#wooden chairs when a '3' shaped backing

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you give jungkook the silent treatment and he books a 5am flight to japan.

> fluff, angst lowkey / wc: 4.6k

> warnings: mention of c*m swallowing bc jk is a menace, oc overthinks bringing their new boots but jk wins the boyfriend of the year award <3 (these could be title candidates tbh)

note: hello friends! a late valentine’s day gift from me inspired by this ask <3 i almost cried writing this near the end lol. as always i hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated ^__^

—

“ey, this stubborn- yah! what are you doing up there?” jungkook exclaims in panic, nimble feet rushing to the kitchen.

with your back facing him, you flinch at the sudden loud voice filling the empty silence encased by the four walls of the apartment. you feel his big hands firmly hold onto the curves of your naked waist, revealed by a loose crop top you opted to wear for comfort after your shower barely an hour ago. your heart almost jumps out of your chest because only then do you realize that your bare feet have gone closer to the edge of the counter, only two inches backwards and you would be on your way to the hospital.

you carefully face to the side and bend down on your knees, but he clicks his tongue and effortlessly swoops you up in his arms before you can step down on the wooden chair you used to climb on the counter.

a kiss is planted on your temple before your feet touches the warm floor. “haven’t we talked about being careful around here, baby? you were about to fall.”

you shrug off his touch with a huff, glaring at him with piercing eyes. “you know, they didn’t put a lot of thought into my name just so you can replace it with baby.”

and then you turn on your heel to walk away.

his jaw slacks open in shock. he’s left standing alone, a flabbergasted smile slowly forming on his face. “wow! what’s with this sudden attitude, huh?”

after returning the chair to the dining table, he follows you to the dimly-lit living room. you sit down on the couch, crossing your legs and placing a throw pillow over your lap. deciding to be petty tonight, you pretend to be highly engrossed in the performance taking place at the music show.

he plops down beside you as he pulls off the black hair tie holding up the upper half of his hair, wearing it on his wrist for safekeeping.

“aish- my hair is a mess.” he chuckles when the thick locks messily fall infront of his bangs, obstructing his vision. he patiently runs his fingers through the tangles before daintily tucking them behind his ears. after getting that out of the way, he rests his tattooed arm over the backrest of the couch, his tongue unconsciously playing with his lip ring as he figures out how to capture your attention.

he affectionately kisses your cheek and gently holds your forearm, drawing random shapes on your skin with the pad of his thumb.

“hi.” he says softly. “you don’t like me calling you baby anymore? then what should i call you?”

you remain unresponsive, vision stubbornly locked on the television screen. he inches closer to block your view, tilting his head to the side so you’re left with no other choice but to look at his face. and then he calls you by your name, as if he’s testing the waters, and he doesn’t miss the disgruntled frown you quickly hide.

“see? you sulk when i say your name!” he giggles as he gets flashbacks of the first month of your relationship, when you used to be shyly tell him that hearing him say ‘baby’ instead of your name felt weird.

oh, how the tables have turned. but still . . . he gets nothing.

he sighs at the suffocating silence, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face on your neck. “baaaby, what did i do? talk to me.”

he breathes you in, the smell of his milk body wash unmistakably embedded on your skin. this means you can’t be that upset with him, right? when it’s in regards of a serious matter, you usually call him out straight away instead of beating around the bush. but you’re not looking for a solution right now. you’re giving him a punishment. that much he knows.

“i’m so tired and hungry after boxing. you know how i haven’t trained in a while. my body hurts more than usual because of it- ah, i really regret putting it off.” he rests his cheek on your shoulder, squeezing your body delicately as he watches the on-going commercial. “should we order their chicken for dinner?”

you stay motionless, letting him do whatever he wants as if he’s a ghost and you’re ignorant to his faint presence. this makes him jut out his bottom lip somberly as he racks his brain for what he could’ve possibly done today to deserve this silent treatment.

“is it something i did? or didn’t do?”

these questions are what eventually elicit a reaction from you. funny enough, the roll of your eyes puts a small smile on his face, because at least this conversation is finally going somewhere.

“okay, okay- i see. i’m supposed to know what it is, right?” he nods in understanding, sweet voice determined to unravel tonight’s mystery.

why is my baby upset with me?

“i’m still sweaty so i’ll reflect on myself in the shower.” he announces before stealing a quick kiss from your lips. this trick earns another glare from you as he walks away, which he reciprocates with a wink when he whips his head back.

“it’s alright if you don’t want to talk to me, just don’t go anywhere, okay?”

you sink down into the couch when he disappears into the bathroom, tightly hugging the pillow to your chest as you sarcastically roll your eyes.

“this is my house, too. why would i go anywhere else?”

—

jungkook heaves another sigh of frustration as he unplugs the hair dryer. despite retracing his footsteps from this morning to afternoon, he’s still as clueless as he was earlier. you were sharing stories when you ate brunch together, and you even kissed him sweet goodbye before he left for the studio. he thought that perhaps you asked him to buy something important and he didn’t read your texts, but he already checked his inbox twice and your last message was from two days ago. it was a sleepy voice memo sent at 4:01am. you were asking him to go back to bed because he was playing games in the living room again.

he taps the play button for the third time in a row, your weary and mellow voice spilling out from his phone’s speaker.

“…kook, love, don’t mind you playing in here. ermmm, but no yelling or i’ll kick you out… just go back to bed, please? i’m cold.”

“ah, shit.” the curse is accompanied by an airy laugh as he punches the bathroom countertop with as little strength as possible, tattooed knuckles turning a light shade of red. the fluttering of his heart doesn’t cease until your voice fades into silence, ticklish giddiness spreading from his stomach all the way to his fingertips.

to be brutally honest, he doesn’t know how he got so lucky. there’s nobody else on earth who can love him, handle his difficultness, and keep him on his toes as effortlessly as you do.

“no but seriously, what am i missing?!”

—

“baby, i ordered the chicken! you’ll eat dinner with me, right?”

he walks into the living room with his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, finding that you’re still sitting on the same spot where he left you.

“i got that limited flavor- the one you wanted to try last time. what is it again?” he raises an eyebrow as he taps his bare foot against the floor, his forehead creasing in deep thought.

you glance up at him when his knee knocks against yours, taking the final bite from the choco cookie pepero stick you’re holding. the plastic pouch on your lap makes a crinkling sound as you bring out another one.

”map- maple crunch? that’s the one, right?”

he waits for you to tell him whether he got it right or not, but to his dismay, the seal on your lips prevail. with a dramatic sigh and droopy shoulders, he makes a beeline for the kitchen. he fills a glass halfway with cold water from the fridge, and as he chugs, his doe eyes land on the top shelf. that’s where he caught you when he arrived from the gym, and so, with his curiosity piqued, he pulls the small door open.

it appears to be empty at first, but in the dark, innermost corner hides the snacks your friend, who visited japan recently, dropped off yesterday.

and that’s when it dawns on him, the reason why your expression turned sour when you saw his face an hour ago. he shuts the door with a lighthearted chuckle, leaving the empty glass in the sink before padding back to the living room.

he supports the back of your head with his wide palm to plant a kiss on your forehead, before squatting down infront of you with his folded arms weighing down the pillow. you grimace inside your head because you’re practically held down on the couch so you won’t be able to escape his sickeningly affectionate ministrations.

“pssst.” he whispers at you, eyes glimmering with hopes met by silent disappointment. his head drops lazily on your lap, low and husky voice sounding slightly muffled as he sullenly speaks. “baby, you’re killing me here. this is the worst punishment… please, punch me instead. that would hurt less.”

and he stays like that for a little while, almost falling asleep as the soreness of his muscles starts seeping deeper into his system. maybe, just maybe, he also put himself in this position with the intention of tempting you into playing with his pretty, as you like to call it, hair. he recently learned that the longer it grows, the more attention it earns from you.

true enough, setting himself up as bait works its charm, but unfortunately, his patience meets its demise just as you’re about to give up your petty little act. he looks up at you with a sad frown and twinkling eyes, expression identical to that famous pleading face emoji, only he’s thousand times more adorable in your eyes.

you hastily chew the chocolate-y snack to hide an endeared smile, teasingly quirking an eyebrow at him before reverting your attention on the television. at this point, he decides that he has had enough. his knees collapse on the floor as he abruptly holds your face steady, greedily biting at the other end of the pepero stick until his lips inevitably crashes against yours for a sweet kiss.

“hmmph-” your dominant hand weakly grasps his shoulder out of reflex, sticky thumb and index finger pointing out so the chocolate won’t stain his white t-shirt.

jungkook pulls away with a cocky grin, teeth sinking on his lower lip before his tongue darts out to lick it.

“ugh, i hate you! first, my strawberry mochi, and now, my pepero?!”

your furious outburst causes his animated giggles to echo throughout the apartment, his sore abdominal muscles aching and heart feeling significantly lighter. your wide, striking eyes fluttering close against their own accord when your face gets peppered with apologectic kisses.

“fuck, you’re so cute. i love you. i love you. that’s why you’re angry at me? i’ll buy you more…” he wipes away the scattered wet kisses on your cheeks with his thumb. “you only took one bite and left them in the fridge. i thought you didn’t want them anymore. i’m sorry.”

the story goes: he randomly woke up around 3am again. struggling to return to sleep, he started feeling peckish and decided to venture into the kitchen. that was when he saw the transparent container of five strawberry mochi, one on the corner not even half-eaten. in his defense, that’s how your unwanted leftovers usually look. and he thought those ones… particularly looked delicious. almost criminally so.

“that’s how yummy they were. i wanted to save them! and nothing would taste the same from here, so there’s no point.” you retort with a sigh of utter defeat. the doorbell rings a second after. “…that chicken better be crazy fucking good that i forget mochi exists.”

jungkook’s precarious fate completely lies in the hands of bb.q chicken’s kitchen people. wonderful.

“i’ll get it.” he softly squeezes your arm before standing up to answer the door.

—

“why do i like this so much? i’m about to finish everything…” you mumble to yourself after taking a peek at the box of those maple crunch chicken jungkook mentioned earlier.

“jungkook, aren’t you going to eat?!” you yell out for him before taking another bite from your fourth piece of chicken, ripping off the meat from the bone using your teeth. you continue entertaining yourself with a variety show while you wait for your boyfriend to join you.

“i will!” he shouts back from the bedroom, emerging from the door a moment later. he bites the nail of this thumb out of habit, highly absorbed in scrolling and tapping at his phone screen. he automatically sits on the edge of the couch to be as close to you as possible, who transferred to the floor to feast on your dinner, without giving away the website he’s current navigating. his leg bumps against your side, and you instinctively lay your head on his thick thigh.

“is that going to take long?” you question ingenuously, thinking that he might be preoccupied with something related to work. “i want to start watching the glory. i’m so curious!”

you made it a rule to put your phones aside when you watch a show or film together, not liking any distractions from the plot (and mostly the cuddles, really). it might not be anything special, but it is your quality time together after all. two hearts intertwined by love, beating in sync, with no intentions of ever letting go. and for a little while, it’s all that matters in the world.

“download the episodes on the tablet so we can watch it in the plane.”

“what? watch it where?” you abruptly lift up your head to look at him, a look of sheer confusion painted on your face.

“what?” he mimics your tone with faux innocence, round doe eyes meeting yours. “will you ask your friend? i need the address of the local bakery where she bought the mochi.”

“are you about to fly to japan just to buy them for me?” you snicker, nudging his knee in jest.

“not just me.” he boldly raises an eyebrow, showing you a plane ticket to your name displayed on his phone screen. “we have a flight to tokyo at 5am.”

“are you insane? babe, what the hell-” you hastily remove the gloves from your hands to grab the device, reading the details written on the screen to process what he just told you. “i was just joking!”

he almost curls in on himself when he hears a pet name slip out from your lips.

yes, that was the main reason why he took a long time in the bedroom. he needed your passport numbers to book the tickets and he struggled to find your passport. in the end, he found it beneath his in the cabinet drawer.

“this feels like the perfect opportunity to finally do something this spontaneous with you. it’s valentine’s day the day after tomorrow. let’s be dauntless and spend it at disneyland instead of camping, baby.”

he nervously taps his foot on the floor as he observes your reaction, feeling a little shy after revealing his surprise. he’s not entirely confident you’ll agree with his date idea— the first and last time you went to a theme park together, he ran into a bit of trouble the day after because he got recognized. he can’t read your mind at the moment, but he knows how you’ve always felt guilty about that.

however, those worries get washed away the second you excitedly climb on his lap to wrap your legs around his waist, engulfing him in the tightest hug.

“you’re so annoying, oh my god! why are you the best boyfriend in the whole wide world? you’re really going to pull this off?!”

your whiny voice makes him smile fondly, a surge of warmth spreading through his insides because that kind of praise coming from your mouth is music to his ears.

“that means you’re going with me, right? because there’s an extra fee if i cancel on them.”

you playfully squeeze his soft cheeks together to make his lips pout, sighing dreamily at the golden boy under you. “you spoil me too much, you know that?”

“i should. i want to. it’s for valentine’s day, the day of love! and you’re the personification of love for me.”

you shrug your shoulders with a lighthearted laugh.

“i don’t know. most guys buy flowers and call it a day.”

ouch. it seems that you already forgot that’s exactly what he did for your first valentine’s day. but to be fair, he couldn’t pull off anything special because he was overseas. and he will be again this year, except it’s different because you’ll be by his side.

“…i mean, i still think gifts like that are romantic. but i’m just happier when we create core memories together.”

“that’s why i’m the best boyfriend for you. because i know your love languages.” he responds proudly, nose scrunching and corners of his crinkling as he beams.

“that you are.” you squeeze his cheeks a second time. “then i’ll pay for the hotel.”

“took care of that already. six nights. it’s where me and jimin-hyung stayed before, but there was only a room with two single beds left. we can just sleep on one of them.” he cheeses at the thought of being squeezed into a small bed together with you, not even considering the option of pushing the two beds into one.

with how fast he managed to book the tickets and the hotel room, you can vividly see how much he wants, and maybe needs, this vacation to happen. his excitement is contagious — because this is slowly beginning to feel real and you’re already imagining how beautiful your lover would look like under the bursts of fireworks lighting up the night sky of disneyland.

“hmmmm,” you purse your lips as you hum. “then i’ll take care of the food and transpo.”

“sounds good.” he repeatedly nods in agreement, hair bouncing as he does so.

“except for the strawberry mochi.” you squint your eyes at him threateningly, and he cheekily smiles in return.

“except for the strawberry mochi. i’ll buy you the entire tray of those.”

you fix his bangs as you utter an almost inaudible ‘pretty’, worried about them poking his eyes. he instantaneously melt from your wholesome gentleness, guilty of becoming all mushy when he receives said compliment.

“give me a kiss.”

“later. i taste like chicken.”

“babe, come on.” he gives you a dirty ‘you can’t be serious’ look. “you think i care about that? just this morning i kissed you after you swallowed my cum-”

“oh my god, okay! okay! shut up! that’s different!” you cover his mouth with your hand, flustered by his obscene… choice of words outside the bedroom.

he presses a kiss to your palm before you finally reward his lips with a peck, a triumphant smile replacing his pout.

“we need to start packing!” you eagerly climb off his lap, heavy footsteps striking the floor as you skip to the bedroom.

“jeon jungkook! hurry!”

his full name?!

he hurriedly puts on a clean glove on his right hand. guess he has no choice but to eat dinner while packing, he did this to himself when he booked the 5am flight after all.

“coming!”

—

you know that jungkook likes using spacious luggages when he goes on trips. that doesn’t necessarily mean that he overpacks, he just wants the extra space because he tends to especially enjoy shopping when he goes on trips. that’s why when he enters the walk-in closet, one of his biggest suitcases is already laid out on the floor.

he sits beside it cross-legged, holding the box of chicken under his chin so the crumbs won’t fall on the floor as he eats.

“which one are you bringing?”

“this.” you emerge from behind the door, slumping your upper body over the light pink suitcase as its wheels roll towards the center of the room. it’s a size smaller than his, but then again, you can just mooch off his extra space if you need it.

“cute.” he chuckles in adoration of your youthful charm. “want more chicken?”

you abandon the suitcase to crawl towards him, allowing him to feed you until you finish another piece of chicken in record time.

“okay, that’s my last one. i know i’ll get hungry at the airport again.”

“i’ll finish the rest.” he hums, feet kicking in satisfaction as he continues eating.

“then i’ll start by packing our underwear. six nights and seven days, right?” you speak in a sing-song voice, which makes him giggle yet again.

for a few minutes, he only watches you neatly fold the two sets of underwear while moaning and commenting on the chicken he’s happily devouring. later on, he exits the closet and comes back with your butterfly hairclips decorating the sides of his hair.

“i love that you wear them on your own now.”

you only notice the splash of colors contrasting his black hair after catching a glimpse of him in the middle of picking out which jackets to bring. according to the weather app, it’s less colder in tokyo than seoul, so you think you should be fine for the most part.

“i forgot where i put my hairtie again.” he explains as he sheepishly scratches his head.

“is it not on your wrist?” you ask without looking, too busy going through all the clothes you own to complete the outfits you have in mind.

“oing?” he raises his wrist to his eye-level, enlightment escalating in his brain. “ahhh- you’re right?! i thought i took it off but i got it wet it in the shower!”

“dummy.” you shake your head in amusement. “how did you not feel that?”

“you were ignoring me.” he retaliates, chest puffing up in defense. “i’ve been distracted!”

—

“what’s taking you so long? it’s an hour drive to the airport!” jungkook reminds you as he barges into the closet, unzipping your bag to check your passports for the third time.

you’re almost ready to leave. bam will be prolonging his stay with his brothers, song and paeng. the appliances have been unplugged. the two of you are already fully-dressed against the negative temperature outside. your boyfriend replaced the butterfly hairclips with a headband. he’s wearing his prescription glasses to aid him in safe driving. his suitcase is zipped up, and his backpack is hanging on his shoulder.

on the other hand, you’re having a crisis, still sprawled out on the floor like your own suitcase.

“are you finally wearing them?”

you tilt up your chin to find jungkook’s face beaming with more excitement. he’s referring to the knee-high, five-inch white boots you gifted yourself for christmas. they’re lying right infront of you as you inspect them with anxious uncertainty. you eyed this pair for months before you clicked the checkout button at last, but seeing it in the flesh somewhat intimidates you because of how big and flashy it is.

“you look sexy in those boots, baby.” he crosses his arms, muscles bulging through his black t-shirt. he tucks his index finger under his chin as he envisions his plans and goals for your week-long vacation. “i packed my camera for this. i’ll film for a video, but i want to take pictures of you that have the street style, insta vibe too.”

“i do want to wear them but…” you trail off, hugging your knees to your chest as you pucker your lips in deliberation. “i read that it’s either snowy or rainy there these days. what if i slip?”

“no, no. i’m sure it’ll be fine.” he waves off your worries. “just bring them and we can figure it out when we get there.”

your boyfriend sounding inexplicably enthusiastic about this more than you has thoroughly boosted your confidence.

“okay.” you rest your chin on top of your knees, chewing on your bottom lip to conceal a smile. “i need to make space for it then. or should i get a duffel bag?”

“ey, no need for that! i’ll go pack them in mine…” he wastes no time, immediately squatting down to put the boots back in its box. “finish up here and don’t forget to turn the lights off.”

“yes, sir.” you chirp, kneeling on the floor to zip up your suitcase while he goes out to the living room where he already wheeled out his.

you stand in the middle of the bedroom, looking around as you mentally list down and cross out the essentials for your travel. you turn off every lightbulb you pass by on your way to the front door, picking up your powerbank charging in the living room, until you eventually reach jungkook who is standing in the narrow hallway.

“there you are,” you are greeted with a loving kiss planted on your forehead. “time check, time check. it’s 12:55.” he reports in a dulcet tone, slotting the strap of your bag over your head and letting it drape across your torso.

this is when it undoubtedly sinks in. hours ago, you were just sulking over something so silly and now, you’re about to leave for the airport. god, you can’t remember the last time you felt this surge of thrill thrumming in your veins. this is so out of the blue. you plan on creating a rough itinerary during the car ride and you already have several spots in mind (cough, cough. your tiktok’s fyp has been filled with recommendations courtesy of your friend and curious google searches). plus, you’re 99% sure there are things you forgot to pack, yet for some reason, you look forward to realizing what those are and stressing over where to fucking buy them in tokyo. and you highly doubt that you would feel this alive if you were travelling with somebody else rather than your best friend and your lover.

“let’s go!” you squeal, dashing past your boyfriend to push the door open.

he follows suit, hauling his luggage outside. “let’s go!” he chuckles to himself after he teasingly mimics your high-pitched tone.

once again, your childish impulses take over. you slump over the light pink suitcase to ride it, pushing the soles of your shoes against the smooth tiles to gain momentum as you roll across the quiet hallways. it’s absurd how you almost feel like you’re sneaking out, but you’ve always been one to enjoy reckless abandon.

entering a serious relationship with jungkook was a gamble you invested all your faith into. you used to feel like you were both running out of time, holding hands beneath the thick sand trickling down the hourglass. you didn’t want to have high hopes about building a life together, but you sure as hell pictured it in your mind a thousand times. and granted by a wild miracle, the universe was kind enough to breathe life into that picture. nowadays, the butterflies in your stomach wake up in the morning fluttering with life instead of fear.

“i realized something.” you voice out your thoughts as you wait for the elevator to climb to your apartment floor, sat on your suitcase with your chin propped up by the handle. “our flight is at 5am, right?“

“yup.” jungkook confirms with a nod as he zips up his windbreaker.

“then that means we can watch the sunrise from the plane!”

the new piece of information makes the photographer and videographer in him perk up with burning interest, dimples on his cheeks popping out as he lightly slaps his forehead.

“fuck, i need to drink a liter of coffee to stay awake for that.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added or removed :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

[heich0e]

bliss - vash/f!reader/wolfwood (trigun stampede) 3k, poly!au, wild west!au, bounty hunters, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, masturbation (m), cum eating, finger sucking, wolfwood calls reader 'kid' as a petname, there will be a part 3 where nico gets his moment i promise! 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

part 2 to bounty see also: BOUND - poly!au masterlist

you can taste the tobacco that clings to his mouth from this close, but you don't mind it when it tastes like home. “and it’s our bed, nicholas. so take me to it whenever you’d like.”

nicholas carries you inside with one hand underneath you, one on the small of your back, and your legs wrapped around his waist.

regardless of the familiarity, his strength always surprises you; the effortlessness with which he scoops you up into his arms and holds you there never fails to make your heart beat a little bit faster, no matter how many times he does it.

“aren’t you tired?” you mumble against his mouth between kisses as he totes you across the little timber ranch you call home. he nearly stumbles on the edge of a tattered old rug underfoot, the same one he's helped you hang on the clothesline a hundred times on sunny days, kicking it huffily back into place as he holds you tighter.

“not too tired for this,” nicholas replies easily, leaning forward and laying you flat across the wooden table that sits at the centre of the main room of your home. 

it’s the same table at which you’ve shared countless meals with him. the same table where you’ve sat the boys down and patched up their wounds after a bad hunt. the same table where you and vash play cards at night as the fire on the hearth burns low, where he always lets you win while nicholas watches on from his favourite rocking chair on the other side of the room with a sly smile on his face.

“i thought you were taking me to bed,” you say breathlessly as you stare up at him from the hard surface of the sturdy wooden tabletop.

nicholas smirks down at you, shucking the straps of his suspenders off his shoulders one at a time.

