the stress and all. Hope you all still remember this and like it!
Tag-list:
@anticipatecrime @celinehdr @lexasaurs634
@iwantsleepplz @paigeluvsmcr @ellabellabus07
@melody-kitty03 @mamapucket @sabrina-senpai @magicalblackcat06 @gloangielina @cadencebeat2662
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“What’s up guys! It’s Sam and Colby” Colby said into the camera which got held up by Sam. They are standing in front of a small house.
Your house to be precise. You are standing in one of the upper windows looking at them confused by what you see. Why would someone come here? Do they know something?
You can’t help but frown at the two YouTubers who oddly remind you of your sons.
“Today we are gonna explore the haunting of the blood house” Sam smiled into the camera and pointed to the house behind them.
The white facade of the wooden planks was splintered and looked abandoned. The porch was worn out, a rocking chair on it in the corner up front. It still looked like it was cared for though.
“Blood house sounds as scary as it is. Apparently there was a family of four living here. A wife, a husband and two sons. But one day, the husband decided to kill his wife, the reason for that is unknown…” Sam started explaining your story as they slowly walked up to the house.
Colby pulls out the key to the house which they got from the care taker. “Since then the wife is supposedly haunting this place and she doesn’t like men because of what her husband did to her” Colby finishes explaining.
He unlocks the door with the key to the house and gets inside. The interior is similar to a cottage. Old flare but combined with modern decorations.
They start the investigation. You follow them through the house as they start walking to the dining room. A shiver runs down Colby’s spine. He can feel how this is place is probably near the one you got murdered in and he is right.
“So apparently the wife got murdered in the kitchen…” he mutters seemingly trying to make sense of the situation. He feels like he is being watched. Same goes for Sam who is currently holding the camera. “I feel watched-” Colby turns around to Sam just in time to see a shadow walking around the corner which makes Colby stop mid-sentence.
“Oh my god! Did you see that?!” Colby exclaims and points behind Sam. Sam turns around in confusion shaking his head. “I swear to god there was a shadow” Colby explains.
“Bro we just started this investigation..what the hell” Sam muttered contemplating if he should believe Colby or not.
Colby nodded in response maybe, just maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. Then he started to smell something. Lavender..or no wait, rain maybe? Or both? “Do you smell that?” Colby sniffed the air two times doing a turn. The smell was still there.
“Smell what? The burned wood and pine tree?” Sam asked sniffing the air as well. The mention of two completely different smells is what confused Colby even more. Colby’s blue eyes focused on something as he smelled Lavender mixed with rain. He could see some kind of blurry silhouette behind Sam.
“No I mean the Lavender and rain..” Colby answered his best friend and blinked a couple of times thinking it was just his vision blurring. He rubbed his eyes trying to get the blurriness away behind Sam and surprisingly it worked.
You stood behind Sam, not knowing who these guys were or what they wanted in your house. Usually people would whisper and talk behind your back about what happened here. These guys came in for a change and are filming so it must be pretty serious for them being here.
“Let’s get the equipment out” Sam suggested and tried to ignore the fact that both him and Colby smell something completely different and that Colby just stared at Sam for five minutes like Sam was an alien or something.
“Right” Colby nodded and got the music box as well as the spirit box out of Sam’s backpack.
Immediately after calibrating the music box and putting it in the doorway of the dining room it started playing the song making the light on it blink with each turn of the handle.
“Woah..it never does that so quickly” Sam muttered in thought staring at the music box which doesn’t stop playing. Obviously because you are standing right in front of it.
Colby got the spirit box out turning it on which created a loud static as it switched through radio channels, making you jump out of the way of the music box in shock at what Colby did.
The music box stopped playing.
“Huh maybe she got scared” Sam observed as the music box went completely silent. “Let’s ask some questions” he suggested and turned around to face Colby with the camera.
You stood besides Sam now who picked up the smell of burned wood and pine tree stronger now. He didn’t say anything though.
“Is anyone here that would like to talk to us?” Colby asked the first question as the box switched loudly through the channels to pick up what you’re saying. You’re waiting for the box to say something not knowing you gotta say something in order for it to tell them that.
No answer.
“Weird” Colby muttered and turned off and on again in his hands. You inspected the device he was holding genuinely curious about all the stuff they got sprawled on the dining table.
Normally you would hate all men that come inside your house. But they were different. You could feel the calm and curious energy around them.
“Is anyone here that wants to talk to us?” Colby repeated his prior question.
“Maybe” you told them and the box said it for you.
“Maybe? So not wanting to talk but there is someone here?” Colby asked to clarify that answer.
“Yes” the box said after you told them that answer. You were standing face to face with Colby who obviously couldn’t see but even if he could, he would be so concentrated on asking questions.
“Okay…are you Y/n?” Sam asked and you looked at him then nodded, but he waited for an answer of the box. You sighed and spoke a “yes” which got then said through the box. It’s a bit annoying how they can’t see you and always wait for an answer through the spirit box.
“So far so good..” Colby muttered before continuing to ask questions.
***
At the end of the session they had all the answers they needed for their video and still they wanted to get to know you or they just apologised for what you’ve been through in the past.
“Thank you for talking to us today, Y/n” Sam thanked you for the evidence they got through the spirit box and music box. They got a calm energy to them, something that you didn’t think you would miss.
“Yeah thanks for answering. We know you don’t exactly like men, so thank you for not possessing us” Colby joked a little and to your surprise it was funny so you laughed a little.
You hadn’t laughed or smiled in what felt like decades. It was strange how these two young men changed you in just one night. It felt like you finally had your sons back even though Sam and Colby are not related in any way.
It feels like home again.
Then you saw how they started packing up their stuff indicating they have to leave. You didn’t want them to leave. You didn’t want to loose them, they felt like your family in just a short time and you wouldn’t be able to bear another loss of your family.
“Don’t go” came through the spirit box as Colby went to turn it off. He stopped. “Stay” you said through the box again. Colby looked at Sam with wide eyes. Sam just nodded.
“We’re sorry to leave you, but we gotta go” Sam reasoned and Colby began packing their stuff except for the spirit box. “It was nice to get to know you, Y/n” Sam thanked you again.
“Please” the box said as you started to tear up begging them to stay. “Don’t leave me alone” the box said on your behalf and you started fidgeting with your fingers nervously. You didn’t want to be seen as clingy, but the two made you feel at peace again.
“You don’t like being alone, huh?” Colby guessed from your responses. “Would you…like to come with us?” He questioned getting a wide eyed stare from Sam in protest.
“Colby! The fuck are you doing?” Sam whispered but you could hear it of course.
“Sam she is a nice ghost! And she is so alone, can’t you hear that? She doesn’t want us to leave, so maybe she can come with us and protect us from now on” Colby reasoned with Sam in a normal voice and Sam sighed knowing it was probably a good idea that they got some kind of spiritual protection with them on other investigations.
“She can be our guardian angel” Colby smile really wanting you to come with them now. You smiled back even though they couldn’t see it they made you happier in one night than your husband did in five years of marriage.
So with the permission to follow them they left the house and you followed attaching yourself to Sam, you had a feeling he needed it more than Colby did.
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veniaz · 7 months
Text
it's late and waking up late in the night extremely thirsty is not ideal. your room is dark and you can't quite see well, so you just put on whatever you can make out. which happens to be katsukis favorite shirt.
heading down to the common area and refilling your water bottle, you see uraraka and midoriya chatting together on the sofa.
"hey y/n!" he calls out, waving to you. you smile back and wave at him.
"hey y/n come over and sit!" uraraka pats the seat next to her.
"ah, i'm really sorry guys but i was just heading back to bed." apologizing and yawning, you can see the expression on ochachos face shift to a puzzled one.
"wait a sec, isn't that bakugos shirt?" she tilts her head and points to your baggy shirt.
you immediately look down and your heart drops so quickly. you prayed that you were not wearing katsukis shirt and that you were actually just wearing a tshirt that looks very similar to his.
you were wrong.
cheeks starting to heat up, you quickly tried to defend yourself.
“um, no this is mine?” you’re unable to keep eye contact with the two of them. “why would this be bakugos? i-i don’t even speak to him.” quickly sputtering out a defense.
uraraka and midoriya look at each other and they do not look convinced.
“are you sure? i’ve seen kacchan wear that a lot.” oh you are so busted. but you keep trying to convince them.
“no this is mine, i’m sure you’re thinking of something else.”
“maybe it got mixed up in laundry, check the tag!” ochaco insists.
“um” your face is incredibly red. “there’s no need for that, this is definitely mine.”
“yes there definitely is, i’m sure that’s kacchans”
“what’s mine?”
everyone’s head instantly spins at hearing the raspy voice of the owner of the shirt.
he’s tired, his eyes are droopy, and his arms are crossed at the commotion in the common room.
“that’s your shirt isn’t it?” please don’t say yes.
“why the fuck would that be mine?” he acts uncertain. he’s so certain that’s his.
he looks at you with this confused expression—basically saying “why the fuck are you wearing my shirt right now?” you just shrug.
“what! i could’ve swore you wear this all the time.” midoriya and uraraka look defeated.
“god you guys are so weird.” he mutters before turning around and heading back.
you just stare at the two of them, they’ve never been more confused in their lives. “goodnight.” before walking off back to your dorm.
you cant see your friends and they cant see you anymore. “what do you think you’re doing?” a voice startles you.
“shit, oh my god katsuki don’t scare me like that.” you jumped at his voice.
“why do you have my shirt?” he looks down at your clothes.
“i went to refill my water and i just grabbed the first thing i saw.” you whispered so your friends in the common room can’t hear you.
looking you up and down before grabbing your hand and dragging you,
“looks better on you anyway”
— ♡
srry this is rlly bad
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kiri-tatsu · 9 months
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From something to nothing
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Weeks had passed since he last seen you, and he just can't take it anymore. You're his love, his darling, his; he wants you back already.
well i can't be predicable and just say everyone gets a bad/good ending, so it's going to be mixed
@swivy123 did part 2 and tagged u like u asked <3
pt. 1
cw/tw- angst (ofc), hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, reader dies in one of them (lmao srry babes), gn! reader
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Alhaitham
To love was simply a confusing emotion to Alhaitham. He never felt the need to be in a relationship or to see the reason to ever form one. But you, came into his life and made his see what it was like to loved and cared for. He didn't have the luxury of such after his grandmother passed away, and he never knew the feeling of such an emotion as it slipped through his fingers.
And the day he blew up on you, you wouldn't come around until he, himself, went out of his way to apologize. You didn't like confrontation, you didn't like be upfront with your emotions, and he knew you, maybe even better than you did.
So why? Why was it the first time he's seen you in weeks, his heart his heavy with guilt as you were wrapped in the arms of his blond roommate?
