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wildernessuntothemselves · 4 years

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Prey for You | Part 3

Genre: Smut, angst

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You stay away from Chan after the night you stay at his place You stay away from his friends too. He doesn’t stay away though, coming over to your place uninvited like he had any right to.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, dom!reader, sub!chan, wolf!hybrid chan, fox!hybrid reader, edging, degradation, cum play and breeding kink, lots and lots of puppy/dog/mutt, really unheathly dynamics, chan begs for sex and has to be good to earn it

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Part 5, Part 6

"How did you know where I live?"

"I asked Hyunjin." He shrugs, pushing past you into your house. He looks around, sizing up the place and you know it’s not to his liking, even without the unimpressed frown on his face.

"Wait, you asked your friend where I live? What if he figures out that Saint Chan likes slumming it down with the dirty fox?"

"It's not like that." He turns to you with frustration, "I just don't see a benefit to involving people in--"

"I don't care." You cut him off coldly and he clams up, looking like a kicked puppy. "What do you want?"

He comes close to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as if it was his place. "Missed you." He mumbles and tries to kiss you, but you push him back.

"Missed my pussy, you mean."

"Same thing. It’s not like you expect me to woo you." He says irritably, and he's right. You don’t expect him to come over with flowers and chocolate, begging for you to forgive him. But the dismissive way he says it--like you're not someone to woo--stings at you.

“I didn’t say you can be here.”

“But I’ve been horny.” He whines, and you snap at him, "So go fuck your bitches. I'm sure they'll be happy to choke on your cock."

“But it’s not as good without your shrill voice calling me a dog.” He bites back, grabbing your jaw and pulling it close so your faces are inches apart. "Come on wasn't I good to you? Didn't I take care of you?"

"Is that why you did it? So I'd let you put your dick inside me again?"

"No, I was being a gentleman, but I guess you don’t know what that’s like because you’ve always been a mean bitch."

"Wow, I’m swooning." You deadpan, and try to get out of his embrace but he just holds you tighter. “Well, you don’t like it when I’m nice and you don’t like it when I’m mean. What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to fuck off.”

“Don’t lie. I can smell you.”

Damn him and his insane sense of smell. And damn your body and its constant betrayal. “That’s because I’m imagining slapping you across the face.”

“Is that what you want?” He asks seriously, “Because I’ll let you do it.”

"You're pathetic."

“Just let me have you, baby. Come on, you want to be filled up. You can grab my hair and call me all the names you want. You can do anything you want to me. Just need your pussy."

Fuck.

You consider his words. He seems to really mean them, the wolf looking so desperate and needy, and you realize that this is your chance to have him completely under your control.

“You’ll be good.” You state. It’s not a question, and he quickly nods.

“You’ll be obedient.”

The muscle in his jaw jumps but he nods again. “I’ll be your good, obedient boy.”

____________

"Can I cum?"

"No." You retort like he was asking a dumb question, because he was. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked you that, and like each time before it, the answer is obviously No.

“Please.” He squirms, hips bucking up as he thrusts his dick in your hands.

“No.” You put your hands on each of his thighs and push them down and out. “And keeps your legs open.”

He whimpers, struggling to remain how you like him, but you know it’s just a matter of time before he starts thrusting up in your hand again. “Why are you teasing me like this?”

“Because it’s fun.” You grin, moving your hand up and down his dick. "Do you want me to stop?"

He bites his lips but moans flow out of his mouth nonetheless.

"Chan." You scold, tightening your grip on him which makes him gasp and throw his head back. "I asked you a question."

"No." He whimpers, legs closing around your hand again. "Yes? I don't know."

You take your hand off of him, tearing a forlorn cry from him, his hips chasing after you. “You need to stop me when you get too excited, and not by closing your legs.” You scold, pinching the meat of his thigh.

"But, baby--" He coaxes sweetly, grabbing your hand and trying to get you to touch him again. “I really, really need it.”

Titling your head to the side, you slip your hand from his grip and reach out to brush your fingers through his hair instead. "I might get the puppy act after all. You are way more tolerable like this." Your hand catches in a knot in his hair and you force your fingers through, making him hiss in pain as his hair is pulled roughly.

"I don't know what to do. Please don't tease me anymore."

"I'll do what I fucking please, and you're gonna sit there like an obedient little dog and take it, won't you, baby?" You taunt, your nails raking up his chest and circling his nipples. "You're the one who begged me to fuck you after all."

Rubbing your thumb over his nipple, you let your other hand fall between his legs, starting to jerk him off again. "Look how red your dick is. Would you like me to put it in my mouth, soothe the ache a little?" You purr, kissing his neck.

He likes the sounds of that. "Oh, god, please yes. Want your mouth."

You hum, kissing down his chest and stopping to pluck his nipple into your mouth, your tongue circling around the bud a few times before you pucker your lips and suck on it, just like you would his cock. Chan cries out and his hips shoot up, but he keeps his legs open just like you wanted.

Moving lower, you continue pumping his dick as you kiss down his body, but the closer you get to his dick, the louder he gets, impatient moans falling from his lips as his hips buck up as if it would entice you to go faster. You know it’s getting too much for him when the hickey you suck low on his belly makes his dick twitch, and you pull off before he cums.

"Why? You said you’d blow me." He wails, hips stuttering in vain as his hands reach out to claw at your skin, trying to pull you back. His hand grabs onto your hair and pulls your head down towards his crotch.

You push him to the bed and pin him down with your body. "You ungrateful mutt." You hiss, "Here I am, giving you all my attention and getting nothing in return and yet you're not satisfied.”

You know he could easily throw you off him and for a second you’re scared he will, subbing clearly a challenging new endeavor for him. But the grip he has on your waist is not challenging but imploring as he lays his head back on the pillow. “So come sit on my face.”

Your pussy clenches in need at the pure submission of his. He’s not being provocative, he’s genuinely trying to make it up to you. You turn around and climb up his body so that you’re straddling his mouth and facing his dick so you can still touch him.

“Alright, puppy, earn it.” You lower yourself down on his face and he immediately puts his mouth to work. You sigh, grabbing his dick and stroking it. "Yeah, that's it, baby."

Despite his neediness, he is attentive as he eats you out, his tongue gliding deliberately up and down your dripping slit, the vibrations of his moans adding to the wonderful sensations he is eliciting.

"That's a good dog." You moan, getting a bit distracted as you impatiently rub yourself against his mouth. "You're so good with your mouth. I should put a muzzle on you and only take it off when I want your mouth on my pussy."

He moans loudly at that, his tongue flicking up and pushing inside your hole.

“Shit!” You gasp, your hand stopping and wrapping tightly around his dick as he starts thrusting his tongue in and out. "You really like that, huh? You won't have to be good to anyone else anymore, only me. Won't that be so much easier, baby boy?"

Finding it hard to concentrate on jerking him off with his tongue buried in your pussy, you take turns sliding your hands up his dick, your grip tight, and each time your hand glides off his slick head, his hips chase after it, only for you to push them down and grab the base of his dick with your other hand to repeat the motion.

Soon, even that is too much and he can barely focus on eating you out as his dick flushes and jerks in your hand. You quickly cease your movement and wrap your fist tightly around the base of his cock to staunch his release. He thrusts his hips up, trying to pump his dick in your hand so he can get that final push but your grip is too tight, and you use your other hand to slap his thigh near his dick, making his hips immediately fall back to the bed and killing his orgasm.

“What did I say, dog?” You snarl, digging your nails into his thighs and lifting yourself off his face. “You’re supposed to warn me when you get close.”

He pulls his knees together, trying to protect his cock but you yank them apart again. “I said keep your legs open, slut.”

He whines, pulling you down so he can lap at you pussy like a little puppy, and plunges his fingers into you.

“Shit! That’s it, slut. Forget about your stupid cock and focus on me.”

Flattening his tongue against your clit, his other hand grabs your ass and moves your body over his face, rubbing your pussy on his tongue and nose. It doesn’t take long for the combined stimulation of his fingers and mouth to throw you over the edge, and your legs shake as you cum, your body falling forward and face nestling against his hip. You bite down on the sensitive skin there as your orgasm racks through you, which only drives Chan more insane. He lightly ruts his hips up, humping the air next to your face.

"I've been good." His voice is hoarse as he pleads with you. "Please let me cum, baby. You won’t have to do much, just a couple of strokes, that’s all I need."

Regaining your breath, you press your hands to his hips to hold them down and push yourself up. You get off his face and straddle his waist instead, facing him once again. You lower yourself down a little bit, just so your pussy is barely brushing against his cock that stands erect over his belly, and you both shudder.

"Please." He mumbles quietly, voice broken as you start sliding along his cock, coating it in your arousal. You reach up to cup his face, your thumb wiping your wetness that was coating his lips along his cheek. “You think you’ve earned it, dog?”

“Yes.” He answers, his impudent hands back on your body, pressing you against him more. “I made you cum, didn’t I? I deserve to cum too.”

“Wow, just for being so entitled, I might not let you cum at all.” You retort, sitting up again and tearing a whine out of him, his hands digging into your ass.

“No, no, no.” Suddenly all his confidence leaves him as his hips buck up to make up for the distance you put between you so that his cock is once again sliding between your wet lips. "Please let me cum….oh please---ah ah---please--"

“Stay.” You hiss, grabbing his neck and pressing down. But he doesn’t let up. If anything, his thrusts get more frantic as his hands pull at your ass cheeks to more easily access your pussy. He is getting too riled up so you quickly intervene, pulling off of him and slapping his dick, eliciting a shocked cry from him.

Suddenly, you’re on your back and he’s hovering over you. You try to struggle against him but he easily keeps you down.

“Fuck, why did you do that?”

“You said I could slap you.” You reply defiantly, a little scared by the large wolf pinning you to the bed.

“My face! I meant you can slap my face.” He growls, burying his face in your neck. One of his hands nudges your legs apart before he pushes them all the way open with his knees and settles between them, his dick laying heavily on your pussy. “I should fuck you dumb just for that.”

“No.” You muster up all the force you can put in your tone. "You will do no such thing.”

“But you’ve played with me enough, don’t you think?” He pants, laving open mouthed kisses against your neck.

“You don’t get to decide that, mutt.” You gasp as his mouth moves to your breasts. “If you won’t be good then you can leave.”

Whining stubbornly, he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it a few times before he pulls back with pop, leaving your now wet nipple to the cold room air as he falls back to the bed where he was.

You take a moment to compose yourself, but when you’re over him again, you realize why you’d come so close to being overruled and fucked senseless when his glistening eyes greet yours. It was getting too much for him to bear and he was reaching his limit. You have to end it soon.

Grabbing his hands, you pin them over his head and leaning down to get close to his face. "Are you gonna cry, Channie?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, holding his breath and refusing to give you what you want. It’s okay, you’ll get it out of him. You grab his dick and sit back, pressing the head of it against your pussy as you start moving it up and down your slit, masturbating yourself with his dick.

His eyes tear open and he writhes beneath you. "Please, I can't. It's too much. Need to be inside you." His lip trembles, “Please, no one has ever done this to me before. I can't do this anymore. Let me fuck you properly."

"You're gonna cry because I won't let you put your dick inside me? I knew you were a spoiled little pup but this is just sad." You jeer and he withers under your pitying tone. “I’m sorry. It’s hard.”

“I know, puppy.” You coo, pushing his cock his cock against his stomach and rubbing your pussy against it. “But you acted out and you don’t get to fuck me anymore. Bad behavior shouldn’t be encouraged.”

“I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise.” He pleads, his hands on your thighs once again. You sigh, not even bothering to remove them. “You disappoint me, mutt.”

“Please, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.” You push your fingers inside his mouth, “You cum from this or you don’t cum at all.”

He pouts but sucks on your fingers nonetheless as you quicken your pace. With your other hand you rub tight circles on his nipple and he chokes on your fingers. “You like when I do that, slut? Are your tits sensitive?” You laugh, sliding up and down his cock easily, aided by how wet you were, and you can see his cock start to leak.

Chan grabs your wrist and yanks your fingers out of his mouth, strings of saliva falling on his cheek. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“I know, puppy.” You laugh and grab his face, digging your wet fingers into his cheek. “But you’ll cum for me, won’t you, little doggie? Come on, I want you to do it. Cum all over yourself for me.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you. F-fuck…” Chan grunts, body stiffening as he cums. Ropes of white shoot from his cock over his abdomen and chest as he pants and writhes. You scoop some of it with your fingers and rub it over his nipple, laughing in delight at his state.

Eyes red, he asks tightly. "Can I fuck you now?"

"Didn't you cum already?"

The tears finally fall from his eyes as he shakes his head. "Not enough. Need to cum inside you. Need to fill you up."

You stare him down. "Say you're my dirty little dog"

"I'm your dirty little dog." He repeats automatically.

"Goood boy." You coo, grabbing his dick and putting it against your entrance. "Who's your master?"

"You are."

"That's right. I can make a good boy out of you yet." You slowly take him in, taking extra care to not do it too fast or you won’t be able to walk straight for days. You’ve been so drenched though and with his cum and your juices, it’s not too hard to take him.

You take a deep breath to steel yourself when you bottom out before you pull his hands to your waist. “Go ahead, baby.”

“Thank you.” He breaths, raising your hips up and thrusting into you from underneath frantically, too eager to get his orgasm to take it slow. He won’t last long, and at the angle he’s fucking you, you won’t either. You grab onto his arms as your whole body shakes from the thrusts and your knees buckle.

“Can I cum inside you?”

“Why should I let you?”

“I need it.”

“Oh, you need it?” You mock, clenching around him. “Puppy can’t settle down unless he fucks his cum into someone?”

“Yes.” He nods earnestly, not even trying to deny it. “Need to mark you.”

“You think I’ll be yours if you stuff your cum into my pussy?” You laugh. “Cum inside me then, Channie. Let’s see if you can claim me.”

Your words are clearly mocking but they spur him on nonetheless, his hips fervently jerking up and down so he can give you his load. Helping yourself, you slip a hand between your legs and stroke your clit. It only takes a few brushes for you to clamp down on his dick, milking his cock as you cum.

“Ahh---yeah, take my cum, baby. Fuck!” Chan cries, emptying himself into you, and you can almost again cum from how he looks under you, furrowed brows framing teary eyes as he concentrates on pushing every last drop into your pussy as if his life depended on it. “Almost---fuck...ah, baby.”

His hips stutter to a stop as he lets out a deep breath and falls back to the bed. Your eyes meet each other for a second before he drapes his arm over his face, breathing heavily and trying to collect himself. Despite your dislike of him, you know it would be unfair to let him deal with this on his own, especially since he took good care of you when the roles were reversed.

Pulling his arm off, you cradle his face and stroke his cheeks until he opens his eyes and looks at you. “Hey, you okay?”

“Y-eah...yeah!” He shrugs, acting nonchalant

“You did great.” You say awkwardly, the words so foreign on your tongue when they’re directed at him, but they still feel right. He was exceptionally good for you considering it was his first time fully subbing and you didn’t go easy on him.

“Thanks.” He mumbles sheepishly, not knowing how to act. You understand, it's much easier being the one in charge. It makes you feel in control of the situation, less vulnerable.

“Would you like to take a bath?”

“Not really, I’m beat. You really fucked me up." He laughs.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so hard on you."

He shakes his head. "No, it’s okay. I kinda needed that, just to shut off and stop thinking. I'm sorry I couldn't be better.” He breathes, looking you in the eyes. “Me crying doesn't really help your view of me, does it?"

You tilt your head in confusion and he clarifies. "That I'm an impotent, weak predator?"

"Oh," You acknowledge awkwardly. "Isn't that how a sub is supposed to act though?"

"Right." He clips back, lips pressing into a thin line that brings out his right dimple. It’s funny, you didn’t realize they can show up when he’s upset too.

Clearing your throat, you stand up. "I’ll go get something to clean you up.”

He tilts his head, indicating that he heard you but doesn’t look at you as you leave to grab a towel and some warm water to wipe him off.

When you come back to the room, you find him almost fully dressed.

"Hey, where are you going?" You exclaim, putting the towel and bowl of water down and rush towards him.

"Home." He grunts simply, still not looking at you.

"But you just said you’re beat."

"And now I’m fine. Would you look at that?" He mutters darkly, pulling his shirt on.

Disconcerted and not wanting him to leave, you get in his way and put your hands against his chest. “Stay.”

He laughs mirthlessly, "That's not going to work when there is no treat."

“No, don’t do that.” You cup his face in your hands and lean close, looking more deeply into his eyes than you ever had. You hesitate--It’s going to stupid coming from you and he probably won’t even believe it. But you gather your courage and say it anyway. “Stay and I’ll take care of you. You… you can trust me.”

He stares back into your eyes, and you force yourself to keep eye contact. You know he’s looking for a reason to believe you, and that is more than anyone has ever done for you so you let him.

After eons pass for all you could tell, he steps away from you, and your heart falls to your stomach. Of course he wouldn’t trust you. No one ever did so why would he of all people?

Through your blurry eyes, you could barely see him sit on the bed and lie back down.

“What, you’re just gonna stand there?”

You blink. He stayed.

In a daze, you retrieve the bowl and towel and join him, dipping the towel in the warm water and gently wiping the sweat and cum off his body, still not believing that he’s there. When a small sigh flutters from his lips, your eyes snap to his and you softly ask, “Does that feel better?”

“Yeah. It’s nice.” He hums, “You’re... nice. I didn’t expect that.”

You snort, the tension leaving your body at the remark. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” He proclaims, throwing his head back on the pillow and looking at you through squinted eyes. “I’m getting used to it.”

A smile curls your lips and you quickly lower your face down to hide it behind your hair.

_______________________

"But Mr. Lee, can't you give me one more week?" You ask desperately. "I know but I have no place to go. Please, Mr----son of a bitch!" You scream, throwing the phone on the bed in rage, where it lands near a groggy Chan.

“Hey, what's wrong?” He asks slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

You’re so angry, you don’t even stop to think who you’re talking to, just exploding with your need to rant. "My fucking landlord is kicking me out."

"Why?" He sits up, concerned.

"Because my stupid roommate left to move in with her boyfriend and I haven't been able to find someone else and it’s not like I can foot the whole bill on my own but my landlord doesn’t care because he is a heartless, greedy monster who would eat the devil’s ass for some money so he’s kicking me out to the fucking streets!"

Chan blinks slowly, absorbing everything you just said.

"I don't have a roommate." He says, and your blood pressure spikes even higher. "Yeah, I know. Now is not the time to flex on me.”

“No! I just mean... you could come stay with me until you find a place."

His suggestion throws you off so much that you stop worrying for a second and burst out laughing. “Yeah, sure, why not?”

He frowns at your dismissal. “I’m serious.”

"Dude, you hate my guts!”

“I don’t! You hate my guts.” He clarifies, frown deepening when you just shrug.

“Whatever. You know very well I can't afford to pay you rent."

"You won't have to pay a penny."

You reel back, furious at the implication of his words. “Am I that pathetic to you that you want to give me charity?”

“It’s not charity. It’s helping out a friend.” He counters once again, exasperated.

“We’re not friends.” You shut him down.

“Just think about it.” He tries to convince you but you’ll have none of it. “No. I’m not gonna become another one of you philanthropic deeds. Saint Chan rescues dirty fox from the streets? No, thank you.”

"No one has to know.”

“Why? What do you gain from this?” You screech at him, feeling inadequate and vulnerable. After everything, he still thinks of you as inferior. At least before he afforded you the dignity of not pitying you.

"Nothing!” He barks back, frustrated. “I literally just want to help you, you stupid bitch."

“Wow." You scoff, grabbing his clothes and throwing them at him. “Get out of my house.”

“It won’t be your house much longer.” He sneers back at you, angrily putting on his clothes. “Maybe I should buy it off your landlord and make it a dump. It’s already halfway there.”

“You fucking bastard.” You scream, pushing him. “Get the fuck out!”

_____________

A/N:

idiots continuing to be idiots. anyway leave me a message uwu

#chan smut #bangchan smut #stray kids smut #bangchan angst #sub!idol #dom!reader #stray kids angst

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

Text

(Liveblogging ‘Tommy Faces His Traumatic Past’ stream)

'Hi I am currently thinking about that moment after Tommy asked Ranboo to leave after the Prison moment went badly, and he waited for Ranboo to go and then swallowed and let the atmosphere hang for a moment and held his totem in his main hand (I’m pretty sure; he was definitely holding it) and I am telling you, the shot of fear that went through me as I thought “No... He’s not gonna ask Tubbo to kill him, is he?” Now that’d be one way to overcome a fear of dying, holy heck.'

---

Rough edges, shining eyes, a heart of gold. He supposes there's a metaphor or a comparison that could be made there, but to be quite frank, he's sick of the poetic parallels and the dramatic ironies. It's not a tale spun of rhetorical devices and an audience: it's his life, and it hurts.

Appropriately, the skin on his palms is still tender from scrabbling at the walls of the mock cell, and he can feel every groove of the wood the totem's outside is carved from as he grips it firmly. He's doing away with the allusions and analogies and beating around the bush: there's no easy way to ask this, so why make it even harder?

It's going to be difficult. It's going to be painful. It’s going to be helpful in future. Just get on with it Tommy.

Ranboo vanishes up the ladder, and Tommy and Tubbo are left alone in their unused replica of the Final Control Room ('cause their dear friend Eret had a more accurate one). When he turns his eyes to his best friend, Tubbo's giving him a quizzical look. Tommy opens his mouth to begin, but fear stoppers his words, and no sound comes out. He holds fast to the totem and to his courage.

"Are you alright?" His friend's light touch to his arm leads him back. Right. Tubbo. Totem. Question.

"It didn't work." He says despondently. "I couldn't- In there, I couldn't keep it together." "Tommy-" "Look, Tubbo," Like a paranoid exile hiding in a cave, he casts another glance towards the ladder, double-checking that they are truly alone. "And you can't tell anyone this, but I need you to trust me, because I've thought a lot about this."

Tubbo's expression is unreadable for a moment, like his solicitude is elsewhere, like he's remembering something, and then he's back and he's squeezing Tommy's arm. "I trust you, Big Man." And Tommy can tell he's being earnest, so he pushes on. "What is it?" "We had the chance, back in that vault- We had the opportunity to slit Dream’s throat, and we didn't, and- And we agree on this right? Dream... Dream needs to go."

Tubbo seems to think about it for a moment, "You think the revive book isn't worth it?" "Tubbo, I-" If his words could stop clogging up his throat every five seconds, that'd be lovely. "Listen to me, I've been to- to the other side, and I've been here, and I've been in between, and- and I mean this, I would've rather- rather stayed there than be in between again." "Really?" Tommy nods curtly. "Really. It's not worth it." "Well, I'm glad you came back, even if it sucked for you." Lightly, but not without a hint of worry in his voice, Tubbo half-laughs. "That sounded selfish." And Tommy feels wretched about what he's going to ask him to do.

"Look, Tubbo," He clears his throat for good measure. "If I'm going to kill Dream, I can't get into the prison cell and panic. That- That could cost the whole operation, and I can't let that happen." "Tommy, you-" Tubbo cuts himself off this time, "Tommy, do you really have to do this?"

"Yes, I do." His quiet determination matches Tubbo's building exasperation. "I have to do this because he's- he's ruined me, he's broken me and I can't let anything else happen to this server because of our fighting." Their faces and feelings fall to the same resignation as swords impale them against the walls of a room very much like this one, as L'Manberg burns behind their eyelids every time they blink.

"Would you like to try again?" The reproduction of the cell, his tomb, beckons, but Tommy's mind is made up. "I can come in with you this time." A jolt of warmth emanates from his heart at the offer (he wishes it were that easy) and races through his bloodstream, momentarily soothing the aching feeling all around his body, from his head to his feet to his fingertips, and he feels practically like a person again for a few seconds.

"Actually, I- I want you to- Only if you- I won't force you but-" He's abruptly aware of a substantial volume of saliva in his mouth, or maybe he's just too scared to say it out loud. Tubbo waits, his fingers mussing with the end of Tommy's sleeve. "What is it?"

He raises aloft the totem so they're both looking at it, and then very carefully, so he knows he hasn't said it wrong, he says it: "I want you to kill me."

"What?" His adrenaline spikes; no turning back now. "I want you to kill me, and because I have this totem I'll be fine. I can't be scared of dying if I have a totem on me, but I still get scared of getting close, so I want you to kill me. Please." He tacks on hastily, opting to look at the sword at Tubbo's side so he doesn't have to meet his eyes.

"You... Where are you gonna get another totem then?" And Tommy squints at Tubbo for a second, because really, that's what you come out with after that? "I don't know, your husband?" Tubbo giggles a tad despite the concern in his eyes. "Excuse me, I'm the gold-digger here, get your own." And they both crack up, and some of the tension lifts from Tommy's shoulders.

"Okay, seriously, you want me to kill you?" The terse air settles between them as Tubbo's hand floats to his sword. "I- Yeah." "Because then you can't be scared of being close to death." "Mmhm." "So you want me to kill you, right now, right here?"

Tommy nods steadily, and Tubbo, still uncertain, unsheathes his sword. The blade isn't the sharpest, but it'll do the job. Tommy swallows thickly. "I- I trust you. If it were anyone else... Never."

He thought about how, whenever he'd asked to be hit earlier, it was Tubbo who'd stepped up to the plate. Certainly, it was true at the time that he'd felt the jolt of terror and pain, but he was always glad it was Tubbo. There was an unspoken promise in their shared glances, their short requests and careful responses.

“You know I’d never do that, right?” An echo of an old memory, from a less-than-ideal location. “I won’t turn on you or go insane like Wil and Techno.” “Mmhm… And I you.”

"Ready?" Tommy waves the totem around to illustrate, "This better not be a bloody decoy." Their shared smile is forced and wavering, flickering like a candle, shaking like fraying ropes, reaching for a hand that isn't there. The hand is on his shoulder, Tommy notes faintly: it steadies him as the sword pierces his gut, snatching all the air from his lungs. He's drowning in a sudden wave of 'Why here? Why the hell did we stay here?' as a familiar numbing sensation starts to wash over him like the tide, receding in parts and then coming back for more. The darkness entices him - the very same darkness he's been fighting to outrun all along, the same darkness that engulfs him and all his friends in his nightmares. Once, many moons ago, they were all blissfully ignorant of that shadow that stayed firmly three steps behind them and six feet below. Except now, at least for Tommy, death is a memory, and with a totem in hand, he rises to meet it.

Tubbo rips the sword out, and the body of his best friend crumples to the ground like paper disregarded and consigned to oblivion. His weapon hits the ground with a clatter and his sword arm falls limp, reluctant to acknowledge Tommy's blood on the blade as he watches, hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms, as the totem in Tommy's hand starts to glow, golden light emanating from the emerald eyes and intricate details. About time. About bloody time.

It's pitch black, and the totem is gone. Tommy feels weightless. Tommy feels like a person made of pieces, loosely strung together like a marionette doll. Tommy feels helpless and alone, and quite possibly dead.

Make no mistake; there's also that perverted sense of comfort, ever-present as it seems. A welcome gift, he supposes, to what should be the rest of your eternity. He feels all his 'worldly worries' start to scatter, leaving him feeling so empty he's clawing at nothing to get them back. No worries, no troubles and no meaning. That is the lot of the dead. Yet, Tommy will not be one of them, not today.

Everything returns to him so quickly, it almost feels like he's having aspects of his personality thrown back at him with the force of bricks launched from cannons. Should he reach out to grab them, or should he let them go? The darkness begins to melt away, leading him back to a room full of chests and a friend, and for a second he imagines he hears a familiar voice tease: "You should take off your coat Tommy, you look like you're not staying."

The instant his soul is catapulted back into his body, instincts kick in, and his wobbling legs somehow get him halfway across the room before they get too tangled up and surrender. He doesn't bother cowering - it's Tubbo - instead, he chooses to pull his shirt up to his ribs. The entry site of the stabbing has healed, golden radiance under his skin like godly blood swirling away from the closed wound and leaving it the proper crimson hue of mortals. It worked. He's back. He's back.

Suddenly, he's hit with a force equitable to several small dogs and, oh, it's Tubbo. His arms rest wearily against his best friend's back as the smaller boy buries his head in Tommy's shoulder, folding him into his arms and cradling him tightly. "I- I'm ok- Are you crying?" His response from the shuddering mass of brown curls next to his head comes quietly, "Don't ever make me do that again." "...Okay. I won't."

Eventually, they break apart, Tommy noticing the red rims around Tubbo's eyes as he messes with Tommy's shirt. "Ah, dammit." "What?" He gives a tiny snort-laugh marked with tears. "I've put a hole in your d*mn shirt." He looks down at it too. "That's alright, long as you fix it." Consequently, Tubbo gives him a funny look, which he raises his eyes to meet with bemusement. "Yeah, right. I'll fix it, it's nothing."

Tubbo holds his eye contact for close to ten seconds. "You have..." He shifts across the floor to the left, putting one of the lights at his back, before reaching out and taking Tommy's face in his hands. "You have little flecks of gold in your eyes, dude." "I- What?" Tubbo drops his hands and nods. "You've got gold in your eyes now, boss man." "Does it-" He jumps to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and strikes a pose. "Does it make me even more incredibly good-looking?"

Tubbo snorts. "Something like that. It's not bad, just... After-product of the totem, I'd guess. Which is interesting to know." He gets to his feet too, hand finding Tommy's side and holding on by a fistful of cloth. "Hey, how about, are you alright?" Tommy asked, picking the hand up and slinging it over his shoulder so they stood hip-to-hip, heads tilted up and down for each other’s benefit.

"I'm fine, just... That wasn't the most fun." Tommy ponders for a moment before responding. "I think I'd be concerned if it was." They chuckle a little. "No, but seriously man, thank you, for doing that." He says sincerely. Tubbo smiles back, all of a sudden seeming too tired to even stand, and Tommy stoops a little to catch him before he faints or something. "Just... did it work?"

Did it work? The darkness still terrified him, ripping the warmth from within him, and he wasn't totally expecting to go back there when using the totem. So, points for new knowledge discovered, perhaps? Despite all that, though, the look in Tubbo's eyes makes his mouth move on its own. He looks so weary.

"Yeah. I feel... less afraid now. Honestly." He tacks on, for the dubious non-believer by his side that could always tell when he was lying. "I... I can do this now." "...Okay."

#this was a real pain to edit lmao #anyway! the title for this one is 'help me be brave'#i wrote it on holiday in the lakes on my phone with a bad flu #so y'know #dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #clingy duo #dsmp fic #crim writes #please rb & comment! it means the absolute world

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an-sceal · 3 years

Text

Sleeping Sickness (Cobra Kai Fic)

Unfinished and abandoned, but going through this I can see seeds of each of the other stories/series I've written since then. This was written before I'd seen all of season 2, and any of season 3. I ultimately binned it because in my headcanon there's no way Johnny would have let Kreese be around his students if he'd at ALL recognized what he went through as abuse.

CW: vague mentions of child abuse, child s**ual abuse, s**ual assault

Johnny

He doesn’t remember the drive from his apartment- had he been at his apartment? Didn’t he come from the dojo? That’s not unusual, the autopilot, but moreso than it used to be. He hasn’t gotten behind the wheel loaded in months. Buzzed, which, yaddayadda, but not blind drunk. For a second he doesn’t know where he is, and then LaRusso’s perfect fucking life swims into focus and he groans.

Leaning against his steering wheel hurts too much, pulls things in places he can’t think about right now. Johnny opens his door and stumbles out of his car, winding up on his hands and knees when he can’t swing the low exit with anything approaching grace. LaRusso’s driveway has a crack in it, unavoidable in earthquake country, but it’s incongruous with the shadow of perfection cast by LaRusso’s house.

Johnny shouldn’t be here, but he doesn’t know how to leave.

You can leave anytime you want, Mr. Lawrence. I’m not keeping you here.