“thought maybe i’d have something to eat first,” he drawls as he drags the poplin of your nightdress up slowly over your thighs, baring your skin to him and revelling in the unhurried reveal, “i’m starving, you know.”

your breath hitches in your throat at his words, a heat flooding fast through your cheeks as you peer up at him. your lashes flutter slightly, blinking slowly as your desire for him builds inside of you, and you part your thighs for him invitingly.

nicholas’s playful smirk splits into a full-blown grin at the gesture, something so charmingly boyish in the expression, and he drags you down to the very edge of the table with his strong hands gripping your hips. he settles down on his knees, and you feel his warm breath against your aching centre, catching on the wetness that’s already begun to seep out from your core. above you, you stare up at the wooden beams of the ceiling overhead as your pulse thumps under your skin. to calm yourself, you trace the shadows that the beams cast with only the oil lamp on the other side of the room to light the space.

nicholas hums from his place on the floor, dragging two fingers up through the sticky wetness between your legs.

“you’re already this wet?” he muses, unmistakably pleased. “did you know we’d be coming home to you tonight?”

he splits his fingers into a V shape to spread you open, and you can’t help but whimper at the slightest brush against the sensitive bud at the apex of your sex. you hear nicholas draw in a sharp breath.

“oh,” he says the word on his exhale, a little shaky though he’d deny it if you were to bring it up. “you missed us, didn’t you?”

you nod even though you know he can’t see you from his current position, fisting the skirt of your nightdress in your trembling hands.

he hums curiously, goading you, and you know he wants you to say it.

“'course i did,” you whimper the words out helplessly, breathlessly, and completely sincere. “missed you, nico.”

“yeah? how bad did you miss me, kid?” he asks, pressing featherlight against the pretty swell of your clit. “because it looks like it was a lot.”

all you can manage is some sort of affirmative little sound, your breaths a bit harder to drawn in now that he’s touching you. your tongue more leaden under his careful attention.

he peeks up at you over the curve of your tummy, his dark hair hanging into his voracious eyes.

“anything else you wanna tell me?” he asks, pressing a bit more firmly against you now, tracing a lazy circle with the very tips of his fingers. your hips jump and your eyes squeeze shut, your heartbeat thrumming underneath your tongue.

“…myself” it’s almost unintelligible with how quietly you say it, and you can feel the satisfaction rolling off of nicholas in waves, like a tide that threatens to pull you under.

“what was that?” his fingertips trail down, dipping just inside of you, a little stretch but less resistance than there usually would be.

“i touched myself,”—you gasp at the sensation of him finally pressing into you, two knuckles deep now and far fuller than it had been when they were your own fingers—“in the bath. before bed. 'cause i missed you s’much.”

“i can tell,” nicholas breathes, but it sounds like a prayer—reverent and pious. “poor little thing.”

“nico!” 

your back bows as he wraps his lips around the bundle of nerves between your legs and suckles against it, his two fingers taking the opportunity to slip all the way inside and curl in just the way you like. finally giving you what you’ve been aching for all this time.

it’s noisy—your panting breath, your whimpers, the slick sound of his mouth against your wet wet cunt. the table even creaks slightly, in spite of its sturdy construction, when he drags you down even closer to his mouth, looping your legs over his shoulders until there’s no space left between you at all.

so it’s really no surprise when a figure appears in the doorway to your bedroom, blonde hair totally unkempt and rubbing at tired blue eyes. vash had stripped himself bare before he crawled into bed with you, and he hasn’t covered himself up since, so his scarred skin is on full display as hesitates at the threshold, watching curiously at the sight unfolding before him.

“vash,” you mewl, your fingers tangled in nicholas’s hair as your hips grind against his face. you reach out towards him with your other hand, and the dainty gold ring on your finger glints in the warm lamplight. 

nicholas pulls away from you with a loud, lewd slurp at your call of the other man’s name—strings of spit and god only knows what else stretching from his swollen lips to your pussy. vash and nicholas’s eyes meet, and the blonde hesitates almost shyly on the other side of the room. after a moment, nicholas sighs, but there’s almost something mirthful in it as he wipes the slickness from his mouth with the back of his calloused hand.

“you gonna make her wait all night, or what?” he calls to him, nodding him over like he’s giving him permission to approach.

even in his half-asleep stupor, vash doesn’t need much more of an invitation.

he’s at your side in an instant.

vash, rather peculiarly, sits in a chair at the table while nicholas returns his attention to the throbbing heat between your legs. you’re too distracted by the pressure building in the pit of your stomach to question it too intently, and so the blonde leans his head on his crooked arm, watching your face carefully as your other partner slowly takes you apart.

“feel good?” vash asks you quietly, a fierce flush burning along his cheeks as he raptly observes at every minor change in your expression. your head lolls towards him, and you nod. 

“kiss please,” you whimper to him, and he’s so so quick to oblige you, pressing his mouth to your own and greedily swallowing every sound that nicholas is pulling out of you with his unfairly talented tongue and his lithe, nimble fingers.

vash’s mouth is warm and wet and eager against your own. he kisses you the same way every time, whether it’s a hello, or a goodbye, or just a moment like this. he kisses you like he’s chasing something that isn’t running from him; taking everything you give him, but still desperately needing more.

“oh!” you gasp against vash’s parted lips as nicholas’s fingertips find that spot inside of you he seems to be incapable of missing, but intentionally skirts around to drive you even more insane. panting against your mouth, vash’s eyes flutter open and peek down at where nicholas is still dutifully at work. 

you watch his pupils dilate a little in the low light, the inky black swallowing up the blue of his irises as his eyes hone in on the wet, messy sight of the other man between your legs. vash pulls away from you as though drawn towards nicholas by sheer magnetism. you’re not sure if nicholas senses him nearing, or has more of his wits about him than you’ve given him credit for, because he lifts his head from where he’d been dragging his tongue along your clit as vash slips behind him to get a better view.

nicholas tips his head back to rest against vash’s hip, and his breathing is ragged as the blonde’s hands reach to gently cup his face.

“she’s so wet,” nicholas rasps up towards him as vash drags a thumb over his slick chin.

“yeah,” vash murmurs, his voice strained. his keen eyes flicker from nicholas’s face to your dripping pussy and then back again, like he’s not sure which sight he likes more. you watch helplessly as he lifts his thumb, covered now in your arousal and nicholas’s spit, to his mouth and uses his tongue to taste you both. “tastes good,” he moans, the digit still caught between his teeth.

“yeah, she does,” nicholas agrees, and you wiggle your hips involuntarily at the remark, feeling the crest of your building pleasure slowly begin to fade.

he chuckles when he notices, leaning forward again to press his fingers inside of you again. he holds them still there, and vash leans forward, gently pinning one leg further open so he can get a better view. you whimper when nicholas gives you none of the satisfaction you’re chasing, and keeps his fingers inside of you unmoving.

“please, nico,” you beg him earnestly, your voice fracturing on the plea. your nightdress is sticking to the perspiration on your skin now, and you want it off, but you have more pressing issues at hand. 

or rather more issues with hands pressing you.

“does this feel better than touching yourself?” nicholas asks, giving one slow curl of his fingers that has your back bowing off the hard surface of the tabletop. “does it feel better now that you have the real thing?”

“y-yes,” you keen, a sob building in your too-tight chest that you can’t even drawn enough breath into to properly let form. “so much better. i-i wanna cum, please make me cum.” 

“that’s our girl,” nicholas breathes, grinning wolfishly up at vash who looks completely enamoured watching you fall apart quite literally at nicholas’s hand.

below you, vash begins to stroke himself to the sight of you coming undone, his other hand tangling in the short strands of nicholas’s hair at his crown. nicholas indulges him while he continues to please you, because he’s never denied either of you anything you want. vash’s little whimpers and moans as he watches you writhe on the table top only make your heart beat faster, and it doesn’t take much more until you’re crying out, the levee of pleasure giving way to the rush of your peak.

“oh, look at that,” nicholas hisses against your pussy as your walls clamp down around his fingers to the point he almost can’t move them at all. you aren’t sure if he’s speaking to you or to vash, but it scarcely matters with the way your head is spinning. “you close too?” nicholas asks, tilting his face towards where vash is leaning against the table, one hand pressed flat against the surface now while the other passes quickly over his flushed, leaking cock.

you watch him through the daze of your own pleasure, marvelling in it. everything about vash is just so pretty. his parted lips, slick with spit and swollen from the way he catches them between his teeth. his delicate cheekbones, and the rosy blush that curls across them, that stains his nose, and even curls down to his chest. even the silvery scars across his skin, stories from a lifetime he knew before you, adorn him like art.

“yeah,” he whimpers out brokenly, his teary blue eyes meeting yours as you blink at him from your place on the table. nicholas rests a hand on vash’s hip, a rough thumb sweeping encouragingly over a scar that’s etched into his skin, and you watch the blonde tip his head back as he cums with a drawn out moan—the final push over the edge. his spend drips down over the divots of his knuckles, and he gives a few more half-hearted pumps of his hand to ride out his own end with a shudder.

it’s quiet for a moment in the your house. you hear the wind whistling outside through the windchimes vash had made for you, the sound of panting breaths, and the slowing beat of your racing pulse.

“what a mess you two made,” nicholas is the first to shatter the stillness, his tone wry. he clicks his tongue behind his teeth, eyeing the smear of wetness at the edge of the table that’s dripped down the inside of your thighs to pool there and the cum dripping from vash’s trembling grip. nico reaches up and takes vash’s soiled hand, dragging his fingers through your mess. the brunette shoots you a mischievous look, and then lifts sticky digits to his swollen lips and cleans them off with a flick of his pink tongue.

vash slackens as nicholas’s lips wrap around him, like the tension he’s been carrying since they got home–from the botched hunt, the long days away, and the argument they'd had that has been weighing on him–dissipates with the gesture. once vash’s hand is mostly clean, nicholas pulls back and places a kiss to his palm.

the two of them share a look, and wordlessly you know that all has been forgiven.

their eyes return to you, next.

“how are you doing up there, princess?” nicholas teases, his eyes scanning over your dishevelled form.

“good,” you reply, your lips curling up into a soft, satisfied smile. with a bit of effort, you regain your bearings and push yourself onto your elbows. vash quickly slips a hand behind your back to steady you, and you shoot him a coy look of thanks.

“just good?” nicholas asks as rises from the floor, his knees crack and he winces, but he shakes it off quickly. his palm comes to rest flat against the tabletop and leans down close to you. the smell of tobacco is almost gone now, replaced with something a little headier, a little more primal, but you enjoy it just as much.

“great even,” you say softly, and he kisses you to hide the smile on his face. the kiss is brief but welcome, and soon nicholas is helping you up off the table and back onto your own feet, your nightdress falling back into place as he smoothes his palm along the curves of your body. you lean into his side, batting your lashes up at him as you purse your lips. “i distinctly remember someone making me me a promise about taking me to bed, though.”

nicholas rolls his eyes, but it’s an expression that bleeds fondness more than anything else. “yeah well, i didn’t wanna wake this one up,” he replies, reaching out and ruffling vash’s already messy hair.

“hey,” the blonde complains as he bats away his hand, and nicholas covers a laugh by burying his face in the crook of your neck. you giggle too and it only seems to make vash more wounded. “i’m awake now.”

nicholas lifts his face from the crook of your neck, resting his temple against your own. you can hear the smugness in his tone as he replies “want me to make you regret it?”

vash eyes widen, and he blushes a little more.

you reach up, and vash dips down like he knows what you're reaching for even without you having to say it. you take your time carefully brushing his hair back into something more closely resembling its usual state, and his eyes shut contently as you trace your fingertips along his scalp. once you're satisfied with the result, you take his face in your palms, enjoying the warmth of his blush against your skin.

“it's good to have you home, boys,” you whisper with nicholas still wrapped around you, cradling vash’s cheeks in your hands. "i was lonely without you."

vash's eyes open once more–his pupils wide again like they had been not long prior–and at your side nicholas's arm tightens around your waist. you feel the press of something hot and hard against your hip, and you swallow thickly as saliva pools under your tongue.

"jeez, you really know how to make us feel guilty, huh?" he murmurs, his tone dry but noticeably tight. you feel the soft brush of his lips against the shell of your ear as he nuzzles closer, and you can't miss the draw of his suddenly more laboured breaths.

"guess you'll just have to make it up to me," you whisper back to him. you hoped your tone would be playful, but it's too anticipatory, too breathless, to have bite. your eyes are still trained on vash's, watching as they grow hungrier with every passing thump of your quickening heart.

"well, you know where our bed is, kid," nicholas whispers, and his voice makes you shiver when the heat of his breath tickles the side of your cheek. he nips at the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear, the sharp drag of teeth that you know would never truly harm you. "or are you waiting for me to carry you there, too?"

#vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #wolfwood x reader #nicholas wolfwood x reader #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun stampede fic #trigun fic #writing #poly vashwood

[fir3ylolol]

we want you! pt. 4

pairing: Johnny Cage x Reader

tw: oral sex, public, almost caught, mostly fluffy tbh, gn pronouns

a/n: finally, a pt 4! i've been busy with school this week, so im glad i got this out lol. enjoy the fluffy old man hehe

word count: 1.74 k

other parts

Ao3

It’s been about 3 days since you last saw Johnny. You’ve got class, and he’s got work. That doesn’t stop him from texting you. Constantly. He’s sending you texts about what he ate, pictures of cute things he saw, and whining about not hanging out. It’s a lot of whining to be fair. But it’s cute. Especially when he sends selfies where he’s making big sad puppy dog eyes.

But finally, you reach another free day. He’s been counting down the days, complaining more that he can’t come over at 6 A.M. sharp. But you need more time than that, and he understands. That doesn’t mean he’s not constantly asking you if you’re ready. Like, every 5 minutes. How does he have this much energy? When you let him know you’re ready, you swear it’s only been a couple of minutes before the knock on your door comes. You open the door, but Johnny nearly bursts in, capturing you in a bear hug as he lifts you slightly. There you hang, as he squeezes you tight and lets out a deep breath. Face buried in your chest, you hear him mumble out, “Man, I missed you.” As he sets you down, you giggle slightly. “You know it’s only been a couple of days right?” He sighs and droops forward comedically. “I know, I know, but! You’re so much more fun than sitting around all day.”

You hold his hand and smile at him, which causes him to stand up straighter, as you speak quietly, “That’s very sweet of you.” He wraps his arms around your waist, gently touching his forehead to yours, smiling out, “Well, I am well known for how sweet I am.” You giggle at him, which makes him smile even more. “God, I don’t think I’ve ever been funnier than when I’m with you,” he laughs with you. You slip from his grasp and grab your bag, walking out the door. “Come on, I don’t have all day.” Johnny quickly walks out after you, watching as you lock the door. But the second you do, he grabs your hand and pulls you along. His steps are fast, and he’s half-dragging you along. As you practically get dragged along the sidewalk, you can’t help but admire his excitement. It’s quite sweet.

He screeches to a halt and you bump into his back. He turns around to grin at you wide, asking excitedly, “What do you think?” It’s a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, an old shader over the worn door. He walks in the door, still holding your hand tight. It’s quite cute inside, like a warm, comfortable library, with large sofas and thrifted coffee tables. He speaks to an employee as you look around before he gets your attention to follow him again. You start up a thin staircase, with creaky wooden floors under your feet. It suddenly opens up to a rooftop area, flowering plants pouring out over the trellis in the center, with comfortable-looking chairs underneath. You sit down, amazed at how picture-esque it is. Johnny whispers to the employee who brought you up, who nods as he leaves again. Johnny sits down with you, smiling at you, which you reciprocate. “What do you think? You like it?” He says softly as he traces shapes on your hand. “Do I like it? It’s gorgeous! How did you know about this place?” You express with adoration. He pretends to be flustered, “Oh you know, I’ve got connections. And I like seeing how happy you get when I take you somewhere nice.”

The employee returns, placing a tray with a coffee pot, 2 mugs, and 2 small cakes on the table before leaving again. Johnny grabs the pot, pouring cups for the two of you. “I’m not allowed to have caffeine so, does hot chocolate sound good?” You nod, before laughing, “Why can’t you have caffeine?” He falters slightly but continues pouring. He coughs before talking, “Well…my daughter worries about me, so she asked me to watch my intake.” Your eyes widen slightly, surprised that it took him this long to mention it. “You have a daughter? Wow…what does she do?” He looks in your eyes, happy that you’re not weirded out. “Well, she works with the Special Forces, she’s a commander. You would like her, she’s funny.” You take a sip from your mug, almost burning your tongue, but quickly end up giggling. “Funny like you, or actually funny?” He snorts, leaning back in his chair, “Those are the same thing, you know.”

You’re glad you’ve lightened the mood, but you worry a little. What if this relationship continues, and she thinks you’re weird? But you forget them the second Johnny meets your eyes again, warm and full of compassion. Everything is good right now. No need for stress. Johnny picks up a fork and grabs a piece of the cake in front of you. He leans closer to you and leads it to your mouth. You take the bite, melting at the taste. You mumble out around the food, “Holy shit. That’s so good.” He lights up even more, taking a bite for himself. He does the exact same, covering his mouth as he speaks through it, “That’s really fucking good.” You both laugh, happy just to be here and experiencing it. You both end up taking your time, enjoying the company, and eating more delicious cake. When you finally leave, walking out onto the sidewalk, you half-brace yourself for another dragging. But he walks slower this time, admiring the shops you pass and staring at you. Until he suddenly stops, leading you down a park path, large trees shading your path.

“It’s nice here,” he finally breaks the silence between you two. You pause for a deep breath before speaking, “Yeah, it is nice. I’m glad I’m here with you.” He squeezes your hand quickly, admiring you with genuine eyes. “You’re so nice, you know that? I’m always so happy with you. I like spending all this time with you.” You wrap your arm around him, leaning into him. He stops walking, looks at you, and gently kisses you. As the wind blows behind you, you lean into him, his warmth and stability and kindness draw you in further. He leans back, looking at you again as you speak, “You’ve been looking at me a lot today. Do I look especially good?” He leans back in, resting his head against yours, “You always look good.” Shivers travel up your spine as his fingers dance along your back. You feel him back up, steering you back along the pathway. “You wanna see a movie? I heard they were showing classics at the local theater.” You nod, walking along with him, trying to shake off how flustered he made you.

You reach the theater, which is across the street from the end of the park, and Johnny orders two tickets to a movie called “Ninja Mime” which sounds familiar. You walk inside and see the poster for it directly inside the door. You smack his arm lightly, whispering to him, “You bought us tickets to see your movie??” He grins, “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to see a classic.” You both make your way into the screening room, completely empty as the final trailer rolls. You sit next to him, lifting the arm rest between you so you can get closer. He pulls you in close, whispering again, “You better behave. I don’t take kindly to talking during the movie.” You nod, but he’s put an idea in your head. The lights dim, and the movie starts, watching as a younger Johnny leaps around the screen silently in mime makeup. He’s fully invested in his own performance, serious face on display. You do a final check of the theater, fully empty besides you two.

You slide out of your chair slowly, avoiding his eyeline. You crawl slowly between his legs, finally getting his attention. He looks slightly confused like he really didn’t notice that you moved. Your hand gently rubs along his inner thigh, which causes him to jump slightly. He looks more eager now, no longer confused. He slightly shifts his hips so you have a better angle, and you unzip his pants slowly. He’s not quite hard yet, gently removing him and starting to stroke him slowly. He moves back and forth, already feeling the effect of your touch. Maybe since you were in public, but you’ve forgotten to care, leaning forward to slowly lick from base to tip, intense eye contact before sinking down. He jumps again, hand clutching the arm tight. You slowly bob your head, trying to keep eye contact and swirling your tongue against the sensitive underside. He bites his hand, a whine lightly slipping out. It only eggs you on more, speeding up slightly to watch him squirm more.

Suddenly, he grabbed your head and held you down against him. You hear a door creak and a few footsteps before they suddenly stop. You breathe through your nose as quietly as you can, looking up to see Johnny, face completely blank. It was impressive honestly. Suddenly, the steps return, getting quieter as you hear the door creak again. Johnny lets go, breathing out a sigh of relief. You sit up slightly, sputtering and coughing. He leans down, grabbing your chin lightly. “God, you’re so hot.” He sits back up, leading your head back down. You eagerly accept, going back down again, moving a lot faster than before. His whimpers could be heard lightly echoing throughout the theater as his grasp on you tightened. You can tell he’s close, the situation has made him more sensitive. You were right, as he holds you back down again, this time hunching over you with a heady moan as he cums right there. You swallow it down, continuing to move your tongue. He starts twitching, still too sensitive. You finally pull away, as he leans back with a tired look on his face. You sit back down next to him and lean into his side. After a few seconds, you whisper out, “So what did I miss?” He snort-laughs as he sits back up, looking at you, “All the best parts.” You kiss him lightly, which he gladly accepts. As you pull away, you whisper a final time. “So, are you gonna leave your dick out the whole movie, or?”

#johnny cage #mortal kombat #johnny cage x reader #x reader #johnny cage smut #mk x reader #johnny cage mk11

[bettyfrommars]

Monster Eddie Jobs: haunted clown doll. Poltergeist. One of those paintings where the eyes follow you around. INCUBUS

haunted clown doll it is

hauntedClownDoll!Eddie x Reader

another blurb from The Nightmare Factory

Nightmare Factory Masterlist

Another step in Eddie's journey to find the Nightmare Factory job that will entice you to want to get to know him. A lot of you darlings came through with a handful of fun, creative requests, and I'm excited to keep them going through spooky season! I will also be using others that were mentioned in this particular ask, and always happy to receive more! I stayed at the Clown Motel once and lived to tell. There really is a cemetery right next to it, no lie. wc: 1.5k

18+ONLY, mature themes, nightmares, clowns, longing

The Clown Motel in Tonopah, Nevada gave you the creeps, but all you needed was a quick bed for the night, and $65 was about all you could afford.  There was an old cemetery next to the property, and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed it was all a staged setup to add to the spooky appeal of the motel.  But, no—the headstones were all very real, dating back to the late 1800’s.

You saw him when you first came in—he was impossible to miss.  The life-sized clown doll dressed in colorful stripes with a wide mouth and round, rubber nose.  He sat in the middle of a square nook filled with clown dolls of all shapes and sizes.  Some were ceramic, some were cloth.  Some were wood, carved to look like a nutcracker.  The big clown had one hand in his lap and one hanging down his side, and his eager eyes sought you in a way that made you avert your attention until you were done checking in.  

Your room was on the second tier and you took some time to get cleaned up before calling over to the restaurant across the way to order some food.  On you way back across the street, clutching the styrofoam container in your hand, you caught a glimpse of something bright in the cemetery.

It was dusk, and you wondered if maybe it was someone visiting one of the burial sites.

But, with a muffled scream you noticed—for a split second—that it was the same clown doll from the lobby standing like a statue by one of the headstones.

It was watching you, leering at you, and it lifted its arm in a stiff wave as the wind blew back the silk of his costume.

You blinked and choked, and when you focused on the spot in the distance again—the clown was no longer there.  

Eddie materialized in the cemetery to get a better look at where you were, and then he tripped over his floppy shoes and almost impaled himself on a handmade, wooden cross.  

He cursed under his breath, wondering why he chose Haunted Clown Doll over some type of apparition so that he could be near you without making you uncomfortable.  First of all, he thought having a physical body would solve the communication problem, but of course—the clown’s face couldn’t move, and his voice came out as not much more than a mocking cackle.

Second, it was only a three day training, and most of it was just watching safety videos about how to walk in the shoes.  They also taught him to sit for a while, and then stand in the corner, and then hover near the bed when the person having the nightmare least expected it.  

They repeated a lot of the same shit at the training, and when he crossed his arms over his chest to sink back in his chair, he started to fall asleep.

He snorted awake with a start when the teacher—-a professional Nightmare Clown with a gaping maw of sharp teeth and a bright green wig—-barked his name.

“Sorry,” Eddie said groggily.  “I’m listening.”

“Is that right?” The teacher clown also had cat’s eyes for pupils and a polka dot jumper with ruffles at the wrists and blood stains across the front.  “Indulge the rest of the class and tell me what the last rule was I just went over.”

The “class” consisted of 3 unfortunate souls, including Eddie.  