The two of you were in Lambad's Tavern, he thought he was just here to pick up his roommate again. But instead you were here also and you looked as bad as Kaveh, well in the sense of you two being drunk.
Your eyes were a bit puffy, and you had small tears rolling down your cheeks as Kaveh had you in his arms.
And when he made his way over to you, you looked up and began to cry even more. His lips in a frown as he pulled you up and into his arms.
Your hands formed fists as they began to pound against his chest, but his arms still held you as you threw your little tantrum. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other soothingly running through your hair.
Kaveh watched with a little smile of relief on his face, as he swirled his glass of wine before taking a sip. Well, at least the two of you looked as if you'd be okay.
At least Kaveh didn't have to hear you talk about how much you missed Alhaitham anymore or see how brooding his roommate could actually be.
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Diluc
Once again, he had come home from being the Darknight Hero again, and he just couldn't take it anymore not seeing his lovely partner in bed waiting for him.
Swallowing up his pride, the next day he entered through the tall gates of Mondstadt and made his way over to Cat's Tail ignoring how Diona was by the door and looked as if she wanted to scratch his eyes out.
Entering the establishment, he straightened his clothes as he looked to see a surprised Margret behind the counter with Prince. "Master Diluc, what brings you here? TCG I'm assuming?"
Yelling could be heard as a little crowd was forming around a table and his eyes glanced over, and for some reason he thought he seen some hair that looked familiar.
Cheering was heard all around as he heard a loud 'yes!' being shouted by what he could assume was the winner as everyone parted leaving him speechless.
"Them... I'm here for them," he mumbled as he felt his legs move on his own making long strides over towards you. You were surprised to hear the breathlessness call of your name as you turned and was quickly pulled into his embrace as a kiss was placed on your lips.
Surprised you pulled away as his gloved hands cupped your cheeks, "I'm sorry [Name], i love you so much." His crimson eyes stared down into your that were skeptical of him
The whispers around you made you turn to the crowd that were were watching wide eyed and murmuring. "God damn it Diluc..."
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Kaeya
You and Kaeya were different; like night and day, the sun and the moon, snow and shine. You were bubbly, loving, and were too nice for your own good; he was flirty, sly, and had was around everything.
After you little 'fight' you left your shared home, and returned the next morning after going to Lisa's home and crying to her about what had Kaeya said and did.
Opening the door with your key, you entered your home to see Kaeya asleep on the couch, where he was actually asleep or just faking it you didn't want to stick around to find out.
As quietly as you could, you began to pick up your papers from the floor, Kaeya's words from last night ringing in your ear as you began to fight the tears brimming your eyes.
Little sniffles and hiccups escaped your mouth as you began to gran your papers, looking over at some of the poetry you wrote dedicated to your loving... well, used to be loving boyfriend.
Making a stack of all the papers that were dedicated to the calvary captain you placed them on the table you worked on and picked up the rest that weren't dedicated to him.
"[Name]...?" His head peaked from over the couch as he stood up and walked over to you, only for you to take a few steps back. "What's worng? Why are all your papers on the floor?"
Does he seriously not know? You inhaled sharply, as you went to your shared bedroom, him following behind. "Kaeya... I can't keep doing this. You keep getting drunk and you never remember anything. You seem to lash out on me and I just can't take it anymore!"
His bit his lip as he rubbed the back of his neck and shift his wieght to his other leg, "Come on [Name], I'm sure-" You turned around, and his eye widen at the tears pouring from your eyes.
"No! I don't- I can't," letting out a groan of frustration you wiped your eyes and pushed passed him. "I'll come get my things some other time. Bye Kaeya."
Once again you left him in a cold empty house, and this time, you weren't going to come back to him, in his arms ever again.
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Albedo
Time is such a fleeting thing really, and no one had enough of it. Well, mortals never had enough time, ever.
It started with weeks going by since you last seen Albedo, you felt a bit guilty for how you kicked him out from your home but what he said deeply hurt you. So, with a determined mind and a aching heart you gathered up some supply and got ready for a hike up Dragonspine.
The cold nipped at your nose and cheeks as your boots crunched the snow beneath you with every step you took. No one liked coming to Dragonspine be it commissions, food, or resources. The place was filled with monsters and the Fatui, so it was reasonable.
Hiking up to where Albedo's lab was, it was damn tiering. Pulling your jacket closer to you, there was a loud boom from behind you, which made you turn your head unaware of what was in front of you.
Apparently a Frostarm Lawachurl woke up from it slumber and it locked onto you, before it charges towards you, the loudness made you turn as you were then thrown off the side of the mountain. What a terrible day to forget your wind glider.
And then days passed since you were last heard of, Albedo believed that you were still locked up in your home ignoring him anytime he went by your home.
It wasn't until Aether and Paimon ran up to him a week later, "ALBEDO!" Paimon screamed as the two ran towards him when he was as the alchemy crafting table with Timaeus.
"Traveler, Paimon what-" Paimon was sobbing as she was holding onto Aether as he was trying catch his breath. He held a necklace to the alchemist, who was confused until he looked at the pendent.
Yours, it's yours. His heart dropped as he clutched it into his hand, "[Name]? A-Are they safe?" He looked over to Paimon who was sobbing as she was behind coddles by Aether. "Where are they...?"
"We were in Dragonspine, and there was an avalanche, I fell but I had my wind glider. We looked down to see that there something down by your lab... They were buried underneath the snow... I'm sorry Albedo."
Albedo closed his eyes as he nodded his head as he took your necklace holding it close to his chest. "Thank you... I-I have to go now..."
He never got to apologize to you, now how will he live knowing that his last words to you were hurtful?
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Xiao
The conqueror of demons, the last remaining yaksha, Atalus, and Xiao; he was one by many names, many titles. He didn't necessarily dislike humans, mortals, he just didn't want to get attached only for their life to end abruptly.
His karma debt already affects the monsters around him, and he doesn't need it to affect someone he cares deeply for. So, when push comes to shove, in order to protect the people of Liyue, he is willing to strain his own relationship in order to protect the mortals, even if his love is also a mortal.
I would rather sacrifice you in order to keep the people of Liyue safe, how could anyone you love ever say that to you face? He didn't even look at you when he said those words either, that's what probably made it hurt even more.
Days, weeks, months, and Xiao hasn't heard from you, nor has he seen yo, he would be lying if he said he wasn't worried for you. At night he could barely hear the small whispers of his name from you and he would be by your side in a second.
But when he arrives, you're asleep with your face contorted into one of pain as you toss and turn in bed. With a heavy heart, he sits on the edge of the bed, and leans down pressing a kiss agaisnt your forehead.
This is the last time, I will let you go so you can be with another mortal who pays attention to you. I love you [Name], and before you wake up from your nightmare, he's gone in a wisp of teal and black.
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if anyone wants to be tagged in up coming works of mine just ask <3
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satcrvz · 2 months
Text
CHAPTER SIX: EMOTIONAL SUPPORT DOG
navi
"what do i wear?" you ask holding up two sweatshirts that nearly looked identical.
nobara huffs before responding, "please just pick one, they look the same babe"
"i can't! am i overthinking? i'm definitely overthinking". you decide to go with the sweatshirt you were holding in your right hand. nobara calls out to you from her room, "he's literally seen you at your worst!"
you assume that she's referring to when you first saw him, when you found out that he existed. that wasn't my worst moment i was cute for a girl in pajamas.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
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✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
you and yuuji are almost to your destination, "you know you sounded like rapunzel asking to see the lanterns when you asked me to drive you"
"oh my god shut up i did not" you say in between giggles. he makes the final turn and there you are, yuta's house.
"oh you're just going to drop me off on the curb like i'm a whore" you say while unbuckling your seatbelt.
only his left hand is on the steering wheel and his head turns very slowly to look at you, "you want me to walk you to the door like i'm dropping you off for a playdate?"
"yeah kinda," you pause to open your door and hop out "it'd be rude if you didn't stop and say hi". the minute you heard him sigh, you knew you'd won.
you greeting yuta was a blur, you can't even remember what stupid shit you did because of your nerves. all you remember was a holy shit you muttered when you saw the entry way, to call it nice was an understatement.
currently, you were sitting criss crossed on the floor with yuta to the left of you. "so wait, you have all the games?"
"yeah! you could play the resident evil 4 remake since it's still kind of trending?" he stares at you and there's a short moment of silence before he continues, "only if you want to though, you'll have the controller, not me".
you give him a reassuring smile, "yeah that's fine! beware I am going to die though". he laughs and you swear its the cutest thing you've ever heard "it's okay, i can walk you through it" shutupshutup oh my god i'm going to scream.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
"wait why are they jumping him. just make friends with them duh”
“yn, you have to fight back” the stress was very adamant in his tone. "i can't. i wasn't paying attention when they gave instructions. . ." you glance over to the chat to see a mix of yours and yuta's fans laughing at you.
he reaches over to grab the controller from your hands, but not without "accidentally" ghosting over both of your hands holding the controller.
you watched the screen and took an occasional glance at the stream. you figured you should probably figure out what buttons he's pressing, so you look down at his hands which were actually quite nice. no dirt under them, hang nails, or anything else, it almost made you forget why you looked over at them.
"there", he says while handing the controller back to you. "dude where the fuck did you go?" you'd ended up in a completely different spot from where you initially were. "hey, i put you on the right path. you ran like, too far from where you were actually supposed to be"
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
"okay guys! i think that's it for today my back is starting to hurt, and i'm sick of someone criticizing me" you're staring directly at the chat while you say this.
"i wasn't criticizing! i mean i was, but it was helpful" he continues, "this is our first time hanging out and you're already trying to get rid of me"
"whatever. anyways bye guys!" you say while ending the stream. you bring both hands up and behind your head to stretch
"i'm hungry, i think i'm going to text yuuji to come get me"
"you don't have to, i can take you back and stop and get something, if thats okay with you?"
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teehee... do we like?
my brain was cooking but my fingers were not. do y'all fw ihop? i might make ihop the stop.
didn’t proofread this 😭
tags: @saesofficialwife @k4romis @soy-garbage @sakyira @dreamxiing @swissy23 @shnzies @captaincyberqueen @fantasycantasy @chuyasthighs0 @mixzimi @milza12 @nahoye @spookyrule @4phskingdom @sad-darksoul @morgyyyyyy @smashingdollz @bubbles-the-ghost @lunavixia @gaychaosgremlin @jayathelostdragon
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macsimagines · 6 months
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Hello again dearest! I hope you’ve been doing well and that life has been treating you kindly ♡
With my second and third Uni midterms looming over me, I would like to request Yan! Izana, Ran, & Shin with a foreign darling~ One who is an international university student in Japan on a student visa
And if it’s not too long, I’d like a follow up of their darling taking them to visit their home country for the holidays since the Yan’s can’t bear to be apart from their darling especially when they would be overseas alone without them ♡♡
I've actually had foreign japanese students at my old school and uni though we weren't' close wish i couldve interacted more and maybe learned something from them hah
TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI, BABY TRAPPING, SCUM BAG BEHAVIOR
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Yandere! Izana Kurokawa
He was attracted to you right away, not even romantically or physically, just having been of mixed decent and then seeing someone who might relate to his own experiences interested him.