“Fuck you, old man.” Johnny pulls himself to his feet, running a hand through his hair. His clothes feel constricting, seams digging in, buttons chafing his skin, but they’re holding him in, keeping the world at least that much farther away from him.

Johnny stands on the front step and tries to make himself knock. Or he thinks he does.

He doesn’t remember.

Daniel

He and Amanda are sitting together on the couch in their pajamas, about to turn off the news and head to bed when both their phones ding with a motion alert from the front door camera. Daniel glances across the living room toward the foyer and sees that the light has come on over the front step. He goes to check it out, expecting to chase the Shermans corgi out of the bushes again, and finds Johnny Lawrence standing two feet from his front door.

Johnny’s hands are clenched into fists. Daniel would take it as a threat, but Johnny’s eyes aren’t tracking him, aren’t assessing a place to strike. He narrows his own, but the only thing he can smell is the wisteria and night blooming jasmine that climbs the trellis over their entry way.

He waits for Johnny to say something. And waits. He’s about to shut the door and go to bed when Amanda speaks. “Would you like to come in, Johnny?”

Daniel glances sideways at her, but she’s not looking at him, not even to scold him for his lacking manners. She’s got a pinch between her eyebrows that wasn’t there a moment ago.

He backs away from the door to make room, but nothing happens. He waves a hand into the house. Same. He glances at Amanda, and the tightness around her eyes has become a small frown. Daniel clears his throat softly.

“Hey man, are you okay?”

He doesn’t get an answer, but as Johnny brushes past him on the way into the house he can smell beer. At this point the man is probably 5% alcohol by volume whether he’s been drinking or not. There’s nothing sharp to the smell, nothing fresh or hinting at a brown bag with an empty bottle on this lawn.

Amanda has already led their guest into the living room by the time he’s done locking the door again. He takes a seat beside her on the sofa, Johnny at an angle on the loveseat across from them.

They wait again. Daniel is already thrumming with the low-grade buzz of whatever it is that gets under his skin every time he sees Johnny Lawrence, and in the late night silence it’s easy to pretend it’s annoyance.

“Are you going to say--”

Amanda puts her hand on his knee, just as Johnny cuts him off.

“Would you take my kids if I close the dojo?” Johnny’s voice is wrecked. He sounds like he’s been smoking a pack a day for 40 years, or come down with strep throat and tried to gargle it away with battery acid.

Daniel’s jaw clicks shut. He… What now?

“That sounds painful. Let me get you some water, at least.” Amanda slips away toward the kitchen, placing a hand lightly on Johnny’s shoulder as she goes. Johnny flinches.

Daniel meets his thousand-yard stare with suspicion, still trying to nail down what flavour of wasted this might be. Maybe it’s drugs, but he can almost imagine the denial, the pitch Johnny’s voice would take on. “I’m a drunk, asshole, not a junkie.”

“They need someone--” Johnny breaks off into a small coughing fit, grimacing, and Daniel is starting to wonder if he’s got consumption or something. That, or maybe he’s high, and this is all a scruffy blonde hallucination.

“They’ve got you,” he allows, because he’s too tired to make it sound like an insult.

Something changes in Johnny’s face, under the obvious bruising and around his bloodshot eyes. He gets sharper, somehow, more in focus. His breath stutters, jaw clenching before he winces and squeezes his eyelids closed. He shifts on the sofa, obviously trying to adjust to whatever injury he’s currently favouring, and that same wreck of a voice is so much more at home now, so in keeping with the defensive way he holds himself.

“Can’t do it. Need someone to keep them safe from Kreese.”

They aren’t friends or anything, but Daniel knows enough to see how much it costs Johnny to be there, to ask that, to admit to wanting any help at all. He suspects if it wasn’t for his kids, Johnny would slink off into the hills like a coyote.

Where the hell did Amanda go, anyway?

Johnny’s gaze has dropped to his own hands, and Daniel follows it. A few of his knuckles are bloodied, and one finger is darkly bruised. There’s something under his fingernails, but it could be anything. Daniel tells himself that firmly. It could be anything. It’s blood.

“He’ll hurt them,” Johnny rasps, his large hands working over each other without a care for the obvious injuries.

It’s only because Daniel is staring at Johnny’s hands that he notices the fine tremors rippling through his whole body.

Johnny

He knows he’s fucked up by coming here, to Daniel with his permanent and well-earned grudge. To Lady LaRusso and her sharp-eyed sympathy. He knows. They’re going to see through him, realize his failure and fix it, and then he’ll leave.

Nausea cramps at his stomach again when Amanda comes back from the kitchen and hands him a mug of tea. What is it with fucking tea? This stuff smells like weak ginger ale and grass, and Johnny has to press his other hand over his mouth to make sure he swallows back the bile that rises in his throat. His throat feels…

It feels like nothing. It’s all nothing. He can get through this.

The mug is hot, and it feels good against the finger he thinks might be dislocated, maybe broken. The tea scalds his skin when he shakes a little too obviously, and someone takes it away. Someone is talking to him. Someone is asking him things he doesn’t know the answers to. Is he okay? Fuck yeah, he’s awesome- it’s the rest of the world that sucks. Is he hurt? Nothing hurts because everything hurts, and anyway he can’t draw a deep enough breath to explain that.

People are talking to him, blue eyes, brown, and he just needs it to be nothing again, so he covers his face with his hands and tries to block it out. But that’s for pussies anyway, and nothing happened.

“Hey, hey, stop that.” LaRusso’s wrapping a hand around his wrist, gently, but not the gentle of something delicate. Gently, because he thinks Johnny is dangerous, a cornered animal about to bite. Which he is. He’s biting his hand, making a noise, Jesus fuck, what kind of man makes that noise?

The renewed taste of blood in his mouth is such a welcome relief that it almost calms the monster caught halfway between his gut and his throat, trying to claw its way out of his chest.

There’s a firm hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back. Amanda is sitting on the coffee table in front of him, directing his face so all he can see hers when she puts both her hands on his cheeks and makes everything go still for a second.

Daniel, Daniel fuckin LaRusso, who once kicked him in the face and ruined (saved maybe) his life, sits down next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders. And he fucking lets him.

Amanda presses against the sides of his face again, steady and trying to make him look at her. He does, for a second, before he gets fascinated by her earring and looks there instead.

“We’ll do yes or no for now, okay?”

He nods, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Is one of your students in trouble right now?”

They think he’d be here, if one of his kids was-- Johnny shakes his head.

“Do you need a doctor?”

Fucking people and their health insurance, like you can just go see a doctor any time you want. If he’s still pissing blood next week he’ll do a drop in at the Planned Parenthood and pretend he thinks he’s got VD.

His throat tightens at the thought, then his stomach, and he tries to tell them he’s going to puke. He must manage something, verbal or not. LaRusso shoves some fancy ass decorative bowl under his face, and Johnny drools into it like a dog who ate grass. His body wars- stomach wanting to expel, throat too swollen to allow it, and his lungs and ribs caught somewhere between, stabbing him with every hitching attempt to get a handle on himself.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay.” The last thing he should want are hands on him. He should be fighting. He should be, but he’s already lost tonight. He’s lost.

Johnny throws up in Daniel LaRusso’s stupid bowl, on his stupid couch, in his stupid house. Daniel’s stupid warm hand is on his back, rubbing gentle circles between his shoulders. Daniel’s beautiful wife is petting his hair. He thinks he maybe got blood on her robe.

The last heave feels like it tears something in his abdomen, and he welcomes the fresh, white-hot pain. It doesn’t erase the rest, but he’s a body built for endurance. This, at least is something real to live through, not some pansy panic attack.

After a minute the bowl disappears, and he swallows the noise he makes when the warmth at his side goes with it. Amanda holds the mug up for him to drink from, and he doesn’t even take it from her, just swallows and pretends it’s not the second most disgusting thing he’s had in his mouth tonight.

Her attention is all on setting the mug on the table next to her when Johnny manages to grind out what he came here for. “It was just supposed to be me. But he’ll pick favorites again.”

The clear-eyed horror on her face is instant, and he wants to apologize, to make her understand that it was supposed to be safe. That it’s his fault Kreese did those things, his fault he let it happen, his fault he was weak and needy and made a grown man want him those ways. Johnny is the problem. His kids were never supposed to be involved.

Amanda tries to touch his face again, but he jerks away. He’d let her before, but now he realizes she might have rested her fingers on the filth smeared all over him, that he brought that here, to them, these people who owe him nothing and don’t even really like him. He’s a carrier, a plague rat. And all he can do is try to keep Miguel and the rest of them safe from the disease that’s been in him since the first time his sensei told him he was good and he knew he’d do anything to keep feeling that way.

“Is he still…” She always has the right words, but she’s clearly at a loss for how to ask someone who punches everything that pisses him off if he’s such a pussy that an old man is giving him the bad touch.

The numb reality settles over him, so much colder than before. He hit his knees like he was 14 again, swallowed John Kreese’s poison like a willing little bitch. “He swore it was just me, that he’d never-- that I’d always made him-- They weren’t part of it. I did what he wanted.”

The sound of glass shattering against LaRusso’s million dollar tile floor doesn’t even make him flinch.

Daniel

Daniel sweeps up the glass carefully, watching the upstairs hallway to make sure neither of the kids comes down. By the time he’s got everything in the trash, he’s pretty sure he didn’t wake them. From the kitchen, he can see Johnny hunched miserably on the loveseat, and Amanda perched next to him, one hand on his shoulder. She’s speaking, but he can’t hear what she’s saying.

He’s surprised he can hear anything at all, when the rush of blood to his head is still pounding in his ears. His mind is spinning a million scenarios, each more disturbing than the last, and it’s fucking him up on a fundamental level that his grounding point is the knowledge that Johnny goddamn Lawrence would probably throw himself in front of a bullet to protect one of his students. Daniel doesn’t understand how that can co-exist with the way he allowed Kreese into his dojo, even supervised.

Don’t you, though? He might be three decades older, and Terry Silver hasn’t emerged from the shadows to twist him up again, but the knowledge that a mentor could use you against your own better judgement isn’t all that hard to recall. For the millionth time, he wishes he could talk to Mr. Miyagi.

Then again, Mr. Miyagi wasn’t some kind of mystic. He was just an old man who’d seen a lot more pain and life than Daniel. The single most important thing Mr. Miyagi had given him was kindness in the face of his own anger and self-doubt. It wasn’t an ancient karate secret-- it was just compassion. Humanity.

At the end of the day, sharing that with Johnny couldn’t be that hard, could it?

#cobra kai fanfic #unfinished/abandoned #cw: past child abuse #cw: assault #johnny lawrence #daniel larusso #amanda larusso

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oiikawabii · 3 years

Text

thrill

tendou x fem reader

work has been kicking my ass so this took me forever to finish

Horror stories by the camp fire take a turn after a little bit of teasing from Tendou

tw and cw: ns//fw, dubcon, mentions of death/killing

The fire burned brightly in front of your face, crackling with sparks flying around. There’s a small group with you, going around sharing stories and such.

A guy starts, putting down his drink and rubbing his hands together. “Okay, my turn! It’s about a haunting in a forest, right-”

“You always tell this story, tell us something different for once!” A girl complains.

“Oh, come on the story isn’t that bad. Plus, there’s some people here who haven’t heard it.” He argues.

“Well, if you don’t wanna hear his story then I can share mine.” The group’s attention is drawn to the red haired male.

“I’d rather hear Tendou’s story.”

He smiles, beginning his story. “It’s usually on nights like this, when it’s chilly but girls are still out in their dresses and skirts, still walking home alone because they think the only worry might be the weather. They were always so easy to pick up, especially with his charm. It’s always the ones with mommy issues that are so fucking charming. Anyone would want to get into a car with a guy like him, fuck a guy like him. He never seemed like he could be a problem and none of them really had enough brains to remember that their mom told them to not talk to strangers, nonetheless let one pick them up. But that was the best part, because he didn’t have a lot of work to do at that point. He just had to get them in his little hiding spot and wait for the perfect moment to strike!”

Tendou clears his throat, eyes on his hands as he starts the next part. “And he had a certain tactic, technique if you will, when it came to his victims. Each and every one of them were whores, sluts, but he still wanted them to be pretty. He’d dress them up, making them look doll-like and docile before he killed them. And if he couldn’t then he’d make sure to clean them up a bit, getting rid of their tears streaked makeup and the smeared lip gloss of lipstick they were wearing. Each one of them had to be presentable. Nobody wants an uggo on the autopsy table.”

“That’s sickening.” Someone comments.

“He’d make them sit on their knees, hands folded in their lap,” He comes up behind you, of all people, gripping your chin and pulling your head up to expose your neck. “Then he’d run a nice thin line right into their throat, watching the life drain from their eyes.” He makes a sound effect as his thumb runs across your throat, pressing deeply into the skin as if he could actually cut you. “It’s pretty to watch the white of their eyes fade to blue.” He says, looking directly into your eyes.

Your breath hitches in your throat, body shifting in its place, but you honestly don’t know if it’s due to uncomfortability or something else. That crazed look in his eyes, it scares you, but it makes your emotions spiral in different directions too.“You’re so full of shit.”

“I’m serious!” He laughs. “Pretty necks like yours always end up making the bloodiest of messes.”

You flinch away from his touch, leaving the whole group laughing like it was something funny. Honestly, you probably would’ve been laughing too if it weren’t you in that situation. Instead, you just felt… you still didn’t really know how you felt.

“Yeah, whatever, tell us something we haven’t heard before. What’s next, the killer fucked their dead bodies? He chopped them up in pieces?” You scoff. “Your story is shit and you’re just playing out the shock factor.”

“Can you just shut up and listen?”

“No one wants to hear your predictable story-”

“And no one wants to hear a dumb bimbo like you complain over some horror story.” He interrupts. He’s looking down on you, a sly smile plastering his face like he’s mocking you. “With that attitude, you might end up as one of his next victims.”

You can feel your heart thump in your chest. It’s starting to race by the second and being met with the crazed eyes of Tendou made you feel sick. “Why do you have to say stuff like that?”

“Because you love it.” He wraps his body around you, shaking you around in his grasp, “Such a cute little thing always attracting big bad monsters, you deserve to know the truth!”

You struggle away from his body, sneering, “You’re an asshole, Tendou,” before walking off. You swear, Tendou had it out for you tonight, and the last thing you needed was to deal with his bullshit.

You find yourself in one of the bedrooms throughout the house, still fuming to yourself. You’re doing anything to calm yourself down; scrolling through your phone, drinking, hell, even meditating at a fucking party of all places. You don’t know why you lashed out, it was irrational. But, you just felt mocked. It’s like you could still feel his taunting gaze. Even being alone couldn’t grant you peace.

There’s a knock on the door and without an answer it’s being swung open, making you jump up to your feet. In comes Tendou, grinning with all his glory. “I Honestly thought you left the party.”

Eyes rolling at the sight of him, you cross your arms. “I can’t leave yet, my ride is getting laid. And why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’ve done nothing.”

“Yeah, if arrogance and crudeness was nothing I would agree.” You snap, making your way towards the door. “I honestly don’t know how people are able to put up with you most of the time.” It slams shut before you’re even two feet in front of it. “What, not gonna let me go now?”

His face softens and for a second you think he might be serious. “Look, I get I can say messed up things, but it was just for a story, it wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. It’s not my fault you have feelings for me that you can’t deal with.”

“I swear to god, you’re unbelievable.”

He cackles in your face. Patronizing, that’s the perfect word to describe this feeling he’s giving you. It’s patronizing and it makes you feel inferior. “You act like you’re so special! Like you fucking matter! You know, I got you all figured out.”

You back away, giving a scowl. “What game are you playing at, Tendou?”

“Mm? Nothing. I’m sure it’s you who’s playing the game.” He takes a step closer, then another. You don’t even realize that he’s got you backed against the wall until your shoulders thud against it. “Tell me what your game is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, doing your best to put some space between the two of you.

“You don't? Because I think you want to play a little game of cat and mouse; killer and victim. You like this, huh, the thought of being at someone’s mercy? That’s why you’re being a bitch! You’re not mad at what I said, you’re upset because you imagined that girl to be you and you wanted a different ending. You wanted to be the girl that’s spared, you wanted to be the one that gets to say ‘I love you’. That’s what gets you going. But, she died and that’s the last thing you want. Tell me I’m wrong.”

You purse your lips, holding back your words because silence was better than your admission. But, even then his words were harsh and cut deep at your skin.

“Oh, that’s right, you can’t! Because I’m not wrong.” He cackles. His body presses into yours, taking a deep, long breath. “You’re sick, absolutely sick. I hope you know that.”

You make the rash decision to push him off and dip under his arm, moving for the door. But it’s too late. You’re already trapped in a small place, between the bed, the wall, and him. You wouldn’t even be able to make a run for the door again without him stretching over and snatching you up.

“Aw, trying to run now? It’s your game, I’m just playing along.”

Your eyes roll, displaying false confidence that’s easy to see through. “What do you want from me, an apology for being a bitch? Like, I’m sorry I didn’t like your story and you’re right, it was fantastic. Just leave me alone, okay?”

His arms raise and swing around, and for a second you think he’s gonna hit you until they fall gently on your shoulders in an over exaggerated manner. “Your apology is nice, but it’s the last thing I’m looking for right now.” The weight of his hands start to crush your shoulders, pushing you further and further down until your knees hit the carpet. “Are you afraid?”

Your lips purse as you shake your head.

“Don’t lie to me.” He sneers. “I’m gonna ask you again: are you afraid?”

This time you nod, squeezing your eyes tight so no tears will fall. Your lip is starting to go numb from how hard you’re biting it. You were scared, absolutely terrified, but there’s a buzz throughout your body that has your full attention on his words.

“And you’re getting off on this too, aren’t you?” He laughs. His hand caresses your cheek, thumb swiping adoringly over the hot skin. There was nothing better than having a quivering girl right below him at his mercy. Even better that it’s you because, if you like it then he isn’t really doing anything wrong. He doesn’t even realize his hand has traveled down to your neck, giving it a little squeeze until you’re trying to paw him off. The look on your face is hysterical; red cheeks, glistening lips, puppy-dog eyes, such a fuckable face.

Nonetheless, his hand continues to tighten around your throat, the rough pads of his fingers crushing your trachea. Your cries turn into shallow breaths that soon turn into choked gasps. God, even in a position like this your thighs are clenching together, writhing to ease the heat between them. Soft fingers claw at the back of his hand, nails raking down the bony hand in a futile effort to get him off.

You’re almost sure he’s gonna just let you pass out, then keep going until your lips go purple. At this point, you can hardly breathe, hardly make out the figure in front of you. You can only focus on the throbbing in the front of your head from the lack of oxygen.

Tendou laughs at the way your head starts to loll. That’s finally when he releases your neck, hands shooting up in the air innocently. “Sorry about that, just needed to test the limits a bit.” He’s laughing like it was a joke, like it was funny that he was choking you out just a second ago.

You hunch over and greedily huff to make up for the oxygen that you oh-so missed. Your hand lands on your throat, trying to soothe the ache that his warm fingers left.

The metal of his belt clinks together as he hurriedly undoes it. He moves quickly at removing his aching cock from its confinement, pre already leaking from the furiously red tip. Before you can even register, his fingers are twisted in your hair, pushing your cheek down onto his crotch. You whimper when you feel wetness slide across your face. “Shh, shh,” He coos. “It’s all gonna be alright. Just do what you’re supposed to do.”

Your brows furrow at his words.

“Come on, don’t be shy now.” He taunts. “It’s not like it’s serious or anything, it’s just a game, right?” He uses his thumb to pry open your mouth--not much prying though when you basically open it willingly. He takes the opportunity of your wide open mouth to shove himself inside, making you gag out of surprise.

Your throat constricts around him, as he goes further down your throat. Your hands come up to his thighs to help you break away from his force on the back of your head, but they’re quickly slapped away. God, your mouth felt so good around him. He keeps going until he reaches a hilt, groaning when you take him all in. He stills for a moment, head thrown back in a bliss before pulling back and letting you have air again.

There’s a sniffle from you as you wipe at your face. You look up at him, his eyes telling you to keep going. You grab him with a little hand and wrap those lips right around him using the flat of your tongue to drag down the veins. Easing him into your mouth, your cheeks hollow as your head bobs up and down.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks you as if you could answer him. “If I was that killer from the story, I would’ve killed you by now. You talk too much, there’s nothing valuable going on in your head and you’re definitely anything but innocent.”

He grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you down. His hips grind into your mouth, groaning at the way choke. Your cheeks puff with air in an attempt to breathe, only to have it slowly puff out your mouth around him.

“Not to mention the fact that you fucking humiliated me! I should kill you just for that alone. Though, I don't think I would be able to get away with it; I’m not the neatest.”

His movements are rough. Your scalp burns from how much he’s pulling at the hair and obviously your throat hurts every time he hits the back of it. There’s squelching and a gargling with every thrust he makes.

Even if you didn’t want to die, even if you so desperately wanted to be the final girl, you probably would let him kill you. Just to see how it would feel, see how much he would violate you before taking your last breath. Same experience, different outcome.

He pets your cheek, pulling the taut skin. “If I were to kill you, it would be dragged out. I would see how much use out of you I could get until you become useless. I would give you hope, give you trust, let you know that I truly do appreciate you being around. But, then I would let that all slowly crumble away until the final string is drawn and I’m left with your lifeless body.”

Truly, it did fascinate you with the way he talked about killing you. You didn’t know if you wanted to hear more or if you wanted him to shut up. But, you did know that despite everything in your body telling you this was wrong, you liked this type of attention. There was something so different, so degenerate about it that had you hooked.

“I guess we’re both sick. We’re basically a perfect match.” He jokes.

There’s that signature pop as he lets you release your mouth from him. His own hand wraps around himself, matching the pace he was just at. Tendou moans loudly, his voice ringing in your ears along with the soft clicks that come with him sliding his hand down his cock. You watch idly with the way his hand squeezes, the way his hips buck, the way his face contorts. Only then do you remember the position you’re in; sucking dick to imitate the incomparable rush of fearing for your life. You were nasty, sick even, just like he told you. It doesn’t help that you’re letting him open your mouth and cum inside. And when he asked you to swallow, you did.

“Get on the bed.” He tells you. Maybe it was more of a demand, but you were gonna listen either way. “On all fours.” You shift your body onto your hands and knees at the foot of the bed. He snickers from behind you, “Can’t believe you’re actually listening to me. You’ve been so good through all of this.” His hand runs down the small of your back and you shiver when you feel cold hands flip up your skirt and place themselves on your ass.

“You’re wet, just so you know.” He says, staring at the damp spot. Two fingers hook around the fabric and pull it down. His touch is experimental, tentative as he slides his fingers between your folds. “Fits for someone as depraved as you are.”

“I’m not depraved.” You finally say and whining when you feel his fingers enter your cunt. They squelch, moving in and out and gathering more of your slick on his fingers.

“Oh really? You got turned on at the thought that I might choke you out, you willingly sucked me off, and now… now you have a flood between your legs after all of this.”

His fingers curl against your spongy walls, thrusting them fast. You pant and moan into your hand, your hole clenching around him. Your thighs squeeze together, only increasing your pleasure. “Tendou, please don’t stop!”

“Huh, what was that?” His pace slows, but his fingers reach deeper than before and it makes you shudder when he’s able to hit that spot with his fingers alone.

“Ah- fuck- Tendou!”

A few more thrusts from his fingers have you convulsing before he comes to a full stop. “Oh, you wanted me to stop, thought those words sounded familiar.”

You turn around to look at him and that sly grin that seems to never leave. He holds up the two fingers that were just inside you, a clear liquid glistening in the light. “But I, but-”

He wipes his fingers down on your chest. “What did you think after being a bitch to me half the time I would let you cum tonight? Poor girl,” He pets down the hairs that stood up on your head. “Looks like our game is over and--despite how much of a slut you are--you made it out as the final girl! You basically got what you wanted, so you should be grateful. Bye bye, my little mouse.” He sings.

And just like that he’s gone, leaving you feeling cold and empty in more than one way.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #hq #tw dubcon #tw death mention #tendou #tendou satori

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thelordstears · 3 years

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Writing totally isn’t a passion of mine *Wink, wink*

"Fools, always think they're the smartest one in the room, as is the same with saints, it would seem." - Moores Thomas

"The crow must have a very watchful eye; for even his flock is called a murder." - Valkronin Sambridge

"Sometimes what others do to obtain peace leaves you in pieces." - Bentley Harlem

"He is the enemy screams my ragged bone mind; again and again the shouts of my father echo in the night of my darkness, and again and again I let the lie envelop like blood in my chest." - Alastair Sambridge

"This wicked heart doth not beat lovely." - Valkronin Sambridge

"We're pawns in a game that doesn't fucking care; the King and Queen have left the brooks and knights bleeding on the edge of the board. All that's left of us is the way we move across a checkered board, wondering why black, white and red is the only color we can see through these loyalty blinded eyes." - Flitz Haktoll

"We're all lookin' for glory at the end of a faded bullet; grins echoing in the decaying lights of justice and heroism." - Benjamin Scotsfire

"Glory is not found in the pursuit of death. It's often found in the pursuit of something greater." - Henry Onlark

”Lies fall slick from the tongue of the foolish.” - Cross Smykens

"I left the war; but it never left me." - Jay Foster

"Ya know; a man once told me to turn my rage inta power. Let it be the kick of my bloodied rifle, but as I turned that rage to power, as I let that bloodied rifle bruise my shoulder; I learned that power's name was corruption all along." - Maximus Bates

"When everything is ripped decadent from your veins you find a substitute for that abyss in your heart; and I've filled it with cracks of who I'm not." - Terminus Hydra

"People like us don't get third chances. We just get ta live the rest of our lives in this flat circle, we're doomed ta try and run on these hand me down shoes; but we'll just get right back where we started. Standin' stagnant in our cruelty." - Scottenmire Travol

"You haunt many a folk 'round here and you don't even know the names of the graves carved into the stone of your heart; everyone's nameless too ya. But everyone's got a name and a couple thousand stories to tell, what merry little tale do you think I plan on orchestrating tonight?" - Monte Pelamo

"I thought I was raising a rifle to fate; but then I bled as my finger curled around the trigger." - Alastair Sambridge

"Glory and death often go hand in hand; interlocking bloodstained fingers within one another's as to best watch humanity flitter and fade away into dust and ashes. Have you ever noticed how cruel people get when life fucks 'em over? How evil seeps through the good man's heart all because he had a bad fucking day? I'm the seed of evil planted into the good man's ribcage, blossoming like a black rose of thorns and shadow in the heart of kindness." - Diablo Bohnsello

"I already walked that path brother. I already have a coffin fitted for a man that ain't me; it's why I'm so fucking dangerous." - Hectorvallo Bloodwain

"If you can't fucking get something out of doing what's right, than what's the point of being the good guy?" - Trent Aval

"Oi'm just a stumblin' deer, wonderin' where these breadcrumbs will lead me." - McKady Cornwall

"Some men call me a mad man. But I imagine you'll call me a monster, or karma, in some wicked sense. Who I am is usually defined differently for every man I come across. They all have their own little tale. Some weep as they read the poetry scribed like scars in their heart, some rejoice in the wicked man's tale. But you, little one shall die, in some strange and peculiar way. Not in the sense that I'll bury you, but in the sense that I'll wipe your slate clean and scribe little pieces of my darkness onto your blackened pages." - Westell Gramstein

"Crazy and misunderstood is a very thin line many walk." - Westell Gramstein

"I was stuck in a shadow like trance, dancing with the light of my very own moon. It was under the decadent and decaying lights of that pale light cast from the sky that I was stricken by a very sudden madness. A very quiet, madness." - Shackelstan Puppeteer

"Any man can become a shadow wisped secret of himself. How do ya think the darkest of creatures are made, brother? They start off as good people doin' good things. But sumthin' comes along the line and rips them from their shadow, leavin' them defenseless against the dark." - Valterren

"In all madness, my friend, there is what created it. Dare you tread in the black waters of my mind?" - Westell Gramstein

"When it's your life or mine I tend to get a little selfish, a little cowardly. And these days, the bullet is my only saving grace." - Kyro Bellford

"I stand stagnant in a pool of others blood, wishing it was my own." - Alwine Hickory

"I looked for who I am in all the wrong places. Like the way a boys hurt tasted on my heart, or the way a cigarette burnt my tongue. It's as if I never really found me. As if I never will. Because in all honesty, I feel as though I was never someone that could truthfully be called Inazo Lizomann." - Inazo Liomann

"I'm licking fate off of the barrel of temptation's revolver, my heart splintered and weary. Once you get a taste of the things that damn you, like the way cruelty tastes on your tongue, you begin to fall away from yourself. I swore up and down I'd survive. But I didn't. I never had." - Huntsdale Klizollo

"Unity with control is like putting a cat in water. You think it won't resist, you'll think that peace can be found within the feral animal you've dropped into the waters of unified revolution. But eventually, claws start to fly and the once unified civilization becomes nothing but the ashes it once started as." - Hex Sweeney

"I'm cursing you with the thought of life in the midst of the death of those you called friend." - Sevelsworth Hickory

"They always say, oh go ahead, open up. Let those scars bleed so you can reach the light everyone's always preaching about. And then you let your emotions come running from your lip like a river, and they put a dam in your mind and tell ya no one gives a fuck about the kid of trouble and bone. So you pick up a few bad habits, you throw another fist against a kid in your same situation and make due with what ya've fucking got. As if the dam built in your mind keeps all but the rage in." - Flizo Thompson

"I'm old bones buried beneath the rubble of identity. Don't matter how much I struggle, how much I try to survive. Because I'm already dead, and at this point, bein' a walking grave don't sound so appealing. So I burn up my lungs and pray I drift away with the smoke." - Ramo Bonewitz

"No one cares about you Ramo, you're already a ghost. All I have to do is give that little extra push into the unknown." - Quentin Satchel

"You won't make it out of this alive. You'll try. You'll walk mile after mile. But you're just a tombstone with legs." - Quentin Satchel

"My thirst for blood started young. The first day I saw the driblets of crimson drop to the tile floor was when a kid brought a razor blade to school and drew blood against his bully. An act of defense. And gradually my thirst for this kind of behavior grew. It started with rooster fights, watching the little fuckers claw at each other with those sharp nailed talons of theirs. But that gets boring quick. So I moved onto dogs. And that evolved into watching wolves fight in my father's barnyard. But eventually you get sick and tired of fur and fangs, so you settle for something more dangerous. Something more rewarding. My father taught me the game of gladiatorial fighting. Civil. Just. Merciful. And as I watched that man cut his brother down in the blink of an eye, oh I knew I could never go back. And I never would. I became a master of the arena, sitting on my throne of gladiator and gladiatrix's corpses." - Sevelsworth Hickory

"The blood of my father's victims sits on my hands, as if it was me pullin' the trigger. As if all along, I were pullin' the strings. Sometimes, when all ya can do is watch tragedy unravel, you get this funny lil idea that it's all your fault." - Alwine Hickory

"I was raised on the Devil's backbone of sin, standin' like the snarl of a rifle. Don't you come ta wonder what makes monsters like me? Brother, life has always been what makes monsters outta human men." - Cavowit Hickory

"We're all just thieves and bastards lickin' up the pieces 'a fate we got left. So why you gon' go damnin' me for preventin' the crooked bitch from comin' for me sooner? Son, I'm just doin' what it takes ta survive this Devil's country." - Stalkman Hickory

"I got a tattoo runnin' below my eye that tells the truth, as if the grim reaper has put her eternal mark on me." - Henio Bonstook

"You'll become a reflection, of sorts. You won't exactly, look like me. You won't exactly, look like my gunmetal stained past. But it'll be there, lurking in the corners of the mirror. Waitin'. Watchin'. Readyin' itself to pounce on the little gunslinger who thought he could, and that my friend. Is the day you'll die." - Ulfrich Diggory

"It's not about, who you are in the now. It's about who you're gonna be after I start carving little pieces of you off with the edge of my gunslinger malice." - Ulfrich Diggory