Eddie could not contain the yawn that stretched his mouth, so he spoke while it was happening.  “Going under the covers,” he answered.  “When the person puts their head under the covers, they are safe, and we can’t touch them or scare them.”

“Exactly, now, how do we keep them from going under the covers?”

Eddie must’ve blanked out on that one.  “Um, we can’t?”

The teacher heaved a weary sigh, cocking their head.  “Distractions, Munson. Doors that fly open, a face in the window, whispers in their ear.”

This was all beginning to sound way above his pay grade, and he wasn’t interested in being the best student or the best employee—he just wanted to see you again.

He should’ve dematerialized before you caught a glimpse of him from across the street, but some insane part of him hoped you might recognize him—even though you’d never seen his actual form, and he was dressed like a literal clown this time.  

A car honked, jolting you from your reverie, and as you jogged the rest of the way into the parking lot, your eyes darted around, hoping to god that you would not see the clown again.

On your way to the stairs, you passed by the glass front to the lobby, and found yourself looking in to make eye contact with the clown doll again.  Its eyeballs were painted on, but somehow—you felt like they were watching you, as if someone were looking through from the other side.  Both of its hands were in its lap, now, and its shoulders were hunched; big, oversized red shoes planted on the floor; short, frizzy orange hair sticking out of a floppy sleeping cap.  

You went up and watched some lame sitcoms while you ate your dinner, and you tried to forget about the inanimate clown doll that was gnawing at your brain.

Eddie noticed how you took the time to check in on him on the way to your room, and his heart leapt.  And then, he thought he was the one dreaming when he watched you descend the stairs and return to the lobby a few hours later.

The night manager popped his head out to ask if you needed any help, but you confessed you were only there to look at the clowns.

One in particular.

You made your way over to stand at his side and covertly whispered in his ear.  “Was that you out in the cemetery today?”

Eddie’s clown hand fell from his lap to sway at his side, making you jump back, eyes widening at the coincidence.

When you found the nerve, you leaned closer, inspecting the wide, painted smile on his porcelain face, the brown of his irises.

You were so close, Eddie could smell you.  You radiated fresh lavender and coconut hand lotion and a tang of garlic from the dinner you just ate.  He watched your lips move as you whispered to yourself, something about, “where have I seen this clown before?”

Eddie couldn’t speak though, he could only chuckle, and he didn’t think it was the right time.

The body of the doll was so lifelike; you had to feel it for yourself.  With a shaky hand, you reached out to touch his shoulder—it wasn’t soft like stuffing, it was hard, like a store mannequin.  You bent down to squeeze the thigh, finding that it was made of the same solid material.

Eddie could feel everything, the way you were caressing him. On his plane of existence, he parted his lips and let his eyes roam over your face.  Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to kiss you.

You bought some souvenirs—-a shot glass and a mug for your mom—and then returned to your room for the night.

It took you a while to get to sleep, but when you finally dozed off to the point that your body jerked from an imaginary fall, clown Eddie was sitting in the chair in the corner.  The maniacal smile stretched across his face was locked in place—his eyes unblinking as they stared across the room at you.  

You rolled over with a groan, pulling the covers closer to your chin as you went.  

Eddie materialized at the side of the bed, at your back, tilting his head, wishing he could crawl in and put his arms around you.  He’d take his big, stupid shoes off first.

The next morning, you woke up refreshed, and busied yourself around the motel room getting ready for the last leg of your road trip, oblivious to the way Eddie had been standing at the foot of your bed all night.  

After your suitcase was in the car, you went to drop the key off at the front desk, and noticed the life-sized clown was no longer therr.  You went over to inspect the area: its chair between the shelves of smaller clowns was gone too.  There was not a trace of it, as if it had vanished.

“Hey, so, where did you put the huge clown that was down here?” You asked politely as you passed the man your key.

He squinted at you, a bit confused.  “Huge clown, you mean the nutcracker ones?”

“No, the really big one,” you turned to point to the area where it had been.  “It was taller than me with enormous red shoes, a really creepy smile.  It was sitting right over there when I checked in yesterday.”

The man bent forward over the desk to see where you were pointing, even though he had no idea what  you were babbling about.  

“We’ve never had a clown that size,” he assured you. “But I wish we did. It sounds like something from a nightmare.”

#the nightmare factory #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie munson #the clown motel #Eddie Munson fluff #hauntedClownDoll!eddie #Eddie Munson x reader

[keiho]

— H.HJ | aphrodisiac

#tags — hwang hyunjin x fem!reader ; smut, e2l, mafia au, dark fic #contains — begging, edging, handjob, multiple orgasms, riding, praise, creampie, dacryphilia, bondage, whimpering hyun, sub!hj #warnings — some physical violence (slapping, two punches, minor cutting, choking), mentions of blood and brief mention of a needle, non-con (m rec), drugging (aphrodisiac), mindbreaking, toxic relationship themes near the end, kidnapping themes, not proofread, lowercase intended #words — 5.6k #thoughts — my first hard fic! and also my longest fic 🥸 i loved writing this so pls enjoy :3 i struggled with the end but i always do so who cares #thanks — thank u to my beta readers !! i had a few (they've asked to stay anonymous) and i really appreciate their help :)) thank u beloveds #sources — u/MythosVA's 'breaking him for information' is the audio source for this fic! i edited it a tiny bit but if you want a more immersive experience, listen while u read! (pls go support MythosVA on their platforms!) #note — this is my original work. @keiho may 2023. do NOT repost.

hyunjin's vision is blurry when he opens his eyes. he doesn't know where he is, and any attempts to figure it out are moot; the room is so dark he can't see more than maybe five feet in front of him. he moves to get up from the chair he's seated in to look around, but he can't — he's tied down. his wrists are tied behind the back of the chair and his ankles to the legs. another rope is tied around his waist, holding his back flush to the back of the wooden chair.

he huffs and groans as he tries to squirm out of his restraints. but as he moves, he realizes the knots are tied well. he's not going anywhere.

"was this your idea?" he speaks into the darkness, guessing based on stories he'd heard that someone's here with him. his voice breaks as the words pass his lips, his throat nearly burning as it's so dry. "this is your plan to get intel, isn't it?" he goes quiet as he tries again on his ropes, although it's futile. "whoever the fuck you are, you won't get anything out of me."

the silence that answers him makes his ears ring. without cause, his heart skips a beat before it picks up pace. someone's right in front of him. he can feel it; he just can't see them. doesn't know what kind of threat they pose. it makes his skin break into goosebumps.

he tries to ignore the strange feeling rising in his chest and looks down at the knots tied over his stomach, assuming the knots would be the same everywhere and looking for a weak point. he mutters a quiet 'fuck' under his breath when he feels stinging in his wrists; he's broken skin.

he pauses when he hears footsteps closing in. lifting his head, hyunjin sees you — whoever you are. he doesn't recognize you, which is odd considering he knows exactly why he's here.

he sighs. "finally. hi," he offers faux-politely, a sarcastic edge to his words.

you raise a brow and let out a small laugh. "hello."

"so," he starts, looking around the dark room. "what is this?"

"it's you, tied to a chair."

"i see that," he says. "let me guess, you're with lim?"

your lips curl into a small smile as you lean down a little closer to take a look at the mask adorning his face. it's an off-white color, angel wings engraved on the cheekbones of the skull shape.

"sure, you could say that."

"mmh, i see. well… you can tell your boss to go fuck himself." hyunjin huffs and shifts his shoulders back. "you will never get anything out of me. you hear me?"

"hmm… promise?" you ask. hyunjin hears an odd tone in your voice but chooses to ignore it.

he scoffs. "whatever you do, no worry, i can take that pain."

"oh, i'm sure of it," you say condescendingly, standing up straight to traipse around behind him. he can't see you now, and it makes him more nervous than it should.

"i've been down this road before," he says, almost too confidently. "might as well put a bullet in my brain now."

you chuckle. "i'm sure you'd like that, the easy way out." he feels you lean down close to his ear, and you let out a soft laugh. "pathetic how you're trying to take that route after you were so sure of yourself," you whisper.

hyunjin ignores your taunts.

"you think you can break me?" he asks, shaking his head. "mmh… i don't know about that." you walk back to stand in front of him as he talks, listening to his words carefully. "but it's funny that you would think that."

you lean down, your face right in front of his. your fingers dance along the edge of his mask, your eyes following the curve of the skull before you look into his eyes. when you tug gently on his face cover he takes a sharp breath through his teeth.

"getting a bit close, are we?" he asks, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice.

you smile. it's almost too sweet for the situation you're in, and it's unsettling to hyunjin in more ways than one.

"you're lucky you know how to tie a knot," he whispers.

you straighten your back before delivering a sharp punch to his jaw. he lets out a grunt, and just an instant later he hears the clattering of plastic on the cement floor — his mask's band has broken. the only thing covering his face now is the ski mask he wears underneath.

another blow comes not long after the first and hyunjin lets out a groan before muttering fuck under his breath again.

you pull your knife from its holster on your hip and switch the blade free, the clicking making hyunjin's eyes turn immediately to meet yours. he lets out a strained laugh.

"yeah? what is it you're planning to do?" he breathes heavily as he looks up at you. "death by a thousand cuts?" he laughs. his brain feels fuzzy, the impact of your punches more than any hit had been in times passed.

"i promise you," you begin, placing a hand on each arm of his chair and leaning close to his face. "there's more where that came from."

he sucks in a breath, shaking his head doubtfully. "i don't know; kinda seems like you're making this up as you go."

you know he's just taunting you, and you let him. he's fighting for dominance he doesn't have in a battle he's already lost.

"do i need to repeat myself? you will get nothing out of me today."

"is that so?" you ask, tilting your head. he nods. you laugh, backing away from his chair as you put your knife away. "mmh, still…" you slip your finger underneath the fabric of his ski mask. "let's get this out of the way, shall we?" hyunjin's breath hitches in his throat at the feeling of your skin on his.

you pull the mask back agonizingly slowly, revealing his features one by one. once the mask slips off completely you throw it to the side, and it slides to a stop next to his skull mask.

"such a pretty face," you coo mockingly. "what a waste." the words pass your lips just before you raise your hand to wrap around his throat.

he doesn't try to hold back the sounds of his hindered breathing under your grip. he lets out a growl-like noise and a chuckle between gasps, doing his best to provoke you even when he's unable to breathe.

when your hand falls from his throat again he takes in a deep breath, groaning at the sharp pains in the sides of his neck. your fingers had dug in deeper than he thought, and he swears he feels blood trickling down his neck.

he lets out a whimper before he speaks.

"i swear to god, as soon as i'm out of these, you're gonna regret that."

you smirk, pulling your blade out again and taking a swipe at his cheek. now he's sure that there's blood, and he gasps as you cut him.

he chuckles and does his best to ignore how his cheek burns.

"you seem oddly confident," he states.

"i could say the same about you," you retort.

he laughs to himself. "and why's that?"

"i've broken hundreds before you."

"sounds like you're all bark no bite." hyunjin hates that you can see his face because he's sure his pupils are blown and his face is red. "you're just a scared amateur, a little gi—"

his words are cut off when you deliver a slap to the place you've just cut him. he lets out a gasp followed by a whimper, but he tries his best to stay quiet and takes in a deep, shaking breath.

you get close to his face again, gripping his jaw and looking him over. his skin is beginning to turn red in the shape of your hand, his skin broken in places you hadn't realized you'd hit him.

"what do you think you're doing?"

"examining," you say simply.

"examining what?" he scoffs, staring into your eyes as you look him over. your gaze falls to his neck and he realizes he can't see your other hand, but it's too late — a needle slides quickly into his skin, and a cold fluid rushes into his veins when you slide the plunger down its tube.

"…what did you just do?" he asks.

you ignore his question. "i'm asking, nicely; last chance. tell me where they are," you tease, still holding onto his jaw.

he hates the way you say it but he can't help it: "fuck. you."

you smile as you toss the needle into the dark abyss behind hyunjin's chair, listening to him ramble.

"like i told you. like i keep telling you — you'll get nothing, nothing from me. so no matter wh…" his voice trails off and his words slur. he tries to shake it off, starting over. "no matter w… wh-wha—" his vision begins to blur and he feels like the room is spinning. "n-no matter what you d…do," he forces out, "y-you…"

hyunjin lets out a whimper as he tries to look you in the eye, barely capable of controlling the way his eyes keep rolling back.

"wh-what… what d'you do?" he asks, his voice soft. his breathing shakes as he looks down at his lap, trying to ground himself — maybe he's just dizzy. but the aching in the side of his neck screams at him, and there's a voice in his head telling him to go, run, run far away. but he can't. even if he wasn't tied up, he wouldn't be able to go five feet without collapsing.

you stare down at him wordlessly, watching his gaze drift from place to place as it hits what you've done.

"wh…what did you just give me?" he slurs, letting out soft whimpers instead of regular breaths.

"hmm… truth serum." your lips curl into a barely-there smile, and he squints at you.

"th-that shit doesn't exist," he says. he whines at the pain, suddenly amplified infinitely by the drug coursing through his body. you let him question himself, softly muttering messy words under his breath as he tries to decipher the situation at hand.

"y-you won't get it out of me," he nearly mewls. "i won't tell you."

you grab his jaw gently and make him look at you.

"mm-mm," he whines weakly, shaking his head as his eyelids drift shut momentarily. "n-no—"

another slap to his face. he can't even try to hold in the cry of pain, but it gets cut off by your hand wrapping around his throat again.

"i-i won't," he forces out through his dizziness. you simply smile down at him, watching the way his eyes close and snap open repeatedly.

you pull your hand off of him, and he takes in ragged breaths.

"f-fu… f…" hyunjin can't even form the two words he's been throwing at you consistently since he'd woken up. he swallows thickly and looks up into your eyes, his pupils blown so much you can hardly see the color in his eye.

"where are they?" you ask softly.

"y-you want mm…me to tell you. but i-i'll, nev…never tell." he whimpers again. "y-you won't get anything out of me," he slurs, repeating the words over and over until he seems to fall into a momentary daze. his eyes skip over your face as he tries to ground himself again. "i won't t-tell you anyth…thing,"

more whimpers and failed attempts at speaking pass his lips. you take hold of his jaw again and make him look at you.

"just hope the side effects work how i want them to," you state, your voice gentle. he's so out of it that you need to talk down to him for him to understand anything coming out of your mouth.

"s-side effects?" panic rises in his chest. "wh…what side effects?"

"it's had a history of… causing a certain kind of reaction," you smirk, glancing down into his lap. he picks up on your implication and laughs weakly.

"s-so that's your plan? make a h-h…half-assed play, work up my l-lust and desire, thinking i'll tell y…you whatever you want? j-just because your little serum here has got me a l-little excited?"

you smile a little, nodding. "pretty much."

"n-no," he mutters. "n…no, no no no no no…" his voice trails off into silence as his words slur from his mouth. when he snaps back he glares into your eyes as best he can. "you underestimate m-me. you will not get anything… out of me."

"mmh, we'll see about that." you release his jaw and sink onto your knees, reaching for the buckle of his belt. you undo the clasp and unzip his jeans, noticing that he's already getting hard. when you pull his cock free of his boxers he whimpers, your skin warm on his. as he watches you tug his jeans off, his mind fills with a race of thoughts; he needs to leave, he needs to cum, he needs to get out.

"wh…what're you doing?" hyunjin asks quietly. "s-stop." you don't acknowledge his words, instead holding eye contact and slowly moving to jerk him off.

he bites his lip and throws his head back, letting his soft moans and whimpers out freely. every movement makes his cock throb, his head spinning with pleasure already.

"yeah? y-you think i'll break? y…you think so?" his face is red, burning at the sight of you touching him. it feels so good — every sensation is amplified tenfold with the drug swirling around in his brain, both pain and pleasure.

he moans under your touch, over and over, weaker and weaker each time. he lets out a quivering breath.

"come and f-fucking try it." he's trying so hard to be strong, and it's hardly working; he knows that. but he knows if he can resist, just keep his mouth shut… sooner or later you'll let him go. or kill him, whichever you decide fits your plan at the time.

you run your thumb over the tip of his cock and gather the bead of precum that's formed there, using it to lubricate the way you touch him. he lets out a cry of pleasure at the feeling of you touching his most sensitive parts, but he refuses to fold.

"n-nothing," he says, "nothing you do w…will ever make me. mm-mm," he hums, shaking his head weakly.

you move your hand faster, just a bit to drive him crazy. every whimper encourages you, pushing you deeper into this mindset you've fallen into. part of you isn't in it for the mission anymore; he just looks so pretty like this, barely coherent with his cock throbbing for you.

"so cute," you mutter. it's almost against your will the way it falls from your lips — ironic. he lets out a loud whine at your praise, closing his eyes tightly. you can see his core tightening as he tries to thrust into your hand, but his restraints won't let him.

he breathes heavily, shaking his head mindlessly as he refuses things you're not asking for.

"f…fuck, fuck. please—" he moans, doing his best to hold back the words pushing at his throat. "i-its gonna take much more than th-that."

"oh, i'm sure," you coo. every teasing word makes hyunjin's cock throb and he throws his head back, crying out at the sensations running through his body.

"mm-mm," he hums, letting out an empty-minded giggle. "n-no, mm-mm… g-god, fuck—" his voice breaks as he whines, swallowing hard. "f-fuck you, fuck… fuck you fuckyou fuckyou… f-fuck." every word makes him fall apart more and more, his voice cracking. his lower lip slides between his teeth as his eyes roll back.

you move your hand even faster, letting him whine and whimper.

"mm, f-fuck," he forces out, closing his eyes tightly. he shakes his head again; no, you can't win. you won't — he won't let you.

but he's falling apart under your touch, and he knows it. you somehow know exactly what to do to get him to break, pleasuring him beyond belief as his head spins.

"oh, g-god, please…"

"you love this, don't you," you ask softly. he tries to shake his head but his body won't let him, and he nods without hesitation.

"y-your h…hand, fuck— i'm gonna cum," he whispers. he wants to beg, plead; please, more. but he can't form coherent thoughts as an orgasm tightens in his abdomen.

you speed up your hand just enough to bring him to the edge of orgasm before you pull your hand away, watching as he twitches against his ropes. his cock throbs and precum leaks out of his cock, running down his shaft slowly. he takes in a sharp breath through his teeth at the loss of contact; he was so close that he can almost feel his cum built up in his cock, just needing a tiny bit of pressure to let him finish.

"y-you're fucking…" he lets out giggles that turn into cries, hurting so good, desperate for an orgasm. he can feel it slipping away from him, fading from a pending action to just a thought. his head falls back and his chest heaves harshly as he takes in deep breaths. "mm-mm," he hums. "no no no…" you run your thumb over the head of his cock softly, focusing on the spot that'd made him quiver earlier.

he cries out, tears forming in his eyes as he looks down at you. flustered laughs pass his lips as he tries to thrust up into your fist, part of him wants you to stop — he's so overstimulated that his mind is barely present anymore — and the other part wants you to keep going. it feels so good he thinks he's going crazy, fucked out, and dizzy.

"w-won't tell," he whimpers.

"i'll just keep edging you then," you say.

"n-no, please—" he interrupts himself with a loud moan as you move your hand up and down his cock again, less and less friction as his precum drips down his shaft to lubricate your movements. "f..fuck, fuck…" his voice turns from loud moans to soft, broken whimpers. they're high-pitched as he mixes in mutters of 'fuck' and 'please'.

you can tell he's about to cum again with the way he twitches and you stop again, pulling away and resting your hand on his thigh. he almost growls at the loss of sensation, and he looks up at the ceiling, a pained smile on his lips.

you rub soft circles into the skin through his jeans, and somehow the sensation is enough to make him whimper.

"y-you're the worst."

"is that so?" hyunjin's eyes widen when he sees you move your hand under your mouth, letting saliva roll off of your tongue into your palm. "what about if i give the opposite, hm?"

"n-no, wait, please—" you wrap your hand around his cock again, moving at a pace fast enough to bring him close but too slow to push him over the edge.

"doing so good for me," you whisper.

he nods eagerly, unable to meet your eyes as you touch him. you smile at the way he's crumbling; he's easier than you thought.

"n-no, please, please please please…" more moans, breaking through his pleads, showing that no matter how much he denies it, he's loving this. "f-fuck, p…please, more— faster, faster please," he whines, curling into himself as best he can.

"gonna cum, darling?"

he lets out a shaking breath, "y-yes, p…please, fuck." you do as he asks, speeding up your movements, and you watch as tears roll down his face. "please please please, fuck, d-don't stop."

he whimpers, pleading and begging under his breath.

"pretty boy," you say softly. he lets out a cry and throws his head back, nodding urgently.

"please please please, fuck— g…god i'm cumming," hyunjin's voice cracks as his cock twitches in your hand, his body quivering against his restraints. cum spurts out of his cock, messing up his shirt. the flow trickles to a stop and it runs down your hand, dripping onto his jeans.

but you don't let up. you keep jerking him off, and he whines.

"p-please, stop, stop stop…"

you tilt your head, faking a sympathetic look. "oh, but you wanted to cum so badly baby." he moans louder and louder with every movement, his cock still hard but so overstimulated it's making his head hurt. he continues to mutter stop under his breath, over and over, stumbling over his words.

"w…wait wait, please, fuck—" another moan, broken and shaky, before he growls under his breath. "f-fuck you," he whines, hardly able to force the words out as he cries from overstimulation.

he swears under his breath over and over, groaning and letting out nearly painful laughs of exasperation.

"i-i'm gonna cum," he cries. he twitches again just like before, gasping deeply. he lets out a string of profanities and whimpers in the same breath, feeling the air run out in his chest but forcing through the strain.

he coughs as he inhales again.

"cum for me."

it's just what he needs to push him over, and he quivers under his ropes as he cums again. his orgasm washes over him and his eyes roll back.

but again… you don't stop. he's so overstimulated that it hurts; pain, not pleasure. his head spins and he shakes his head, trying to pull away.

"stop, stop stop please, i-i'll tell you, please just stop—" he cries, his chin to his chest as he tries to get away from you. you slow your hand to a stop and pull it away, resting your hand again on his thigh.

your thumb rubs on his skin softly, more giving yourself a distraction from edging him than calming him. he does his best to catch his breath. he breathes nervously, looking at you with tear streaks on his face.

"bahng's plan," he forces out, "is to visit lim's mother, in the dead of night—"

a slap to his face. not as hard as you'd been before, but still enough to sting overwhelmingly under the effects of the drug. and again, your hand wraps around his throat, cutting off his oxygen. his head spins as he struggles.

he's lied to you, not that you're surprised.

when his shoulders start to shake, attempting to move away, you let him go.

he lets his head fall to his chest as he takes in deep breaths, exhaling them as laughs.

"told you it wasn't gonna be that fucking easy," hyunjin snaps. he feels victorious for some odd reason. you're not sure why; it's not like he's free. he's still tied up, entirely trapped at your disposal.

but you're not having it.

you wrap your hand softly around his cock, without moving.

he's confused, and he's not sure if he wants you to get off of him or to keep touching him.

you look up at him, a soft smile on your face, before you place your thumb against his frenulum.

"wh-what are you—" he cries out again when you rub against the tight tissue softly. shocks of pleasure rush through his chest, making him whine and quiver. you can tell how much he's enjoying it, despite his best efforts to hide it.

"you're gonna tell me."

"f-fuck, more, please—" he moans, broken whimpers falling from his lips.

"i'll get you to, one way or another." he shakes his head, desperately trying to get away.

"y-you can't, i don't wanna… no, n-no no no no no…" you work your fingers in the same pattern, over and over, driving him insane.

"come on," you encourage, "tell me, darling."

"th-there… there's a stash house," hyunjin whines. he can feel an orgasm building but he tries to push it down, forcing out the words so you'll let up. "s..stash house on 41st—" he pauses to moan, his voice breaking "—a-and young. it's where he… they keep all of th-their shit there."

he's not done. you can tell by the way his lips quiver, trying to form words. you speed up your movements and he moans loudly, his chest heaving as he takes in deep breaths.