Became very romantically interested after a few interactions however, you had such a fresh perspective as a foreigner and some of the things he's had to live through seemed to resonate with you.
"Your step-mom was straightup evil. No kid should have to go through that, and I hope your kingdom is as beautiful as you make it out to be."
Hooked for life right away. And also distraught at the thought of you leaving, would constantly try to convince you to get a citizenship and just live here forever with him.
"Why even go back if I'm here?" Is one thousand percent serious, you've become such a huge part of his entire being so it must be the same for you right?
When you convince him to come with you on holiday home to meet your family though, something changes. You don't have to stay in Japan, you just have to stay with him.
As long as you're together than everything will work out. It wasn't like you could so much as leave his place without him being glued to your hip, good luck getting out of the country without him tagging along.
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Yandere! Ran Haitani
He is sooo enamored by you. Fetishizing people because of their race is so goddamn gross but the fact that you're foreign definitely is what attracts him to you to begin with.
Ran is so toxic with it to. Calls you exotic like its some kind of compliment, tells you you're accent is soooo cute when you're doing your best to sound natural, makes fun of you for every mispronunciation.
But you don't know anyone in Japan and he's 6'1 so you put up with it. He's just so tall and pretty and he knows all the best spots in roppongi so of course you choose to suck it up.
Afterall, its not like it's forever. He's just your heavy and hot fling that you can go home and brag to your friends about, right? Wrong. He's sprung bitch and you're stuck with him.
"Hey, when are we going to your neck of the woods for this holiday?" "...We?" "Ya, I gotta pack and get my ticket soon, right?"
Hope you're ready to disappoint your folks now that you're bringing home this freak show. Don't forget his dream is to become a foreign celebrity so he wants to experience it all when he visits with you.
"Man, this trip is so much fun. I can't wait for next year."
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Yandere!Shinichiro Sano
Worships you. He can't spit game for shit, but thankfully you don't understand him too well to begin with. It's a match made in heaven!
He doesn't make fun of you when you get your words wrong or fumble a sentence, but he does think its so cute. Shinichiro doesn't try to infantilize you but it does come off like that.
God the fact that you want him and you stick with him even though he's such a dork makes him love you so much, he doesn't even think he deserves you.
Hates it when you go home the first time. He can't even talk to you on the phone because of service issues, and trust me this dude was ready to take out loans for collect call just to hear your voice.
Bombards you with all kinds of questions like "Who did you see? Who were you with? Are you going back!?"
So my big headcanon is that he's a baby trapper. So when you talk about going next season he's already trying to figure out how knock you up.
Ends up fucking you with busted condoms (he poked holes) a few weeks before your trip because he needed to give you a VERY good reason to come back.
Just tells you "It's cause I'm going to miss you so much baby, I gotta get as much of you as I can. :)"
You end up surprising him with a ticket for him to come with you. He honestly could cry tears of joy, but he'll save it for when you discover his own little surprise.
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redlittlefoxari · 3 months
Text
Astarion Epilogue An Adventure in Making Life: Chapter Nine: Secrets Don’t Make Friends
Relationship: Astarion X Tav
Warnings: NSFW 18+, smut, blood, violence, sex, blood drinking, pregnancy.
Summary: Karlach barges in on Tav while she's about ready to come down for dinner. Spotting a Fully naked, and pregnant Tav.
Master List
People who wished to be tagged: @ofmyth-andmagicart @lunaredgrave
If you want to be tagged in future updates send me a message
12 weeks pregnant
Karlach’s eyes moved from your small baby bump to your face and back to the bump. There were so many emotions on her face, warring for control, the most prominent ones being hurt, confusion, anger, and happiness. They all tore across her face, and seeing her in this state broke your heart.
“What the fuck is going on.” Karlach walked further into the room, raising her voice as she did. “I thought you said that it was hard for elves to get pregnant? All that on the road earlier, and here you are, Pregnant.”
You quickly picked up a towel to cover yourself. “Keep it down.” You hushed her. “I know this looks bad, but let me explain.”
“Keep it down? Keep it down!?” You hushed her again. “You better get to explaining why didn’t you tell us? Does Astarion even know?”
“Oh, he knows…” You walked over to the bed where your clothes were laid out and sat down.
“So what, the two of you decided to have a child and found a sperm donor or something?” She waited for you to reply.
“No, it’s his child one hundred percent. Long story short, if a vampire has had enough blood and is sated, they can produce children.” You placed your hand on your stomach. “And if everything alines with elves, we can produce children, so one night about twelve weeks ago, Astarion had enough blood, and an elven soul was looking to be reincarnated. So now I am pregnant with a half-vampire baby.”
Karlach’s jaw hung open in surprise. “So why didn’t you tell us? That's amazing; we should be celebrating!”
Karlach closed the distance between the two of you, taking a seat on the bed next to you. She was a good foot and a half taller than you, so her tower form loomed over you a bit as she waited to hear why you and Astarion felt the need to keep this from them.
“I was scared.” You looked down at the floor. “Elven pregnancies are already high risk. and you mix that was a Vampire where we don’t have a whole lot of information… I don’t know.”
“But you're okay now… aren’t you? You’re so far along now; wouldn’t it be okay to tell us.” Her voice was low, an attribute that you didn’t see often in her.
“I don’t know. I’m still scared something could go wrong.” You could feel tears in your eyes starting to form. “What if I tell you all, Put it out into the universe, and something bad happens… what if I lose them and have to tell you all that they're gone…. I have to go through the loss of telling you over and over again.”
There it was, the fear that you kept to yourself. Not even Astarion knew why you were so adamant about keeping it a secret till you hit fourteen weeks. You just kept telling him you didn’t want to overshadow Gale’s celebration, but the truth was you feared that once you celebrated with friends, some cruel god would take the baby away from you.
You remember stories your mother had told you growing up that she herself had suffered three miscarriages until she finally conceived you. She had kept you secret until she couldn’t anymore, and that was well into her second trimester. It was just something that elves feared since it was a rare gift to have children, and most elves never got the chance to experience it. With the added factor of the baby being Astarion’s, your fears skyrocketed.
“Hey.” Karlach placed her hand on yours; it was warm, whereas yours was cold, the water on your skin making it hard to get warm.
You looked up at Karlach, her smile reaching her eyes, which also had tears in them.
“If any god even thinks of doing that, I’ll go to whatever plane they're on and kill them myself.” You let out a small laugh at her declaration. “I get why you did it… Gods, so when that arrow hit you… the two of your reactions make sense now.”
“We were terrified that we lost them…” The thought sent a jolt of fear to your heart. “I don’t know what I would have done if Astarion didn’t hear the heartbeat.”
“The little guy has a heartbeat…” Karlach stared at you in wonder. “Gods, that’s amazing…. You're amazing. May I?”
She gestured to your stomach, and you nodded. Her warm hand slipped beneath the towel to touch the swell of your bare belly. She wouldn’t feel anything, nor would Karlach be able to hear the heartbeat, but it felt nice having her be a part of the secret and her support. It also didn’t hurt that you were freezing, and she was nice and warm.
“You won’t be able to feel them kicking for a while, not till the third trimester.” You smiled at Karlach’s wonder.
“I just can’t believe that there is a child growing in there. What do you suppose it’s going to be? Boy or Girl?”
“I’m not sure. There is no way to tell short of asking a divination wizard, but I don’t want to know… I like to be surprised.” The thought of a boy scared you, though. You knew nothing about being a boy, and the idea of Astarion teaching them all his ways of being mischievous was scary.
“They are going to be beautiful judging by who their parents are.” Karlach pulled her hand away. “I understand why you kept this a secret, but why not tell us now? We’ll all help you keep this little one safe. Auntie K will be its number one bodyguard.” Karlach puffed out her chest.
“You are right, I suppose I should let you all in on the secret now since you know.” You reached for the white dress that would show off your bump and hesitated.
“I know you’re scared, but you got this. Astarion would never let anything happen to you or the baby.”
“I know. I just don’t want to mess anything up… He hasn’t really had a family. At least not one that he remembers.” You grab the fabric and bunch it up on your lap. “He doesn’t remember his mother and father. the family Cazador made was not even close to something that resembled a family; he just beat them and used them as slaves.” The thought burned white hot in your mind as you thought about everything that monster put him through.
“But now he has you.” Karlach’s voice was comforting. “And the baby.”
“And if something happens and I lose the baby, It’s like I’m taking another thing away from him.”
“You wouldn’t be taking anything away from me.” Astarion said in a quiet tone.
The two of you jumped as you turned to see Asatrion at the door, leaning on the door frame. He pushed off of the frame using his shoulder and entered the room, stopping just a few feet from where you and Karlach were seated on the bed.
“Karlach, would you give me and my fiancee some privacy? I need to remind her of something important.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke.
“Fiancee?” She looked at you.
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that part too… sorry.” You didn’t look away from Astarion.
“We’ll you told me most of it.” She stood up and walked past Asatrion, reaching the door and pausing. “I won’t tell anyone… that’s for you to decide when and where you want to do so.”
She shot you one last smile and walked out, closing the door behind her as she did. The two of you stared at each other for several moments. You spoke first, not wanting to be in silence any longer.
“Were you listening the whole time?”
“Yes, When I noticed Karlach was gone, I hurried up her to get her before she got to you, but I was a few minutes too late.” He took a seat next to you. “Now, what is this about you keeping the baby a secret because you don’t want to take another family away from me?”
“It’s more than just that. So many things can go wrong, and if they do, I’ll be responsible for taking another family from you.” You spoke, and Astarion laughed. “How's that funny?”
“Because that is a silly thing to think and say, my love.” He cupped your face with his hands. “Karlach was right. I would not let that happen.”
“You can’t know that We attract bad. luck everywhere we go, pretty much. You’ve already lost so much of the family before you were a Vampire… the one when you were.”
“That one wasn’t a family. Cazador made us to be his slaves to make a small man feel big.” He scoffed. “The rats and bugs that often crawled around me were more family than he ever was. As for my family, before I was a vampire, I don’t remember them, so I have no comment on how they treated me.” He kissed your lips gently. “You and our child growing inside of you are my family, and there is nothing anyone will do to take that away from me. I would rip whoever apart if they tried.”
“So you think we should just tell everyone?”