"Truthfully, I killed someone for that woman. I carved little pieces from off my heart, begging her to love them, but she was a Devil wrapped in gossamer, silk and roses, telling me that our little secret was nothing more then a flickering streetlight, providing little protection to the darkness of the night. And I suppose, my streetlight flickered out, leaving me with nothing but the sparks of a cigarette and the warmth of a revolver." - Grant Filepen

"Where once faith swung like curtains behind my ribcage, now it feels more like a couple of nooses, whispering my fate into the winds of my feeble, decaying sense of self." - Amaziah Bokenmay

"To the circus you shall go, to lose your mind and find a darker soul." - Moores Thomas

"Truthfully we're all heroes in some capacity. But some cast that away, they tear it screaming from their heart, our heroism often begs when faced with greedy fingers, but the cruel don't care. And to all the heroes who invited the kindness in, I hope it didn't take too many pieces away from you, to let the fact that cruelty exists despite the bravery in you break you." - Kirsten Hezofrein

"The cruel call peace a revolution just so they have an excuse to kill the protestors." - Sebastian Dovens

"The blood ran black from my wrist, dripping down like candle wax damnation." - Joey Alderson

"Skinny and starvin' I died, sittin' on the edge of my frozen over revolver. I shivered, I shook. And mate, I didn't make it ta the end of the tunnel, I was caught by the traffic of beasts, but 'ow peculiar is it, that they stared at me with eyes I recognized? As if pe'raps, friends can become enemies within the span of a god damn blink." - Arv Harknizia

"Darkness has to blot out the sun for light to shine later on." - Gustave X. Van Velk

"Those in power are often the weakest man kind's got to offer." - Garth Yeager

"I saw life flash before my eyes in the banging of a rifle, sins sitting cruel on a masked man's sleeve. It was in that moment of death that I cut humanity from out my heart, becoming something unfamiliar. But these cackles of insanity start to feel beautiful." - Tahasha Moonlight

"Life keeps forcing me down, these shadows start to whisper into my mind that the light is just outta reach. And those damned shadows rip at the threads of the sun's golden rays, ripping into the warmth of Summer forevermore. I'm telling you man, you think Summer memories will always be goofing off under the hot sun, playing videogames with your best friend as your mom brings you cookies and lemonade. But all I can hear now is the gunfire melody of the hunt, sickening cackles ringing in my ears like poppers goin' off to damn early." - Scottie Bloodvallo

"Death is something we can not avoid. It catches all souls who live, it lingers in the cold mountains and in the hot springs, hiding in the shadows and the light. Wherever we go it is hiding, always hiding. But I find it so, innately cruel that sometimes, death catches up to men and women who still have miles to walk. People who from then on out have to walk mile by begrudged mile in death's wicked boots." - Caesar Cagelstan

"Men like me, men of the mountains and cold harsh winds of Antarctica don't really fuckin' live. Sure, we breathe. But as an old friend said there's such an ugly difference in that, cause as I puff another hazed, stale old cigarette, smoke drifting towards the Heavens, I come ta realize these angels wear smoke wings and ember halos, praying that this warmth is enough ta melt the ice in their hearts." - Daryl Fate

"People think that because they've walked comfortable miles, they know what it means, to truly be alive. But breathing and living are a very thin line many cling too, as if it was the lit fuse of a pact of dynamite, praying that it doesn't cover them in shrapnel truths and war bound horrors. I no longer live. I breathe. And there is such an ugly difference in that." - Mankar Hagmallio

"You don't know this city like I do kid. There's sharks swimmin' in the waters of these secrets, boy, and you're starting to smell a helluva lot like blood." - Roman Ustolgio

"I'm a Diablo, friend, and you're here for a handshake." - Abundio Garciel

"They called me a fucking misfit, as if who I am wasn't enough for society. And so as I washed myself in the blood of my innocence, draped in the crimson shawl of my identity, I came to realize no one, and I mean no one at fucking all, can add up to the expectations of a civilization ruled under the boot of the Heavens. And so we call ourselves angels, as if that made us holy in any sense of the fucking word." - Nicolla Bravajin

“ These skyscrapers stand like dead goliaths of faith and virtue, reminding us that New York city is where identities go to die and justice comes to wither and writhe underneath the heat of another darkened day. “ - Bartley Exodus

“ There comes a time when every man must choose who he wishes to be. He can walk the road seldom traveled or walk amongst the villains, slipping a mask of fangs over his face as to hide the bravery flickering in them golden eyes of his.” - Bartley Exodus

“ I pick up my old, rusted revolver and carve a couple dead men's names into the bullets and shove 'em into this chamber. Did I say dead men? Sorry. I've got a tendency to talk future tense." - Bartley Exodus

“ There's a locked room in my head where all the thoughts used to go.” - Bardem Lazolla

“ You know, all my life I've had to be tough, had to be just a bit stronger than the last guy; but I'm tired of the act. This mask is beginning to slip and I fear who I'll be once it falls. I've been someone else for so long that I don't know who I'll be once I'm me. “ - Bardem Lazolla

“ Isn't it strange how some people choose to be stuck in a nightmare while everyone else is living the dream? They can say we're all crazy, nutcases who belong in the looney bin. But in the end I'd rather be crazy than normal. I'd rather be me than someone I never was.” - Axelo Hayware

“ We've gotta be accepting, because humanity is built on love; but some people think power and hate is what gets you a name remembered. Yeah sure, names like Adolf Hitler and Julius Caesar are prevalent in the history books; but who do you look up to? Martin Luther King Jr or the fool who let power get to his head?” - Axelo Hayware

“ Humanity isn't doomed, we're just a little stuck is all." - Axelo Hayware

“ You know how when you're just a kid you dream of one day changing the world? Well look at you! Look! You did it; I promise. We're all changing the world daily with our actions, wondering if we ever meant a damn thing in the end; and I'll admit, I stumbled a few times. This path had a couple of roots along the way that felt like a noose wrapping around my dreams, forcing me to sputter and choke on nightmares.” - Tom Hanson

“ I refuse to let the gunshot melody become my song. “ - Tom Hanson

“ Look, there's a time and place to be a hero. And that's everywhere and all across the clock.” - Spencer Vokeswagon

“ I'm just the civilian who watched in wonder as the sky burned with glory bound promises, smelling the way they broke in the air.” - Spencer Vokeswagon

“ I'm falling inch by inch; wondering why the fall is such a slow descent, it has taken years for me to reach the atmosphere, and I have been burning ever since I first touched a broken star with human fingers that never should've found those old secrets dusted in the corner of a shelf in her son's bedroom.” - Valentine Valks

“ I shall never discover for I fear taking a step forward.” - Valentine Valks

“ Was that taut leather in his eyes or love?” - Valentine Valks

“ He is cruel and unjust, claiming himself an angel as he rips the wings from other's backs if only to stitch them onto his own. Is it such a sin to give life to the devil whom would steal it? I didn't know, I plead to the Heavens. But in my skull I hear the booming voice of God fracturing my pieces, and he tells me, "It matters not. He is your blood; and so you shall bleed in his place." And like a fool I accept my punishment as Jesus once did. I am bleeding on a crucifix of my son's sins, crown of thorns wrapped around my head as all the color bleeds from me. Black and white blend to a warped sense of grey; and all I know becomes fogged and misty. “ - Valentine Valks

“ I was raised a warrior, fighting battles of mind and blade, because in a world where evil lurks in every corner; everyone needs to be a hero or have the capability to be one. “ - Kadlin Paulson

“ The true warrior fights for what she loves and what she knows to be true.” - Kadlin Paulson

“ I'm an old tree trunk covered in the scars of the hatchet; and I know they dare not remember my name. For if the hatchet were to remember the name of every tree it cut its handle would begin to rot. Because to cut and cut and cut; the hatchet must have slain a couple of once sturdy trees. But I will stand sturdy forevermore. “ - Kadlin Paulson

“ I was young when I learned to keep a watchful eye on all that one loves; for everything has a darkness waiting inside of them, prowling in the depths of all saint's bones, waiting to pounce on the weary hearted followers of God. Dare not let this darkness prevent you from stepping into the light; for this is how the shadows in your ribcage win, how the demons start cackling with a strength they didn't once possess. “ - Nial Moorannan

“ My hands are stained with the blood of every man I've ever been.” - Nial Moorannan

“ I have watched the sun set one too many times; aiming the scope of this fox hound's rifle a thousand and three times, always me in my sights. Always me I watch go down in a howling scream of blood lit confessions and regret cackling at the midnight sky ever burning.” - Nial Moorannan

“A serpent followed us into our perfect little garden of Eden and stood watchful at our forbidden trees; eyes beady and forever burning with an emptiness that was never quite human. And he stripped the roses from Heaven; he tore the angels from a once clear sky and cackled as fire erupted through the clouds. And so all the angels of Eden fell; forever fell. On that day I died a death like no other, dreaming of beauty as I fell from Heaven, grasping the burning clouds wondering why death tasted like a memory on its way." - Nial Moorannan

“ There's a black serpent slitherin' in me ribcage; darin' me ta take a step forward in this dance with me shadow, and I dance, and I dance, and I bloody dance. A pirouette in the soddin' dark of me own bloody moon. “ - Arnold Schull

“ First time I died was when I were covered in da blood of boys sent howlin' ta an early grave, dagger drippin' crimson wif' regret. Second time I died was when I shook da hand of a masked devil, anarchy and violence howlin' just behind me. And mate; I've died many more times. “ - Arnold Schull

“ I've neva' seen 'is face. But those eyes dance wif' somethin' sinister. “ - Arnold Schull

“ Sometimes we hit the clouds before we make it to Heaven.” - Armellos Crescendo

“ Feather by feather who you are will be restored. “ - Armellos Crescendo

“ Rejoice, my friend; the sun of humanity has yet to sink. “ - Armellos Crescendo

“ I got fight left in my old bones and people to protect with all I got, so I roll up my sleeves and stick a cigarette between my teeth, letting the smoke be a warning of the fire that roars inside of me. “ - Armellos Crescendo

“ My father once told me that we have a choice when faced with the edge of a bullet; we either run from it or let it dig into our hearts. We're either the shield or the one that's behind it. And my mother once said that the world is a sorrowed plain of darkness; we're just the stars living in the blanket of shadow. And these words echo in my mind as I try to push back against the life I've been living, the sorrow ached life I've been given. “ - Ariel

"There's a storm in me heart. It rumbles and cackles with lightning and thunder; red rain pouring down on me cracked and broken ribcage, and as I try ta rest I feel the storm brew like death in this weary little fool. “ - Annabelle Courtney

“ I didn't pull the trigger, but I din'it stop anyone from lettin' the bullet soar neither. “ - Annabelle Courtney

“ I was a good woman once. But ever since I met that woman underneath the streetlights, I knew that I was a goner; she wore her nails red as blood, leather jacket draped over her shoulders as she snarled at the sky and all who made her the way she is. And as I fell through the ever lit skies of her rage I became something much less than who I am. She once dug sharp nails into my cheeks and snarled at me to paint the walls the color of my namesake, and with mournful regret I watched the white walls become a ruby red. “ - Ruby Vollstale

“ She's just a wild dog that doesn't know how to calm herself down.” - Ruby Vollstale

“ I once told myself that the fall is a long way down; but as I started to trip, the fall felt like only a few begrudged seconds. “ - Ruby Vollstale

“ Before one can fall head first into death he must go through the echo of life.” - Zecheriah Holyton

“ We are dropping like flies swatted by the electric swatter; dying as flashes of light in the nebula abyss of earth.” - Zecheriah Holyton

“ I was born curious, my friend. So I dug into the truths of philosophy and secrets, tearing my measly little claws into the greatest poets man kind ever knew trying to find the purpose of a life so obsolete. And I discovered that in truth; life is what we make it. But it also happens to be heavily influenced by our surroundings. “ - Zecheriah Holyton

“ I look into the stars of Heaven and often wonder if it's angels or graves in the sky or if that perhaps the sun is a culmination of all the burning wings set ablaze to give humanity warmth on event the harshest of winters. “ - Zecheriah Holyton

“ We are dualities of what we've done; wondering if what we didn't do condemns us in the end. “ - Zecheriah Holyton

“ Humanity is a vessel; of what I can never tell. All I know is that we're Babushka dolls." - Zecheriah Holyton

“ It's funny, how people will look at the unwell man with such fucking disgust; they say, "Look at the battered whore of a man! Sipping on the delusion that he is something other then his madness!" But don't they understand I'm trying to stuff myself so full of placebos that this fucked up thing I've become finally passes me by? “ - Arthur Wellburn

“ These emotions whir around my mind like cannons and gunfire, always hitting me down to rock bottom. But then I soar! Oh how I fucking soar. But I'm always falling within a month; laughing at the thought of splatting bloodied against rock bottom once again. “ - Arthur Wellburn

“ They always say you're strong for fighting the mental illness, but if they could see my heart they'd recoil and ask me to be put in a mental ward for all the thoughts that swim like death in this black watered river of my fucked up mind. “ - Arthur Wellburn

“ I'm just a nobody looking at the world through the eyes of Arthur Wellburn, wondering why I can never see a reflection of my mania. I'm stuck in this little corner nowadays, as if I'm just this little monster in a cage of his mind; and I'm always thinking the cure to my disease is a revolver shoved in my mouth and a wildly loud BANG! BANG! BANG! It'd be so much easier to die than to live, you know? So much easier to let the weight of my burdens fall onto my families shoulder like a ghost that lingers on the other side of death. But I never do it, I never do! And I get to wondering, "Why?" Because as life guns me down; I cackle in the red rain." - Arthur Wellburn

“ Look, I was just a kid hiding his truths behind dorky smiles and girls I didn't even have a crush on. But my brother, my sister, they were always gonna accept me as I am; there were never strings attached to our bonds; never scissors waiting to slice. “ - Tony Ikelfur

“ I am nothing more then a messiah of the broken and condemned; come one come all, safety is found in the comforting embrace of the shadow mistress. “ - Antonio Sharp

“ I walk within the light if only to watch it fade; striding beneath the sun if only to watch it sink one last time. “ - Antonio Sharp

“ I was born under the shadows of pinewood trees and howling wolves.” - Antonio Sharp

“ As the world comes to a grueling close who do you think will walk into paradise? The holy; or the heretics of life? Who do you think will be praised by the oh so holy creator of darkness but they who embraced it? We are beasts and bastards in these shadows my brother; so become one with the edging blade of destiny. Let it cut pieces of your identity from off your skin, let it call to you with the silver shadow of a soon to be crimson soaked dagger. We are children of the shadows; messiahs of the night. Dare the hero walk into the night with his rifle and bravery he will be shown as an example as to why the darkness is superior. “ - Antonio Sharp

“ I'm cheap smoke rising from the New York sky.” - Ambrose Walsh

“ Ever since the day I dug a grave I ain't been who I am. The lantern shed a pale yellow light across my face, cigarette stuck between my gritted teeth as I huffed and puffed, shovel working hard as the soil dug up beneath me. The moon was cast sorrowful on this broken man's soul, the reflection of a wolf dancing in the stream right by the old cemetery that knows too many forgotten names. You really don't wanna meet who I became that cold, Sundeh night. Because not even I can face the bastard in the reflection. “ - Ambrose Walsh

“ You can't trust the dogs who kept on a diggin' despite the way the soil reeked of death.” - Ambrose Walsh

“ You know how you try and be who you are after tragedy? You cling to the memory of the smile in your mirror and convince yourself that you're still that person? Because I tried real damn hard to be that person after the fire. But I know that boy is gone; buried underneath the secrets he found in a town he thought knew peace. “ - Alex Devonwood

“ I hate to break it to ya, but angels don't fucking exist. We're all just people living our sorrowful little lives selling ourselves to the dream that it gets better one day. But it doesn't, it really doesn't. I've been trying to find that happily ever after for a long time, but the man that haunts my memory? He sits in the recesses of darkness like a leather draped beast always waiting to drag the hopeful into his devious maw. Truth is life wasn't made to be lived. Life's only purpose is to serve us to death on a silver platter and I don't wanna stand for that. I wanna live but know it's impossible. “ - Alex Devonwood

“ I tried to tell my story; but no one roots for the underdog who never bit back, the dog who never barked his truths to the sky. People prefer tales of perseverance over the tale of the boy who never won. It gives them false hope, that they can be like the boy who won. But the boy who lost eats their dust." - Alex Devonwood

“ I used to be full of this joy that you couldn't really kill; but that man, he tore it from me. Sorrow leeched at the edges of his eyes; a dogs bark snarling somewhere in his throat, and he told me that we all live our lives confined in a locked room. And that the wrong person had found my key. And into my locked room he walked, ripping my heart from out the walls, digging into the wallpaper to discover the secrets I hid like confessions in my chest. And it was on that day that I was left as barebones of who I was. “ - Alec Bonehoff

“ I was just a fucking kid, man, I shouldn't have had to bare the weight of my brother's unguilted conscience. “ - Desmondo Dreadful

“ Sometimes ve chase our dreams. Sometimes zey chase us. “ - Luka Schiefer

“ People are always gonna hate even though it don't get no one anywhere, so when faced with this rage, when faced with this hatred ever seething. Take a few deep breaths and remember emotions often lie; and given the chance they'll shoot ya down with pellets of doubt and fear.” - Gary Heartlock

“ I was just a kid enjoying the company of himself, always told he just weren't a good influence. “ - Gary Heartlock

“ When you let the armor of lies shed from off your skin you start to grow a tougher skin of truth; don't you know that's why Icarus laughed as he fell? “ - Gary Heartlock

“ Be so authentically you that the hateful use you as an example of what's wrong with humanity; be so yourself that you set the bricks for the next man's path. “ - Gary Heartlock

“ You know how it is, right? You try and do the right thing but get caught up in all the bad of this world, wishing you had just stayed the fuck put.” - Dominiqua Claytor

“ Somedays I look back at the bridges I burned; memory of my eyes watering stinging my mind, the idea that I once smelled the smoke killing me from the inside. But I learn my lesson and move on. “ - Dominiqua Claytor

“ My brother and I are just two cold cases no one cares to look into; because who the hell cares about the death of identity? Who cares about the cigarette that never sparked up? “ - Adella Furrow

“ With my tattered boots and old leather jacket I walked into the unknown, and from whence I never returned. “ - Abel Romiro

“ Everyone stared me down, blaming me for the way fate unraveled, and I started to wonder if that town was home or just another house of too many damn walls. “ - Abel Romiro

“ That town was just too filled with devils for a single angel to do a damn thing.” - Abel Romiro

“ I've been both Cain and Abel truthfully; both Judas and the apostles who followed faithfully. But in the end I betrayed my own namesake, blood of a brother staining my once pure hands; and on that day I killed the hero inside of me. On that day the vultures flocked around my heart; pecking at what was soon to be dead. “ - Abel Romiro

“ That man locked me in a cage of the mind and told me to flay these pieces of identity from off my skin layer by layer. I bled for hours on the meat hook. A starving and skinny crow I became; yearning for a day where death didn't seem like a dream. And I found it in the hearts of my shield sisters. “ - Aadab Zivell

“ They say good fortune comes to he who raises a pistol in the name of peace; but often the man who slings bullets and sins ain't the man who finds the stairway to Heaven. “ - Aristead Solace

“ I've spent my life huntin' the cruel, finding them in different states and dead end alleyways. But still that one case sends shivers like death up my spine. Think of a lion; blood covered maw snarling inside of a cage it called the world, now take this lion and put him in a field full of gazelle. What will you get but a slaughter? That's what that man was to the world. Just a lion in a field of waiting gazelle. “ - Aristead Solace

“ Sometimes the heroes, they think their villains because ya gotta break a few commandments to stop the sinnin' man, and we call ourselves regretful devils. But we're just human, huh? And that's what made all the difference." - Aristead Solace

"Humanity. Kind one moment. Cruel the next. “ - Varkens Willowbrook

“ I have come to learn that there is an evil plaguing this world, it's wrapped in barbed wire and gunfire violence, the rage within sitting heavy in the open chest. And it goes by the wicked name of humanity. But simply because humanity is wicked does not mean that all of humanity is wicked. You'll find the kind ones somewhere waiting for you; but you are sure to find the wicked man often in a world that operates on kill or be killed. “ - Varkens Willowbrook

“ I believe that this world is kind despite the bad apples in the barrel; though those few bad apples started to rot the rest of the seeds within; the water roaring with the infection that came with the sin. Unfortunately just one bad apple effects the whole barrel. So one bad man effects the whole population. “ - Varkens Willowbrook

“ Somedays, the wolf; he wins. He trots around my ribcage victorious as can be, but that's when he gets cocky, when he begins to get careless. So the half-winged angels in me swoop down like a reaper's scythe and banishes the wolf to the locked door in my mind; where all the horrors go to starve. “ - Salvatore Graham

“ Ever since my father first laid a fist against my mother's cheek justice breathed through me as if I were a vessel in which it could see. And I told justice that I would dare not go blind. “ - Salvatore Graham

“ I pick up this blade; knowing one day I must turn it on thyself. “ - Salvatore Graham

“ Oh you know me; just a child of the old night sky, singing the blues as sorrow passes me by with a mournful sort of smile, knowing I'll come back around to her place in a day or two. “ - Franco Jonwitz

“ I'm just cigarette smoke chasing trouble.” - Franco Jonwitz

“ I take this old hat from off my head and read the poems that've been scribed in my ribcage, sadness following the words and prose I speak to the empty night sky. I've been a boy of sorrow ever since ma and pa became graves, moving along to an old orphanage with the scent of sadness wafting from off my papa's old, white suit jacket, hands and tears hiding somewhere in the fabric of that coat. I hold pieces of him inside of my heart, pieces of my mother hidden inside of my smile; and I guess there's sumthin' beautiful about that, huh? “ - Franco Jonwitz

“ I must confess, I've named a few of the stars after the ghosts that follow me, praying that they can fly up to the sky and find Heaven. But here they remain in my mind; reminding me that with sorrow comes trouble, and with Franco Jonwitz comes the inevitable idea that death kills before ya die." - Franco Jonwitz

“ War rains heavy over the weary soldiers who didn't make it past the gunfire; the ones who survived selling themselves to this ideology that their sins were for some greater good. But trouble etches its way into the bones of all whom pulled a trigger in the name of glory, sin or their own self gain. “ - Terminus Hydra

“ I lost everything, my friend, so a sin I became. “ - Terminus Hydra

“ Random acts of violence are often the ones that drive a man halfway to insanity, and the acts of violence he chooses to commit are the ones that drive him the full mile. “ - Terminus Hydra

“ I am a bad man. Dare not let my past tell you otherwise. If the people I knew where to speak of who I was they'd say he was a loving man who didn't let his tragedy define him; but speak to my enemies and they'll spit my name like venom on their breath. Two men tell two very different stories. My father would say I am a man of honor, but an old friend would call me the serpent to his corrupted and decaying garden of Eden." - Terminus Hydra

“ These scars on my legs tell the tale of a girl who lost herself too early; and it seems I can't hide my history from peering and bloodshot eyes. “ - Mayell Da Ville

“ My son tells me that one day, when I realize that who I am is beautiful despite the scars I'll find the wings had always been in my mind rather then on my back. But these scars, these horrific scars; they prevent the wings from growing ever again. “ - Mayell Da Ville

“ Here lies Mayell Da Ville; the ghost who found life too late. “ - Mayell Da Ville

“ There's a wolf on my shoulder; snarlin' at the frontlines and tellin' me ta stain my rifle in the blood of the innocent, and with a grin dancin' with moonlight I head inta the shadows and play myself a little game of huntsman and the lion. “ - Dekiah Doorvenstail

“ My father raised me ta be a killer. You should expect nothing but the bang of my rifle. “ - Dekiah Doorvenstail

“ Once you get blood on your hands it begins ta grow like a garden in your chest. But there's sumthin' different about this haunted little flowerbed. You begin ta realize that your ribcage was once Eden, but slowly, as the blood trickled down your fingers, Adam and Eve started fleein', the angel of flamin' blade nothing more then your heart that slowly faded ta black and grey. And as the serpent slithers onta your shoulder, you begin ta realize temptation lives in the hearts of all man kind. And only a special few accept their primal urges ta become nuthin' but a slaughterhouse on a cold Sunday afternoon. “ - Dekiah Doorvenstail

“ We were never wolves, my friend. But fragile people with hearts that can break and minds that can scar easy, but dare not turn to the shadows for comfort. They hold a dagger in one hand; and they hide it in the crevices of their darkness.” - Sabu Thorn

“ I think that if one is to find peace within themselves, they must first find peace within their scars. “ - Sabu Thorn

“ Eons ago I lost my mind.” - God

“ They say that dead men tell no tales; so who will whisper the tale of humanity once I'm done with it? “ - God

“ Everyone's always saying God's not dead. He's with us he's with us! But as I come down from my heavenly throne; the blood of humanity staining my shawl of lies and secrets; you'll pray that I am. But all your prayers have fallen on listening ears friend; and yet they never come to fruition, do they? “ - God

“ In the face of evil; silence is compliance.” - Gustave X. Van Velk

“ They don't tell you that the fall is so easy. They don't tell ya that we're all one crooked grin away from violence; so I take a steady step forward and throw a fist or two towards the evil that sits violent in this town of unwelcome shadows. “ - Gustave X. Van Velk

“ I've always tried to understand the enemy; walk a mile or two in their shoes, but Milos' boots are just too damn heavy and stuck in the muck of his powerful identity. “ - Gustave X. Van Velk

“ My sanity peels away in whispers and shadows.” - Cartniza Harvester

“ The word safe is such a fucking lie; no one ever is. “ - Cartniza Harvester

“ I don't know why this heart beats like a slowly rotting flower.” - Mackton Stoneshire

“ They say this Queen of madness is a revolver's shadow standing above peace; and she is. Because as she walks down these halls my bones shiver with shadows and things you could never dream of. Because she's a nightmare in the head of the weary; grinning deviously before she sins another deadly sin. And as my eyes shift to the checkered floors of this old mental ward; I know she can sense my fear. “ - Mackton Stoneshire

“ I'm still stuck under these shadows that fog my mind; heart roaring empty in the ribcage of a coffin. “ - Rupen Schello

“ I can still remember the night flames erupted inside my home; they now flash like colored lights in my memory, my parents' smiles becoming nothing but a shadow I can no longer follow. “ - Rupen Schello

“ A man with a memory can never be free of his torment.” - Rupen Schello

“ Every choice I ever made led to the death of who I am.” - Mervin Gavinwood

“ I never meant to fall; but I was born with the belief that I had wings, and so I leapt from blinding heights expecting to soar. “ - Mervin Gavinwood

“ The day I killed a man is the day I died. As his skull cracked against the bar stool; groaning and dying in the most grotesque way who I am started bleeding from the corners of my eyes as those two devils beside me laughed and laughed and laughed. “ - Mervin Gavinwood

“ He sits in the edges of my memory like a crow just waiting for his murder to come on along.” - Mervin Gavinwood

“ I've just been trying to cope with this loss of who I am for a long time; clinging to memories of him like a blanket that keeps me warm. But there's holes in this wool blanket; letting the cold settle into my bones. “ - Carol Corin

“ I weep for a life never lived; a death already fated. “ - Hexi Moorenfowl

“ Every detective has got her case, right? The one that drives her halfway to insanity because things just aren't adding up. I tried so hard to find those girls, I tried so hard to find that man's wife. But in the end it was a cold case that never went warm. “ - Maryland Fainrick

“ Mysteries often end in tragedy.” - Maryland Fainrick

“ I woke up in a foreign bed wondering why a stranger looked at me in the mirror; that was when I died an unfamiliar death. Falling from the heights of a Heaven I never deserved. “ - Kiddy Wendellburn

“ I choked on who I am a long time ago. And I don't think I can ever swallow my truths; because they taste so fucking vile. “ - Kiddy Wendellburn

“ "When you realize who you are, it's your job to become that person. “ - Adrella Soderit

“ We're all dreamers trying to find our happily ever after despite the nightmares that find us in the light; but don't you think it's the way we react to this darkness that defines who we are? “ - Adrella Soderit

“ So do me a favor and accept yourself won'tcha? Even when everyone around you condemns who you are. Even if you gotta keep that acceptance a secret in a little jar until one day, you can let those torch bugs fly into the open air." - Adrella Soderit

“ I don't know what one would call him. But he feasts on the sacrilege of identity and flesh, sinking his teeth into innocence as if it were a divine, juicy, blood dripping steak. I'm just the remnants of the girl I used to be, and as I remember his parched tongue against my skin a shive runs cold down my spine and my fighting instincts kick in. As if my mind is a clock forever running backwards. Minutes and hours mixed into a relived past. “ - Marlia Ferotosia

“ I remember his smile. Filled with teeth and unkempt flesh. “ - Marlia Ferotosia

“ I listened to her sorrows. Her troubles. Her secrets and confessions. But she was torn from this world much too early. And that is a sin a man like me can never forgive. “ - Zack Mordell

“ The old soul is supposed to fade before the young one. But fate is a very cruel mistress; dancing with those who don't know the rules to the deadly tango. “ - Zack Mordell

“ I'm a fading symphony wondering when my last notes will play out into the wind, but I keep singing. “ - Zack Mordell

“ Healing will come after the scars stop bleeding, so a little word of advice, don't stab those dagger like thoughts into your skin. “ - Cordemlia Munstwain

“ Some people say they aren't themselves, and I get that; sometimes it's difficult to admit that we're changing. Difficult to admit growth feels uncomfortable in the hurting mind. But eventually you'll grow into this new you. You'll find that it's often like a scab. It only forms to protect ya from the infection a wound leaves. “ - Cordemlia Munstwain

“ Some people say love at first sight don'it exist. And, I don't fink' it were love at first sight. But love at first spoken word. Love developed inside da poetry we spoke underneath da dyin' lights of the street. He's a broken man, but I built 'im new pieces and told 'im ta shimmer and shine like a star in the night sky; and it feels as though when I put a lovin' finger on 'is cheek dat he's started ta feel more human. As if 'e's no longer a whiskey stained ghost. “ - Daubellia O’Snair

“ Fate twists in some awfully strange ways, huh? You could be a normal, everyday girl, fighting hardly noticeable battles and then in the blink of an eye tragedy rips through the air like a bullet in your fucking teeth. “ - Alexia Hathorn

“ Sometimes you gotta make a choice. Live or die. And sometimes you'll do both.” - Alexia Hathorn

“ We're the scar ridden angels of Heaven, soaring on wings stitched with different pieces; like a quilt of many colors. We're not heroes, just people who got caught in the crossfire of a world roaring with evil. “ - Alexia Hathorn

“ Often people in pain's mind is fogged up from the hurt, and so they don't really know what they're doing, ya know? “ - Hispania Hopva

“ Death I've learned, stalks the living. “ - Hannisada Gravewit

“ You can't really cure addiction. It walks beside he or she who used. Like a ghost that doesn't know when or how to move on. Is it really that much to ask for a halfway decent mind? One that doesn't taunt me with the idea of one more fucking high? But I suppose it was my choice to accept that little baggie at a party, right? It was my idea to get addicted, right? That's what they always tell ya. They call the junkies and ghosts monsters of society, but damn it man, we've been victims all along. “ - Hannisada Gravewit

“ I tried to hide my scars under thick coats and heavy blankets, but I bled and soaked through those. So now here I stand. Naked and awfully vulnerable to my demons and ghosts." - Hannisada Gravewit

“ His insanity ripped me from my backbone when I was only a child. I can still remember the violence shattered between his knuckles, the anger on his cigarette snarl. I still remember the screams. The God awful screams. I've been trying to dream for a long time man, but these nightmares always plague the boy who never lived. The boy who never had the chance, to live. “ - Jonathan Enders