"he plans o-on moving in on y…your boss." he needs to take a moment from talking, letting himself whine and shake as he tries to catch his breath. "on monday," he manages to say. "fuck, f…fuck, please, i'm s-so hard, please… m-more, please, i told you what you wanted to know, please—" you finally let up on his frenulum, instead moving to jerk him off again.

"mmh, good boy," you coo.

"n-no, stop, please—"

"shh," you say softly.

"please, it hurts," he whines, shaking. you smile softly at his pretty noises, watching him nod his head. "right there right there right there, please…"

you know what he means, and you move your other hand to rub on his sensitive spot. the combination of stimulation on his cock and his tip makes him moan so loud it's nearly a scream.

"please, anything you want, i'll do a-anything you want, please, i-i'll tell you, just please—" you don't stop, and he hates it; he wants to cum so desperately but you're doing just enough to edge him, and it's unfair. "i-i promise, i promise, please…" he's not just whimpering anymore; he's crying. he's never been so desperate before.

you pull your hands away from him and he shakes his head, whining. that's not the right solution; not what he wanted.

his cock rests against his stomach, pulsating. the fabric of his t-shirt is nearly enough to make him cum. he's sure that if he could just move his hips a little more, he could thrust against himself and cum.

"please, please, please…" he whimpers, his mind failing him; all he can do is beg now, broken beyond fixing.

you smile, standing up from the floor. you realize then that your knees are sore but you ignore it, placing your hand under his jaw. you make him look up at you.

tears slip down his face, his cheeks red, his lip swollen from how he'd been biting it.

"f-fuck… you're beautiful," hyunjin whispers. in the back of your mind, a tiny voice tells you that you've done it; he's broken. completely, utterly ruined. just for you. "you're… you're amazing, 'n' y-you're gorgeous, fuck— i-i'm sorry, s-sorry i-i should've told you f-from the beginning, should've t-told you when you asked, 'm sorry—"

you interrupt him, leaning close and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips; he returns the kiss needily. he pushes himself into you as much as he can, desperate for any contact. but when you pull away he notices that you're no longer wearing your jeans, instead only in your t-shirt.

he whimpers when you climb into his lap, your entrance hovering just over his cock. he tries to thrust up into you, his abs clenching visibly under his tight t-shirt.

"look at you," you tease, "such a needy little thing,"

he nods his head, his eyelids heavy. "n-need you," he whispers.

"yeah?"

he should've thought that through.

you lower yourself down onto his cock painfully slowly, and he cries out.

"w-wait, please, please—"

"shh, you're okay," you say softly. he shakes his head, resting his forehead against your chest. loud moans fall from his lips when you lift yourself slowly up before sinking back down.

"please, o-oh my god, y-yes, please," he mumbles.

"you're doing so good for me," you praise, lifting his face with your finger to look up at you. his eyes split open and you notice the tears beading in his eyes; he's about to break.

"f-feels so f…fucking good, don't stop, please—" his words turn into incoherent giggles mixed with whimpers as you ride him slowly, careful not to move too fast.

"don't cum until i say you can," you tell him. he pouts, continuing to whine and beg.

"please," he begs, tears rolling down his cheeks. his shoulders shake as he cries, edged so bad that it hurts. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, please… th-there's a safe house, i-i can tell you where… i-it's where they're hiding—" he has to pause to catch his breath, taking in a deep breath and letting out loud whines. "i-i'll tell you anything, just please, please keep going, please keep fucking going…"

you smirk, proud that he's given you more information. but at this point your mission meant nothing to you; all you wanted was him.

"good boy," you praise quietly. he nods desperately, wanting so badly to touch you, wrap his arms around you while you use him so you can't leave.

"p-please, i'm gonna cum, please, i-i'm sorry— i-i'll promise you anything, anything you want, anything. i'll tell you anything you want just please d-don't stop—" he interrupts himself with a loud moan.

"cum for me," you say. that's all he needs, and he's shaking again, quivering underneath you as you ride him. you can feel his cum pouring into you as you listen to him whimper and cry. before long he's shaking his head, looking up at you as more tears run down his face.

"s…stop, please, s-stop stop please, i'm fucking s-sensitive, please," he whines, continuing to whisper profanities under his breath. he can barely keep his eyes open, trying to hide from how good it feels but how painful it is.

but suddenly he's nodding, begging for you to keep going; he's about to cum again.

"f-fuck, fuck— i'm close, please, please don't stop please…" you lean to kiss his neck, biting at the skin hard enough that you're sure it'll bruise.

"you're taking it so well, darling," you whisper into his ear. before long, you're about to cum, and you start clenching around his cock as your orgasm approaches.

"w-wanna cum, please," hyunjin pleads.

"cum with me, angel," you order him. he nods quickly, throbbing inside of you. you bounce on his cock faster, trying to bring yourself to the edge faster to give him some pity. you've been tormenting him for hours now; he's been mostly obedient and deserves some reward.

"c-cum, please, pl—" you interrupt his words with a moan, throwing your head back as you slow your hips. the feeling of you cumming on his cock pushes him over the edge and he shakes almost violently underneath you, resting his head on your chest again as he cums inside of you.

he continues to tremble and whimper even after you stop moving. you let him relax on your chest, catching his breath. you run your fingers through his hair, trying to help him down from his almost constant chain of orgasms.

you move to lift yourself off of his cock and his head shoots up, tears in his eyes; those aren't from overstimulation.

"w-wait, please don't leave, don't leave me, please—"

"shh, relax darling. you're okay," you say quietly. "i'm right here."

that's when it truly hits you — he's yours now. he didn't care that you were the enemy; you'd broken him so well that you'd be it, forever.

you reach slowly behind him, your fingers grazing the rope holding his hands together. you can see his fingers twitching. it occurs to you that he hasn't touched you at all, and your heart aches just a bit for him. he's been so desperate for so long and he hasn't been able to touch you.

poor thing.

you gently untie the knot, careful not to rub against his already reddened wrists. the second his hands are free he wraps his arms around you, holding you as close to himself as he can.

"son't go, p-please," he whispers. you hug him close, kissing him softly at the crook of his neck.

"you did so good, baby." he hugs you tighter when you say this, sniffling into your shirt. "let me see your wrists," you say gently, pulling out of the hug.

he offers his hands to you and you take a closer look at him. his wrists are bright red, his skin broken enough in places that he's got scabs forming. his eyes flicker between his wrists and your face, watching you examine his condition.

"we'll need to take care of this," you say. his eyes widen at your words.

"y-you're not leaving me?"

you chew your lip in thought, knowing that there were only two options.

"you can either come back with me, and go through the process of proving you're not a roach, or…" you pause. you don't want to say it; it hurts your heart to even think about it.

"or what?" hyunjin asks, nervous about what you're going to say.

"you go back, and they… they probably kill you, for giving up intell."

his shoulders drop. it's not a hard choice; he knows that. he doesn't want to die now after he's found you — or rather, after you stole him. but he's scared to never go home, never see his friends again.

"i'll support you either way," you say, almost too quiet to hear. he knows you're lying; he can tell by the tone in your voice that you want him to stay, but it's his call.

"i wanna stay with you," he tells you. your lips curve into a smile and you lift your hands to cup his face softly, recalling the way you'd treated him hours ago when he'd first woken up. the cut on his cheek is scabbed over, but the blood that'd dripped from it was still on his face, dried and streaky from his tears.

"i promise i'll patch you up myself," you say, running your thumb softly over the cut. he winces; he's surely going to have bruising from your punches and a scar from the cut. as for the slaps… he still has your handprint glowing bright red on his cheek.

but he'll get over it; he belongs to you now.

#sub!hyunjin #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #sub!skz #skz smut #skz x reader #sub!stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #dom!reader #hyunjin #smut #userkeiho #cw noncon #cw violence #cw blood mention #cw needle mention #cw drugging #cw mindbreak #cw toxic relationship #cw kidnapping

[cherrsnut]

Hostage - Chapter 3

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for. 

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 6k

Previous // Next

Chapter 3

The shimmering light of the moon reflected the pine trees of a never-ending forest. It had been a while since you’d left the sight of the sea, and with that so did the comfort of your homeland. 

You weren’t sure just how deep into the night you were, the only indicator was the high position of the crescent moon,  and you guessed it was late. 

You were at the salon, or at least the replica of a salon inside the car of a traveling train. It was as quiet as the night offered. You tried to mimic the silent stillness from the moon, all because it wasn’t in your best interest in waking up the rest.

The lights had turned on automatically, probably with some sort of motion sensor that detected your sneaky movements. It startled you, it was one of those things you got easily used throught the sunny day, not so much during the night.

You thought of turning around, worried that someone took notice of your presence, but your stubbornly nature breathed in your ear to keep going, and it embarrassed you the idea of returning back to your room, after all the self convincing through the pillow, so you were committed on what you had set out to do.

The living area was big. It connected all three rooms, the kitchen, that adopted a smaller size than in a regular home; next to it was the dining room, which consisted of a large wooden table accompanied by the chairs of the same material and colour; and then a normal salon, with its shelves and books, comfortable couches and armchairs, with the TV, the one you had been seeing earlier that day. You could only but respect the creator for its clever interior design.

Your eyes scanned the room you just walked in. You had seen the alcoholic beverage when you all were tracing a plan, or better said, attempted to trace a plan.

You had taken notice of its presence, the delightful idea you’d drink it later tied a noose around your mind, and you were content to announce the time has come for its consumption.  

With the distinct shape and light glass color, you knew it was white wine. The name of the brand was unfamiliar to you; but with its inky and sophisticated handwriting, one that could only belong to the signature of a fancy family. As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you knew the wine would live up to it exquisite taste you were forming in your mouth. 

That's why you wanted to try it in the first place. Just like the many delicious pastries you had tried merely hours ago. Once the succulent sweet taste bombarded your tongue, you knew the cook’s trained fingers had been blessed by the sin of gluttony itself. The strawberries at the very top was enough to make you believe it to be an addicting forbidden fruit, one you were glad 

you had been honored to try out.

Your mouth watered at the idea of what a good wine would be considered between the rich society. Would it be more bitter? more sweet? more refreshing? would it be thicker? 

There was only one way to find out.

You looked at the kitchenette, roaming your eyes all over surfaces of it. Silver colors shone throughout the metallic counters, filled with dusty spices, all collected from the unique lands of the Districts throughout Panem. They sat quietly on the kitchen counters, ready to be used at any given moment. 

You walked over there. You realized the light bulbs couldn’t cover the whole salon, and it was especially dark over the kitchen area. With the many corners and countertops, it casted many shadows to whatever hidden treasure lay there, and you hoped to find your drink beneath those lurking shadows.

And you did. Just like what you had thought, the sharp shadows camouflaged your drink. This piece of concealed alcohol though, was not on its own. It had been placed along other alcoholic beverages, from rose wines, to different versions of rums. All in carefully and delicately crystal bottled designs, with odd edges and shapes, but it still screamed for its exclusive taste. 

You went to grab onto your preferred wine choice, the white wine your mind lingered ever so slightly for the past hours, and grabbed a glass, which consisted  of rummaging through the kitchen metallic cabinets. 

And ice cubes, you nearly forgot about them. You thanked the Heaven’s when you found them, it was a definitely easier find, all silently still in the freezer.

You walked out with your self-proclaimed possessions, and plopped them down on a rather small table by a funny looking mustard couch. You had to start getting used to the colour explosion the people of the Capitol seemed to be overjoyed with.  

You went to grab the foggy beige bottle, a good indicator of the type of whine that laid inside. You went to fully seat of the couch, more like you willingly fell on top of it. Fingers quickly snacthed the bottle. And as you handled its throat, you heard something similar to light growls coming through the wall. All your connected joints stopped, in an attempt to make out what exactly what exactly were the noises. The tone was very much low, and all the words were scattered around into incomprehensible words. You pressed your ear further into the only thing separating the two of you.

By that point, you had realized the low sounds was a conversation that was happening on the other side, making the wall the only barrier between the two of you. A frustrating sound came out of your lips, you hated how the wall was thick enough to block out the anything coherent, and your nosy ears were left unsatisfied.

Two people talking, you were sure of that, and you also knew that they were slowly and creepingly getting closer to you.

But before you thought of your escape plan, an electrical-like sound resounded across the room just softly. It would have been very much unnoticed during the lively day, especially considering Scarlett’s exhausting hyper energy. But in the complete silence of the night, one that even the noise of the rattling rails were enhanced. It was the sound you could recognize now, a you knew you had just been exposed. The automatic doors just opened.

“Should we really wake them up?” spoke the large male, specks of the bronze you earlier described hidden under the artificial light, which made his hair take upon a more goldish colour. 

He looked on his back, waiting for his companion to respond to him. Scarlett joined him in the room, her long and white hair, so well taken care of that anyone could’ve confused it with a spider’s silk. 

“We don’t have much time to spare, we need to go over the schedule” Scarlett spoke. A stunned look came across your face when you noticed she still had the beautiful face paint across her sharp and witty features, even in the early hours of the night. 

“I understand that-“ Finnick crossed his eyes to follow Scarlett’s figure, but in doing so, a black shifting figure appeared in the corner of his eyes, and its presence asked for his attention. So when he looked over there, he found you on the couch, the bottle of wine still in your arms. 

He made an expression, and it that moment you knew exactly what the elders meant by the saying ‘Dear in Headlights’. His sea green eyes, a sea that upon stepping into the water you’d be welcomed by the underwater green nature, had gotten noticeably bigger. It was the initial shock for him had that him planted by the entrace, you knew he wasn’t expecting you. Even more less, you gripping onto dear life to the wine. 

Scarlett noticed the absence of Finnick’s sentence, so she looked back at him with a pointed stare wanting to know why he had stopped talking. His face suggested for her to look in the direction of what he was facing, and so she did. A big noticeable grin appeared on her radiant white teeth after encountering your very awaken form. 

“Wonderful, you’re awake!” she exclaimed, clapping twice in approval. You just stayed there, paralyzed. You had come out to drink the refinery of the Capitol, all sneakily as had you assumed it would be the same as in District 4. The usual, ‘you’re a minor’ kind of talk. It had been harder to digest the fiery feeling coursing through your bloodstream, to your knowledge, only alcohol could provide you. 

You weren’t the type to break the rules, always following what the law preached. But when it came down on taking more priority on curious adolescents wanting to try out a new feeling, over questioning the literal slaughter of said adolescents, you could admit confidently, the system was equivalent to a singular bullcrap. 

Mags was the last to come out, her very small and frail body coming out from behind Finnick, 

who still looked at you funnily. He didn’t utter a word, still in his trance. The bottle was still in your hands, and you knew deep within your very core existence, it was going to take up a real fight for them to take it away from you.

Mags on the other hand chuckled sofly at his side, which in turn took Finnick back to reality, something you were thankful for Mags. You were sure if he kept staring you like that you’d just run back to your room from the utter humiliation. The whole situation felt silly in your hands, especially considering your fingers still gripping onto the bottle. 

“I’ll go and get Vito” offered Finnick as he walked past the tall slender figure of Scarlett, and made his way to get your District partner. 

Scarlett went to sit beside you, almost like she felt close to you on a personal level, all connected by the power of the wine. She held her glass of wine to you, a hungry smile as she waited for your hands to pour down the liquid into her transparent glass. 

Mags sat in front of you, onto the armchair from the same yellowish colour as the couch you were currently leaning agaisnt. She was grinning at you. A mischievous color swam through her grey irises that were were pointing at you. There was something sweet about you only Mags seem to notice, and she seemed amused by your particular behaviour. 

“Have you tried it? It's delicious” Scarlett recommended you, a tone lower from the close proximity she had closed, and it seemed to her that there was a new level of vulnerability between the three of you. The flowing liquid brushed past her coloured lips, and where it not for the bubble that formed from inside her throat, one that it quickly disappeared to her content belly, you wouldn't have realized she had already gulped down the drink. It was sophisticated one, one done with the sole intention to savour the unique taste, more so for one’s survival. 

You moved your head no, a little shy after being caught during the act. But were you? Exactly what were you doing that was so wrong? Everyone present seemed so nonchalant about it, so used to it, you coudn’t help but bury yourself deeper into the depths of your own embarrassment. You coudn’t help but ask yourself why you hadn’t asked them earlier if you could take a sip

And with that, you were sure you were going to do a little session by the great name of self-ridiculization when you were alone, which meant screaming off to your pillow.

You took a pity sip. Just like what you had predicted, it was everything but disappointing. The way the beverage was made was very much different from all the drinks you shared with Edna. This one, was lower on the bitterness, and whoever wrote the recipe made the correct decision to add the sweet fruity taste to it. That was the secret ingredient, the sweetness almost overpowered the cringing taste of the alcohol, and a bubble of sparkling water tickled your throat when you gulped down. Truly delicious.

Scarlett winked at you, a bigger grin appeared on her face. You looked over to her, and for once her very presence didn’t feel excriciatingly annoying. Her hyper overjoy she always seemed to wear on her cheek easily exhausted anyone present, especially when she seemed so eager to talk about the Hunger Games.

You had taken notice of Mags scanning eyes over your essence from the very moment she sat just in front of you. So you gave a pointed look, a one questioning over her roaming pupils on you. Mags responded with another smile, a gentle and mature one, from a woman with decades of experience ready to reveal the secrets of a human’s purpose in life. The way her eyes closed when she bore her teeth out, gave you the understanding she didn’t have the slightest intention to spill out whatever was going on through her mind.

You sighed along with the welcoming steps from both Finnick and Vito. A second barely passed when the two appeared through the door. Finnick was in his still living sculpture form, created by an artist filled with the purest form of infatuation, his passion for the beautiful creatures that lurked on the breathing planet, and definitely taking upon the inspiration of the gods of beauty and hypnotic perfection, and thus he was born. 

Vito was close behind him, a look that gave away his tumultuous mind. His eyes shoned the void of his black irises, that seemed to have merged with its pupils. His rustled hairs hung in messy strands, evident of his attempt in walking into a deep slumber. A pair of silky beige trousers attached to his hips. His button-up shirt he was using as nightly gear, had been hanging around him loosely, and your working quick eyes noticed just how he was interlocking each button for its respective hole just as he got in the salon, suggesting he’d just worn it for the courtesy of joining your reunion.

You couldn’t stop the sarcastic thought from drilling your mind ‘How kind of the them to provide its Tribute’s with pleasantries' regarding with existence of the clothing provided by the Capital. But it wasn’t just that, it was as well the rich dishes and product designs. You very much enjoyed them, but you coudn’t help feeling it was a direct jab at you former way of life, a much poorer lifestyle than theirs. 

Everything was great, you had been the first to enjoy them, but it still felt icky to your senses. It is as if the Capitol was trying to ridicule you in some way or another. 

Vito followed your pointing eyes, a tired greeting. He probably stayed in bed, waiting to be taken by the realm of dreams, hoping when he woke up everything was just but a terrible nightmare. And that feeling sunken within your heavy chest.

Both men sat down beside us, and Vito couldn’t help but travel his gave along the table, finishing to see past your fingers to Scarlett’s. He’d taken notice of the bottle you both were sharing, and a hollow feeling sat on top of his heart. He barely mumbled something audible.

“Is that wine?” Vito’s voice was weak when he let the words escape. His funny look, essentially identical to Finnick’s, mimicked the way his tune sounded, confused and perplexed. 

Something about Vito you had realized was the way his face was exactly that of a transparent mineral. Everything he built himself with, every opinion and moment of decision, was all said through his eyes before he could even speak them. 

“Why are you drinking wine?” he questioned your actions, with the ingredients of a slight judgemental tone, and an astonished murmur. He specifically looked at you, trying to find the broken wires inside your brain, the ones that made you make circuit-breaker decisions.

“Why not?” you asked back. The difference in tone was surprisingly abundant. His was more weak and slow, begging for an outer force to comfort him; and yours was simply more cutthroat and defensive. 

He didn’t say anything else after that, bewilderment spoke his eyes. His lips fell apart, trying to find the words he wanted to say. But he couldn’t, not when he was so stunned at your answer. An he supposed  the problem didn’t come from a circuit breaker, rather you were suffering from unmatching wires that had been wrongly connected.

“Edna always told me. ‘If I’m able to stitch back a four-inch infected laceration without the need of any painkiller, I was old enough to drink alcohol’ ” You repeted those wise words your teacher and, later considered grandmother spoke. The words and phases that echoed through each rib, in a never-ending cycle of teachings that clung to you like a piercing fishhook through warm flesh. 

Vito kept his stare on you, unable to comprehend you. The dark circles that were slowly creeping up under his eyes came from the instilled distress that overpowered his body. He appreciated what you had done earlier, he’d be lying if he told you he didn’t need it, that he was alright. The sickening idea that both of you were going to be placed in a mortal arena fed his sleepless anxiety. The screening scenes from previous Hunger Games editions pierced his soul, like an arrow to his heart. 

He found himself taking back his initial thoughts though. He previously found himself relieved when his partner was someone unknown to him, someone he only knew in passing, that he never had a heartfelt conversation with you. The guilt of those primal thoughts runs his blood cold because after what you had done to him, a complete stranger, the comfort he needed for the simple reasoning that you were concerned about him.

You were a good person at heart, and you didn’t deserve to die in such a cruel fate. In the middle of nowhere, where even nature itself is out there designed to kill you. With the background of the meaning of the Hunger Games, many Tributes grew desperate to try and change their hopeless destiny. Their minds break inside that Hell, and with fear running their imprudent’s choices, they kill whoever is set in their way. In this game, you had to let go of one’s nature and belief with the off chance to see another day. 

So when he saw you with a glass of wine in hand, he couldn’t help but be resentful over your shown obliviousness to the whole situation, or maybe you just weren’t as concerned as he dictated you should be. He appreciated what you had done back then, reassuring him everything would be alright. But deep down he knew those words were empty in the ears of fate, and you couldn’t guarantee the outcome even if you wanted to. 

Your lips took another gulp of the wine, he felt as though the earth would bury him alive. Just then a crumbling thought avalanched his mind. His soul felt heavy, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt personally victimized, wishing you had never been picked in the Reaping, and all thoughts of earlier gratitude subsided and felt personally betrayed by your words.

You tasted the addicting wine once again. Your head moved to Scarlett’s, praising the wine choice whoever picked for this journey. 

“This will be the death of me. It's like a delicious poison running through my veins” you told her delighted. There was something so pure about the way a refreshing wine glass traveled through your entire body, that felt like swimming under the humidity of the summer’s heat.

“Oh ho ho” Scarlett chuckled at your comment. She was good drinking company, you had to give her that. She unknowingly distracted you from your oceanic torment, taking away the pleas of your mind to give in and open your eyes to what you were truly feeling.

“I know someone who you’d get along with” She spoke again, a giggly voice present. 

“Haymitch, right?” Now it was Finnick who joined in. Another small grin appeared on his face, however small though, it lit up the room just as if he bore his sparkling teeth out. And, god, you had to stop yourself from forming a curse after seeing his beautiful dimples. 

“I could see you two becoming close friends” he added. Green eyes attempting to read behind your pupils.

Haymitch. He sounded familiar to your ears, but you couldn’t quite picture him in your mind. And just as you went to ask for who they were referring to, Vito's voice became clearer. 

“Are we going to form a plan or not?” he sounded strained, stress had been building up his senses, and you felt once again guilty. “Look, I just want, even a half a chance to win this” he added. His voice hinted that he was mad, and it wasn’t his fault you had already given up. 

“Please,” his eyes maneuvered to Scarlett. “Tell us what to do. How do we gain sponsors” You heard just how he tried to bite back a crack. “or how to not die out there” The intensity of his stare made the air tense. Even Scarlett, the queen of making everything as lighthearted as possible, didn’t say anything back. She just stared at him, her words stuck to the back of her throat, and his low tone disorienting her brain. 

You placed your wine glass down. Your eyes stole his glance, before speaking out your thoughts. 