“I think it is time to stop being so scared, darling, and start living; you are not your mother and are far past the point of losing this child. For gods sake, you got shot in the stomach, and our child shrugged it off like it was nothing. They are far stronger than you give them credit for.”
His statement makes you laugh. “You are right; they are. Just like their father.”
“Don’t forget their mother, too. How many arrows have I pulled out of you these past fifty years? Probably hundreds. The sacred tissue alone was probably enough to keep our child safe.” The two of you laughed lightly.
“What if we lose them?”
“Darling, it was a miracle that we conceived this baby, to begin with, so there must be a god out there that wants us to grace this realm with our beautiful child.” He kissed between your brows.
“I didn’t think of that…” You were beginning to feel foolish. Pregnancy brain, along with the fears your mother placed in you all those years ago, probably didn’t help you think clearly. “Next time, just hit me over the head when I’m not thinking clearly. “
“Will do, but it’s not entirely your fault. The standard practice for elves to keep this sort of thing a secret is kinda hammered into you.” He stood up and walked over to his bag. “Now, if we announce that we are going to be parents, I want to be a little more dressed up than this.” He gestured to what he was wearing. A white flowy shirt and standard black pants he always wore.
Asatrion reached into his bag and pulled out a red embroidered top. Gold was sewn into the top in a pattern that looked like dragons fighting amongst fire. It was gody and over the top and something that screamed for others' attention.
“Do you have anything else?” You also stood, dropping the towel from around you, and stepped into the white dress you were holding.
“What’s wrong with this?” He looked offended.
“It makes you look less like soon-to-be father and more like douchy Vampire lord.” You turned towards him, doing a twirl. “Something subtle like this, maybe?”
“Fine, I’ll wear my dark blue doublet.” He put the gody monstrosity back and pulled out a blue doublet with gold stars sewn into the fabric. He put the doublet on and huffed at you. “Happy?”
“Very.” You wove your arm into his so that the crook of your elbow was touching his. “Now, let's go; our child is telling me it's time to eat, and we don’t want to keep them waiting.”
“Of course not, the others certainly, but not our child.” Asatrion said as he smiled down at you.
The dress put you on full display. Your once smaller breasts were accented by a low neckline that plunged down past the bottom of your breasts. The fabric was smooth over your belly and showed the bump of where your child sat in the safety of your stomach. And a long slit just the length of your dress where you could feel the coolness of the tower.
“I’m never wearing pants again.” You said, reveling in how you felt free and not constricted by any waistband.
“And I told you that I’m fine with that it makes it easier to have you whenever I would like; all I would need to do is bend you over and pull up your skirts.” Asatrion leaned down and bit your ear.
You shuddered. “I don’t think we have time to test that… Our baby needs substance.”
“Of course, But after we are fed, I’m going to eat you alive.” He growled his statement into your ear.
A wave of heat went through you. Astarion kindling your arousal. “We better eat fast than.”
You began moving to the dining hall. Each step becomes more complicated than the last. You fought with every fiber of your being to go towards the Dining hall wearing this dress. To tell your friends that secret that the two of you had been keeping all this time. The questions that they would surely ask. You stood at the door and hesitated.
“Are you ready?” Astarion looked at you, eyebrows raised.
“I will be once my heart stops beating so damn fast.” You took a few steading breaths and then nodded to him to open the door.
Astarion flung the door open wide, and you watched as everyone stopped their conversations to look at the two of you. From where everyone was sitting, they would not be able to see the bump that was protruding out from your dress. You watched as Karlach was practically buzzing next to Wyll in excitement. She really was trying her hardest not to let your secret out.
The two of you walked forward toward your friends slowly, fear still gripping your heart. Astarion reached with his other hand and patted your arm. “Everything will be fine.”
“What took the two of you so long?” Gale sounded annoyed as he stood from where he was sitting. “I thought when Karlach went up to get you, you would come down, but then she came down and has been acting like that every since.”
You looked towards her to find that she had a hand placed over her lips and looked like she was going to explode.
“I’m sorry, Gale, it’s my fault. I was having some personal issues I needed to work through.” You had reached the head of the table where your friends were sitting.
You unlaced your arm from Astarion’s and made it easier for everyone to see your baby bump. The whole table stared in shock as Astarion pulled out your chair so that you could sit down. You took your seat. and the table was still silent as Astarion also took his next to you.
Astarion looked around at everyone’s faces. “Well, go on, one of you say something. It’s almost as if you’ve never seen an elf pregnant with a Vampire’s child before.” Astarion grabbed a wine glass and took a long sip as the table erupted with questions.
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grandmother-goblin · 1 month
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Apotheosis - Chapter 1
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Ao3 - Masterlist
Summary: Halsin didn’t know what he had done wrong. One day, everything was fine between him and Zilvira, but then she suddenly started to avoid him all together. So Halsin decided to follow her to Sharess' Caress in hopes of getting a chance to set things right.
Relationships: Halsin x Female!Tav
Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.
Word Count: 4.3k
Chapter Tags: Mentions of past trauma, fantasy prejudices, non-consensual drug use (not between the main characters), drow!Tav.
Notes: A big, huge, thank you to @brabblesblog for beta-reading!
It was only a week ago that Halsin was convinced that Zilvira was interested in him.
There hadn’t been a single shadow of doubt in his mind. In fact, it would have been difficult for him to believe she wasn’t interested in him. That knowledge wasn’t just ego or vanity talking: it was years of experience. 
Zilvira had never said anything outright, but she was far from subtle.
It was in the way her curious, intelligent eyes watched his lips when he spoke. It was the way she always lingered in his tent for a moment after their late night conversations, as if waiting — hoping — for him to initiate something. There was the way she messed with her hair when she saw him approach, the way her fingers ‘accidentally’ brushed against his when they walked side by side, the way she smiled up at him with her cherry red lips, the way they could talk for hours…
It had been a long time since Halsin had treasured someone’s company as much as he did Zilvira’s. 
When he was with her, the weight of his responsibilities sometimes felt light enough that he could forget about them entirely. His failures as Archdruid, everything that happened with Kahn’s, the Shadow Curse… Zilvira had a way of pushing them all to the back of his mind.
If only for a moment, Halsin could pretend that his only concerns were for himself, for her, and for the nature that enveloped them.
With her, he could just be Halsin.
Not an Archdruid. Not a leader. Just Halsin.
And it wasn’t until he met Zilvira that he realized just how long it had been since he felt like he could be himself. Truly himself — without putting on any sort of mask of stoicism and authority expected of druidic leadership.
So when Zilvira suddenly stopped speaking to him, it felt like a part of himself went silent as well.
Their once long, easy, conversations turned monosyllabic, overly polite, and professional. Like she thought they were simply business partners rather than a friend he had grown to cherish. All the warmth that had once emanated from her had become an impenetrable wall of ice — but one that only formed to keep him out.
And he hadn’t the faintest idea why. 
Lanterns illuminated the main street of Wyrm’s Crossing with a warm, orange glow that dulled the silvery light of the moon. The distinct aroma of fried food mixed with the salty sea air. Crowds of people gathered around food carts and outside of taverns, chattering away one another like there weren’t hundreds of refugees waiting to get into the city just a few minutes away. 
Like there weren’t metal monstrosities looming around every corner, watching their every move.
Cities had always made Halsin a bit uncomfortable, but he couldn’t remember the last time one made him feel so unsafe. Between the Bhaalists, the Banites, the Absolute, the Steel Watch, and the Guild, his disquiet was hardly unfounded. 
People stopped to stare at him as he passed through the crowded thoroughfare. Perhaps it was because of his druidic attire — completely standard in the grove to wear soft leathers adorned with nature, but out of place in the city. Or, more likely, they simply stared because of his stature.
He heard some whispers as he passed by. ‘Is that the bear man?’ and ‘I heard there was a giant elf in the city, but gods damn he’s huge!’ 
Nothing he was unaccustomed to hearing. There were certainly worse things he could be semi-famous for, that was for certain. 
Whatever people thought about him did not matter nearly as much as finding Zilvira. Their comments went in one ear and out the other. 
From what Karlach had told him, Zilvira had gone back to Sharess’ Caress; a bar and brothel they had stopped in a few days ago on official business. Apparently, Zilvira was hoping to find Inspector Valeria somewhere in the establishment — probably polishing off a bottle of wine. Last time Zilvira had spoken to Inspector Valeria, the hollyphant had demanded she needed to find more convincing evidence if she wanted to exonerate a tiefling refugee of murdering Father Lorgan.
And Zilvira had done just that. 
Halsin had been under the impression that she’d wait until morning to turn in her findings. Or at least until normal working hours. But when it came to protecting the innocent, Zilvira had never been the patient sort.
Although Zilvira would not have expected him to follow, Halsin wasn’t sure when he would get another chance to catch her alone. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to walk back to camp with him. Then maybe they could finally have a conversation about… 
Well, whatever it was that had gone wrong between them.
Whenever Halsin thought back on the past interactions with her, he couldn’t pinpoint a single thing that would have triggered her change in behavior. At least, nothing that made sense.
One morning, she was fine. He remembered how she smiled up at him as she poured him a cup of tea — a ritual they had shared for weeks. How she asked him about Oliver and Thaniel, saying that she missed them already. How her eyes followed a fuzzy bumblebee as she sipped her tea, oblivious to how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
It was that morning that Halsin had decided he wanted something more than friendship with her.
But he never got the chance to say something, because by that afternoon she could hardly even look at him.
And the following morning, she had found an excuse to have her tea alone.
A subtle ache gripped his chest when he recalled the moment of rejection. Of course, he tried to ask what was bothering her, but she just gave him a watery smile and said everything was fine.
That was two days ago.
He needed to figure out what was going on with her. Not just for his own sake, but for the sake of everyone else they traveled with. He had made a promise to help with her tadpole, a promise he intended to fulfill, but… did she even still want his help at all?
The bond he felt between them was undeniable, and it. was something he cherished. Besides Thaniel, Zilvira was one of the few people he could truly count as a friend. 
If she was pushing him away after everything they had been through together, there had to be a reason why.
Although several people lingered outside of Sharess’ Caress, there fortunately wasn’t a line to get in. If there had been, he probably would have waited outside since he wasn’t there for any of the services the place offered. Under different circumstances, he might partake in some of the indulgences. 
It had been a long, long time since he had done such a thing.
Tobacco smoke mixed with a myriad of sweetly sour aromas of perfumes and ale, barely masking the scent of too many bodies packed into the establishment. Though the outside air had been pleasantly warm — nice enough that he could wear his sleeveless leathers — inside it turned thick, humid, and almost oppressive. The door had barely closed behind him before he felt sweat beginning to coat his skin.
Halsin glanced around the taproom, hoping that he would be lucky enough to spot Zilvira right away. If she was in the room, she would stick out like a white swan among common mallards. It was difficult not to notice her. 