“ I just, I don't know how to escape these nightmares, man. Because that man's cruelty echoes in my mind; his smoke whispered anger booming through my thoughts. I was just a kid, man. But he stole that option from me when he put a bloodied finger to my lip and whispered that he was never here. Or when that old, boney skeleton beside him clasped two hands around my shoulder and whispered in a low, harsh voice that they were the boogeymen. And I believe that. Because the boogeyman is what goes bump in the night, right? And if there's anything that could be considered monster, I'd give the definition to them.” - Jonathan Enders

“ I take a fragile breath, hoping it doesn't rip through my throat like a bullet. “ - Jonathan Enders

“ I fought myself for such a long time only to realize the reflection had always been a friend. “ - Baila Von Cascia

“ Ya know how fate works, right? Ya meet one or two people and your whole world unravels. Sure. They're good people. You learn that they've become family somewhere along the road. But the villains you met alongside them just isn't worth it. “ - Joshua Houstella

“ I have fallen down this rabbit hole of oneself, gripping the roots of madness.” - Ingretta Shazowlla

“ I am nothing short of a sin. Nothing short of a monster masquerading as a woman. “ - Ingretta Shazowlla

“ This heart of mine has whispered in sin and death ever since my mother told me all of her secrets, the closet looking like a welcoming home where Narnia and all the lions would protect me. But fantasy has never been as cruel, and unpredictable as reality. For reality hides until the right moment. Waiting. Forever waiting. And one day it snatches you so unaware and drags you through the nightmares. Oh you may kick. You may scream. But you'll most certainly succumb. “ - Ingretta Shazowlla

“ Forever my friend, can last only a second as the white rabbit once said. And forever, has lasted too long for my angel." - Ingretta Shazowlla

“ I speak my truths in barely audible whispers, screaming my lies at glass shattered levels. “ - Molly Chain

“ My lonely little mind is slathered in grey and blue paint, memories glossed over with thick layers of dark color. I've tried to peal away that wallpaper. But there's endless layers in this house, and I just don't know how much strength I've got left. “ - Molly Chain

“ There's blisters on my strength, and I fear I'm about to slip. “ - Molly Chain

“ All my life I've been afraid. Of myself. Of my father. Of the shadows that hid like monsters in my closet. And as I come to the realization that I will never escape my mind, I know that this is who I am. And she's such a broken girl. A wisped shadow of something great. “ - Clarice Sanchez

“ I honestly believe God started typing me up, but he left to work on something greater and left me an unfinished piece of poetry, as if my prose bleed into the way fate unravels and twists. “ - Clarice Sanchez

“ My peace of mind bleeds from the holes in my heart. “ - Clarice Sanchez

“ From what I know cruelty is the last guillotine, and we're just whittlin' down the rope, wonderin' when it'll snap and fall down on humanities head. “ - Leone Kassophic

“ God's voice is echoed through violence.” - Leone Kassophic

“ If my sins were tangible, would I bleed upon contact? “ - Darkin Vagabond

“ Truthfully I am not me. Just a graveyard symphony ringing like the funeral bell, revolver held in one hand, regrets held feebly in the other.” - Darkin Vagabond

“ I look to the star painted sky and wonder what prayers he's been answering, which whispers screamed the loudest. “ - Zelene Clifforde

“ I am a lover at heart, wishing poetry and words spoken could heal the damage of war. And truthfully, that is the only way to stop a war. You speak to the enemy with a certain understanding. You try to discover who they are past the violence shattered between their bruised and bloodstained knuckles." - Zelene Clifforde

“ I am a gentle soul at heart, but alas, I sharpen my claws and go to war like a sinner who doesn't know when to quit, like an old, tattered wolf who wishes to quit all the bloodshed. “ - Yngvir Alvisson

“ Often I wonder if this heart should just quit feeling. Quit letting the blood stain it like a memory that shalt not be forgotten. But I pick up my heart, and I shove it fragile and broken back inside my ribcage. For to become a beast, my friend, is the loneliest achievement of all. “ - Yngvir Alvisson

“ Way I see it. Hate is a revolver. These men and women fill their chamber with all the good pieces of themselves, firing off for a cause that never mattered, something that shouldn't even exist. “ - Jaspello Crosshair

“ In every sense of the word I'm the hero I needed when I was a kid. “ - Jaspello Crosshair

“ Take life one step at a time, second by second, minute by minute. Eventually the storm will pass you by. Sometimes it feels as though you're not gonna make it, but that's the kind of thing tragedy whispers, it tells you lies in an attempt to weaken your resolve. “ - Chris Shaw

“ Debby and I treat life like a workout. We breathe in. We breathe out. We face it head on and don't let the idea of pain stop us. “ - Chris Shaw

“ I was just a farm girl lookin' for a happily ever after, but that wicked and damned man stole the light from me layer by layer. It's as if he carved pieces 'a me off 'a my skin, whisper by whisper, sin by unnatural sin. “ - Ellen Duster

“ There's so many pieces 'a me missin' nowadays. “ - Ellen Duster

“ Redemption is a sunset, and it jus' don' ever rise." - Ellen Duster

“ I tried to build a paper boat and drift away from my prison cell, but the storm started howling in my mind and I fell off the side, clutching the paper rafts and oars, wondering why this is how life drowned me. Some men drown in whiskey. Others drown in sorrow. But all I ever drowned in was the tragedy of being someone I'm not. “ - Isaac Abernathy

“ If a lie fits the powerful man's agenda, he'll do anything he can to make that lie a truth, or at least make it appear as such. “ - Jacob Abernathy

“ I can still remember how that man told me that we'd save the world together, that as the bombs started going off, we'd be the men history looked at and said, "Well done, heroes, you did it." But as I watched the world fall asunder, my heroes heart fading into a broken one, I knew that all the man did was lie to my good nature, and it was on that day, unaware, I bit into the sacrilege of false revolution. “ - Jacob Abernathy

“ I was just a girl without shadows in her mind until I stumbled into a rabbit hole of Godhood and the way blood spills on the arena floor. And as I fell, little pieces of me being carved off by the blade of a malicious God, I knew that I must have more of this undying pleasure. “ - Sonata Vickowinter

“ I'm just a broken bottle angel who forgot his wings on the downward descent.” - Ash Caesar

“ Often I say I'm better off dead, because this man I am is hardly worth a damn, let alone two cents and a nickel, so I glug down another bottle of whiskey and let my little sister down one more fucking time. “ - Ash Caesar

“ I always say I'll change, but everyone else is running a marathon, and here I am, standing stagnant at the starting line. I dare not cross that line in the sand. Because I'm scared of the regret, the shadows, the way my mother's words echo in the ones I scream. “ - Ash Caesar

“ Truth is, I can still remember the way my mother's open palm felt against my cheek, or how her wine glass felt shattered against my noggin. But those glass pieces of her addiction bleed into me. “ - Ash Caesar

“ All I see in the mirror is a man who fell so cruelly away from himself, and as my sister reached for my hand, I let it slip. And all she could do was watch as this regretful Icarus laughed in the flames." - Ash Caesar

“ I have found, that I am the single black rose in the garden, sitting idle like a warning of what will come if you step towards this black petaled beast, this decaying flower of cruelty. “ - Madam Stephanie Rose

“ I am a tired beast. “ - Madam Stephanie Rose

“ I was once in an empty room. Love knocked, oh how she knocked gently, so softly. As if it were a song that whispered into my ear. But hate drove her away. He knocked, he knocked, oh how rage filled his fist boomed against the door. With tears rolling down my cheeks I let him in. He stole the blankets from off the bed and wrapped them around my throat, choking me with the violence inside of my heart. And ever so cruelly, I became a black, withered, and deadly rose." - Madam Stephanie Rose

“ I sink ever familiar into this garden of decay, praying that someone will save me from the blood on my hands I speak of like darkened poetry. But death, was never a story. Only a harsh sin ridden reality I've given to so many others. How strange is it, that death is the end of reality, but also one in of itself? “ - Mike Duster

“ I'm a man of many sins. “ - Mike Duster

“ I slowly flay myself from my own skin, screaming, forever screaming. I carve another layer of me from off my skin. I subject myself to the meat hook and try so desperately to bleed all the darkness from the crevices of me, but alas, to bleed myself from the darkness would be to bleed all of me away. For all that runs through me is dark, twisted and unfamiliar. “ - Mike Duster

“ The truth, does not whisper, my friend. It screams.” - Ava Callenwillow

“ Secrets stick to me, and more often than not they take over my identity, pulling me into the depths of another shadow, another mystery with my name written all over it. I've been running from fate for a long time, finding ways to avoid this noose around my neck for years, but one day the stable ground beneath me will collapse. And I'll be nothing but history. “ - Ava Callenwillow

“ Wherever I go, death tends to follow like a loyal wolf whom sits at my bedside, howling to the blood red moon that is my wicked and decaying heart. “ - Tezilda Vaxweed

#writer #author #characterwriting #dialogue #characterdevelopment

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Worth (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader

Genre: Angst/comfort

Request on my Wattpad: “I was wondering if you can do a Todoroki x wolf reader where the reader is depressed and bullied because of her quirk and her family knows about her wolf quirk and disowns like they think she a disgrace abuse her and doesn't want her and she feels so worthless she gets to a point where she feels not good enough and that she completely loses control of herself and turns into wolf or monster version wolf and Todorki he tries to help her I hope this makes sense and I hope it's ok”

Word count: 2,038

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: I’m not terribly happy with this, but it was a different kind of request, and I’m glad I did it. If it’s cringey, I’m sorry, but I hope it meant something to someone.

Also even though the request indicated female pronouns, I didn’t really use any, so consider this gender neutral. If anyone was wondering, I wanted the character to be kinda like Atsushi from Bungo Stray Dogs with the hair color and the personality, but also with wolf ears, so do with that info what you will.

I run through the dimly lit streets, tears streaking through my eyes as my heart pounds and chest heaves. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I have to get out of this hell I call life. Everything I thought I knew was a lie, I was the only person who didn't know it.

Tripping over my own feet, I finally tumble down a hill and land at the base of a tree, finally stopping my rabid movement, but it doesn't help my mind running five hundred miles a minute. I turn in on myself, trembling as the darkness surrounds me, clawing at me the same way I grip my legs to my chest.

The image of my parents smiling together with my younger sister is the only thing I see behind my eyelids. The last time I saw my family, there was nothing but turmoil and contempt. All the times my sister pulled at my ears, locked me in a closet, and cut me up; all the times my parents punished me by having me sleep outside "like the dog I am" for the slightest misdemeanors. They used to always argue, there was always screaming in my house.

My former house.

When I got into UA and we were forced to live in the dorms, my parents couldn't look happier. In front of Aizawa and All Might, they contained the sheer joy they felt like the actors they are, and when my teachers left, they hurried to throw all of my things out the door.

"Finally, we can get rid of her!" they cheered. I can only watch in horror as they pack all my stuff away before pulling me by the ear and setting me out next to my belongings.

"Don't ever come back! From now on, you're on your own!" That was the day I became an orphan.

My parents always had this vendetta against me because of my quirk. They don't know where it came from, no one in our family even had one like me. My dad used to always accuse my mom of having an affair with another man after she had me. I don't know why he ever stayed, if he really believed that was true, but they both looked at me with contempt because of the quirk I shouldn't have. And then I did the worst thing I could've done: I lost control one day. When I was playing with my sister, I don't even remember why I got angry, but I bit her and scratched her. The only person who loved me in that house suddenly became scared, and grew to hate me just as much.

School wasn't any better. Everyone teased me for being the tamest wolf they've ever seen.

"I thought you were supposed to be scary, you're actually a huge wimp!"

"What kind of hero can you be when you can't even stop mumbling to yourself?"

The only reason I was so quiet is because I couldn't even raise my voice to assert myself in my house without being punished. My parents were so scared of me losing control again that they put me down for getting the slightest bit aggravated, so I learned to just lay low and stay quiet. And I couldn't stand up to my bullies for fear of being punished at home.

I'm so ashamed of my quirk.

Going to UA was a dream of mine. It was my ticket to being able to use my quirk freely, so I can learn to control it to become a great hero. But I quickly realized how weak I and useless I was in comparison to the other students. Not being able to use my quirk at home took a toll on me, it was a miracle I even passed the entrance exam.

Today was particularly bad. I didn't do well in quirk training today; I've been trying to partially manifest my quirk in some parts of my body to temporarily amplify my strength, but it's just not working. Going for a walk in town to clear my head, I spotted my family out together, happy and smiling without me around. And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I tremble to myself under the tree, pushing against the rough bark biting into my forehead. They're so much better without me. I was holding them back this entire time, I should've left years ago.

I'm a failure as a wolf.

What kind of wolf am I when I can't even use my quirk?

I'll never become a hero.

This is all because of my stupid quirk!

"Fuck everything!" I don't even realize when I'd stood up and started punching the thick trunk. Blood drips from my knuckles, my vision blurry from tears. "You'll never be a hero! You're a failure! All you did was tear your family apart because of the stupid quirk you can't even use properly! Idiot! Stupid! Weakling! Dumbass! Homewrecker!"

Fury rushes through me, the grayscale colors in front of me fuzzing together. My arms grow in size suddenly, my punches boring a large hole the size of my head into the bark and my nails have grown. Looking down, I'm farther off the ground, my clothes ripped to shreds on the grass, and teeth have grown into fangs. The shadowed silhouette of a wolf figure on two legs presses against the ground behind me, cast by the light of the moon. I scream, which sounds more like a gravelly growl into a howl. My blood boils with all the anger built up over the past ten years, fueling this wolf form I've only taken twice in my entire life.

I catch a familiar scent in the distance, blood warming my body at the thought of fresh blood.

"(Y/n)!" A voice screams from the top of the hill I rolled down as it runs towards me. Once the owner closes in and notices what's going on, he stops short, gawking up at my form.

I snarl, crouching down as if getting ready to strike. My rage blinds me, only guiding myself by the smell of my prey as the shadows blur.

"(Y/n)," he repeats, more carefully this time, "Calm down, it's me. I won't harm you."

My fangs bare at the boy. I'm ready to take my anger out on anyone, friend or foe. I stalk towards him. No one's my friend, I'm all alone.

He takes a step back. "It's me, Todoroki! Get ahold of yourself!"

Shoto?

I grit my fangs at myself, clawing at the ground to keep myself from attacking him despite the rage instinct telling me to attack. It hurts to fight, but I need to protect him. He can't turn out like her.

"I believe in you, (Y/n)! I know you can fight it!"

Another piercing howl screeches out of my mouth, overwhelming my head with painfully conflicting emotions.

"Try to breathe." Shoto's voice calms down. "Relax and breathe."

I loosen my tightened jaw and fists, smoke starting to come out of my nose in grunts. I imagine it being my anger escaping out of me. Feeling myself deflate, despair sets back in. I almost hurt him. I crouch down as my body shrinks back to normal, hugging my knees to my chest. I'm physically and mentally burnt out, too numb to feel my emotions but I know they're still there.

Shoto approaches me, slipping his oversized denim jacket over my naked form. "Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I should be asking you that," I sigh, too tired to get up. The wind brushes my skin and I clutch the jacket closed, slipping my arms through the sleeves. "I almost attacked you, I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, kneeling down in front of me. "It's fine. Why are you out here alone anyway?"

"I...saw something. And I just took off running and I got here." I rub my temples with my hand to ease an oncoming headache. "Things just got overwhelming, but I'm okay now."

Shoto's mouth sets into a line. "You're not okay. You haven't turned into a wolf since you were eight, not even in training. You must have been extremely distressed."

I shrink into myself. "I don't want to talk about it..."

His bi-colored eyes rest on me, but he doesn't push the matter further. "You look exhausted, let me carry you." He squats down in front of me. "Get on my back."

I'm happy he's much bigger than me, his jacket manages to cover everything down mid-thigh even while I'm on his back. My arms hang loosely from his shoulders as he hikes up the hill and back to the main road. It seems I ended up in a park near the town. The streetlamps light the sidewalk, people staring at us as we walk by, but I'm too tired to care.

"Do you think it would calm you down to visit your parents?" Todoroki asks modestly. "Or maybe you can go get some clothes-"

"My parents won't want to see me, let's just go back to school," I interject feebly. A fresh set of tears threaten to fill my eyes.

He doesn't question it, continuing to walk as his gentle rocking pace persists.

"I'm surprised you aren't running away from me," I mumble as we reach the road going up the mountain to UA. "I almost killed you."

"I know you wouldn't, I have faith in you."

I close my eyes, leaning against the side of his head. "I'm so ashamed you had to see me like that. I probably looked like a monster."

"Aside from the danger you posed in the moment, I think you looked...majestic."

My eyes fly open and I tense, waiting for him to elaborate. How could he possibly think that about me?

"Your fur matches the gray of your hair, gleaming in the moonlight. It looked soft enough to touch, all the way down to your tail. But your ice blue eyes were my favorite. Once you calmed down, they were practically glowing. I'd like to see you like that more often, once you've trained enough of course."

My heart quickens at his compliments, heat rushing to my cheeks. "Thank you, Sh-Shoto. Though, I don't know when exactly I'll even get to that point."

He's silent for a moment, his steady rhythm continuing up the path. "I've known you for a while, (Y/n), since we were younger. I know I've never been much help with you and people teasing you for being weak, but I want you to know that you're not weak. Obviously, you have a lot of emotional baggage with your family, and it's trickled into your own inner demons. You should know that you're strong for dealing with it on your own all this time, but you should find family elsewhere. I know you're stuck, but make your own family of people you care about, and - when you're ready - confide in them about your problems, they'll be there to help you. I'm here to help you."

Tears silently roll down my cheek, but I don't want to wipe them and call attention to it, so I rest my chin on his shoulder. "Do you think...my quirk is good, Shoto?"

"Of course I do," he answers without missing a beat. "It's your's to use as you wish. I know you'll use it to become a great hero someday." His footsteps stop and he gently puts me down to face me. "You're a good person, (Y/n). Your quirk is an extension of yourself, and I know you'll use it for the benefit of others, even if you've probably made mistakes in the past." His thumbs gently rub the wetness from my face. "And nobody should tell you otherwise."

I lean into his touch, my eyes flying open when he presses his lips to my forehead. His mismatched eyes bore into mine, glistening under the dim lights of the streetlamps and the moon. My heart pounds at the amount of pure affection he's showering me with, it makes me want to cry even more.

"I'll be there to support you every step of the way."

#todoroki x reader #todoroki angst #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto #gender neutral reader #comfort #todoroki imagine #todoroki scenario #request #mha todoroki #bnha todoroki #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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captainchrisfics · 5 years

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‘Always’

About: Chris Evans and his girlfriend break up so he comes crawling back to his friend’s door, only they’re a little more. They have been for a long time, although it takes a fight and a nasty phone call from a scorned ex for them to realize it.

Word Count: 3,638

Warning(s): There’s a makeout in this fic. Nothing I would particularly classify as nsfw, but just a heads up.

Requested By: Anonymous! Thanks for sending this in, I’m always happy to write reqs. Another thanks for being patient with me. x

My phone rang.

I was done for the day, just for the record. My bra was off, my feet were up, my wine was in reach, and my favorite trashy reality t.v. show was on.

Then my phone flashed, turning that dark grey color it does when there isn��t a contact picture. But instead of an unfamiliar number, there was a contact name. Chris’s Gf.

Now, I know it was rude not to save her contact with her name. Granted I couldn’t even be bothered to type out ‘girlfriend,’ almost as if she was dispensable or something. But, in my defense, I genuinely couldn’t remember what it was when Chris made a group chat to plan an introduction dinner with all of his friends from back home. You’d think it’s a very significant thing, all the girls he brought to Boston at one point or another did, but anyone who knew Chris also knew he tended to jump the gun.

She’d managed to stick around for a few months though, so I really should’ve learned her name. Thankfully, when my thumb made contact with the green circle, there wasn’t a need for pleasantries since she was already screaming at me.

“It’s all your fucking fault, you know,” she spit into the speaker. Her audio was kind of grainy, like she was talking through her car’s bluetooth. Plus, I could barely hear her over the blaring horns and sirens of Boston’s all too familiar traffic. I could imagine her manicured claws wrapping so tight around her steering wheel that her knuckles turned white as she snarled, “Chris doesn’t have any more fucking time for anyone else because he’s too busy fucking you.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” I started, buying time for my brain to catch up to her mouth’s pace. “We never-”

“Oh, don’t fuck with me,” she cut me off, laughing cynically. “I know about you two, he told me months ago. Told me you were only friends now though, so I’m not sure what to believe at this point.”

“But we never did anything since he met you!” I defended, my voice coming out more loud and shrill than I’d intended. I sighed in an attempt to compose myself. “We are friends,” I stressed, calmer now. I started pacing nervously as I pinched between my eyes.

“Oh,” she said dramatically between gritted teeth. “That’s where you’re wrong, with this whole innocent little ‘friends’ thing.”

And, while I’m sure she’d felt like I was finally trapped in the corner, right where she wanted me, that’s exactly where she’d lost me. Because the whole ‘friends’ thing was exactly that to me, innocent. Platonic. Sure, I enjoyed the kind of relationship Chris and I had when we were both single and looking to have a little fun, but we also respected our boundaries and other partners enough to call it quits. Never had either of us crossed that line.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s not that to Chris at least,” she continued to seethe, “it’s why he can’t have a real relationship. I’m sure it’s true for you too, with your boyfriends. It ended because he’s got one foot in the door and the other out of it. You’re always standing in the way, it’s your fault.”

Leave it to this girl I barely know, in the loosest sense of the term, to read me like an open book, like she knew everything between my covers. Things I hadn’t even written yet.

“I…” I stumbled over explaining myself. “I-it isn’t like that,” my shaky voice stuttered, not even able to convince myself. It isn’t like she knows me or my relationship with Chris. It isn’t like he cheated on her. It isn’t like I’ve ever tried to hold him back in any relationship, let alone theirs.

But it isn’t like that was what she was accusing us of. It isn’t like my doorbell didn’t ring, a heavy, steady knock reverberating. It isn’t like there wasn’t a deep voice, one as familiar as my heartbeat and scratchy from being strained in a yelling match, asking to come in. It isn’t like I couldn’t imagine the deep blue of his bedroom eyes, twinkling between these sultry dark lashes, like that thought didn’t spark an insatiable fire in my stomach that snatched every bit of air in my chest. It isn’t like either of us were surprised.

“Bet that’s him now,” she hissed, as if she hadn’t struck me already. Hadn’t poisoned my thoughts, making me feel simultaneously sick to my stomach. “You two deserve each other.” She scoffed before hanging up.

“I’m sorry,” I confessed to my home screen, half-hoping she’d hear it anyway. Probably to relieve my own guilt, this terrible feeling completely repressing my lungs. So that was why I couldn’t breathe.

She planted this seed, this terrible, rotten, famine-inducing sort of seed, in the bottom of my stomach. It latched onto me, expanding roots I’d trip over and growing until its branches coiled around my heart and constricted my lungs.

Then Chris rang my doorbell again, calling out my name. Rambling, probably under the impression that he was the only one who could hear anyway. Saying that he’s sorry he didn’t call first, but he was stressed. He had this tension he needed me to relieve, and that made for some of the best nights.

I tried to talk, but it came out as a cough.

“We…” Chris trailed off. I could almost see him, kicking at my stoop with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Hands I wanted tangled in my hair, roaming along every one of my body’s curves. Biting his chapped lips anxiously. Lips I wanted on mine, teeth I wanted leaving marks on my neck for the next few days.

“We broke up,” he said, no sign of anything other than frustration. Frustration I wanted him to take out on me, so desperately, burying me between my mattress’s springs.

I opened the door, although I wasn’t sure if I was ready to let him in. Still grappling with the shell-shock from his ex’s phone call, I smiled. “I had a feeling,” I told Chris, but I wasn’t sure he took it how I meant it.

Just by the way the corner of his lips turned up in a smirk, he had me. He leaned against my door’s frame as a chuckle reverberated from deep in his chest, right where I felt that glint in his eye tugging at my lust. “She called you?” Chris asked incredulously, thick eyebrows taking off as he stared at the phone in my hand. “Fuck, I knew she was crazy, but…” he trailed off, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. He shrugged and said, “Saves me the breath, I guess.”

And still, Chris took more from me.

His lips were on mine in moments, kissing me with such a force that the two of us stumbled into my living room. Chris kicked the door closed behind him and I pushed him back into it, grabbing his coat’s lapels to slow our velocity. He tore off the layer and his t-shirt so I crash-landed into him anyway.

My fingers crawled up every bump and curve of his torso, inching excruciatingly slowly over the soft, bare skin I’d missed. I relished in every goosebump my scratching nail elicited from his porcelain chest. When my hands finally reached his neck, I wrapped my arms around Chris and pulled him impossibly closer. I wasn’t about to let him go again any time soon.

Chris groaned with satisfaction against my bottom lip, tugging the sensitive skin between his teeth. His hands found my ass, hesitating on the curve like he was properly appreciating it before slipping down to the bottom of my thighs, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist.

I missed this, if I’m honest. The way our chests rose and fell in complete sync with one another, hands roaming familiar territory, every part of each other dancing together as if we’d rehearsed countless times before. By this point, I suppose we had.

Chris carried me to the couch and sat so I was straddling him. Our hips began digging into one another, frantically trying to find the friction we knew all too well between our clothing. His hands slipped up the hem of my shirt and suddenly I became too aware of how little was separating our bare chests, just this one piece of fabric. One of Chris’s old shirts, in fact. The reality of how close we were to being so close again, only to have hundreds of miles and surely more pointless commitments to other people keeping us apart, it was painful.

He continued to kiss me, hungry and longing as if he’d been deprived, as his cold fingertips teasingly traced underneath my chest. So close, again. But, as much as the passion pooled in the pit of my stomach, there was a horrible, tugging guilt that started to drain me.

“Chris,” I whined, only the word came out more like a breathy moan as I tore my lips from his, like pulling two magnets apart.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, pressing his lips along my jaw and down my neck. Instinctively, I craned so he could have better access and I almost didn’t want to say anything at all as badly as I needed to keep grinding my hips against his. Chris’s hands tightened on my hips, urging me even more.

It would’ve been so much easier to drown myself in Chris. To let his scent, the expensive vanilla cologne and crisp mountain air and something that smelled indistinguishably from what my home, replace all of the air in my lungs. To let the sensations surround me, his beard scratching my collarbone and his calloused fingertips digging into my hip bones, so hard I hoped I’d have bruises of his fingerprints in the morning.

Like jumping into a frozen lake, he shocked every one of my nerves awake. I gasped, taking in all the air I could as if I’d just broken the water’s surface after a deep dive.

“Chris,” I repeated, sterner this time. He retracted, resting his hands on the small of my back while giving me this awful look. These anticipating, wide puppy-dog eyes with his swollen lips stuck in a pout and his eyebrows hanging low. Chris was the poster boy of concern. I almost wanted to tell him to forget it, that we could keep going, but I had a feeling even he couldn’t satisfy the aching in my chest. I needed something else.

“She was right, Chris,” I admitted so quietly that, if we weren’t close enough for each of our breaths to be borrowed, I think he might not have heard me. My forehead met his shoulder and I watched his chest deflate with a sigh.

“She doesn’t know shit about how I feel,” he growled. His arms tensed around me and I knew I’d brought back the emotions he was trying to leave at my front door. I realized he’d had a similar conversation to the one I did, and he knew it too. In a moment of steely anger, he felt completely foreign to me.

Then Chris’s shoulders sagged as his grip on me softened and he reached for me, resting a heavy hand on my cheek. Chris lifted my head so I’d looked at him. Him and his drooping eyebrows, chiseled frown lines, and those blue eyes, gentle as a lake in the morning and just as glassy.

“She doesn’t know shit about us,” Chris insisted, still bitter, but with all of the conviction he could muster.

“It doesn’t matter, she’s still right. We can’t keep doing this,” I bit back, matching his sincerity’s strength. “Every other guy I’ve ever been with,” I tried to confess, but then I saw my reflection in his crystal-clear eyes. I realized exactly what I was about to do, the can of worms I’d nearly opened, and I couldn’t.

I turned from Chris, partly so I didn’t have to look at him, but mostly so I didn’t have to watch him looking at me. His hand fell from my cheek and hit his thigh with a defeated thud. My eyes darted to the ceiling, blinking back tears. My chest shook as I tried to suck the words on the tip of my tongue back down with every breath.

“They left you wanting more?” Chris said, sucking on his teeth. “Left you wanting someone else specifically?” he laughed dryly. The corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk, but there was nothing light about the look in his eye, like someone else was pulling the strings.

I jumped from his lap, like he’d just passed an electric shock through me, and pulled my shirt back down. “No,” I objected. With the way Chris looked at me, leaned back casually and watching me with his eyebrows playfully raised as I paced with crossed arms and a furiously shaking head, I had a feeling I was only trying to convince myself.

“She told me the same thing,” he began tentatively. “That I’m not ‘emotionally committed to her’ as if that makes any sense,” Chris paused to roll his eyes. “And then once she left me, I was driving over. I didn’t even feel sad about the breakup, I just wanted to be with you,” he elaborated.

Chris stood and took a couple of his long strides toward me. He gripped my shoulders, just enough to stop the pacing path of the wind-up toy I’d become before I wore a hole through my carpet. “And then I realized what she meant,” Chris admitted, buying time before he finished with a deep breath. He pulled me close to his chest. “I realized that I was waiting for this, to be with you. I always do.”

“No,” I repeated with more fervor, shaking myself from his embrace.

“No?” Chris echoed incredulously. His eyebrows knitted together as he crossed his arms, taken aback by my objection.

“No!” I shouted, running my anxious hands through my hair as I continued to pace on the opposite side of the coffee table. Out of his arm’s reach. “This isn’t what this is. We’re friends, Chris. This isn’t how friends work,” I spoke in a quick staccato.

“We aren’t just friends. It’s how we can work,” he pleaded his case, trying to emphasize his point with wildly flailing hands. “You said it yourself, she was right.”

“And you said she didn’t know anything,” I shot back in a low tone with narrowed eyes. My steps halted as my eyes pierced daggers into Chris. He was still flushed from earlier, hair disheveled wildly from my hands raking through the dark locks as well as his own nervous ones now, but he still made a decent target.

“And, if we aren’t friends, what am I to you then, Evans? A booty call, maybe? A rebound? Really, which is it? Because, as much as you’ve ‘always’ wanted to be with me, you always seem to get bored and run back to L.A. to find someone else!”

His whole being, from his eyebrows to his shoulders to his spirit, sank. My words weighed heavy on him and, as good as it felt in the moment to pin all of my anger and confusion onto Chris, it wasn’t worth the way he’d looked at me. Like he was so insulted I would even imagine that he thought so little of me.

“That isn’t fair. You know that’s not what I meant,” he faltered. His mouth opened and closed, a total fish out of the water. This wasn’t in our element, Chris never came here for a fight. He came for love, or at least the closest thing he could get. Actually, I gave him all the love I had. Always. But that was the problem, that I never seemed to get any in return.

Again, I stopped to scrutinize Chris. I’m not sure what I was hoping to find between his naked chest heaving with ragged breaths and those soul-baring eyes that conveyed nothing less than heartbreak. “You are so much more to me,” he professed, his voice level and imploring me to believe him. “I want us to be so much more.”

I collapsed onto the couch, knees weakened with a declaration of adoration I’d been dreaming about for the longest time and a fraction of my emotional exhaustion taking a physical toll. I wrung my hands in my lap, choosing to watch my fingers slide in and out of my other hand’s gaps instead of looking Chris in the eye.

My couch creaked with a sudden added weight as one massive, calloused hand wrapped itself around both of my own. “Want a drink?” Chris asked in a refreshing change of pace. His eyes darted to my nearly-empty glass of rosé from earlier and the bottle accompanying it.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of serving me, I pulled my hands from his and refilled my own glass. I passed it to Chris before taking the whole bottle into my lap. We both took long sips, trying to force each other to break the thick silence between us.

“We’re supposed to be friends,” I snapped first, hating how my voice broke.