“Vito” you called out to him. And just like his voice, you saw how even his obsidian eyes cracked with each passing minute. 

“I’m close to incapable of even protecting myself,” you confessed, and that hard acceptance soaked your mind. There was nothing for you to do. 

His hard stare begged you to continue, because for him, at this point he’d listen to anyone, even the defeated conclusions of a self-proclaimed goner like yourself.

“But I know how to heal you. I know how to wrap up an open wound. I know how to slow down an infection. And I know for sure, I’ll do my best to stop any type of poison spread over your body” you told him. You understood him, understood how he was feeling, and how desperation ran miles over his head. 

“I’ll be out there to take care of you. But I need you to promise me one thing.” his stare was pointed at you, and no matter how distracting his surroundings may be, he listened carefully to your words. 

“I need you to stay by my side. I need you to protect me when I need it. And I promise you, I’ll be there to look out for you” The light bulbs shone in the sclera of your eyes, just as hard as the tone of your voice. 

He nodded, agreeing to that verbal contract, and he was ready to carry out the duty you just placed on his shoulders. 

“I’ll be there by your side until you proclaim yourself as Victor.” you gave him a sad smile. It seemed that’s the only thing you do these days. A smile in the face of a terrible tragedy. 

He looked away from you, into the crown of the passing trees through the window. He seemed more relaxed, more confident. And in the lingering silence, no one dared to interrupt the meaning behind your despairing words. 

The victors of the previous games looked at you. You felt isolated behind their gaze, and you couldn’t even return their pitiful glance towards you. The irises on your eyes traveled outside the train car,  through every single tree, and it felt like you moved as fast as the speed of light. An open gap between your tight chest, that’s what it felt like knowing every passing tree meant getting closer to your imminent death. It felt philosophical in a sense, just how the leaves your eyes landed on, quickly swifted into the next one, like a prophecy that your end was happening soon. And the usual childish thought that the trees were waving you farewell with every wind brush, fell too real for you. 

Vito grunted some words, but you were unable to hear them, too focused on the melancholic song your body sang. Aside from you, the rest looked at him, and his gaze returned to each one of them. An internal conflict stood beside him as he thought out his mind. Finnick looked to Mags, and she returned it with another, understanding just what lay in those ghostly words of yours. They knew what you were implying, you didn’t need to say it, the meaning of grief stayed prevalent in the air you all shared. 

“What about you?” he muttered just above a whisper, but you still understood the meaning of his words. He was going to force you to say it even when you didn’t want to. The words you kept hidden, for your own mental protection, so you woudn’t crumble in that very instant.

“What about me?” you asked back with a sneer. A tone anyone understanding the implication of the conversation would realize to be in self-mockery. Vito lost his voice again, hanging his lips apart to dry his tongue. A piercing pain hurt his heart like a freezing icicle to his soul. 

“In the end, it's better you come out as the sole victor.” Those two words, they were the final blows of the crack in your soul. Just like someone smashed a mirror after seeing their body reflected. And it was even harder having to act stronger than what you actually were, because deep between the layers of deception and half-truths, a house that only hopelessness and hurt habited. But there was nothing you could do about it, it was better to accept it now, so when you’d be faced with your impending moment, you might as well feel at peace for the life Edna had the chance to give you.

“I’m making my peace with death.” you smiled with nothing other than the wrinkled lines of mournful acceptance. Everyone looked at you, and Vito gave you a displeased glare, one you knew he was about to try and pick up a fight at your words.

“Look, I've been on my own my entire life, and I’m fine with it. I’ll die just how I lived, alone,” you spoke before he could even refute back your stubborn thoughts. But he couldn’t accept it, and it hurt his soul just looking at your pitiful face. 

“We need you alive” a loud husky metamorphosed his vocal chords, with a more aggressive tone than you had gotten used to in the little hours you had been with him. A venomous stinger struck you unannounced. You knew what he meant, the fishermen you had brought up earlier. 

“The Peacemakers are being a pain in the ass lately, the Herbal Shop will close sooner or later anyway” you tried to debate, any inkling of gentle softness leaving after what felt an attack at his hostile tone.

“You’re absolutely right. Your victory would shut them up” sarcasm placed on his mouth into a grin, a scoff vibrating the back of his salivary tongue in his in disbelief. His crease wrinkled at the middle of both his eyebrows. But what you could not fathom, why was his hard look directed at you. 

“That’ll stop them raking your name through the mud” he added in venomous grace directed at the people who were supposed to ‘maintain peace’. And yet, it didn’t feel the least be sympathetic. 

“My name’s been through a lot. I can take it” you talked back. You had to bite your burning tongue so it wouldn’t mention anything about his unexpected and detestable attitude.

“Well I don’t have your knowledge or skills. I’m easily replaceable” It seemed he always had something back to say to you, but it never convinced you, not with your stubborn nature. And yet, you were left speechless. You weren’t sure as to why he’d become so aggravateted all of a sudden. 

The confusion that sparked in your inner central core only left you empty. You weren’t sure as to why he’d gotten so hostile. Vito just scanned your face finding any clue of your swirling hidden thoughts inside of your head. He just wanted to swim across from your sea current, he wanted to break apart your mind, so you’d understand his point. He found himself close to finding the secrets you wanted to keep hidden under a rusty lock. 

Your lips parted, and the way your pupils shoke in trying to find a reason as to why he was perked up, only made his shimmering eyes spark in his further determination. 

Now it was you who stayed quiet, still in a messy stupefaction running your mind. You wanted to say something back, bite at his words and make him understand that if it came to sacrificing, it was a better option for your to take that blow instead of him. 

In the absence of your voice, Vito continued on. 

“As soon as the Hunger Games start, run far away from the Cornucopia. I’ll get everything and come back to you” his voice was much lower, the excruciating energy he managed to surface was gone. At least not in an explosive way, but the way his tune forced out intimidation for you to listen to him. You blinked at his words, and a little not right stepped on your face upon his pathetic excuse of a plan. You licked your dry lips.

“What? No!” you started. Just as this conversation continued on you coudn’t help but feel like someone slammed against your body, from each word he tried to reason with. You sighed internally, deeply exhaling the breath as a means to get you to calm down. “You’ll just die there” you replicated to him. You surprised yourself when the implications of your words sunk your heart deep. Vito could die.

 “And we need you alive” You elevated your voice, as you defended your reasoning against his immediate thought process. Like the calamity of a sea storm clashing against the sharp stones of a cliff, fighting against the aggressive nature of the submerged waves.

“You’re more necessary back home. I’m more than willing to die-” his frsutration could only but become increasingly bigger when you cut him off. It was far past him, the realization that two clashing thoughts could never end with one winning victor.

“Your sisters need you alive. Your family needs you alive” you raised your voice, not enough to be considered that of a yell, but loud enough that the energy that escaped through your pores left burning marks on the people around you. 

And it was loud enough that you long forgotten, and didn’t care, about anyone else who’d still be asleep in the train ride.

“Just listen to me!” Vito screamed. He wanted to shut you up, and he reasoned that by leaving you as astonished as you were, he could explain as to why he felt like it was better for him to be buried against the hard bloody floor of the arena. 

And you were dismayed. All words you wanted to speak run back down your throat at the sheer audacity you felt. So you looked at him, nothing but critical in your glare. You couldn’t leave his eyes, threatning pupils cheering him to challenge your very being again. 

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

Your repeated thoughts were as fast as the bullet train you were on. You knew the moment you lost your self control, you’d say something you’d later regret. So you looked at him, a fiery rage in your gaze, but still controlling your silence. 

Vito then realized he regretted shouting at you in such a manner. The hating look your irises burned and churned within, took him back. He didn’t expect you’d react that way, and he regretted not taking another second to think what the outcome may be from his screaming. So he stilled under your gaze, every sheer of irate emotions slowly dissipating.

He opened his mouth, wanting so say something, to immediately apologize for what he’s just done. Regret flowed through his senses, so much it made him almost blind to everything else that was occurring. And with regret, came the emotions of shame and embarrassment. He was vulnerable under you heavy stare.

Seconds passed like this. You were looking into his eyes, but you weren’t saying inthing behind them. The source didn’t come to try and intimidate him, it had nothing to do with you feeling more powerful than him. But as your gazes interlocked, you had to physically bite your bottom lip so you wouldn't spill all the bitter words that sat ready above your tongue. Don’t say it. Every second, your head provoked you to take one step further and finish this into a screaming match. The type of fight that, when the both of you left to your rooms, you two had equal resentment for each other. Don’t say it. 

With another deep breath exhaling from your nose, you stood up. Just then, you realized the rest of the audience present in your discussion, by which all of them looked rather uncomfortable, and you coudn’t blame them. You passed Scarlett and Finnick, in which he stalkendly followed you figure. He didn’t know what to say to remedy the situation, was there even a way to make this better? Or maybe the best thing he could do was to just stay silent and let the breeze carry both of the Tribute’s emotions. 

Your body froze at the realization you had forgotten something crucial. You looked at the Scarlett, which she returned a timid gaze. Vito seemed on wanting to say something, especially now that you had stopped in your tracks. It was obvious you wanted to leave, and he coudn’t blame you. But before he could apologize for his outburst, your voice fied out. Much more calm, and without a hint of an explosive counter reaction.

“I’ll be taking this” you leaned forward into the table, grabbing the inquisitive wine, ready to use it as soon as your bedroom door closed behind you. 

“I’ll be drowning myself in this tonight” you murmured. You were proud at the way you didn’t give in to you head’s whispering thoughts to aggravate the situation further. And before you knew it, you blood run much slower, and your energy subsided, leaving you with the hoarse of your mutter.

You looked back at everyone, and a small grin formed in the base of your lips, and they understood you were telling them your goodnight before your body went to the door. 

But you stopped. With the wine in you hand heavely hanging, you went back to see your partner. 

“Get back home, Vito” you exasperated. He went to gaze at you once his name was mentioned. And though you noticed his soury internal conflict, his original thoughts still induced him.

He went to say you name, a much softer trembling mutter. But you cut him off. You didn’t want to argue any further, and you weren't going to stay for whatever he had to say.

“Go home” your voice sounded more stable, more confident in your argument. And with this, you finished the dispute between the two of you. With an order for him to return back to District 4, and get back to his family. 

Previous // Next

TagList: @marvelescvpe

#finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick x you #the hunger games #thg finnick #thg x reader #thg #thg x you #thg fanfiction #the hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games x you #the hunger games x reader

[writing-in-the-impala]

Ridikkulis - (Remus Lupin x Reader) One Shot

Request: Hiii i Just read your Last Post for Secret smokes and Had an Idea. How about a oneshot of Professor Lupine x Student reader. Its time to learn the ridikkulus spell and its Readers Turn. When the boggart comes Out tho... Is a werewolf. Reader ist too scared to defend themselves and Lupine is too stunned to Help for a Moment. (Tw: blood Optional:) in that Split Second, the boggart werewolf attacks reader and it becomes a lil bloodY. Anything after that Scene IS Up to you <;3

TW: Blood, description of scars

Pairing: Professor! Remus Lupin x Student Reader

Word Count: 2458

A/N: Hello, I received this a while ago and finally got around to posting it, I’ve never written based on requests so I hope this is what you wanted. I’m sorry if I didn’t get it right. ❤️‍🔥 Also if you want to submit a request go ahead! It may take me while to get around to it but definitely it’s fun to do something based on other people’s ideas.

The thunder rumbled outside as you approached the defence against the dark arts classroom. The castle had a darker feeling to it this year with dementors circling the grounds but Professors Lupins lessons bought some positivity into your days. He was one of the few teachers at school that seemed to know what he was doing and his charisma made you feel warm and safe. Everyone loved his lessons. You didn't really know him well, but you wishes you did. You would often sit in class and think about what he must be really like outside of school, you imagined a friendly yet charismatic man with a hint of mischief.

As you entered his class the room looked almost dark from the clouds outside, Professor Lupin wasn't there when you arrived. Everyone sat down as usual, took out their books, quills and parchment, and were talking when he finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher's desk. He was as handsome as ever as he slowly took his jacket off and cleared his throat.

"Good afternoon," he said in a loud voice making the whole class go silent. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will only need your wands."

Everyone smiled excitedly, Lupin was new but he already set a good impression as the teacher who let you use real magic. He made the lessons jump off the page. So everyone shut their books and stood right up as Lupin waved his hand causing all the tables and chairs to fly to the side of the room. "Now then, Oliver please will you give me a hand with that wardrobe over there." He gestured for Oliver Wood who nodded and helped Lupin push a large wooden wardrobe into the center of the room. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall."Nothing to worry about," said Professor Lupin calmly, as a few people jumped backwards in alarm. "There's a Boggart in there." Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about but everyone trusted Lupin to keep them safe. "Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," said Professor Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks - I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it to give you some real practice. So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?" Lupin look around the room but no one put their hands up, you knew the answer but you didn't want to bring attention to yourself. Lupins eyes scanned the room and landed on you, he gave you a warm smile and you shook your head but his smile just grew larger as he said your name.

"It's a shape-shifter sir." You began with a quiet voice looming around the class as everyone turned to face you. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Couldn't have put it better my-self," he said with a large smile on his face and a quick wink towards you. "So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.This means, that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Miss L/N?"

Why did he have to pick on you every time. "Er - because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape it should be?" You guessed.

"Precisely, it's always best to have company when you're dealing with a Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake - tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening." He got a few laughs from the class, loud ones from the group of girls who liked him most. "The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amus-ing.

“We will practise the charm without wands first. After me, please ... riddikulus!”

'Riddikulus!' said the class together.

 “Good,” said Pro­fes­sor Lupin. 'Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Jack.' He said picking on the most shy and scared boy in the class.

“Right, Jack,” said Pro­fes­sor Lupin putting his hand on the boys shoulder as he bought him to the front of the class. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that fright­ens you most in the world”

Jack’s lips moved, but no noise came out. “Didn't catch that, Jack, sor­ry,” said Pro­fes­sor Lupin cheer­ful­ly and gently. Jack explained it would be a spider and Lupin told him how a boy in a different class who was scared of spiders put roller blades on the legs so it was sliding around.

“If Jack is suc­cess­ful, the Bog­gart is like­ly to turn his at­ten­tion to each of us in turn,” said Professor Lupin. “I would like all of you to take a mo­ment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imag­ine how you might force it to look com­ical …’

The room went qui­et. You­ thought … What scared you most in the world? You thought about many things but the thing that won was a Werewolf. But how do you make that funny? You thought about turning it into a puppy, a little dog, not a big one, a big one if it bites you can still hurt you so it had to be something like a chihuahua.

“Ev­ery­one ready?” said Pro­fes­sor Lupin enthusiastically as he hit play on the record player.

“Jack, we’re go­ing to back away,’ said Pro­fes­sor Lupin. ‘Let you have a clear field, all right? I’ll call the next per­son for­ward … ev­ery­one back, now, so Jack can get a clear shot –“

Your whole class re­treat­ed, back­ing against the wall, leav­ing Jack alone be­side the wardrobe. He looked pale and fright­ened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was hold­ing his wand ready.

“On the count of three, Jack,” said Pro­fes­sor Lupin, who was point­ing his own wand at the han­dle of the wardrobe. ‘One – two – three – now!’

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Pro­fes­sor Lupin’s wand and hit the door­knob. The wardrobe burst open and a ton of spiders crawled out followed by a huge one, sending shivers even down your spine. Jack backed away, his wand up, mouthing word­less­ly. “R-​r-​rid­diku­lus!” squeaked Jack. There was a noise like a whip-​crack. And the spiders were rolling around on roller blades.

There was a roar of laugh­ter; the Bog­gart paused, con­fused, and Pro­fes­sor Lupin shout­ed. “James! Your turn!” James walked forwards as commanded and the boggart shifted again, he did the spell and everyone laughed again. You were finding it quite enjoyable everyone was laughing and having fun every person in the line looked worried but you all managed to laugh. You almost forgot that you’ll have to face your fear too. Before you knew it, it was your turn, you walked up after a girl named Jasmine Floyd and you shot Lupin a glance as you were filled with anxiety and dread. He smiled at you and shot you a wink before looking at the Boggart that was in the air transforming, the room was filled with a light mood but you felt nothing but fear. A giant furry werewolf with blood all over its fur and giant teeth towered over you, blocking out any light from above. You suddenly felt so small as fear filled you body, you repeated Lupins words in your head, you pictured it as a small barking chihuahua at your feet, you repeated the spell in your mind, then you looked at Lupin before raising your wand… his face was filled with fear, any sense of laughter was gone, he was frozen starring up at the wolf as you were. You realised that maybe you won’t be able to defeat it, that’s when you tried to say the spell but you felt yourself being pushed down to the floor. As you hit the floor a sharp pain shot through your arm, the wolf was above you, that’s when Lupin threw himself in front of you. “Rid­diku­lus!” He shouted as a white orb appeared over you. “Everyone, class is over, please leave.” He shouted as he kneeled over you. You looked around at all the students who were looking at you, their faces not too unalike Lupins when he was looking at the wolf, Lupin was looking at you, saying words. His hands had blood all over them as he moved them wrapping his blazer around you. “I’m so sorry,” was the only thing you could make. He looked so nice above you, you thought and that’s when you felt yourself being lifted. “Stay with me.” You heard him repeat as you walked through the corridor. “In your room?” You asked, curious of if he’s flirting with you. He laughed but his face was filled with dread. “I’m glad you still have a sense of humour Miss L/N.” He said and after that you felt your head feel very light and fuzzy before everything went black.

You felt a bit woozy as you woke up, you were sweating, you opened your eyes and you realised you’re in the hospital wing, it was dark. Your eyes scanned the room as you slowly looked around to see Professor Lupin sleeping next to you on a chair with a book in his lap. You didn’t say anything as you moved around trying to understand what happened and that’s when he came to. “Y/N? Oh thank Merlin. Poppy! Poppy Y/N awake.” He said a bit too loudly for the middle of the night.

“I told you she’ll be fine, Remus, you never listen.” Madam Pomfrey said as she came over to your bed. “You’ve still got a fever darling, you’ll have to sleep here tonight, how are you feeling?”

“I have a sharp pain in my left side.” You said trying to sit up, Professor Lupin had almost puppy dog eyes as he looked down at you, he seemed worried you weren’t sure why. “What happened?” You asked as Madam Pomfrey walked away to get some pain relief potion.

“It’s my fault I’m awfully sorry, the Boggaart it got close enough to hurt you. It was a..it was a werewolf.” You never heard this tone of voice on Lupin he sounded hurt and defeated, almost like the life was drained out of him by a demantour. “Horrible creatures, it happened so quickly, it got to you before I managed to stop it, I’m so awfully sorry. Madam Pomfrey said the cut shouldn’t scar you’ll be okay. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is, I should’ve stopped it, horrible creatures. All they do is hurt people, I froze for a moment, I am your teacher I shouldn’t have allowed it.” He said angry at himself.

“You know they’re innocent people.” You said gently.

“Who?”

“The wolves, I don’t appreciate you calling them horrible creatures, they’re just sick, like I am right now.” You said and Lupins expression became hard to read.

“But it hurt you, and you fear it, how come you’re so forgiving.”

“Well a boggart hurt me not a real wolf. Besides I think you can be scared but understand it. You or I could be bit by one, and our lives would change forever that’s what I’m scared of, I’m scared of what would happen to me, unlike a dog attack a wolf attack makes people look down on you, call them stuff like a kind man like you even said. Don’t you find that terrifying professor?” You asked and he had a small warm smile.

“You’re very smart for your age. I found it terrifying to have a students blood on my hands first week on the job.” He said and you laughed but it hurt to laugh. He held your hand as you were hit by the pain. “I’m awfully sorry, that’s the last time I make the mistake of a practical lesson.”

“Professor as a student who bled all over your floor I beg you not to stop these lessons, it’s the only fun we have at Hogwarts. Maybe some safety shields would help.” You said and he squeezed your hand and have you a warm smile.

“Duly noted.” He said and shot you a wink as Madam Pomfrey came back with a potion.

“Please sit up for me love, this will help stop the pain and prevent any scars.” She said as you sat up slowly, Lupin helping adjust the pillow below you.

“Shame, I like the battle scar, I defeated a werewolf and lived to tell the story.” Lupin cleaned his throat. “I think I defeated it.” He said making you laugh.

“Yeah but I’m the one with the battle scar.” You winked at him and he laughed in truth this time, with one hand on your shoulder to comfort you as you drank the disgusting potion as if he knew exactly how bad it will taste.

“Professor, I believe this young girl will be okay now that she’s woken up you do not have to spend all night here.” Pomfrey said as she took the empty vial from you.

“Thank you Poppy, but I prefer to stay just in case, this is all my fault after all.” He said looking over you warmly, you appreciated his company. As Pomfrey walked away you turned to him and asked him what he was reading, he told you the name of the book and you asked if he could read it out loud. He agreed and just like that you drifted to sleep, Remus J Lupins voice washing you into sweet slumber as your head rested on his shoulder. Remus felt comfort being by your side, he was relived you were okay and truly amazed by the lack of hate you had for the creature that nearly killed you. The creature you were sleeping so peacefully on.

MASTER LIST | Remus Lupin x Reader series

Requests are open however they will be slow as I'm busy writing Secret Smokes!

#submission #remus lupin x reader #professor lupin x reader #teacher! remus lupin #remus lupin #one shot #request #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine

[wol-fica]

-𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕤 ℙ𝕋. 𝟞-

parings - wednesdayaddams x fem!reader

summary - wednesday and r learn about the wonderful world of taxes sksksksk

warnings - swearing but that’s it my dudes

an - big thanks to @myfturn for requesting this to become a series <3 ——————————

In your opinion, whoever invented weather was a terrible person. Winter nights in New Jersey were absolutely awful, considering the cold drop in temperatures and the humid air, you were suffering. Your body couldn’t decide if it wanted to bundle up under the covers or get away from them, which was excruciatingly annoying.

It also didn’t help that your heater had recently given up on you. Normally, you would assume your appliances in your luxurious gothic mansion would work perfectly, but all hell was against you and decided to make you suffer in the cold.

So that is why you were bundled up in your wife’s hoodie as you curled up by your fireplace. Payment files and your monthly taxes for november were spewed out around you as you jotted things down on a notebook. Your lip was in between your teeth, being chewed on gently as you calculated the prices for your water bill and electricity bill.

A frown of confusion made its way onto your face and you mumbled a small “fuck” as you stared at your water bill tax for the past three months. Your brain didn’t seem to want to work with you, so none of the written material was clicking as you read it.

Unfortunately, Nevermore never offered a personal finance or real world class, and now that you are an actual adult with an actual life you have to take care of, you felt overwhelmed and lost.

Usually Wednesday would be the one doing your taxes, being that she is the smarter out of the two of you. But, you being as stubborn as ever, you scolded her and told her you both needed to share the workload as you were now married and would share everything almost equally.

“Fuck!” You cursed again, throwing your pen away from yourself in frustration.

Now you could go ask Wednesday for help, you always did when you were frustrated or upset about things, but you acted cocky and overconfident about doing your taxes by yourself, in which she got irritated and told you not to ask her for any assistance.

Your eyes squinted at the pen, watching it roll around before stopping by the door to Wednesday’s private writing room. You could hear the faint ‘click clack’ of her type writer as she worked on chapter three of her fourth book. The full series could be see on a shelf in your bedroom; you would occasionally grab one to read and enjoy if you were bored.

You stared at the fire, it’s crackling becoming a comfort for you as you attempted to relax your emotions. For awhile, you just sat there, basking in the warmth and ignoring the tax papers laid out on the floor. You knew you needed to do them, and you knew the only way you could would be to ask Wednesday for help.

After contemplating your life or your pride, you caved in and chose to go request her presence. Carefully, as to not loose your cocooned shape, you stood up and shuffled to Wednesday’s office door. Your hand raised, pausing in a moment of hesitation before knocking on the wooden surface.

“Come in.” A voice called, prompting you to open the door.