At least, it was difficult for him not to notice.
“Well, well,” a sultry, feminine voice came from somewhere to his left. The owner of Sharess’ Caress, in her spot behind the reception counter. Mamzell Amira, if he remembered correctly — the woman who hardly cared at all when Zilvira informed her that one of her employees had been brutally murdered simply because it affected her earnings. “I was hoping to see you again, handsome.”
Halsin did not quite share her sentiment, but he gave her a tight smile in greeting. 
It wasn't completely her fault. Cities had a way of turning even the kindest hearts callous — it was often the only way people could survive.
The Mamzell leaned across the counter in a way that put her cleavage on full display. “I’ve loved plenty of elves back in my day, but none of your — ” her eyes roamed up and down his body, pausing at his chest, biceps, and a little lower than what was polite “ — physique.”
Part of him wanted to roll his eyes at her flirtations. It was just an act as part of her business, so he knew not to take the comment too personally. But still, it was tiring to hear variations of the same observations from everyone.
When he thought about it, he realized Zilvira never made any sort of comments regarding his size. She never made him feel odd for being larger than the average elf. At the very worst, she occasionally asked for his help retrieving something that she was too short to reach. But nothing beyond that.
“You look like a man who has seen a great many things,” Mamzell Amira continued as she rested her chin in her hands, “but I’m certain Sharess’ Caress can show you a great many more. I’m sure we have something that would interest someone of your experience.”
“Perhaps another time,” Halsin replied diplomatically. “I’m actually here looking for someone. A young drow woman with white hair, cut about chin-length, and lips red like cherries.”
“‘Lips red like cherries,’” she echoed as the corner of her mouth tugged into a teasing smirk. “You sound smitten, you poor thing.”
Maybe Mamzell Amira had a point, but it was an accurate description. Halsin never once saw Zilvira without her bright red lipstick — she jokingly called it her ‘war paint’. Sometimes, he found himself wondering how often she had to reapply it. Or if it would come off when she kissed— 
Halsin pushed the thought aside. Focus. No point in thinking about Zilvira’s lips when she wouldn’t even use them to speak to him. 
Mamzell Amira tapped her finger to her cheek as if in thought. “You know, I’m not supposed to answer questions like that. Customer confidentiality and all of that. But since you helped me out before….” She cocked her chin toward the curtained area behind her and gave him a wink. “If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”
Halsin inclined his head toward her gratefully, tension draining from his muscles with the knowledge that Zilvira was here. He could finally talk with her.
Heart fluttering in his chest, Halsin made his way toward the back room.
***
Wine wasn’t helping.
Resting her elbows on the sticky, wooden table she had been sitting at for the last hour, Zilvira ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled slowly. She had hoped that the alcohol in her system and a topless tiefling gyrating to music on a stage not ten feet away would have been enough of a distraction. 
It should have been enough of a distraction, considering she had never been someplace like Sharess’ Caress until a few days ago. But as excited as she was to experience all that the city had to offer, her mind kept drifting back to Halsin.
Zilvira took another sip of her wine. She couldn’t avoid him forever, nor did she want to, it was just that — How the hells was she supposed to pretend everything was normal after what he had said?
Gods, she felt like such an idiot. 
She had thought they had a connection. A real connection. She had thought it was mutual. There was always a softness to his eyes that made her want to melt, the gentleness of his words, the comfort of his presence.
He made her feel safe, and she thought at the very least she might provide the same comfort to him.
But she had been mistaken.
Zilvira pushed her wine goblet toward the edge of the table, not wanting to take another drink but needing something to do with her hands other than pull her hair out. It was only her second drink, and she was just starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. 
Normally, she didn’t resort to drinking when she had a problem. She liked to face things head on but….
She didn’t know what to do. 
She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Truly, she hadn’t. Hells, she wished she hadn’t, because then she would be having tea with Halsin under a canopy of stars rather than cheap wine in a dingy taproom.
Ignorance was rarely her friend, but Zilvira longed for it at that moment. 
It wasn’t like she could just pretend she hadn’t overheard the tail end of Halsin’s conversation with Shadowheart. And it wasn’t like she could bring up what she had heard to him without admitting that she had inadvertently listened in on a private discussion. She shouldn’t hold something Halsin said against him if his words were never meant for her ears.
Though, she wished she had learned that he had some history with drow another way. 
A long and unpleasant history.
From the bit of the conversation she had heard, Halsin apparently had been a captive of a drow noble house for a few years. He said that seeing the drow twins at the brothel had reminded him of his ‘misspent youth’ — that drow seemed to be as much of a novelty on the surface as he had been  in the Underdark.
Based upon her limited knowledge of the drow in the Underdark, it was all too easy to parse Halsin’s words.
No matter how Halsin tried to play off his years of captivity as if it was nothing but the mistake of a young druid, there was some resentment to his tone. 
From the sound of it, whatever wound the drow had inflicted upon him seemed to still be a scab. Not quite a scar.
When that scab healed, there was no way of knowing how bad the scar would be beneath. Raised and angry, a light indentation, or just a faint discoloration one could only spot in the right light.
Zilvira’s first instinct had been to express her sympathies and offer an ear to listen. If the conversation had ended there, she might have done just that. 
But then he said a few words, words that sounded so light and easy in that deep timbre of his, that struck her like a sharp blade to the heart.
“I count myself lucky that I made it out of the Underdark alive,” Halsin had said matter-of-factly. “Cruelty comes to Lolth’s followers as easily as breathing. It’s part of a drow’s nature.”
“Surely that statement doesn’t include Zilvira?” Shadowheart had replied with a playful edge to her tone. Like she already knew the answer had to be some variation of ‘Of course not!’
“She’s a drow, is she not?” Halsin had said instead, without a moment of hesitation or a hint of humor. 
Zilvira had expected to hear a follow up. Something to indicate that Halsin didn’t think of her as cruel. 
But no. 
He left it at that.
Zilvira closed her eyes and willed the hurt and confusion of the memory away. 
The monks had warned her that the world outside of the monastery would treat her differently — that most people would be wary toward her because of her ancestry. It was part of the reason Zilvira had rarely ventured far from that hidden grove where the Eldathian monks had raised her. 
She knew why the surface world was wary of drow, but she thought that if people would just give her a chance they would —
Zilvira startled when the table jostled beneath her. Quickly, she grabbed the edge of the table to try to hold it steady before it toppled over and she could only watch as her goblet of wine teetered off the edge. 
A lightning quick hand snatched the goblet before it crashed to the floor. “Whoa!” a man exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to bump into you there.”
With his hand poised over the mouth of the goblet, he set the wine safely in the center of the table. “That could have been bad,” he said with an adorable laugh that immediately drew Zilvira’s attention to his face.
He was a young man. Neatly trimmed blonde hair, clear skin, bright eyes, and dressed in a Flaming Fist uniform. He gave her an easy smile as his eyes met hers.
Zilvira cleared her throat and averted her gaze, hoping the young man didn’t notice the dampness in her eyes. It was one thing to cry over Halsin alone, but she didn’t want to do it in front of a stranger.
“Good catch.” She picked up the goblet of wine and brought it to her lips. There wasn’t much left, and she swallowed the remainder of the dry red along with her impending tears. She set the empty goblet on the table with a little laugh, “Can’t spill it if it’s empty.”
The blond man rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a sheepish smile. “Can I get you another one?”
Zilvira shook her head. “No, thank you,” she replied amicably, though she was flattered by the offer. “I think I’ve had enough for one evening.”
“Are you leaving?” he asked, his brows raised as a small pout grew on his lips. Then he cleared his throat. “I saw you across the room and — well, I was hoping to have a drink with you. You’re really stunning and I would never have forgiven myself if I didn’t at least say ‘hello.’”
Her cheeks heated at the compliment, and Zilvira pushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. The blond man wasn’t really her type, but he wasn’t unattractive by any means.
Maybe a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. Talking to a friendly stranger seemed preferable to drinking alone. Besides, maybe the young man could help her keep her mind off of Halsin. Even if it was only for a few moments.
“I’m not leaving just yet,” Zilvira said and nodded to the empty seat across from her. “What’s your name?”
The man beamed at her as he told her his name: Jack. He pulled the chair around the table so he could sit closer to her, crowding her personal space in a way that seemed more over-friendly than overbearing.
Jack, Zilvira quickly learned, was the type of person who was extremely easy to talk to. He had a boyish charm about him — a playful innocence in his eyes and a smile that probably got him out of all sorts of trouble. More than that, he seemed very polite. 
Sweet, even.
Conversation came easy to them. Even with all the people crowding the room, Jack only had his eyes on her as he hung on her every word. Like she was the most interesting woman he had ever had the privilege of speaking to.
Yet a few minutes into the conversation, a sense of uneasiness came over her. It almost felt like she had had too much to drink, but… she didn’t have that much to drink. Did she?
She looked at her empty goblet, but found that her eyes were unable to focus on it. It doubled, then her vision went dark for a moment, only for it to come back a second later.
Zilvira sat back in her seat, trying to hold her head high in an attempt to look sober as Jack continued to talk. It was strange. She never had a problem holding her drink before, but something didn’t feel quite right.
Perhaps there had been a drink mix up and her wine was stronger than she had realized. 
A warm hand rested gently on her forearm, a featherlight touch that felt oddly comforting. She wanted to lean into it. 
“Hey, are you okay?” Jack asked, his brow furrowed with something like concern. Although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, something about his expression seemed off.
Or, perhaps, it was just another side effect of the alcohol. 
Shaking her head, Zilvira attempted to stand. The room blurred as she got to her feet, like she had been spinning around in circles, and she quickly sat back down. 
“I think I had too much to drink,” she said, her voice echoing in her own ears. “I should probably get some water.”
Yeah, that was probably it. A little bit of water and she would be feeling better in no time.
“Here, let me help you up,” Jack said and wrapped his arm around her, providing her some support as she tried to stand again.
The corners of her vision darkened, but it wasn’t as bad as standing up on her own. She leaned against Jack’s chest, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of his cologne.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. “I don’t normally get like this.”
Jack laughed good-naturedly. “Don’t worry. It happens all the time around here. You’ll get no judgment from me.”
Even with his assistance, it felt like she was walking underwater with every step. Almost as if she could just tap her foot and float away. 
Zilvira blinked hard as if it would make the room stop spinning. “I should probably get back to my camp.”
“In this condition?” Jack asked incredulously as he walked her toward the curtain that led to the main tap room. “You should probably lie down and drink some water. I have a room here. I’m happy to let you stay until you sober up a bit.”
Laying down sounded nice.
It sounded really, really, nice.
Amidst the blackness and spinning of her vision and the volume of the music surrounding them, Zilvira almost didn’t notice the alarm bells ringing in her subconscious.