Chris choked on his wine as he laughed. “Friends who fuck each other senseless sometimes?” he inquired, raising a thick eyebrow. “We’ve been more than that whether or not you want to realize it.”

“But friends,” I insisted, unwavering. “That’s the only solace I’ve had, seeing you with other girls, knowing that we had boundaries. That we aren’t supposed to have feelings like this so I could ignore them and assume it wasn’t mutual. You aren’t supposed to make me wait for you, over and over again, and then claim to have wanted me this whole time.”

Chris allowed me to ramble without interruption. Instead of waiting to talk, he only listened. With one arm wrapped around my shoulder and the other hand tight around his glass’s stem, he allowed me to get it all out.

“You could’ve just had me, Chris,” I raised my voice, hating how defeated the crack in my voice sounded. It was shrill and as removed from myself I ever felt, like the words were coming out of someone else’s mouth. “So I don’t see why you expect me to believe you ever really wanted me in the first place.” I turned into Chris’s side, burying my face in his shoulder in an attempt to seek some comfort. As much as I hated him in that moment, Chris always seemed to be my soft place to land.

“I know that now,” he said in a breathy sigh. “I’m sorry, darling, I had no clue you felt like that,” Chris said, words laced with a saccharine honesty that begged me to believe him. Then his chest rumbled with a reverberating, cynical laugh as he added, “If it’s any consolation, I had no clue I felt like this either.”

He’d caught my attention. I tipped my chin up to rest on his shoulder, looking at Chris with a new clarity. He was just as confused as I was, drowning and tumbling in an unexpected wave of new emotions.

“Honest, I didn’t… I don’t know if this makes any sense,” Chris stuttered, shaking his head. “But it didn’t click until I was driving over here. I realized I was doing exactly what she accused me of, always running to you. Comparing her to you. Wanting every girl to be you.”

Then he saw right through me with those eyes, as clear as a crystal ball I could nearly see our future in- or, at least, the one Chris envisioned. He’d pinned his heart right onto his sleeve. “You don’t know how fucking stupid I feel,” he said with a gritty laugh, “for wasting so much of the time we could’ve been spending together.”

He reached out and tucked a lock of loose hair behind my ear, palm hovering over my cheek before deciding it was a safe place to rest. His thumb stretched across the soft skin, wiping a tear I hadn’t realized slipped out. “Darling,” he sighed with a new tenderness, “I don’t want to waste any more of it watching you cry. I want to be with you, always, as long as you’ll have me.”

I laughed and it felt good, like it lifted some of the heaviness from my chest. My hand found the crook of his neck. I could just barely feel his pulse beating hard underneath the soft, warm skin. I looked at him through long lashes as I realized the utter beauty of this man sitting before me, inside and out. I thought I knew him before, every corner and crevice, but Chris was bearing a new part of his soul to me. “Me too,” I mumbled.

So painfully slowly, Chris began to lean in, like he was giving me one last chance to back out. Like I hadn’t given all of myself to him, in every way possible, a long time ago.

When his lips met mine, just like they had so many times before, something was inexplicably new. Different from the desperation usually lacing our love and the bittersweet excitement of knowing it could end at any moment. This was patient, this was Chris telling me he’d wait as long as he had to for another kiss like this. This was him promising himself to me and me alone, pressing the vow from his lips to mine. This was grateful and accepting, giving and vulnerable in a way that we’d never been before. A way I hoped we’d always be.

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sincerelybluevase · 4 years

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Careful, Madam Chapter Four

A/N Thank you guys for all the kind comments! They really mean a lot to me and help motivate me to keep writing, hence why there’s a new chapter now 😉. Tagging @need-not, @emptymasks @thegirlisuedtobe @halewynslady @solattea @alice1nwond3rland @ladynephthyss

The rain came down in thick sheets. It drummed on the roof, against the walls and the mullioned windows. Someone had opened the window of my room and the sweet, green scent of summer rain drifted in, pure and cool and cleansing. How easy it was, to sit quite still and listen to the water gurgle in the drainpipes, to smell the scent of the azaleas, and not think, not feel…

Mrs Danvers kept looking at me with those liquid eyes, my knuckles dimpling her cheek. Funny, how far she and I had come, and so suddenly, too. This time yesterday I had feared her enough to scurry through the halls of my own home afraid to make a sound, as if she was some sort of predator who would pounce and break my neck if I was not careful. Now, she seemed my only friend and ally.

“I can’t be with child,” I said, very calmly, very coolly. “You are mistaken, and Maxim is, too.”

“Then why the nausea, Madam, the loss of your appetite, your heightened sense of smell? And all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve only bled once.”

“How would you know?”

“Did you think I took no interest in the habits of my new mistress, in her health and wellbeing?”

I wished to go back to that state of numbness that had held me prisoner only moments ago. It seemed preferable to the panic that now threatened to engulf me. It made my mouth dry and my heart hammer. My frock stuck to my neck and back.

“You don’t understand. I can’t be, I mustn’t be…” I pulled my hand from her grip and pressed both palms hard against my eyes, watching sickly colours bloom.

Days before, I had pictured the children Maxim and I were wont to have one day, strapping boys with grazed knees and a penchant for sports and mischief. I had imagined them running through the halls of Manderley, leaving their things everywhere, tennis rackets and cricket bats, wellington boots, thumbed adventure books, leather balls. Most of all, I had thought of Maxim’s face as he beheld his sons, the pride and fierce love making him handsome. He would look at me then, that strong look softened, and he would put his arm about me and kiss my forehead, and I’d be so desperately happy I could choke on it.

Now, all I could see was that haggard, haunted look of quiet madness as he told me how he had put a bullet through Rebecca and had felt only triumph, the straying bitch at last brought to heel…

Mrs Danvers clasped my wrists and pulled my hands away. “What do you mean, Madam? Why mustn’t you be?”

It all moved about inside of me, twisting and turning, scraping my innards like a little sharp-nailed hand. It clawed its way up my throat, cutting it to ribbons, and it could not be swallowed down and hushed, it could not be denied…

Mrs Danvers rubbed the tears from my cheeks with her thumbs. “Why, Madam?”

“Because I shall never be free of him once I give him a child,” I whispered. We stared at each other, both shocked by my words. I had not known what I would say until it was said, and now it could not be taken back.

“I… I didn’t mean that,” I stammered. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Mrs Danvers. He’s my husband; of course I wish for us never to be separated….” But the words sounded hollow to me, and the rapid thumping of my heart screamed liar, liar, liar.

Mrs Danvers hardened. Gone was the soft, liquid look. “Of course,” she said, her voice that mechanical thing once more, stilted and lifeless, “why would you? Not even Rebecca wanted a divorce, and she cared nothing for him, despised him, even. You, who love him, who says he is your whole world, would not want to miss him, not even for a moment.” She stood and went to the window to shut it, the rain splashing on her hands and face. She did not come back to me but remained standing there. The windowpane reflected her face remarkably well. It looked pale, tight.

I felt as if I might cry. “Mrs Danvers,” I said, “Mrs Danvers, Danny, please.”

“Please what, Madam? What do you want? You still don’t know, do you? To have his child, to be free of him, to be a perfect little wife, to be another, to love him, to love me. You can’t make up your mind.”

“Please don’t,” I whispered.

She turned round, pressing her hands hard against her ribs, curling slightly forward, as if in pain. “They found her boat, but you knew that already, didn’t you? They found her, yet all Mr de Winter could worry about was you, your little sickness, your delicate condition. Sometimes, it’s as if I am the only one who wishes to remember her, the only one who truly cared. He doesn’t even speak of her.”

“Oh, Mrs Danvers,” I whispered, “you wouldn’t like him to. I promise you, you wouldn’t want to hear what he has to say about her.”

Two spots of colour burned high on her cheeks. “Does he call her names? Does he rail at her, denouncing her for a whore and an adulteress? Does he, Madam?”

They came again, those traitorous tears. They stung, burning hot. I nodded feebly.

She laughed. “Well, then he hasn’t forgotten to be jealous, has he? Men! When they look at women, they only see whores and saints, and like nothing better than to tear a woman down they lifted up. Trust a man never to see a woman for what she really is.”

I thought of my father, of his warm-heartedness, his laughter and love. “No, Mrs Danvers. They’re not all like that. Most men are normal.”

She laughed again. It sounded like keening. “Perhaps, but that’s the worst of it, Madam; how are we to know who is and who isn’t? Safer to assume they’re all pigs.”

I was tired as a dog, all wrung-out. “But they aren’t, Mrs Danvers, truly they aren’t. I’m sorry you think they are, but that isn’t right and it isn’t healthy.”

“It isn’t right?” She tore at her cuff, pushing the fabric up to her elbow, and held out her arm to me. With a finger she traced the scar there, the neat purple line in her flesh. “You’ve wondered how this came to be, didn’t you? I shall tell you. I went to care for Rebecca when she was seven. Her mother had died when she was born, and so a nurse had taken care of her all her life. Now that she was seven, it was time for a governess, and I was employed. I was twenty-one; my employer, her father, a man of forty-six.”

She kept moving her finger over the scar, rubbing it red. “I found out the first week that he had wandering hands, and within a month, that his hands were not the only things doing the wandering. I wished to resign then, but he wouldn’t give me a proper reference, and without one, I was worth nothing. And there was Rebecca, of course. Such a charming child. The longer I stayed, the more I loved her. The more I loved her, the harder it was to leave. Her father’s… ministrations were never quite bearable, but I grew used to them. They had to be borne, for love of her.”

Still she rubbed, harsher now, her clipped nails leaving white streaks that flushed crimson. “And on and on it went, until one day when Rebecca came home early. I never knew if she suspected what her father and I did; he made sure she was not around when he paid me his little visits. Rebecca was supposed to be riding her horse, but the animal had thrown a shoe and so she’d returned earlier than expected. Sixteen she was then, with all the wit and beauty of a woman twice her age.”

Mrs Danvers smiled at the memory. It was a fragile, broken thing, this smile of hers, and it cut me deeply.

“We didn’t hear her. How could we, over his groans? But in she came, dressed in her riding habit. I didn’t know she was watching us, not until her father screamed and rolled off of me. She had struck him with her riding crop, and she kept striking at him, over and over again, breaking his skin and drawing blood. He nearly lost an eye. In the end I had to intervene; she was so wild, I thought she might strike him dead if I did nothing. I had to restrain her.

“‘You won’t ever lay a finger on her again,’ she told her father, ‘do you hear me? She’s mine now.’ He laughed through his tears, as if it was all a great joke. ‘What, do you want to fuck her yourself?’ he asked, so she hit him with her bare hand. Afterwards, she took me to her room and helped me clean the gashes she’d made, and then I was safe. So you see, I know men are not all wicked, but you’ll forgive me for not taking any chances.”

How could I ever tell her what Maxim had told me?

I went to her and stilled her scratching hand. She had broken the skin, and little beads of blood welled up. I put my mouth to the soft inside of her arm and sucked at it, fighting through the nausea to lave her poor skin with my tongue. “I’m sorry you were hurt,” I murmured.

Her hand curled against her ribs, pressing hard against her stomach. “I miss her so much I sometimes wish to destroy myself,” she whispered.

If anyone deserves to know what happened to Rebecca, it is Mrs Danvers. She’s the only one who truly loved her, I thought. Rebecca, with her brain and breeding and beauty, her wit and charm. Nothing of that had mattered in the end; she had died like a dog at the hands of the man who had sworn to love and cherish her.

If I did not tell her now, I feared I never would. I had to tell her, even though it smote me.

“Mrs Danvers, I must tell you something, something that Maxim only just told me.” My throat was still painful from where she had bruised it last night, pressing my face against the sheets as she made love to me. I swallowed thickly; the lapping at her skin had made me salivate. I kept kissing the sore spot at her arm, postponing the moment I had to talk, until she took hold of my chin and made me look up.

“What must you tell me, Madam?” she asked softly.

“It’s about Rebecca. Maxim told me…he killed her, Danny. Maxim killed Rebecca.”

#rebecca #my fanfic #danvich #a short chapter #but i hope a good one

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kittenshift-17 · 4 years

Note

👀 Howdy and Happy New Year uwu!👀

Happy New Year! This is an excerpt from one of my upcoming Houndrya fics (aged-up Arya and Aged-down Clegane). It’s called Snap and Snarl.

Sandor Clegane hated balls. Standing around in Court and guarding Prince Joffrey was bad enough at the best of times, but a collection of High Lords and Ladies all gathered together to forge alliances, or pick fights, or plan marriages was his idea of torture. And as someone who lived in constant pain from true torture in his youth, that was saying a lot.

Worst of all, tonight’s stupid party was all for the sake of marrying off the Stark Bitch. The Hound curled his lip as his eyes scanned the hall from the seclusion of his corner where he was already skins and skins deep into the finest Mereenish wine. Joffrey, having been forced to wed the Little Bird in wolf’s colors was grousing and whining about something or other to whoever he thought was most interesting in the room from a boyish perspective on knights and kings and war. Stupid cunt. Sandor was still surprised the little shit could tell the blade from the pommel of a sword, even though he’d been the one to drill it into the little cunt’s head.

Too much like Gregor, that one. Sandor would be long shot of him if it weren’t for an oath he’d taken and a lack of anywhere else more decent to go. Guarding the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms came with certain perks he wasn’t willing to part with so easily, including access to all the sour wine he could drink, fine quarters with a soft featherbed, and Gold Lions filling his pockets to be spent on whores and whatever else took his fancy. Even if it was boring as fuck.

“Sulking, dog?” Joffrey piped up, always willing to kick the mutt that guarded him if it might make the other little pricks laugh.

Sandor looked down at the young prince, though he was now a man grown, and smirked a little at the thought of what the cunt might do should his faithful Hound turn on him and rip his throat out. After some of the screams he’d heard from their shared bedchamber and the marks he’d seen on the Little Bird, Sandor knew he’d be doing the kingdom and its future queen a favor if he did.

“Ugly beast, isn’t he?” one of the Tyrell cunts said none-too-quietly, eyeing Sandor’s ruined face with disgust as though it was his first time witnessing such gruesome horror.

His fist clenched tighter around his tankard, but Sandor showed no other outward sign of imagining what it would be like cleaving the cunt’s head in two with his axe. You’d think that after a lifetime, they’d have all stopped staring quite so much at the burns marring his ugly face, but dumb cunts would always be dumb cunts, he supposed.

A cry of surprise followed by hissing whispers fell over the hall at that moment and the Hound tensed, his gaze searching for the threat that had set them all off.

Rage festered in his gut, turning the wine sour when he found it.

The Stark Bitch had arrived.

Sandor curled his lip like a mongrel dog, his angry eyes drinking in the sight of the bitch as she strode into the room on her father’s arm. By the gods, there was a woman who could match his rage tonight, Sandor thought, smirking a little as he traced his eyes over her. Jammed into a dressed that nipped her waist in and shoved her tits up onto display, she couldn’t have looked less like she wanted to be there had she carved the words ‘FUCK OFF’ into the skin of her forehead. She looked uncomfortable. She looked angry. She looked like she’d sooner kill every cunt in the room than spend a single second consorting with any of them.

Worse.

She looked like a fucking feast.

The Hound gripped his tankard tighter, drinking in the angry flush staining those pale tits a creamy shade of peach and the luscious curves she’d been hiding under her tunic and jerkin. Fuck, if every cunt in the room didn’t want to nail her to the throne and fuck her until she howled. His cock stirred in his britches and Sandor was thankful for the armoured uniform he wore that hid it from view.

Gods, but he hated her.

Feral little bitch, she bared her teeth, and gnashed her fangs at him every chance she got. She never cowered back from his terrible sneer, nor flinched when he spat the most vulgar and hateful things he could work into any conversation. She never backed down, never backed off, never gave him a fucking inch. He hated her. Since the day she’d set her wolf on Joff, and he’d hunted some bloody butcher’s boy, she’d wanted to shove a sword through his eye, and he’d wanted to wring her scrawny neck. Seventeen, she’d turned at her last name day. Just ten years his junior and growing more beautiful by the day.

But she hated it. He knew that much. He’d watched her enough to know that she’d hack those lusterless brown locks from her head and lop her tits right off if she thought it’d get her more than the life she was doomed to. Tonight, she might very well find herself betrothed to the richest fucking cripple in all the Seven Kingdoms. And she’d probably kill the cunt for it.

This one wasn’t made for silk gowns, and soft bairns and sweet songs.

This one was forged from ice, a flesh and blood wolf in human skin, ready to rip the throat out of any who crossed her. And it wasn’t so hard to cross her. Kill a bloody butcher’s boy, and she’d threaten to string you up by your innards, one day. Only his size and strength had stopped her, he reckoned, and one day even that might not be enough.

"Willas is a lucky man," a Tyrell sitting with Joff commented, eyeing the girl eagerly. "And when his bum-leg keeps him from fucking her properly, reckon I'll be there to see her right."

The shit eater grin on the cunt's face boiled Sandor's blood, but he didn't say a word.

"Ever thought of sampling both Stark sisters at once, your grace?" Another cunt asked Joff.

Joffrey rolled his eyes, much to Sandor's surprise.

"I'd sooner cut my cock off than lay a finger on that frigid cunt," Joffrey declared. "Icy bitch, more a Wildling than a highborn lady."

"She's timid?"

Joffrey laughed. "The opposite. She'd cut your throat in the night and be gone before they could find your corpse."

"Dangerous?"

"She thinks so," Joffrey answered, looking over at the Hound. "You've seen her ‘dancing lessons’, Dog. Is the Stark Bitch dangerous?"

More than you, cunt, Sandor thought cruelly.

"Only to herself," Sandor smirked instead. "And anyone who gets in her way."

"Really?" A Tyrell asked. "Have you ever been in her way, Hound? I've heard talk that she lashes out viciously at you."

"Every day," Joffrey complained. "Vulgar little bitch, she doesn't even flinch when he calls her a cunt or baits her about the traitor she loved."

No, she never flinched, Sandor thought, eyeing her as she was swept across the room and presented to the awkwardly standing heir to Highgarden. The bitch never flinched when he loomed, or barked, or growled. She sneered and snarled and bit at him as cruelly as any wolf. Among the roses of Highgarden, she would be a wicked frost and likely spell their doom.

She curtsied clumsily before the lord when he bowed and kissed the back of her hand, but the curl of her lip told a tale all its own. Sandor's brow furrowed when he caught the way she winced as she rose, and the rigid way she held herself, like she couldn't hardly draw breath.

Was she swooning for the bloody cripple? Or dying in her dress?

Sandor's eyes narrowed when she declined a seat, but greedily accepted a cup of red wine, and gulped it down. Her Father never released her arm as he introduced her around the room, and the Hound watched the girl gather lustful looks like a bitch in heat.

She never smiled. Her mouth often twitched in a mockery of one, but it didn't reach her eyes. As soon as her Father was drawn into discussion with the King, Arya Stark slipped away.

And unbidden, the Hound followed.

There were enough other guards about that he need not watch over the prince so closely, hence his heavy drinking, and no one batted an eye when he circled the festivities as lords and ladies danced. Probably thought he needed a piss. Wasn't a bad idea.

But first, he had a Wolf to bite.

When he found her, she was gasping, leaning against the stone wall of a darkened corridor far beyond the noise of the great hall and sounding like she was dying. Her hands clawed at her back, arms bent unnaturally, scrabbling for the ties.

"Pretty little Wolf, all dressed in sheep's clothing, eh?" He sneered, announcing his presence and stepping out of the dark.

He anticipated a snap about his own well-shined armor and freshly bleached white cloak. And the bitch left him wanting.

Only another rasping breath filled the hall, accompanied by the sound of fingernails scrabbling against silken ties.

"The fuck are you doing?" He asked, annoyed.

"Can't... breathe..." she choked out, turning toward him and by the light of a torch far behind him, he could see the wideness of her eyes and the angry flush of her cheeks. Her lips were turning white.

"For fucks sake," Sandor growled, lunging for her and yanking loose the ties of her gown, huge fingers pawing at the delicate silk until it hung loose.

Still, she gasped raggedly. Still, she clawed.

"Corset," she gasped out. "Under... the silk."

"They'll try to take my head for this," Sandor grunted, digging his fingers into the silk and yanking it apart to reveal a stiff and evil looking corset of brittle whale bone beneath.

He yanked at the ties, but the fuckers wouldn't budge, too delicate and slippery for his drink-clumsy hands.

"Cut it," Arya gasped when he swore.

He did. The blade of his dagger desiccated the nimble threads and the wolf-bitch groaned before inhaling a deep and greedy breath, slumping against the wall.

"For fucks sake, girl. Why the fuck you wearing it, if it might kill you?" He growled, spinning her to face him and watching the way she drew breath after breath, still without the energy for snarling in return.

"Mother's orders," she managed to grunt after an eternity when he shook her, demanding an answer. "To make me look like a Seven damned Lady."

"Not enough silk or wine in the world to make that happen," he sneered.

She shrugged her shoulders free of his grip, ignoring the jibe. Sandor watched as she leaned back against the wall, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as she breathed deeply. The move exposed the long, pale column of her throat and drew attention to the way her tits still sat shoved up toward the low neckline of her gown, offered to him like a glorious feast.

Sandor clenched his fist around the pommel of his sword, unable to tear his eyes away, and unable to deny the throb in his blood-heavy cock. Fuck, he hated her, but what he wouldn't give to drag his teeth across her jugular. He could just imagine how she would whine like a bitch in heat, unafraid to claw him to bits in return.

Fuck.

He couldn't stand it. Growling under his breath, the Hound turned away. She wasn't his to devour, no matter how glorious the fight to the death might prove. His blood pounded in his ears as he began to stomp away, but her low voice called him back.

"Wait..." she said. "I... could you re-lace my gown? I can't reach them on my own..."

Sandor turned back, and he saw the shock register in her eyes at whatever evil lust glinted in his glare.

"Do I look like a fucking handmaid?" He snarled.

"You look like a man who doesn't want to be found out for unlacing the dress of the Hand of the King at what may prove to be her betrothal feast."

Fuck. The bitch had him there. Sending for a maid would be admitting to unlacing her to begin with.

Growling again, he stomped back, roughly grabbing her and shoving her face-first against the wall. She grunted at the impact, and started to turn back, all too willing to slug him one for the attack, but Sandor pinned her cheek against the stone with one huge hand on the back of her head.

"Hold still," he growled when she tensed, before his fingers grasped the thin ties of the gown and yanked them tight.

She gasped when he pulled too hard and Sandor cursed again, loosening them again before jerking them into a quick knot. When he was done, he stepped back quickly, pulling his hands away before he could smooth his palms over her corset-forged curves like his cock was begging of him. The last thing he needed was the trouble that would follow a mistake like that. It had been risky enough following her. No matter the way his cock twitched for her or any other highborn lady, he was just a dog from a lower house. She wasn’t meant for the likes of him. Hells, no one was meant for the likes of him, miserable fucking shit that he was.

Stomping back in the direction of the feast before he could do something that he’d regret – or, more likely, something Lord Stark would make him regret when the little birds and spiders haunting every corner of the city spotted him and reported to someone more important – Sandor turned away from the girl, intent on drowning the stiffness of his cock in enough wine to wilt the fucker.

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years

Text

birthday cake. (f)

☙ pairing: hitoshi x kiyomi

☙ theme: birthday fluff

☙ cw/tw: profanity, wholesome fluff, self-indulgent

☙ a/n-request: this is based off my own real life experience with the birthday cake i got for hitoshi’s birthday this year.

A thick furred silver tipped tail slammed the front door shut. Matching colored ears flattening in disappointment as Kiyomi groaned, huffing and puffing, making a lock of her hair float.

“Maybe out of the box it won’t look so dumb?” She questioned herself while sulking into the kitchen and placing a pink rectangular box on the counter along with other grocery bags.

The hybrid went about putting up the items, avoiding the tragedy inside the box at all costs. When everything was put up though, Kiyomi had to face it yet again. She leaned against the counter opposite of the box and stared at it, hoping and praying in her mind that maybe her illusion quirk could turn into any other kind that would fix her problem permanently and not just temporarily.

With a sigh she deflated, tails falling to the floor and ears laying back.

“He’s going to hate it…”

Kiyomi pouted, scrunching her black wet nose to try and keep from crying. Lifting her chin, she nodded and stomped all two steps towards the bane of her existence. Clawed nails opened the box, revealing a small round cake, its edges lined with purple icing and the cheesiest image of three different colored clip-art cats wearing party hats placed smack dab in the middle. ‘Happy Birthday’ was printed and ‘Hitoshi’ was written in the same purple icing as the edges.

So it wasn’t the prettiest or coolest cake but - it was something right? It had cats, Hitoshi’s favorite animal, well except for foxes now. If only she would’ve been able to get the cake she imagined in her mind. Round, a great picture of her lover in his hero suit printed across it with pretty flowers made of icing that matched the color scheme, swarming around the cake with other trimmings. Unfortunately though, Kiyomi may have had a problem with time management. Her days got away from her and before she knew it, Hitoshi’s birthday was only in a week! In a mad rush that Monday she went to the bakery she loved most, that made only the most beautiful cake creations ever but - they were booked for the week and weekend with cakes. All she could manage were dumb cupcakes.

As a last resort, Kiyomi made her way to the supermarket bakery, it was better than nothing! She still had hope left, until the baker told her they couldn’t print the image she brought due to copyright issues. “This is from a magazine,” she exclaimed, almost in tears. Still there was nothing that could be done, so she asked if they could draw on just a simple cat head, to which they couldn’t. All they could do were images from their own catalog and that was a sad sad catalog to look at. Low and behold though, Kiyomi found the image that was now looking her in the face on the kitchen counter after she placed the cake on a platter.

One of her ears perked up, arms crossed as she gnawed on a claw.

“Well … it’s not the most hideous cake I’ve ever seen.”

Her tails came back to life, swaying around her like curious snakes. They truly had their own minds. With a hum, she located the candles she bought and placed a few on the cake. The more she looked at it, the better it got. Her fear started to subside and she thought of Hitoshi. He wasn’t a hard person to please really, and he didn’t make a big fuss about things like this. He always loved every gift she ever gave him, so maybe this wouldn’t be any different.

“Kit, I’m home!”

“Oh shit, abort, abort!!!” Kiyomi screamed in her mind as she frantically crawled on top of the counter, arms and body covering the monstrosity and tails wrapping around her as added shields.

The sounds of footsteps padding across the floor drew nearer, her ears picking up on every wave bouncing off the walls. Hitoshi running a hand through his wild hair with a tired sigh, him sucking his teeth and his fingers scratching at the hair on his chin.

“Babe where are … you.”

The hero round the corner into the kitchen and slowed to a stop, a purple brow quirking and matching eyes staring curiously at the girl on the counter. A cute fanged smile crossed her features, silver whisker marks shimmering when her cheekbones rose with the action.

“Welcome home Toshi! I missed you!”

“Uh-huh, Kit what the hell are you doing?”

Kiyomi tilted her head, shoulders shrugging with a fake confused hum.

“I was just napping, you know me - gotta get those extra z’s!”

Hitoshi smirked and walked closer to the counter. Anxiety building more and more in the girl before him with each step he took until his palms rested on the flat surface. His eyes raked over Kiyomi, noticing how her tails were frazzled, cheeks a nervous tint of pink, ears not exactly flat on her head but not exactly perky either. Then there was the small motion of her teeth chewing on the inside of her cheek, a small almost unhearable chittering coming from her throat.

“You’re half fox, not half cat. I know more than anyone that your cute little ass doesn’t sleep at all unless you’re burrowed deep down in 6 layers of blankets. The kitchen counter is too ‘exposed’ for you. Want to try again?”

Silver eyes looked anywhere but straight at him, her body curling in more.

“Okay - I uh, was getting some rays, it’s warmer in here.”

Hitoshi licked and bit at his lip, trying to hide his “so done with your shit’ look before sighing.

“Kit - it’s 8pm.”

“Maybe I just wanna be on the damn counter! There’s no rules saying I can’t be Toshi!”

“You’re not wrong but you aren’t telling me the truth either. So we can go about this one of two ways. Either you stop being a little brat and tell me or I make you tell me, simple as that.”

Kiyomi’s ears flattened even more, she sucked in her lips, one tail moving to cover the lower half of her face in retaliation of Hitoshi’s light threat. However, Kiyomi didn’t think before doing this. With said tail being moved, Hitoshi caught a glimpse of what exactly his girlfriend was trying to hide.

“What’cha got there kit?”

Kiyomi shook her head violently, tail moving back to its spot. Hitoshi looked at her, putting on his best smile and big purple puppy dog eyes as he crossed his arms and leaned onto the counter. Face inching closer and closer to her own.

“Yomi~, that looks like a cake and it so happens to be my birthday.”

“...so.”

“So, as my birthday wish I wish to see that cake you’re guarding so aggressively.”

A sad whine escaped Kiyomi, her sulking further onto the counter. Brows furrowing as her silver eyes turned sad and she pouted.

“That’s not fair Toshi … it’s ugly and y-you’re gonna hate it, I know it.”

Hitoshi frowned and reached out to pet at her hair, fingers scratching right behind her ear. Kiyomi tilted her head more into his touch, one of her tails subtly flapping up and down with content as he calmed her.

“That’s not true in the least. I could never hate something from you. All of my favorite things come from you, you could give me a fucking sticker and I’d love it. Plus - its just a cake baby, it’s gonna get eaten anyway and digested and well you know.”

Kiyomi softly snorted, her eyes blinking shut as she purred when Hitoshi trailed his fingers down her cheek to now scratch underneath her chin.

“You’re still not playing fair, I have too many weak points for you to take advantage of.”

“So does that mean I can see?”

The hybrid sighed, looking to where she was curled around the cake. Before she unwrapped herself though, Kiyomi smiled at Hitoshi. “Not without a birthday kiss first.”

The lavenderette smirked as he tugged lightly on her chin and pulled her into a sweet kiss. Kiyomi nearly becoming a puddle on the surface of the counter, her tails frazzling with delight now and ears resting comfortably against her hair. Hitoshi thumbed over her silver whiskers, eliciting more mewls and purrs from his little kit as their kiss lingered. Hell, she could’ve just given him a kiss like this for his birthday and he’d be content. But Hitoshi knew how determined his girlfriend was, she was also a perfectionist and was hard on herself when things didn’t turn out exactly as she planned. Kiyomi nearly ran herself ragged their first christmas together with decorating and gift giving. She liked to go above and beyond for Hitoshi, he couldn’t blame her though, he did the same. He was just a lot more laid back about it, just as he was with everything else.

Still though, Hitoshi always admired and adored Kiyomi’s determination and drive about her passions. It was one of the many things they shared.

“I love you Kiyomi - now give me that damn cake!”

She giggled as Hitoshi ticked at her clavicle, not fighting anymore and unveiling the cake, removing herself from the counter top to stand next to him. Kiyomi hugged his arm, burying her face into it as the hero examined the item. Her ears perked at hearing him chuckle and feeling arms wrap around her frame, a kiss being pressed to her forehead.

“You … you like it?” She asked nervously.

“Kit, I love it, really. Its cheesy but it’s fucking perfect. You went out of your way for me like always and I appreciate it more than you know. This is the best birthday cake I’ve ever received.”

Kiyomi smiled big, showcasing her canines and making Hitoshi smile just as wide in return. He turned and hugged her tight, enjoying how all three of her tails wrapped around him. She nuzzled his chest as he pet and kissed the top of her head.

“I’m glad you like it handsome. Next year I’ll try and top it with an even cheesier picture!”

Hitoshi smirked and mentioned how he’d love to see that as she went to grab a knife and plate to finally cut into the cake. Sure they hadn’t had dinner yet but both of them could never turn down sweets so one piece to share wouldn’t hurt anyone. After slicing a small piece, Kiyomi took a bite and hummed. For it to be a corny looking cake, it tasted amazing at least.