There, was your gorgeous wife. Her usually braided hair was unbraided and tied back in a half up half down style as her wavy black locks cascaded around her shoulders. She was dressed in an over large white shirt and black panties, and surprisingly her feet were coved in fluffy black socks that you got her for valentine’s day.

Her back was to you, her legs tucked under her chair as she poured her little black heart out onto the pages of her book. You watched as her fingers danced across the typewriter, pause, and then begin typing again as she found a new perspective to write.

“You knocked.” Wednesday said as she typed speedily.

You gulped, pursing your lips as you shuffled forward so you stood beside her, peering over her shoulder at the paragraphs she had been writing. One of her hands slid away from the keys to caress your thigh, her thumb rubbing your hip lovingly.

“What do you need mi amor?” She questioned, her black eyes focused on her page.

You sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned into her comforting touch. The hand that was previously rubbing your thigh now wrapped itself around your waist, pulling you into Wednesday’s lap.

“Y/N.” She said softly, pressing her lips to your neck, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m frustrated.” You huffed, leaning your chin on top of her head as she continued typing.

“About…”

“Doing taxes…” You grumbled, a pout forming on your face.

Wednesday scoffed, squeezing you lightly as she finished her page. She gave your neck another kiss and hummed against your skin.

“I thought you didn’t want my assistance.” She replied as you hopped off of her, standing up to follow you.

“Well I didn’t, at first.” You mumbled, leading her to the fireplace where all of your papers were thrown about the floor, “Then I realized I wasn’t as smart as you.”

“You’re just now realizing?” She smirked slightly, sitting down on the carpet as you gawked in disbelief.

“My feelings are hurt.”

“That IS my job, is it not?”

“Nes...” You groaned, hiding your head in your hands.

“I’m joking, do you have a pen?” Wednesday asked, looking under a few papers for your previously chucked pen.

You nodded, walking to her door to retrieve the pen you threw from before, and came back to give it to her and sit with her.

Immediately she got to work, her eyes skimming each paper as she calculated numbers and signed her signature on certain papers that needed it. Your eyes shamelessly scanned across her face, taking in the small details that had you encapsulated every time you saw her. The freckles that dotted her face, the way her eyebrows scrunched up when she was focused, how her tongue would sneak out in between her lips as she worked.

“Stop staring at me.” She murmured, bumping her knee against yours.

You laughed, resting your chin in your hands as you gazed at with with a love drunk stare. She was your muse, your drug that made you feel all woozy inside; of course you couldn’t not stare.

“Done.” Wednesday finally said, setting the pen down on a neat pile of papers.

“How?!” You exclaimed in awe, staring at the finished tax envelopes.

She chuckled, music to your ears, and pulled herself into your lap. She unwound the blanket so she could slip into your cocoon, humming at the warmth you produced.

“I’m just flawless, cara mia.” Wednesday mumbled into your neck, placing yet another kiss there; her favorite spot.

“You sure are, mon cher.”

She blushed, landing you a sharp jab to your stomach that left you whining in pain as you doubled over against her. Her hand snaked around you jaw to inspect your face, her other hand running up you shirt to feel your ribs for any damage.

“You’ll be fine.” Wednesday droned before snuggling into you and staring into the fire.

You smiled, your arms going around her body to hold her closely. Silence was a precious part of your relationship, whether you both work in the same room quietly, or just gaze into the night skin together on the roof.

After a moment or so, Wednesday started to drift off into sleep, a small snore leaving her slightly parted lips as you cuddled her. In the rare chance that this happens, you soak in the peacefulness of just being able to love and protect her without her potentially getting angry with you.

What a wonderful world….

—————-

*sobbing*

taglist:

@theafterofnevermore @k1mba @dreaming-of-u @thenextdawn @alexkolax @crystal-lily-101 @aahdiieb @rainbow-love4ever @fall-08 @efectoangel @i984 @annalestern @vorsdany @deep-fried-egg @yomomisgay @cursedchar

i do not give permission for anyone to repost or copy my work onto any other platform

#wednesday adams imagine #wednesday adams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x reader #netflix wednesday #wednesday #wednesday 2022 #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams fluff #wednesday fanfic #wednesday fic #wednesday fluff #wednesday headcanons #wednesday imagine #wednesday netflix #wednesday series #wednesday tv show #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesdayedit #wednsday addams #wednesday addams x r #addams #wednesday addams smut #jenna ortega x r #jenna ortega x you

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's 12 Days of Ficmas: Day Two Christmas Cookies (Michael Myers)

Welcome to day 2! The notes I leave at the top of these are pretty self explanatory so I'll make this one short and sweet and I hope you guys enjoy! <3.

Notes: Minors DNI, Fluffy, No specific descriptions of reader or pronouns are used. SFW.

The flour was spread out onto the counter in front of you as you took the ball of sugar cookie dough you had just mixed together and gently sat it down onto the floury spot. You pressed it down flat and grabbed your rolling pin ready to roll out enough to use the holiday cookie cutters you had picked up at the store recently.

You sighed an annoyed sigh before rolling your eyes and looking up at the dark door frame and the looming figure just behind it.

"Ya know Michael, it's not Halloween anymore. You have the free time to come and help me"

You said sarcastically into the abyss of the darkness past the kitchen door. You could see the dark mass in said abyss shift slightly. Followed by an ever so slight change in breathing before it went back to the normal steady pace. You shrugged.

"Fine then, I guess if you don't want to help you don't want any of the cookies when they're done"

You then continued your work. Pressing the wooden rolling pin down onto the dough mound before moving it back and forth to roll out an even sheet to fit just the right amount of cookie cutters into. Michael's thoughts were so loud you could almost here them.

"What? Me the shape of Haddonfield baking Christmas cookies?"

You could almost hear them going through his head in his voice that it had been years since you last heard. A smile broke across your face at the funny thought of Michael being offended that you had even asked, so much so you almost forgot he was even there.

You picked up the cookie cutters and starting to place them down onto the dough to map out how many you could get when you heard the old chair beyond that abyss creak. Almost as if a massive weight was lifted off of it.

You looked up and through the darkness of the not lit dining room, you could make out the silhouette of the stark white mask that he always insisted to wear even around you.

"Care to finally join me Michael?"

You asked, holding up a reindeer cookie cutter so he could see it. You weren't sure when the last time Michael had done anything remotely festive had been, well maybe if you count the yearly Halloween massacres he goes on, You figured it had probably been in Smith's Grove when he was still a kid inside those walls.

You could picture the doctors and guards possibly unenthusiastically giving the underage patients various Christmas "crafts" to do, even though the doctors and nurses secretly just wished to be home with their own families and not Michael Myers himself.

Michael made his way around the counter to loom behind you. You could feel his eyes through the mask piercing through your back as you just carried on with the cookies as usual.

You reached over and picked up a candy cane shaped cookie that had been taken out of the oven earlier that night and was already cool and handed it over to Michael.

You stood and watched as he inspected the cookie as if it were a foreign object he had never seen before.

"You can taste it if you'd like Michael"

His eyes connected to yours for a moment, before a giant hand came up to pull his mask slightly away from his face. His other hand lifted the cookie up to his mouth and a distinct crunch was heard when he bit into the cookie.

"So? whaddya think?"

Michael looked back up at you as he chewed the cookie. It had been forever since he had eaten anything even remotely as edible as this. When Michael was done chewing, with his eyes still locked onto yours he brought a giant hand up and patted the top of your head as if you were a dog being praised.

You let out a laugh at his actions

"I'll take that as you liked it?"

Michael nodded, it was rare for him that he was this...animated, even for you.

"Well thank you Mr. Myers. I'm honored that the shape of Haddonfield likes my Christmas cookies"

With another silent nod, Michael disappeared back into the unlit dining room just as quickly as he arrived. Though this time you heard him continue walking past his chair and towards what sounded like the front door.

You turned around looking for your knife you were using to cut the access dough and when you couldn't find it you called out to Michael.

"Michael! I just got done saying it's not Halloween!"

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #12 days ofFicmas #Ficmas #halloween franchise #halloween #michael myers x reader #michael myers #rz michael myers #rz halloween #rz myers x reader

[bi-bard]

Fine - Joel Miller Imagine [HBO's The Last of Us]

Title: Fine

Pairing: Joel Miller X Reader

Word Count: 1,050 words

Warning(s): Spoilers for episode 3, grief, mention of death

Summary: [Season 1, Episode 3] Joel, (Y/n), and Ellie make it to Bill and Frank's home in the hopes of getting some help. What they walk into is enough for (Y/n) to feel like they're falling apart. And beg for more from Joel than a plan for the next step.

Author's Note: Because I needed a fucking hug after that episode, and I didn't get one.

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

I knew something was wrong when we saw the fence around Bill and Frank's place.

I wasn't sure that Joel saw the same thing as me until we looked at each other. There was an air of uneasiness around us as he walked up to unlock the gate.

I grabbed Ellie's arm before she could touch the fence. I pointed to the high-voltage sign.

"Oh," she muttered. I nodded.

Joel held the gate open for us.

That uneasy feeling only got worse as we got closer to the house. Something was wrong. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. After what happened with Tess, I wasn't sure that I could handle what could have possibly happened to Bill and Frank.

The wooden gate was squeaking as it swung back and forth on its hinges.

The front door was unlocked.

It was all out of character for them. They kept the house in good shape. For their safety.

The creaking of the floor against the complete silence didn't soothe me at all. I could see the dust forming on some of the tables and shelves.

Joel called out to Bill and Frank.

When there was no response, he decided to go looking for them.

"Stay with her," Joel said to me, pointing to Ellie. I nodded.

Joel went down the hall. Ellie went to the sitting room while I peeked in the dining room. There were dishes sitting on the table. The food had flies gathering around it and it was going bad. I furrowed my eyebrows.

This was wrong. So, so wrong.

Ellie came in a minute later. She sat in one of the dining room chairs.

"I found a letter," she held up the paper for me to see. "'To whomever but probably Joel'."

"Let me," I held out my hand. She sighed and placed it in my hand.

I shouldn't have done that. I should have just left it to Ellie.

She dropped the key on the table as I opened the letter.

"What happened," she asked as I read the letter.

I didn't have a good response. Maybe it was the shock or the sadness. Maybe I did have a way to explain it, but I just didn't want to because if I said it out loud, then all of it was real. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that I couldn't explain it to Ellie.

I dropped the letter on the table and stepped out without answering her. "Joel!"

He turned to look at me. His hand was resting on the doorknob.

"Don't," I said, nodding down at his hand.

His eyebrows furrowed but he still pulled his hand away.

When we both made it back to the dining room, Ellie was reading over the letter.

The first time I read it, I was able to hold back tears and hold myself together. Hearing it read out loud, I didn't have anything to focus on. I didn't have that choice.

I blinked a few times and tilted my head back, trying to keep myself from sobbing in front of Ellie.

I heard Joel tell her to stay put as he swiped the key and walked out.

I looked at his back for a second before turning to Ellie. I held a finger to tell her to wait there before I went to follow Joel outside.

"Joel."

"Go inside and watch Ellie."

"No, Joel," I shook my head.

"(Y/n), I am not fighting about this right now," he muttered as he stopped. "Just go. I'll be right back."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

The air shifted. It tensed. I was never one to yell. I was rarely known to cuss. I think Joel had some understanding then that I needed to be properly heard.

"For the love of God, please don't pull the drill sergeant act on me," I begged. "You may be able to compartmentalize all of this and keep moving, but I can't do that right now. We just lost our friends, Joel. Three people that we trusted and we cared for. You have your brother out there to keep you going, but I... I don't have anything other than you."

He didn't move.

"I... I can't deal with that like you can," I muttered. "Please... just... stop... just for a moment."

Joel took a deep breath before turning around. I saw his face shift. Like he hadn't realized that I had started crying until that moment. I closed my eyes and turned my head down.

A sob escaped me as soon as he pulled me into his arms. My face ended up buried in his shoulder as I hugged him as tight as I could. I felt his arms tighten around me as a shaky breath escaped him.

"I love you," I mumbled.

"(Y/n)-"

"Shut the hell up and listen to me," I stopped him. "Like it or not, I care about you and I love you. I... I need you to know that. To hear it."

"I love you too," he replied, voice closer to a grumble than anything.

I squeezed my arms around him one more time before stepping back. I grinned at him before wiping away what I could of the tears that had fallen.

I reached over and did the same for him. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone, so you can hold onto your tough-guy act."

A chuckle escaped him. "You're an ass."

"Yeah, so are you," I shrugged. "Get back soon, alright? Don't do anything stupid."

"Do I ever?"

"You don't want a real answer to that."

He glared at me for a moment. I just grinned a little wider at him.

I watched him walk away from the house. I turned and walked inside. Ellie was standing next to the window. She had watched the whole thing.

"Bill and Frank had a working shower last time I was here," I said. "Maybe you should go see if it's still working."

She slowly nodded. "Are... Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I'm fine."

She didn't seem to believe me.

"Go," I nodded toward the staircase.

She held her hands up and went up the stairs.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Fine. That was good enough.

I was okay with fine.

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

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #the last of us x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us imagine #imagine #fanfiction #x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction

[1800rue]

Them doing your makeup: Hanako characters x F Reader

characters include: Hanako-kun, Kou Minamoto, Mitsuba Sousuke, Yugi Tsukasa, & Teru Minamoto

scenario: they're basically just doing your makeup, why? ... because I said so ;)

warnings: minor cursing, shitty writing, unedited, and possibly ooc characters 😃👍👍

a/n: first time writing for...almost all of them, but more importantly my boy Mitsuba <3 aahahhhehehehehehhe why did I find this cute??

HANAKO-KUN:

"Please just let me do your makeup, Y/N! Just this one time!" You slam your makeup kit on the bathroom sink, just by the side of the faucet. Hanako's been nagging about this almost all day- heck he even came into your classroom to ask. Causing you to kick your desk instead of him as he disappeared, getting a 5 minutes detention for disturbing the class.

He noticed your makeup kit in your bag before he left the classroom, and durnng a period of time he asked you if he could do your makeup. Of course, you said no. He was just curious, he's never seen you makeup before- heck he didn't even know you wore makeup!

However, Hanako kept asking to the point you gave up. That time...was today. "Fine!" You yelled, causing the ghost boy to stop begging and smile, kicking his legs with joy as you sat on the sink.

He watched you take out a long black tube and extended it toward him. You mentally facepalmed as he took it and started to sniff it, "What is this?" He asked, holding it up, and spinning around in the air. He twists the cap off as he does so.

A spiky brush caused him to get curious, noticing it at the end of the cap. "That's eyeliner. You put it around the inner corner of the eye to the outer corner." You grabbed his wrist and pulled him close to you, showing as an example. "Follow me," He held the eyeliner in hand as you turned your body to the mirror and he watched as you did as explained.

His mouth made a 'o' shape as you finished. You looked back at him and smiled, "And done!"

"Does it just o on the eye? Or can you put it somewhere else?"

Now you swear he's playing with you "Where else would you put eyein-" He cuts you off by brushing the brush against your cheek.

MINAMOTO KOU:

"Stop squinting! You're going to make me ruin my masterpiece, Senpai!" Kou whines as he grabs your shoulder to make you stay straight. You were sitting on a wooden chair while Kou towered over you.

"I wouldn't be if you were doing right!" You cried, grabbing his lower arm as he applied the eyeliner under your eyelids.

"God-why did I let you do this- you know nothing about makeup, Kou!" You whimper feeling the urge to blink.

"You're the one who needed help with the eyeliner- and as your boyfriend, I am required to complete your desire of yours! Now- stop squirming!"

You huff as you attempted to relax in his touch, his finger now resting under your chin to get the lighting right.

"Looks like you're about to kiss me..." You teased, grinning seeing his cheeks suddenly go red. "What if I am, you gonna try and stop me?" He flirts back, catching you a little bit off guard.

"You're a dork you know that." You blink, ruining his work as he whines, "And you're a jerk!" He sighs putting the cap back on the black tube before kissing your temple, "But you're my jerk."

MITSUBA SOUSUKE:

"What even is this?!" He asked in disgust, taking out what looked like to be a tube of lipstick, but it was skin color. He was looking through the makeup bag you brought for him to use on you when he agreed to put makeup on you.

"That's concealer, babe." You giggled as he snaps his head over to you, his eyes scanning every part of your face, "The fuck needs to be concealed? Feel like I need this more than you do, Y/N."

Mitsuba removes the cap of the tube and sniffs it, coughing at the smell of it. "Smells like shit-." He curses as he scrunches his nose up.

"Probably because it's not for smeling." You chuckled, watching his deadpanned face slowly look at you. "Just stay still, dumbass." He sighed, walking over to you and gently grabbed yoir chin as he rubbed the end over your face.

"Still don't see a reason for this junk," he finished, pinching your cheek. "You're already pretty as it is."

YUGI TSUKASA:

"Don't you dare smudge my make-up!" You hiss, jumping over a piece of furneture in the Broadcasting room where you were currently making a run for it from Tsukasa. "Aw~ Don't be such a sour baby, Y/N. I'm just going to add a little extra something, kay?~" The ghost boy chuckles, pouncing at you like an animal. Before you could react, he tackled you on a couch, pinning your arms to your sides with his legs as he rested comfortably on top of your hips. 

"TSUKASA-" You rage as he grabbed your chin to keep you still, face paint in his other hand. "Twhat's not ewven make-uwp-" You tried to talk, but it didn't matter because Yugi was not listening to a single word you had to say.

"Now, hold still. This won't hurt a bit~" 

"NAO!"

Sakura and Natsuhiko watched the scene unfold in front of them. The green-haired girl tried to pay very litte attention, but the sight of her friend getting tackled by a ghost was something she couldn't help but smile softly and roll her eyes. 

Natsuhiko on the other hand, was grinning his ass off, helping Tsukasa to paint in specific areas on your face, causing you to try and bite the boy. 

"Aaaaand...done!" 

The ghost boy cupped your cheeks together and smiled at his masterpiece. "What-what did you do?"

"Well, to me it looks like a deshaped cow. But that's just  me." The brunette boy shrugged as he pulled away from you and the ghost. 

You snatched a mirror close by and looked at your refelection. Tsukasa just panited black and white spots all around your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose. 

"What were you even trying to do?"

Tsukasa girns, pushing himself closer to your face. "I just wanted to mess with my baby." 

TERU MINAMOTO:

"Wow...just, wow." The oldest sibling of the MInamoto clan smiles at the sight of you. You were sitting on a chair in front of the mirror of your home. You pulled your face away from the mirror and a grin formed on your face seeing your boyfriend by the door. "Teru!" You laughed, jumping into his arms as you both spun on the spot, his arms wrappe around your waist. 

"When did you start wearing makeup?" He asked, giving your lips a quick kiss before asking. You giggled, placing your feet back on the floor of your bedroom and pulled him toward your makeup set. 

"My auntie/mother/sister (whoever you want) gave this to me for my 14th birthday. I totally forgot I've had this, so I thought I might as well give it a try." Teru listened to your explanation, looking through your table of supplies. His eyes soon landed on a bright red lipstick standing upside right in the corner. He leaned forward and pulled back with it in his hand, "This would look amazing on you, Y/N." 

You blushed softly before laughing, "I was actually planning on putting that on, but since your here, do you mind...putting it on for me?"

You never asked anybody to pit on makeup for you, so Teru being your first ask put your mind at ease when asking. Teru, being caught off guard a little bit, smiled and agreed. Asking you to sit on the chair while he went to work. 

"You put some on as well, we'll be matching!" You smiled, taking the stick from him after he finished with you, and you repeated the same motion with Teru. 

"I'd love to, but I don't want to go outside with all these lipmarks on my face." He chuckled, showing the now faded kiss marks left on his face after you kissed him multiple times when he tried to put the lipstick on you. 

#tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun x reader #tbhk x reader #jshk #jshk x reader #jibaku shonen hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun x reader #tbhk anime #hanako x reader #minamoto kou x reader #mitsuba sousuke x reader #yugi tuskasa #yugi tsukasa x reader #teru minamoto #teru minamoto x reader #female reader #my writing #rue writes ✏

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

yall i am so sorry, i’ve been working on writing other things. updates will probably be more spread out now, but bentley’s back baby!

part seventeen

❝ REVELATION ❞

SUNDAY — AUGUST 9 — 3:17AM

“DON’T WORRY, BABYBIRD. I WON’T TELL YOUR SECRETS,”

Bentley woke up, standing in the foyer of Nico Rockefeller’s house. Which was strange, considering he knew for a fact that he’d fallen asleep in his own room, with Nico and Asten right next to him.

He’d never actually been in the Rockefellers’ house, but somehow, some part of him knew this was it. It looked similar to the Manor, actually. The whole foyer was wrapped in beautiful mahogany wainscoting, with dual staircases leading up to the second floor, and hallways positioned around that led to other parts of the house. A pair of giant double doors sat right in the middle of the stairs, leading to a seemingly important room. 

Bentley blinked several times. Why was he in Nico’s house? And where had his friends gone?

He stepped forward just a little, toward the huge wooden doors. Intricate and detailed pictures of Greek gods had been carved into them. Hephaestus, the Greek god of fire was in the center of the left door, his arms outstretched. The entire door was decorated with engravings of terrifying flames, of cities falling into ruins under his immense power. On the right door, Poseidon, Greek god of water, and Aether, Greek god of air, were both facing him, their arms outstretched like they were trying to reach out and bring him home. The fire trailed onto their door, too, but lessened as it neared them, replaced my waves and swirls that signified water and wind. Off to the side hovered Hermes, the messenger of the gods, alone with his hands bound in shackles. Bentley lifted his right hand and delicately brushed his fingertips over the waves made by Poseidon.

“Yeah, I’ll find it. When did you say you’d be home?”

Bentley flinched when Nico’s voice sounded from somewhere above him. He backed away from the doors like he was committing a crime, glancing around, then up at the staircases. Nico was descending the left one with his phone pressed tightly to his ear. Bentley just stood there awkwardly in the center of the foyer, fiddling with the hem of his jacket sleeve as he waited for Nico to notice him.

Only… he didn’t. Not when he came down the stairs, not when he turned toward the doors, not when he walked so closely past Bentley that he felt the air gust from his movement. It was like he was a ghost. 

“Nico?” He tried, but the boy didn’t seem to hear him.

“Okay. Love you, too. Bye,” He finalized, ending the phone call and sliding the device in his pocket as she shoved the large doors open. On the other side stood an office, more extravagant than any office Bentley had ever seen. There was a massive, solid glass desk in the middle of the room, completely clear so that Bentley could see what was in the drawers. It was sitting atop a rug that looked old, almost tribal, with geometric shapes and midwestern colors. The color of the walls was hidden by bookshelves that covered every inch of available space. There were no windows, the whole room illuminated by a large, beaded light fixture instead. All the books and trinkets that lined the shelves looked old, priceless.

Nico walked in like he’d done it a million times, striding to the other side of the clear desk and pulling out the matching clear chair that sat with it. He steadied it against the bookshelves and climbed on top of it, thumbing through the spines of books like he was searching for a very specific one.

Nico looked… the exact same as he had at Bentley’s house. He was even wearing the same gray hoodie and sweats. What was going on?

Bentley stayed quiet, drifting into the doorway of the office. The farther he went, the more old collectibles and books and antiques were revealed — things so old he couldn’t really tell what they were. He watched in silence as Nico made a small ah-ha sound, pulling a red book from the shelf. A couple others fell off with it, thumping on the carpet with muted sounds.

“Ugh,” He grumbled. Bentley, still silent, said nothing as the blonde hopped off the chair and bent down to pick up the dropped books. A brown one was laying open, facing down, its pages on the rug. The second, a dark blue hardcover, hadn’t even opened.

Nico picked up both books, turning toward the shelves to return them to their rightful spots, but then he paused, glaring at the blue one with narrowed eyes. He started shaking it like a snow globe.

Bentley furrowed his brows. What in the world was he doing?