Something was wrong but… she couldn’t quite place what it was.
Each one of Zilvira’s steps felt huge, like she was trying to step over a puddle. She glanced down at her feet, but her steps seemed normal. At least, from what she could tell. She was at least keeping pace with Jack, so hopefully she wasn’t walking like an utter lunatic in public. 
Being drunk was embarrassing enough as it was.
Jack stopped suddenly, pulling her to a halt alongside him. “Oh, excuse me, sir,” she heard him say. “Sorry, my girl had a bit too much to drink. If I could just get by you —”
His girl? Wait —
“Your girl?” An all too familiar voice echoed in her thoughts, drawing her attention away from her feet.
Halsin.
Even if her eyes couldn’t focus, she would know that voice anywhere. When the black spots cleared from her vision, she saw Halsin standing before them with a deep furrow to his brow. 
Gods, why did it have to be Halsin of all people? What the hells was she supposed to say to him?
“Funny you say that,” Halsin continued, his expression like a brewing storm cloud. “Because I’ve been traveling with Zilvira for weeks and I know this is her first time in the city.”
Jack’s hand tightened around her upper arm, making her wince. “It was just an expression, big guy,” he replied coolly. “We were just getting to know each other and — ”
“ — She is in no state to be in a place like this with a stranger.” Halsin crossed his arms over his chest and took a single step closer, forcing Jack to tilt his head back to look up at him. “I’m her friend. I’ll take care of her from here.”
Jack’s hand was like a manacle on her bicep, but it was probably the only thing keeping her standing upright. 
“Listen, you creep,” he said, his voice loud and projecting as he rammed a finger at Halsin’s chest. “We don’t know you, so leave us alone and find someone else to bother.”
Zilvira could barely keep track of the conversation. Her thoughts were like clouds that drifted through her mind, slipping through her fingers every time she tried to catch one. 
But Halsin was right — she knew that much.
She weakly tried to extract herself from Jack’s grip, but felt herself losing her balance. She latched onto his Flaming Fist uniform to keep herself from falling face first onto the floor. 
“He’s my friend,” she muttered as she leaned heavily on Jack. “I should go back with him.”
For a moment, Zilvira wondered if she said anything at all or just thought of saying something. Gods, what was wrong with her head? She hadn’t been this drunk — well, she had never been this drunk.
Adjusting his grip on her arm, Jack pulled her tight against his side. Then when he spoke again, it was with a firm, authoritative, voice that carried over the music. “She just said she doesn’t know you. Stop trying to harass her.”
Zilvira could feel eyes on her and… she realized she didn’t care. Normally she would have been mortified to be the center of attention in such a way, but at that moment she just wanted to lay down and get away from all the noise.
A gentle warmth brushed against her fingers, and she glanced down to see a large, suntanned hand littered with whittling scars held out toward her.
Halsin’s. 
“We should get going,” he said to her, ignoring Jack entirely. “I’ll walk you back to camp.”
“Don’t touch her.” Jack shoved Halsin’s chest with his free hand, jostling her with the movement.
With feline-like reflexes, Halsin grasped Jack’s wrist. “Last warning,” he said, his voice low and his expression thunderous. “Let Zilvira go. Now.”
The next thing she knew, that hand holding her upright had vanished and she heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh as she crumpled to the ground.
Then she heard a roar.
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hier--soir · 11 months
Text
under the night | six
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pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] language, being held captive, angst, serious violence, torture, injury, blood, discussions of murder, threat of sexual assault [DOES NOT HAPPEN], very brief discussion of religion/the bible, idk if you think i missed anything please let me know word count: 6k part five | series masterlist | main masterlist
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Clink, clink.
Maria was drinking a cup of earl grey tea. The bergamot has a calming effect, she’d said, would you like a cup? Her spoon swirled in the teacup, bumping against the china every so often as she mixed in a sugar cube. The cup was pretty, a cream colour with pale pink gerbera flowers painted along the porcelain. Clink, clink; the spoon knocked the side of it again, the woman still unsatisfied by the granules of sugar visible in the dark liquid. It was the only sound in the room, bar the soft pattering of rain on the roof, as the four of them sat silently around Maria and Tommy’s dinner table.
Joel huffed in frustration as she finally lifted the spoon from the liquid and placed it gingerly on the saucer, before raising the cup to her mouth and taking her first sip. She sighed happily, relaxing in her chair as she savoured the taste.
“Okay,” she murmured, looking around the table.
“Oh, we can talk now?” Joel snapped, his exhaustion getting the better of him. “You’ve got your fuckin’ tea and now you’re ready?”
“Joel,” Tommy warned his brother quietly. “We’re all on the same side here.”
“Well, she could’ve fuckin’ fooled me,” he said spitefully in the woman’s direction. “It’s been days, and you haven’t ordered any searches, haven’t questioned anyone.”
Maria raised her hand to stop him, “It’s a delicate situation.”
“No, Joel’s right,” Cal spoke up. The bags under his eyes were heavy, hair greasy and slicked back off his forehead; the appearance of a man who hadn’t slept in days. “You run things here, and I always thought you did a damn good job of it too. But she’s gone missing, and you’re just sitting back and waiting? For what?” 
“Things are returning to normal here,” she said lowly. “People are calming down, and I don’t want to raise any alarm bells if I don’t need to.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Joel all but snarled.
“It means that I wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to leave,” she levelled at him, one eyebrow raised accusatorially. Clink, clink. He flinched as she dipped her spoon back into the cup, tapping it against the rim. “Ellie told me.”
Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand forming a fist below the table. “Told you what exactly?” 
Maria gave him a conspiratorial look. “She told me about being strangled, Joel. She came here a few days ago, upset after hearing the news, and we talked. Ellie worries that she might have left out of guilt… and I must admit, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.”
“Wait,” Cal’s eyebrows raised in alarm, eyes darting between Maria and Joel. “What the fuck are you talki-“
“No one was fuckin’ strangled,” Joel ground out, doing his best to stay calm. “Ellie wasn’t hurt. And she wouldn’t fuckin’ leave us; there’s no god damn way she’d even think to go outside those gates alone.”
Joel’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace at Maria’s insinuation, shaking his head jerkily. The last conversation he’d had with you played on his head in a constant loop, the image of your face distorted in despair, the feeling of your guilty tears on his neck – it tormented him. Kept him awake all night, and on edge all day. The idea that you might have decided to leave, out of a misplaced sense of guilt, or fear, or… or because of something he’d said. His chest tightened at the thought. He’d told you not to stay at the house if he wasn’t there, hadn’t he? That’s why you’d gone home alone that night, instead of coming back to him. It won’t happen again, is what you said. Joel mulled the words over in his mind endlessly, searching for a hidden meaning in your tone that he might have missed; a plan to leave him.
Tommy watched the three of them silently, the corners of his mouth downturned in dismay. To see Joel be so distraught was hard for him. Ellie had confided in Tommy that Joel had hardly spoken for the past three days. That he wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. She kept a close eye on him and didn’t pry; simply sat quietly in whatever room he resided in, and just kept a watchful eye on him. Tommy couldn’t thank her enough for it. He’d watched his brother experience so much loss, so much heartache, and he cringed to realise they were witnessing it happen to him all over again.
“She wouldn’t leave me,” Cal broke the silence, his voice cracking on the last word. He reached up hastily to wipe the corner of his eye. “We made an agreement when we first got here. If either one of us decides we aren’t happy, then we leave – together. No questions asked. She wouldn’t break a promise.”
Joel glanced at the younger man, absorbing his words with a blank expression. It still unnerved him sometimes; to gain further insights into the tightknit bond between you and Cal, but he pushed all negative feelings down, knowing the he was right.
“She’s still in Jackson,” Joel said with a tone of finality, straightening his shoulders.
“So what do you suggest we do?” Maria asked. “I’ve already asked so much of our community, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here.”
“Some fuckin’ community it is,” he muttered. “Women gettin’ stolen out of their god damn homes.”
Tommy gave him a look that said, not helpful. Joel ignored him.
“We question them – all of them,” he asserted. “Ransack every fuckin’ house in this town if we have to. She’s here somewhere – whoever’s doin’ this can’t keep her hidden for long.”
Maria nodded slowly, sparing a short glance in her husband’s direction. “We’ll question people then. If we go to the right ones, someone is bound to spill something.”
Tommy stared at his brother, taking in the way he stared intensely at the woman. “You can’t be a part of it though,” he said softly. Joel’s head snapped in his direction, eyes narrowing.
“Tommy,” he glared, only to be quickly interrupted.
“You’re too high strung, both of you are,” Tommy said, glancing between Joel and Cal. “If you’re out there knockin’ down doors, you’re just gonna scare people off, and somebody will get hurt. We can’t risk you two causing a scene.”
“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Cal grunted, hand smacking down on the table.
“You won’t be,” Maria said firmly. “Someone needs to be waiting if she shows up. So wait. If she shows up at either of your homes, you’ll be there.”
“You’re fuckin’ delusional if you thin-“
“Stop,” Maria interrupted softly. “Have either of you taken a moment to consider it might already be too late? It’s been three days… Do you really want to be the ones to find her if she’s…. I’m trying to keep you both separated from this, for your sakes.”
“I’m not fuckin’ listenin’ to this,” Joel grunted, pushing his chair from the table and stalking towards the front door. With his hand gripping the doorknob, he turned his head to the side, staring back at them from the corner of a tear-filled eye.
“She is out there somewhere, alive, puttin’ up a goddamn fight. And when I find her,” he spoke with his back to them, voice dangerously quiet. “I’m going to kill everyone who had anything to do with this. And you two won’t be able to stop me.”
Joel didn’t need to look at him to know that Cal agreed.
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The curtains were always the first thing you saw. When your eyelids managed to crack open, to break through the dried blood that crusted over your eyelashes, you would always notice them first. Large, bundled drapes that reached the floor, covering the walls, concealing the windows and any potential natural light. It was so dark all of the time, and so time had lost meaning. You couldn’t tell how many hours, or days, had passed. All you knew was that the curtains, made from a dark fabric, with pictures of small birds sewn onto them, were the first thing you saw every time you opened your eyes.
Sparrows, the thought whispered through your mind. Little sparrows sewn into the curtains.
A small metal table was positioned in the corner opposite to where you laid on a thin mattress, arms tied to a pipe protruding from the wall. Sometimes your eyes flickered to it, trying to glean what was on it, but it was futile because of the distance. Candles were placed sporadically around the edges of the room, providing a vague yellow light to the space which allowed you see these things. But no natural light meant not knowing when the sun rose and fell., so you learned to rely on a different schedule. Twice a day he would bring a meal into the room, and you did your best to note the time passing, but even that provided little relief. Dehydration and pain had you dropping in and out of consciousness, and you rejoiced in the respite that sleep brought. Sleep brought quiet. Waking, however, brought with it a stark reminder of where you were.