The purple haired hero grinned and stepped closer into her space, wiping off a dab of purple frosting that was left on her lip and licked it off his finger. Kiyomi went to feed the remainder of the cake to him, smiling sweetly with tails flicking as he leaned in for a bite.

“I love you,” being the last words out of her mouth before shoving the cake in his face and smearing icing all over his nose and cheeks then running off like a bat out of hell.

Hitoshi chuckled as he stood there and shucked off some of the sweet goop, sucking a bit of it off his thumb.

“Oh I love you too Kit, so much I’m going to smother you with all of my love, come here!”

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha x oc #mha x oc #bnha oc #mha oc #kiyomi tanaka #hitoshi shinsou x kiyomi #kiyoshin #hitoshi shinsou #fluff #birthday

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ssa-montgomery · 5 years

Text

Pretty Boy Like You Chapter 1

Word Count for this chapter: 2776

Story Summary: Alec Lightwood is fresh out of college and working for his mother at her law firm. With Alec shouldering the responsibility of the family business Jace and Izzy are free to work where ever they want leading them to Pandemonium, the best strip club in the city. Izzy works the bar, Jace works security and Alec can’t work his head around the appeal of strip clubs. Magnus Bane can’t work his head around the appeal of the cocky guys who act like their better than everyone else in his club. Alec is sure he could never fall for a stripper and Magnus is determined not to fall for a rich city boy.

Characters in this chapter: Magnus Bane x Alec Lightwood, Izzy Lightwood x Clary Fray (Mentioned), Jace Herondale x Simon Lewis (Mentioned), Maia Roberts, Ragnor Fell, Catarina Loss, Raphael Santiago, Dot Rollins, Maryse Lightwood (Mentioned), Jordan Kyle (Mentioned)

Warnings: Swearing, smut, strippers/strip clubs, lap dances, pole dancing, future smut, sort of enemy to lovers, mature-rated so if you’re not comfortable with that stuff probably best to avoid this one :D

A/N: Hey everyone! Welcome to my new fic :D This is my first ever mature-rated fic so I really hope you enjoy it. This story will contain smut at some point so just keep that in mind! With school back again my updates on my fics might be a bit slower than usual but I will try to update whenever possible. The end of this chapter is really just a funny dialog section and I promise we will get into the action next chapter. Thank you for reading!

Feedback is what motivates me to work so please let me know what you think! Reblogs are also greatly appreciated.

Taglist is open!

“Hey, Alec.” Isabelle leaned around the door to the study, her nails gently tapping on the wood. Alec was seated at the desk, his laptop open in front of him. He had his mouth pressed into the palm of his hand as he read over the work on the screen. “You busy?”

“No,” Alec said shaking himself out of a trance. He could almost still see the letters floating in front of his eyes when he looked away from the screen. He closed his laptop over and slid it to the other side of the desk. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate to ask this but mom’s busy, could you drop me off at my interview?” Izzy asked. Her expression was hopeful as she waiting for Alec’s answer.

“Yeah alright fine.” Alec agreed. He knew Izzy had been waiting for an interview for a while now, it was important to her and he wasn’t going to say no when it came to something like that. She had only just turned 21 and was trying to find her first bartending job. With Alec following into the family law firm Maryse didn’t mind what her other children worked at. Jace had been working security at a strip club in the city for almost a year now.

“Thank you so much, Alec. I think Jace needs a lift too.” She said running her hand over the back of her neck before ducking out of the room again.

“Tell Jace he can walk! It’s not his interview.” Alec shouted after her.

Alec pushed his chair away from the desk and reached his arms up towards the ceiling, feeling his back crack when he stretched out. He had been hunched over the desk for hours now working away on a file for his mother. To be honest, he was glad to get out of the house and away from the work, even if it was just to drop Izzy and Jace off at work. He loved what he did, he had studied for it, but the seemingly endless paperwork was still overwhelming at times.

Alec stood up and pushed his chair back under the desk, grabbing his leather jacket off the back of it as he did. He slipped it on and made his way out of the room and down the stairs to the main hall. Alec’s family had always been well off when it came to money, even after his parents separated a few months ago, and the large house in the city that they lived in reflected it. Alec had grown up getting everything he asked for and he knew his friends were always shocked when they saw his house for the first time but it was what he was used to and he didn’t even notice anymore.

Alec grabbed his car keys off the table next to the front door and walked outside. It was later in the day and the cold night air was starting to set in, adding a bite to the wind. The beautiful reds and oranges of the sunset were visible between the buildings of the city. Izzy and Jace were already standing next to Alec’s car waiting for him.

“I thought I said you were walking Jace.” Alec laughed.

“And why would I do that when I have such a wonderful brother who is willing to give me a lift?”

Alec rolled his eyes at Jace and unlocked the car doors. Isabelle slid into the front seat and Jace climbed into the seat behind, messing up her hair as revenge for her taking his usual seat. Izzy huffed and pulled down the mirror to smooth her hair back into place.

“So, where exactly am I bringing you, Izzy?” Alec asked, the engine roaring to life when he twisted the keys.

~~~

The car came to a stop on the curb out the side the club Izzy and Jace had directed Alec to. The outside seemed like any other club in the city to Alec, the walls were darkly coloured and had no windows in them. A muscular bouncer stood outside the closed doors keeping an eye on the small crowd that had already started to form outside despite the club not opening for another hour. The word “Pandemonium” was written across the wall in neon purple lights.

“Seriously Iz? You couldn’t find a better bartender gig that wasn’t at the strip club Jace works at?” Alec questioned turning to look at her.

Izzy shrugged. “It’s one of the best in town, and plus it pays really well. Clary told me about the job, she knows the owner.”

Alec turned the keys killing the engine before stepping out of the car onto the footpath, Izzy and Jace following him. Jace walked over to talk to the man standing at the doors, it was clear they knew each other. Alec looked over at the group that was already lined up against the wall. They were about the same age as him and the majority of the group were girls. They were dressed similar to Izzy, short dresses and skirts paired with high heel boots. Alec couldn’t imagine himself willingly going to a strip club just to spend a load of money standing around watching someone on stage. It wasn’t his thing. Jace gestured him and Izzy over when the bouncer opened the doors for them.

Inside the club was dimly lit, the lights that hung down from the ceiling were the same neon purple as the sign outside. The only proper lighting came from the lights that surrounded the stage in the middle of the club. The stage looked likea T-shaped runway that had poles scattered along the front of it. Already the club was filled with music, the bass of the song practically shook the floor and Alec could feel it through his boots. He let out a groand when he finally placed the song.

“Talk Dirty? Really? Classy.” He said sarcastically.

“You said it yourself Alec, it’s a strip club,” Isabelle sighed elbowing her brother in the ribs. “And it’s a decent song!”

They walked towards the back of the club where the bar was situated. There was a girl no older Izzy standing behind the bar shining a row of cocktail glasses that had been layed out on the surface of the bar. Her short hair curled around her face and a pair of large silver hoop earrings seemed to glow purple with the lights. She was dressed casually, a denim jacket thrown over a black t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Four parallel scars that looked like claw marks ran across her neck towards her collarbone.

“I was attacked by a dog when I was nineteen.” She said noticing Alec staring at the scars.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare.” Alec apologized.

“It’s alright, I’m Maia Roberts. You must be Isabelle Lightwood?” She asked pointing at Izzy.

“That’s me.” Izzy nodded.

“Right, well I’ll show you the ropes now. If you feel like working after you can take you shift tonight or you can do tomorrow night.” Maia explained. “Magnus is quite flexible with work hours. Oh and Jace, Jordan’s in the back. He’s working with you tonight.”

“Okay.” Jace disappeared through a door to the right of the bar into what Alec presumed was the back of the club that was reserved for staff.

“I actually think I’d prefer tomorrow night if that’s alright,” Izzy said. “Alec, would you mind waiting until I’m done?”

“Okay,” Alec said reluctantly. He didn’t want to leave Izzy walking home at night in the cold and he could survive hanging around a closed strip club for half an hour.

Alec wandered away from the bar when Maia started to explain everything to Izzy. Despite there being plenty of comfortable looking booths Alec could have sat in all around the club he found himself standing against the wall next to the stage. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started to scroll through his timeline to kill sometime. He was so lost in his phone he didn’t even notice the woman who walked past him heading for the door behind the stage.

~~~

“Isabelle Lightwood just arrived for her interview.” Dot announced glancing down at her phone where it sat on the table next to her. The screen was lit up with a text from Maia.

“Jace’s sister right?” Ragnor asked dragging one of the chairs from the dressing tables across the carpeted floor to where Dot had perched with her legs tucked up underneath her on a table next to Magnus who was still focused on his makeup.

Everyone else was already finished, having done most of the work at home before they arrived now only needing a touch up before the club actually opened. Magnus, on the other hand, had decided he wasn’t happy with his when he got to the club and had taken it all off. He was now doing his makeup for a second time.

“Yeah, she’s working bar with Maia.” Dot nodded.

The conversation was cut off when the door to the dressing room was flung open hitting off the wall with a bang and Catarina waltzed inside. Magnus jumped at the noise, making his hand slip dragging a thick black line of eyeliner down across his cheek.

“Really Catarina?” He snapped grabbing a wipe to once again remove his eye makeup and start over.

“Did you guys see the Lightwood outside?” She asked completely ignoring Magnus’s comment.

“We were just talking about Isabelle before you barged in,” Magnus said waving the wipe at Catarina’s reflection in the mirror as he routed through his bag looking for the right eyeshadow shade.

“No, no not Isabelle. Oh, what’s his name? Alec is it?”

“Oh, the older brother,” Ragnor said leaning forward in his chair. Catarina had clearly caught his attention. They had always been ones for gossip for as long as Magnus had known them which was most of their lives. They were all over any interesting piece of information they could find. They knew something about everyone who came into the club.

“Well, he’s a total smoke show.” Catarina sighed throwing herself down into a chair, draping her legs over the arm of it.

“Seriously?” Dot asked unraveling her legs from underneath her before jumping down from where she had been sitting, a smirk spreading across her face. “Where is he?”

“He’s just outside standing off to the side of the stage.”

“I’m going to look.” Dot said making her way across the room towards the door.

Not even a second later Ragnor jumped to his feet hurrying after Dot. “I’m coming too!”

Magnus rolled his eyes at his friends watching them run out the door and down the narrow corridor together. Magnus had known them all for most of his life, they were his best friends and he loved them to pieces. They had always been there for him and had jumped at the opportunity to work with him when he opened the club. As much as he loved them, they still got on his nerves from time to time. Only a minute later they both fell back through the door.

“Oh. My. God.” Dot giggled shaking her head. “You weren’t wrong Cat.”

“He is hot.” Ragnor nodded reclaiming his chair next to Magnus.

“You not going to get a look, Raphael?” Catarina asked noticing Raphael who had been silently lying across the velvet couch in the corner of the room for the first time. Raphael was the quietest of the group generally just silently listening in on conversations and adding the occasional sarcastic comment. Despite that, he was one of Magnus’s best dancers. Though he might not act like it Magnus knew he cared, it wasn’t exactly like Raphael needed the money from the job. He ran a successful hotel in the center of the city that brought in a lot of money.

“I’m quite alright Catarina, boys aren’t my thing,” Raphael shrugged.

“What about Izzy? You going to find her before the club opens?” Dot said her tone suggestive as she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Girls aren’t my thing either.”

“And Magnus? I’m surprised you didn’t go, he seems just your type. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes.” Catarina said bringing her foot up to poke Magnus in the back. Catarina was Magnus’s oldest friend out of the group. He had met her the first time he came to New York and she helped him settle in.

Magnus scoffed.

“Some rich city boy who probably works at a law firm is not my type. I’m sure he already has a pretty girlfriend that he’s buying a white picket fence house with and choosing baby names.” Magnus waved a hand dismissively.

Magnus was used to Alec’s type in the club. Young men who walk around like they own the place and can do what they want just because they have more money than everyone else there. He couldn’t stand their stuck up attitudes. Magnus already had to deal with Jace’s cocky attitude on a near-daily basis and he certainly wasn’t going to go drool over another Lightwood.

“To be fair, I’m almost 100% percent sure he does actually work for his mother’s law firm.” Dot admitted.

“Talk about hot people, Maryse has got be to like what 40? And boy Mama Lightwood has still got it.” Ragnor said staring off at the far wall presumably thinking about Maryse.

“Trueblood,” Raphael added.

“What?” Ragnor questioned turning to look at him

“It’s Maryse Trueblood now. She got divorced.” Raphael said casually opening the buttons on the cuffs of the black silk button-up shirt. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Wait so she’s like … single now?”

“Ragnor.” Magnus glared at his friend, a disapproving look on his face. There was only so much he could deal with and his friends were starting to push his limits.

“I didn’t say anything. I simply asked a question.”

“I wonder if Alec is single,” Catarina sighed.

“Honestly Catarina, you work in a strip club. You are surrounded by half-naked men every day, what is so impressive about a fully dressed Alec Lightwood?” Magnus demanded.

“Okay but consider this.” Catarina pointed at Magnus’s reflection in the mirror. “Alec is actually hot.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. No offense taken Cat.” Raphael huffed rolling his eyes.

“Literally sitting right here.” Ragnor threw his hands up into the air.

“Oh, that’s funny Catarina.” Magnus laughed spinning around in his chair so he was facing her. “We both know I’m hotter than any Lightwood.”

“You just have a big ego.” Catarina teased sticking her tongue out at Magnus.

“I don’t know what’s in that families genes but.” Dot let out a whistle and leaned back against the table. Her arms folded over her chest.

“You don’t know what’s in their DNA genes but you want to get into their actual jeans?” Catarina snorted.

“I mean is it even genes because Jace is like, a god and he’s adopted.” Ragnor pointed out.

“His boyfriend certainly agrees.”

“Maybe it’s just like an aura they give off.”

“Okay, I’ve had it with you lot.” Magnus sighed throwing his eyeliner pencil down onto the table with a shake of his head. “I can’t sit here for another minute listening to you drool over the Lightwoods. I’m going to warm up.”

“Alright, keep your eyes peeled for Alec! He’s to the left of the stage.”

Magnus didn’t even bother turning around, he simply twisted his arm behind his back and flipped his middle finger at Catarina as he walked out of the room. He could still hear their gossiping halfway down the long hallway that lead to the main club. Magnus usually wasn’t one to shy away from a conversation about an attractive person one of them had spotted at the club that night but something about this rich city boy made him groan. He just wasn’t interested. Jace worked for him and he’d seen Izzy around the club even before her interview tonight and sure, they were attractive but they weren’t Magnus’s type. He was sure Alec would be no different.

Magnus emerged into the club and instantly felt move relaxed. Magnus was most comfortable when he was dancing, whether it was at the club or just dancing around his sitting room with Dot. Magnus couldn’t help himself, his curiosity getting the better of him as he climbed up onto the stage. He snuck a sidewards glanced to where Catarina had told him Alec would be standing.

Oh fuck.

Catarina was never going to let him live this down.

Taglist: @thewaywardimpala

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writings-of-dumpy · 5 years

Text

Once Upon a Dream V

A/N: So this part is even longer than the last.... 3.2k words... So there’s that. Also blood and violence in this chapter!

“Tea?” Dracula offered Rose when they entered his elaborate room. Rose looked around the room and noticed many intricate carvings in the marble and wood that made up the room. Dracula poured the hot liquid into an ornately decorated fine China teacup from a matching kettle.

Rose shook her head.

“Shame. It’s quite good. I perfected the recipe myself for over 100 years,” Dracula spoke and took a sip from the fine China cup.

“Why are we up here?” Rose asked defiantly.

“My dear, you have no idea the abilities you possess. We are here because I want to help you,” Dracula spoke with a voice smoother and sweeter than honey.

“I don’t need help,” Rose stated flatly.

“Oh, but you do! I can see it in your eyes…” Dracula began and stepped closer to her. He inhaled, “Smell it on your skin.”

“I think you’re smelling sweat—it’s a thing people with pulses do, but I’m sure you’ve long forgotten about that,” Rose said with a step backward.

Dracula smirked. “Tell me, Rose… Have you ever wanted to move an object and it’s resisted you?”

“No,” Rose lied. That had happened plenty of times when she was younger, but now she could move things or people upwards of three tons with her mind.

“Have you ever wanted to shake the earth with nothing more than a look?” Dracula inquired again.

“Why the hell would I want to do that?” Rose asked in response.

Dracula was silent for a moment, and then spoke again.

“Have you ever wanted someone to love you so desperately that they’d be willing to do anything for you?” he spoke smoothly.

Rose looked at him and couldn’t come up with a response quick enough for Dracula to be certain of her response.

“Ah…” Dracula smiled smugly and nodded. “So there is someone that you want… I can help you. I can help you make them want you.”

“That’s not fair to them. That’s manipulation… mind control,” Rose said and trailed off.

“I can teach you to unlock that power within you, my dear. And then you can have anyone you want,” Dracula persuaded.

“You know how to control people’s minds,” Rose accused.

“I know how to teach a powerful woman to harness her abilities,” Dracula said forcefully. “If you become one of my children, you could learn everything I’ve learned—thousands of years of knowledge at your disposal for anything!”

Rose eyed him carefully.

“There’s someone you want, I can see it… But does he feel the same..?” Dracula said and placed his cold hands on Rose’s. “I can help you make him see how desirable and wonderful you are and why he should love you, that’s all. Mind control makes it sound so dishonest… It’s merely an unveiling of the truth to someone who needs to see it.”

Rose was astounded that his thoughts matched the words he spoke.

~*~

Scott entered the ballroom first, followed by Derek, Peter, and then Stiles.

“Finally. It took you all long enough,” one of them said with a smirk.

“We’re not exactly local,” Scott retorted.

“We got here pretty fast, I’d say,” the second responded.

“Cut the shit, canon fodder. Where’s Dracula?” Peter asked aggressively.

“The kitsune or the psychic?” the third asked. “Because you’ll find the fox in several pieces and the boss has the psychic.”

Scott roared and attacked the third Lamia, but he moved too quickly for Scott to keep up. The Lamia laughed and shrugged. “Too slow, dog boy.”

By the end of the Lamia’s jest at Scott, an arrow had flown through the air and shot into the Lamia’s back clear through his heart. He fell to the floor and Stiles watched in horror as the body cracked and fell apart like a statue. Derek, Scott and Stiles all looked at Peter, who was holding a crossbow.

“What? I have Rosewood arrows, sue me,” Peter said.

Stiles stood back as the wolves and Lamia fought. He could barely see anything; it was a mess of claws, fangs, stakes and animalistic growls. Remembering the immediate danger posed to Rose and Kira, he quickly began to search for the two of them. The loud ruckus that the brawl in the ballroom made was lost on his ears the farther away he walked from it and soon he heard a muffled scream and isolated the sound to a small door below a stone staircase. The door shook with an impact from the other side and Stiles heard a voice that sounded like Kira scream from the other side.

“Kira?! Kira, hang on, I’m going to break down the door, stand back,” Stiles affirmed and backed up. He heard Kira’s sounds of protest, and just as he was about to charge, he spotted a key ring on the side of the door. Instead of breaking his shoulder, Stiles decided to unlock the door. Once the door opened, Stiles rushed over to Kira and released her from the ropes and tape that bound her arms and legs.

“Thank God, Stiles!” Kira breathed out and gripped his shoulders once she was freed. “Where’s Scott?!”

“He, Derek and Peter are in the ballroom. Scott thinks you’re dead—the Lamia told him you were in pieces. Are you alright, are you hurt?” Stiles asked and looked for any blood or obvious injury.

“I’m fine!” Kira said. “Rose is up in Dracula’s chambers. There’s a back corridor that he makes his lackeys use—it’ll give you some surprise advantage.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay, thanks.” Stiles explained and handed her one of his two stakes. “They can only be killed with this in their heart and they’re fast, be careful.”

Kira nodded and ran off toward the ballroom. Stiles gripped his remaining stake and headed towards the corridor. He found a spiral stone staircase and he climbed it with his pulse racing.

“There’s someone you want, I can see it… But does he feel the same..?” Stiles heard a cold and haunting voice say. “I can help you make him see how desirable and wonderful you are and why he should love you, that’s all. Mind control makes it sound so dishonest… It’s merely an unveiling of the truth to someone who needs to see it.”

Stiles managed to look through the hole in the door and saw who he could only assume is Dracula cornering Rose and holding her hands in his claws. Rose looked extremely uncomfortable and like she was fighting crippling fear. Seeing her so scared made his instincts spring up and he quickly opened the door and charged the monster. Before Stiles could strike, he stopped dead in his tracks when Dracula had clutched Rose and had his nails against her throat. The mere touch of them on her skin was enough to draw a drop of blood.

“One more step and not only will you die, but you will watch the one you came to save die, and only when I feel you have wallowed in your failure enough will I put you out of your misery,” Dracula hissed.

“Well, there’s no arguing with that…” Stiles said to himself.

Dracula emitted a chuckling sound so disturbingly dark that Stiles shuddered and he saw Rose visibly cringe. “You’re over your head, boy.”

“Stiles, get out of here!” Rose yelled and Dracula turned his head to look at her.

“Well, well, my pet… This can’t be the boy you’re so hopelessly in love with, can it?” Dracula released Rose and slinked over to Stiles.

Stiles’ heart jumped at the mention of Rose feeling so strongly for him, but his pulse soon ran cold as the blue eyes fell on him and peered into his own brown eyes.

Dracula scoffed, “He’s a mere human? Nothing special about him at all. And this is your beloved, child?”

Rose said nothing and Stiles saw her chest rise and fall rapidly as tears started to well up in her eyes. Stiles ached to hold her in his arms but knew the consequences of his movement towards her, so he stayed where he was and watched Rose tremble.

Dracula clicked his tongue and glided back over to her and reached his hand up to dry the tears that fell. “No need for that, pet.”

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Stiles screamed at Dracula, whose eyes locked onto Stiles and his shock quickly diminished into cold-hearted rage.

“You DARE speak to me that way?! After I invited you into my home and offer the treasure of your life the chance to be better than anything you could ever imagine?!” Dracula roared, but Stiles held his composure. “I admire your gall, but it unfortunately has no use to me.”

“Stiles!” Scott yelled as he entered the room with a bruised and bloodied face and body from battle.

Stiles looked back at Scott but his attention was pulled back to Rose by an anguished scream that sounded almost too horrific to come from her. His head whipped over to see Rose’s arm in Dracula’s mouth and a feral look in his eyes. Rose started to crumple, Scott charged the monster, and with a smirk Dracula dragged his teeth across her arm which sliced the veins he had nearly drained. As if he were never truly there, Dracula seemed to disappear into the night with a disturbing laugh. Stiles ran to Rose’s side and held her in his arms. He felt for a pulse on her neck and found a weak one.

“She needs a hospital NOW,” Stiles said and lifted her up.

“There’s one just down the road, I’ll tell them you’re coming,” Peter said and ran off like a shot in the dark. They all rushed to Stiles’ jeep and Scott sat in the driver’s side while Stiles and Derek sat in the back with Rose’s limp body. Kira occupied the passenger’s seat and the engine roared to life. Scott drove as fast as he could and within a few minutes they arrived at the hospital where Peter had acquired a few hospital staff who looked less than pleased and slightly afraid. Stiles held Rose’s face in his hands the whole ride over and he couldn’t help but let a few tears slip away as he told her to hang on for him and that he needed her to fight just a bit longer.

“Please, Rose, you can’t leave me. I need you, just hang on,” he pleaded. Stiles hadn’t felt such desperation drip out of his mouth since his mother died. “You’re my soulmate, I can’t lose you...”

Rose was carted off on the gurney and into critical care promptly upon the jeep’s arrival and the rest of the car’s occupants were questioned about what happened to her. Stiles was bordering on hysteric, so Scott chose to sit him down and let Derek and Peter take the lead.

“She fell and a vase broke in her hand. It was glass, it cut deep,” Derek told the triage nurse.

“Any family we can call? Emergency contact?” she asked.

“We’re the emergency contact. We’re her family,” Kira said sternly.

“Okay, just sit tight out here and we’ll let you know as soon as anything changes,” she said to them with an encouraging smile.

Stiles was nearly inconsolable on the inside, but he didn’t let it show. His mind was whirring mess of panicked thoughts and regrets. He replayed the scenario over and over in his head and he blamed himself for not being quick enough, for not calling out to her, for turning his head away from her…

“Stiles, it’s alright. She didn’t drink any blood, did she?” Scott’s voice sounded in a whisper that pulled Stiles from his spiraling.

Stiles shook his head, “Not that I saw, but I got there late.”

Scott nodded. “Well, we just have to wait 24 hours and it’ll be like it never happened.”

Stiles nodded. “I need to be back there to protect her.”

“Stiles there’s nothing you can do right now. There are two very specific things that have to happen for her to become a Lamia: she has to drink blood and she has to die. If we can prevent those things from happening for 24 hours, she’ll be fine,” Peter reasoned, and Stiles nodded. Peter placed a comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles raised a brow at the uncharacteristically kind gesture, but appreciated it nonetheless.

After about two hours of agonizing silence concerning Rose’s condition, one of the nurses came out and told the group, “We have stabilized her enough for transport to Beacon Hills hospital. The doctor thinks she’ll make a full recovery, but she lost a lot of blood and there are sutures on her arm. Only one of you can ride in the ambulance with her to the next hospital, who’s it going to be?”

Stiles immediately raised his hand and stepped forward. “Me, I’m going with her.”

“Okay, come with me,” she said and beckoned him.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Scott assured with a nod and Stiles smiled in response.

Stiles was taken into the back of the hospital where the ambulances parked and was helped onto one. Once inside, Stiles was told to sit on the small black bench next to the track that held the gurney in place for the ride. Shortly after the paramedic driver left, he returned with Rose in tow and with another paramedic. The gurney was slid into the ambulance and Stiles saw that Rose was connected to a half-full bag of red fluid that Stiles assumed was blood. Once the paramedics finished hooking her up to the monitors that were in the vehicle, they told Stiles to tell them if any of the monitors beeped and that she had been in and out of consciousness, so tell them if she awakens.

Stiles thanked them and they nodded and gave him encouraging smiles. Once the van started moving, Stiles heard the sirens faintly through the thick walls and doors of the truck, and he took Rose’s hand in his larger one. It was colder than he had expected and his heart sank. He looked at her face and noticed how pale she was, but the longer they were in the ambulance, the better her color was.

“Stiles…?” he heard Rose groan after a few minutes on the road.

“I’m here, yeah. It’s me, Rose…” he said and he smiled at her. He poked his head through the window to tell the paramedics, “she woke up.”

The passenger paramedic nodded and thanked him, then wrote something on her chart. Stiles turned his attention back to Rose as soon as he was sure he didn’t need to do anything more.

“Where am I? What’s happening?” she croaked out. Stiles saw her eyes take in her surroundings.

Stiles placed a hand on her forehead and stroked her hair to calm her increasingly panicked look. “You’re in an ambulance, you’re going to Beacon Hills hospital, okay? You’re safe here.”

Rose weakly gripped Stiles’ hand and nodded. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Stiles smiled and kissed her forehead. “Me too…”

“Is everyone else okay?” she asked.

“Yes, everyone is totally fine. Once we get to Beacon Hills I bet everyone will see you,” Stiles soothed her.

Rose trembled a bit and Stiles perked up. “Are you cold? What’s the matter?”

Rose nodded, “Cold.”

Stiles took his flannel off and draped it over her, then rubbed her arms. “That’s the best I can do for now, sweetheart.”

Rose smiled, “It’s good, thank you.”

Stiles didn’t know how long it took for them to get to the hospital, but he was relieved to see Scott’s mom when the ambulance door opened. When he stepped out after Rose was rolled away, he looked out and saw that the sun was starting to poke out behind the trees. Rose had been awake for a while, so once she was settled in a room, Melissa let Stiles, Scott and Kira in to see her. When Stiles walked into the room, he saw that she was still wearing his flannel, but now had a much more suitable blanket as well.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Scott asked her.

Rose nodded. “Better now that I have back the liter of blood I lost.”

Kira leaned over and hugged Rose, who hugged her back.

“We have to keep a close eye on you for 24 hours… that’s the window it will take for you to become a Lamia if Dracula gets to you..” Scott said.

Rose nodded. “I know. Good thing they’re holding me here for 24 hours—standard protocol when giving whole blood.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you’re psychic?” Kira asked. Rose shrugged.

“I didn’t want certain people thinking I’m weird and then not wanting to talk to me,” Rose said softly and eyed Stiles.

“Dude, we literally met in a dream. You being psychic would make sense… it does make sense,” Stiles said and held Rose’s hand. Rose smiled and Stiles felt her squeeze.

“Alright, visiting hours are officially over: everyone out,” Melissa said and looked at her watch. “For an hour anyway.”

“Mom, there’s a supernatural problem and we kind of need to stay,” Scott explained.

Melissa eyed them all. “Stiles can stay in here and the rest of you can guard the door. I’ll make sure I check frequently, okay?”

Stiles let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god..”

“No, thank me,” Melissa corrected.

“We’ll see you in the morning, okay? If you need anything, Derek, Peter, and I are all right outside the door,” Scott told Rose. Rose smiled and thanked him.

After a pause, Stiles spoke up. “Do you need anything?”

Rose looked at their hands and smiled. “No, I’m perfectly fine.”

Stiles blushed when he felt her thumb caress his first finger’s knuckle.

“You should get some sleep—it’s been a very rough eight hours,” Stiles encouraged.

Rose frowned. “I don’t know if I can after…”

Stiles encased her hand with his free one. “Hey, I’m here. Nothing is going to hurt you, you’re safe with me, okay?” he told her in earnest and stared into her eyes.

Rose sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “Will you stay with me..? Next to me, that is?”

Stiles’ heart started beating faster and he couldn’t form the words, so he simply nodded and climbed into bed next to her. They had been this close before while dancing, but this was a new feeling. He opened his arms for her and she fit perfectly with her head resting in the crook of his neck and her arm draped across his chest. Their legs tangled comfortably under the covers after Stiles had thrown his shoes off.

“Comfortable?” he asked her after a moment of stillness between them and tilted his head to look at her. He saw her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, but her breath entered and exited her nose at a steady and even pace. Stiles smiled and gently placed a kiss to her forehead and held her close to him. He felt completely at peace here with her—a feeling reminiscent of how he felt in the dreams he had of her in a meadow. Stiles relaxed, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

#stiles stilinski x oc

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akitokihojo · 6 years

Text

Rage

Recently, I saw some art of human Inuyasha saving Kagome, which I am all here for! But then it gave me an idea. What if the roles were reversed? Enter bamf Kagome in all of her well-deserved glory.

..............................................

Kagome slid the door open slightly, peeking out into the dark woods from Sango's doorway for what she felt was maybe the eighteenth time within the last thirty minutes. Nothing. Still nothing. Tilting her head back, she eyed the night sky hoping the moon would have appeared overheard since she last poked her head out. Nothing.

Sliding the door shut, she went back to the pacing she'd been doing since the sun set. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest while she flicked her thumb nail back and forth over the nail of her middle finger, creating a clicking sound that did little to distract her.

"I take it they still aren't back?" Sango asked, setting her sleeping one year old down in his makeshift, bedside bassinet and peering nervously over her shoulder at Kagome.

Kagome could only shake her head in response, knowing her nerves were getting the better of her, and thankful all of Sango's children were asleep so they wouldn't pick up on the unsettling emotions that practically oozed from her own pores.

Earlier today, a man from a village a couple of hours out requested the help of Miroku and Inuyasha. A demon had begun reeking havoc on the village the night before, and was holding all of the women hostage while literally devouring the men. A demon like this wasn't something the hanyou and monk were strangers to, being well-known demon slayers now, so they obliged and followed the villager back. Kagome couldn't help but feel surprised when Inuyasha agreed to help so easily. Normally on the night of the new moon he was hesitant to leave the house, let alone agree to slay a demon. And when she asked if he was sure, Inuyasha had promised to be back before sundown.

Sundown was hours ago.