Nico kept shaking the book strangely, and then Bentley caught onto exactly why he was shaking it — it was rattling. The book was rattling. Bentley blinked, completely sure he was losing his mind. How had he ended up in Nico’s house, anyway? And why couldn’t he see him?

Nico plopped the blue book on the desk and tossed the other to the side, moving to open it — but the blue hardcover didn’t budge. He sat it up on the spine and pulled at both covers, back and front, but still, it didn’t open.

Bentley moved forward ever-so-slightly, taking a spot on the opposite side of the desk from Nico. Why would someone make a book you couldn’t open? That rattled? To say Bentley was confused was an understatement — for some reason, he felt rather dumb.

Nico continued to pry and pull on the blue covers to no avail. He then took to examining the pages on the side, running his fingernail over them. Bentley then drifted around the desk just a bit, toward Nico’s left side.

“Huh?” He vocalized as his fingernail slid into a crack between the cover and unmoving pages. Bentley watched quietly as he pulled open the clear desk drawer, grabbing something that looked strangely like a knife. A weird, thin knife, with an ornate metal hilt. He’d seen Alfred use something similar once — to open the mail. Perhaps Alfred wasn’t using a weird knife then, either, but a thing that looked like a knife that was actually meant for opening the mail? Why else would Nico’s parents have one in their office?

Nico grabbed the probably-not-a-knife and stabbed it into the little crack between the cover and strangely stiff pages, using his entire body as leverage. Bentley flinched when the book flew open with a harsh bang against the glass desk.

It wasn’t a book at all, actually — it was a box disguised as a book. Very clever, very smart, very… spy-like, in Bentley’s opinion. Like something Bruce would have in his library. The inside of the book was hollow, the pages fake, and inside was a myriad of papers and small objects. Intrigued, Bentley stepped closer. 

Nico pinched his brows together, pulling out papers and objects one at a time. First was a pin. A pin that was supposed to attach to someone's shirt, with an old looking piece of torn and faded fabric attached to the back. The pin itself was a burnished bronze, with a lightning bolt down the center. It looked like something Bentley had seen before, but he couldn’t place it.

Nico pulled out a large envelope second, and — much to his confusion — it had his name written on the front in big, loopy writing. Bentley watched in silence, inching ever-closer as the blonde used the same little not-knife to open it.

He pulled out three papers, each folded neatly. Two were pristine and clean, the other, ratty, torn, and slightly crumbled. He unfolded the nicer two, and Bentley leaned in to read them.

The first one was a birth certificate. In big, bold letters, it read: NIKOLAI ELIJAH ROCKEFELLER. It had his birthday, his time of birth, his parents’ names, EDWARD ROCKEFELLER and JEAN AGRESTE-ROCKEFELLER.

The second of the nice papers was another birth certificate.

That was… also Nico’s?

Bentley leaned closer, genuinely confused at the same time Nico scrunched his face up. This certificate looked a little different than the first, like it was from a different place.

NIKOLAI ELIJAH ALLEN was the big name on the front. The parents' names listed were… BARTHOLOMEW ALLEN and CRYSTAL CONSTANTINE-ALLEN.

Okay, now Bentley was just really confused. As was Nico, who, with an exhale, shook his head in disbelief. He laid the certificates to the side and unfolded the ratty looking sheet of paper. It was scrawled with messy handwriting that Bentley could barely read. And even when he did decipher it, it didn’t make much sense.

Please take care of him Jean, Edward — Barry said you’d take good care of him. That you’re friends. Our timestream, our universe, dimension, reality, whatever it is… it’s falling apart at the seams — Barry says the only way to save him is to take him to a new one where his existence won’t be erased. His name is Nikolai. Nico. Just… please. Love him. Barry says he can take him back to his own timestream, to your timestream because of the Speed Force passed onto him from Bartholomew, I don’t know much about it… Bart’s worried you won’t be prepared for when it wakes up… Please don’t tell him about us until it wakes up. Nico. It’ll be better that way.

Bentley had never been more confused in his entire short life. Don’t tell him about us until it wakes up? It what? And a letter about worlds falling apart? Words that implied Nico was from a whole different universe? That his now parents weren't his parents, but his parents actually lived in a different dimension? Did that mean he was an alien? That there really was something more out there, something past the world Bentley could see?

Nico started crying, suddenly and pitifully like he had in the bathroom at school. Bentley wished he could reach out for him — but how would he feel him if he didn’t even know he was there?

A dull ache settled in the back of Bentley’s skull as the familiar feeling of vertigo started to take hold of him. The room started to teeter and spin, and he reached out to grab ahold of the desk when he started to fall, but apparently he missed, because he hit the floor anyways.

The beaded chandelier above him doubled and tripled as a stabbing pain shot from one ear to the other, black and white flecks of light dancing across his vision like it was snowing. The black flecks got bigger, and the sound of Nico crying grew more and more distant until everything fell black.

And Bentley jerked straight back into consciousness with a gasp. He blinked away the fatigue and pulsing pain behind his eyes, trying his hardest to focus, to breathe. He was in his dark bedroom, Nico snoring on the foot of the bed, and Asten… well, Asten wasn’t there. But the bathroom door was closed.

Bentley blinked a few more times to right his mind. A dream. It had been nothing more than a dream, despite it feeling so utterly real. His skull felt tight, strange, like a hot air balloon. It felt…

Exactly the same as it had in Bruce’s car, after the Secret Keeper invaded his mind to show him Asten’s memory. 

Had he just seen one of Nico’s memories? A memory where Nico was wearing the exact same clothes he was now? Could it have been a memory from, like, right before the Secret Keeper found him? The night before he called Asten?

Bentley grimaced as the throbbing in his head that had faded since the car ride came back full force, like someone was banging a gong inside of his skull. Nico hadn’t stirred even though Bentley had shaken the entire mattress with his flinch. 

What he saw in his dream was real, right? What he saw in his dream about Asten had seemed real enough, and Dick said he’d seen Bentley’s memories — so it was safe to assume it was real. That Nico was basically an alien from another universe.

He flopped back down on his pillow, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. Superheroes, metahumans with powers, and now, universes and an alien that he’d managed to befriend.

He pushed it all out of his mind, for now, burying himself in his covers with a huff and willing his body to go back to sleep.

He didn’t realize that Asten never came out of the bathroom.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

#oc; bentley #oc; bentley whittaker #mb; a hundred ways to become a wayne #oc; asten #oc; asten evans #oc; nico #oc; niko rockefeller #batboys #batfamily #batman #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #barbara gordon #oracle #dick grayson #nightwing #jason dc #dc jason todd #dc red hood #red hood #red hood dc #cassandra cain #orphan #tim drake #red robin #stephanie brown #spoiler #duke thomas #damian wayne #dc robin

[nonalie]

Is This What You Wanted: Part 2 | Aemond Targaryen

Summary: You are wed to Aemond Targaryen, but you swore to yourself that you would never love him. Inspired by the song Is This What You Wanted, by The Last Shadow Puppets (and ofc episode 8 of House of the Dragon!)

Words: 1k

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Masterlist

AO3

A/N: Part 3 will be out early next week!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You sat in a chair staring into the eyes of your own reflection a foot in front of you as the noise of your entire family hovering around you blurred into the sounds of the party guests still celebrating in the hall below. The heavy wooden double doors to your chambers remained open as your family circulated in and out of the space. Your father stopped by at some point, and so did your brothers, and even your aunts and uncles with their own children, just to congratulate you on the successful marriage. But all you heard was noise, as your sisters fussed over your hair and excessive amounts of jewelry. You just smiled, nodded, and said thank you, and waited for the next face to appear in the mirror.

But the next shape that appeared was the face of your youngest sister, and you saw her lips opening and closing in slow motion. “What did you say?” You finally asked her after trying to decipher it for a little longer than necessary. The world around you finally entering your ears once again.

“Your hair,” she said. “It’s knotted in the back.” She pulled your hair as she said it, and you winced only just now feeling the pain.

“Stop shifting, you were fine just before!” She groaned in annoyance.

“Stop pulling my hair then!” You swiped at her hand that was holding the brush behind you, causing her to drop it.

“Girls,” your mother spoke up before the two of you could start arguing. “You’re getting married, Y/N. Maybe try to act like it.”

Your mother picked the brush up off the ground and shooed your sister away.

“She started it.” You mumbled under your breath and crossed your arms over your chest.

“And I’m ending it,” her reflection smiled at you in the mirror, brushing through your hair delicately. “Now come, I’ll help you into your dress.”

She took your hand and helped you stand up from the chair. Feeling the sharp pain shoot through your feet, you were already regretting having to put those uncomfortable shoes back on after the hours you’ve spent in them by now.

Leading you over towards a small platform, your mother helped you get into the intricate layers of your second gown that evening. Your four sisters were fluttering around you, gossiping about whatever drama they noticed at the ceremony, and passing random pieces to your mother. You stared at yourself in the mirror as more pieces of clothing were added to your body.

Your oldest sister stepped up behind you to tie the laces of your corset. “I’ll keep them loose so he doesn’t struggle too much.” She smiled from ear to ear and jumped off the platform, but not before you reached over and poked her between the ribs, causing her to yelp as she ran from you, laughing.

But your smile slowly started fading when the room suddenly became quiet. You noticed that the Queen was standing in the doorway, her hands folded tightly in front of her. Your mother greeted her, and the entire room curtsied, and it didn’t take long for your mother to reach her hand out again to you, urging you off the platform.

“She’s ready now, my Queen,” she said, smiling at you. She grasped your hand, not waiting for you to act on your own, and gently guided you towards the door.

The Queen stepped back into the hallway and you turned towards your mother. She kissed your cheek and wiped the tear that seemed to have slipped from the corner of your eye. You heard the Queen’s shoes start clicking as she began walking down the hallway, clearly not interested in watching your goodbye’s. You waved at your sisters who all seemed to have mellowed out now, no longer laughing and smiling, and started heading towards the Queen, but your mothers hand still held on to yours. She pulled you back in for a long, warm hug, “Good luck, my girl.” You turned away before your mother could see the tears spill over.

Catching up to Alicent, your nerves got the better of you, and your hands automatically went to your gown to smooth out the wrinkles that were truly never really there. “Wipe your tears,” Alicent said as you turned the corner, nearing Aemond’s chambers. As ordered, you gently swiped your fingers across your cheeks, in order to not ruin the delicate makeup that your sisters had worked so hard on.

You thought of Aemond, and if he was as nervous as you were. Scoffing, you realized that at this point he was probably too drunk to even remember the wedding had occurred. Maybe he would fall asleep before anything could even transpire, or so you hoped.

Reaching his door, Alicent stopped abruptly and turned to you. “Knock and wait for him to open the door,” she said, and was about to turn away but paused to study your face for a moment. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, and you were sure the stress that you felt was painted all over your face.

“Everything will be okay.” She said suddenly, and reached her arms out to hug you. Hesitantly, you hugged her back. Looking down and quickly wiping away another stray tear as she let you go, she gave you a small smile and walked back down the hall.

You bit the inside of your cheek, wishing that no more tears would flow, and took the deepest breath you had ever taken in your life, releasing it as slowly as possible in order to prolong this moment. Finally, you reached out and knocked on the door twice, hoping that you knocked hard enough for him to hear it.

Taking two steps back, you held your breath this time in order to hear any sound coming from the other side of the door. But it was so silent that you could hear your ears ringing.

All of a sudden the heavy wooden door swung open. Startled, you jumped slightly, but soon enough you realized that the heartbeat echoing in your ears was not from fear, but from seeing him. Dressed all in black, as always, he was wearing a loose shirt and pants that seemed to fit him a little too well, and he was very much sober.

The smirk appeared on his face when he realized it was you and he leaned his body against the frame. “Hello, Y/N.” He greeted you, and opened the door a little further, inviting you into the dragon’s den.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Taglist: @tea-effect ; @missusnora ; @tachibubu ; @moonmaiden1996 ; @harrylines ; @nomugglesallowed ; @dragonismo ; @makaramosss ; @ephemeralninon ; @m1ndbrand ; @kyrieshoka ; @criesinsagitarius ; @tswiftsthings ; @merakiaes ; @betelrus ; @schnilipsel ; @fultimefangirl ; @rainazinha ; @elegantwoes ; @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz

#house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond x reader #aemond stannies #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #house targaryen #targaryen x reader #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd season 1 #game of thrones #got #daemon targeryan #rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #alicent hightower #asoiaf #fanfic #fantasy #a song of ice and fire #reader insert

[heartfullofleeches]

Can you please tell us a bit more about the Director of the Night Gallery? You’ve been teasing us for MONTHS and we still know next to nothing about them. I think it’s about time they’re properly introduced, don’t you?

[Another anon: Well now I really want to know about the Director and his games]

The clock chimes seven times.

Not the one on the wall, but the one in the chest and heart of the wooden mannequin standing beside that man. The clock overhead tells a different time than what was told. 7:05. Five minutes after your shift ends.

"You cheated."

The Director clicks his tongue. "Now, Y/n- I only did what I had to. It's rather impolite that the others get a goodbye and I don't. Come now, we really shouldn't waste our time. You know the rules."

You bang on the exit doors. They budge with each slam of your fist, but remain in place no matter what you try. You grit your teeth. "Let. Me. Out. This isn't fair- It isn't right. You played dirty."

"It isn't my fault you became dependent on our friend here to tell you the time. Speaking of which, you are excused, Soleil."

The clock's gears softly tick. Their face hides their emotions, but by the way they avoid your eyes it's easy to tell what they feel.

"I... don't want to leave them."

The Director taps his cane against the hard floor.

"5....."

He doesn't need a second strike as Soleil turns and quickly walks away. He exhales, bright persona resurfacing.

"Now, I personally don't mind your stalling, but I love our little games and would hate for you to lose your freedom so soon. If your little fit is over, we must be going now."

There's no way out of this than to follow him. You learned that lesson long ago. Your shoes squeak down the halls as you drag your feet behind him. Floor 2. Floor 3. The numbers ascend as you climb the stairs. The residents of each floor are absent, having returned back to their paintings or place in the halls as per the rules. Soon enough your at the steps of the final floor, yellow tape blocking access from the outside world. The Director ducks underneath and holds the door open for you, darkness swallowing you as you enter.

There's a table and two chairs in the middle of the floor, an hourglass atop it. You know there is more, but those three objects are all you've ever seen. Three white cards accompany the glass, blank faces upwards as you both take your seats. The Director folds his hands, nodding to the cards. You've played this game with him before, but its always polite to say something first.

"Go ahead. Pick. Like always, you're allowed to choose."

You reach for a card, pausing. "How do I know you won't cheat this time?"

"As tempting as that may be, I imagine its quite hard to cheat at a game like this. Everything depends on your story telling."

You flip over the middle card, the hourglass spinning on its opposite side in tune. An invisible weight pins you to your seat as soon as the first grain falls. Ink sprawls over the milk white page in sporadic and misshapen strokes. The blots form together in a spherical shape in one corner, hovering over a rectangle with four stick lines beneath.

"What do you see?"

"I see... a clock and a chair."

The Director taps the head of his cane. "Is that all?"

You shake your head, giving him what he wants. "... A man sits in the chair. He's waiting for his spouse to come home. He's been waiting all day, and he misses them, but he knows they'll be home soon. He'll greet with them a kiss on the cheek and takes their coat, welcoming them home by settling down by the fire - whole again. And so he waits for his love, starting at the clock to past the time."

The Director sits still. The hourglass doesn't move, but the sands freeze in the middle of its slender frame. "Have I ever told you this is my favorite game? It's easy to win, but I do love your stories. I long for the day when one of them comes true. You are free to go. Best hurry."

The weight on your shoulders is lifted. You bolt from the chair and to the stairway, your first stop once your free anywhere that sells a watch.

#Night gallery tag #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere x y/n #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #tw yandere

[burning-academia-if]

10k+ Plays Bonus: Beck's Short Story

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Snapshots from the life of a boy where love wasn't enough.

CW: depression, suicide ideation, suicide attempt, forced hospitalization, systemic abuse, implied racism, death of family member

A/N: Thanks again?? for 10k plays (now 11k)?? This is both for that and because I'm planning on doing all the ROs backstories! Plan is for Zoe's to be after Chapter 2's release, Lars after Chapter 3, and Rhea after Chapter 4! Hope you enjoy! Also this one is arguably the roughest of all the back stories, so please mind the content warnings and take care of yourself!

The light hurt his eyes, but everything hurt. His lungs were still burning, reaching up into his throat. When he’d woken up, arm sore and bruised, and chest half caved in, the orderlies had done everything they could to ease him into the situation. He’d watched them, body collapsing under its own weight. They were a blur of faces. He’d gone back to sleep.

(He did not remember the true events of his first waking. It had not been a calm affair. There had been hands, needles jamming into skin, sobbed accusations. People had tried to talk, to soothe. Nothing had registered save for the feeling of freefall. It’d taken his second waking for a hollowed-out calm. He hadn’t spoken then. He hadn’t spoken for days.)

A familiar string tugged his heart awake. He raised his head, before slipping out of bed. It was all warm colors, not the white of hospitals. Bare feet cold against the tile, he stumbled forward, out the door and down the hall. Eyes watched him, but he didn’t register a thing. Instead, he walked past doors and a common area (filled with other teens and kids who saw him, but who he didn’t see, not yet). Then into another hall, and finally a door.

When he knocked, a woman’s voice called out and he opened it. It was a cold hug, the warmest kind he’d had in a year. The door slid closed behind him. The doctor raised her head.

Although she did not smile, her eyes were soft, “Beck Castro. I was waiting for you to feel better, before I talked to you.”

He worked his jaw, trying to remember the shape of his voice, “There’s death here.”

“Yes, there is.” She had dark hair and dark eyes and certifications hung off the wall. “I’m Dr. Ridge. I won’t make you talk, but since you’re here, I have something to give you.”

She reached into a drawer and he cautiously sat in a chair across from her at her desk. Whatever she grabbed, whatever she held out, sang out the song of death. He reached out a hand. A simple rosary fell from her hand. The beads were made of real roses. He’d know, he’d helped make it once upon a time.

The world was still. The wooden cross dangled from its chain. The image of an old woman knelt in prayer flashed through his mind. Humid heat, seeping into worn down buildings, the smell of salt and brine in the air.

The world was shattered. He pressed the rosary to his chest and cried until it hurt.

//

            His favorite month of the year was the one spent in Puerto Rico. The cousins and aunts and uncles he’d see only then, extended family members he didn’t even know the words for and old family friends. Tastes like no where else. The candy like flavor of quenepas, the sweetness of local avocados, the coolness of a fresh cut coconut. His cousins would laugh, crying tourist, and he’d laugh and say he’d take all their food then.

            Beck could exist in those moments forever, but his favorite part of each visit was seeing mamí again. He wasn’t sure whose grandmother she was officially, but she was a pseudo grandma to all the kids. Under five foot tall with white hair stark against brown skin and wrinkles that mapped out her entire life, she was the most loving, strictest woman ever.

            The kids would duck in and out of her home, avoiding her in fear of her ire, only to come back the next day to help harvest the quenepas that grew in bunches around her house, or take to the kitchen to help with cooking or cleaning. Her home was the center of his family, and he’d grown up sitting on the floor of her living room, listening to her life stories.

            It was during one of the summers there when he’d first kiss a girl, and the next summer kiss a boy. He’d quickly learn that he’d kiss anyone if he liked their heart enough. And when he’d walked back to mamí’s house, sweating from humid air and nerves over his newfound realization, she’d been sitting on the porch.

            He hadn’t needed to say anything as she eyed him and said in Spanish, “Don’t let that boy break your heart.”

            Beck didn’t know how she knew, but it made it easier. Months later, he’d find the courage to tell his parents, but it was only because Mami had reacted to it as she would with anyone before sending him in to set the table for dinner.

            Mamí was also the first one to realize he could see ghosts. In the little town most his family lived in, was a small cemetery packed with large gravestones worn down by salt. When he’d walk back, groceries in hand, he’d feel the way death would sing and his gaze would turn. He’d stand at the edge of the gates, enraptured by their weeps and helpless to appease them.

            She’d caught him on that same porch, and sometimes he believed she saw all the universe from right there. She’d said, “Lo ves los muertos. La triste sigue.”

            “No estoy triste, estoy bien.” And why would he be sad, like all the dead that he saw? No, he wasn’t sad. He was bundled in the warmth of his family, he had the brightest smile of them all. He was too young to know, that only those whose heart bled sadness could ever see the dead.

//

            Mamí told his parents, and his parents had proceeded to spend his early teens warning him not to let the Board know. His aptitude with magic was as easy as breathing, a feat rare for most teens. Where most would take their yearly aptitude tests starting at thirteen and ending at eighteen, the Board had requested he’d start at ten.

            Every year, during the scheduled appointment, his dad would hesitate by the door when it was time to leave. He’d place a sturdy hand on his shoulder. Beck looked up at him, at the hair starting to thin around his head and the fine line of wrinkles tracing every second he’d laughed and smiled throughout his entire life. Beck couldn’t imagine growing old, but he also wished, during the moments he almost could, that his face would be the same map of joy.

            That joy wasn’t there, in those moments, “It’s rare to see the dead, and the Council is always keeping an eye out. If the Board notices, they’ll report it. And if they do, you’re not—”

            He could never finish the sentence, but Beck knew anyway, “If you want me to hide it, I’ll hide. I’m sure we’ll be ok, right?”

            So he’d smile with the warmth of a morning sun and his dad would ease his grip and his mom would hurry them out before they were late, and it was all going to be ok. There was no ending in sight.

//

            Once, during what he’d later learn to be his last visit to the island, his family had celebrated his birthday as they always had. Him and his cousins ran through the small streets of town until they made it to the empty beaches (the kind tourists would never find because the kind of town they lived in was too poor. Too broken down. Too weather worn, for any of them to ever love. But Beck loved it, and he always would. A blessing and a curse). Some would take off their shirts and others would dive into the water without bothering to change.

            Beck’s voice, loud and bright, would call “You know the rules, whoever finds the most sand dollars gets the first of mamí’s mofongo.”

            As if it was a special treat, they’d scatter and laugh and if they were lucky, they’d find one. By the time they were tired and warm from sun and laughter, they’d find a truth which had persisted for years, since they started this game. Beck’s hands were full of sand dollars, all unbroken and various shades.

            When they’d rush back, they’d complain to mamí and ask how Beck always found so many, and she’d laugh and say it was because his heart was so bright it attracted many things. His sixteenth was different. After they came home and his grandmother laughed, she followed him to the cramped little bathroom with a sadness swirling in her dark brown eyes.

“El diablo vive en tú corazón, y yo también.” She’d said, pressing a hand to his heart and hers.

The devil lives in your heart, and mine as well.

In the years that followed he’d wonder what she’d meant.

Until the year came where he learned exactly what she meant.

//

            His sixteenth year of life had been different. Not just because his family had made it a point to spend an extra month at the island for his birthday, or because the whole of society treated sixteen like it was special. It was because of the way his magic had started to settle in his chest.

            Beck was as imperfect as any other teen boy, but it wasn’t the same imperfections as them. It was not violence or crude humor or fake bravado or shoving emotions into a box because they weren’t allowed to have them. It was him behind a glass, looking towards the rest of the world. It was him, spilling love into others and having love spilled into him, but his heart not holding it. It was him not recognizing the sound of his laugh, or taking a moment too long to register his face in the mirror.

            This was not the kind of beast that should be named. It was not the color of the ocean during storm, or of his mom’s favorite jacket. It was not there, because his magic was as gold as the sun he molded himself into. If his magic looked warm, then so too was his heart. The two were reflections off each other. A basic fact everyone knew. The beast wasn’t there at all.

            (It wasn’t there, because Beck was imperfect in his youth and believed things untrue. Afterall, how the fuck could it be there, when his life was everyone’s dream? No one was selfish, for being hunted by the beast. Beck was fucking selfish, because he obviously invited it in, this thing that wasn’t there at all.  For all his kindness, Beck had never left spares for himself.)