An unpleasant stretching sensation resided in your arms. The muscles burned from hyperextension from constantly stretching behind you to the wall, your hands numb from a lack of blood flow due to how taught the rope around your wrist was pulled. But no matter how uncomfortable, you never turned your back to the door. That way he couldn’t enter the room without you seeing him immediately.
The throbbing in your foot, and the smell of metal was always what you noticed next. Blood stained the lower half of the mattress, and you did your best not to look down. But the smell was overwhelming, and you knew you had to see how much blood you’d lost. Your right foot was caked in dried blood, and the sight of one of your toes missing was enough to make your stomach curl every time, as waves of violent nausea rolled through you.
“That’s fine,” you whispered hoarsely, attempting to convince yourself. “Never used that one anyway, can live without it.”
Talking to yourself helped. Although your thoughts were often delirious and half-baked, hearing your own voice out loud brought a certain sense of calm.
And you’d formed a routine. Where every time you woke, you calmed your breathing, and forced yourself to decide how you were going to behave. How to survive another encounter with him. You’d chosen violence the first time, and you came to sorely regret it.
He’d been watching you that first day; waiting for you to stir. It had been dark, but you still saw him instantly. Cross-legged on the floor beside the mattress you laid on, dark beady eyes bearing down on your skin like weights. The itchy burn of rope against your wrists wasn’t as noticeable at first, for you were distracted by the thick wad of material in your mouth, placed there to keep you silent. When your brain had fully woken up, you’d glared at him in a wide-eyed panic, moaning urgently against the cloth between your teeth, tears brimming in your eyes. No, no, no, no.
“Shh,” Lincoln had murmured, brushing the hair out of your eyes. “It’s okay, shh.”
Tentatively, he reached down and tugged the cloth out of your mouth. You sucked in sharp panicked breaths, staring up at him as the feeling of white-hot terror spread through your veins, all the way from your neck down to your feet. It was him. All along, all the women, it had been him. This embarrassing, weak man, who’d had you fucking fooled. You’d thought him a creep, but not this. Never this.
“Breathe,” he’d whispered, stroking your cheek with his fingers. Heaving sighs tore out of your mouth, and you turned your head in his hold, brushing your nose along the palm of his hand. His eyes shone with appreciation at the gesture, and he smiled. “You’re here with me now. It’s just you and me.”
Holding his gaze for a split second longer, you sank your teeth into the flesh of his hand. He shouted in pain, attempted to pull back, but you bit him harder, deeper. The taste of metal filled hit your tongue, but you didn’t let go until his other hand struck you across the face, knocking you back.
He'd hit your left side, and the all-too-familiar buzzing soared through your ear, exacerbating the pounding in your skull. “You cunt,” he spat, rising to his feet. He glared down at you, cradling his wounded hand against his chest.
And then his foot was slamming into your ribcage. “You stupid,” kick “fucking” kick “cunt” kick. The breath left your body, and you curled in on yourself on the thin mattress, wheezing, until he gave up.
“You won’t do that again,” his reedy voice called out from behind you. “Do you understand?”
Your back was to him, eyes clamped shut as you tried desperately to regulate your breathing. A stabbing pain burned in your right side, flaring every time your chest expanded with a breath. His hand came down on your shoulder, flattening you on the mattress.
“Speak,” he had snarled. “You will answer me when I talk to you, SPEAK.”
Your bloody lips stayed sealed in defiance, glaring up at him. Slowly, the corners of his mouth began to turn upward, lips stretching open to reveal a faded set of crooked teeth until he was grinning down at you. “Okay,” he nodded, reaching into his pocket and walking to the end of the mattress. “You want to see what happens when you disobey me in my house? I’ll show you what happens.”
It had been quick.
Flashes of it were burnt into your memory, but the feeling of the moment evaded you when you thought back on it. Him kneeling on your shins, saying “Do as I say, or I’ll clip your wings, little bird.” Pliers in his hand. The feeling of the cold metal on your foot. The smell of iron. A pinkie toe on the floor, by the mattress, in a crimson puddle.
Your hoarse, tormented wails had filled the room so suddenly that Lincoln was cursing while he stuffed the rag back between your lips, muttering something about people hearing you.
He had loomed over you, torso pressed against yours, gritting his teeth and laughing. Put his hands around your neck and whispered of the stories he’d heard about you, that he’d wondered about you since the day Tommy introduced him to you. “I think that was the moment I decided,” he said. “The moment I knew you were going to be mine – it was the very first time I saw you.”
“I wanted to know what he saw in you,” he’d jeered, breath hot against your neck. His hand gripped your throat, squeezing your windpipe intermittently, only ever letting up when your eyes started to roll back and the pressure inside your skull from a lack of oxygen started to become unbearable, only to increase the pressure again once you’d had a few seconds to breathe. “I’d always thought you must be a good lay, if you’ve got big bad Joel Miller whipped like a dog. Realised pretty damn quick I’d have to find out for myself.” Your arms fought tirelessly against the ropes that bound you to the wall, limbs thrashing beneath him, trying to inflict any sort of pain on him.
You frantically mouthed the word no around the rag, lungs heaving in search of oxygen. The last thing you saw before you passed out was his haunting grin.
And you were smarter after that.
Lincoln was hard to read. When he came to the room next, he acted as though the altercation had never happened. And so you followed suit. You listened when he spoke, and answered accordingly. You ate the food he slid across the floor to you. You held in a disgusted reaction when he gestured to the candles around the room one time, and said, “Romantic isn’t it? Candlelit dinner for two?”  
In the quiet moments, your mind would float away, and you’d allow yourself brief moments of respite, imagining that you were somewhere, anywhere, else. In your dreams, you were with Joel. Safe in his home, in his bed, playing scrabble with Ellie on his porch while he kept score. You tried to remember the way his laugh sounded, or the way his hands felt on your skin. But everything was warped, the memories unclear. Your brain lacked clarity, and the pain distracted you. And Lincoln could tell where your thoughts went in those moments; you almost feared he could read your mind. As if your brain was splayed open before him, and he was pecking at it in curiosity.
“No one will find you,” he’d say softly. Never nastily, but in a tone that was matter of fact. “They aren’t coming for you. It’s just you and me now, sweet girl.”
You would blink away the tears in your eyes and try not to let him see how afraid you were that he was right. Your memories with Joel felt so hazy, and the last time you’d seen him he had been devastated. He feared what you’d almost done to Ellie, feared how out of his control it had been. Maybe it’s for the best, the thought raced through your brain. Maybe they’ll be happier without you.
Those thoughts were the hardest to shake. And they cut deeper than any injury Lincoln could ever inflict.
One night, when it felt like almost a week had passed, Lincoln entered the room holding two plates.
“Dinner time,” his thin voiced called, and a chill ran down your spine. Slowly, you pushed yourself into a seated position, cringing as pain shot through your side.
He placed a plate beside the mattress before tenderly undoing the rope around your left wrist.
“Eat up,” he murmured, taking a few steps back before settling onto the ground and picking up his fork.
You gazed down at the raw red marks around your wrist, basking in your favourite moment of the day – just a few sweet minutes of ‘freedom’. With an aching chest, you saw what rested on the plate. A kind of dark meat, and a small serving of parsnips.
Oh, Joel.
Sucking your lips into you mouth, you willed the tears in your eyes to dry up, desperate not to let him see any sign of weakness.
Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Lincoln reaching out across the space between you, and then he placed his thumb and forefinger over the big toe on your right foot, squeezing it once in a silent threat. Your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to pull away. Speak.
“Why are you doing this?” you whispered hoarsely, staring at the food.
“It’s dinner time, when else would I feed you?” he attempted to joke, hand leaving your foot to pick his fork up again. When you didn’t respond the smile slipped off his face. “You’re in a bad mood today,” he decided. “I suppose I understand.”
He watched you like a hawk, eyes raking over your features, your bloodstained clothes, the way you gazed despondently at the plate before you. “Surely you can appreciate though… I mean, it’s just… delightful, don’t you see? To see someone be brought down to their basest human form. No sunlight, minimal human interaction. You rely on me for water, for food, for company. I am all you have anymore, and it is simply… delicious.”
“You’re a fucking sadist,” you shuddered involuntarily, his words making goosebumps break out across your skin. 
“I think so,” Lincoln nodded contemplatively. “It’s not inherently sexual though, I’ll have you know.” You stared, and he let out a low chuckle, hands raising defensively. “Not entirely, at least.”
“You’ll get caught,” you sneered, ignoring the way a cut on your upper lip reopened when your mouth pulled open to reveal your teeth. “You’ll slip up and someone will notice. Joel will notice.”
“Only time will tell,” he mused around a mouthful of food. “Never been caught before though, have I? Not with Milena, or any of the others before you. Not even with my wife; although it was certainly easier to get away with it in those days. The world had gone to shit – everyone was going missing; assumed to be dead or infected. It was so easy. Our girls never had a clue. They trusted me, you see? My beautiful little birds. Believed me when I told them she was lost, that she must’ve been infected. I think that’s what I adore the most – the trust. It was hard to come by here, in Jackson. People were so wary, I had to build up their confidence in me. Really ease into things, you know? But some of these women, they just saw what they wanted to see. A few kind smiles, some silly jokes, and they were mine.” Lincoln sighed wistfully, gazing absentmindedly at the curtains. “Do you like them?” he changed the subject suddenly. “They’re sparrows. Sewed them on myself.” Good God, he was still so fucking chatty.
Nausea twisted in your abdomen. Acidic bile burned in the back of your throat, threatening to bring up the pathetic contents of your stomach. “And your daughters?” you hesitated, wary of angering him. “I… I remember you saying they died.”
He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and you noticed one of his eyebrows twitch at the mention of his late children. “I let them go quickly,” he exhaled with a shrug. “Painlessly. It didn’t make sense to make them endure this world anymore. It was a mercy, if anything.”
“Fresh out of mercy then?” you asked bitterly. “If you’re so kind, and so fucking merciful, then why the are you dragging this out? Why won’t you just fucking end it?”
Fork dropping onto his plate with a loud clang, Lincoln murmured your name kindly. “Please understand,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ll get the chance again. You might be my last for a few months… so I’m trying to savour every minute I have with you.”
You stared at him, blinking slowly as you absorbed his words. How long could you possibly survive down here in these conditions? But the truth was, you knew the answer to that. You knew because you’d survived for years out in the open, with less food and less water than this. Here you had shelter, warmth, food, and water. He could keep you alive for as long as he wanted you.
Realising it had been some time since you responded to him you offered a meek smile and said, “Tell me more about the sparrows.”