Kagome felt sick, her stomach feeling heavy in her abdomen. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. And it only agitated her more that Sango appeared so calm when her husband was missing, too.

"They'll be back." Sango placed a light hand on her friend's shoulder, stopping her from her pacing in an attempt to soothe her nerves. "Maybe there was just a small set back. Maybe they decided to stay the night in the village and they'll return by morning."

"On an average night, I might take your word for it. But it's a new moon, and I've got a bad feeling." Kagome's arms dropped to her sides, her voice coming out small and breathy.

Sango felt her heart give an aggressive thud, the anxiety beginning to boil up and spill over. She'd felt something was off all night, and not just because the priestess in her home was a nervous wreck. For hours now, she'd just been telling herself to be patient. Miroku and Inuyasha had run late on numerous occasions before, and have even had to stay in distant villages overnight due to set backs and late hours. Something was different tonight though, and Sango couldn't believe she hadn't realized what tonight was. More importantly, Sango couldn't believe Inuyasha agreed to help out on such a compromising occasion.

"I... I should go after them." Kagome stated, peering back over to the closed door and then to the corner of the room where her bow and arrows sat leaning against the wall.

"Kagome, no. Not alone. It's too dangerous! If something did happen to them, what's to say the same won't happen to you?!" The mother gripped Kagome's hand as she tried to move past, shaking her head with pleading eyes.

"There's no guarantees, Sango, but I have to try."

"What if they're on their way back?"

"Then we'll cross paths."

"Maybe I should go, instead."

"No." Kagome held a tone of finality to her friend's suggestion, letting her know there was no room for compromise. While she was, no doubt, the better fighter of the two, it was more important that Sango was kept safe. "You have three babies here, and they need you. Their mother. I'll be back, don't worry." She gave her friend's hand a firm squeeze before peeling out of Sango's hold. "And I'll have our husbands in tow."

Sango watched the priestess hastily pick up her weapons and strap them over her shoulder with wide eyes. Her friend's bravery still surprised her at times. It was nothing she was unfamiliar with, of course. All that time spent traveling and fighting demons, monsters, and sometimes even humans showed Sango just how bold the girl from the future was. Kagome gave Sango one last look and she nodded an affirmation towards her close friend as she slid the door shut behind her, the cool air of the night that blew through brushing against her clammy skin.

This could all be in her head. Kagome was more than willing to admit that this wouldn't be the first time her imagination has gotten the better of her during tense situations, but she couldn't just sit around and wait to see if she was wrong. The longer she waited, the more danger Inuyasha could be in.

Picking up speed, her jog turned into a run. She'd been to the village they'd gone to save before, accompanying Kaede on more that one trip during the recent, bitter winter to aid the sick. She remembered the way, and it was at least a two hour walk, but she could cut that down some if she ran.

The angry feeling in the pit of her stomach seeded deeper and grew worse, churning her insides with an overwhelming amount of anxiety. As much as she wanted to stop running, to double over from the unsettling nausea and puke, she couldn't. She wouldn't allow herself to yet. Something's wrong. Something's wrong. The chanting wouldn't stop in her head, repeating the words over and over no matter how hard she tried to reassure herself that this was Inuyasha, for goodness sake! She'd seen him take on Tokajin in his human form, fall from a cliff, and live! He may be rash, but he's smart. He knows how to survive.

Kagome's breathing was jagged, lungs burning from each inhale of the crisp night air that dragged through her wind pipes. Kagome braced herself against the closest tree, trying to steady her muscles as her legs shook beneath her, her hair sticking to her slick and sweaty forehead and cheeks. Her run had become a sprint as she began to sense a menacing demonic aura nearby. It was even stronger from where she stood now, not far ahead. She could hear a few panicked villagers off in the distance, letting her know that her hunch wasn't wrong; the fight never ended.

Her sides cramped as she went to take a step away from the tree, her body begging her to rest a bit longer. Then she heard it. The heart-shattering, chill-inducing scream that caused everything inside and around Kagome to stop while painfully twisting at every organ within her abdomen.

Inuyasha.

She stood there a moment as the gears in her brain slowly began working again, her lungs remembering how to inhale and exhale, her muscles regaining movement, the blood once again coursing through her veins with an extra dousing of something hot. Fire, maybe. No, hotter. Lava.

It seared through her body so quickly, her subconscious walk towards the blood curdling scream that had long ended but still rang in her ears shifted and she was suddenly racing forward. The adrenaline silenced her body's plead for rest with the overwhelming need to make sure her husband was safe. Alive.

"INUYASHA!"

Shit. Shit. Shit. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. Inuyasha crawled his way to a half seated position, the hot blood that leaked from the wound in his waist oozing over his calloused fingers as he applied painful pressure to it.

Tetsusaiga was useless. Miroku's pretty messed up, so he's useless. And Inuyasha was human. He was as useless as they get.

"You taste disgusting. Just as I'd imagine a puny dog would taste like." The demon remarked with his boisterous voice, spitting Inuyasha's blood off to the side.

"Yeah, well that's what ya get for biting me, asshole!" He winced as he yelled, clutching his side harder.

"Inu- yasha... Try- not to- anta- gonize it- please." Miroku's words came out with each short, shaky breath. He was bleeding from his temple and the arm his wind tunnel used to plague, and he'd lost quite a bit of blood already.

"He bit me, Miroku." Inuyasha responded, still in disbelief that it had happened to begin with. He'd come across many breeds of demons before, some more animalistic than others. But not a single one of those deliberately attempted to take a chunk out of him as a midnight snack. Luckily, the thing found him gross and pulled away before actually taking a piece of Inuyasha with him, and while he'd normally be offended by being told he tasted disgusting, he'd take his wins any way he could get them tonight.

Still, the bite inflicted a good amount of damage and Inuyasha was losing blood now. A lot of it. Not to mention, the demon's claws had gotten him pretty good on both his right leg and left arm.

This was really fucking bad and he still had several hours until sunrise.

Inuyasha's vision was beginning to blur as he tried to sit up more, his head growing light and limbs trembling. Fuck this human body. Fuck the night of the new moon!

"Since I'd rather not make a half breed like you a meal, especially while you're in such pitiful form, I'll just kill you for sport and eat your friend as a tasty, little snack after."

"Keh. And you called me disgusting." Inuyasha rolled his dark eyes, peeling his aching body from the ground, fighting against the unsteadiness of his muscles and standing up. "You'd eat that guy as a snack? I've spoken to his wife and she definitely wouldn't call him a treat."

"Inuyasha! What good does taunting him do?" Miroku grimaced, coming to stand beside him and gripping his injured arm.

"Time management?" He asked more than stated, a small shrug coming from his shoulders. He didn't quite know what his plan was. In fact, he'd hoped that if everyone kept talking, he'd be able to figure something out. But time was as limited as options.

"Do you plan on telling jokes until sunrise? We'll both bleed out by then. We need to get to safety." Miroku was talking under his breath, but it was clear how serious he was.

"You run if you like, monk, but I ain't going anywhere! You know I can take it! I'm built differently than you!" Inuyasha scoffed, tossing his ebony hair back and off his shoulder as he gave Miroku a deadly look then directed it back towards the demon.

"I hate to break it to you, my friend, but all those other times you survived were pure luck. You know as well as I that tonight you're no different from me."

The fluid leaking from his waist and causing his robes to stick to his sensitive wound was proof enough that the monk was right about him not being so different. But he was wrong about luck. Inuyasha and luck didn't mix too well. Hell, if he was lucky, he wouldn't be running into trouble on the one night of the month where he didn't have his demonic powers. Or in his case tonight, willingly running towards the trouble like a dumbass. Still, he survived all those previous battles because he kept fighting. Which was exactly what he planned to do tonight.

"Are you finished?" the creature growled, all evidence of amusement vanishing suddenly, his lips curling back to bear his fangs in a fearsome snarl. "You two interrupted my meal earlier, let my women escape, and I've grown hungry. The villagers weren't smart enough to leave the village while they could, and I can smell a delicious human snooping around nearby. It's time for this to end so that I may feast." He licked his lips, remnants of the blood from the man he was eating earlier still staining his face.

This was a bad time for Inuyasha's legs to threaten to give in. The demon was digging its claws into the dirt, the front of him dipping down as his rear raised up in what he could only guess was preparation to pounce, and as soon as he was airborne Inuyasha was going to have to get the hell out of there. His legs were just going to have to hang on for a little while longer.

Actually, a lot longer.

Inuyasha and Miroku dove in opposite directions to avoid the giant cat, Inuyasha rolling a couple more times as the demon swiped his way, groaning loudly in pain as rocks in the dirt collided with his wounds.

A flash of purple light caught his attention is it flew passed his face and landed just at the creature's paws, the demon barely jumping back in time and coming to a halt. The purple glow faded away slowly, revealing an arrow. A sacred arrow.

What? Inuyasha sat up quickly, ignoring the blinding pain from his movement and whipped his head in the direction the arrow came from to see Kagome standing at the edge of the trees, another arrow already lined up with her bow and aimed directly at the offending demon. Her brow was furrowed together, lips curled downward in a tight frown as she held her tense position, cheeks pink and glowing with sweat.

If looks could kill...

"Don't think my aim was off!" Kagome shouted, pulling her arrow back an inch further. "I wanted your attention!”

"A woman coming to me? Well, that's a first. Usually I have to chase them down, but I'll admit, it's nice to be chased for once." The cat snickered, lips curling up in a menacing smile.

Kagome angled her bow slightly downward and released the arrow, the arrowhead slicing through the skin of his front leg causing the demon to roar and jump back again, his dark red blood staining his dirty, golden fur.

"Shut up!" Kagome demanded, snagging another arrow from her quiver and lining it up perfectly to aim at him.

Her demand rang so clearly that even Inuyasha's hanging jaw snapped shut, eyes wide from her ferocious demeanor. He'd never seen her like this before. Not even in their worst battles they'd fought together did she direct such a fearsome scowl towards their enemies, let alone make them bleed to show how serious she was.

Kagome looked the demon up and down. Yellow fur covered it from head to toe, a bushy, sandy colored mane with darker tips adorning his head and neck. Rounded ears poked out of the top of his head as Inuyasha's did on any other night, and several cuts littered his body from what she could only guess was his ongoing fight with the two men.

A lion? Well this was a first. She couldn't say she was altogether surprised at the new encounter, nor was she particularly eager to be taking on what was known as the king of the jungle in her day and age, but none of that mattered right now. She was here and she'd already challenged him, a weird sense of blind fury numbing her fear. There was absolutely no way she was about to back down now.

"You'll pay for that, bitch!" He growled, lips peeling back to reveal his large set of sharp teeth and his muzzle wrinkling viciously into a snarl. "I'll kill you!"

"Not if I kill you first." Kagome muttered to only herself, watching as the lion poised itself to launch in her direction, pulling her arrow back until the string of the bow was as taut as possible.

"Kagome, get the hell out of here!" Her husband bellowed, trying to stand but quickly falling back to his hands and knees.

She waited another moment, watched as the demon's front legs lowered and his hind legs kicked at the ground sending him speeding in her direction, waited another very, very short moment, then released her arrow. The sacred aura surrounded the sharp weapon from head to tail and as it impaled the left side of the chest of her enemy, the force and power sent him flying backwards, smacking against the ground near Miroku's feet, and twitching slightly from the purification.

"Miroku, hurry!" She shouted, sprinting over to Inuyasha to assess the damage his human form had taken.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She ignored him and continued looking him over while their enemy was down, noticing the blood that came from a shoulder wound, disappeared underneath his robe of the fire rat, and reappeared at his hands, dripping down the tips of his fingers. His dark grey eyes bore into her waiting for some sort of response, but she didn't care. Now was definitely not the time to catch up with one another. Especially not when she noticed the tear in the side of his robe and the amount of crimson liquid that put the color of his clothing to shame.

The monk quickly joined at Kagome's side looking exhausted and battered, covered in dirt and blood of his own.

"Do you think you can get him out of here, Miroku? The villagers are hiding not too far off, I saw them on my way over. Get them to help you guys." She could hear the lion demon stirring, no doubt itching to rise and attack again.

"You're an idiot if you think I'm leaving you here to fight that bastard alone!"

"And you're an idiot if you think you can help me!" Kagome snapped, gesturing to his current state.

"No, Kagome! Out of the question! I'm not leaving you!"

"Uh, guys..." Miroku was staring at the risen demon, the beast emitting a deep growl as it hurled its body over towards the three. Miroku quickly snagged Inuyasha out of the way, a pained yelp coming from the half-demon as they rolled, and Kagome leapt in the opposite direction, curling her body and landing in a kneel. She snatched an arrow from the quiver once more and positioned it quickly, launching it into his shoulder.

He roared again as her purification powers shot into his system, his muscles suddenly trembling under his weight but then quickly steadying. If it were possible, she swore his snarl grew more vicious and his anger spiked. She could feel his demonic power surging, growing stronger when it should have been growing weaker with the arrows she'd shot at him.

That's not good.

His red eyes slowly peeled up from the ground and found her, searing into her own, a rush of fear racing through her.

"Lady Kagome, you must get out of there!" Miroku shouted, but it was too late.

The lion demon raced at her and she only had enough time to merely drop her bow and shield herself with her left arm. He snatched her forearm within his teeth, the white, scorching pain bringing a deafening scream out of Kagome. He bit down a little harder, another scream burning at her throat, hot liquid spilling from her flesh and in between his teeth. The jungle cat stepped forward bringing the priestess fully to her knees, and with another step she was inching backwards, trying desperately to follow his lead to avoid further pain. And then he was on top of her, arm still in his mouth, his snarl still just as vicious as her blood dripped down onto her chest.

"Kagome!" Inuyasha yelled, kicking and fighting to get out of Miroku's hold. His body grew hot, heart pounding erratically in his chest as a number of emotions punched the air from his lungs. "No! Let go of me, Miroku! Kagome, no! I'm coming! Hang on! LET GO OF ME!"

"You would only make things worse, Inuyasha! She can handle this!" The monk scolded, his grip on the half-demon-turned-human only wavering slightly from the sting of his own wound in his arm. "You have to trust her! You're too hurt to fight!"

Kagome fought the urge to attempt to pry away his teeth from her forearm and instead shot her free hand behind her to snatch an arrow, unable to stop the small whimpering sounds that escaped her lips as any sort of movement sent electric waves directly to the limb currently stuck in the lion's jaw. More hot blood poured down onto her chest and neck, following gravity's lead and trickling down around the curve of her collar bone and throat. Just as his tongue lapped at her arm from behind his teeth she positioned the arrow in her fingers, clutched it tight, and with a powerful yell she stabbed it into the side of his neck.

Kagome was terrified that the demon's reaction would be to bite down even harder, potentially snapping her arm, but luckily he roared monstrously and she was freed. Quickly she peeled herself out from under him, scurrying backwards until she'd put a few feet of distance between them, clutching at her wound while desperately avoiding the sight of it. She knew the moment she paid mind to it was the moment she'd crumble from the pain.

The lion still stood, three arrows now sticking out from his body. She imagined he couldn't speak if he wanted to with the arrow lodged in his throat, but he was still strong enough to stand which made her fear that he was probably still strong enough to fight. She eyed her bow behind him, knowing her chances of retrieving it were slim to none from her position, and she'd really like to avoid tempting him into taking another part of her body between his teeth.

Kagome noticed Inuyasha in the distance. He was pale and drained, still squirming in their friend's hold to be free but too weak to put up an actual fight. Even from where she stood, she could see his black hair matted with a mixture of dirt and blood, sticking to the sides of his cheeks and neck. His dark eyes were half-lidded as he fought in Miroku's arms, cursing and calling out to her.

An overwhelming amount of rage shot through Kagome at the sight of her critically wounded husband, clouding her mind, and without thinking she leapt forward, her fist colliding with the beasts face once, twice, and the third time with enough force to send it stumbling backwards, tripping over its own feet and landing on the ground.

Everything stopped. It was quiet. Inuyasha wasn't fighting anymore and Miroku was hardly hanging on to him. The lion demon's breathing had slowed tremendously, Kagome feeling her powers of purification finally beginning to subdue the creature little-by-little. She was able to grab her bow before he was on his feet again, a searing pain shooting through her arm as she gripped the weapon and pulled one of her remaining arrows taut in the string. A low rumble came from the lion, the sound hardly noticeable but there nonetheless, as he rose once more with his head hung weakly.

"One more of these and you're done." Kagome warned as he took a few, slow steps toward her.

As if to irritate her, he chuckled. It was pained and hushed, but he kept laughing all the while taking one more step forward. "You couldn't kill me if you tried."

"Maybe you're right." Kagome agreed, lowering her bow in front of her, her shaking forearm finding alleviation as she loosened her hold. "Maybe I'm wasting my arrows. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm stronger than you're too proud to believe. Maybe one of us dies here tonight, or maybe you leave and I spare your life."

His thick brow furrowed together, a deep growl coming from the pit of his stomach and vibrating even her own core. Kagome returned his challenging stare, brown eyes colliding with red.

"Leave?" His pained voice queried, half laughing.

"Leave." Kagome answered flatly.

He squinted his eyes into a menacing glare, his snout wrinkling as his blood-stained lips twitched upward to reveal just the sharp tips of his fangs, his ruthless claws digging into the earth. Unwavering, Kagome stood up taller dropping the arrow from her fingers and letting it bounce against the ground before stilling, understanding that she'd have to give in before his pride allowed him to. "Leave." She repeated, her tone coming off as more of an order than the last confirmation she'd given.

His demeanor changed, suddenly. The fierce scowl he'd given her softened, muscles relaxing and jaw unclenching. With a huff from his nose and a shake of his thick mane, he abruptly turned around and began walking towards the dense edge of the forest. Pressing a heavy sigh from her lungs, Kagome dropped her shoulders, the tension that kept her body tight and focused beginning to leave her body as her muscles became shaky, fingers twitching along her bow.

"Kagome," she heard the low, weak moan, quickly snapping both hers and the lion's attention over to the two injured men.

"No," she pleaded, sensing the immediate danger as the beast emitted another rumble in their direction. She should have known the lion's surrender was too easy. She shouldn't have ignored the gut-wrenching feeling that screamed at her for lowering her weapons.

"No." She was a little louder, a little more desperate that time as she watched his path quickly change, watched the intention in his bright red eyes spark and his speed begin to pick up, Miroku and Inuyasha fumbling over their spent, damaged bodies to try and stand. That same, bubbling, excruciatingly hot blood that fueled her before returned with a fury as she pulled her last remaining arrow out of the quiver by its feathers, positioned the items to point directly ahead of the beast's path, pulling the tail back to align with her cheek and line of sight.

"NO!" She screamed, releasing her hold as the monster leapt towards the men, his jaw opened wide, powerful teeth bared.

A flash of purple light blinded them all as Kagome crumpled under her own weight, her energy drastically depleted from the amount of power she'd just used, falling to her hands and knees as she watched the arrow pierce the demon's rib cage and send him flying away from his prey. The silence was nearly unbearable, neither of the three breathing until the rise and fall of the fallen lion's chest finally ceased completely, his demonic aura dissipating into the crisp night air.

"Inuyasha." Kagome muttered under her breath, as if to bring herself back to the present. Back to the entire reason she'd come this far in the first place. "Inuyasha!"

The priestess forced herself up and ran over to the two black-haired men, skidding onto her knees as she reached Inuyasha's side. He was barely able to hold himself up in a sitting position anymore, leaning back onto one elbow as his other hand pressed firmly against the bite wound in his side. His face had paled considerably since the last time she'd noted, breaths coming in shallow and weak. His eyebrows were furrowed together and she could tell that if he just had an ounce more of strength he'd be chewing her out for putting herself in so much danger for their sake.

Miroku looked around them, peering into the dark forest trees and the wrecked buildings and huts that surrounded them as Kagome urged her husband to lay back and took over applying pressure to his still-bleeding wound repeating over and over you'll be okay, you'll be okay even if it was only to convince herself. "Please!" Miroku shouted, "If any villagers remain, we need help!"

Kagome bit back the sob that swelled in her throat, tears stinging at her eyes as they burned a trail down her cheeks. She heard the distant sound of rustling grow louder and closer as several people emerged from the darkness, but couldn't bring herself to look away from her hanyou's half-lidded, vacant eyes. His mouth had opened to say something as he lifted a hand to brush his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a stray tear, but nothing came out. Kagome, herself, was only capable of repeating you'll be okay, you're alright, I promise, you'll be okay, everything's okay now over and over and over until his eyes closed and heavy, forceful hands peeled her away from his battered body.

-----------

He felt heavy. Achy. Like he'd been laying in one position for far too long and his muscles were punishing him for the laziness. Even opening his eyes felt like a chore as he repeatedly blinked away the sleep until his golden eyes were able to focus on the familiar ceiling above him, sturdy beams crossing into a high arch. The blankets were pulled up to his shoulders yet he could still slightly feel the chill of the early morning drafting through his home.

Wait... Home?

He slowly pulled himself into a seated position, hissing all the while from the dull pain in his side. His nose registered the lingering scents around him. Miroku and Sango had been here, though Kaede's scent was stronger in the air indicating that she had just recently left. He took a deep inhale of the most important scent of them all, the incredibly sweet aroma of Kagome calming every confused nerve in his body.

Kagome.

His ear flicked as a sleepy sigh came from behind him, turning his head to see his wife had fallen asleep sitting against the wall next to where his head once was. His mind began racing, remembering the events that had taken place before he'd lost consciousness. The new moon, the beast, and his wife showing up out of fucking nowhere. That explained the pain in his side. He must have been really messed up if it didn't heal at least almost completely when he transformed back into a half demon.

His eyes looked her body up and down. Her legs were curled next to her, her back slouched slightly and her head resting half on the wall, half on her own shoulder. She was wearing clean robes now, wincing as he recalled her chest and neck splattered in her own blood. Inuyasha growled and clenched his fists at the memory, his claws biting into the palms of his hands. Her sleeve was pulled upward revealing her left forearm bandaged from elbow to wrist. It instantly ignited a fire in the pit of Inuyasha's core, remembering the sight of that wretched demon taking a bite out of his woman. His eyes flicked over to her right hand, her fingers resting on her lap and her knuckles a soft shade of red and purple, causing him to grimace. No, this shouldn't have happened to her.

While his basic instincts knew she must have stayed up all night taking care of him and she was exhausted and needed the rest, his demon instincts that needed answers and needed her to know just how much of an idiot she was overpowered them. He crawled off the futon, cursing under his breath at the damn pain in his waist, kneeling just in front of Kagome. He wanted to shake her awake, but the feeling disappeared just as quickly as it arose and he couldn't bring himself to be even close to that cruel to his wife no matter how angry he was. His calloused thumb grazed her soft cheek, momentarily grateful that nothing had happened to blemish her beautiful face.

"Hey," he whispered, easing her out of sleep, still slowly moving his finger back and fourth over her cheek. "Wake up, Kagome."

She blinked open her eyes at the feeling of heat against her face, a low and deep voice bringing her attention away from her dream and back to her chilly hut. It was morning. How long had she been asleep? Couldn't have been long. The soothing hand now began brushing her raven strands out of her face and behind her ear and then combing through the length of her hair with his fingers.

"Inuyasha?" Her voice was small and gentle from sleep, smiling gently as he continued stroking her hair. Her half demon was finally up, his clean, silver hair falling over his bare shoulders. She sat up straight, pushing him back a little to see that the bandages wrapped around his torso were still clean and his wound hadn't reopened, sighing back into a slight slouch from the relief that it was finally closing. "Thank goodness."

"How long- wait, no, how did-”

"You’ve been out for about two days now. The villagers could only help us out so much. They had injured of their own to tend to and homes to rebuild, so they helped me get you and Miroku back here yesterday. How are you feeling?" She asked, reaching forward and trailing her fingers around the curve of his shoulder where a nasty cut had been just before he transformed back.

"Me!? Kagome, how are you feeling?" Inuyasha pressed, snatching her injured arm up in his hands, immediately regretting the unnecessary force he'd just used.

She tried to hide her wince, a small gasp escaping her lips. "I'm okay, Inuyasha. Really."

"He bit you, Kagome!" He argued, gently raising her arm a little higher as if to remind her just why it was bandaged. Did nobody see a problem with being bitten anymore?

"He bit you too!" She took her arm back and gestured towards his own bandages.

"I'm a half demon, remember? I can take it!"

"Are you kidding me?" Kagome could feel something bubbling up inside of her. She couldn't tell if it was anger or exasperation or anxiety or sadness or whatever other emotion that could possible arise at the moment, but it was beginning to boil over and she could feel the heat settle into her cheeks. "You weren't a half demon when you were bitten! You know better than I that you need to be careful during one night of the month! One night! Your regenerative powers won't work in your favor if you don't survive as a human!" She flailed her arms as she yelled, tears stinging at her eyes and spilling over.

"Keh. I'm fine. Why did you come? You know what I do for a living! It's dangerous, Kagome!"

"You promised to be home before sundown!"

"That doesn't mean come after me if I'm not!"

"So I'm supposed to just sit around and wait!?"

"That's exactly what you're supposed to do!"

"You could have died, Inuyasha!"

"I wouldn't have died." Inuyasha scoffed, rolling his golden eyes and crossing his arms over his bare chest.

"You could have died!" Kagome cried, hastily trying and failing to wipe the tears that fell with her sleeves as more and more spilled from her eyes. She shut them tight, hoping that would close the gates, but she just couldn't stop. "If you had kept fighting, or if I had been any later, or if I wasn't able to shoot in time when the demon jumped at you because I lowered my damn defenses!" She hit her fist against the floor, the emphasis on her curse shocking Inuyasha even further.

Inuyasha felt himself soften immediately, her salty tears burning his nose as he felt himself slouch his shoulders in defeat. He couldn't stand seeing Kagome this way. She is the light of his life, and the sobs she let out in between a few words had his heart crumbling away. His fingers slowly wrapped around her small fist that was braced against the floor, bringing it into his lap as he attempted to gently rub out the sting she must have felt from punching the wood. His fingers brushed against her bruised knuckles and he gave in to the urgent need to hold Kagome to his chest. He scooted himself forward, brought his legs to cross in front of him, then gave the hand he held a good tug in his direction that she didn't resist to follow.

He adjusted her in his lap, her legs draped over one of his while she buried her tear stained face into the crook of his neck. He let Kagome cry for as long as she needed to, holding her as firmly as he could without crushing her and pushing up her pants so he could graze his fingertips against the soft skin of her legs. Finally, he felt her relax and the salty scent began to fade away, her trembling body stilling against his hard, steady one.

"I'm sorry, Kagome. You're right. Shit could have gone south, and it's because of you that I'm alive. You fought so well and I'm so damn proud of you, baby." He was subconsciously swaying her back and forth, the curve of her body fitting so perfectly into his. "I'm not gonna lie, even I was afraid of you."

She giggled and it was music to his ears. She pulled back to look at him, wiping away the remaining evidence of her breakdown with her sleeves again then shook her head.

"No, I- I put my guard down too soon. He was so close to getting you at the end."

"But you stopped him. That's what matters." Inuyasha replied, bringing her bruised hand up to his lips and brushing a kiss against each injured knuckle.

Kagome smiled, her heart giving a small flutter as he soothed her worries away. He was right. What mattered in the end was she managed to kill the demon and save her husband. She was sitting in his lap, relishing in his body heat and the small kisses he was now placing along her bandaged forearm, starting from her outer arm, making his way inwards, and ending at her inner wrist making sure to place a few extra tender kisses along the barely exposed, delicate skin. Him knowing full and well that it was a sensitive area that she loved to have touched, and her knowing full and well that she wouldn't be able to enjoy this wonderful moment if she hadn't have pulled through in the nick of time.

"Oh and by the way," Inuyasha began, letting his fingers wander down her legs and underneath her hakama once again. "I wasn't kidding when I said you scared the shit out of me. Could you let me know if I ever piss you off that bad so I can get the hell out of firing range?"

Kagome shot him a questioning look, cocking an eyebrow up at him. "What are you talking about?" The hanyou brought her bruised knuckles into her line of sight, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"You punched a demon in the face, Kagome." He explained, a look of shock causing his eyes to go wide as he remembered her throwing each powerful punch, realizing that maybe he was rubbing off on her in all the wrong ways. "I'm not looking to be on the other end of that!"

Kagome gave a small smile and giggled again. "Oh," she started, climbing out of Inuyasha's lap to stand, pulling herself into a long stretch then sighing and gently rubbing one of her husband's ears.

"We'll see." She teased, walking away to get breakfast started for her hanyou.

"I'm serious, Kagome!" He shouted after her, worry causing his brow to furrow. She replied with a simple, happy hum as she exited their hut for ingredients. Inuyasha sighed heavily, rolling his eyes and standing slowly to make sure not to further aggravate his side.

"We aren't done here!" He yelled, following her out to their yard. He heard her melodic giggle from the side of their home, turning to see her peeking around the corner.

"You mean the big, bad half demon isn't actually afraid of me and my fists of fury?" She played, walking over to him and pretending to throw a punch, pushing his cheek with a soft fist.

"Shut up." Inuyasha droned, rolling his amber eyes and grasping the offending wrist. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest, heat burning along his cheeks. "Listen, I don't like that you put yourself in so much danger. Please, just trust me to come back to you okay? I will always come back to you."

"And I will always come after you." She replied, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers threading in the long strands at his nape and standing on the tips of her toes to place a small kiss against his lips. "You don't have to like it, but that's how we work. That's how we've always worked, Inuyasha."

He shook his head and made an aggravated noise under his breath, but instead of countering her with another argument that she no doubt expected, he pressed his lips firmly against her own, gripping her waist tight in an attempt to pull her even closer. "Yeah, yeah. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” He sighed, bending down and passionately kissing his wife again, swallowing her giggle and drinking her in.

#Inuyasha #kagome #kagome higurashi #inukag #inukag fanfic #inukag fanfiction #inuyasha oneshot #inukag oneshot #bamf kagome #inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fanfiction #kagomeinthepast #my writing

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winterinwhiskey-blog · 5 years

Text

Brawls by Anatomy.

“Can romance actually be beaten out of you?”

A swipe of worn out cotton turns into a swab as some other’s phrase turns its punctuation to transform into some half erased format of a full-stop written onto my motions over the bar’s veneer, and don’t get me wrong, I didn’t stop but it was a slur, bleeding out like that borderline tug of control you keep by iced out logic when everything else is burning Tennessee Fire in your mind. You fake your sobriety better than you act when you’re sober — unaware, because feeling filtered would actually not screen for your pain in projection this time.

But you don’t ever really stop doing what you do, not anymore, anyway, That control doesn’t get to slip you.

Muddled waters on mahogany, reflections colouring on amber in ripples that wouldn’t wave in a tide and I look for shades of purple in the faces that wave on by, perhaps kissed with the tempered blue in hue of a Bailey’s Comet — more over flesh than in one tablespoon of Rum and a sprinkle more of salt over someone’s wounded pride than over lemon of a shot of vodka.

Inebriation, came in so many colors than the tenured tones of honey that glazed over empty glasses that filled up one too many hearts — black for eyes, brittle blue for bones, red for shots of blood that flooded sockets as reason drained out of eyes; and here I was, some regulated or regulating enabler for miseries profound or liquids that over-dramatized pain into an excuse for harm.

Ironical, really.

But it was a shrine of lies, in ways. Jabs of half-honesty as we drank disgust to wash out the loathing that lurched up our own throats. Picking drinks in our name of tolerance to evade someone else’s as our lips soured up to forget kisses in fashion no intent of pucker could beg to relive but we tongue down over and over again to forget. But well, sometimes, it was in the name of remembrance with the exclusion of the fancies or the tails in a mixture fruited up one too many as you stick to the harsh honesty — those doses of separation to leash out the well-bred bitch in your barks of whiskey than to lash out in some poison that bastard breeds boiled on to live up to the name of being a dog, excluding loyalty; or well perhaps the loyalty lay to suffer out the sickness that they pissed themselves in.