//

            Aptitude tests were different for all. Most years, Beck would focus on restoration, as well as general control points. Hovering items, moving them, shuffling multiple things at once, giving his magic form. It was more courtesy than anything.

            “This is different.” Beck started, entering the room. There were items sitting on a table. His eyes swept across each one. A pendant on a silver chain, a coffee mug, and a book. All harmless enough, if he didn’t feel the sick hit him within seconds. “Did the board plan something specific for me this time, Mr. Solace?”

            The man, always the picture of calm, said “Don’t fret, it’s quite simple. We all already know your skills, so there’s no point in doing the same thing for your remaining years.”

            “Does it normally change for everyone at sixteen, or is it because it’s always been easy for me to use magic?” Beck ignored the subtle shift of his parents’ posture as they came to stand near the long table the Board was seated. His smile was as easy as always. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Just tell me what to do.”

            “Each one of these is a magical item. All we ask for today is merely for you to attune yourself with them.” Mr. Solace inclined his head before moving towards the rest of the group. All eyes were on him as he made his way forward.

            Each one had their own glow, a spilling of magic. Two were easily overcome by the third. The book was thin and small, and brightly colored. Death clung to it in every corner.

            Beck went through the items in order, answering all questions asked to the best of his ability. The necklace had barely a drop of magic. The mug was much the same, although anyone who drank from it would be in a better mood. And then, the book.

            He didn’t flinch away. Mamí had told him how she could see ghosts the day she noticed. She’d never been afraid, because some of the dead were her ancestors, and why would they ever want to hurt her? And then she’d pressed a palm to his forehead, and said it was wiser to be afraid of why he was able to see them at all.

            With careful hands, he let his fingers skim the top cover. It hit him all at once. The world dimmed, color draining from his vision. His pulse picked up, rushing through his veins, packed with adrenaline. It took everything to focus.

            “What do you feel?”

            (Everything, all at once. The dead never held back.)

            The ease of his posture didn’t shift, his expression remained the same as ever. He tilted his head, trying to see if there wasn’t anything underneath it all. But it was so thick with death. It poured down his throat, numbing his perception of anything else.      

            He let his hand fall away with a shake of his head as he turned towards the table with a furrow of his brow, “Nothing?”

            There was a series of whispers, cascading from the four Board members. His parents’ retained a carefully neutral expression, avoiding giving anything away. It was the last man, with hair dark as night and an age that could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty who stood.

            Mr. Temple. It took a second to retrieve the name of the man who’d never spoken to him before. Had never spared a glance. Now, he strode forward and came to a stop in front of Beck. Everyone went quiet.

            “You feel nothing?” He asked and Beck nodded.

            “There’s no magic.” And this time he felt confident. Magic felt closer to life. It held the same roots, breathed the same air. It could not, by extension, exist in the same realm of death. And so, he felt nothing.

            But Mr. Temple reached out, and tore the cover off the book. All at once, everyone at the table threw jumped back. Beck’s eyes went wide as a scream tore through the air. A pair of hands, nothing but shadows, pulled themselves out from the pages. The room went dark. The form lunged, hands around Beck’s throat before he could blink.

            It was impossible not to react. His parents shouted and Beck threw his hands out in a sea of golden light. The thing shrieked again, spilling vitriol. This was a different feeling than any other ghost he had ever laid eyes upon.

            Then it was gone and Beck was breathing hard, sprawled on the ground. His throat hurt, bruise forming already in the form of hands. He stared at the ceiling, still washed out in color, mind racing to figure out what it was that’d happened. His fingers dug into the hard wood to ground himself. Mr. Temple did not look at him.

            “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘beauty is just the beginning of terror’?’” Mr. Temple asked, with no expectation of an answer. His own magic seeped a bitter blue as it encased the whole room. The dead hissed, stumbling, still intact. “If a soul once made of beauty can become this, it’d be better for the soul to be destroyed without hope to return.”

            Magic forced him back to his face and Beck stumbled. He breathed hard, a puppet on a string. The magic pushed him forward, towards the dead, “If we destroy it, does it pass on?”

            The man frowned, “No.”

            “Then I refuse.”

            “Truly?” He said, before the wraith was on him again. Mr. Temple watched. “Even if it should kill you?”

            It wanted his heart. To curl into and take shelter. To cry all of its rage away. To remember humanity. Beck’s heart, always open, always bleeding, did not fight it. If it could remember then—

            Flashes of a mother, reading a book to her child. Flashes of a woman curled beside a man, stomach swollen, face pale and exhausted. Flashes of a home as warm and safe as Beck’s. Flashes of a home with nothing but blood, as she took her dying breath.

            “I’m sorry,” Beck choked out, as though he killed her himself “I’m sorry, I—”

            Hands reached out to touch nothing. He felt it, when the dead died again. Ice sliced through his veins and he gave a strangled cry. He curled up, buried his face in his hands and wept. Mr. Temple stood over him, and his parents tried to rush forward. Hands grabbed them, held them back.

            Mr. Temple shook his head, “I shouldn’t have been surprised, with a family like yours.”

            The damnation rang louder than the pain.

//

            “My parents didn’t know.” Was the first thing Beck said as they were locked in Mr. Temple’s office. “I knew for a long time, but I didn’t tell them. I always thought—they were harmless. Sometimes I’d see them, and they were only ever sad. I didn’t think it mattered, that they were there.”

            “What you saw wasn’t a ghost, it was a wraith. They’re nothing but shells of what once was.” Mr. Temple shook his head slowly, void eyes passing over his expression. “More importantly, are you aware of the punishment for lying about your abilities?”

            Beck, alone in a room of no colors with only a dying lamp for light, refused to flinch, “No, I’m not, but leave my family out of it. I’m willing to do anything.”

            He leaned forward, a slow grin overtaking him, “If you were willing to do anything, you would have slaughtered that wraith. Your refusal is why you’re here with me in the first place. No matter, you’ll learn.”

            The cost of learning, was almost as severe as the cost of refusing.

            Almost.

            But not quite.

//

            It came in waves, during those days.

            (Don’t speak it out loud.)

            The expectations on him dragged him down. The eyes on him watching, noting each refusal. Every disappointment.

            (Don’t speak it out loud. He was not a monster. He was just a gift to one.)

            Later, he’d learned of how his parents fought for him. Later, he’d learn the costs placed on them were much the same as the ones placed on him. But that wasn’t until it was almost too late. So, his parents would take him to teachers meant for those close with death, and they’d turn away at the last second. The wraiths would come and he’d grit his teeth and think again and again he would not destroy a soul.

            (Was it steadfast morals or. Spite and rage he never though he could feel or. Or was it the thing without name?)

//

            His teachers thought his parents were to blame for all the bruises on Beck. It was an easy, messy explanation. They looked like hands around his neck, fingers gripping his arms, scratches all over his body. Magic could heal all wounds, if physical. Magic could not erase the memories of what’d been done.

            If he refused to heal himself or be healed, they didn’t make him return until he was better. They’d never let a hurt child go against the wraiths. But he was growing older, his magic stronger, and he’d need to learn to handle them on his own. That’s all this was.

            The dead felt it and he felt them. He pressed himself against his bedroom window, and listened to their song. If his magic was just a little stronger, he’d hear them crystal clear. If he didn’t stop himself, he thought he might hear the dead of the entire world. Listening to them was always a balm. Regardless of it all, they were out there. Guardian angels, until they finally could move on.

            And so his year went. The wraiths would hunger for his heart in their rage and the other magicians would watch and only step in when he was close to death. They’d ask him again and again why he’d refuse. His magic was so strong, a flick of his wrist could destroy these husks for good. And he’d bite his lip, and think this damage to his body was better then erasing an entire existence.

            His parents would reach out—

            (They’d raze the place to the ground if they could. But a hurt child is better than a dead child, isn’t it? A hurt child they can see is better than a hurt child taken away from them for all eternity.)

            —and he’d never flinch away, although maybe it was preferable to the smile still on his face.

            The dead would keep calling, and soon he’d know their song by heart. He’d dodge all the questions asked by teachers and adults about his wounds and it’d keep going. And going. And going.

            And he’d keep living, despite it all.

            And then, as the dawn of his seventeenth birthday approached, spent in his bedroom because leaving the boundaries of Mr. Temple’s jurisdiction was not allowed, his parents knocked on the door. He raised his head and there they stood. No longer the old version of themselves who hovered over him and showered him with the endless affection all teens found annoying. They did not cross the threshold into the inside.

            His dad didn’t talk, as though his mouth was sewn shut. His mom was the one who took a deep breath, “Beck…Titi Catalina called. It’s about mamí.”

            Beck stared out his window, breath fogging the glass. He’d never spent his birthday month so cold before, “She’s sick, isn’t she?”

            From the reflection, he could see the wobble of her lips. He turned and rose and held out his arms and the three collapsed together, as though death was connecting them again, instead of driving them apart.

//

            “If you manage to destroy a wraith, I’ll let you say your goodbyes.” For the first time since this all started, he was willing to believe the smoke and mirrors. Mamí, who had been the only one to see his heart in all ways. Who’d tell him stories of her youth, and sing old songs long forgotten, who’d drive him and his cousins out the house to finish chores. He owed her a goodbye.

            He walked into the room with nothing but a table and a birthday card. Wraiths sealed themselves away in the strangest things until their rage was remembered and woke them again. Mr. Temple stood behind the desk. Beck walked forward.

            When Mr. Temple ripped the card, the wraith was free. The void in his eyes was vaster than even the one in Beck’s own heart.

            He raised his hands. A chill ran through his body, heart wrenching itself in all directions. Had he been a soul magician, he would not have been able to go against his beliefs like this. But his magic responded even as his whole body threatened to be sick.

            To say goodbye, he told himself, but the void remained and Beck knew. There was nothing he could do, for that promise to be true.

            The wraith had once been a boy his age. He’d done sports and fought with his parents as fiercely as he loved them. He had a habit of tapping his fingers against his thighs, and his death had been from trying to pull a stranger out of the way of a drunk driver who’d gone off the road. He hadn’t saved them. He’d died for nothing.

            And Beck, with his magic glowing fierce, broke the most sacred rule of all as he pressed his hands into its body and gathered up this boy into his heart and gave those memories back. Remember. Remember. Remember.

             Blood spilled from his nose, as he collapsed to his knees. The wraith knew his face again, and it all slipped away from him. From wraith to ghost, from damned to lost. A shadow fell over where Beck laid. Not from the ghost, but from a very living man. It was the last thing Beck saw.

//

            They erased the ghost anyway, right before he could move on. Beck hadn’t expected any different, as he sat locked away, waiting for the call from his parents, that Mamí was gone.

            If he closed his eyes, he could be beneath the sea again.

//

            The sadness existed long before his affinity with death, of course. Mamí had known, it had taken plenty of her family from her. From the first time she met the boy, presented when he was a mere babe asleep in his mother’s arm, she’d known. From one generation to the next, it’d take someone from them.

            In her deathbed, she remembered the boy who’d held his little cousin’s hands to help them learn to walk. He’d go out of his way to get milk from the store and bring it to her, just like he’d do for any stranger. When she’d seen him set against the sunlight, eyes staring at a dead thing, she knew for certain.

            All her life she’d wondered a cure for sadness when it had no source. What was in Beck’s own heart was not something even he let himself see. Set against a deepening sunset, he looked like how her brother once did, and she wondered if Beck had seen his ghost, too. Like calls to like, after all. Her brother had never wanted anyone to feel what he’d felt up until he was gone.

            On her deathbed, she knew she’d failed him. His parents knew they failed him, too, as they sat next to her in the hospital.

            (But Beck, who loved more then anything, was always going to make the choice he did. Yes, what was done to him sped up the inevitable, but it was still inevitable. This is not an uncommon story. Mamí, and Beck’s parents, and Beck himself did not fail. They all only tried to love and protect each other, even though the odds were never in their favor.)

            When Mamí took her last breath, so too, did Beck.

//

            Beck didn’t ask for details of that night he could hardly remember. He had sessions with Dr. Ridge every other day, who did not like his easy smiles and laughs. The younger kids, however, adored him. He was practically the babysitter of this amalgamation of small children, all of who should not be here, but were.

            Initially, they thought his circumstances were due to all the corrupt powers that be in certain sections of the Magician’s Council. Yes, he’d said, and no. This made his stay longer, which suited him just fine. He settled in well, telling stories to kids, and playing games and watching shows with those closer to his age.

            They’d ask what had been done to him, and he hadn’t ever answered with the whole truth. His parents had rushed home, and refused to leave his side for days when they arrived at the facility. They had questions, so many questions, and just as many apologies and confessions.

            He never confessed to his parents, but during one of his sessions he’d stared at his hands and said, “I thought if I filled up my heart with love, I’d be able to chase the devil away.”

            “If love could heal everything, I think so many more would still be alive.”

            Beck acknowledged his heart, now that it had, for a brief moment, stopped beating. He didn’t know when the sadness had first taken root, because he’d never dared look it in the eyes. Now, as the months bled into each other, he accepted it was there. Maybe it always would be. It’d be alright, he’d only take its hand when it started to cry.

            Life kept moving. He studied and kept up with classes and tutored the other kids and made them breakfast and became deemed the group mom. His parents would visit every weekend, and no one else ever came.

            At some point, he’d gone from seventeen to eighteen, and he tapped the calendar on Dr. Ritcher’s wall, “I age out next week. It’s time for me to go home and figure everything out.”

            “You’ve done a lot of figuring out here.” She stated, and he laughed the kind of laugh she always frowned at. “Are you afraid?”

            “Yes,” he didn’t hesitate, “Maybe things will end up the same as before, but I know what I want to do. I’m going to Vales Grove.”

            It was common sense to protest. His parents had asked if he was still being threatened, even here, his dad ready to do what he should have done in the first place. But Beck, with a heart of emotions and a head full of memories that didn’t belong to him, knew there were things he needed to figure it out. He owed it to the dead. They’d been the ones to save him in the end.

            “Are you sure about this?”

            “If I go willingly, I’ll appear complacent, won’t I? And Vales Grove University has so many eyes on it, it doesn’t just belong to the Board. Even if it did, after what Mr. Temple did, they’ve been in shambles trying to find a replacement after his sentence. If there’s a safe time to find answers, it’s while they’re all a mess, right? Because I just need to understand why—” There were so many endings to that. But Dr. Ridge knew them, so he only closed his eyes and took a breath.

            She didn’t judge him any of those reasons. She merely clicked her pen and asked, “Before session is over, what flavor do you want your Going Home Cake to be?”

            Beck was finally making it home again. One day, he’d make it to mamí’s grave, too.

#BA: bonus content #ch: beck #I wasn't sobbing writing the ending what #also would you believe me if I said I cut like 2k words sorry it's so long

[paganimagevault]

The Princess of Ukok (aka Siberian Ice Maiden & The White Lady) 500 BCE. Tumblr image limit only allows 30 photos, I will include a link to my blog, at bottom, with more photos and more organized descriptions.

"In 1993, Russian archaeologist Natalya Polosmak and her team discovered an ancient tomb at the Ukok Plateau, in the Altai Mountains region of Russia near the border with China.

The ‘Maiden’ belonged to the Pazyryk culture. The Pazyryk people, a congregation of Scythian nomadic tribes, lived in the Altai mountains in the 6th to 3rd centuries B.C.

The woman’s body, carefully embalmed using peat and bark, was laid on its side as if she were asleep. She was young and her hair was shaved, but she wore a wig and a tall hat. She was 167cm tall. Some tribal animal-style tattoos remained on her pale skin: creatures with horns that evolved into floral shapes. Her coffin was made large enough to accommodate the 90cm felt headdress she wore. She was also wearing a long wool skirt with red and white stripes and white felt stockings.

'A mop of hair on top was tightly wrapped around with a woollen cord, which helped this mop to stand upright,' she says. 'On top of this mop was worn a red 'nakosnik' (a braided decoration made from threads), and atop of this structure was a bronze pin with a deer, standing on a sphere. The deer was made from wood, and was covered in golden foil.' Yet it was more intricate, still. 'The wig had another very important detail,' she says. Its crowning glory looked like a giant feather, 68.5 cm long, made from felt and covered with black woollen fabric, with a stick inside it to help it stand straight.' she says. 'This feather had the figures of 15 birds attached to it, which like in modern Russian Matryoshkha dolls with one inside another, were each of smaller size compared to the previous one. The birds had leather wings, tails and legs, and long necks, which most likely meant they were swans. 'This feather can be interpreted as a symbol of the Tree of Life - a healing tree which existed in so many cultures all around the planet. By the roots of the tree there is a wooden figure of a deer with a Capricorn's antlers. 'There was also ... a cap for the wig.... some 84 cm tall. It was found in Princess Ukok's burial chamber.'

The Altai princess became the second mummy found with a tattoo (tattoo had not yet been found on other, earlier mummies in the Hermitage). Kurgan 1, burial ground Ak-Alakha-3 (Ukok Plateau, Altai). Tattoos were inked on both arms from shoulders to hands. The drawings were blue and stood out against the white skin. They were preserved only on the left hand, on the right they were almost completely destroyed. Drawings were also applied to some phalanges of both hands. Archaeologists saw the tattoos during the opening of the wooden sarcophagus, then the mummy's skin began to darken, and the tattoos disappeared, subsequently they were restored in the laboratory. When other Pazyryk mummies were found, the tattoos were not visually noticeable.

The tattoos on the left shoulder of the 'princess' show a fantastical mythological animal: a deer with a griffon's beak and a Capricorn's antlers. The antlers are decorated with the heads of griffons. And the same griffon's head is shown on the back of the animal. The mouth of a spotted panther with a long tail is seen at the legs of a sheep. She also has a deer's head on her wrist, with big antlers. There is a drawing on the animal's body on a thumb on her left hand.

Somehow, many Pazyryk burials in this region were flooded, possibly with underground waters, and then froze – so the organic remains were preserved almost untouched by decay.

The embalmed body was buried at least three months after death. All this time, the mysterious woman continued to play a special role in the life of her tribe — for example, she was put in some chairs, which can be seen from the traces on the body. At the same time, a complex, time-consuming ceremony of embalming is a sign of the extraordinary status of the deceased. However, the scientists deny her status as a ‘Princess.’

“It’s not accurate to call her a ‘princess’. She was not a princess, she was a representative of the middle layer of the Pazyryk society,” archaeologist Vyacheslav Molodin, academician at the Russian Academy of Sciences, and Natalya Polosmak’s husband, told “Expert-Siberia” magazine in 2012.

Studies of the mummified remains extraordinary advances in our understanding of her rich and ingenious Pazyryk culture. The tattoos on her skin are works of great skill and artistry, while her fashion and beauty secrets - from items found in her burial chamber which even included a 'cosmetics bag' - allow her impressive looks to be recreated more than two millennia after her death.

The princess' cosmetic kit included a black horsehair brush with a thin wooden shaft inside, tied with a (disappeared) leather cord, completely studded with cylindrical marble beads, and handfuls of scattered powder of bright blue-green color. There were also the remains of a broken thin rod of flat metal rings filled with the same blue-green substance (that is, in fact, it is a pencil for drawing lines or drawings like our eyeliner).

Analysis showed that it was vivianite (blue iron ore). Such a powder, closer to modern times, was used to obtain green paint. In the Altai Mountains, it is known as a satellite of gold-bearing sands. Perhaps this powder had a sacred meaning. The vivianite pencil may have been used for face painting, possibly for people with special functions or gifts. Among the Pazyryks, face and body painting has not been recorded, partly because not a single mummified face has been found. But among the peoples close to the Pazyryks, such a tradition was recorded, in particular, the painting of the face with two spiral drawings. There is a weak association with the blue-green turquoise Hathor from the Sinaiand numerous Sumerian green cosmetic "shadows" in boxes discovered during excavations in Ur and other cities of Sumer.

It is believed that she was not in fact a royal but that her use of drugs to cope with the symptoms of her illnesses may have given her 'an altered state of mind', leading her kinsmen to the belief that she could communicate with the spirits. Her lavish grave suggests she was someone of singular importance.

The MRI, conducted in Novosibirsk by eminent academics Andrey Letyagin and Andrey Savelov, showed that the 'princess' suffered from osteomyelitis, an infection of the bone or bone marrow, from childhood or adolescence. Close to the end of her life, she was afflicted, too, by injuries consistent with a fall from a horse.

The mystery was solved only in the 2010s with the help of a computed tomography scan. It showed that the maiden suffered from breast cancer that killed her in about three years. She was 25 at the time of her death.

'During the imaging of mammary glands, we paid attention to their asymmetric structure and the varying asymmetry of the MR signal,' stated Dr Letyagin in his analysis. 'We are dealing with a primary tumour in the right breast and right axial lymph nodes with metastases.'

'The three first thoracic vertebrae showed a statistically significant decrease in MR signal and distortion of the contours, which may indicate the metastatic cancer process.' He concluded: 'I am quite sure of the diagnosis - she had cancer.

'She was extremely emaciated. Given her rather high rank in society and the information scientists obtained studying mummies of elite Pazyryks, I do not have any other explanation of her state. Only cancer could have such an impact.'

'When she arrived in winter camp on Ukok in October, she had the fourth stage of breast cancer,' she wrote. 'She had severe pain and the strongest intoxication, which caused the loss of physical strength. 'In such a condition, she could fall from her horse and suffer serious injuries. She obviously fell on her right side, hit the right temple, right shoulder and right hip. Her right hand was not hurt, because it was pressed to the body, probably by this time the hand was already inactive. Though she was alive after her fall, because edemas are seen, which developed due to injuries.

The DNA research performed on the remains showed that the ‘Maiden’ is genetically closely related to contemporary Selkup and Ket peoples – indigenous Siberian tribes still living in Russia.

'There was a moment of gross misunderstanding when a legend came about this mummy being a foremother of people of Altai,' said Molodin.

'The people of Pazyryk belonged to different ethnic group, in no way related to Altaians. Genetic studies showed that the Pazyryks were a part of Samoyedic family, with elements of Iranian-Caucasian substratum.'

So perhaps more Samoyedic than Scythian.

'We tried to overcome the misunderstanding, but sadly it didn't work.'

The Altai authorities have now declared the remote mountain area from where the princess and her kinsmen were buried as a 'zone of peace' where no more excavations will take place, despite the near-certain treasures lying in the permafrost.

Such work amounts to plundering, they believe.

To Molodin, who found the male mummy several years after the princess, this deprives the world of a valuable scientific inheritance. He argues, too, that the issue is critical since global warming means the ancient bodies will decay.

Scientists reckon there are thousands of burial mounds here, hundreds of which date to the Pazyryk period, many of which may contain answers to questions about where we come from.

The ancient mummy of a mysterious young woman, known as the Ukok Princess, is finally returning home to the Altai Republic this month (The Siberian Times, August 2012).

On 19 May 2014, during a speech at the museum, (Alexander) Berdnikov reminded the crowd and media that the renovation and repatriation of the Altai Princess was one of his most important accomplishments, of course aided by Gazprom:

We should be proud that we have such a museum. A great accomplishment; we thank the management of Gazprom. When I was appointed as the Head [of the Altai Republic] one of my main goals and dreams was to have a bright opening of a renovated museum and that we could welcome the “Siberian Ice Maiden” home again. Today our museum is the best one east of the Urals and is the only one that has been restored in Russia in the past twenty years. (Government of the Altai Republic 2014)

The museum, the repatriated Altai Princess, and a vibrant cultural life, all indirectly bankrolled by Gazprom."

-taken from The Siberian Times, Russia Beyond, Taylor & Francis Online, world-jewellery livejournal, and peaceandjustice

#pazyryk #samoyeds #uralic #scythian #saka #archaeology #anthropology #history #ancient history #pagan #tattoos #breast cancer #antiquities #artifacts #antiquity #mummies #6th century bce