Lincoln looked at you curiously. Trying not to appear uncertain, you reached forward and scooped some food from the plate with your free hand and began to eat. The action alone reminded you of Cal. Of dark nights, huddled together in dusty broken-down buildings, eating whatever food you’d been able to find out of the palms of your hands. You sniffled pathetically and tried not to think about him again.
“Good girl,” he murmured almost inaudibly, and you fought off a shiver. Swallowing made your chest ache. Based on the swelling around the middle of your torso, you assumed at least one of your ribs was broken. Even inhaling brought a sharp pain to your right side, but swallowing? That was a whole other world of pain.
Lincoln spoke about the birds, told you how they symbolised joy and simplicity, and your eyes flitted around the room, taking in as much as you could in the dim yellow light. And then suddenly, he was turning his head fully to stare at the curtains. His back was almost entirely to you, and your heart stuttered painfully at the opportunity that had presented itself. From this angle, you were sure he wouldn’t be able to see you in his peripheral vision. Was this on purpose? Was it a test? Heart pounding, you worked silently to push the remaining food off your ceramic plate and onto the floor. Eyes focused on him, you waited for him to turn back, to check in on you, to do anything – but he didn’t.
“You know in the bible,” he said thoughtfully. “Sparrows represented God’s love and care for his creations.”
You hummed in response, gripping the plate in your hand and edging forward. Sweat tickled your forward, made your skin itch. You wanted to wipe away the fresh blood that had oozed from your lip onto your chin, but you refrained. No sudden movements. He was so close now, and this chance would not be wasted on you.
Do not be afraid, you thought.
Blood rushed in your ears as you propelled yourself forward, smashing the plate down upon the crown of his skull.
Lincoln pitched forward, his face knocking against the cold ground with a sickening thwack. He howled a ragged, guttural noise of pain, but his movements were sluggish, his reaction time too slow. A fiery pain roared in your side from the movement and you whimpered, dropping the jagged shard of the plate that remained in your hand. Gripping his ankle, you cried out at the strength required to tug his body toward you. He was writhing on the ground, trying to fight against the fog in his brain no doubt, but you pulled him still, until he was perfectly close.
He mumbled your name, and you brought your fist down over his nose, effectively shutting him up.
“Stop fucking saying my name,” you growled, angrily swiping perspiration off your upper lip. This was it. If this didn’t work out, if he regained the upper hand, you’d be dead, no questions asked. You’d started this, and now would certainly be your only chance to finish it. God, your ribs were on fire. You hastily dragged a fragment of the plate in a sawing movement across the rope keeping your other wrist tied, and when it broke away, you heaved a painful sigh of relief.
Planting your knees on either side of his body, you straddled his chest, trapping his arms to his torso. You patted down his body, searching his pockets until you found what you were looking for. The pliers were cold and heavy in your hand. Lincoln blinked lazily, gazing past your shoulder at the roof.
You reached down and gripped the sides of his head. “Look at me,” you seethed, before slamming his head back into the ground. He groaned loudly, but his eyes focused on your face. Blood poured from his nose, spilling into his open mouth and filling the gaps between tooth and gum.
“You won’t kill me,” he garbled out around the crimson liquid. “My little bird… I know you wouldn’t kill me.”
“Stop talking,” you moved to be beside his body and pressed your knee onto his left arm.
“You won’t,” he was speaking incessantly now, rambling. “I know you, you’re good. You’re so good, you sweet girl. You wouldn’t kill, and that’s why I like you. I could see it in you. You’re too good for this world, I’m trying to help you, don’t you see?”
“Shut up,” you snarled, pushing the pliers down until they were positioned around his pinkie finger. “You think you fucking know me? You have no idea of the things I’ve done.”
His eyes blinked lazily, trying listlessly to focus. His free hand reached sluggishly towards your face, and you batted it down roughly. Gripping the pliers in both hands, you pressed down. The sound of his screams filled the room as his pinkie finger rolled across the floor.
“You want me to come into my home,” you sneered. “Take me, hide me away, and then kill me?” Positioning the tool over his ring finger, you cut him slowly, revelling in the pained sounds leaving his body, the way his blood spilled onto your hands as you worked. “Oh, Lincoln. You’ll have to try harder than this.”
Again and again, you worked with a gruellingly slow pace, removing all five digits. You didn’t notice that his free hand was gripping your arm so tightly that his nails had drawn blood. Bile rose in your throat, but you swallowed it down. Do not be afraid.
“Please,” he was sobbing, his mouth wide open like a sore on his face, jagged teeth exposed through thin bloody lips.
And yet as he begged, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel remorse, because through the tears, and the snot, and the blood, it wasn’t just Lincoln that you saw. It was that boy, from a decade ago. That boy that climbed on top of you and laughed. Who enjoyed your fear. Who held you down that night, and every night after, plaguing you in your sleep for years. The boy you couldn’t fight. The boy you couldn’t kill. You wouldn’t let it happen again. Never again.
A memory flitted through your mind so quickly it almost didn’t register. But his voice was clear in your head. Joel, and the words you’d shared in front of the fireplace at your home so many weeks beforehand.
“I want to be strong, Joel.”
“You are strong.”
You refocused on Lincoln’s face.
“You want to be in control?” you sputtered, vaguely aware of how deranged your shrill voice sounded. “You want women to be quiet little toys for you to play with in this sick game you’ve created? I’m a fucking person! I’m real!” your voice cracked. “You want to kill me, Lincoln? Let’s see you do it without your fucking fingers.” You realised then that you were crying. Soundless tears streaked down your cheeks, leaving clear trails in the dirt and blood that stained your face.  
He looked on the verge of passing out, and you tore his hand off your arm, stumbling away from his body. You stepped awkwardly on your right foot and yelped in pain, grimacing at the bloody footprint that followed behind you when you walked. Wrapping an arm around your torso, against your ribs, you struggled to breathe. Running on pure adrenaline, your eyes drifted toward the table in the corner. A pocketknife and a lighter laid serenely on the top of it, and you stumbled toward it slowly.  
But a heavy blow landed on the back of your knee, stopping you in your tracks. Your arms flailed as you fell forward, and when you hit the ground, the table came toppling down with you.
“S-stop,” Lincoln was speaking, his speech slurred and disjointed. His bloodied hands clawed at your legs, pulling your body towards him while you thrashed against his hold. Your leg kicked backward desperately and connected with his face, and you screamed at the throbbing pain that shot through your foot.
Neither of you noticed how the table had knocked over multiple candles, or the way fire blazed along the bottom of the curtains. Little sparrows, turning to ash as flames snaked their way up the drapes, slowly engulfing the walls of the room in vibrant red.
You fumbled for the pocketknife on the floor, rolling onto your back just as his weight landed on top of you. His heavy breaths hit your face, blood dripping from his nose and splashing onto your skin.
“Little bird,” he whimpered brokenly. “Why would you ruin this?”
The temperature in the room had risen exponentially, and the pair of you were so close to the wall that it was impossible to ignore now. Wild flames licked at the bare skin of your arm, but you paid the burn no mind, pushing against his face, his neck, trying to get as much distance between you as possible.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he howled, landing a heavy blow across your face. You coughed roughly, blood spitting up from your mouth onto your chin.
You gave up on pushing him back, instead using your hands to fumble with the knife. Lincoln’s good hand gripped your throat, his remaining fingers pressing down on your windpipe. Blood roared in your ears, and you were sweating, and god it was so hot. The air thickened with smoke, making it harder to breathe than it already was. Your hands were so slick with blood that it was difficult to unhook the small blade, but after a few moments you did it. Gasping for air as he bore his entire weight against your neck, you plunged the knife into his side.
A choked sound of surprise fell from his mouth, and then air was rushing into your lungs, and you were coughing harshly, watching as his body collapsed to the side of you.
He was still alive when you crawled on top of him, eyes bulging as he gripped the handle of the blade lodged in his side. You slammed your fist against his broken nose, and both of you cried out in pain. By this point, the fire was roaring through the room, the four walls covered in a beautiful mix of orange and red flames. The heat was sweltering, and so so close that sweat dripped from your nose and chin.
A deafening bang reverberated through the room and you covered your face instinctively. Shattered glass from the windows rained through the air and covered the ground, and moonlight streamed into the room.
Distantly, you thought you could hear voices, or the sound of a door opening, but you ignored it. Impossible. Your fingers wrapped around Lincoln’s spindly neck, and you positioned your thumbs over his windpipe, before pressing downward with all of the strength in your body. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but you pushed through it, gathering blood and spit in your mouth and releasing it in a spray onto his face. He flinched back at the sensation, and you grinned messily.
You imagined briefly what you must look like; covered in a mix of blood and dirt, hair matted to your head, straddling this man, and grinning down at him.
“Are you afraid?” you whispered.
You could see the light slowly fading from his eyes, and you pressed harder, arms burning with the effort. A burning sensation exploded in your left thigh, but you ignored it, digging your elbows into his chest for leverage and pushing. In the second you realised it was about to be over, there were hands on you. Gripping you, wrapping around your waist, wrenching you away from him.
The foreign hands were pulling you back, tugging you towards the door, but your eyes were trained on Lincoln, as he gasped for air on the floor, alive. You could hear shouting, male voices yelling so closely, but the words were indecipherable. And then suddenly, you were enveloped by cold, winter air. You were outside.
Hyperventilating, you dropped to your knees on the ground, burying your red hands in the wet grass, and wailed. Thick tears blurred your vision and rolled down your face in hot rivulets.
The relief was short lived though, as those hands returned to your body. Gliding over your back, squeezing your shoulders, touching your face. Your stomach rolled violently.
“Don’t touch me,” you begged, your voice an unfamiliar shriek as it ripped from somewhere deep inside your body. “Get your fucking hands off me, don’t fucking touch me, don-“
“Darlin’, it’s me, it’s me,” you could hear, but you just fought harder, beating against the solid wall of brick in front of you, pounding your fists against his chest.
“I’ll fucking,” you gasped for air, eyes clamped tightly shut. “I’ll fucking kill you, get away from me.”
But familiar hands were gripping your face, holding you tightly, forcing you to look, and when you did, it’s like your body went limp. All the fight in you disappeared.
You mumbled his name, and he nodded furiously, those brown eyes you loved gazing into yours, panic and concern evident in the harsh lines across his forehead, in that deep frown you knew so well.
“It’s me, baby, I’ve got you,” his voice was like a song in your ears, and you closed your eyes and let him hold you, listening to the desperate apologies he whispered into your ear. “You’re safe, I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’ve got you now, it’s over, it’s over.”
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part seven
tag list &lt;3
@huffle-punk @n7cje @ghostofjoharvelle @nrmnie @sarahhxx03 @casa-boiardi @leeeesahhh @missgurrl
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