Pain drinks to forget, suffering drinks to be understood.

And a diagnosis superior — trauma drinks to understand.

I’d know.

Inherent green-flecked blues fall onto the silhouette of personal therapists on some top bottom row, lines by lines of identical matrix marched black uniforms with those starred badges across — Jack Daniel’s, by the army. Signing off or out of each infliction of imagination or trip down acid lane to streets that wind far away from the backdoor in spirals of multiplications of nightmarish grog in fumes that snap the door by the hinges open onto the ruins of ecstasy, not by definition but by the pace of some reel that was sped up by double and we all about onto someone else’s home, spiralling in dances as the disgust clogged the insides of your throats to drinking what he would have been, or perhaps would pick up to touch by his incarnation of disgust and the only spiral onto maven avenues of hostile grounds, shrapnel by loss of pride by the feet over the pour of ribs or the firework splatter of glass against the matching strike of your scalp and you drink, the only bit he didn’t so you don’t ingest what he does — no more snarking worms of his presence griming the veins between your flesh and skin, heating up like rust over water, coagulating and suffocating like the bubble of clotted blood by to bring out that cherry sparkle of your eyes that leafed out your irises like some trampled flower shoved by bloody ends of fingernails into your sockets and you rely, on that one bottle of whiskey in winter; to keep you clean on a carpet you no longer lay on bloody.

Only, physically.

Unwinding the razor wire of thoughts that left the tracings in rectangular rent of cuts by the payment of my flesh, only in memory over the fences of the heart in its defences and I look about again, tracing the upheaval of romance or its beatings as my hands kept at the violent swipes of cleaning the bar for the girl who asked up such triggers; but some charade we played, answer the least by the face of what you know the most. Your own muscles should be the last in line to betray you in a run but well, betrayal beckoned by instinct within guts more than any outlier outcome.

“I swear, it’s like he bangs me up so fucking hard... who the hell even needs romance after sex like that?”

A single shaped brow has its inquiry in distasteful amusement at the speech privileged humans in all the riches of unadulterated expectations of life — tongues can only be under practice for getting choked up until wounds needed to be licked.

Moments innumerable uncounted do pass as what a crude altar of abuse and its fascinations truly abided for the shrine of sex.

But perhaps, I had grown sensitive to all misguidances of such religions.

“Kevin!”

Several eyes dart over in search for some Male recipient to answer for the name but they never really expect this shapely, kinda thinly, somewhere between a tomboy and a proper lady walk through with a carved up face for a name like that.

It had been some months since I had been working at my brother Cain’s bar, managerial creativities while the fucker chased away Hollywood dreams or just finally swapped the nightlife for a bit of Dawn. He was occupied, to say the least and I neededto be occupied so may as well.

I put aside the towel from my shoulder like some silk falling off of bones, but in an aggression of an impatient temper that set fire to the essence of any fabric of tenderness; shifting onto on booted feet under denim clad long legs with this rusted green of battle verdant hugging about subtle enough curves, fire breathes seemed to defy in appearance for lungs of ice and as confused and appealed on on-lookers of fascination Look onto my steps as I go on to Abe, a wrestler-built cashier here, veins grow frost under bite as his finger points back with the appraisal of, “Someone’s got a delivery for you, and he’s outside.”

Face and cheeks in form of confusion as a single brow raises in inquiry of a demand everyone knew to answer without a word and Abe just swings up his shoulders with palms in surrender and my eyes take a roll.

“Backdoor!”

Temperamental scowl set in place, I tread through.

And the metal hinges of the heavy door open up and as the winter ice blows in a harsh exhale to battle out whatever I was inhaling, whatever content ever found up on this face flies in spirals onto the warmth of the world of gold behind me, and I stand on the threshold of darkened blue, fourth degree of a bruise, I’d call it. And the berry black of a blood-bound bayou of fists of five by the dips of the curves; separation in contract and contrast of what was champagne on ice and damage on grind.

I stand, scowl-settled that takes half a flight into a relaxation of muscles for an inch of movement for the face that came into view wasn’t a tax I was paying under any governing of mutiny even if a hand was lain on me.

“You got some fucking balls but that was the point you were overly intent on showing, weren’t you, you fucking bastard.”

That twitch goes off over that thin sweated forehead, I see the struggle in the vein like a thinly worm trapped in a pipe smaller than its width, trying to breathe or still instead of explode and it was funny how beyond behaviour you could fall into seeing with bashing blurs.

“Kev, we need to—“

“You need to separate my conjunctions in person from your name before—“

“K— listen—“

“Showing up isn’t the daring part but doesn’t it disgust you to your guts to even come about—“

“I just want to—“

“— K—!”

I shut the door.

Metal cuts out the cords, only by sound.

I bump into Cain, he wasn’t supposed to be here, and wavering arms brush him aside as I stumble on, only in mind as my balance knows its grips in anxiety.

Blank.

My eyes roam for all the dust and dunes in golden tunes that hung from this bar with each step I take back in, people abuzz with the bubblies they popped from champagnes or the colourless compassion that masked their kindnesses and I appreciate Cain the Dickhead’s hard work by his own feet instead of having my concentrations fall onto the ripples of deluxe rich cotton, the pretentious spares over the bones of this dickhead’s torso.

Reels on reels of past project in films of spins that aren’t on roll but are on hold against the case of your skull, some shelves your trauma builds on, categorised to drop in loops without escape once it plays on.

Arms on arms of struggles in reflexes.

Wall wars.

Couch crushed potato.

Glass shattered doll.

Carpet corpse.

Static.

Contemplation into and away to not contemplate on each bad memory that whispered up by the claws of some silent song out of by mind’s eye, subverted out to scream dreams of fantasies out my reasons.

And I only called them fantasies for the scenarios came on as imaginative, more to be done in some dystopian domination out of the box of creation of what was already broken. Pieces onto bones.

Well, I was merely killing myself in my own head repeatedly by hands that wouldn’t ever resemble my own.

But it had gotten to some point now where my nails could take up a pound of flesh from any merchant that charged up for more.

It’s a coil around the lungs, constricting in so that the flaky clumps of flesh fall out through the sliding gaps in rolls up, suffocating cutting through but the shallows of your eyes fell for the heartburn even if no face seen blurs down the youth that slipped in tension taut by the muscles every second.

Noise.

“KEVIN.”

A dazed “hmm?” finds sound as I turn by the head over the shoulder.

“Some new-act bikers are fighting to change onto whatever the fuck but it’s Grey’s hour.”

“Borrow some balls.

For Christ’s fucking sake. Where’s Abe?”

“Don’t be so mean. He went out somewhere to deal with something.

But Kev, you already got so near to charges and that police officer last time said he wouldn’t—“

“I’ll see you when I’m in court, Judge Judy.”

Warranted steps are taken against precautions and maples ways are made over to the black-leathered riot that took up the rackets over actual proper civilians and not rats dressed in human-skin. Or some tattooed up sorry excuse for flesh.

“Boys.”

It wasn’t a scream but the coldness always seemed to cut through like an icicle in decided departure through the noise.

Tired eyes blink up to widen through the sleepless adventures of yet another weight unregistered but I’ll process when I woke up. Or something.

Some fucker turns, toothpick in chew by the edge of the jaw and my mouth has an inward-upward, nearly negligible curl of distaste at the phantom feel and thought of chewed up wood by the teeth.

Reasons to gag, the counter wouldn’t stop up.

“Man, we won’t be changing channels if we got to look you over all night.”

My gaze assesses, some bored and nearly non-receptive recession within my mind as I see the remote in the asshole’s hand.

You had one job, Abe.

“Respectfully, sir.

Hand the remote back. We follow a strict rotation of shows here and our regulars don’t like interruptions.”

The man takes a step forward, or two. And I calculate in coldness and mechanisations of preparations of the seven streets of probabilities this would be taking and I feel the intake of held air on behalf of the entire room — having sucked all the air in for this vacuum ring of battle and blood and speculation, clearing up for the tension in the air before the thunder struck in all its peace.

“Baby, we all could become a regular for you.”

“The whore house is down the main road and if you confused addresses, I can write it down for you.”

The man tuts, tossing the remote back onto his crew, that awkward moustache or beard masking manic onto that dire smile as an arm rounds about to have a palm smacked onto my ass and statue-still marble, —

“You’ve got a tongue on you, don’t you? How about—“

A panic flutter of ‘fuck’ comes about in a tone that coloured on knowledge of my behaviours. And Fucking Hell, it was that second of silence before the ring slips off the slit of a bomb before shrapnel showers in engulfing atoms of losing ligaments and shattered limbs.

— and the cracks appear, after one second of composure as a thin arm slides up back against the gruff of his neck to lead the the pressure point by the elbow while a knee unleashes its wrath onto his guts, spilling balance over to lean his gravity over my shoulder as I side step to let the pull decelerate him onto the ground and the groans in pain subsides.

Just instincts onto its coldness, a thin sheet of emotionless ice.

Robotic programming onto nerves of humanity, not to brim over the consoles of control on another program to avoid technical errors of an outburst.

I turn around, a breath not seemed to have been lost.

“Remote.”

My palm tells for its property back in a calm that raged out in waves of instilled rage itself and —

“You fucking bitch.”

— Fingers tangle onto the back of my skull with no intent of anything but beat indications and some blinded blurs of sightless runs as my head has its impact onto the edge of a counter, the brow bone in detriment alongside the shelves of recorded events of trauma rattling to fall from organisation and I sit a minute in the daze of crimson that rolls in syrup dense moments over an eye and the man keeps on his walk, that glory on his heels adding that misogynistic shine from that exhalation of power over what seemed fragile that seemed to be modelled after Hermes’s steps one too many times and I did think of innocence lost in flashbacks of Percy Jackson renditions or whatever seemed suitable one too many times.

It’s a mechanical bull, the number one.

And long legs graduate themselves onto a stand before slanting themselves onto a run with arms in a quarter envelope of measurement of his hips; the disgust of touch creeping in by thought but not now as I degree onto a barrel from behind with every fragment of strength I will into muscle energy into this thinly body and it has customers flying from their tables as the wooden legs give away from the weight of the crash over.

You take a ride, from anyone.

And I think in technical flows. Mechanical, perhaps. The worst manifestation of rage where its presence was just absence; hollow, a ghost, grabbing onto some chair by its dangling legs and smashing whatever it had to splinter over the man’s head.

Everyone, wants to ride.

White rage, it was a sheet of snow, truly for me. Some song in Chilli Peppers, lacking Red and more on its absence as claws and bottles break in some slashes unforeseen and screams tearing through pain in sockets —

And pulls away, oh.

— until some set of arms find their ripples in fixative contact over the downpour of my curves as the bullets of punches don’t get to infill their magazine and the trigger finally sets in close contact, chest on my spine and my entire nervous system seems compromised by contact of cotton and skin and I scream and legs wade for kicks to barrel against the winds and wage backwards as the sirens in wails cry through my chaos as whoever was holding me back strategically but honestly blindly hit the barrier behind.

And I hear Cain’s loud call and the bustle of doors.

From you.

A spin and a flash of ash-lined, light eyes and somewhat a familiar face, perhaps by some silhouette; before some other fucking male voice finds further dominance over assistance of a megaphone.

“Kevin Reed, put your hands in the air.

You are under arrest.”

( end. )

#brawls by anatomy #intro

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activatingaggro · 6 years

Text

Inktober - 23- Warmth

PHERES DYSSEU | 9 SWEEPS / 20 YEARS OLD SIPARA NZINGA | 9 SWEEPS / 19 YEARS OLD

NOTT TERMINAL, NEAR-ALTERNIAN ORBIT | 4,194 WORDS

The apartment's certainly very..

"Chalk-y," Sipara offers, bouncing through the door. "Cave-y? Looks kinda, like, I dunno, the murder room in Cleaver, right? But look on the bright side, dude, it's +5 to intimidation when bozo over here brings folks home. I can be like, yeah, totes, don't natter at me, pupaface, just getcha coffee and stick to Hads, and I won't show you my murder dungeon."

"I was going to say it's very modern," you protest, wrinkling your nose, but she has the right of it. Nott Terminal's housing is fascinating in an exotic way. The walls aren't drywall, like you're used to, or even wooden boards. You suppose that would've weighed too much, hauling it up.

No, instead it's cocoon, pressed smooth until it looks almost like a more organic stucco. The floor's of the same material, you think, just polished smooth and glossy. If it were stripped bare of furniture, it'd be unsettling. But there's windows, at least, to break up the white of the walls. And there's wood furniture everywhere, with a style that's familiar in the mahogany of the wood, and the pillows strewn apart. But in others, you suppose you're seeing Hadean's influence.

For one, in the shriveled head on the end-table by the door. When you accidentally make eye contact with the empty pits, you force yourself to turn away. "You have a murder dungeon?" you ask, wandering over to a display case by the kitchen nook, and Sipara chirrs mockingly after you.

"'course I have a murder dungeon, duhhh. C'mon! Need it for my wis debuff, baby, otherwise, like, I'd totes be a munchkin, and who wants to deal with that?"

The display case, at least, is cute. It's wood, filled with a basket and feathers that you're satisfied to recognise. There's books on the interior, and games, and on top of it..

She has, you're not surprised to find, brought her Steelborn plushie up from the planet. What you're not expecting is to see it staring you in the eye from the mantle, surrounded by smaller, yet infinitely fatter, looking stuffed grubs of various colours. One has keratin that looks almost silky. You reach out to pick it up, curious, scooping it up neatly under the legs -

- and it twitches to bite you, fang-filled mouth opening in a chalky shriek of outrage.

"Pher!" Sipara wails as you desperately flail your arm. The grub does not come off. Its legs are clawing madly at the air, even as its body scrunches up to try and make it look bigger. You can feel it growling. Or maybe that's just Sipara's nails scratching at it as she tries to wrestle it free. "Be careful!"

"Why is it alive?"

"Because she's a prosthetic base! And don't call her an it, jeez -" She wrestles her pet project free, then rubs her nose against its forehead, eyeing you irritably. "She's a fifth generation psibuster," she complains. "I just got her to start producing null venom. Which, like, don't worry, it's made to work on blues, not, like, us. We're too hot, it'll start breaking down. Isn't that right, cutie?"

She plants a kiss on the top of its head. The grub opens its mouth and shrieks inconsolably as she dumps it back on the mantle, then it's squirming back to its place on the Steelborn.

The other grubs shift. "Lovely," you deadpan, as Sipara takes a hold of your arm and tugs you away. "What if they fall? Isn't it dangerous for them to be up there?"

"Nah, dude, they're from my hardcore stock. Up to three hundred pounds of concussive force afore their shells flinch! They're fiiine. And their feet are too prickly to fall, anyway. Once, they got on the ceiling, and I couldn't get 'em down, like, even with a broom - are you bleeding?" she demands, abrupt, peering down at your arm. Her ears pin back. "Pheeer."

There's rosewood welling on your arm, sure enough, but you shrug her off. "It's fine," you assure her. "It's - Sipara!"

She's already darting into the kitchen. When she emerges, it's with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, ominous in the dark skin, and a bandage. "You shoulda said you're bleeding," she complains. "Get your arm out of your mouth!"

"I don't need peroxide, I'm cleaning it -"

"You're gonna get gangrene, and your arm is gonna rot off, and then you're going to die, but not before, like, I drag you for putting your arm in your mouth, dude. Like, what the fuck? You know where that grubs mouth has been. Or, like, if you don't, pro-tip: bugs have only got one exit hole, dude, you don't want that in your goddamn mouth. No, shut up, don't argue!"

Sipara herds you like a small dog. She's scarcely two inches shorter, and she's slimmed out in the past half-sweep. There's a new hardness to her body, with less give in the places you're used to: when she nudges you with her hip, it's more bone than fat that sends you stumbling. It makes sense. Stress does that to all of you.

And she and Hadean have faced a great deal more stress, the past few perigees, than you have.

So when she nudges you onto the pile, you don't protest. You just fall onto it, shoving at the pillows and blankets until they fall into something more suitable to lay on. It's not how you would've made it, if you were making a pile for you and Sipara. The blanket strewn atop it all feels like cotton, rough enough to catch your skin, but it makes sense. Hadean doesn't like being warm. And between her and him, heat must sink into every part of the pile.

When she sprawls out next to you, curling up until her legs are thrown over yours, you can see how. "Gimme your arm," she demands, already reaching for it.

"You could ask," you complain.

"You could, like, die of gangrene, too, but we're not coverin' the things we could do, loser. C'monnn."

Sipara's rattling away as she works, cleaning off the wound with all the care as if it was something actually major. It's nostalgic, honestly, the two of you lounging in a pile, cleaning up wounds.. and it's all the better for the fact that when you lean forward, burying your face in her braids, she smells the way she always has, cardamom and saffron and burnt sugar.

She lets you stay there for a moment. Then, with a chuff, she knocks her head under your chin instead. "I've missed you," she says. "A ton. I'm, like, super duper glad you came up, dude."

"Well, he had to visit eventually," Hadean drawls, stepping into the room. "Sup, Pheres."

There.. should, you are aware, be something unfortunate about your auspistice wandering into the room to see you lounging in his pile, with his moirail. But Sipara was your moirail first, long before he'd ever stepped out of Jejunus. It isn't as if you're papping her. It doesn't hurt him to share.

And he's never minded before. You can't imagine a brief stay with the program has gone and made him possessive. Especially not when Sipara cuts the bandage neatly with a fang, binds it, and then rolls over to face him. "Haaaaaads," she wails. "I thought you were sleeping. C'mere!"

"I can't sleep," he says, stepping forward.

And you stare at him, because this is the first time you've ever seen him like.. this. "Oh my goodness," you say, marveling, then you bound to your feet, abruptly enough that Sipara goes tipping back. She's growling from the pile, a stutter-start noise that keeps trying to go too deep for her voice, but you pay her no mind. There's a more important matter to focus on.

Namely --

"What happened to your face?" you demand, a hand flying in front of your mouth, and then you're bounding into Hadean's space.

Hadean's too tall! Even if you stood on tip toes, you can't quite reach his face. But that's fine. He's got a braid you can grab hold of and yank, hard enough to pull his head down to level.

"Whoa there! Try not to murder me," he protests, but you just click your tongue at him as you squint at his piercings. Because his face's covered in them. He looks like Rmeros, almost, all black steel against the pallor of his skin, but.. no, he's not quite that bad. He's not wearing leather, at least, no matter how garish his jewelry is.

He's got piercings in his eyebrow. You're tempted to tug one, but then you imagine if it comes out. There'd be blood, and he'd probably bite you, and - when Hadean grins at you, showing off his fangs like he followed that thought, you balk. It's not as if the piercings are important, anyway, compared to the fact his smooth is skin, unmarked by ink or varnish.

You've never seen him without his tattoos before. He looks.. older, like this, without the white to distract you, and you're tempted to lick your hand and wipe at his cheek, too, just to see if you can fix it.

Impulse control is difficult. You give in, but his skin remains the same perfect gray, even when you press down as your finger drags. "What did you do?" you demand. If your ears could pin back, they would. Hadean's never so much as changed his clothes in the time you've known him. Sometimes, you were convinced, literally. "You look so.. so..."

"Punk-rock?" Sipara offers up cheerily.

"Edgey! You look like you're about to go off into a rave and sell me drugs in the back alley," you decide. There's a ribbon threaded through his braid in Sipara's vivid orange, and you regret, suddenly, that you hadn't thought to buy one in maroon. Well! You'll be here for another night. You'll find time, or else you'll go home, mix up some dye, and actually get the proper colour of things.

Or you'll see if the fellow who made your doll has anything in the same hue in fabric, and make a ribbon for yourself.

"Hads can't sell drugs, dude, he cries if he even smells a honey-drop." Sipara sprawls out across the pile, rolling onto her back and wrestling with her boot. She chucks the first one at the door.

"Yeah, my ancestor should've pailed a honey badger too," Hadean snarks, and she chucks the second right at his head. He catches it with a grin, tossing it back at her, which starts off a brief game of toss-the-boot, and..

One night, you're going to have to get Kit integrated properly into your clade. It's been othering to have her distant from Sipara and Hadean, and she deserves to be here, milling about with the rest of you. But that'll take thought and consideration, because you're not quite sure how to pull it off.

It's something to think about. As of right now..

Hadean's not looking at you. You click your tongue, and when he ignores it all the same in order to catch the boot, you give up. Bouncing onto your heels, you reach up, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to haul him down. "I'm trying to talk," you complain, but you don't get much more out, because Hadean jolts like you've struck him.

Sometimes you forget that he works as a fighter. One twist frees him from your grasp, even as he lands a hand neatly in the center of your chest to throw you off. His lips are curled back to bare his fangs, and - that's where Sipara got that noise, you think, because he's actually growling at you, loud enough that it sounds like a rock was thrown into a trash compactor.

It only lasts a second. You're jerking back immediately, hangs up in front of you to pacify, while Sipara's bounding to her feet. She slips neatly between the two of you, reaching up to pap him with one hand, and hook her other arm hard around his waist. "Stop that," she snaps, sparing an apologetic glance towards you. "C'mon, dude, it's Pher -"

And he does stop, just as she's tugging him towards the pile. His eyes are wide. He's not flushing, the way you are, but you can see his pulse jumping in his throat, in the peek of skin afforded by his high collar. "- sorry," he manages, voice still rough. "Uh, sorry about that."

You'd wondered if the program had made him possessive.

You hadn't considered it might've left him traumatised. But - of course it did. They'd had him in a collar, and here you are wrapping your hands around his neck like the worst kind of reminder.

Sipara hauls him down into the pile, then curls up half on top of him, her chin resting on his collar, her arm splayed across his chest. “Ah. No! I’m sorry,” you murmur, dawdling. You don’t know if you should hop into it. Hadean looks.. flinchy, almost. Your auspistice isn’t made for unease. It leaves your mouth dry to tihnk you inspired it. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you. Ah -”

You cup a hand under your hair, fluffing the curls to add volume, and to give yourself something to focus. “I brought gifts,” you offer, because - you don’t know what else to say. This is suddenly, hideously awkward, in a way you’ve never quite felt before. But you’ve never scared Hadean. “Including that sword I mentioned -”

“Calm down, pololo,” he says, rolling his eyes, and pats the cushions. Because he’s going boneless and languid into the pile, back at ease as quickly as you’d spooked him.

You’re sure it must be intentional. It’s hard not to be grateful all the way. “The sword’ll be there later! Are you going to sit down, or just stare? You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

“He’s making me tired jittering,” Sipara complains, opening an eye to peer at you. “C’monnn, Pher, I can’t deal with two greyhounds, getcher ass down. We can see if we can, like, make him over-heat. Didja know fish can’t sweat? I bet he just dies like a fish.”

“Wow,” he drawls. “A dog and a fish? Why do i have to be the shitty animals?”

“Because an antelope won’t fit.” You settle down next to the two of them, but then Sipara props herself up with enough force that Hadean oomphs. With her free hand, she drags you over by the collar, until your horns are resting on his sternum, and she’s close enough to rap her head against your horns. It’s a thoroughly uncomfortable position.

But when Hadean grunts and shoves her off with a hissy complaint, sending her sliding - and you with her - the resulting scuffle’s enough for everyone to get comfortable. In the end, you’re resting your chin on Hadean’s ribs, head buried on top of your arms, while Sipara’s using his lap as a pillow with her arm threaded around a leg to drag it nearer. No ones horns are in the way. Your combined legs are only mostly off of the pile, but that’s fine enough: the ground isn’t precisely chilly.

“I have a new violet customer,” you announce, once everyone’s settled. It’s only a small lie, but you’re not certain you’re comfortable telling the truth, not it’ll only spawn more questions. “Or, well - they’ll be a customer soon enough. That’s where I got the sword, Hadean! Which, ah, you’ll see later. They collect alien artifacts, apparently.. isn’t that something?”

“I wish you wouldn’t, like, sell to fish,” Sipara says with a huff. “Like, dude, they’re so - so -” She wrinkles her nose, setting her ears back. “Fish-y.”

“Better fish than clowns.” There’s something brittle about the way Hadean says that, but then the moment passes, as quickly as it came. “I mean, still not great, but.. you said they’re going to be a customer, right? They’re not yet?”

You bob your head. There’s something unfortunate about all of this, and the edge that Hadean’s gained in your absence. Something happened, clearly, beyond just his program stay. He holds himself like a bag of glass ready to shatter, and you don’t know gentle you must be to avoid it. Or if it’s your place to try and peer inside.

Probably not. Pile or no, you’re not his moirail.. and no matter how tempted you are, the best time to dig into his business is probably not when Sipara is close enough to bite. “They haven’t bought anything yet,” you confirm. “They’re getting there, though. I’m sure!”

“Okaaay. So, they’re not buying anything, they’re weird, and they’re a fish. Are they at least hot? Because, c’mon, you gotta get your money’s worth somewhere.”

“Hadean!” Sipara hisses. “Dude!”

“What? It’s a good question. Pololo keeps his eyes on the prize,” he protests, grinning. “That’s all.”

You pause, considering. “To some people,” you decide, “but, ah..” They’re taller. They’re finned, and they’re soft, and they’re kind. “Not to me, I’m afraid. They’re like a lowblood, Hadean. You know how that is -”

“And now we’re going back into this.” Sipara curls her lip, lolling her head back. “Wah, wah, wah, lowbloods are so boring, I gotta go stick my bulge in a bilgeblood or it just isn’t any fucking fun.”

“Like you date lowbloods, either,” you accuse her, reaching out to grab her ear. She squalls, twisting to nip at her wrist, but you jerk your hand away at the last moment, dangling in above her head. She lurches up to nip at it, her teeth skimming the skin of it. You howl -

- and Hadean catches you right in the horn with a flick of his nail, following it up with a thwack towards Sipara. Towards, because she’s pulling back with another one of her unempirely howls. “What’re you, toothing? Calm down, no fangs in the cladepile! Just because Pheres's got a hankering for anything cold, blue, and probably with a musclebeast fetish doesn't man we have to pick on him -"

It’s your turn to howl. “I don’t have a blueblood fixation -”

Hadean laughs, warm, and Sipara beams, all teeth. Your outrage can’t last in the face of that. You scowl at them, but it only lasts for a moment - then your expression cracks, one shard at a time, until you’re smiling as well. “You’re awful,” you complain, letting your face drop until it’s hidden in his shirt. “You’re both awful. And - no one has a musclebeast anything! If I was attracted to that sort of thing, then I would think the violet was attractive. They were in a.. a... ”

“Musclebeast suit?” Sipara asks, wrinkling her nose. There’s something very accusing in her tone, not aided by the way she looks like she just swallowed a live bird, and it’d begun to start pecking at her.

“Yes!” You pause. “Well, no. I suppose it was a barkbeast suit.”

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“Oh! Don’t say it like that!” you cry, and.. you’ve missed this, you think, more than anything else since they’ve left the planet.

“Okay, maybe we’re all awful,” Hadean says. “But not fish in a fursuit levels. So they’re not hot, they’re not paying you..” He tilts his head to the side, clicks his tongue as he raises his eyebrows. It’s almost easy to forget the way he was just flinching, moments ago. “- but they've got a musclebeast fixation? I don't know, pololo, that doesn't sound like a plus to me.”

“Iunno, sounds like it's a plus to him. I mean, dude, let's see what the case is, here. Dude’s hanging out with fish that ain't buying, but, like, act super docile.” Sipara’s gone boneless to match him, for all that she’s committed to dragging you. Lying like this, with her eyelashes brushing her cheeks, she looks ready to fall asleep. But she doesn’t. She keeps talking, up until she pauses to add: “- super duper docile. Y’know, like a woofbeast. Like the woofbeast they're dressing up as. No biggie. Except -”

Even you’re unwinding. How could you not? You’re laying about with two of your favorite people on the entire planet for the first time in ages. If this was what it was like for Sipara to live with Iconic, you’re not surprised she could never bring herself to pick sides. It’s just a shame that they had to leave for space, just when you’d gotten settled into sedentary life for the first time.

“I'm not hanging out,” you huff, stretching your arms out in front of you. “I wasn’t hanging out!”

“Objection!” she barks out, pointing at you. “You met a fish! You got a sword from a fish! You, like, talked to a fish, probably shook hands with a fish, probably kissed them on both of their gross slimy wrists, like a fish. Their furry, gross, slimey fish-wrists, which means - did you, or did you not, probably get shed on by their weird carpet pelt?”

“You’re so callous. For no reason, really. Honestly, Sipara, they were perfectly silky -”

You realise that was the wrong thing to say just as she clasps both hands to her mouth and shrieks.

“Oh my God, did you touch it? Hads,” she wails, slapping at his legs, “he touched it! With his bare hands! We left the planet, and - and -” A shake of her head sends her braids bouncing. Then she’s leaning forward, so quickly that they lurch in a clatter of beads. “And now he's off, like, getting seduced by freaky seawolves -”

“Oh!” How are you supposed to respond to this? You love your clademate, but “No one is seducing anything! It wasn't even - they didn't have any dedication,” you huff. “If they did, it would have had horns. And fins. What sort of seawolf doesn't have fins?”

“So you have preferences now,” Hadean says with entirely too much interest. You hiss and bury your face back into his shirt, while Sipara lolls her head back and cackles.

“You’re both being cruel. Cruel and untoward! This is why I can’t bring Meukit around, you know. You’d just - oh! You’d scandalise her. She’s a good person, not - not -” You flap a hand demonstratively. It isn’t as if you intend to hit Sipara, exactly, but the yelp when your hair skirts curls is satisfying, in a grim kind of way. “- sorry! She’s not filled with all this raunch, like the two of you.”

“.. what, like, ranch dressing?”

“No! Raunch, as in -” How are you supposed to keep your head down when Sipara’s asking questions like that? When you squint at her, she’s squinting right back, her ears tilted in the half-mast angle that she always does when she’s doubting. She looks like Kabiir, right after you offer her peanut butter to trick her into not barking. “You know what that means,” you accuse her. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not playing dumb -”

“Maybe you are just dumb, then,” you sniff.

Sometimes you forget about how quick she is. Sipara pops up onto her knees in a moment, half-launching herself over Hadean. You shriek, tumbling back. Hadean yelps as her knee bounces off of his in her mad scramble to get at you, but your back is on the stone, and Sipara’s undeterred by the way he snatches at her shirt. She lands on top of you like some pronouncement from high above, hands landing neatly on either side of your head, her knees clasped around your hips firmly enough to pin you in place.

When she tilts her head forward, her braids fall in a curtain around the two of you. One thumps inelegantly into your nose. “Take it back, I’m, like, super smart. Hella smart. A real genius.”

“I will not.” It’s your turn to curl your lip at her. “And if you don’t get off of me, then I’ll bite off your nose.”

“You will not.”

“I will too!”

“Will not!”

“Will too.”

“Will not,” she snaps, “because if you do, I’ll bite off yours!”

“I will too, or - or - I would, if you had enough of a nose to bite!”

“Am I ashing everyone?” Hadean complains, rolling over and onto his seat. “Get up, or I’m laying on both of you. One. Two. Thr-”

Sipara shrieks, right in your ear, and bounds off of you, back onto the pile. She bares her teeth at Hadean before collapsing across his legs again, boneless as a cat. “Don’t quadblur,” she complains. “Gross! Almost as gross as Pheres’s furry fish thing.”

“I don’t have a thing --”

“You do have a thing!” she yowls at you, and it’s your turn to push back into her face, and..

The apartment’s different. The walls are strange, and the colours are off, and it’s not quite your home, even with Sipara’s things decorating every available surface, and Hadean’s influence as clear as fingerprints across it all. And it does look rather like the murder room in Cleaver, if you’re being perfectly honest.

And it has a murder dungeon, evidently, and it’s in space --

-- but you’ve missed this. You’ve missed them, and you’ll just have to make it your space, too.

#[prose]#[drabbles]#pheres dysseu #sipara nzinga #no one wins in ash chicken #rambunctious rusts

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